Page 96 of Protecting What's Mine

“Do you remember getting bitten by anything while you were camping?” she asked him, handing him back his sweatshirt. Rather than putting it on, Dalton used it as a blanket and laid down on the exam table.

“We all had some mosquito bites,” Mrs. McDowell reported. “We forgot the bug spray the first night and had to send Dad home for it, didn’t we?” She shifted her attention back to Mack. “You don’t think this is some kind of West Nile, do you?”

“I’m thinking it might be tick-borne,” Mack said, pulling an adult gown out of the cabinet and draping it over the boy. He drew it around him like a cape.

“Like Lyme disease?” the mother asked, wide-eyed.

“Mrs. McDowell, have you heard of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever?”

“Rocky Mountain what?”

“Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. It’s a bacterial infection caused by a tick bite. It’s rare but on the rise. Most people who get it don’t even remember getting bitten. Most people also present with a rash.”

“Dalton doesn’t have a rash.”

“There’s a small percentage of patients that don’t get it, and that makes it much harder to diagnose. But I’m betting one of those bites wasn’t a mosquito. Your son is very sick.”

Mrs. McDowell wrapped her arms around her son as if she could protect him from the bacteria that swam through his system. “Oh, God. What do we do?”

“You did the right thing bringing him in,” Mack said, standing up. “We’re going to start a course of oral antibiotics right now, and then I’m sending you over to the emergency department. I want Dalton monitored. Okay?”

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

“If I have anything to say about it, he will be.”

Mack didn’t feel good about making Mrs. McDowell drive herself, so she put mother and son in her SUV, swung by the pharmacy, poured the first dose into the boy’s mouth herself, and sped to Keppler Medical Center’s emergency department, calling the ED on her way in.

When she pulled up in front of the doors, Dr. Ling was standing by with her white coat flapping in the breeze and a pair of orderlies ready with a stretcher. Mrs. McDowell paled.

“You want them taking this seriously,” Mack said, squeezing her hand. “This is a good thing. Freida called your husband, and he’s on his way. Your mom will get the kids off the bus.”

Glassy-eyed, Mrs. McDowell nodded and climbed out. She hurried along behind the stretcher that held her little boy.

Mack parked the car and went inside.

31

By the time Mack got back to the office, it was late afternoon, and Dalton McDowell was going to be just fine. Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever wouldn’t be confirmed by the lab tests for a while, but Dr. Ling—after a quick internet search—agreed with the diagnosis.

They pushed doxycycline into the kid, and Mack stayed with Mrs. McDowell until her husband sprinted into the emergency department still in his septic tank cleaning jumpsuit. While the staff was all for supporting small businesses, the smell was overwhelming, and Dr. Ling forced him to change into a set of scrubs.

Mack frowned when she pulled into the clinic’s parking lot and found it empty.

They hadn’t had any appointments after three today, but there was always work to do. She parked and walked up to the back door. While digging for her keys, the paper taped to the window caught her eye. It was a terrible sketch of a fake prescription.

Patient Name: Mackenzie O’Neil

Take one early Friday closing and meet the team at Remo’s for celebratory drinks.

Refills: As many as needed.

She laughed and peeled the paper off the glass.

Shaking her head, she folded it neatly and stowed it in her bag. It was a good day. But that didn’t mean she should kick off early. There was work and…

Why the hell not? It was a beautiful fall Friday afternoon, and she’d made a great save.

She’d earned a little fun, dammit.