Blood pressure was about emotions . . . right? She was young, not a chance it was about her crazy diet . . . which if anyone asked was damn good.

Valerie rolled over a portable computer and typed in a few facts while Walt rolled in a cart. Another nurse Dakota didn’t know stepped in and started hooking her up to the cardiac monitor.

“Isn’t this overkill?” she asked.

Walt pulled on a pair of gloves. “Your blood pressure is 210 over 120.”

She zeroed her gaze on him. “I’ve been a little stressed, Doctor.”

He swallowed, sat in a rolling stool, and pushed close. “Try and relax.”

Valerie interrupted them and sent a menacing look to Walt. “Dakota, are you allergic to anything . . . medications?”

“No.”

“Health problems? High blood pressure in the family?”

“I’m fine. As for my family, we’re from the South. We don’t know a damn thing about our parents until they reach seventy and then we know everything. Hard to tell what’s truth and what’s contrived.” While Dakota was talking, she lifted her head and more bleeding made itself known.

Walt stood, pushed his hand over hers, and pressed hard.

“That hurts.”

“Direct pressure stops bleeding.”

“I’ve been adding direct pressure for a while, Doc. It’s not stopping!”

Instead of commenting, Walt looked at the second nurse in the room. “Pull out a nasal tampon.”

“A what?” Dakota pulled away.

“Damn it, Dakota. Hold still.”

Valerie placed a hand on her arm and directed her attention away. “Do you take any medication?”

She started to shake her head, and then said, “Birth control.”

“Last period?”

Last what? Walt was pinching so hard she couldn’t concentrate on what Valerie was asking her. “Three weeks, give or take. Ouch!”

“Hold this,” the second nurse handed her a blush-colored bowl and placed it under her chin. “Spit out any blood going down the back of your throat.”

“Spit?”

“Yes.”

“Southern women don’t spit.”

Walt wasn’t amused. “Blood in your stomach will make you vomit. Do Southern women puke, Dakota?”

Curse him! He was really starting to piss her off.

If she wasn’t already feeling the overkill of unwelcome fluid in her stomach, she’d argue. Instead, when the need came over her, she lifted a hand to help shield the need to spit.

Disgusting!

“I need to pack your nose.”

“What?”

Didn’t matter what Walt said, Dakota didn’t hear him. Valerie caught her attention, explained what they needed to do.

Instead of arguing, Dakota sat back and closed her eyes.

The pressure and pain of the packing made her want to fight. She didn’t. When they were done, the blood flowing down her throat stopped and she was able to relax. As undignified as it was sitting with her nose stuffed full and a sweater full of blood, she at least felt a little better.

Dakota opened her eyes to find the second nurse gone and Valerie walking out of the room.

Walt sat beside her. “How long have you had the nosebleeds, Dakota?”

“A week, two. I’ve been a little on edge.”

She blew out a sigh.

“A little stress doesn’t do this.” He was pale, not a hint of a smile on his face.

She wasn’t sure what this was, but she knew her blood pressure wasn’t going down with him by her side. “I’m not her, Walt. I’m not dying. It’s a nosebleed.”

His jaw visibly tightened.

Instead of commenting on his emotions, she asked, “How long does this need to stay in?”

“We’ll give it a while, bring your blood pressure down, and see if we can cauterize the bleed.”

“Burn it?”

“Kind of.”

“Great!”

He laid a hand to her side and she pulled away. “I’m trying real hard to calm down here, Doc. The timing of this couldn’t suck more. So give a girl a break and back off.”

“Damn it, Dakota . . . I’m sorry.”

She felt tears and closed her eyes. “Me, too.”

Dakota didn’t sleep that night. Walt left her bedside for nearly an hour before he returned to remove the stupid thing in her nose. He found something to burn, did so, and left again. When she’d left the ER it was just after ten. Boxes of leftover pizza were on the nurse’s desk and the staff was running. She didn’t know where Walt was, and didn’t ask to talk to him. Dakota was just thankful the bleeding had stopped and her head wasn’t as thick as it had been when she walked in.

She held a cold glass of milk and watched the sunrise hours later. The need to get away tugged at her. The last thing she wanted was a guilty doctor showing up at her doorstep making excuses.

He’d walked out of her life.

With her big-girl panties in place, she was willing to move on.

Dakota’s personal physician pushed her into an early appointment. Dr. Chin took care of any ache or pain Dakota could come up with since her move to California. That had been since college.

“Your blood pressure is better today, 146 over 86, but that isn’t great. The last time you were in it was 118 over 62.”

“I’ve never had a problem. I don’t understand what’s happening.”