He looked up, following her movement toward the counter, and noticed for the first time a busboy and a blond waitress hovering helplessly near the stove. He redirected his towel statement to the busboy as Elisa hurried across the kitchen on her misguided search for a pillow.
“Has anyone called for help?” Noah’s question was only met with wide, blank stares.
He addressed the shaken waitress. “Call 911. And see if there’s a nurse anywhere in the café.”
She quickly obliged, pulling a phone from her apron pocket and rushing out the kitchen doors.
Then Elisa was back, crouching beside him and holding out an apron. “Will this work?”
“I think so.” Noah folded the thin fabric several times to provide a cushion and gently slid it under Delia’s head, careful not to move her neck more than necessary. He knew that much from television shows, at least.
“I can’t believe I didn’t immediately call 911.” Elisa sat on the floor next to him, crisscrossing her legs. Guilt troubled her eyes and her chin, streaked with dark makeup trails, trembled. “Wake up, Delia.” Her voice crested with panic as she gently tapped Delia’s shoulder.
The same shoulder that Noah had cried on when he was a young teen, the day his dad had taken that age-old family feud and doused it with gasoline. Yet Noah had been so selfish since he’d been back in town, consumed with the inn and forgetting those who had helped him when no one else would.
“I should have visited the café sooner.” His whisper slipped free—half to himself, half to Delia. Could she even hear him?
Then the busboy handed him a towel and Noah pressed it against Delia’s arm wound. “See? It’s not as bad as it looks.” He didn’t know that, but hope was a good thing to cling to until the professionals arrived.
“Why is she unconscious?” Elisa gingerly took Delia’s hand in her own and rubbed the woman’s wrinkled knuckles.
“She must have knocked herself out when she landed.” Noah removed the towel long enough to see the bleeding had thankfully stopped. He nodded toward the butcher knife laying a few feet away on the tiled floor. “And that must have fallen with her. Looks like only a nick. Hit on a bad place, is all.”
“She’d been chopping vegetables when it happened.” She frowned. “Whatever ‘it’ was.” New tears filled her eyes and her voice broke. “Whatdoyou think happened?”
A throat cleared from across the room. The young busboy looked about as uncomfortable as Noah felt—he needed an escape.
Noah shot the guy a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you stand guard and make sure no one else comes in the kitchen except the paramedics. Or a nurse, if your co-worker was able to find one.” The last thing they needed was anyone crowding Delia.
The busboy eagerly took his post, what looked like relief crowding his expression as he hurried through the swinging doors. Then they immediately swung back open as Trish rushed inside, her eyes wide and her face pale. “What happened?” She covered her mouth with her hands when she saw the blood-stained towel.
Elisa shrugged helplessly. “We don’t know. She just went down.”
“What can I do?” Trish’s voice shook as she squatted beside them.
“The first responders will need her insurance card.” Noah studied Trish, who seemed up for the task. “Why don’t you go find her wallet?”
Trish stood slowly, her gaze darting between Elisa and Noah. Then she nodded stiffly. “Of course. She usually keeps it in the storage room.”
Noah turned back to Delia, who hadn’t moved.
“Is she stirring?” The hope in Elisa’s voice nearly undid him. Then her countenance crashed as she answered her own question. “I don’t think so. Never mind.”
He briefly touched her hand. “Don’t worry.”
“I hate blood.” She squeezed her eyes closed, her breathing shaky.
Oh, how he knew. “Hang on.” Noah took the opportunity to toss the stained towel off to the side, around the corner of the island. “Okay. You can open your eyes now.”
She did, focusing right on him, and Noah realized his mistake in the suggestion. Her baby blues, now red-rimmed, met his gaze with more vulnerability than he’d ever seen. It nearly knocked him backward.
“I need her.” Her tone pleaded, as if he had the power to give her what she wanted. And for a half-cocked minute, he wished he did.
“I know. Come on, Mama D. Wake up for us.” He shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor, avoiding Elisa’s eyes. Vulnerable or not, she was not his ally.
“The paramedics should be here any time now.” The seconds felt like minutes, the minutes that had already passed, like days. His mind raced with what to do next. Right—the medics would want details on Delia. He shifted positions, trying to get the tingles out of his right foot. “Do you remember if she was slurring before she fell? Could it have been a stroke?”
Elisa adjusted her hold on Delia’s limp hand. “I don’t think so. We were talking about—” Then she abruptly rolled her lips together.
