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tears. “Don’t just stand there. Come help me!”
    She hurried over to them. “What can I do?”
    Chance checked his grandfather's pulse, then bent his head close to the older man's chest. “Call for an ambulance. You have your cell phone?”
    Cell phone. No, it was out in her truck in its regular place in her always-packed backpack. She shook her head, her heart rising in her throat.
    He reached to his waist, unsnapped the holder, and tossed her his cell phone. “Use mine.”
    All she could do was stare at the fancy phone, while Chase unbuttoned his grandfather’s shirt. Her cell phones had always been the cheapest thing she could find at Wal-Mart, the ones where she could pay as she needed, the ones that were supposedly harder to trace and not so connected. This one had all the bells and whistles, and she had absolutely no idea how to use it. “Um, I don’t know how this phone works.” The excuse sounded puny even to her.
    “You know CPR?”
    She twisted her head from side to side.
    Chance snatched the phone from her hand. “Guess I'll have to do both.” He laid the phone on the wood floors, rapidly punched three times, and then put the phone on speaker, one hand monitoring his grandfather’s pulse.
    “911. Is this an emergency?”
    “Yes, this is Chance Johnson. I’m an RN, and in Miller’s Creek at 215 Pecan Street. Need an ambulance for my grandfather, aged 79.” In spite of the tears in his eyes, his voice remained calm and cool. At least with the 911 operator.
    “And what's his condition?”
    "Collapsed a few minutes ago, now unresponsive. Pale, and pulse is weak and erratic.”
    “Is he breathing?”
    A muscle pulsed in Chance's jaw right below a particularly jagged scar. “Yes, but it’s shallow. My best guess is myocardial infarction. I’ll administer CPR until the ambulance arrives.”
    “I’m dispatching an ambulance, and then I’ll stay on the line with you until they arrive.”
    Chance placed both hands on J.C.’s frail chest and pushed repeatedly. He glanced up at her. “It would be helpful if you’d go outside to direct the ambulance to the right place.”
    “Oh. Okay.” In a split second she was out the door, her breath coming in short gasps as she peered up and down the street for any sign of an ambulance. In the distance a siren sounded. Lord Jesus, please help J.C. make it. Give Chance and the other medical professionals wisdom and skill. Help me know what to do and how I can help. Feelings of unworthiness and guilt poured over her. Why couldn’t she be smart enough to figure things out, especially something like a stupid cell phone?
    The ambulance rounded the corner down the street, siren blowing full force. The vehicle driver screeched to a stop and jumped from the vehicle.
    “They’re inside. Please hurry.”
    Two guys hurried inside, black bags in hand, while the driver, a guy about her age, approached. “Hi, ma’am. Can you tell me what happened?”
    Dakota repeated what she’d heard Chance relay to the 911 operator. The man listened intently and interjected questions from time to time, which she answered as best as she could.
    “Are you related to Mr. Watson?”
    “No. I’m just a friend.”
    He smiled kindly and patted her shoulder. “Don't worry. Your friend's in good hands. I know Chance from the ER. He’s a good guy and knows his stuff.”
    All she could do was nod, but tears brimmed unexpectedly. Good guy? Really?
    “I’m sure Chance will want to ride in the ambulance with us. Normally we don’t allow it, but since he’s a medical professional, we will. Can you drive a vehicle to the hospital for him to take home later?”
    “Yes.” Dakota followed the man into the house. J.C. was already on a gurney, and they prepared to wheel him out the door. Chance seemed more in control of his emotions now, though his face was pale and drawn and bathed in concern. Dakota peered over to the coffee table where she’d seen him lay his truck keys. Good. They were