Wedding Date with the Army Doc

by Lynne Marshall

  Salad and soup arrived and Jackson poured another glass of wine for both of them. Since he figured they’d already ironed things out, he relaxed and enjoyed the company of a woman who turned out to be as witty and warm as she was great looking. But he’d already known that, and that was what scared the daylights out of him.

  The words from an Adele song popped into Charlotte’s head. She’d once played it over and over after Derek had broken her heart. This man would never let her or any woman close enough to hurt him again. Jackson was proving to be a true wounded warrior, right to the core. Keep her at a distance. Keep things safe. Take control right from the start. Very military or surgeon-like. And she thought she had a stick up her back. Whew. Jackson was hurting hard. She finished the last of her wine—he was driving after all.

  But she still liked him, and could totally relate to what he’d suggested. Admittedly, at first when he’d started his spiel she’d thought, Step away from the walking wounded. This guy is not for you. But after savoring dinner and getting past the rule book, she’d enjoyed the evening out. He’d even opened up and told her how an IED had blown off his leg while killing two of his medical team and injuring a dozen others in the midst of performing surgery in Afghanistan. Maybe they could be good for each other. Why not give this a try? If he wanted safety and distance, in her current insecure state she was more than down with that.

  When they arrived back home and he walked her to the security gate, he surprised her by stealing a kiss. She liked his surprises, and slipped right into the mood. He was a good kisser, and she liked putting her arms around his neck, leaning into him. Really kissing him. Close like this, could he tell her chest was different than real breasts?

  Damn. She’d ruined the moment.

  She dropped away from their kiss, seeing a hunger in his eyes that, to be honest, frightened her. What happened to safety and distance? His rules.

  “Thanks for a great dinner and a lovely evening.”

  His waning smile was tinted with chagrin. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

  “I like you, Jackson. You get that, right?”

  “I do, and despite the mess I made of things earlier, I’m really glad you do.” He dropped his forehead to hers, the intimacy of the act seeming out of the boundaries of his dating playbook. “I like you, too.” She didn’t pull away, just kept her arms resting on his solid shoulders, gazing at his eyes up close. “You want to catch dinner together at the hospital tomorrow before you go home?”

  An odd offer, but...

  “Or we could go out for a quick meal.”

  Had he read her mind?

  “I’ve got surgeries up the wazoo on Thursday, need to buckle down and mentally go over the procedures, get loads of rest, you know the drill.”

  “That you’re a doctor with a busy and demanding life? Yeah, I think I do.”

  They smiled wide at each other again, standing there forehead to forehead, his hands warm and resting on her hips. “So dinner tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  He kissed her once again, a quick parting kiss, but it was enough to send a flutter through her stomach. “Great. See you tomorrow.”

  As he walked away and she let herself into the building compound, she dealt with the warm and fuzzy feeling in her veins. Somehow, him laying down the rules had freed her. It might be okay to tiptoe into something with him. Who knew what could happen?

  Because it turned out that she really liked that wounded warrior, Jackson Ryland Hilstead the Third.

  * * *

  For the next couple of weeks they kept their word and enjoyed each other’s company at work and after hours several times, even spending the entirety of the last two Sunday afternoons kicking around together. Who knew running errands could be such fun? But because of what Jackson had proposed with their dating, and what she’d said about not being ready, they didn’t sleep together. Never even came close. The amazing thing was, Jackson still wanted to hang out with her.

  People at work began to catch on, giving knowing glances or making little comments to Charlotte. “I see you and Jackson are getting along.” And “Was that you I saw having lunch with Dr. Hilstead for the third time this week?”

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” The last remark came from Antwan Dupree. “Because I’m warning you, Dr. Hilstead is only trying you out for fun. If I were you I’d be careful not to get hurt.”

  “It’s none of your business what I do.” Was he for real? He’d come in here searching for a pathology report and had decided to lecture her on watching out for big bad wolves? He was the only wolf she knew. “Now, which specimen are you looking for a report on?”

  He touched her arm, which in her book was a no-no, and she recoiled. “What I’m saying,” he went on, unaware of how he’d turned her off already, “is that I’m for real.” His cell phone went off and he took the call, having the nerve to carry out a brief conversation with “Baby,” probably his current main squeeze, some OR nurse who didn’t know any better. “I’ll call you later, baby.” He hung up, looked all earnestly at Charlotte and smiled.

  The amazement on her face had nothing to do with his self-described—in her mind imaginary—charm. Check that. The appalled expression on her face. Did he have a clue about himself? She rolled her eyes in as big and overdone an arc as she could possibly manage to get her point across, in case Dr. Dense hadn’t figured it out yet. “Mind your own business.”

  “I’m looking out for you, Charlotte. I’m just saying the guy’s playing you. He’ll drop you when he’s done. Watch out.”

  “Your MO doesn’t apply to every man, Antwan. Do me a favor and butt out of my personal life. It has nothing to do with you.”

  She gave him a quick report on the patient he was asking about and sent him on his way. But damn if her private insecurities about her body image hadn’t flared up, letting the seed of doubt Antwan had planted about Jackson catch her off guard.

  Yes, she did have continuing issues about believing any man would still want her once he discovered the truth. But Jackson seemed as reluctant as she was to take the next step. The truth was that over the last two weeks their make-out sessions had heated up and she wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before she ripped off his clothes.

  The attraction was definitely there for Jackson, too, if she judged rightly about certain body parts of his that had started becoming obvious in the last couple of kissing marathons. Wow. She longed to touch him, to feel the strength, the heat, but that would be playing with fire.

  The man turned her on, often sending her home heated up and unfulfilled. How long could they keep this up?

  She thought about him at night in bed, too, often imagining his sturdy body covering hers. Sometimes she’d touch her chest, running her palm across her scars, wondering what he’d think. Sometimes she’d fuel the fire of her imagination and let herself think about how it would be to feel him inside, bucking under him, or on top of him, taking him all in. How would he want to take her?

  She was still a woman. Her breasts didn’t define her. Her soul made her a woman. Would Jackson be able to get past her missing breasts and feel her soul if they ever made love?

  She feared the answer, yet she imagined him panting on top of her; she dreamed about taking his weight and wrapping her legs around his hips so he could plant himself deeper inside.

  Oh, yeah, she definitely wanted to rip off the man’s clothes.

  But the thought of the other half of that “ripping his clothes off” scenario—him seeing her completely naked—always sent her mind into a tailspin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JACKSON GRABBED THE pile of mail from his locked box at the condo building entrance and carried it into his apartment. It had been another long week, but spending a few evenings with Charlotte, plus looking forward to hanging
out with her on Sunday afternoon, had made the grueling week completely tolerable. What more could he ask? He had a woman with a pretty face and an intelligent mind to look forward to being with soon. Actually, there was something more he’d like...

  He shuffled through the mail, discovering an obvious—by the embossed gold foil envelope—wedding invitation from his cousin Kiefer. Aunt Maggie, his mother’s sister, must be out-of-her-head happy. Then he thought of his own mother, who may have lost faith in him, and his mood shifted. He should call her more often.

  The wedding was six weeks away in Savannah at Tybee Lighthouse. Hell, how many summers had he spent at the family beach house on Tybee? Too many to recall. Everyone had pretended not to mind the hot, sticky humidity while taking relief in the Atlantic Ocean. Mosquito-infested barbecues. Frantic capture-the-flag games after dark, which had inevitably turned into hide-and-seek scare fests. A smile crossed his lips again, remembering his younger cousin looking up to him like he was a god at fourteen. In fact, he sometimes wondered if Kiefer may have gone into medicine because of him. He sighed. Yeah, he had fallen far from that “god” title over the last couple of decades.

  For one brief moment, a whimsical “what the hell” thought about going to the wedding and inviting Charlotte to be his guest nearly had him filling out the RSVP. Then reality forced him to think of the repercussions. His ex-wife, being a lifelong friend with his extended family, would most likely be invited. Having to face Evaline after a year, her still angry and feeling self-righteous. Facing his parents, Georgina and Jackson, the man he was named after. What about his still alert and oriented grandfather Jackson Ryland Hilstead the First? He’d be there, and so would the rest of his family.

  How would it be to see them all again after leaving on such bad terms a year ago? It would be tough, for sure. To be honest, he didn’t know if he was ready to handle it yet. Plus he didn’t want his personal family drama to take away from Kiefer and...he glanced at the invitation to check the other name... Ashley’s wedding.

  His older son, Andrew, had sided with his mother. How much poison had she filled Andrew’s head with concerning him? He understood—he hadn’t been around as much as he should have when Andrew had been young. He’d failed him in that regard. But Andrew had zero empathy about his father falling apart from PTSD after his last army medical mission to Afghanistan, instead going along with his mother’s opinion, insisting the loss of his leg had been his own fault for volunteering to go. Voluntary amputation, were they serious? The thought still hurt and angered him.

  Jackson understood he’d scared people when he’d lost his grip on what was good and true and solid in life for those several months, but to blame him for losing a limb? He shook his head. At least he was making progress with Evan. Following him to Southern California had been the right move all around.

  He set the invitation aside, not willing to say yes or no right away. Maybe he and Evan could make the trip together, and his son might act as Jackson’s olive branch. He didn’t want to write off all his relatives, but feared they may have already done the same to him.

  Not wanting to slip into a funk over a simple wedding invitation, he thought about the gift of Charlotte. He’d practically blown any chance of getting to know her better on their first date, but she’d refused to be scared off by him. Hell, she’d even laid down a few rules of her own. He smiled at the memory. Spending time with a woman he liked and respected on so many levels had done wonders for his mental blues. She knew about his leg and it didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Who’d have thought a pathologist would turn out to be warm and caring, not to mention easy on the eye? Now he grinned. She’d call him out in a heartbeat about painting all pathologists with such a broad brush. And that was what he liked about her, too. She didn’t take his baloney.

  Their make-out sessions had taken kissing to a new degree. Charlotte was responsive in every way, yet he sensed he couldn’t cross an unspoken line, and so far he hadn’t. As for him, he was definitely hot, bothered and ready for the next step. Sex! But Charlotte had been straight about taking their time the night he’d so brazenly laid out his terms for dating. Don’t dare think about marriage or kids. As though he thought she’d been chomping at the bit to do just that. Maybe surgeons did have extra-big egos. So far she hadn’t given any clear signals of change on the up close and personal level. He sensed something very private held her back, and he, of all people, needed to be understanding about that. But they’d been dating several weeks now and his dreams were growing more erotic by the night. Did taking things slow mean never?

  There really was nothing worse than being forty-two, a father of two grown sons, an established surgeon, having a career that for the most part he could be proud of, still being well respected by his peers overall, and horny. Horny as hell.

  He headed to the kitchen to grab a soda and digest the current state of his life. Wedding invitation. Possible trip back home. New woman. No sex. Yet. Maybe, if he remained patient, something about that last part might change.

  Or was it time for him to take the lead?

  * * *

  Charlotte rushed to the skilled nursing facility where Dr. Gordon had been staying during his continued oncology care. She’d heard he’d be transferred off-site to another, smaller, extended care facility, which meant she wouldn’t be able to pop in so easily anymore. They’d kept him far longer than usual in the hospital because the chemo barrage had wiped out his T-cell count, making him a sitting duck for infection and nearly killing him. He was stable now, staff member status granted, and they couldn’t justify treating him as an inpatient any longer. She wanted to be there for him during this trying time, since his wife, Elly, had passed away and his son lived out of state.

  When she arrived at his bedside, she found him smiling, which surprised her. Word was his treatment hadn’t got the results the doctors had hoped for. Surely an intuitive and bright man like James Gordon knew the downward course of his prognosis?

  “Hi.” She tried her best to sound casual.

  His milky eyes brightened at seeing her. “Hi, dear.” Dr. Gordon had started calling her “dear” and the honor nearly tore her heart every time she heard it.

  “So they’re moving you to some swanky ‘let’s pretend this isn’t a hospital’ kind of place, I hear.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, kind of like that place all the old actors go to die.”

  She flinched. “Please don’t say that.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, kiddo. I’m just being funny. You know my motto—life isn’t about what might happen, it’s about what’s happening right here and now. Today I move. Personally, I fought with them, told them I can take care of myself. I don’t see why I can’t go home.”

  He was getting frailer by the day, and she’d heard he’d had a fall once and had almost fallen a second time but a staff member had caught him. If he were left on his own, he could wind up breaking something and making his situation worse.

  “The bastards—pardon my French, but the medical insurance department ticks me off—say twenty-four-hour in-home care costs too much. I know they’re lying. Hell, I’d even pay for it. I get I’m a risk to myself.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “So, I go, and I bid thee adieu.” He touched his forehead as if lifting a cap.

  She shook her head. “No. You can’t say good-bye to me. I’m coming to see you at least twice a week.”

  “My dear Charlotte. The thing for you to know is I’m feeling good, no more fevers, and I continue to have high hopes of beating this blasted cancer. As crazy as it sounds, coming from a pathologist, I’ve decided to remain optimistic, to let my natural human spirit overtake the practical scientist inside. If they want to extend the treatment and move me to a smaller, cheaper medical facility, fine, I’ll go. The only thing I resent is not having any say in the matter.”

  She wished she could take her mentor
home with her—that she could request a leave of absence to care for him—but her job was to keep his department running and that, at least, could give him peace of mind. She held his hand and they sat quietly for a few moments until someone appeared at the door.

  It was Jackson, and even now, after all the time they’d spent together, the sight of him made her pulse do a loop-de-loop.

  “I wanted to come and say good-bye before they rushed you out of here. Damn hospital budget and all,” he said.

  “Yes,” Dr. Gordon said. “You being a lowly staff surgeon wouldn’t have an iota of clout, would you?”

  They laughed together, Jackson being better at getting when a man was trying to be funny than she was. She could see past the thin facade of tough-guy banter, how Jackson cared for James, and the respect was mutual. The knowledge landed like a splat of thick, gooey warmth on her chest.

  For the next several minutes they all sat around and chatted about anything and everything other than James’s condition or his move. Which meant good old hospital gossip, the kind doctors enjoyed just as much as any other employees. Though Jackson did suggest there might be a good-looking nurse to ogle where he was going. That got a laugh, too. “I’m old but I’m not dead,” he insisted. If there was such a nurse, he’d notice. He also wanted to know all about the pathology department, and had some suggestions for issues Charlotte had brought up before. She could tell he needed to feel useful, and she’d make sure he still knew how much he was needed as her mentor.

  Two patient transfer attendants, a young man and woman, arrived in his room, and Charlotte and Jackson stepped aside as they packed up what little of James’s personal effects were there, then got him on their gurney and carted him off to the waiting ambulance.

  Charlotte and Jackson followed closely along until they were outside. She didn’t care if it was inappropriate or not—she kissed James on the forehead and gave him a hearty hug before they could slide him inside. “I’ll be in touch soon.”