by Dianne Drake
“I didn’t order that,” she said, not yet stepping back to allow him entrance.
“It’s from the house doctor. He stopped by the kitchen a couple hours ago and left the order.” He pulled back the linen covering on the tray to reveal a bowl of fresh fruit, yogurt and toast. Her favorite breakfast, actually.
“Could you put it on the table next to the bed, please?” she asked, feeling a little embarrassed by the rumpled condition of her bedding.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, sliding in past her, leaving the tray and hurrying out.
In Sloane’s mind he’d made note of the state of the bed and was on his way to tell all his co-workers what he’d discovered. In reality she was sure he saw morning-after beds all the time and probably didn’t even pay attention to them.
A morning-after bed. Her and Carter’s morning-after bed.
“What did I do?” Sloane moaned as she slid into her shoes, deciding to forego the breakfast in favor of going to find Carter, so she could tell him that last night had been a one and only.
She texted him on her way out the door, asking him if they could talk. Surprisingly, he texted back immediately, telling her he was with a patient at another hotel, then had two more appointments before he went to his office. What he offered her was some time after work, although he didn’t know when that would be. Oddly enough, he ended his text with, Hands off this time, Soane. I can’t go through that again.
The message hurt in so many ways—because that was basically what he’d said months ago, when he’d moved out of their bedroom. Still, it was the message she would have texted him if he hadn’t beaten her to it. Because, like Carter, she couldn’t go through it again either.
She’d missed that part of their life as she’d missed so many other parts and getting involved the way they had last night didn’t fix things. Didn’t even come close to helping either.
They were adults, though, repeating a doomed past, and that was all it was. A moment of weakness destined to fail. She laughed bitterly. A moment that had never failed to be good. Now, wasn’t that just ironic? The one place where they could come together perfectly turned out to be the one place they had no business being.
Well, that wasn’t the cheeriest of thoughts, but it was the one she took with her when she left the hotel, not sure what she was going to do with her day—especially since this wasn’t the vacation she’d planned. Or wanted. But maybe, deep down, it was. Maybe she’d planned to find a little bit of Carter here, or even Carter himself, and she’d been fooling herself all the time.
Why, after all, would she have even thought of a place like Forgeburn, let alone come here? Because Carter had mentioned it so often?
A text message interrupted her thoughts.
Permissions from the Department of National Resources just came through. Going down into the canyon with Kevin Mallory and family early this evening. Easy hike. Want to come?
Suddenly her prospects for the day looked much brighter.
Sure. When?
Probably around five. I’ll let you know more after I check the weather then make sure he’s good to go.
Maybe a morning lounging by the pool wasn’t a bad idea at all. She had her electronic reader with her, and a queue of romance novels and mysteries she’d been promising herself she’d read. So, a quick change into a pair of gray jersey pants and a pink t-shirt, and her morning was set.
Sure, she would have been better off, and smarter in the long run, if she’d gone out with one of the tour guides. But when had she ever done the smart thing when it came to Carter? Which meant this was merely history repeating itself. Carter called and she ran, with her heart pounding a little harder. And that meant she wasn’t over him. Oh, she’d probably already known that somewhere in her muddled thinking. But to admit it?
It was going to turn into a problem, no doubt. Just like last night, while it had been wonderful, was a problem. Because if he wanted a repeat of it she wasn’t sure she could say no.
One come hither crook of his finger and she’d gone thither all over the place. For hours. Some of the time she’d even taken the lead.
* * *
It was still a good five hours before he would get the plans underway to take Kevin down into the canyon, which meant free time. He’d thought about asking Sloane if she wanted to have lunch with him. At least that had been his full intention. But when he’d been called to the Sunrise Canyon Hotel and told his ride would meet him at the Red Rock, there wasn’t much else he could do but go. Work was his primary goal here, and as much as he wanted to give Sloane her opportunity to say what he was sure she’d want to say, it hadn’t worked out. Not yet. And, maybe a large part of that was his fault, because he didn’t want to hear it.
Sure, they were over. They had to be over. But the reality of it wasn’t easy because he didn’t want to hurt her more than he already had.
“So, how far along is your wife?” Carter asked the man who was driving him in his truck. Like so many people out here, he lived in an isolated area, but Hugh Lewiston had managed to get his wife, Shelly, to the Sunrise Canyon Hotel, which was about ten miles closer to Carter than the Lewiston ranch was.
“She’s right on her due date now. It’s our first,” Hugh said, beaming.
“Has she been seeing a doctor?”
Hugh shook his head. “Once in the early part of her pregnancy. He said she was healthy, so we didn’t see any point in spending money for something we already knew.”
Carter leaned his head against the back of the truck seat and closed his eyes. “No tests or anything?”
He’d delivered babies in Afghanistan—the babies of civilian women—but always in a hospital. They’d known to come in, known there was medical help for them there. But Shelly Lewiston? This made him nervous.
“How old is Shelly?” he asked, looking over at Hugh and guessing him to be in his mid-forties. Which meant, if Shelly was close to that age, she might be more prone to problems with delivery and also with the baby.
“Just turned forty-two.”
“Has she been sick much during her pregnancy?”
“Not once,” Hugh said. “In fact she was working the ranch with me up until yesterday. That’s when she got a backache and decided it was time to go put her feet up. She wasn’t having labor pains, though. Not until this morning.”
“And how far apart are they?”
Probably a couple of minutes. I really didn’t stay long enough to count much. I thought it was better to call you, then come get you, since the road out there is a little tricky and I didn’t want you getting lost.”
Carter gritted his teeth as the truck hit a rut, then looked down at his hands...white knuckles balled into fists. But this wasn’t PTSD. It was simply a surgeon going into an unknown situation, preparing to do God only knew what.
Suddenly, for the first time since he’d climbed in next to Hugh, he was actually able to relax. And he wanted to call Sloane and tell her. But he didn’t. What was the point?
“Well, I’m glad you did. Home births aren’t always easy. Or in this case a hotel birth.”
“You don’t think there are going to be any problems, do you?” Hugh asked as they turned into the parking lot of the Sunrise Canyon Hotel.
There was quite a crowd gathered. Probably two dozen people were standing in the parking lot, making what seemed like a tunnel of people for Carter to pass through to get inside. And when he did he knew why they were out there. Shelly was sprawled out on one of the lobby couches, moaning, while at least six women stood around her, ready to help deliver the baby.
“OK,” he said, making his way through the crowd, sounding as confident and in charge as he ever had in his life. “How far apart are her contractions?” he asked of anyone who’d answer.
“Continual,” one of the women said.
“Anyone here medical?” he asked a
s he set his bag down on the floor and immediately took Shelly’s pulse. She was too involved in another moan to notice him. “Nurse, doctor, midwife, medic?”
When no one answered a wave of nausea washed through him, but he fought it down and positioned himself to examine Shelly.
“Just relax,” he said to her, and he took a look.
Sure enough, the baby was crowning. In fact it was fighting its way out like a football player fighting to get through the line. “You’re going to be a mother in just a minute here.”
That caused Shelly to look up. “Are you the doctor who was an Army surgeon?” she managed to force out.
“I was,” he said, as he snapped on a pair of gloves and went to work. “But I traded all that for this.”
“Why?” she asked, as her breathing started turning into more of a panting.
“PTSD. Thought Forgeburn was a good place to work through some of it.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said, then raised herself up as a hard contraction hit. “Hope the military is taking care of you.”
She addressed it with such a lack of shock or pity it surprised him. One of the things he’d learned in his program was that admitting the problem was the first step. Admit it to yourself, then to other. In other words, it was nothing to be ashamed of, so why bother trying to hide it?
“I’m in a great program.” He smiled and, surprisingly, it wasn’t forced. This was the first time he’d just come out and admitted it to someone who wasn’t either in his program or close to him, like Sloane and Matt. It felt good. Almost like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder. No doubt all of Forgeburn would learn of his condition by the end of the day, but that didn’t matter. He was going to be doctor to some of them, and they had the right to know.
“So, are you ready to become a mother because...” He turned the baby’s head just slightly. “Next time you feel the urge, give me a big push.”
The woman seated behind Shelly prepared to sit her up, and when the next contraction came, in only a few seconds, all the ladies standing around watching yelled, “Push!”
Which was exactly what Shelly did as Hugh staggered over to a chair on the other side of the room and then collapsed into it.
“One more push and—” He glanced over to make sure Hugh was OK, then literally caught the baby as it slid out. “Somebody—in my bag I’ve got a handheld suction...” He looked at Shelly, who was stretched out flat on the sofa, trying to see her baby. “As soon as I get him cleaned up and examined you can hold your little boy.”
“A boy?” Hugh called from across the room as the bystanders who’d stayed in the hall during the blessed event started to cheer.
“A boy...” Shelly whispered, watching Carter clamp the cord, cut it, then put Ilotycin in the baby’s eyes to prevent conjunctivitis after the birth.
One of the woman stepped forward to wipe the baby down, then wrapped him in a soft blanket that had come from another hotel guest. During this, Carter checked Shelly to make sure there was no excessive bleeding and that the placenta had been safely delivered.
“Want to hold your son?” he asked, taking the baby from the woman who was holding the newborn. “Because I think he’s waiting for you.”
Carter lowered the baby into Shelly’s arms, then stepped back as Hugh made his way over to take his first look. Then wobbled on his feet again.
Carter who was on his way up caught Hugh, who was on his way down, and lowered him to the ground, where he knelt beside his wife, then reached out to stroke his crying son’s hand.
“He’s got a set of lungs on him, doesn’t he?”
“Good, strong cry,” Carter said, backing away from the scene as he saw Cruz Montoya stroll into the room.
“Somebody call for me?”
“I did,” Carter said. “It was an easy birth, but because of the mother’s age I’d like to get her to a hospital, or even the clinic over in Whipple Creek—just to have some routine tests run and maybe watch her for a day.”
“You’re flying with me?” Cruz asked.
“Yep,” he said, giving no thought to how nervous he’d been last time he’d flown. One hurdle down and stomped into the ground, Carter thought, as he and Cruz helped mother and child into the old green canvas, war-variety stretcher Cruz brought with him. And that’s just what he did, with no qualms. He helped carry the stretcher out, then climbed into the helicopter without so much as a rolling stomach or a bead of sweat.
“I heard you made your PTSD public,” Cruz said, as he fastened in for the flight.
Carter chuckled. News really did travel fast in Forgeburn.
* * *
“They say it went perfectly, and then Dr. Holmes and Cruz took them over to Whipple Creek Clinic for the night.”
“They flew?” Sloane asked the server who’d brought her a fruit juice smoothie.
It was warm for November, and after an hour of lounging she’d finally given in and changed into her swimsuit. The sun on her exposed skin felt good, even though overall she was rather pale. That came from staying inside, working too much. She rarely had leisurely days like this, when she could simply sit and bask.
“I heard the crowd cheered him on as he climbed into the helicopter.”
“Why would they do that?” Sloane asked the young man.
“Because they all knew how hard it was for him to do that.”
“Then they all know—?”
“The whole PTSD thing? Sure. He talked about it when he was delivering the baby. But it’s no big deal. Everybody’s got their problems. The doc’s aren’t any better or worse than anybody else’s.”
Maybe that was true. At least, in Forgeburn. But Forgeburn wasn’t a typical sampling of the real world and, someday, Carter would have to face that without his cheering squad. This was a start, though—and an opportunity to prove himself to the people who needed him. And she was encouraged because he was finding a life here. Maybe not the one she’d expected of him. But a life, nonetheless. He deserved that.
“Any news on how they’re doing?”
She wasn’t concerned so much about mother and baby because in Carter’s hands they would be fine. But she was concerned about Carter.
“Only that the doctor is back in his office and Cruz is taking a small tour group out for some sightseeing.”
Should she casually wander over to Carter’s office? Maybe to congratulate him on the delivery? Or to simply see how he was doing? She wanted to. But she also wanted him to come tell her. She had always included him on the big events, and now she wanted him to do the same for her. So, she took a sip of her smoothie, then continued reading her book. It had been a big morning for Carter, and she was glad he’d managed every bit of it on his own. That’s what he needed to help him regain all his confidence—independence. It was a double-edged sword, however. For Carter, it was good. But for her...
CHAPTER NINE
CARTER HADN’T SEEN Sloane since the evening before, even though they’d texted a little. But that was fine, because after delivering Shelly and Hugh’s baby he’d come back and got busy in the clinic with the usual things. Scrapes and abrasions, broken bones, a couple of open head gashes—nothing serious.
In fact his tiny waiting room had been full of people talking about what they were calling “the miracle birth,” even though there had been no miracle involved. Now everyone was gone, and Sloane was on his mind again.
“Look, I’m going to step out for a little while. Call me if someone comes in.”
It wasn’t as if he needed to see her—especially since she was going out with him and the Mallory family later. But he wanted to see her, and there was a wide difference between wanting and needing. At least that was what he was telling himself as he got on his motorcycle—thoughtfully returned by the roadhouse owner—and headed down the road.
What was he hoping for? He d
idn’t know. But he was hoping for something, and hope was something he hadn’t had in a long, long time.
* * *
For sure, today had been a lazy one. Between sleeping late, then lounging, followed by an hour in the spa and another hour having a facial, Sloane was about as pampered as she cared to be—because being pampered meant empty thoughts, which meant an open door to thinking about Carter.
She hoped Carter was still up to it, physically, because he had had a challenging physical day, and she worried that he looked so tired every time she’d seen him since coming to Forgeburn. It was probably nothing, she decided. He was simply trying to re-adjust to his new life. Still, she worried. It was too ingrained in her to stop.
“You look tired,” Carter said, stepping up behind her as she sat in the café sipping a smoothie.
“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“Getting used to the pace, little by level. I worked harder in surgery, standing on my feet for hours, but the whole re-learning process here is taking it out of me. Mind if I sit down.”
Sloane nodded, then even offered him a sip of her smoothie—another one of those ingrained things. She always shared with Carter, as he did with her. In fact, some of their better moments involved feeding each other, teasing a meatball to her lips, teasing a bite of bread to his lips. Yes, they’d shared food, and so many other things, so the smoothie offer came naturally. So did his acceptance of it.
“Are you ready for Kevin’s big adventure?” she asked. “I saw him on my way in. He’s so excited.”
“I’m glad we could do this for him. Every little boy deserves a big adventure.” Carter reached across, took her cup, and helped himself to another sip.
“So does every big boy,” Carter said, sliding the smoothie back to her, then taking hold of her hand when she reached for it. “I’m glad you’re going, Sloane. And not just as a doctor, but as the person I’ve loved having adventures with.”
It fit so well there that she was almost taken in by him. Did he want a repeat of what had happened last time he’d come to her hotel room? Did he expect them to get back together?
