What were the signs of a concussion? What about blood loss?Shock? She had no idea. She should know these things. But if he was walking around after being shot, it couldn’t be too bad. Right?
But then she remembered the way it sounded when his head hit the ground.
What if he had internal bleeding? Brain swelling?
“Chief Ward is on the way. So is Dr. Shaw.” The cashier, a lovely girl whose name Bronwyn couldn’t recall, spoke from the office. “She’s on the phone with me and wants to know if anyone was hit.”
“Yes!” Bronwyn tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but it wasn’t working. “Mo’s been shot. Tell her to hurry.”
“Bronwyn, I’m fine.”
She ignored his words. “I think you should at least sit down.” Should he lie flat? No. That would hurt his arm. Should she do something with a rolled towel? Put it under his knees? His head? Feet? That was it. Right? Elevate his feet?
She walked around him and stifled a gasp when she realized he was bleeding from more than one place. “There’s blood on your shirt and your pants. Please sit down.” She couldn’t stop herself from pleading with him.
“It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s a bullet wound. That’s not a scratch!”
“Sometimes it is.”
“Argh!” She threw up her hands in frustration and turned to the cashier. “I don’t know what to do with him!”
“Dr. Shaw says she’s two minutes out. Hang tight.”
Bronwyn closed her eyes and inhaled.The Lord is my Shepherd.
Exhale.I have everything I need.
It was the first breath prayer she’d learned and now it was the only one she could remember. She didn’t feel like she had everything she needed. She needed medical knowledge, which she didn’thave. She needed safety, which she didn’t have. She needed Mo to be okay and she needed him to hold her again. But now was not the time because he was bleeding.
Her mind skittered again.
So this was it. She could handle anything at work. Snooty actors, entitled billionaires, even corrupt politicians. But Mo bleeding? Nope. She couldn’t do this.
Inhale.The Lord is my Shepherd.
Exhale.I have everything I need.
Two more breaths and her panic began to ease. It wasn’t gone, but she could think more rationally.
She didn’t have any skills that would help this situation, but she did know the Great Physician. So maybe she did have everything she needed?
Inhale.Jesus, please don’t let him have a braininjury.
Exhale.Jesus, please don’t let him lose toomuch blood.
She didn’t try to change the prayer. She continued until Gray and Cal ran into the grocery store with Dr. Carol Shaw on their heels.
Gray was all business.
But Cal came to a stop beside her and reached a trembling hand toward Mo. “What happened?”
Bronwyn answered the question without hesitation. “He’s been shot. And he hit his head hard. But he’s been talking.”
Dr. Shaw—or Aunt Carol, as Bronwyn had known her for most of her life—set a bag beside Mo. “Cal, out of the way. Bronwyn, darling, I need you to move back so I can figure out where this blood is coming from.”
“His shoulder, I think.” Bronwyn dropped her head. “I could have put pressure on it. That’s what I should have done.”
