Pregnant Nurse, New-Found Family. Lynne Marshall

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      “She was my designated driver, Bethany.” He raised his head and looked over his shoulder. “What is your last name?”

      Her eyes quickly flitted away. “Caldwell. Bethany Caldwell. Now, lie still or these drops will run together.”

      “Nice to meet you again, Bethany Caldwell. Carmen was supposed to keep me out of trouble that night.” Gavin couldn’t resist reminding her about them meeting the month before. Sure, he’d wished he’d known her last name and where she worked. If he’d had it all to do over again, he’d definitely handle the situation differently. It was probably too late to worry about that now, though.

      “Did you get into trouble, Dad?”

      “Nah, I was just kidding.” Turning his attention back to Beth, he said, “As I recall, you’re divorced, right?”

      “My mom and dad are divorced.” Patrick hadn’t a clue what was going on but, as usual, just wanted to be in on the conversation.

      Beth rolled the stool she sat on toward the counter to discard her cotton swabs and lancets. “Well, I guess we have something in common, then.”

      Gavin remembered her silly toast about her ex-husband at the party. Something about “May the dog lose his pecker in a mysterious accident.” He scratched his nose and tried not to crack a smile. It sounded as though her marriage had ended as badly as his had.

      She washed her hands and rolled toward Patrick’s gurney.

      “Now it’s your turn, fella.” She gave Patrick a warm smile. Gavin liked the way she treated his son, especially as he missed his mother so much. He went back to resting his chin on a pedestal made from two fists, and thought he could get used to looking at Beth.

      “That’s cold,” Patrick protested. “It tickles.” He giggled and contorted while she drew lines and letters on his back.

      “OK, let’s get all the squirming over with before we start the test.” She tickled his sides until he laughed so hard he relaxed.

      It took a special woman to know how to work with kids. He’d give her that. Gavin optimistically calculated the odds of getting to know Bethany Caldwell better. He genuinely wasn’t a cad. Not asking her full name or getting her number really had been beneath his usual standards. And never in his life had he carried on with a woman he hadn’t even been introduced to. But, as they said, there’s always a first. Hell, if they’d been dating and the sex had been that amazing, he’d have sent flowers the next day. But that night, with the strong sexual current flowing between them, his good sense had gotten left behind. And when Carmen had beeped him and alerted him about Patrick, well…

      Now the question was, how could he make up for it?

      Intense itching ratcheted up in wicked swirls around the test patches on his back. “Am I allowed to scratch?”

      “Absolutely not.”

      “You’re sadistic, you know that?”

      “What’s sadistic mean?” Patrick asked as Beth made the first scratch on his back. He didn’t protest, but his face turned red from trying to hold still.

      “It means she made my back itch a lot and won’t let me scratch it.”

      “It’s one of the perks of the job,” she said, looking playfully at him for the first time that evening. He remembered that look.

      Beth quickly finished testing Patrick without a peep coming from him. Gavin wondered why his back felt on fire but his son wasn’t complaining at all.

      “OK, guys. Now you have to lie here for twenty minutes.”

      “Hey, where are you going?” Gavin asked.

      “To clean up the work station. It’s closing time. Talk amongst yourselves.”

      He lay there like a good boy trying to be teacher’s pet but his skin flushed from warm to hot, beginning from the top of his head downward. His scalp felt tingly. “Does your head itch?”

      “Nope,” Patrick said, looking very comfortable. “Hey, let’s arm-wrestle.”

      Gavin cleared a tickle in his throat. His lungs twitched and itched inside. His beeper went off. He sat up. “Maybe later.”

      Using the wall phone, he dialed in the familiar ER numbers. “Riordan.” He coughed while he listened, then glanced at his arms. They were covered with the beginnings of hives. Patrick’s back looked pale, other than a few red dots and lots of writing.

      “I’ll be right down. Contact Orthopedics and the plastic surgeon on call.” He hung up.

      Beth reappeared at the door. Her eyes flashed both a double-take and alarm when she saw Gavin. “Are you all right?” She glanced at Patrick to make sure he was OK.

      “A four-year-old was just brought into the ER. I’ve got to go,” he said, as the intense itching from his back spread all over his body.

      “You can’t leave. It looks like you’re having a systemic reaction. And you can’t leave a minor alone during skin testing. California law.” She reached into the cupboard for a syringe and a vial.

      The soles of his feet and palms of his hands joined the tornado of itching traveling across his skin. “They’re waiting for me.”

      She wiped his arm with an alcohol swab and popped him with a needle.

      “Ouch! Hey, what was that?”

      Patrick looked on in alarm. “Do I gotta have that, too?”

      She shook her head. “No, you’re fine. But your dad is having a big reaction to the testing.”

      Patrick coughed.

      “That was epi. Here, take this.” She handed Gavin a small foil packet she’d torn open. “It’s an antihistamine. Dissolve it under your tongue.” She turned him round and assessed his back. “Good God, a whole section of the testing has run together into one huge welt. Let me check your blood pressure.”

      “I told you I have to go.” He coughed and Patrick coughed along with him. Irritation accompanied his racing pulse and his lungs wheezed. Tight, resistant huffs replaced his normal breathing.

      “Sit down.” She gave his chest a firm shove and angled him into a chair. “You won’t do anyone any good if you collapse in the elevator.” She fastened the blood-pressure cuff around his arm, pumped it up, and listened with her stethoscope. He flashed her an annoyed stare. Unfazed, she bent forward in silence, almost head to head with him as she listened to his blood pressure.

      He started to stand up.

      “Hold your horses. Good. Your pressure hasn’t dropped. Let me listen to your lungs.” She placed the cold stethoscope bell first on his chest then on his back and commanded him to breathe in and out for each. “I hear a little wheezing, but not bad. Let me roll you down to the ER in a wheelchair. You shouldn’t be running around like this. And you can’t leave Patrick alone here.” She glanced at his back. “Man, you should be a bubble boy.”

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