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Oh, no. I sure hoped whoever needed help would be okay.
The flight attendant appeared. “Ma’am, you said you’re a nurse, right?”
Ruh-roh. “Uh, yes, I did say that. Is there no doctor?”
“Afraid not. We have a lady in the back with a medical condition. Do you mind looking at her?”
Shit. “Um, yeah. But, I’m not an active nurse currently.”
“There’s no one else. We’re twenty minutes away from Vegas, which is the nearest airport. Paramedics will meet us. If you have training, we’d appreciate it.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
As soon as the flight attendant was out of earshot, Grumpalicious narrowed his eyes on me. “You’re not a real nurse, are you?”
“I went to nursing school. I just didn’t finish.” He got out to let me past, and I tried not to stare at the tattoo on the side of his neck.
“Fine. I’m going with you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a nursing school dropout, but since I’ve at least had some training as a medic, I might actually be useful.”
Rude. Also true enough that I kept my mouth shut. We made our way to the back of the plane where a woman was lying on the floor with a blanket under her head. She appeared to be in her early eighties and was breathing heavily.
“Are you a doctor?” she asked between breaths.
Bending down and over her, I took her pulse, thankful all of my schooling came back to me in an instant. “No, ma’am. My name is Addy, and I’ve trained as a nurse. Tell me what’s going on?”
Grump-o-potamus knelt down on the other side, his judgment-filled gaze fixed on me, obviously waiting for me to screw this up.
“I got up to use the lavatory and felt light-headed. The nice lady there kept me from falling.”
The young flight attendant held up her hand. “She swayed to the side and almost went down entirely.”
“When is the last time you ate or drank something?” Thor’s hotter, bad-ass brother asked.
Her gaze pivoted to him, her eyes going wide. Leave it to him to stun even the elderly with his intimidating self.
He might be the God of Thunder, but he wasn’t stealing mine. “Ma’am, when is the last time you had something to eat or drink?” I ignored the glare from the giant across from me as I repeated his question.
“I don’t remember.” She was clearly disoriented.
“Can someone get me some juice? Apple or orange will do.” Hopefully, she was just low on sugar. “Are you diabetic, ma’am?”
“No. Never. Sometimes I have low blood pressure, though. Your name is Abby?”
“Close enough. Let’s get you some sips of juice and see if it makes you feel better.”
“What’s his name?” she whispered, glancing over toward the man who resembled Jason Momoa more than Chris Hemsworth now that I got a dead-on look at him. Yep, definitely had the sexy, scruffy edge.
“I call him McGrumps.”
My quip was met by a scowl which only justified the nickname. “My name is Leo, ma’am.”
It annoyed me to watch his features soften and his voice take on a compassionate quality.
After a few sips of juice, Irene, as I learned her name was, started to feel better. We sat her up slowly.
