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The cave was so narrow the walls brushed against both his shoulders in some areas, pointed rocks snagging the nylon of his coat and poking the gash in his upper arm. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior. A small mound of black was in the back corner. He couldn't make it out at first—then he noticed the blonde curls.
Sam rushed over and dropped to his knees beside her still form. Her already pale skin had turned ghostly white. He gathered her up in his arms, begging God for her life. A pulse, slow and erratic, beat against her neck.
“It's okay, I've got you. You're going to be okay. We'll get you warmed up and you'll be right as rain,” he babbled into her hair as he unzipped his coat. “You just have to hang on for me a little bit longer.”
He brought her frigid body against his chest, brought the edges of his coat around her back and wrapped his arms around her. She clutched a small box in her hands, unwilling to let go even in her unconscious state. She was so cold, her forehead burned his neck when she rested it against him. Sam scooped her up, a firebrand of pain searing through his injured arm. He flinched and backed out of the cave as carefully as possible.
The trip down McPherson's Bluff and across the field to the ambulance went by in a blur. Snips was already on the stretcher, but the paramedics rushed over to Sam.
The paramedic took her pulse and gave her a quick check. “She's probably got hypothermia; we need to get her to the hospital right away.”
“We can take her in the cruiser,” Hank said. “Sam, get in the back with her. Keep her warm.”
Sam laid Josie down in the back seat and ripped off his coat. He slid in beside her, pulled her cold body onto his lap and covered her with his coat like a blanket. Sam hadn't prayed since before Michael died, but for the second time that afternoon, he begged God to save Josie's life. She shivered in his arms and he continued to bargain and plead, offering everything he had so she could live.
Hank sped down the country road and flipped on the sirens once they hit the highway. As soon as they pulled up to the emergency entrance, a team of hospital staff streamed out of the double doors. An orderly yanked open the door, pulled Josie from Sam's arms and whisked her away on a stretcher.
He tried to follow, but Hank's hand on his shoulder stilled him. “They'll take care of her, don't worry.”
Sam paced the hospital waiting room, which was crowded with Laytons. Chris and Hank huddled in one corner with Hank's girlfriend, Beth Martinez, sending him sympathetic looks over their coffee cups. After the nurse had warned them they were in for a long wait, Claire and her fiancé, Jake Warrick, had gone to her restaurant, Harvest, to bring back food, but they'd be back soon. His parents, Glenda and Bob, maintained a silent vigil in the center of the room.
“Samuelson Aaron Layton, come sit down by me.” Glenda patted the empty lime-green chair. “The doctor said you lost quite a bit of blood before she stitched you up and you won't do Josie a bit of good if you pass out cold.”
He glanced down at the white bandage circling his biceps. Fifteen stitches. Josie might be dying and his mom worried about him passing out?
Heat flushed his cheeks and anger at his own impotence expanded in his chest like a hot-air balloon. Ugly words formed in his mind, but before they could leave his mouth, he saw the worry heavy in her tear-swollen eyes. The fury deflated in an instant and he shuffled over to the seat.
Glenda slid her hand into his and squeezed. “She'll make it, don't you worry about Josie.”
The door swung open and a doctor walked in. The already high tension level rocketed as everyone in the room focused on the tired man in front of them.
“I'm Dr. Coll. Have you been able to locate Ms. Winarsky's family yet?”
“Not yet.” Hank rubbed the back of his neck, remembering the frustration of finding only one contact number in her phone. “We left a message for her brother.”
Coll consulted his clipboard. “I see.” He stood silent for three long breaths before gazing back up and focusing on Sam. “Miss Winarsky is suffering from hypothermia, but we're bringing her core temperature back up and she's on a thiamine and glucose drip.”
The pressure in Sam's chest eased and he took the first deep, calm breath since Snips had knocked him unconscious this morning.
“However, there are complications.” The doctor paused, letting the revelation sink in. “She has frostbite in four of her fingers on the right hand. With this level of injury, the muscles, blood vessels, nerves and tendons in her fingers froze.”
Tension pulled his spine straight. “Will you have to amputate?”
“Not right now. We like to take a wait-and-see approach to frostbite injuries such as this. Most likely, nerve damage will be the worst she has to contend with.”
“And without that luck?” Sam hated to have to ask the question.
The doctor chomped on his gum and the grooves in his forehead deepened. “At worst there could be permanent numbness in those fingers and we may even have to amputate—but those cases are rare. She should be fine in a few weeks.”
“But she's a painter, if she can't use her fingers, how will she work?” After all she'd gone through and the sacrifices she'd made to paint, the news would devastate her.
“I'm afraid I can't answer that. She'll need to stay here for the next few days so we can monitor her heart for irregularity and treat the frostbite.” Dr. Coll turned and opened the door. “We just have to hope for the best.”
“Can I see her?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not until we get her core temperature to where it should be. Go home and get some rest.”
With that final bit of advice, Dr. Coll turned and left the room.
