The Surgeon's Convenient Husband

by Amy Ruttan

  Even his survival had been pure dumb luck, and there were days when he wished he hadn’t survived.

  Don’t think like that.

  Aran closed his eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths as the negative thoughts threatened to take over, as the post-traumatic stress started getting to him.

  “Aran? Are you okay?” Ruby asked cautiously.

  “Fine.” Only he wasn’t.

  “You’re sweating.”

  “I’m fine,” he snapped, and then scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “Is it because of my suggestion? I know it’s a big deal—and, trust me, I’m not a fan of it either.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Aran sighed. “It was at my suggestion we got married and now we have to live with the consequences. You’re right. It makes sense that we move in together.”

  She nodded. “So is that a yes?”

  “Yeah, I’ll move in with you.”

  What had he done?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE NEXT EVENING, after their shifts in the emergency room, was when the big move was going to happen. Not that it was really a big move. Aran didn’t have much to pack from his hotel room. The rest of his things, and some of the things he’d been left by his late father, were in storage back in San Diego.

  Aran’s stepmother had the majority of the stuff, and Aran’s half-siblings had all had things left to them, but Aran hadn’t wanted to bring the few things he’d been left up to Anchorage, because he wasn’t sure how long he would stay here.

  So he packed what he had and shoved it into his Army duffel bag.

  Ruby was waiting in her car. He’d told her there was no point in her coming in and helping him. He threw his duffel bag into the back of her truck and slowly climbed into the passenger side of the cab.

  “You good?” Ruby asked, and her voice rose slightly.

  He could tell that she was just as uneasy about this as he was.

  “As good as I’ll ever be,” Aran admitted.

  “Okay. Let’s go.” Ruby pulled the stick and put the truck into gear. He could hear the drive shaft grind and the truck lurch.

  “You know how to drive stick?” he asked, amused.

  “Yes. That’s all I’ve ever driven. But this truck needs work and I haven’t had time to get it to the shop.”

  “It’s an old truck.”

  Ruby glanced at him briefly. “So?”

  “So you’re a surgeon—a well-paid surgeon...”

  “Who has bought her own bush plane... Well, with help from the hospital,” Ruby interjected. “The plane and its upkeep is where I spend my free money. I need to have the best plane in order to save lives in the bush.”

  “Ah...”

  Ruby smiled. “I will admit I’m a better pilot than I am a driver.”

  “Well, I can take a look at your truck when I get a day off, or something.”

  “You know how to fix trucks?”

  Aran shrugged. “My dad and I restored an old Trans Am, and I did some tinkering when I was overseas.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Then Ruby moaned.

  “What’s wrong?” Aran asked.

  “We were friends for...what?...like, a year before we were both at the end of our residency and yet we know nothing about each other.”

  “Well, we hung out in a group, and really all we talked about was medicine. You wanted it that way, usually.”

  “Right...”

  He could hear the nervousness in her voice.

  “Hey, we haven’t set a date for the interview. Let’s take this chance to get to know each other beyond the hospital.”

  Ruby nodded. “Okay. Because I’m worried no one will believe we’re married.”

  “Ditto.”

  Ruby glanced at him. “What did you tell people about me?”

  “What?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

  “What did you tell people about your wife—which is me?” she teased.

  “I told people that you were a surgeon. A talented surgeon in Anchorage. Sometimes there wasn’t a whole lot of time to chat...”

  “We’re under fire, Captain!” Aran shouted.

  “Get the wounded out of here. Pack them and transport them.”

  Aran nodded and went about packing the wound of the soldier he’d been working on. He taped over the open wound so that nothing would get in there. Or nothing more. Because they were working on these wounded men in a tent, in the middle of the desert.

  He shook away that memory.

  “So, what did you tell people about me?” he asked.

  “Most people at the hospital know who you are.”

  “Yes, but you always made it clear you were only interested in surgery. How did I win you over? Was it my charm? Was it my good looks?”

  Ruby chuckled. “Something like that. Yes, I guess you can say people were a little shocked, but since your mother was thrilled about it they really didn’t question it. We were always working together and butting heads. I guess a lot of the staff thought it was inevitable.”

  Inevitable.

  Before the war he’d thought that might be true, but right now he wasn’t so sure.

  It wasn’t a long drive from his hotel to her home. She lived just outside of town, down a windy dirt road off Glen Highway Number One, in the middle of a copse of hemlock and black spruce. It was a small log cabin, like something out of the frontier days.

  “This is a nice place,” he said, and he meant it.

  He had always been partial to log homes—especially log homes that were outside the city. He loved San Diego, and being close to the beach, but he preferred the mountains. He loved spending time up in Yosemite, and had climbed El Capitan twice. Of course that had been when he was younger and his leg hadn’t been mangled to heck, with pins holding the remnants together.

  “Thanks.”

  She pulled out her keys and tossed them to him. He caught them easily.

  “Just go on in. You can use the guest bedroom on the main floor. I’m going to chop some wood for the night.”

  “You chop wood too? Are you some kind of lumber jill?”

  She picked up the ax and looked confused. “No, but I’ve been chopping wood since I was able to swing an ax.”

  “Next you’re going to tell me you built this home.”

  “No. That I didn’t do. When would I have had the time?”

  She winked and he couldn’t help but smile.

  Aran watched her walk away, admiring the sway of her hips and carrying the large ax as if it weighed nothing. Her black hair was tied back. She was tough. He had to give her that. And her toughness, her indomitable spirit, attracted him.

  He admired her. Still. Time hadn’t changed that fact.

  He unlocked the door to her house and stepped in. The place was sparsely decorated, but it was modern, mixed with the rustic feel of a northern cabin, and most important it was comfortable. It was way better than a hotel room.

  He set his stuff down on the bed and then heard a dog barking wildly outside. He moved quickly, his pulse quickening, hoping it wasn’t a wolf or a coyote—even if the bark didn’t sound particularly vicious.

  Aran found the back door that led to where Ruby was chopping wood. He was about to call out to her, but then he saw what was barking and relaxed.

  There was a dog house outside. And a long chain. The barking dog in question was bouncing from the top of his dog house to the ground and happily wagging his tail. It was a beautiful sled dog, with white and black fur. Its eyes were brilliant blue and the tail that was wagging back and forth was quirked up in a question mark.

  “You okay?” Aran asked.

  The dog’s ears perked and its eyes focused on him. It didn’t growl, but Aran knew it was on alert.

  �
�Chinook, it’s okay. This is Aran. He’s a friend.”

  As soon as Ruby said “friend” Chinook came bounding over and sniffed him cautiously—but only for a moment before the question mark tail began to wag.

  “You can pet him,” Ruby said as she set up another log. “He’s friendly and very well trained.”

  Aran reached out and the dog closed his eyes and leaned into the head scratch. Aran couldn’t help but smile. When Chinook had had enough, he bounded down the back steps and ran around the yard, barking happily.

  “When did you get a dog?” he asked.

  “About two years ago.”

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “I know. He’s pretty special. He keeps me company.”

  “I’m glad you’re a dog person,” he said.

  “I never did understand that.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Dog person or cat person. How could you not be a dog person? Dogs are awesome. Cats are cool too. Why does it have to be one or the other?”

  “You’re right. I don’t get it either.”

  “This is why we’re friends.”

  “I thought we knew nothing about each other?” he teased.

  “Right.” She continued chopping wood while Chinook trotted back for more petting.

  “You’re not worried about your dog running out onto the road?” Aran asked.

  “No,” Ruby said. “He knows his territory. He has a long chain and he protects the property when I’m gone. He prefers the outdoors. Alaskan Malamutes do. I tried keeping him inside and it was a disaster.”

  She brought the axe down, splitting the wood.

  Aran sat on the back steps. “Sure you don’t want help with that?”

  “No, I’m fine. I can do it on my own.”

  “You like to be in control, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Don’t you?” she asked, before bringing the ax down again, splitting off another piece.

  “I do.”

  “When you grow up in the north you have to be in control. It’s a hard life.” Her expression changed and she set up another log.

  “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “It’s cold,” she stated.

  But he had a feeling that she was hiding something. There had been other times in the past when he got too close to something and she’d thrown up a wall. What was she hiding?

  Of course he was hiding things too. He was hiding the horror he’d experienced on the front. Hiding the pain and scarring of his leg. Who was he to judge?

  “I know that. Although it’s not that cold right now.” And then he slapped his arm where a mosquito had landed. “Buggy, but not cold.”

  A slight smile quirked on Ruby’s lips. “It’s better when you get closer to the city. A lot of people make their way down to the city. To die.”

  He was confused by that statement. “What do you mean, people go to the city to die?”

  “There’s more resources there. When it gets too hard to live on the land they go to the city to die. You have to be healthy to live in the remote areas of northern Alaska and Canada. One small mistake and your life could be over. That’s how my father died.”

  She brought the ax down and Aran noticed she brought it down harder.

  So that was it. That was what she was hiding.

  “So that’s why you’re a trauma surgeon?”

  She glanced at him. Her dark eyes flashed with anger and annoyance. He’d hit a nerve.

  “Don’t try and figure me out.”

  “I can’t help it. Patients don’t always tell you the whole truth,” he said. “It’s my job to figure it out.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she remarked as she set down her ax and collected up the wood she’d cut.

  Aran got up and helped her pick up the wood, following her inside, where she set it next to the fireplace. She knelt down and Aran handed her the wood so she could stack it neatly.

  “Sorry about your dad,” he said.

  She shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Isn’t this the kind of stuff that we should be talking about?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” Her dark eyes were flashing again in annoyance.

  “This Agent Bolton is going to want to ask us in-depth questions about each other. Fine, we live together, but how well do we know each other?”

  “Married couples have secrets. They don’t always know everything about each other.”

  She was right about that. He only had to look at his own parents for confirmation of that.

  His dad had been up in Alaska on vacation when he’d met his mother, and it had been love at first sight. Although in reality probably more like lust at first sight. They’d married after a week of dating and the next month his mother had discovered she was expecting him.

  Aran’s father had tried to like Alaska, but he hadn’t been able to stand the cold winters, and Aran’s mother had been focused on her job with the hospital board of directors and research grants. Aran’s father had raised him.

  And then they’d got divorced. Aran’s mother had tried to take care of him, but Aran had been left alone with nannies and babysitters all the time and he’d hated it. So he’d been sent to San Diego to live with his father.

  It had been the best thing for him. He’d had a good life there. He didn’t know his mother that well, and he wasn’t close with her, but he’d loved living with his father and then his stepmother.

  But Ruby was right. His parents had rushed into marriage and hadn’t known anything about each other. They’d acted on impulse and look how that had turned out.

  Didn’t you act on impulse in agreeing to marry Ruby before you shipped out?

  “I think secrets are a dangerous thing,” he stated. “I think we should try to get to know one another the best we can.”

  Ruby didn’t look convinced. She finished stacking the wood and stood up. “You hungry?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. I’ll make something.”

  She went into the kitchen and Aran sighed. He was trying to help her. Why was she being so stubborn? What was she hiding about her father’s death?

  You’re hiding something too.

  * * *

  Ruby didn’t really want to think about her father and how he’d died. That was how she got through the days. She didn’t exactly bury the grief that she carried around, but she’d learned to compartmentalize it so that she could continue with her life.

  If she didn’t do that it would eat away at her. She would break down. And there was no time for that. There was no time for emotions.

  Even after all this time the grief was still there. That gnawing pain that ate away at her very soul. It was an ache that she’d got used to. So, no she didn’t want to talk about it.

  Not with Aran, not with anyone.

  That was her pain to bear. It had nothing to do with her Green Card.

  It was what had shaped her. What had made her who she was today.

  She opened the fridge and frowned when she saw there wasn’t much. Actually, there was nothing but some orange juice and an onion.

  “What are you going to make with such a variety of ingredients?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Aran standing there. His eyes were twinkling and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Does pizza come out this far?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Ruby picked up her phone. “Any particular kind of pizza?”

  “Nope. I’m not picky.”

  Ruby called the local pizza place and ordered her usual and some drinks, as she didn’t think that orange juice and pizza would go together particularly well. “Should be here in about an hour,” she said as she set the phone down.

  She leaned across t
he island counter. Aran had taken a seat on one of the barstools on the other side of the island and was facing the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out back.

  Chinook was bouncing back and forth like a lunatic and she couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. When she had time off she liked to take him on a hike down to the lake, so that he could go swimming and stretch his legs. In the winter she’d often set up a small sled and run him around.

  “Your dog is a bit crazy,” Aran said.

  “I like a bit crazy.”

  He grinned at her. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, straightening up and crossing her arms.

  “You’re as bad as those smoke jumpers who fight forest fires.”

  “Hey, I know a lot of those men and women. In fact one of my nurses is a former fire jumper. He’s a valuable asset to my team. One I picked out specially.”

  “I know—and I’m one you didn’t get to pick out.”

  “Right. I was forced to add you to my team.”

  He looked at her. “Just like I was forced to ask you to marry me to keep you here.”

  She pursed her lips together. She couldn’t really argue that point. She didn’t like it too much, but it was true. He had done her a big favor. She really owed him one but she was completely stressed out by this whole charade.

  “I’m thankful for that, you know, but the north is harsh.”

  “Look, I know you don’t think I understand the north, and maybe I don’t, but my training speaks for itself. I’ve worked in harsh conditions and under fire.”

  She didn’t doubt him. During the surgery he’d done well. There’d been a few things he’d did that she hadn’t exactly agreed with, but that was a matter of preference. It hadn’t endangered the patient. Still, she didn’t know him as he was now. She didn’t know much about him. They had to change that.

  “How do feel about flying?” she asked.

  “Like in an airplane?”

  “No, in a glider,” she retorted.

  “Well, if you mean your bush plane, not a jet plane, then I would be fine. I’ve never been in a bush plane, but I’d be willing to fly in one.”