Catch a Falling Star (12 page)

Kendall cast a covert glance at the Walkers as she took the clipboard from Ian. He sat on the exam table, the white paper
bunched up beneath him, his eyes hidden by a ball cap. Griffin sat ramrod straight in the chair, watching his brother. He looked ready to walk out the door. If he was so unhappy about being here, why had he come back?

“Ian. Good to see you.” She turned to his brother. “You too . . . Griffin.”

After rescuing him from the side of I-25, Kendall figured she could risk going the informal route with him. Maybe put him at ease.

Griffin's lips thinned, his jaw clenching.

Then again, maybe not.

“So, Ian, let's focus on you today, shall we?” Maybe she could at least establish a good relationship with one of the Walkers. Besides, Ian was her main concern. All she wanted from Griffin Walker was for him to understand how serious food allergies could be.

“Sure.”

“Thanks for filling out your medical history more completely. You confirm your allergy to avocados, as well as bananas and latex rubber, and seasonal allergies. And you were also diagnosed with asthma when you were six?” From the shift in Griffin's body language, she could tell this was new information to him.

“Yeah, but that's no big deal. I don't need to use an inhaler.”

“Well, that may have been true at sea level, but it may change now that you're living in this climate.” Kendall leaned against the counter, trying to ignore the tension radiating off the elder Walker. “I need to listen to your lungs again and ask a few questions. It's important you answer me honestly.”

“Sure.”

She positioned her stethoscope around her neck, warming it against her palm. Resting one hand on his shoulder, she stood beside Ian. “I can see you're going to be as tall as your brother.”

“He's not my real brother.”

Okay, then.

“Just because you were adopted doesn't stop you from being a real family, Ian.” Kendall patted his back just above his shoulder blade. “I'm going to raise your T-shirt just a bit. As I recall, I didn't see any tattoos the last time.”

Ian's snort of laughter diffused some of the tension. “No, but Griffin's got one.”

“Really?” She listened to both of his lungs, and then dared to make eye contact with Griffin. Oops. Not laughing. “Well, seeing as I probably won't be your brother's physician, I doubt that I'll be seeing his tattoo anytime soon.”

“It's on his—”

“Ian!” Griffin growled a warning.

“Why don't you just tell me what the tattoo is, Griffin?”

Griffin's growl was now directed at her. “Why don't you concern yourself with my brother, Dr. Haynes?”

Ian joined in the fun. “She likes to be called Dr. Kendall, Griffin. The MA told me.”

“Whatever works for your brother is fine with me.” She tucked her stethoscope in the pocket of her lab coat. “So how's school going?”

“Fine. I've got this stupid biology project.”

“That was my favorite subject in high school.”

“Really? Were you good at it?”

“Of course.” She went to the door and looked for Renee, speaking to Ian over her shoulder. “I'm going to have my medical assistant administer a breathing test. I want to evaluate your lung function.”

“His what?” Griffin's question jerked her attention back to him. If the guy ever smiled, he'd be quite handsome in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way. Not that she was noticing—not really.

“I'll explain it all after Ian takes the test. Suffice it to say, I want to see how well Ian's perception of his breathing matches up to reality. I'll be back in a few minutes to discuss Ian's results with you.”

While Renee worked with Ian, Kendall checked with a radiologist about the results of an X-ray. As she talked on the phone, she could hear Renee chanting, “Blow, blow, blow, blow!” to encourage Ian to exhale as hard and as long as he could. About ten minutes later, she was back with Ian and Griffin.

Griffin stood leaning against a wall. “I've got to admit, I enjoyed watching someone yell at my brother.”

“Very funny.” Ian rolled his eyes.

Kendall motioned for Griffin to sit in a chair beside Ian, turning the computer screen full of numbers and a graph so they could easily see the information.

“Ian's breathing test scores weren't as good as I'd like.” She pointed out the numbers marked on the chart. “Normally, you want a range of eighty to a hundred twenty percent of normal. Ian's hitting about seventy-one percent.”

“So what does that mean?” Griffin moved closer, and Kendall repositioned the screen.

“We need to treat him more aggressively so his numbers come into a normal range. People get used to breathing at a less-than-optimal capacity—but they consider it normal. If we put Ian on a daily inhaler treatment, his lungs will improve over time. Then we'll establish what's called a ‘personal best' peak flow by using a handheld meter at home every day for a while. Then later, he can check it at home if he thinks he's getting into problems.” Kendall forced herself to stay focused. This was no time to wonder if the man across from her wore aftershave or stuck with good, old-fashioned soap.

Soap. She was betting on soap.

“And even though Ian says his asthma is no big deal, I recommend that we start him on a daily steroid inhaler.”

“What does that do?”

“Hmmm? It helps decrease lung inflammation.”

“But I'm fine.” Ian twisted his cap around so that it sat on his head backward.

“I believe you
were
fine, most of the time, in the climate back in Florida.” Kendall tapped the papers with her pen. “But these numbers indicate that you're not fine here. A lot of people who have no problems living in, say, North Carolina or Tennessee have breathing problems when they move to Colorado because of the drier, colder air. I also suggest having an inhaler on hand in emergency situations.”

Ian nodded agreement. “You're the doc.”

“Let's talk about your allergies.” This was going to be the tricky part. “You know what you're allergic to, right?”

“Sure.”

“Remind me how old you were when you were diagnosed with those allergies?”

“First grade. It was right around the time Mom and Dad adopted me.”

She really needed to get his medical records. “With your latex allergy, have you dealt with skin rashes?” When he nodded, Kendall continued, “Do you know what type of medication your doctor prescribed to help?”

“I used to take a pill—but I don't remember what the name is.”

“I'll contact your previous doctor for that information. So you know what you're supposed to eat and not eat, right?”

“Yeah. Mom taught me all about asking what was in stuff if I wasn't sure. And she made certain I had an EpiPen and my allergy pills with me, and that I knew what to do if I had a reaction.”

Kendall wasn't certain, but she'd bet Ian hadn't told his brother any of this.

“So what's different now, Ian?”

“Whaddya mean?” The boy stopped making eye contact with her, playing with the hem of his gray Hurley T-shirt.

“You know what to do . . . but you're not doing it.” Kendall positioned her body so she focused just on Ian. “You want to tell me what's going on?”

Silence reigned in the exam room for a few minutes. Thank God Ian was her last patient of the day. Kendall hadn't wanted Ian's appointment to be during the middle of the day so there was a clock ticking during this conversation.

“Ian?”

“I'm just . . . tired of it, y'know?”

She waited for the teen to explain himself, hoping and praying he felt safe enough to talk to her.

“All through school, I'm the different kid. The one who couldn't eat special snacks. Or was always checking labels. It got to be a joke.”

“Lots of kids have allergies, Ian.”

“I know.” He ran his fingers through his long hair, and then repositioned his hat again. “Anyway, I ate some guacamole at a friend's house when I first moved here. Nothing happened. I thought maybe . . . I wasn't allergic anymore. It can happen. The next time, I got a little itchy, but no big deal. I was being careful.”

“But not careful enough.” She looked at Griffin, who followed the back-and-forth conversation as if he were watching a tennis match. “Your brother needed to know about your medical history, Ian. It wasn't fair to hide it from him. What if I hadn't been at the restaurant when you had that reaction? You could have died.”

“But you were there . . . and I'm fine.”

“Thank God.” She moved over to the computer in the exam room. “I'm printing up a couple of prescriptions. One for the steroid inhaler and one for the rescue inhaler. Remember to rinse your mouth after you use the inhaler. You've already got the EpiPens. Keep one at home, one at school—maybe in your backpack. Just don't leave it in your car. Extreme changes in temperature affect the medication.”

She paused, debating her next step. What she was considering was unusual. Not unethical, just crossing the lines of a normal physician–patient relationship. But Ian Walker needed a friend. And she understood what he was going through—not that he or Griffin knew that.

Did God want her to be Ian's friend? Before she could talk herself out of her decision, she stood, ramming her fists into her pockets. “It's the end of the day for me. Kinda quiet.” She could ignore her notes for a while. “Ian, would you like to go upstairs to my loft and say hi to Sully? Maybe take him for a quick walk out back?”

The teen jumped up from his chair. “You live upstairs? How cool is that!”

Griffin stared at her as if she'd suggested suiting up and trying to fly a jet.

“Come on, Griff.” Ian was already out the door and halfway down the hallway.

Kendall watched the older Walker brother, trying to decipher his unspoken thoughts. “Don't feel obligated to go. I'll run upstairs, get Sully's leash, and let Ian run the dog around for a few minutes.”

“Why?”

“Why? Um, because he's been cooped up all day and—”

“No, I mean why are you doing this?”

Weren't men supposed to be the uncomplicated gender? “I thought it might be fun for Ian. No big deal. He could play with my dog for a few minutes. Look, if you want, when I get the leash, I'll grab a stopwatch, too, and keep the time at a strict ten minutes.”

Well, look at that. The hint of a smile lurked on Griffin Walker's face. One day she might say something to get the guy to loosen up and laugh.

“I have no ulterior motive to complicate your life. Ian seemed to like Sully. And he also looks like he needs a friend.” She paused. Just how honest did she want to get with Mr. Strong and Silent? “And I understand what Ian's going through because . . . well, because my dad died when I was eighteen.”

And that was all she intended to say about that.

Griffin did not need Kendall Haynes to get personal.

Which is why he didn't respond to her disclosure that her father died when she was eighteen. Sure, he felt bad for her. Who wouldn't? But that was years ago. She was over it by now.

He waited just outside the two-story brick building surrounded by a neatly manicured area of green grass and a small parking lot mirroring the one in the front while she commandeered her mind-of-his-own dog and got both him and Ian downstairs. Griffin and Kendall stood side by side, watching as Ian took off running behind Sully, who seemed intent on chasing an invisible rabbit.

If it was all about location, location, location, Kendall Haynes made a wise choice purchasing this building. She had
an incredible view of Pikes Peak. Griffin watched the setting sun turn the mountain range into a black backdrop rimmed in a golden glow. As far as he was concerned, Colorado's sunsets had no rival. Since moving to the Springs, he hadn't seen the same one twice.

Kendall's voice broke through his thoughts. “Did you get the fuel pump fixed?”

“Yep.”

“So your Jeep's running smoothly again.”

“Not exactly.”

He wasn't surprised to hear her give a knowing chuckle. Since she was a Jeep girl, she understood how temperamental the things were.

“So what's the problem now?” She shifted, coming a bit closer. What perfume was she wearing? And why didn't she smell like a hospital or something . . . medicinal?

“Started hearing a clicking noise up front—driver's side.”

“Hhhhm. Wheel bearing? Maybe the brake caliper?”

Whoa. A woman who talked mechanics. Not that it was cute. Or appealing. It was just different.

“Could be the universal joint.”

He knew Jeeps, too.

“True. So, you investigating?”

“That's what Saturday is for.”

They stood in silence, both staring at the Peak. She broke the silence flowing out into the cold night air first.