His Motherless Little Twins by Dianne Drake Page A

pulse. “Stay awake.”
    He nodded in the affirmative, trying to speak, but a gash on his head, above his right eye, had been bleeding, substantially, and she wondered if he’d lost enough blood to make him woozy. Or was the head wound more serious than the superficial cut she could see?
    â€œMy brother…dad…” he whispered, his voice so low and raspy she was barely able to make out his words.
    â€œWe’ll call them as soon as we get you taken care of.” Her fingers pulled back his shirt so she could have a look at the way he moved air in and out of his lungs. His pulse was too fast, his breathing too shallow. He could have been too pale underneath the layers of dirt and blood but she couldn’t tell. So she did a quick assessment, felt his arms, his legs, probed his abdomen to see if it was distended or rigid. It was not. “Where do you hurt?” she finally asked him.
    â€œPlease, my dad and my brother, they…” His eyes fluttered shut, and he fought to open them again, but it was a losing battle as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
    Immediately, Dinah clicked on her cell phone and speed-dialed the first name at the top. By the time the first ring sounded, she was already going through the young man’s pockets, looking for identification. First his jacket pockets, then his cargo pants…pants with numerous pockets, visible and hidden, everywhere.
    â€œYou having second thoughts about our date tonight?” Eric asked rather than saying hello.
    â€œI have an unconscious young man, age approximately twenty, on the back lawn of the lodge. He walked here then collapsed when I got to him. Head wound, can’t tell how serious, but he’s done some extensive bleeding. Tachycardia,shallow respirations. Eyes responding, but very sluggish.” She found his wallet in a zipper pocket midway down to his knee and pulled it out. “His belly’s not rigid, there are no obvious breaks, at least nothing compound, and he stayed conscious only a few seconds before he went out on me so I don’t have any idea what happened to him.” One glance at his driver’s license, and she added, “He’s not a local. According to his identification, he’s from Canada…Ontario.”
    â€œI’m on my way,” Eric said. “Get him as stable as possible, and I’ll make the rest of the arrangements from here.”
    â€œIt’s bad, Eric. I think it’s really bad.” She clicked off with Eric and called the main desk at the lodge. “Hello, Redmond,” she said to the concierge who answered. “This is Dinah, from the kitchen. I have a critically injured young man out on the back lawn—”
    â€œI’ll call for help,” he interrupted.
    â€œNo, listen to me. I’ve already called. What I need from you are blankets and a couple of pillows. Immediately.” The boy was already shocky, but warming him up and elevating his legs could lessen the trauma, help keep him stable until Eric got there. “And I need someone to go and find his family. His last name is Dawson. This is Troy, and he asked for his brother and father.”
    When she clicked off, she didn’t have to wait for more than a minute before one of the lodge workers came running with an armload of blankets, followed by another one carrying pillows. Redmond followed up with a first-aid kit and several bottles of water, and he was flanked by two more workers who had come only in case more help was needed.
    â€œWe’ve got someone going up to his cabin now. According to the registration, they’re staying in one of the family cabins. And they’re a family of five—husband, wife, three children.”
    Dinah had a sinking feeling that maybe Troy’s brother andfather had been with him, that they might have been injured, too. But she didn’t want to voice that opinion and cause a panic. Best to leave the search to Eric,