The Mechanic & the MD

by Linda Shenton-Matchett

  With a grunt, she tried to turn the wrench on the bolt that held the fuel pump in place. The stubborn metal spike wouldn’t budge, so she grasped the tool with two hands and pulled with all her might. The bolt gave way and rotated with a screech. “You’ve met your match, sister.” She removed the remaining fasteners and detached the tired-looking part. Hopefully, a good cleaning and some fresh gaskets would prevent the need to replace the piece. Tough to come by, she only had two new ones in stock.

  The garage vibrated. Wrench in hand, she looked up as an ambulance rolled in behind her sedan, engine hiccupping. A tall, sandy-haired man got out and peered at her. Her heart skipped a beat. Would every ash-blond man remind her of Ron?

  “May I help you?” She tucked the tool into the pocket of her coveralls.

  His white armband emblazoned with a red cross was stark against his rumpled, green uniform. Smudges of dirt marked his tired, angular face. Piercing black eyes stared at her. His mouth was a slash above his square jaw, dark with two days growth of whiskers. “My ambulance needs a look. On my last trip, I could barely get any power out of her, and in the last few miles she started sounding like a drunken infantryman.” He patted the vehicle. “I’ve heard you’re the best.”

  Her eyes widened. “How could you know that? I just got here.”

  He shook his head. “Not you personally, the gals at this MTC squad. Can you fix her? I’m due back at eighteen hundred hours.”

  Face warm, she shrugged. “I’ll have to get permission from my sergeant to bump you in front of this job, and until I inspect the vehicle, I won’t know how long the repair will take. Perhaps you can find another ambulance.”

  “Not a chance, luv.” He snapped his fingers. “Get cracking; I’m in a hurry.”

  She raised her eyebrow. His rudeness was unnecessary, and she was not going to allow herself to be bullied into action by some man. “How about if you get cracking? I’m busy.” She pointed toward the small outbuilding two hundred yards away. “You can find Captain Derringer in there. Tell her I want the order in writing.”

  His face pinked under his tan. “You’re a feisty one, luv, and I deserve your scorn. I apologize for my behavior. Twenty-four hours of trips transporting wounded from the Portsmouth to London has got me knackered. I’m not at my best.”

  “Understandable.” She forced a smile. “Let’s do this: you head to the dining hall for a cup of tea and something to eat, and I’ll talk to the captain and get permission to work on your vehicle. I’ll see if I can grab one of the other gals, so we can get this fixed toot sweet.”

  He blew out a deep breath. “Thank you. My friend is right. You are the best. By the way, I’m Corporal Pritchett.”

  “Nice to meet you, Corporal. I’m Corporal Strealer.”

  He held two fingers to his forehead in a quick salute then pivoted on his heels and hurried from the building.

  “Well, that was interesting.” She laid the pump on the nearby bench and wiped her hands on a rag, then walked to the telephone mounted on the wall and lifted the receiver. “Dolly, can you connect me to garage number two?” If the guy hadn’t been so disrespectful, she’d have offered to call immediately, rather than telling him to go in person. She needed to get a handle on her temper. Her disappointment at Ron and anger at Director Braverman was coloring every interaction she had with the male of the species.

  Minutes later, she hung up the phone having garnered permission to fix the guy’s car with Lucy’s help. He’d be happy, and so was she. The sooner she got the handsome medic on his way, the better.

  Humming "Chattanooga Choo Choo," Doris danced across the cement floor to the ambulance. She popped the hood and began a methodic inspection of each part inside. The engine compartment was filthy as if the vehicle had driven through miles of mud puddles. No wonder the poor thing finally gasped in protest.

  Footsteps.

  Lucy or the cranky medic?

  “The cavalry has arrived.” Lucy pursed her lips and made a trumpet sound. “Have you diagnosed the problem yet?”

  “No, but a good cleaning might be a good start.”

  Lucy peered over Doris’s shoulder. “Wow. Where in the world was this guy driving?”

  “He claims he was making runs from Portsmouth to London. Are the roads that bad?”

  “I have no idea, but our job is to get this thing running again, not speculate about the guy’s story. By the way, I passed him on the way here, and he’s a looker, isn’t he? Wonder why he’s a medic and not a soldier? Must be something wrong with him.”

  Doris swatted Lucy’s shoulder. “Focus.”

  “We don’t get enough guys through here, and few have been as gorgeous. You’ve got to be blind not to see that.”

  “I admit he’s cute, but standing around jawing won’t get the job done, and he’s in a rush. If we take too long, he may start trying to help, and the last thing I need is some guy breathing down my neck while I’m working.” What would it be like to have him stand that close? Doris’s face heated, and she ducked her head. Good grief. Now who wasn’t focused?

  “You’re blushing. Maybe I should work on the ambulance, and you go keep him company in the dining hall.”

  “No!” The exclamation came out with more vehemence than she intended. “No. Look, I agree that he’s nice looking, but I’m not in the market for a boyfriend. You are welcome to him.” She slid behind the driver’s seat and turned on the vehicle. Eyeing the gauges, she pressed her lips together. Oil pressure was almost nonexistent. She climbed out of the car then glanced at Lucy who stood with her arms crossed. “What?”

  “You. That’s what. Any girl in her right mind would be attracted to this guy. How come you’re not?”

  Doris blew out a loud breath. “I’m…uh…taking a break from dating.”

  “You’ve been hurt.” Lucy cocked her head. “Recently?”

  Unable to speak, Doris nodded.

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have ribbed you. That why you transferred?”

  “Partly. The situation is complicated, but suffice it to say, my heart is beat up, and I’m not interested in making the mistake of getting close to any man ever again. Not all guys are untrustworthy, but apparently I’m not good at figuring out which ones are, so no thanks.”

  “You can’t let one guy turn you inside out like that.”

  “It wasn’t intentional.”

  “He didn’t mean to hurt you?” Confusion flitted across Lucy’s face. “Then you should give him a second chance.”

  “Maybe after the war. Right now I’ve got a job to do, and I’m not going to let anything, or anyone, interfere.” If only she could convince her heart. “Now, let’s get this baby back on the road. I think there’s a problem with the lubricating system.

  Lucy smirked and saluted. “Aye, aye.”

  “You’re a regular riot.”

  “Doris?”

  Doris whirled toward the voice. “Emily?”

  Her younger sister stood in the doorway, wringing her hands.

  “Emily, what’s wrong? How did you find me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ron yanked off the cotton mask that covered his nose and mouth and dropped it in the bin by his feet. He rotated his shoulders to unkink the muscles, but after sixteen hours of surgery, his body would need serious time in bed to unwind. Unfortunately, every time he closed his eyes, images of Doris and their time together plagued him, making sleep impossible.

  The nurse who’d been assisting him untied the string that held the gown over his clothes. He slipped his arms from the sleeves, and she tossed the garment on the gurney, then rolled everything in a ball before shoving the wad into the laundry bag. Another nurse wheeled the instrument tray out of the room, and a pair orderlies walked in carrying cleaning supplies. Their wide-eyed stares spoke of their wonder that he was still in the surgical theater.

  “Sorry.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ll let yo
u get on with it.” The last thing the staff needed was him in their way while doing their job. He marched out the swinging door and stopped. Now what. Too keyed up to head to his quarters and too dark to go for a stroll on the grounds. Perhaps some rounds would do him good.

  He strode to the nurses’ station.

  The uniformed woman seated at the desk peered over her glasses at him, her unyielding gaze making him feel like an errant student in the principal’s office. “May I help you, Dr. McCann?”

  Now that he was here, his decision to look in on the patients seemed foolish, but he wasn’t ready to be alone with his thoughts. “Yes, I’d like check on our, uh, guests.”

  “Most of them are sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed.”

  “Let me worry about their medical care, Miss…” He glanced at her name badge. “Montclair.”

  Her face flamed, and she looked contrite. “Of course, Doctor.” She handed the clipboard that held the patient roster. “I’m sorry for my forwardness.”

  “No need. Your concern for the patients is admirable. I promise not to rouse them.”

  “Yes, sir.” She returned her attention to the paperwork on her desk.

  Ron strolled through the corridor, peeking into the dim rooms. He should apologize to the nurse. She was doing her job, perhaps better than him.

  The new position was a mixed blessing. Exciting, challenging, and engrossing. Intricate and difficult cases that required a specialist came through almost daily, pushing his skills and abilities with each surgery. Filled with physicians at the top of their field, the hospital had a stellar reputation. The wounded who were treated here had higher percentages of recovery rates, and the number of amputations was a fraction of that at other facilities.

  A glance into another darkened room. All was quiet with the exception of an occasional sigh. No moans, which meant the patients were resting comfortably.

  He was making a difference. No. He was part of a team that was making a difference, but the group was incomplete. Doris wasn’t on board.

  What was she doing now? Had she landed on her feet? She’d disappeared without a trace, and the Red Cross refused to give him any contact information. Should he write his folks? He shook his head. That would open a can of worms that definitely needed to remain closed.

  How would he find her? How would she react if he showed up? She’d made her feelings clear. He had to stop pining for her. He was a grown man, not a schoolboy. Surely, he could get over her given enough time.

  His chest tightened, and he pressed his hand against his sternum. If he didn’t know better he’d say he was having a heart attack, but he lacked any other symptoms. Angina? No. As a scientist, he could argue against the manifestation of physical pain associated with a breakup, but as a man whose heart ached from sunup to sundown since Doris walked out of his life, science couldn’t stand up to reality.

  He reached the end of the corridor, made a cursory peek into the room, and sighed. So much for his rounds being a diversion. Maybe someone had a card game going on in the dining hall. He could pretend to enjoy their company for a while, couldn’t he?

  Returning to the nurses’ station, he handed Nurse Montclair the clipboard. “All is in order. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  Her smile didn’t erase the wary look in her eyes. “You, too, sir.”

  With a wave, he left the building, then stopped at the curb. A light breeze smelling of flowers lifted his hair. Doris would know what was blooming this time of year, but did it matter now that she wasn’t here to share the scent?

  “McCann!”

  Ron turned toward the strident voice.

  Director Braverman hurried toward him, white jacket flapping like an egret’s wings.

  Waiting for the man to close the distance between them, Ron stuffed his hands in his pockets. Their interaction since the conversation that forced Doris away had been minimal. He submitted his reports and attended the periodic staff meetings during which he said little. Why would the man seek him out? He didn’t seem angry, so that was a plus, but rumor said Braverman never worked past five o’clock. Fortunately, he’d only caught sight of Doris’s accuser once from a distance. The lout must have known it was in his best interest to stay as far from Ron as possible.

  Arriving at Ron’s side winded and disheveled, Director Braverman smiled, his face set in an oily, disingenuous expression. “McCann. I have news.”

  “Couldn’t this wait until morning, sir? I’ve been in surgery all day and most of the evening.”

  “You’ll want this information.” He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.

  “Yes?” Would the man never spit out whatever he wanted to say?

  “Lieutenant Halifax has been arrested. He was accused of attempted rape by one of the nurses, and the investigation turned up additional incidents of him getting, er, fresh with some of the women.”

  Ron narrowed his eyes. “When did this happen?”

  “The investigation was conducted over the last three days, and he was picked up this afternoon. Miss Strealer is being contacted to take her statement.”

  “The statement you thought was false?”

  “Careful, McCann. I’m your superior. I’ll let your comment slide for the moment, but you may wish to show some gratitude. This means your girlfriend’s reputation is saved.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, Director.”

  j

  Doris gaped at her sister. “Last I heard you were back in the States. What gives?”

  Emily rushed forward and enveloped her in a hug.

  “You’re scaring me, Em. Say something. Are Mom and Dad okay?” Doris pulled away. “The Red Cross wasn’t supposed to say anything to anyone.”

  “Mom and Dad are fine. I’ve been in England for the last three months. The trip home was to get more training before my next assignment. I had two weeks of R and R, so I thought I’d look you up. Good thing I’ve got resources at my disposal. You’re a tough one to find. What’s going on, sis?”

  “Where are you going to be stationed?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that, and stop trying to change the subject. I’m not going anywhere, so you may as well spill your story.”

  “I’m not ready to talk about things yet.” Doris turned.

  Lucy hovered nearby, her face impassive.

  Doris slapped her forehead. “Lucy. I totally forgot you were here.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “I’m sorry. Lucy, this is my sister, Emily. She works for…well, actually I have no idea who she works for. I think she has to kill us if we find out. Emily, this is Lucy, one of my roommates, and a top-notch mechanic.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “A pleasure.”

  Lucy laid her wrench on the workbench. “I…uh…just remembered I have to go do something.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ll return in twenty minutes or so. Okay?”

  Doris smiled. “Perfect. You’re a peach.”

  “Yes, I am.” She thwacked Doris on the shoulder with her rag, then stuffed it in her pocket before sauntering out the door.

  “She seems nice.”

  “All of the gals have been good eggs. None of the usual drama or nonsense you get with a group of women. They’re only interested in the job, and we don’t have to worry about men thinking we can’t do the work.”

  “Sorry things didn’t work out at any of the garages at home. Dad told me that none of the men would hire you.”

  “Yeah, well, their loss. Sometimes, the rejection still stings, but I realized their attitudes are their problem. Don’t know what will happen after the war as far as a job, but I take it one day at a time.”

  Emily squeezed her arm. “You’re different. More self-assured but bruised.” She studied Doris, forehead creased in a frown. “Talk to me.”

  “Fine, but you need to help me get this rig ready. The medic’s on a deadline, and lives may be at stake.�
�� She handed Emily a flashlight and pointed. “Stand there and shine that thing wherever I’m working. Think you can do that?”

  “You’d be surprised at what I know how to do now.”

  “I can’t wait to find out, but I never had any doubts about you, sis. You had enough insecurities for the both of us. I hope that’s changed.”

  “I was my own enemy at times.” Emily nodded. “No one is going to be the same after this war, no matter how they serve. Especially all those women at home wondering where their husbands are or whether they’ll return.”

  “Amen to that.”

  Doris leaned over the ambulance, renewed her work on the engine, took a deep breath, and for the second time in a two weeks, bared her soul to another woman about the chain of events that landed her in the MTC. Mrs. Wilkinson had listened without opinion or reproach; would Emily afford her the same respect?

  Except for a periodic murmur that sounded like sympathy, Emily remained quiet. The tension in Doris’s chest eased as the words tumbled from inside. Leaving nothing out, she included her convoluted feelings about Ron, and her dismay that she’d fallen hopelessly in love with him.

  She tightened the bolt on the crankcase, then pulled her head out from under the hood, and took the flashlight from Emily. “Get in and turn her over.”

  “Turn her over?”

  “Sorry. Start the car.”

  Emily slid behind the wheel, and seconds later the ambulance roared to life. Purring like a satisfied kitten, the engine ran smooth and sure.

  Doris grinned and closed the hood with a bang. “Okay, cut it.”

  Her sister got out and brushed the dirt from her skirt. “You’re a whiz, Dor. That medic’s gonna be one happy guy.”

  “Thanks. I never get tired of tinkering on these babies.” She sobered up. “As much as I love my job, I’m still miserable. How much longer before I get over Ron? Even Lucy’s getting tired of me moping around. I try to hide my feelings, but she sees through me.”

  Emily drew her into a hug then kissed her cheek before letting her go. “Broken hearts take a while to heal, sis. But you’re still hurting as badly as the day it happened. Maybe you’re not going to get over him.”