One Night with the Army Doc

by Traci Douglass

  Molly plunked Bobby’s chart down on the counter, resisting the urge to fan her burning cheeks. “Change of plan for Mr. Templeton. Hyperbaric treatments are on hold. Instead, let’s start him on forty percent oxygen until his O2 sats increase and prescribe him a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory.”

  * * *

  Jake got the page on his way back down to the ER, his posture tense and his blood pounding as he leaned against the elevator wall.

  Gunshot victim. ETA ten minutes.

  He was on a much-needed break, meaning his team would only call him back in if the situation was dire. Work usually settled him, but his senses were rioting. And unfortunately he knew exactly what had caused it—or rather who.

  Bad enough that each time he saw Molly these days all he seemed to focus on was her soft skin, her sweet, distracting scent, her pink full lips. Lord help him. A man could drown in that mouth and die happy.

  Focus, Ryder. Focus.

  He spent too much time alone these days—that had to be the problem. Since Bobby had gotten sick, most nights when Jake wasn’t in the ER he was at home, working on the never-ending renovations to his place. The truth was, he liked using his hands, and it felt good to make something, to create something lasting. After all the destruction he’d witnessed during the war, building felt pretty damned amazing.

  Jake shifted his weight, pulling out his phone again to check for updates as the doors opened and he hurried toward his department. Wendy met him at the glass doors and walked with him into the controlled chaos of the ER, handing him a scrub jacket and hat as they headed for the ambulance entrance.

  “What’s the cause of the shooting?”

  “Not sure yet,” she said. “All we’ve got so far from the EMT crew is that the wound’s in the left flank and the patient’s breath is agonal.”

  Gasping for air meant dropping oxygen levels. Jake cringed. “Exit wound?”

  “None the paramedics could find.”

  “Damn. We’ll need to order a CT to locate the bullet.”

  He finished tying his mask just as the ambulance crew wheeled the patient down the ramp from the helicopter pad and into the ER.

  “Give it to me,” Jake said to Zac, jogging next to the gurney as they veered off toward Trauma Bay Two, a team of nurses and technicians following.

  “Nineteen-year-old male, hunting accident. Single bullet hole in the left side.”

  “Okay.” Jake waited while the patient was transferred to the trauma bay table then patted the kid’s cheeks. “Sir? Can you tell me your name?”

  Nothing.

  He tried again, louder and more forcefully, pinching the guy this time as well. It seemed harsh, but they had to rouse him if they could.

  “Sir? Tell me your name.”

  No response.

  Nineteen was too young to die, and Jake refused to let it happen on his watch.

  “All right, team, we need an O2 sat. He’s not responding to painful stimuli; GCS is less than seven. Get ready to intubate for airway protection.”

  While one of his residents moved in to insert a tracheal tube, Jake continued his rundown of the patient’s vitals.

  “Agonal breathing indicates a lack of oxygen and a seven on the Glasgow Coma Scale suggests a strong possibility of traumatic brain injury.”

  “We’re in.” The resident withdrew the bronchoscope and Wendy used the clear plastic tube to pump air directly into the patient’s lungs.

  Jake continued his exam. “Nothing in the axilla areas. Bilateral breath sounds. Only one visible wound in the left lower lateral chest wall. Blood pressure down to sixty-nine over forty-two. Okay, people. Let’s move this to the OR. We need to find where that bullet landed.”

  While his team took the patient upstairs by elevator, Jake discarded his soiled jacket and mask in a nearby biohazard bin, then hustled to the stairwell. The kid had lost a lot of blood and his pulse was weak. Time was of the essence.

  As he jogged upstairs memories of his time in the military swamped him. He’d joined right after graduating from medical school and proposing to Kellie.

  She’d been two years behind him in college, so once he’d got out of the service after six years and returned stateside she’d been established at the local network affiliate as a reporter. She’d suggested putting off marriage a little longer, to let things settle and get back to normal after the media frenzy over his Distinguished Service Cross commendation. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do.

  But the longer they’d put off the wedding, the more the relationship had started to unravel. Kellie had resented his long hours at the hospital and claimed he’d changed since the war. He’d disliked her newfound love of the spotlight and constant craving for attention.

  In the end it had all gone horribly wrong.

  Jake pushed out through the second-floor doorway and hurried over to the prep area. It didn’t matter. All that mattered tonight was saving this kid’s life.

  He scrubbed down with Betadine, then backed into the OR, arms bent and raised at the elbow to prevent contamination. A surgical nurse outfitted him in a fresh jacket and mask. The anesthesiologist finished administering the required dosage of sedative and Jake approached the operating table.

  Talking through his actions always helped him stay centered and focused during complex cases. Bobby had used to tease him when they were out on desert rescues.

  “You gonna save them, Doc, or talk them to death...?”

  Today, hopefully, it would be the former.

  He grabbed a scalpel from a nearby tray and made his initial incision.

  “Okay, team. We don’t know the location of the bullet. Three full-body X-rays found nothing.” Jake glanced at the monitors and his own pulse stumbled. “We’ve got to locate the source of the bleeding and clamp it.”

  Trauma surgery required split-second decisions. Hesitation could mean the difference between life and death.

  “The heart’s unstable, and the left lung is compromised. Removing it is the only chance we have of saving him.”

  Jake hated taking such a drastic step on a young kid, but surviving with lowered lung capacity was better than the alternative.

  The bullet had ricocheted inside the kid’s body, tearing through tissue and complicating matters. It took another hour to complete the delicate surgery, but afterward the patient’s blood pressure had stabilized and his pulse strengthened.

  Jake stepped away, confident he’d made the right choice. “He’s alive. Thanks, everyone.”

  Wendy followed him out of the OR.

  “What are his chances of survival?” she asked as she pulled off her jacket.

  “Too early to say.” Jake disposed of his soiled gear. “I did what I could, but we still have no idea of the bullet’s location. That CT’s paramount, but we can’t risk moving the kid again until he’s stabilized, which could be several hours.”

  As he washed up and splashed cool water on his face, images of Molly standing toe-to-toe with him in that chapel, giving as good as she got, burned into his mind. Crisis had a way of making everything seem more intense, and between their earlier encounter and the dramatic surgery, Jake felt lucky he didn’t have adrenaline poisoning.

  It was a good thing he’d gotten away from Molly when he had, or there was no telling what might’ve happened. He might’ve cupped those lovely cheeks of hers and kissed her until neither one of them had wanted to argue anymore. He might’ve pressed her close and relished the feel of her curves against him at last. He might’ve fallen to his knees and begged for one night in her arms.

  Lord, help me.

  Jake dried his face with a scratchy white towel, then tossed it into the bin with the rest of the soiled items before rolling his stiff shoulders. “I’m going to the gym for the rest of my break. Keep me posted on the patient’s status.”

 
CHAPTER SIX

  AFTER HOURS OF nonstop reviewing of medical journals for clues to her patient’s condition, Molly blinked to clear the blurriness from her vision and finally admitted she needed a break. Normally this late at night she’d hit the workout facility at her hotel and then go to bed, but she didn’t want to leave the hospital just yet. There were still a few test results pending for Bobby, and she wanted to wait until they came back before she left.

  She recalled seeing an employee gym in the basement of the hospital, on one of her many trips to the cafeteria. Back home in Chicago she ran five miles a day and kickboxed to stay in shape. Here, she sat in her tiny office most of the time and drank ultra-strong coffee. Stiff and achy, Molly pushed to her feet and grabbed her duffle bag from the corner.

  Time to get her mojo back.

  She took the elevator down to the brightly lit basement and followed the overhead signs to the staff locker room. After changing into a pair of yoga pants and a tank, Molly headed out into the gym area.

  The whole place looked empty, except for one guy jogging on a treadmill near the back wall. He had earbuds in and his shirt off, clearly in the zone as sweat trickled down his tanned torso and toned back. He was in fantastic shape. Cute too, with dark, damp hair spiked around his head.

  As Molly neared the short row of treadmills, however, her heart sank. It was Jake, jogging along, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

  She tossed her towel over to the wall, then climbed aboard the only other treadmill machine, on the left of Jake’s. Okay, fine. If she was quiet, perhaps he wouldn’t even notice she was there.

  Faint strains of music pumped from his earbuds, increasing her sense of security. With his volume that loud, Mt. St. Helene’s could erupt again and he wouldn’t know.

  Except, as Molly set up her running course and pressed “Start,” she couldn’t seem to keep her attention from drifting over to Jake’s reflection in the mirrors, her blood sizzling anew at the remembered feel of his fingertips against her skin, the scent of his skin, the deep rumble of his voice as they’d argued in the chapel.

  Her gaze flicked down his body—all lean, corded muscle and sinewy strength. A tattoo covered his left bicep. She squinted. A caduceus, maybe?

  Molly glanced up again and found him watching her, his expression wary. Uh-oh. He pulled out his earbuds and gave her a tiny half-smile. Or was that a frown? Hard to tell when all she seemed able to focus on was the bead of sweat gliding down the side of his neck and her sudden longing to lick that moisture, to taste the salt of his skin, to feel his alpha strength...

  Alpha strength?

  She grabbed hold of the sides of the treadmill to keep from tripping over her own feet as the machine picked up speed. Jeez, the stress must be getting to her more than she’d thought if she was resorting to purple prose about her colleagues. This wasn’t like her. Not at all.

  Getting on with her run, Molly did her best to focus straight ahead and not pay attention to the weight of Jake’s stare burning a hole through her composure. Soon the treadmill speed increased yet again and the base tilted upward, and Molly soon lost herself in the bliss of her racing heart and her pounding feet and the illusion of glorious speed.

  “Doing the mountain course, huh?” a deep male voice said, interrupting her fantasy.

  Her runner’s high vanished and her knees threatened to buckle beneath the satin timbre of his voice. Molly hazarded another glance over at Jake and saw his machine was at maximum incline. She pushed a bit harder to keep up with him, her competitive streak surging despite her shaking muscles and raging libido.

  “Yeah. You too?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “I have my own special course set up to match the one I run at Chugach on my days off.”

  “The state park where we filmed your rescue crew?”

  “Yep. Been back there yet?”

  “Nope.” Once again her speed and trajectory notched higher and she pressed onward despite the burn. “I’m here for my patient, remember?”

  Taking in some of the natural wonder of the Alaskan wilderness was on Molly’s list of things to do, but only if it didn’t interfere with Bobby’s case. Work came first. Always. That was the way she liked it, right?

  Her chest tightened and her breath puffed harder, her whole body tensing at the horrible sinking feeling that maybe it wasn’t.

  Maybe it’s your father who only cares about his career, not you.

  She swiped a hand over her sweaty forehead and checked the timer. Five minutes left. She could do this. Sure, she’d blown past her ideal pulse-rate a long time ago, but what was a little heart attack in the name of success?

  Jake’s machine beeped and his treadmill gradually lowered to its original flat position before stopping completely. “Well, you know what they say.”

  Molly hazarded an annoyed stare in his direction, puffing. “No. Please enlighten me.”

  His slow grin nearly toppled her to the floor. Molly gripped the sides of her treadmill and closed her eyes. Seriously, she needed to get over her wanton infatuation with this guy before someone got hurt. Namely her.

  “All work and no play...” Jake walked over to stand beside her machine “...makes Dr. Flynn a very dull girl.”

  Molly opened her mouth to respond, then hesitated, not wanting to reveal just how close to the truth he’d come. That was why Brian had left her. He’d claimed she was about as interesting as a trip to the DMV. Then again, she’d never really opened up to him, so she only had herself to blame. Her flawed, quirky, weird, dull, fallible self.

  Her unlovable self.

  Before she knew what was happening, her muscles locked and her feet fumbled. The machine beeped and two strong arms pulled Molly close, to keep her from face-planting on the gym floor. Slowly Jake eased her down to a sitting position, then crouched beside her, his expression a mix of concern and barely concealed amusement.

  “Doing okay there?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  Her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears. Molly kept her head bent between her knees to increase circulation to her fuzzy brain and to hide her embarrassment.

  “I’m used to tougher workouts back home. Must be low blood sugar.”

  “Right...” No mistaking Jake’s teasing tone now. “And here I thought you were trying to impress me.”

  “Impress you?” The words croaked from her parched throat. “I was not—”

  “Here, Usain Bolt.” He nudged her arm with a cold bottle of water. “Drink this.”

  Molly swallowed half the contents in two long gulps. As she drank she saw Jake doing the same, and felt a weird, all-consuming need to nuzzle the thudding pulse-point at the base of his neck.

  Frazzled, she pushed to her unsteady feet and grabbed her towel. She still had at least an hour before Bobby’s last set of test results were due back from the lab, but she couldn’t stay where she was. Not with Jake looking like sex on a stick.

  She headed to the far side of the room and a pair of punching bags strung from chains in the ceiling. After strapping on a pair of boxing gloves Molly pummeled one of the bags, zeroing all her anger, pain, and frustration into her jabs. There was one for her mother, for making Molly feel like a dried-up old prune. Another for Brian, for dumping her by text message and reinforcing her doubts about herself. And one final blow for her father, for always pushing her, always expecting the impossible, always treating her like she was never, ever enough.

  “Hey. Take it easy, Bolt.” Jake strapped on a pair of gloves too, then walked behind her bag to steady it. “You’re a kickboxer as well, eh?”

  “Yep.”

  Wham, wham, wham.

  It should be illegal for a man to be that sweaty and still look that fine. She ignored the soft clenching in her core caused by his nearness.

  “Best fighter at my gym.”
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  “Why am I not surprised?” He shook his head as Molly landed a fierce roundhouse kick.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. You just seem a bit...driven.”

  “Really?” She stepped back and punched one glove into the other, her gaze narrowed. “You’re one to talk. Bobby told me he can’t remember the last time you took a vacation.”

  Jake stood before her, his black shorts riding low on his hips and showing off that delectable V of muscles that always drove her wild with lust.

  “Bobby should mind his own business.” He rubbed his nose. “Spot me, okay?”

  He walked to the other bag and Molly held it while Jake threw some impressive left hooks and right upper cuts.

  She attempted to make small talk to distract herself from his rippling muscles. “What’s your ink?”

  “Huh?” He scowled, throwing a fast flurry of punches.

  “The tattoo on your arm. What is it?”

  “Combat Medic logo.” Jake glanced down at his bicep, then performed a perfectly placed crescent kick that knocked Molly back a few steps. “And watch what you say next. The guys and gals from my regiment are like family.”

  “Oh.” The fierce protectiveness in his voice made her envious. She doubted her own kin would ever defend her so staunchly.

  Molly recovered her balance with the help of his steadying hand, missing the pressure of his touch as soon as he let her go.

  “I guess that explains why you and Bobby are so close.”

  “That’s part of the reason, yeah.”

  He stripped off his gloves and tossed them aside. Molly did the same, then walked back with him to their towels and water bottles, silent, doing her best not to say something stupid and ruin the tenuous accord that had settled between them.

  “I’m surprised you came here to Alaska,” Jake said finally, after pulling a black “Anchorage Mercy” T-shirt over his head. The clothes helped, covering all that forbidden flesh. “Doesn’t your network usually prefer more glitzy locations?”