by Dianne Drake
On the door peg, in the room marked Office, hung a crisp new lab jacket. Carter smiled—maybe the first smile that had cracked his face in weeks or months.
At least he hadn’t lost his license to practice. That was good, despite the fact he’d lost everything else. He liked being a doctor. No, he loved being a doctor. It was all he’d ever wanted from the time he’d been a kid.
When all his friends had been vacillating between fireman, policeman and whatever else all little boys wanted to be at some point in their lives, being a doctor had been it for him, because he had wanted to find a way to cure his brother James. Carter had promised James he would, when he was nine and James had been on his last days, dying from cystic fibrosis.
Two years younger than Carter, James had spent his whole life in and out of hospitals. He’d never been strong enough to walk more than a few steps, and he’d never breathed well enough to go outside and play—not even for a few minutes. For James, life had been all tests and procedures, and somewhere in Carter’s nine-year-old mind he’d thought if he made a promise to save his brother and make him well it would happen. And it would give his entire family some hope to cling to.
But a week after his promise his dad had been sitting on the front step crying when Carter had arrived home from school. And after that, unlike his friends, who had gone back and forth on what they wanted to be, he never had. He’d been angry at the world for taking his brother. Angry at himself that he hadn’t been able to do more. Angry at the doctors who’d always predicted a grave outcome for his brother.
He’d expected them to do better. Expected them to produce a miracle. Expected them to offer hope rather than rip it away. Which was why he’d become a doctor—a surgeon. Because he wanted to do the things that hadn’t been done for his brother. Of course, the closer Carter had come to his goal, the more he’d realized that some outcomes would break his heart no matter what he did. That was part of the profession. But that hadn’t discouraged him, because many more outcomes were good. And it was those outcomes he always dedicated to his brother—without fail.
But now—well, now he was a GP. And he was grateful for that. Maybe it was the only thing left in his life he had to be grateful for, since he’d destroyed everything else that mattered.
“It’s nice,” Carter said to the twenty-something girl who’d been following him from room to room: Marcie, his new receptionist.
Her father owned the building and had seized the opportunity to lower the rent if the medical practice employed her. Apparently, Marcie had never worked a day in her life and this was to be her first ever job. Matt had hired her since, legally, this was his practice.
“Daddy had it painted fresh,” she said, her nose in her phone, scrolling, scrolling... Short skirt, long vest, tall boots, pinkish yellow hair... Not the professional image he’d hoped for. But a discount was a discount, and he’d have to make the best of his workforce virgin.
He actually chuckled. If his life weren’t so pathetic this could be funny. It wasn’t, though. Nobody could screw up so many things the way he had and call it funny. But, like he’d told Matt, he was a good doctor. That was the only sure thing he had to hang on to—his medical skills. Maybe—somehow—he wouldn’t mess those up, too.
“So, how about we open up for business tomorrow morning?” he asked Marcie.
Her reply was a head nod as she continued to scroll.
Who was it that had said something about fastening up for a bumpy ride? Well, this was his bumpy ride, but he wasn’t sure he was fastened up enough for it.
Time would tell, he supposed.
CHAPTER TWO
SO THIS WAS FORGEBURN. Sloane looked up and down the main drag, not sure whether she liked it or not. For sure, it was remote. And small. So small, in fact, that she could see both ends of town from her vantage point at the gas station in the middle.
It did have some appeal, she decided, as her gaze came to rest on a good-looking foothill that seemed as if it needed an experienced climber on it. It was red clay, not too steep, but steep enough that she knew her climbing skills—the skills Carter had taught her—would get her to the top. Something she would definitely do, since she was booked here in Forgeburn for the entire two weeks of her vacation.
Hiking the desert, climbing the rocks, dropping down into some of the canyons—these were all things she’d never done Before Carter, as she called it now. But they were things she loved doing now, along with scuba diving, parasailing, mountain biking, and so many other outdoor recreational activities.
She missed all those—missed doing them with Carter. Missed the way he’d congratulate her when she achieved something she’d never done before. First the congratulatory hug, then the congratulatory kiss, then the congratulatory run to the bedroom for the best congratulatory practice of all.
Yes, she missed all that. Missed the emotion and the elation. Missed the physical contact, even if it was a hug of condolence when she didn’t achieve what she’d set out to do.
So... Forgeburn—she could see why Carter had talked about it so much. They’d planned on a visit—something longer than the two or three days off they usually got. And here she was, with all the time in the world. But alone.
She could have gone someplace else. Anyplace else. And maybe she should have. But here, with so much to remind her of what she no longer had, maybe she would start to remind herself that she no longer had Carter either.
Sighing, Sloane finished pumping gas into her car, then took one more look around before she headed down the road to Red Rock Canyon Resort—her home away from home for the next two weeks. Right now she felt—nothing. Carter had told her he’d felt that way much of the time and now she finally understood it herself. It was so empty. So lonely.
Good move coming here? Or bad move?
Either way, she was here, and there was plenty to do—or nothing, if that was what she chose. Her real choice, however, wouldn’t happen, because that involved sleeping out under the stars somewhere, listening to the coyotes howl. Curling up with Carter in a single sleeping bag. Making love under the stars. And this evening promised a sky full of beautiful stars.
“Could you tell me if there are any evening hikes in the desert?” she asked the concierge as she checked in to the Red Rock Canyon Resort.
“We have one leaving in about an hour. It’s five miles, and it leads into the desert to explore various constellations that are visible only because there’s no city lighting getting in the way. But you must have your own hiking gear, as our rental facility is closed.”
“Sounds perfect to me. If there’s space, sign me up.”
“We have other less strenuous options in the morning,” said the concierge, Diego Sanchez. “Perhaps you’d rather wait, señorita?”
“No. I’d rather go tonight. And strenuous is good. Just what I need.”
“Then I’ll pass your name along to our tour guide. He’ll contact you shortly about the equipment you need to bring. You do have equipment, don’t you?”
Everything that Carter had ever bought her. She’d thought about throwing it all away and starting over, but for now it was all she had, and she hoped she would be able to use it without too many memories hiking along with her.
Even so, as she went to her room to get ready, memories were already creeping in—like how his temper had flared for no reason. When he’d panicked at an unexpected loud noise. And then there had been the nightmares, the flashbacks and triggers. And finally, a slow-growing lack of trust in her.
Before he’d gone into the Army he’d trusted her implicitly. When he’d come home he’d seemed wary of her at first. Then eventually mistrusting. That had maybe been the worst of everything. Planning a life with someone who didn’t trust her. That was when she’d started to wonder if she should, or could, go through with their marriage. Or simply put it on hold for a while.
After all, s
he’d already invested six years—what was another year or so on top of that?
Carter had answered that question by leaving before she’d had a chance to decide.
Up and down. That had been her life with Carter after he’d come home. That and her concern for his health, since he’d refused to see a nephrologist about his kidney condition. He’d needed to keep the remaining kidney healthy, but everything he’d done had seemed to contradict that.
Still, she’d stayed with him even when it had become clear that their feelings for each other were eroding, because she’d known who was underneath all that trauma—known the man he really was even though he hadn’t anymore. And because she’d loved him, and some of that love had still been hanging on for dear life.
In the end, though, love hadn’t been enough. And now here she was in Forgeburn, getting ready to look at the stars, hoping to find the one thing that would turn her in the direction that led her away from Carter once and for all. Because she sure wasn’t headed toward him now.
After lacing up her hiking boots, then tucking a few necessary supplies into the pockets of her cargo vest, Sloane looked at herself in the mirror. No wrinkles yet, which surprised her, with the way she worried. But there were bags under her eyes. Still cosmetically fixable, but there all the same. Yes, she definitely needed this vacation, she thought as she pulled her wild copper hair into a ponytail, then put a cap on her head.
“Ready,” she said to herself as she headed toward the door. But was she really? If it was rest she needed, and time to think, why was she already filling her schedule with activities.
Because if she kept herself busy she wouldn’t have to think. And sometimes thinking hurt too much.
* * *
“Are you a walk-in, or do you have an appointment?” the young girl at the desk asked Sloane, without looking up. The girl was buried in her phone.
“Walk-in. All I need are a few stitches for this cut on my leg.”
One of the other night hikers had knocked her into the face of a rather jagged rock in his enthusiasm to get a better look at Venus and Mars, which were less than a degree apart. He been all excited that Jupiter was also nearby.
It had been a beautiful sight, with Venus by far being the brightest of the three. Of course when she’d managed to distinguish Venus from the rest of the planets her mind had drifted off to something far less astrological. In fact she had been contemplating Venus as the Roman goddess of love, sexuality, beauty, prosperity and fertility when the night hiker had clipped her and sent her into an undignified sprawl.
Now she needed stitches and antibiotics.
She could have gone to see Matt, but he would be such a reminder that she wasn’t sure she was ready to face him. He and Carter had been so close once upon a time. Like brothers. But, like everything else with Carter, that friendship had died as well.
She would look Matt up. It was inevitable that she would see him at some point in her stay here. But not now—she wasn’t ready. So as soon as morning had forced her to open her eyes, she’d asked about the nearest doctor. She had been told there was a tourist doctor nearby, and where she could find his office, and now here she was, seeking medical care.
The young girl leaned over the desk to appraise the cut, then settled back down into her chair.
“I’ll put you on the list and he’ll see you as soon as...” She shrugged. “When he’s ready.”
It was a plain office. Not much to look at. No outdated magazines to read. But it was freshly painted. She could still smell the remnants of new paint.
“How long have you been here?” she asked the girl.
She looked up from her phone and said, “We’re new. Just opened.”
“Is the doctor Matt McClain?” she asked, hoping it was not.
“Nope. He takes care of the cowboys. We’re strictly here for the tourists, who get injured doing things like whatever it was you were doing that got you cut up.”
“Do you need my name for your records?” Sloane asked.
“Doc will take care of that.”
“Will he take care of my insurance papers as well?” This was an oddly run practice and she wondered what kind of doctor allowed it.
“Well, he won’t let me do them, so I guess it’s up to him.”
Definitely odd. And if she’d needed something more than stitches she’d probably have gone looking for Matt. But she was here now and, since there’d been no other cars in the parking lot, it shouldn’t be too long before she got called in.
She was right. Within another couple of minutes the receptionist gave her a wave to go on back, without so much as looking up from her phone.
So she took it upon herself to wander down the hall, find the exam room, then sit up on the exam table and wait. Another minute passed before she heard footsteps heading down the hall and her blood froze in her veins.
No, it couldn’t be. She knew those footsteps. Knew them by heart.
Consequently, when the doctor pushed open the door, Sloane’s head started to spin. “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to hold back on her wobbly voice.
“Sloane? What are you doing here?” He closed the exam room door behind him but made no attempt to walk over to her.
“I asked you first,” she said.
“I’m trying to start over. Matt gave me a job here. He needed help, I needed help...so it worked out. Now you.”
“Vacation. I came here because—Well, I didn’t know you were here. Last I heard you were in Vegas.”
“Actually, Tennessee,” he said. “Vegas before that.”
“Now you’re here? Seriously?”
“As serious as it gets. So, I’m assuming you want me to stitch up that cut on your leg?”
She’d almost forgotten about that, she was so flustered. “It happened last night. I was out stargazing and met up with the sharp end of a rock.”
“Since when do you stargaze?” he asked, finally walking over to the exam table.
“Since last night.”
“And what did you learn?”
“That Venus shines the brightest and it’s best to stargaze on your own, or with a sure-footed friend.”
“Meaning...?”
“Meaning I did the tourist thing and now I’m paying for it. So, why here, Carter? I’m assuming Matt gave you an opportunity, but you’re clearly not working as a surgeon. More like what? A GP?”
“Exactly,” he said, as he bent to assess the cut.
“But you’ve never done that kind of work.”
“And you’ve never gone stargazing. So, I suppose we file it all under ‘first time’.” He looked up at her. “Everything has to start somewhere, doesn’t it?” Then he ran his hand down the calf of her leg.
Sloane shivered to his touch the way she always had. “Why are you touching me that way?” she asked. “We’re over. You quit touching me that way months ago.”
He took his hand off her leg, stood up and smiled.
“Actually, that was a perfectly good GP’s assessment. I wanted to make sure your leg wasn’t too warm, which might indicate an infection setting in.”
“I’m a doctor. I know to disinfect it.”
“And I’m a doctor, too. A doctor who’s trying his hardest to be a good doctor.”
“You always were good, Carter. Nobody ever questioned that. It was everything else that went with you...”
“My attitude?”
Sloane let out a deep sigh. She hadn’t come on vacation to start this whole thing over again. She was trying to get away from it. Sort it out and put it behind her. But how could she do that when Carter was here?
“I’ve said all there is to say about your attitude. So how about the stitches?”
“I’d prefer to butterfly it. Less chance of scarring.”
Butterfly stitches were not exac
tly stitches, but thin strips with an adhesive backing used to close small wounds.
“Oh, and when was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
“Good on the butterfly stitches. Much better than needle and thread. And as for the tetanus shot...”
She shrugged her shoulders. She should know, but she didn’t. Like most people, she didn’t keep track of those sorts of things. Although she could have told him the exact date and time of the last gamma globulin shot he had taken.
It had happened because of a needle stick. One of his patients—a child—had got belligerent and whacked Carter a good one as he’d been trying to give the boy a shot to calm him down before an appendectomy. Carter had already administered a mild sedative when the boy had started flailing and caught Carter’s hand. The one with the used hypodermic needle still in it.
The puncture hadn’t been bad, or deep, but hospital policy had demanded a visit from the old gamma globulin needle to help give Carter a temporary boost in his immune system. Which had turned out to be a good thing since, as it had happened, the kid had been in the very early stages of chickenpox.
That had been one month and thirteen days before he’d shipped out to Afghanistan. So why did she remember that when she couldn’t remember her own last tetanus?
“No clue,” she told him, recalling the sexy way he’d dropped his pants so she could stick him in the butt with the needle. It had been slow, seductive, and it had definitely raised her libido a notch or two. In fact, had they not been in one of the hospital exam rooms, the way his pants had slid over his hips would have definitely led to something very unprofessional. And very good.
Even thinking about it caused heat to rush to her cheeks—and for a redhead that was a disaster, because it made her look like a beet.
“You OK?” he asked as he pulled the necessary supplies from a cabinet next to the exam table.
