Doctor Holliday (Doctors of Eastport General)

Chapter 2

Thursday, December 7

Keaton

The fluorescent light above the customer service counter flickered. Keaton Thatcher muttered a string of curse words a mile long as he tipped his head back to look at the damned thing. Not even open yet, and already, the damned building was making him nuts. The hell of it? The strip mall was new construction. That damned fluorescent light hadn’t even been turned on twenty times.

He wanted to go home. Ruby wasn’t there, but he had been here since five-thirty this morning. It had been dark when he came in; it was dark now—fourteen hours later. His damned back hurt like he was eighty instead of forty, and he was hungry enough to eat a couple of footlong subs. Which was probably what he would be eating, because he was too damned tired to go home and fix anything.

Keaton dragged a heavy hand over the top of his head and dug his fingers into his thick dark hair. The strip mall had been bustling earlier in the day, but it was quiet now. Two of the storefronts were open, and Keaton had seen a parade of customers in and out of both places all day long. Then again, it was December, and holiday shopping was in full swing. The other three stores, his included, were in varying stages of construction, so workers in yellow hard hats had come and gone all day.

Thatcher’s Home Goods was just about ready to open. The grand opening and ribbon cutting and all that ceremonial bullshit was scheduled for a week from tomorrow. But he figured he could do a soft opening sooner.

The light blinked out, leaving him standing in shadows.

“Dammit.” He could let it go. Head out and grab a sandwich or two and go home. Pop the top on a beer and kick back and find a movie on TV. Hit this fucker of a light tomorrow. But he had planned to finish stocking the shelves tomorrow. He was here now. Might as well just deal with it.

Grumbling all the way, he ducked back through the stockroom door to get his ladder. He needed to call Ruby and talk to her for a minute before he lost track of time. If he didn’t, if his ex-wife knew he was having an issue with the store, she would probably do a little touch down dance in her kitchen. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise Keaton if Alyssa had sacrificed a butterfly or a pigeon on the Fuck Keaton Over altar . Or maybe she had a voodoo doll of him, and she had dreamt up this situation just to fuck with him.

Wouldn’t be anything new.

He froze when he heard a noise toward the back of the stockroom. Uncertain what it was, he looked over his shoulder, hands still resting on the ladder. Not music.

Crying.

Was someone crying?

Had to be an animal. Right? Granted, the strip mall he was in—Coastal Plaza—was on the outskirts of Eastport, in a more rural than urban setting. But on the other hand, the building hadn’t been there long—six months, tops—and Keaton had never seen any rodents in his area. No mouse traps. Besides, mice didn’t typically cry when they got caught in a trap.

Keaton waited a few moments, deciding maybe he was hearing things. Gripping the ladder again, he picked it up. This time, there was no mistaking the screech of pain that rang out from the back of his building.

What the ever-loving-fuck was that?

Just what he needed.

Keaton dropped his hands from the ladder and wandered back through the stockroom. He needed to straighten it up a bit, but for the most part, the place was clean and uncluttered. It was quiet enough that he almost wondered again if he was hearing things. Sure, there was a back door to his area. But it was closed. No animal in these parts was going to open doors and stumble into the back of Thatcher’s Home Goods looking for homemade furniture or décor.

Still, the air around him was charged with an electric feeling that told him he wasn’t alone. There was someone in the stockroom. Another human being. Aware that he wasn’t armed, he slowed his steps and considered calling 911. Just because someone had slipped into his stockroom didn’t mean he or she meant any harm. But it was possible. It was the holiday season, and times were tough. Harder for some people than others.

Not to mention there were always dumbass teens out causing trouble. It was only a matter of time before some of them showed up at Coastal Plaza with their drugs, spray paint cans, and switchblades.

Switchblades.

Keaton squeezed his hands into fists. He had been in a bar fight once when he was twenty-one. Guy had lashed out with a switchblade and sliced his belly open. His scar—four inches long—burned now at the memory.

Fuck.

Maybe he should just call the police.

The next screech was loud and sharp. The high-pitched sound of pain was that knife burning over his skin again, chasing a shiver up his spine. The cry sounded decidedly female. Keaton shoved his fear down as his nerves ramped up. Something was wrong. Hell, maybe one of those damned thug teens had hurt a girl or something.

Keaton was a girl dad. He couldn’t stand the thought of a young girl injured and alone. Contrary to what his ex-wife would say, Keaton was a good guy, and he hated the thought of any woman being injured—especially if it had been some kind of attack.

He hurried toward the sound of muffled cries and heavy breathing, freezing when he rounded a shelf loaded down with wooden benches he had made at his workshop. A young girl lay curled in the fetal position in the corner of the stockroom. With her back to him, she didn’t know he was there. Hard to tell how old she was, but Keaton wasn’t sure she was that much older than Ruby.

“Hey.” He spoke softly so as not to frighten her. She didn’t react. “My name’s Keaton,” he tried again.

The girl cut loose with a squeal of pain as she flopped over on her back and revealed a very pregnant belly. Scared out of his mind now for different reasons, Keaton swallowed hard and jerked his gaze from her belly to her face.

Jesus. She could almost be Ruby.

Her red hair flopped away from her pale, freckled face in wet ringlets. Tears and sweat, he imagined.

“Sweetheart?” he murmured as he approached her.

“Don’t touch me!” she screeched as she turned wide brown eyes on him. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m not gonna touch you,” he promised. “I’m gonna call an ambulance.”

“No.” She gritted her teeth and shook her head. “Please don’t.”

Keaton sighed as he stepped closer to her.

“Are you in labor?” he asked calmly.

Teeth clenched, she lifted her chin and held her breath for a second.

“Just lemme alone.”

“I can’t leave you alone,” he argued. “You’re having a baby. You need help.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head again. “I don’t want this baby.”

He could understand why. She probably had school tomorrow. Maybe she had gymnastics after school. A sleepover party this weekend. The kid wasn’t much more than a baby herself.

“I understand that.” He squatted beside her. “But the baby’s coming no matter what you want.”

“I wanna die.”

Fuck.

He could be home in his recliner watching Aliens right now.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance,” he said again.

“No!” She screamed, but this time it was rage not pain he heard in her voice. “They’ll take me to the hospital. And they’ll call my stepmom. And?—”

“You can’t have this baby right here.” He shrugged. “With me.”

“Just walk away.” Her whisper was one of exhaustion, surrender. Completely at odds with her sweet, freckled young face and small hands.

Keaton pulled his phone out.

“Fuck you!” she screamed again. “Fuck you.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her struggling to get to her feet. His stomach rolled when she froze and laid her hands over her extended belly.

“I’m not calling 911,” he told her. “I promise.”

“Who are you calling then?”

“Lay back down,” he instructed her.

“Who?” she yelled, but the anger was gone, and she whimpered again. If he didn’t get help here soon, he would be delivering a baby in his stockroom. Never mind that he had been there with Alyssa when Ruby was born. He didn’t know a damned thing about delivering babies.

“A friend of mine.” So he was stretching the truth a bit.

A lot.

But he needed a doctor here. Immediately.

His heart hammered at a raging pace as he put the phone to his ear and waited for someone to answer.