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The Doctor's Devotion
Cheryl Wyatt
A DOCTOR’S VOW When he fled Eagle Point years ago, ex-Air Force trauma surgeon Mitch Wellington left only broken dreams behind. Now he’s back with a new dream—opening a trauma center in the rural area and saving lives. He hopes to hire the quick-thinking nurse who impressed him during an emergency.But Lauren Bates lost her faith and doesn’t believe she deserves to help anyone. Mitch knows firsthand what loss feels like. And it’ll take all his devotion to show Lauren that sometimes, the best medicine is a combination of faith, community—and love.Eagle Point Emergency: Saving lives—and losing their hearts—in a small Illinois town.


A doctor’s vow
When he fled Eagle Point years ago, former air force trauma surgeon Mitch Wellington left only broken dreams behind. Now he’s back with a new dream—opening a trauma center in the rural area and saving lives. He hopes to hire the quick-thinking nurse who impressed him during an emergency. But Lauren Bates lost her faith and doesn’t believe she deserves to help anyone. Mitch knows firsthand what loss feels like. And it’ll take all his devotion to show Lauren that sometimes the best medicine is a combination of faith, community—and love.
“Lauren, listen to me. I need your help,” Mitch said.
She shook her head vehemently.
He swiveled his neck to watch the next chopper prepare to land.
No time to argue.
“Nurse Bates, I’m not asking. I’m ordering. Triage chopper number three, then meet me at four.”
Desperate hands came up to clutch his. “Mitch, please,” she rasped. “I can’t. I’m not qualified for trauma. I worked OB.”
Compassion vying with impatience, Mitch leaned close to her ear. “Lauren Esther Bates, I’m convinced God put you here for a reason. I don’t have enough manpower. I need you. People are dying. They need you. Go.” He gave her shoulders a gentle nudge—okay, more like a shove.
Tears streamed from her eyes. She spun and ran to the chopper.
CHERYL WYATT
An R.N. turned stay-at-home mom and wife, Cheryl delights in the stolen moments God gives her to write action- and faith-driven romance. She stays active in her church and in her laundry room. She’s convinced that having been born on a naval base on Valentine’s Day destined her to write military romance. A native of San Diego, California, Cheryl currently resides in beautiful, rustic southern Illinois, but she has also enjoyed living in New Mexico and Oklahoma. Cheryl loves hearing from readers. You are invited to contact her at Cheryl@CherylWyatt.com or P.O. Box 2955, Carbondale, IL 62902-2955. Visit her on the web at www.CherylWyatt.com and sign up for her newsletter if you’d like updates on new releases, events and other fun stuff. Hang out with her in the blogosphere at www.Scrollsquirrel.blogspot.com or on the message boards at www.LoveInspiredBooks.com.
The Doctor’s Devotion
Cheryl Wyatt


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
May the Lord turn his face toward you
and give you peace.
—Numbers 6:26
This book is dedicated to the memory of my grandmother, Leavada Pauline Elliott, who passed away during the writing of this book. She was a lavish giver and lived a truly sacrificial life. She was all about others.
I am pretty sure God’s construction angels had to build an addition onto her house in Heaven in order to contain the rewards she had waiting for her when that sweet chariot came forth to whisk her from this life into eternity. I’m also pretty sure she had a mob of loved ones and friends racing to be first to meet her with a fishing pole. I’ll bet Jesus was the point man.
Utmost thanks to God for giving us time with her. Thank you, Jesus, for being Grandma’s perfect example of true sacrifice. For coming humbly, then living and dying hard in order to hand us the hope of Heaven. Thank You, Sweet Spirit, for hovering to help us look forward through grief clouds and glimpse assurance of seeing our loved ones again.
Immense thanks to Herrin and Memorial Hospital of Carbondale, Illinois, ICU and IMCU departments in particular. Every doctor, nurse and ancillary staff member who went above and beyond to not only care with deep compassion and dedicated skill for Granny Veda but for providing extraordinary emotional support and comfort care to us. Thanks also to Hospice of Southern Illinois. Denise (our fellow Okie), you are truly gifted and a blessing.
Special thanks to Sally Shupe, whose efficient eagle eyes with proofreading enabled me to spend more precious time with my grandmother. You are a wonderful line editor!
Melissa Endlich, thank you for continuing to believe in me. I have grown as a writer due to your editorial guidance. No doubt God put us together. I am so thankful you know my writing better than I do and that you steered me toward crafting stories about caregivers. Thank you for putting wind to the sail of this series.
To Rachel Kent, much love and thanks for your encouragement and character. You are blessed to be part of a stellar agency iconic in the industry and to be mentored by someone as well respected and forward-thinking as Janet Grant. May God turn His face toward you and give you, Books and Such and your families peace and blessings for your futures.
Contents
Chapter One (#uf6df1e61-9734-589b-b977-6de36a6de555)
Chapter Two (#ud21cf071-e021-56e9-bc03-ed5b08bafbfc)
Chapter Three (#u895f9fc9-78b9-5766-be7f-6ef4a2dd32f1)
Chapter Four (#u5383316b-834c-5608-8937-86931119aa29)
Chapter Five (#u365d8da0-7992-5a0b-8677-783145ce3ac6)
Chapter Six (#u35718c44-3c23-59eb-90c6-f450cbcaa2b8)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Change of plans, carrottop.”
Suitcase in tow, Lauren Bates smiled at Grandpa Lem’s voice coming through her cell phone. “What, you’re picking me up in your tractor?” She exited Refuge Airport. Southern Illinois welcomed her with breezy warmth and a bouquet of bright June colors she wasn’t accustomed to in Texas.
Lem chuckled. “Ought to since you haven’t come to see me in five years.”
Guilt whooshed in like planes on runways nearby. “I know, Grandpa. I’m sorry. What’s this plan change?”
“Accompany me to the ribbon-cutting of a new trauma center Doc Wellington founded at Eagle Point? Starts in half an hour.”
Anxiety knotted her gut. Not only was she weary hearing about Dr. Wellington, a medical facility was the last place she wanted to be. She sighed. “For you, Grandpa, I’ll endure it.”
“Good. We’re in a blue Dodge Ram. See you in a few.”
“We?” She maneuvered past people cluttering the sidewalk.
“Yes. Dr. Wellington’s helping me pick you up.”
“Why would you need help?” Lauren canvassed curbside cars and spotted a spiffy blue truck near the front.
“I don’t drive on streets anymore. Only fields.”
Alarm slowed her steps. “Why not?”
“In case you forgot, I’m nearing a hundred.”
She almost pointed out he was only turning seventy, but swift remembrance of her reason for this spur-of-the-moment trip halted her. Anticipation spiked as Lem exited the truck.
“Look who’s here!” Grinning and hunched, he seemed older and slower than she remembered. Lauren rushed him with a hug. His bear strength was gone. Tears welling, she squeezed thin ribs.
She’d come because of his sudden uncharacteristic fear over turning seventy. Terror struck her now, too, but according to that Dr. Wellington he always spoke of, Lem was healthy. Still, she’d had to come see for herself. She should’ve come sooner.
“I’ll take your bags,” a deep voice said behind her. Strong hands reached around and deftly lifted Lauren’s purse and colossal suitcase from between her and Grandpa.
Lauren turned. Grandpa leaned aside. Up stepped the most gorgeous creature ever.
Lauren gulped then remembered her manners. The tall man looked less like a doctor and more like a landscaper, with his deep tan and fit build. Intense and chiseled, yet polished like an airbrushed movie star. And he was her age. Not Grandpa’s.
The doctor’s easy smile tilted her world. His eyes were a stunning mixture of mostly silver with hints of blue. She gawked like a junior high geek facing the football captain.
“Mitch, this is my granddaughter,” Lem said.
“Lauren, pleased to finally meet you.”
Ooh, his voice! Pleasant. Deep. And, wow. He knew her name? She blinked. He blinked. Her gaze inched to the hot pink handbag draped over his manly shoulder. She tried not to laugh at the sharp contrast of megamuscles toting a tiny pink purse.
As though the striking doctor with the black hair cut in a military buzz and epic eyes suddenly caught on about the purse—and also diagnosed this weirdness between them as attraction—he lowered her handbag. He offered a sheepish grin and a masculine hand. When she settled hers into the strength of his, the warmth flowing from it enveloped her entire being.
No dead-fish handshake here. His was firm. Confident. Alabaster teeth gleamed from a mouth framed by a strong jaw. His grin gave way to a shy laugh.
She knew the feeling. She’d been bamboozled by attraction, too. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Wellington.” She rescued his endangered ego by retrieving her purse from his fingers.
“It’s Mitch.” He tilted his head, openly assessing her. His hearty smile expanded and he seemed in no hurry to look away.
She cleared her throat and searched for something else exciting to stare at. Unfortunately, sidewalk cracks weren’t near as interesting to behold as the dashing doctor.
Observing them, Grandpa chuckled as if having a private party with himself. Mitch moved first. He placed her suitcase behind the seat then assisted her in so she sat in the middle of the truck’s seat. His grip was as sturdy, warm and steady as his fond gaze.
Mitch approached Lem. “Up you go, Gramps.”
Gramps?
Lauren’s irritation overrode Mitch’s appeal, as he helped Grandpa in, then approached the driver’s side. His shoulders were broad enough to require a rather pleasant pivot to enter the vehicle and, once inside, for her to move closer to Grandpa.
Not that she noticed.
“Where to?” Mitch asked Lem.
“Since Lauren’s flight was delayed, she’s coming to the ribbon-cutting so you’re not late to your own party,” Lem said.
Mitch laughed. The sound both grated and soothed. Grated because of the closeness he obviously shared with her grandpa, which stirred a surprise pot of jealousy. Soothing because Mitch’s Grand Canyon voice could make a typhoon swoon.
At a red light, Mitch caught her stare. The corner of his mouth slid into a colossal smile.
“I expected you to be older,” Lauren explained. “Grandpa talks about you nonstop.”
“Likewise,” Mitch said. “I feel like I know you.”
Yikes! What all did he know? The failure she’d been?
“So, Lauren, how long will you be in town?” Mitch asked.
“Three months!” Lem announced. “I couldn’t be happier.” He beamed. Mitch did, too, which meant he obviously cared about Lem. How close were they? Drizzles of dread seeped into her stomach.
“How’d you manage to get so much time off?” Mitch asked.
“I’m between jobs right now. I’m opening a specialty shop in Houston with a friend this fall. We started the business from scratch in her home a year ago. Our client list and workload grew to the point where we needed more space.”
“What’s the specialty?” Mitch kept a keen eye on traffic.
“Sewing. We’re leasing an historic building in town after receiving permission from local government and the Historical Society to open it. It’ll be called Ye Olde Time Seamstress Shoppe. We’re restoring the building’s nineteenth-century period decor. Took a lot of wrangling and red tape but it’s in the renovation stage now, so this was a perfect opportunity to finally visit Grandpa.”
“She’s getting over a much-needed breakup,” Lem inserted.
Lauren smirked. “Grandpa’s not letting me live it down.”
Lem harrumphed. “Told you from the start he was no good.”
Lauren noticed that Mitch navigated the roads with extra care. “You’re a very safe driver,” she commented. “I like that.”
“A welcome change from her ex who regularly drove ninety. I know because she called me, often upset,” Lem announced.
“My ex got arrested for speeding past a school bus and almost striking a child. That was my last straw,” she explained.
“He was reckless in general. With others’ lives and their relationship.” Lem relaxed. “I’m glad she refused to marry a man who’ll have little regard for his future children’s safety.”
While Grandpa was right, Lauren felt like sinking into the seat. She didn’t like Mitch knowing about the poor judgments she’d made.
“Do you miss him?” Mitch asked gently.
“No, actually I don’t.”
He’d not only ignored Lauren’s frequent pleas to slow down, he’d ridiculed her for caring. Mitch was obviously the precise opposite kind of person. One who cared deeply about the safety of others. If only that would ease her concern over his closeness with Lem. Maybe in time. Right now, it hurt. Badly. Still…
“It makes me feel better knowing Grandpa has someone like you looking out for him.” Lauren meant it. She shouldn’t be jealous. The men’s friendship should ease her guilt about living in Texas. But being here with Grandpa and the fear that he contended with made her never want to leave him again.
Unfortunately she’d given her word to her best friend, who’d forfeited her career to start the specialty business with Lauren. They’d poured their talents, time and savings into it. The first pangs of doubt about her decision assailed Lauren.
Lauren studied Mitch. Did he know why Grandpa’s fear surfaced now? He needed to. Maybe he could help alleviate Grandpa’s anxiety. Just because Lem’s grandfather and father died in their seventieth year didn’t mean Lem would. Right?
For a fleeting moment, she hated that she’d taken out a loan to start her seamstress shop and bound herself to be a business partner with her friend. It hog-tied her to Texas.
“He misses his only granddaughter.” Mitch raised his chin in a perceiving manner. “Lem tells me your parents died within hours of one another. I’m deeply sorry. What was it?”
His frankness surprised her. “Carbon monoxide poisoning. Their room sat over the garage of a house we’d moved into that winter. Daddy started the car to warm it up before taking me to school and Mom to work. They lay back down and…never woke up.” Lauren blinked swiftly against a wave of emotion.
“Losing her mama and daddy made Lauren want to become a nurse to help people,” Lem inserted. “And educate on safety and accident prevention.”
“I hear you,” Mitch said soberly. “I believe every accident is one-hundred-percent preventable. My dad perished in a motorcycle wreck.”
“Across the road from the trauma center site,” Lem added.
Had that inspired Mitch to build it? Lauren studied him.
Mitch turned onto the interstate that led Refuge to Eagle Point. “Dad was critically wounded. He could’ve been saved by surgery, had a hospital been closer, and if the person who pulled out in front of him had been looking.”
Lem clicked his tongue. “He also lost his mama. She died from cancer not caught in time. She didn’t have insurance and put off going to the doctor until too late.”
“But thanks to Lem inviting me to church chili-suppers and becoming like a second dad, I turned out all right.” He grinned.
Lauren’s heart arched toward Mitch. “I know what it feels like to lose someone to something preventable.”
Lem harrumphed. “Yeah, preventable like me losing you to Texas again when your building renovations are complete. I hope you hired horrible contractors who delay the timeline.”
“Grandpaaaa. Don’t be cranky. My friend sacrificed a lot to go into business with me. She’d be devastated if I bailed.”
“Yes, it’s prudent to honor your word, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that you made this big decision out of duress.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Lauren.” Mitch’s chuckle dissolved the squabble. He sounded like he really meant his words.
She crammed her hands under her knees. “Thanks. The seamstress shop will specialize in costumes and uniforms. A percentage goes toward charities for children who’ve lost parents.” For some reason her formerly noble plans felt barren.
“She makes specialty clothes for free to needy little kids and nursing home patrons, too,” Lem added. “Nice, although I hate that she’s not using her nursing skills like her sewing gift.”
“Grandpa! We don’t discuss that,” she remarked gently. Futile since she inherited her stubborn streak from Lem.
A determined scowl bore down on Lem’s bulbous nose and farm-freckled grin. “She don’t like me pestering her about it.”
“So I won’t tread there, either,” Mitch said with another tension-diffusing smile, which thinned into a tenacious line as his gaze gripped Lauren’s in the mirror. “Yet.”
What did that mean? She eyed Lem, smug now, then Mitch. Neither man’s expression offered clues. “This smacks of conspiracy.” She folded her arms and refused to look into that mirror, or Mitch’s arresting eyes, again.
Her resolve lasted an entire eighth of a mile.
At the next red light, she caught Mitch studying her through the rearview mirror. He said nothing at first, then, “Feels almost like we’re having a family spat here.”
“Yeah. Hatfield and McCoy caliber,” she quipped. Especially if he joined forces with Grandpa and tried to talk her back into nursing. Not happening. Even if Lem put him up to it. And no one softened her like Grandpa could.
He’d essentially raised her every summer since her tenth birthday after her parents died. She spent the rest of the year changing homes with the seasons, depending on which relative had room. Lauren’s mom was Lem’s only daughter. Grieving over her had bonded the two like suture glue.
Now it seemed as if Mitch’s bond with Grandpa was stronger.
She shifted in her seat to put some distance between herself and Mitch. His overwhelming presence in the truck’s cab made her feel snuggled next to a nuclear reactor with a compromised cooling system. Lem stretched, scooting her closer to Mitch again. She shot Lem a that-did-not-help look.
Which he ignored with fervor.
The whistling old scamp clearly had matchmaking in mind, which meant he was out of his mind. Lauren would no more date a doctor than Grandpa would give up his greasy biscuits and gravy.
These last twenty minutes were going to be one long ride.
Despite her pulse pounding, the ribbon-cutting was not something she could bring herself to joyfully anticipate. Hopefully her unruly heart rate had nothing to do with notions of romance.
* * *
Mitch never thought this day would come. Or end.
But here he was, standing at the door of a dream. He poised an outrageously large pair of scissors over the ribbon. “They’re heavier than my military rifle.”
Laughter erupted from the crowd. Bulb lights flashed and popped from every angle. Townspeople and reporters snapped images of Eagle Point Trauma Center’s grand opening.
Surgery tech Kate Dalton leaned over the microphone. “You’d think our top trauma surgeon would slice right the first time,” she teased in reference to this being Mitch’s second attempt.
“Cut me some slack. These are duller than your bedtime stories.” Actually Kate’s stories coaxed countless soldiers to sleep, though she claimed she bored them into oblivion instead.
“Come on, Mitch! Those scissors can’t be older’n me,” Lem heckled good-heartedly from the crowd.
Laughing, Mitch sought out his friend in a sea of onlookers but snagged on a stunning redhead instead. Her gaze hit the ground like platelets in a blood storm, and her face turned just as red.
Same attraction that had jolted them earlier. Mitch hadn’t counted on this distraction.
Therefore his inner guard better be on its best behavior.
Lauren was profoundly attractive in pictures Lem so proudly displayed, but exponentially more beautiful in person. Her eyes were so unique he could barely look away. Mitch diverted attention to Lem, who watched him studying Lauren with peculiar interest. Lem’s grin heated Mitch’s neck.
He shifted uncomfortably at the podium, unable to recall the last time he’d blushed.
“To-day, Dr. Wellington.” Kate gave a dramatic sigh.
Though the sash-cutting delay was staged by request of news camera crews, Mitch’s team joined the crowd in genuine laughter.
Getting cues from reporters to continue the stall, Mitch pivoted. “If I had a scalpel rather than these turn-of-the-century scissors, I’d be set.”
Kate’s eyebrow cocked. Having worked with her in Afghanistan performing combat surgeries, he knew the look.
Mitch turned his palm up. “Scalpel?” He used his official surgeon voice. Kate produced the stainless-steel instrument.
The crowd went wild. Cheers and clapping abounded. Jubilation escalated when Kate raised the blade and saluted the building’s flag with it. The curved edge glinted in sunlight.
“Scalpel,” she repeated per surgery protocol and gently smacked its handle into Mitch’s palm.
How he loved that feeling. Only, this was epic. The moment turned surreal. Mitch hardly believed they were standing at the newly built trauma center, set to open part-time the first of next month. Seventeen days, and his team’s battlefield dream would become reality.
Next the mayor started a speech about how the center would bring their town economy-reviving revenue.
Mitch’s gaze drifted to the building, an undeniable answer to prayer. Awe for God engulfed him as he studied the magnificent steel-and-glass structure. It took his breath away, because despite titanium faith, he was a frontline fighter who’d wondered if he’d ever live to see this day.
Thank You, God, for bringing us through and to.
His eyes caressed a scripture etched above the Eagle Point Emergency entrance logo. A battlefield promise he’d clung to and prayed over every service member his scalpel came in contact with. His architect cousin had engraved it on the building: “The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. Numbers 6:26”
Speech ended, the mayor left the podium.
Ian Shupe, Mitch’s best friend and head anesthesiologist on his trauma team, stepped up and pulled the ribbon taut. “Ready?”
Mitch drew an elated breath and inhaled pure joy. “Ready.”
“Don’t amputate your fingers.” Ian slid his hands farther apart and grinned, evoking more crowd laughter. “Or mine.”
Mitch chuckled and set scalpel to ribbon, camouflage to celebrate the team’s war-veteran status.
He opened his mouth to utter the dedication, but sounds of distantly approaching helicopters ripped wings from his words. Probably news choppers.
Mitch didn’t look because he really didn’t fancy the notion of slicing or suturing his best friend’s finger.
That instant, Ian’s hands went lax. The uncut ribbon fluttered like a feather to the ground. Mitch looked up at Ian.
But Ian wasn’t looking at the fallen ribbon.
He stared at the sky. And he definitely wasn’t smiling.
Mitch turned, saw what Ian saw and straightened. Sheathed the scalpel and handed it to Kate, who said, “Hey, are those…?”
“Trauma choppers,” Mitch finished for her.
“What a show!” a crowd member yelled. Mitch and Ian stared at the two incoming helicopters. Medical, not news.
If this was part of the show, Mitch had missed the memo. He faced Ian. “You set this up?”
“No, you?” Ian followed Mitch, who stepped off the stage. They headed toward an adjacent field where the choppers seemed destined to land within minutes.
“What, have mock trauma teams come?” Mitch shook his head, adrenaline surging. “No. This is no drill. This is the real deal.”
Chapter Two
Mitch and his sparse trauma crew sprinted toward the field. Reporters and onlookers chased.
“Stay back!” Mitch commanded the engulfing crowd. Lauren skidded in her steps. Did she think he meant her?
He waved her to follow, but she froze in place. Her wind-tousled fiery hair rose up from her face like a crown of silken flames. Remarkable emerald eyes darted awkwardly between him and the landing choppers. Abject terror wrestled other emotions on her face. She was concerned. Conflicted. Stricken.
His heart was full of compassion for her as it had been in the car when she’d mentioned the tragic way her parents had died.
Lem once told him that she’d been traumatized by not knowing how to help her parents she’d found barely breathing. That tragedy birthed her dream to become a nurse who had moonlighted as a CPR coach so other families wouldn’t have to live her nightmare.
Mitch didn’t make a habit of questioning God, but what a terrible twist of fate it had been for sweet Lauren to lose her first patient off her obstetrics orientation a year ago.
Lem said the subsequent lawsuit also raked Lauren over the coals. Mitch knew because Lem, in his love of telling stories concerning Lauren, had left nothing out.
According to Lem, the ordeal had so devastated her, she had not only bolted from nursing, she had pulled away from God, faith, friends and family. Then wrapped herself up in her only other skill—sewing. Something Lauren’s mom had taught her and was their special mother-daughter connection before her mom died.
Mitch’s heart broke for Lauren now, seeing in person the unleashed emotion on her face. The unshackled fight-or-flight reaction in her eyes. He knew it.
That instant a veil lifted, allowing Mitch to see the huge gaping wounds Lauren’s own trauma had left her with. Hurts she had yet to be healed from.
The moment suspended Mitch in time and made him wish for words that would heal and not harm.
For Lem, Mitch wanted like crazy to comfort her but he’d have others to focus on soon. He couldn’t be everywhere at once.
But Someone could.
Jesus, rescue her. Show her the truth. Draw her back.
No idea what the last phrase encompassed, but that’s the prayer that pressed out of him so he let it fly.
He maintained eye contact with Lauren as long as possible to keep stride and still send visual cues that she was not only welcome to help, but worthy and needed.
Apparently misinterpreting his directive gaze, she whirled toward the encroaching crowd. “Cameras off!” Lauren yelled above chopper noise to reporters. “They may have real victims here.”
They? By that word, Mitch knew Lauren no longer thought of herself as part of the medical community, which saddened him.
Nevertheless, the authority in her voice impressed him because even the most aggressive reporters complied instantly.
The crowd stopped as one unit and fell back in silence. Concern infiltrated faces. Mass murmurs rose.
Mitch trudged forward. “I hope this is someone’s idea of a very bad joke,” he told Ian. Ian’s jaw clenched as he nodded.
But when a crew medic jumped from the chopper before it fully landed, Mitch knew with sick certainty it wasn’t. The strained look on the man’s ruddy face confirmed it.
“Incomiiiing!” Ian yelled.
Mitch’s team rushed ahead, leaving him to obtain report and issue orders.
As when overseas, they worked like neurons not having to be told their duty.
Ian and Kate met one chopper. Mitch’s circulating and triage nurses approached another.
Gratitude for their professionalism filled him.
His pre-op and scrub nurses weren’t flying in until next week, and his recovery nurse had pulled out to reenlist. Mitch would need to replace her ASAP.
He grabbed a man with a microphone. “Clear paths. This isn’t part of the ceremony. We have injured on the way.”
The microphone man complied. Officials looked as baffled as Mitch felt. “But are you set up for that?” one sputtered.
Mitch’s risen hands both halted and calmed them.
The mayor jogged to keep up. “Sir, you’re not officially open… .”
“We are if those choppers have wounded in them.”
The mayor’s face turned grim. “They radioed they were coming to see the trauma center opening, but not with patients. Dr. Wellington, I fear something terrible has happened.”
Mitch’s sentiments exactly. “We’ll handle it, Mayor. We’ve handled worse situations before.”
Respect gleamed from the mayor’s eyes. “I’m sure you have. What can I do?”
“Send any available Eagle Point EMTs and other first responders. And thank God choppers were right there.”
“Yes, indeed, but are you sure the center is ready to—?”
“Absolutely.” We’ll make it ready. Mitch turned, ending the conversation. The crowd parted as he plowed through. He paused to focus on a third approaching chopper.
What had just happened?
If distant smoke billowing above trees lining the interstate was an indication, something massive.
A horrible thought struck. There was one major road in and out. If this was a northbound motor vehicle accident, the victims had most likely been on their way here to the ceremony.
So in building the trauma center, he’d created catastrophe?
No. He refused to believe that or doubt God’s goodness.
Until another medical chopper ripped through the clouds. Disbelief coursed through him. How many more casualties would come? No matter. They’d handle it.
Mitch peered into the domed windows of medical choppers to get an idea of how many patients occupied each.
Rushing air and the high-pitched whup-whup-whups of whistling rotor blades pushed all other sound away.
Mitch mentally counted his staff. Not nearly enough. More nurses were flying in next week. He needed help now.
Instantly Mitch thought again of Lem’s granddaughter.
He turned, scanned the crowd.
Lem had said her biggest regret was that intense college years had prevented her from visiting Lem. Hadn’t he mentioned something about her working as a surgery tech while in school?
If so, that meant she had the experience he needed. Mitch hoped like crazy she hadn’t let her license or certifications lapse.
He ran toward the throng of people. Found her huddled next to Lem, whose eyes rivaled hers for biggest and roundest of the crowd.
Gauging that his staff was triaging the ground choppers and he still had a minute until the others landed, he sprinted over.
Mitch faced Lauren and placed firm hands on her shoulders. Willed her to look him in the eye. “Lauren, are you current?”
“Wh-what?”
“Your nursing license. Is it current?”
“N-not in this state.” She blinked furiously.
“In Texas?”
She nodded slowly, looking confused as to why he’d ask.
“Are all of your emergency certifications up to date?”
“Y-yes, but—”
“That’s good enough. You’re legal in a mass casualty situation, which is what I fear we have here.”
“What? No, you can’t possibly ask—”
He could and he would.
“Lauren, listen to me. I need your help.”
She shook her head vehemently.
He swiveled his neck to watch the next chopper prepare to land, its flight crew frenziedly working over someone.
No time to argue.
Facing Lauren again, he increased hand pressure, hunkered his shoulders and got nose to nose with Lem’s granddaughter. “Nurse Bates, I’m not asking. I’m ordering. Triage chopper number three, then meet me at four.”
Desperate hands came up to clutch his. “Mitch, please,” she rasped. “I can’t. I’m not qualified for trauma. I worked OB.”
Compassion vying for impatience, Mitch leaned close to her ear. “Lauren Esther Bates, I’ll tell you what a wise man told me when I doubted I had what it took to be a doctor.”
He eyed Lem respectively, then Lauren pointedly. “God doesn’t call the qualified, He qualifies the called. I’m convinced He put you here for this precise moment. I don’t have enough hands. People are dying. We need you. Go.” He gave her shoulders a nudge—okay, more like gentle shove.
Rage streamed from her eyes, then tears.
She spun and ran to the chopper. He caught the piercing cry she hurled at him upon turning.
Her scathing reaction promised she’d never forgive him for this. But practicing triage medicine wasn’t a popularity contest. He had a job to do and people to save.
He faced Lem. “Sorry, but—”
Lem shook his head. “Just do your job, son. I’ll get a ride home.” Lem affectionately clasped his shoulder.
Mitch eyed the last chopper hovering above a windblown field. “I meant sorry for speaking to Lauren in that manner.”
“She’ll be all right.”
Mitch hoped so as he observed her taking a report from the third chopper crew on his way to meet the fourth.
She probably wondered how he knew her middle name. But Mitch knew nearly everything about her because, true to what he’d said in the car, Lem never stopped talking about her.
He’d already known how her parents had died, but had asked out of sensitivity in order to gauge how many details Lauren knew so he wouldn’t mistakenly speak of it.
Mitch had heard many times how she was named after the Biblical Esther at Lem’s request at her birth.
If Lauren Esther was made of the same moral fiber as her namesake and as her grandpa, she wouldn’t bail on him, his skeleton crew…or the people injured in those choppers.
Lord, I hope like the end of hiccups that You bestowed Lem’s courage, compassion, intelligence, recall, integrity and unflappable grit upon Lauren.
The next two hours would tell.
Chapter Three
Satisfied Lauren was on board with his plans, Mitch sprinted to the last-landed chopper. Three’s crew worked feverishly, but he had peace Lauren could handle it. A medic disembarked and rushed Mitch, who eyed his beeper to be sure he hadn’t missed pages about this.
“Status?” Mitch asked the out-of-breath flight medic.
“Three-car accident. High-speed head-on.” He hitched a thumb toward the interstate. “Mass casualties…” He indicated the array of life flight choppers. “Obviously.”
Blades wind-whipped Mitch’s lab coat as they approached the fleet. Gas fumes permeated the air. “What happened?”
The medic’s eyes hooded. “Texting teen crossed the center lane. Hit a minivan, which spun into a third car. Perpetrating car ejected unbelted passengers. Twelve victims in all. Van folks in bad shape, but we can make it to St. Louis with them.”
“Who’re you leaving with us?”
“Both ejected teens. Driver’s bad, but not as grave as her passenger. Three more too critical for Refuge, and St. Loo’s too far. Place is a godsend.” He indicated Mitch’s center.
“Who’s the imminent death?” Mitch searched chopper windows.
The paramedic pointed to where Ian worked on a critical patient as Kate hurtled the gurney toward the entrance—which Mitch just now realized was still belted in uncut camo ribbon.
He dashed over, pulled his hook knife and slashed the band machete-style seconds before Ian and Kate torpedoed through.
“Not the way you envisioned the ribbon-cutting, huh?” Lauren, who’d jogged up, asked. “Got an extra stethoscope?”
Mitch draped his over her neck and squeezed her shoulders in respect and gratitude. She nodded, then bolted back to the field. Her previous terror and hostility had vanished. Thank You, Lord.
He headed toward operating rooms. Had they even taken the plastic off the equipment yet? If only they had a bigger crew.
But Mitch had wanted to honor the community by saving remaining positions for townspeople needing work.
Ian looked to be thinking similar thoughts. “I got this case. You rally the troops. We need more help. I wish your pararescue jumper friends were here. We could use the PJs’ elite medical skills.”
“No doubt.” But the special operations paramedics were on a mission. Mitch ran back out. Scanned the crowd.
Lord, come on. You know I can’t do this without—
Like exclamation points on the end of his prayer, Mandy Briggs, pediatrician wife of one of the PJs, rushed up. “I’m here to help.”
Mitch nodded. “Anyone else medical, we need ’em. Check ID then team up with a nurse named Lauren at chopper three.”
“Will do.” Mandy instructed medical people to see her immediately. While she vetted, Mitch skimmed accident reports texted from EMTs and police officers on scene.
Amid nurses bearing badges, a uniformed man came forward. “The mayor sent me over, ma’am. I’m an experienced army medic on family medical leave.”
“Excellent. See him.” Mandy directed him to Mitch.
He approached Mitch, raring to go. “Name’s Caleb Landis. What can I do, sir?” He bounced on the balls of his feet and looked unafraid and eager to help. He had the air of a born leader. Good.
Mitch pointed to a chopper. “Triage that one.”
“Yes, sir.”
The head flight medic faced Mitch. “Those three are red-light critical and one grave. Wanted to give you a status. We didn’t have your contact info before because—”
“No one expected this,” Mitch finished for him.
The paramedic nodded. “Most docs would take my head off for not calling first. Thanks for letting us drop without notice.”
Mitch waved him toward his rig. “I call it teamwork.”
“I’d offer my teams to stay and help but we’ve had two more trauma calls across the river.” Apology resided in his eyes.
“We’ll take it from here. You’re free to fly.”
The second the medic settled in his chopper, it lifted.
How was Lauren holding up?
Mitch found her hovering expertly over a patient. She didn’t appear frazzled, but focused and quick on her feet. She held a terrified patient’s hand and spoke softly while wheeling the gurney. Mandy walked alongside, adjusting IV lines. No one rushed, so the patient must not be as critical. Just scared. The way the trembling woman’s eyes fixed to Lauren’s convinced Mitch that Lauren knew calmness was contagious, and she deftly infused it.
Despite the carnage outside, Mitch smiled. Lauren was meant to do this. Take care of broken people.
Lem had given Mitch a summer to-do list that included several big repairs prior to them learning Lauren was coming.
Perhaps repair of a different sort was meant to happen this summer. More than what they had anticipated. Mitch could fix Lem’s tractor, his deck and his aging kitchen and other projects. But he also determined to get through to Lauren’s broken place by summer’s end. Repair the rupture that had so wounded her soul, she’d walked away from the career Mitch was confident had comprised her calling. Then Lem would worry less over her.
Mitch got updates on all triaged patients then headed to the next critical. He threw on a surgical cap and mask, scrubbed in and backed through his sterile suite. Thankfully, someone had readied the room. Nurses from somewhere were gowned and counting instruments. Eagle Point. Welcome home.
The staff gowned and gloved Mitch, then transferred the patient in. Mitch began exploratory surgery. “Clamp.”
Someone pressed it into his hand. “Clamp.”
“Scalpel.” Mitch grew impressed at the speed and accuracy with which she passed instruments.
Intense part of the surgery over, Mitch tilted to view the assistant and found himself absorbed in Lauren’s eyes. Delight rippled through him. He smiled, though she couldn’t see through his mask. “Hello, Nurse Bates. Thought you sounded familiar.”
She blinked rapidly, which revealed how nervous she was. Her cheek above the mask twitched.
He leaned closer. “You’re doing great, Lauren.”
“You, too,” she whispered back.
“Suture.”
She pressed it confidently into his hand. “Suture.”
He hadn’t even told her what thread size or type. Nice.
Upon closing the wound, Mitch rested his elbow against Lauren’s. He liked the feel of her working at his side. “So, Bates, my recovery nurse pulled out at the last minute, which means I’m hiring. You interested?”
She scowled above her mask. “Are you insane?”
He laughed. “Guess that’s a no.”
She shook her head, proving she really thought he was crazy. After the patient was moved to recovery, Lauren stayed while Mitch checked the progress of other patients. Surgeons and staff had come from nearby Refuge. Mandy or the mayor must’ve called for backup. Mitch didn’t recognize anyone from when he had lived in Eagle Point prior to entering the service. Hard to tell with no one in street clothes. Not even his primary trauma team.
Mitch was glad Eagle Point’s reporter suggested they wear scrubs for the ribbon-cutting to look official. Instruments in his lab coat had saved life-giving seconds. God had ways of taking care of them and patients in their charge. Like choppers being present. Therefore Mitch believed God would fix his acute staffing problem. Lord, if You could do that STAT, I’d appreciate it.
Lauren approached that instant and handed him a chart. Hmm. “We’ve cleared a room and pre-opped the next case.”
“Would you like to assist me again?” He smiled.
She scowled. “Would you like a knuckle sandwich?” She sighed. Tilted her head. “Fine. If you need the help, I will.”
“We have sufficient help now.”
Her eyes widened. “Then why on earth would you ask me? I’m not cut out for this.” Papers fluttered as her arm waved.
“Because you need to trust you.” He took the chart and nodded toward recovery. “If they’re okay in there, you’re free to go.” He left her with his words. No time to waste. The next patient was on the table.
Multiple surgeries later, Mitch exited the broken-in operating area and peeled off his cap. He stood beside his team, hand-washing in silence. “We tried, guys.”
His words didn’t mend Kate’s melancholy or lift Ian’s irritation. Ian glared at the ceiling, looking tempted to take the injustice up with God. “It’s not right when the wrong one dies.”
“Chin up. She could’ve been your daughter,” Mitch said of the texting teenage girl who’d survived while her victim did not.
“No. Mine won’t be texting when she’s driving.”
“How can you be sure?” Mitch leaned against an IV pole.
“Because she’s not getting her license until she’s thirty.” A smile breached Ian’s weary face.
“How’s custody stuff going?” Mitch asked tentatively, knowing Ian was enduring a painfully ugly and disillusioning divorce.
Ian’s jaw clicked. “Not in my favor.”
Which accounted for Ian’s rift with God. Ian’s crumbled marriage cemented Mitch’s belief that distance only ruined relationships. That also mutilated Mitch’s last relationship when his girlfriend’s unit moved to another area of Afghanistan.
Precisely why he should re-up his efforts to ignore an unexpected attraction to a cute, carrottopped Texan.
“Sorry, bud.” Mitch wished he could ease Ian’s pain. And prevent repeating his own, which made him wonder why he’d entertained an attraction to Lauren at all. Mitch shook his head. “Man. All my brain cells must’ve dehydrated in the desert.”
“Nah. You have at least two left.”
“Then one’s hiding and the other fled to go find it.”
Ian laughed. “Why you say that?”
“You don’t want to know.” Mitch’s ridiculous attraction to Lauren was better off unmentioned. He’d just gotten over his girlfriend who broke up with him because they were long-distance. Lauren lived in Texas, which meant she was off-limits. Mitch wasn’t looking to break his heart twice in one year. Safer to lean on the wary side while getting to know Lauren this summer. A feat, since Lem already exacted some pretty stealthy matchmaking maneuvers on them.
Thankfully Lauren was the furthest thing from interested in him, too. So jealous, she probably bled green rather than red.
Ian eyed him peculiarly then retreated to the staff lounge. Mitch ran a last patient round. As Kate stood in the hall updating Mitch, a rush of red hair caught his eye.
“Lauren?” Surprise coursed through him.
She leaned out of a linen closet. “Yes?”
“You’re still here?” He approached Lauren slowly lest she unleash the anger he’d glimpsed earlier. Calm filled her face—and some other expression he couldn’t place.
“Surprised?” She smiled.
“I am. Thought you left hours ago. You’re free to.”
She fiddled with the blanket. “I know.”
He kept a gentle distance. She stepped away then turned back.
He readied for an explosion. Her face stayed thoughtful.
“Mitch?” Her mouth fumbled with words, which drew his attention to full lips. Bright red. Probably that color from dehydration, running halls for hours with nothing to drink.
He wrestled his unruly attention back to her eyes.
Finally she held his gaze. “I wanted to say thanks.”
He nodded, not wanting her to have to explain.
By not giving her the chance to opt out of helping, he’d given her something unexpected. Had her confidence in her nursing skills been restored by this horrible accident?
“Lauren?” He liked how her name rolled off his tongue.
“Yes, Dr. Wellington?” She paused. Lovely profile.
“How many more patients might you go on to help now?”
“Tonight?” She looked haggard at the thought.
“No. We’re done here tonight. I meant how many more patients…in life.”
She blinked rapidly but didn’t answer.
“Any?”
She bravely met his gaze and his question with an honest but vulnerable face. “Not sure. Jury’s still out on that one.”
“Would you reconsider my vacant nurse position?”
She looked shocked that he’d ask again. “I’m honored you’d trust me, but no. My life is in Texas.”
“But your grandfather is here.”
Scowling, she chewed her lip. “Thank you, Dr. Obvious.”
Mitch chuckled. “We need an assertive charge nurse. I have it on good faith you can hold your own with bossy physicians.”
She rolled her eyes. “My patient’s blanket is getting cold. Your patient, rather.”
Her answer far from pacified.
“Very well.” He motioned. “Carry on.”
Face lifted, she hugged the blanket. “It’s for the texting teenage girl. I heard you lost her passenger. I’m sorry.”
Mitch nodded. “We did everything we could.”
She searched his eyes. “I admire you and your team. How do you do it? Lose someone yet never give up?”
“Because despite each one we lose, there’s a slew to save.”
She tucked her chin, as though trying to draw warmth from the blanket herself.
Not caring that his back bore Kate’s insatiably curious stare, Mitch stepped close, his arms on her shoulders. “Lauren, I know this was horrific and hard. I didn’t leave you much choice, but you held up as well as anyone. Sorry if I came across as rude and unfeeling before.”
“You had a job to do and you were right…people were dying.” She backed out of his grasp. “The last thing I want hanging over me is more guilt. I couldn’t abandon you. Or your team.” She nodded toward Kate, who nodded back. “Or them.” Lauren indicated rooms of recovering patients.
Mitch stilled, respecting her need for space.
Good thing, because the beauty that unleashed every time she blinked was kicking his concentration to the curb. She had the most gorgeous green eyes.
Before she got out of hearing range he said, “Nurse Bates?”
“Yes, Dr. Wellington?” She appeared miffed every time he used the title. Like she knew he did so intentionally.
He leaned out of earshot of Kate, who’d be dying like an eavesdropping little sister to know what was said. “Please, call me Mitch. ‘Dr. Wellington’ makes me feel snobby and senile.”
A gorgeous smile dawned. “Agreed. But only if you stop, and I mean this instant, calling me Nurse Bates.”
“But you need to get used to hearing it.” He grinned.
Her eyebrows pinched in a beautiful downward slope. “If my patient didn’t need this blanket, Wellington, I’d be tempted to smother you with it.”
His grin widened. “You definitely inherited your grandfather’s temper.”
“I can’t imagine him ever being angry with you. You seem the best of friends.”
There was no missing the sour tone that pickled her words.
“He hasn’t been angry with me for twenty years anyway.” Mitch chuckled, recalling the first time he met Lem, who dragged Mitch across a field by his ear for stealing corn. Made him work it off, too. Lem and that cornfield had been the best things to ever happen to Mitch. “But I have seen him come unhinged at a broken-down tractor or two.”
She giggled. “He still kick tires when they break down?”
“Still does.”
“I’m ashamed I never appreciated everything about him before.” She slumped. “Anyway, time for vitals. See you later.”
He could only hope. Mitch watched her departure, enjoying every second of her appealing stride.
Ian returned. “I’m— Wait. Why do you look sedated?”
Mitch shrugged and averted his gaze from the lovely Lauren.
Ian eyed him curiously. “Anyway, I’m heading out. See ya.”
Mitch caught Ian. “Hey, what do you have going Saturday?”
“Besides staying in a coma?” Ian rubbed tired eyes. Mitch knew the feeling. His eyelids scraped like sandpaper.
“Lem invited the med team over for a Southern-fried feast.”
“You making this famous chili we hear about?” Ian winked.
“Sure. We’ll have a chili day at Lem’s and just hang out. Refuge medical folks are covering our shifts here.”
Kate approached, chomping on a delicious-looking apple.
His invitation lifted weight off Ian’s shoulders. “Lem’s it is then.” Ian eyed Mitch pointedly. “Will Lauren be there?”
Wait…what?
Kate snickered then looked thoughtful. “You know…we need another nurse. Lauren did outstanding. Have you considered—?”
“Already asked. She said no. Not just no, but ‘don’t ask again or I’ll throttle you’ no.”
Ian snorted. “When has that ever stopped you?”
“Point taken. I’ll work on her as long as she doesn’t do to me what Lem does to broken-down tractors.”
His team laughed, but Mitch wondered how Lauren would take his familylike friendship with Lem. Daily breakfast with Lem would be interesting. Especially if he actively recruited her to be on his team, which would mean major life restructuring and relocation. Much as he wanted Lauren close to Lem and on staff, it wasn’t his choice to make.
Help her make the right one, Lord.
But Mitch’s gut knew. He eyed the ceiling. “Thanks. I’m commissioned to convince a hot-tempered redhead to uproot? This is one assignment I am not looking forward to.” Especially if he had to continue to contend with this all-too-annoying attraction.
Mitch headed to look for Lauren and give her a ride home. And pester her a little more about at least being his part-time summer nurse. She seemed to enjoy scrub duty best and was good.
“Fine. I’m on it, God. But help me accomplish this mission with the least bloodshed possible.”
He rounded the corner and ran smack into the object of his prayers. She returned his stethoscope.
He tried to hand it back. “You might—”
Her head shook firmly. “I won’t need it again. This final cameo was nice for closure, but my nursing career is over.”
Chapter Four
“She really said that?” Grandpa’s laugh drifting from his kitchen drew Lauren from sleep the next morning.
“She really did.” Mitch’s deep, answering chuckle compelled Lauren to full wakefulness. Had she slept in? She blinked into darkness until her eyes adjusted and 7:00 a.m. squinted back at her from Grandpa’s antique dresser clock.
What was he doing here?
She rolled over to listen to the cozy male banter.
Grandpa harrumphed. “Well, it’s not over until the Good Lord says so.”
“Hate to say this, Lem, but she gets her iron will from you.” Mitch chuckled. The invigorating sound lilted down the hall and lifted Lauren’s head from the pillow.
She rubbed at scratchiness that the sleepless night had left in her eyes. If only she could rub away how raw his being here scraped her inside.
Who were those hooligans talking about anyway? Her? Sounded like it. In that case, she’d best be up and ready to defend herself. Grandpa’s robust coffee should do it.
Lauren lifted her robe from the bedpost and snuggled her feet into pure comfort that Lem left beside her bed. Sentimental slippers she’d used here every summer since age ten. Ones that warmed her heart as well as her toes.
She traced fingers across calico star patterns embedded in the last quilt Grandma Bates made before she died. Lauren pulled it up, pressed it to her face and drew a sustained breath.
It smelled like home.
Lauren smiled, glad Lem left the quilt in “her” room. She felt touched that he remembered how she, Grandma and Mom toiled over the pattern together with lots of tangled thread and laughter. The quilt and its cozy memories tucked aside for later, she stepped toward her door.
“So if her stubborn streak came from you, who’d she get the luscious red hair and gorgeous green eyes from?” Mitch asked.
Lauren skidded to a halt and held her breath to hear.
“My daughter, her mama,” Grandpa proudly answered.
“She must have been a looker. Lauren is beyond beautiful.”
Mitch’s heartwarming words washed through her. He thought she was beautiful? She pattered over, peered at herself in the mirror…and laughed.
Her unruly blaze of hair looked plugged into a live socket. Illinois’s humidity poofed it out like mops-gone-wild. It was a crimson entity all its own today.
“No matter.” Lauren wrinkled her nose at her reflection.
A handsome hunk thought she was pretty.
Despite the irksome fact that he was hogging her grandpa, Lauren stood what felt a foot taller. Which would still barely bring her nose to nose with Mitch.
His unwitting compliment melted off last night’s stress and sleeplessness. Hours full of trauma images that had stalked her deep into dreams.
Worse was waking to find out that she’d actually experienced gladness and felt useful again caring for patients.
She remembered the respect that had multiplied in Mitch’s eyes every time he’d sought her out last night, which had been often. She’d felt unequivocally in her element. Ian had even commented so in a hurried hallway. Kate, too, in surgery, said Lauren looked to be doing what she was uniquely gifted for. Was she?
Lauren shook off the notion. It was nothing more than an acute case of memories or a major manifestation of jet lag.
Why was Mitch here anyway? She shuffled into the kitchen.
“Look who’s awake!” Grandpa’s explosive grin pushed tears to her eyes. He greeted her with a flurry of hugs that felt like five years’ worth rolled into one.
When had anyone been this genuinely happy to see her? How she’d missed him, and the closeness they shared!
Which he now seemed to share with Mitch. The moment soured.
“Morning, Grandpa.” She helped him to his chair and avoided Mitch’s assessing gaze. Eyes that said he knew she struggled.
“Hope we didn’t wake you.” Mitch pulled out a chair for her at Grandpa’s table, covered in a crisp red gingham cloth and place mats she’d made as a child. Homesickness overloaded Lauren’s emotions.
As always, his kitchen smelled of cinnamon, her favorite toast. The kind she’d made for her parents that fateful morning.
She’d been so excited to show them that Grandpa had taught her how. Same toast she’d clutched in that irrevocable instant when she’d found the two most important people in her life barely breathing.
Life as she knew it had suddenly crumbled and fallen through fragile fingers.
Today the smell didn’t repel because she equated it with Lem, her lifeline after her parents had died. In those days, Lem talked unceasingly about how heaven was the promise that she’d see her parents again. He told stories of what Jesus had to go through in order to whisper that promise to mankind.
Memories flooded back through a river of time and nearly swept Lauren off her feet. Every coloring page she’d perfected at this table, every dish she’d set and every summer meal she’d eaten. All with Grandpa. He’d become her mom and dad rolled into one.
How could she have abandoned him all these years? Yet hadn’t he encouraged her nursing dream?
She swallowed a hard lump and ran her hands across the country tablecloth. How could one forget a rickety table meant for six, yet set for two, that housed a million happy memories?
“Never get rid of this, Grandpa,” she whispered hoarsely.
Mitch looked up, eyes sharpening. Grandpa paused, and unlike Mitch, his gaze seemed to fade back in years. Perhaps to meet hers at a time and place where their memories mingled and played. Toys. Crafts. Food. Games. Baking. Devotions. Love. Life. Loss. Hard times. Happy times. Tears. Fun. Stories. Laughter. Learning. Faith. Family. A bond no two others shared.
Until Mitch.
And that upended Lauren’s world more than he could know.
Slowly, Lem set a steaming plate of sausage and eggs in front of her. “Still like ’em scrambled best?” Gentle remembrance and solid knowing seeped into Lem’s life-and-loss-wizened eyes. He’d been through everything she had and more.
He knew every tear she’d cried, every boy she’d liked, every stunt she’d tried and every piece of toast she’d ever burned. An unfortunate many.
No one knew her like Grandpa. In fact, no one knew her at all except Grandpa. Not even her Texas friends. Life suddenly felt very lonely. Yet had Mitch come to know her through Grandpa’s gift—the power of story?
Suddenly Grandpa’s vast love for books and storytelling held greater meaning. He loved words so much, he’d used Grandma’s life insurance money to found and fund the local library, something Grandma had always wanted yet never lived to see.
What would become of Lauren if Grandpa died at seventy? Irrational or not, fear welled. Lauren had a tough time quelling it, even as Mitch and Grandpa eyed her with growing concern. Panic pulsed through her. She took deep breaths to calm down.
Didn’t help.
“Yep, still—” For some reason, her throat clogged.
They’d shared so much. She and Grandpa.
No two people possessed the treasure of memories they cherished. Not even Mitch, who studied them gently now.
Yet Mitch and Grandpa had undoubtedly made their own trove of memories. Suddenly and without warning, she wanted in.
Back into Grandpa’s life.
Grandpa shuffled contentedly to the stove to continue his domestic dance of eclectic hospitality. As his comforting and familiar clatter of pans resumed, Lauren sized up her foe.
Mitch stared at her with precision, proving he’d picked up on her envious vibes. Hopefully he’d see her need to resume her rightful place in Grandpa’s heart and life and back off a bit.
If she thought she was determined, it was no match for the titanium will steeling his liquid silver eyes and chiseling stony angles in the jaw he tenaciously jutted.
Instinctually she knew he’d been a rock for Grandpa to lean on in her absence. Who was she to interfere or tear that down?
They needed to find a middle ground. Problem was, his devotion toward Lem made her feel even more irate. At Mitch, yes, but more at herself for letting things like her emotional distance with Grandpa get this way to begin with.
They continued to stare at one another silently but by no means quietly. His breathtaking eyes spoke of loyalty and love as he rose and took a territorial stance next to Lem. Hip reclined against the counter, Mitch’s muscle-thickened arms folded across his broad chest. Not breaking eye contact, he leaned toward Grandpa with undeterred aplomb. Mitch’s massive height and build morphed into a force of protective nature.
He was clearly afraid she’d run off and hurt Grandpa again.
Their challenge-wrapped exchange was protected from Lem only because his back was to them as he whistled over sumptuous chocolate gravy bubbling in the pan. Lem was the only person Lauren knew who served dessert at every meal, including breakfast.
She doubted even Grandpa’s sugary gravy could sweeten Mitch up this moment or erase the resolve on his face. It blared his thoughts. He wasn’t about to lose ground just so she could gain it. He’d not alter his friendship with Lem for anyone. She knew this for certain, because he made no attempt to hide his expressive countenance and protective body language from her. Mitch’s gaze drifted to Grandpa and softened in such a way to pierce her heart with a two-pronged spear of remorse and regret.
If one picture could say a thousand words, Mitch’s face was a photo montage. Tenderness scrolled across masculine planes, and deep care swept into the valleys. Grandpa’s incessant Mitch stories afforded her the ability to ascertain that Mitch’s will to fight for a hold on Lem’s heart stemmed purely from admiration, loyalty and love.
No doubt a by-product of Lem’s reaching into Mitch’s desolate childhood and pulling him, a broken little smudge-faced boy, out of the ashes of poverty and hardship and teaching him how to live and love, work and pray, play and laugh like a man.
So what was her excuse? Why were her feelings so unruly?
She returned her attention to Grandpa. Had he the slightest inkling that he was the invisible rope in this unspoken, territorial tug of warring hearts?
Mitch probably thought she was a flake and that she’d end up hurting Grandpa by leaving and not staying in touch. But he had no right to insert himself into her business. Unfortunately, Grandpa had given Mitch full right to insert himself into Lem’s.
There was nothing she could do about that, but she could do her best to make up for lost time with Grandpa, with or without Mitch. Preferably without. He was a multifaceted distraction, and one she could not afford in any fashion.
Grandpa set a gravy dish of cocoa goodness in the middle of the table. Mitch served them, starting with her. He ladled a heap of chocolate gravy over one of Grandpa’s homemade biscuits she’d torn into quarter-size chunks over her plate.
She tried not to soften at Mitch’s sweet Southern manners. Or notice the way his well-muscled forearm moved with motion that mesmerized. How many broken soldiers had those careful and caring hands mended? How many lonely days had Mitch’s smile and presence brightened for Grandpa, who struggled with loneliness?
Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked vehemently.
She felt Mitch’s militant intentional gaze on her again and remembered she hadn’t brushed her crazy hair. Or finished answering Grandpa’s question of many awkward moments ago.
Self-consciousness flitted through her. “What’d you ask?”
“You never did tell me if you still like your eggs scrambled best,” Grandpa repeated with a spirit of patience.
She patted her head. “Yep. Scrambled like my hair this morning.” She slid a sideways glance at Mitch. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the big red mop.
Oh, he noticed, all right—because he stared right at it.
Mitch cleared his throat. “You have nice hair, Lauren.”
Lauren wasn’t sure Lem, fiddling again at the stove, heard. She also wasn’t sure she liked Mitch being nice, or the merry way his flattery made her feel.
She leaned back and eyed herself in a shiny toaster. An out-of-nowhere laugh came from the back of Lauren’s throat.
Grandpa turned faster than a man half his age. Mitch looked up with the most adorably confused expression.
“Nice?” Lauren held out her unruly hair. “Now I know he’s as adept at fibbing as he is at interfering.” She directed her comment to Mitch. His face colored as Grandpa chuckled and rejoined them at the table.
“Well, when you brush it it’s nice.” Mitch poked at his eggs. Had she offended him? Maybe he’d get a clue and get away from Grandpa. At least while she was here. She didn’t need anyone distracting her from the reason she came to visit: to make up for lost time.
She refused to sit idly by while Mitch picked up where he left off before deployment—taking her place in Grandpa’s heart.
Unfortunately, Mitch was the kind of man who was effective at whatever he attempted, which justified her jealousy. A little.
She studied Mitch. He still pushed his fork around his plate. Perhaps he’d cued in on her struggle with ill feelings.
Grandpa nodded toward Mitch’s well-massacred eggs. “Uh, son, those are already scrambled.”
Both men grinned. Lauren’s faded.
Grandpa called Mitch “son.” Dismay and fear disarmed her. Her heart thumped as though it wanted to be let out of her chest. Her stomach clenched and unclenched like a raw-knuckled fist.
Mitch and Grandpa were closer than she ever imagined.
What bothered her most was that she envied Grandpa this morning almost as much as she envied Mitch. Almost.
Thankfully her emotions came quickly to their senses.
Jealousy, she could contend with. Feelings for Mitch? No way. That would be the second stupidest thing she could do. Entertaining the annoying attraction had been her first.
The three ate in introspective silence. Lem looked from one to the other. His eyes circled Lauren’s face.
The last thing she wanted to do was worry Grandpa. So how to wrestle her jealousy under a rug and remedy this? She needed to try to compromise. Be more understanding. Easier said than done, though. One solution was to strive to spend time with Grandpa when Mitch wasn’t here. That meant rising before the crack of dawn and staying up late, like Grandpa-the-night-owl liked to, but so be it.
Whatever it took to regain the bond and have more time to cherish with him, like old times. Before Mitch.
“What’s today’s agenda?” Lauren asked politely to break the tension, ease Mitch’s embarrassment and Grandpa’s concern.
Mitch wiped his mouth. “I’m driving to the trauma center to check on last night’s patients. Then returning to knock out some stuff on Lem’s summer to-do list.”
“For which I’m glad.” Lem’s arm draped over Mitch’s chair.
Just great. More Mitch and less Grandpa.
She clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt.
Mitch stood. His height always took her by surprise. He carried plates to the sink. Grandpa nudged Lauren. She rose to help Mitch with dishes, even though she wanted to be nowhere near him.
Grandpa also tried to help. Mitch waved him back. “You cook, I clean, remember? That’s the deal.” Mitch grinned and shooed Lem to the living room.
It galled her all the more. Why hadn’t she thought of giving Grandpa a break?
Lauren found herself glaring at Mitch before she could stop. Thankfully her back was to Grandpa. She peeked to be sure.
Lem eyed the television and didn’t offer a clue that he’d picked up on Lauren’s struggle. In fact, he looked overjoyed at the prospect of retreating without an ounce of argument.
Highly unusual for Grandpa, whose work ethic wouldn’t let him see someone else working without stepping in to help.
Rather, he grinned all the way to his easy chair and appeared perfectly content to leave the two of them alone.
Keyword: alone.
His suddenly sturdy countenance depicted an inner well-being that left Lauren with a distinct impression. Perhaps Lem’s fear of perishing at seventy had more to do with worry over her than himself? That made sense. Especially in light of Grandpa’s grounded faith and trademark talk of the hope of heaven.
Dread gave way to a sick feeling inside Lauren. Did Grandpa hope she and Mitch had a future together? And did that hope seem to invigorate and enliven Grandpa?
She studied Mitch and dearly hoped Grandpa’s trust hadn’t been sorely misplaced.
Chapter Five
What was she thinking?
Mitch would really like to know. He watched Lauren with magnified interest for the third chore day in a row after breakfast at Lem’s.
“We got a lot done yesterday. Thanks for your help.”
She shrugged. “No reason for me not to.”
He eyed her attire and grinned. “Not many women can rock a vintage pair of farmer’s ratty denim overalls. But you do.”
Cheeks tinged, she quickly spooned scraps into the trash. Mitch was glad to know she became embarrassed as easily as him. Or maybe her skin was rosy because she was riled. He’d been here so much, chipping away at Lem’s chore list before the trauma center got too busy for him to manage both.
Also for Lem’s sake, he needed to keep peace with Lauren. She obviously had a problem with his friendship with Lem. Humor might defuse the situation. At least the immediate tension.
Wordlessly, she joined him at the sink. Her bracelet jangled as she slid it off and set it on the windowsill. Sunlight swept through the panes and painted a golden shine to her hair, woven in a loose, classy braid coiled over one shoulder. She batted and blew at flyaways curling into her face.
He turned on the water. “For the record, I like your hair even when it’s misbehaving.”
She paused while setting a dish in his soapy water. Met his gaze and smiled in a drawn-out way that made Mitch see a sharp resemblance to one of Lem’s ornery impending grins.
“You don’t expect me or my hair to stop misbehaving just because you’re here this week, do you?”
Mitch chuckled and began scrubbing dishes. Fresh citrus scents permeated the air. “Hardly.”
Something unsettling oozed out of him, like suds from the sponge he squeezed over a dish. She’d said “this week.”
She must not realize his eating with Lem was an every-morning ritual, even when they didn’t have a mile-long chore list. She was liable to go from zero to mad and stay there the second she found out. And she’d find out soon enough.
Days before Lauren told Lem she was coming, Lem had given Mitch the summer to-do list. Much-needed home-improvement projects, knowing Mitch had limited time before the trauma center took off full force in the fall. Mitch wasn’t about to neglect Lem’s requests, because in addition to worrying about Lauren, Lem fretted over things breaking down in and around his house.
Mitch regretted that her warmth would cool and her smile dim when she learned how tightly his life was twined with Lem’s, but it seemed inevitable. Jealousy was the only reasonable explanation why her beautiful eyes radiated anger every time he interacted with Lem.
Didn’t she know she didn’t have to always live like the outsider or waste one more breath believing she didn’t belong? How sad was that?
Mitch studied her as she dried the dishes he set in the drain. Water glistened off her hands as she rescued a spoon he missed in the rinse water before the disposal gobbled it.
She hit a switch and the noise faded. Citrusy clean scents permeated the kitchen. Horses clomped and pistols pop-popped from Lem’s favorite vintage Western show on a TV Mitch had set up in Lem’s living room.
She peered over her shoulder at Lem and smiled. It plied his heart like putty and softened it to clay.
Out of respect for Lem’s care concerning Lauren, how could Mitch reach out and pull her in? Pulling away from Lem wasn’t the answer, even though that’s probably what Lauren would prefer Mitch do. Loneliness plagued Lem enough, and Mitch wasn’t about to abandon him on purpose.
On the spurs of the rowdy Western show came a comedy, as evidenced by Lem’s whooping laughter. The sound made Lauren’s face beam like a thousand moons at midnight. Her iridescent eyes and effervescent expression mirrored happiness he felt inside.
Their gazes connected then darted to the floor.
She poured Lem a fresh cup of coffee. Mitch resisted the urge to tell her Lem preferred the red chipped cup. She’d learn.
Mitch’s penchant for being helpful put him in trouble at times. Lauren obviously knew how particular Lem was about certain things. She stacked plates and organized dishes exactly how Lem liked it, which was “how he had always done it.”
Coffee cups came and went, but the cherished never left.
Lauren would learn that in time. He refused to infringe on the sacred, and she and Lem had shared losses that immortalized them from ever letting the importance of one another go.
She was just insecure right now, was all. Hopefully.
The lower cabinet creaked as she opened it. Haphazardly stacked pans toppled out onto her toes. Mitch hunkered next to her to help restack the storage space.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“Sure.” He lifted heavy pans as she held the cranky-hinged cabinet door. “I’ve been meaning to fix that. Time gets away from me.”
“I know the feeling,” she said softly, surprising him. Vulnerable eyes flitted to his then to where Lem cackled at the TV. Then her gaze lowered to the floor.
She needed to know Mitch wasn’t a threat. He had no intention of stealing her grandfather away from her. He also had no intention of pulling back on the reins of his and Lem’s familylike relationship just because it rubbed her wrong.
The solution was to share Lem. The problem was on her end. She needed to come to the realization of how irrational her ire was. Even still, compassion tried to take up residence next to Mitch’s resolve not to let her anger influence his actions.
Disarmingly quiet, she hung the damp dish towel on a rack affixed to the wall then joined Lem. Mitch found a screwdriver. He grew intent on working the creaks and kinks out of the cabinet. And from this uncomfortably tense and trying situation.
Mitch would be here long after Lauren left. Lem needed stability in his life. Lauren had made it perfectly clear she didn’t intend to stay past summer’s end. That reality made Mitch sad for Lem, who desperately wanted Lauren close. Had she any idea how deeply Lem ached for her and her nearness?
Hopefully Lauren didn’t have the kind of self-absorption that his ex possessed which led her to decimate important relationships in her life.
He shouldn’t liken Lauren to Sheila. But the recent breakup still smarted. Perhaps he should withhold judgment and extend grace, as Lem taught him growing up.
Lauren reentered the kitchen with a funny expression. “Trash runs tomorrow. He asked us to clean out his fridge.”
On the way to it, Mitch caught sight of Lem, sniggering over his coffee cup as he eyed the pair. “I’m sure he did.” Mitch shook his head.
Lauren reached in and started checking dates on goods while Mitch peeled the lids of leftover dishes and looked with fear.
Lauren set about helping him. Only, she popped the tops off, poked her nose inside and smelled the contents.
“You are brave.” He indicated the containers. “No telling how long some of that stuff has been in there.”
“Ew!” Lauren’s nose pinched as she clamped a lid back on a bowl. “I don’t think those beets were supposed to be pickled.”
Mitch laughed and tried not to enjoy her response too much.
She shook her head and surveyed the fridge contents. “I’ve never seen anyone with so many butter containers in one place.”
“He likes using them for storage. Not just food. He has an entire garage wall lined with shelves of butter tubs. Full of batteries, bolts, nuts, nails and everything imaginable.”
Her lovely smile dimmed, making him wish he’d kept quiet. Last thing he wanted to do was cause her to have to contend with more hurt. He was just trying to make conversation.
All these containers and no way to butter her up? Think, Mitch.
“Wanna help me wash?” Mitch lifted a dozen empty tubs.
“Of course.” She also took an armload to the sink and they began doing the dishes. Again. This time the silence between them leaned toward sweet instead of stilted.
What gave him the nerve, Mitch didn’t know, but he rested his elbow against hers as they worked together. Just as in surgery. Like a team. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist.
Joy rose when she squeezed the detergent bottle and giggled. He loved the sound and intended to ensure Lem heard it more. Lem worried himself sick over Lauren.
Not only that, laughter seemed to deter her from the frank jealousy she possessed over his friendship with her grandpa.
Lauren stilled then stiffened. He peered at what she did.
Photos on the fridge. As many of Mitch with Lem fishing and doing other recreational activities as there were of her and Lem.
She narrowed her gaze, turned fiercely on Mitch.
“Yeah, we like to have fun,” he said. “I don’t see the problem.”
“There lies the problem. You don’t see.” She swept her hand toward the fridge surface as though tempted to sweep the photos away, but stopped and eyed Lem. Her hand dropped with defeated finality. “Fishing was our thing. Always. Just me and Grandpa.”
“This isn’t a competition, Lauren.” Mitch touched her arm gently.
She jerked it away—not so gently. “He isn’t your grandpa.”
He was, though. Sort of. Not by blood maybe, but by tears and time invested and years of talks of dreams and fears. “How about next time we go fishing, you go with us?” Mitch offered.
“How about next time we go fishing, you stay home?”
Stunned by the amount of scorch in her words, Mitch formulated his own retort but scaled back the rudeness. “Lem’s life will go on as normal. Period.”
She’d have to learn to live with it. Lem had reached out like a dad to Mitch growing up, and he wasn’t about to abandon Lem over mismanaged emotions and envy. Hopefully soon she’d see how irrational, abrasive and self-destructive her jealousy was.
Otherwise she was in for a miserable summer. So was he.
And so was Lem. Which is why Mitch needed to cool his jets and try. Attempt to reason with her instead of letting his sympathy wane every time she opened her mouth. Problem was, every third time she opened her mouth, acid spewed out.
He leaned in and softened his tone. “Look, if we don’t nip this tension between us now, Lem will get wind of it and worry.”
That seemed to snap her to her senses. Thankfully the anger didn’t make an ugly encore, and envy managed not to rear its head. Mitch doubled his efforts to listen more than he spoke. It worked. Slowly they began less caustic verbal exchanges, sparring at first then funny and sincere.
It was obvious they were both putting their best foot forward. For Lem’s sake, of course.
They had a second set of dishes done in no time flat, yet Mitch could have stood there talking easily with her all day.
Talking turned to laughing, which turned into total hilarity when Mitch kept pushing the plastic bowls down only to have them pop up again. She giggled every time it happened. He did, too. The shared humor drastically disintegrated the tension.
“Help me hold them down?” Mitch entreated after another bowl bobbed up and flung an airborne glob of soap in his eye.
“Think physics. You have to turn them sideways and fill them at an angle. See? The water and the air stop resisting one another and meet halfway.” As she showed him, their hands touched. Their motions startled then slowed at the pleasant but wholesome sensation. Not only that, her carefully exacted comment about meeting halfway held unmistakable emphasis.
He met her gaze. “Meeting halfway sounds better than fighting constantly.”
The depth of beauty and bravery in her smile plunged all rational thought into disarray. He had not expected it.
Seemed to him they took their time near the end of the butter bowl baptizing marathon.
Afterward Lauren washed the table. “Mitch, are you going to the trauma center today?”
“No. I’m going tomorrow after I come here and clear out Lem’s gutters. I’ve already rounded at the center today.”
“May I come with you tomorrow, to check on Mara?”
“The texting teen?” He hadn’t meant it to come out so abrupt. But seriously, what was Lauren’s draw? The girl killed someone with whatever string of words she’d felt too important to pull over for. Talk about a death sentence.
Mitch’s annoyance regained ground.
“Yes.” A wary expression accompanied Lauren’s answer. Perhaps his ire was a little overdosed. Yet hadn’t his dad’s life been snuffed out by an equally distracted driver?
Mitch scrubbed the opposite end of the table with fervor. “Suit yourself. But just to warn you, Mara’s still on a ventilator, unconscious. There’s also a possibility I’d get held up at the center because the other surgeon who’s been graciously covering for me is on call at Refuge Memorial, his primary hospital.”
Mitch really did not want Lauren getting attached to Mara. Nothing good could come of that. Right?
The stubborn set to her jaw resembled Lem’s when things—like tractors—didn’t go his way. “I’ll take my chances.”
Chapter Six
One hour into their trauma center visit the next day, Mitch guessed Lauren regretted saying that.
She took her chances coming in, all right.
A bus of summer-camp teens overturned shortly after Mitch and Lauren arrived, which filled the center with victims.
“Eighteen and counting,” Ian informed Mitch. “No way to divert.” Ian referred to the fact that the center was diverting low-risk patients to other hospitals until Mitch and Ian secured a second trauma team. Today that wasn’t possible.
Kate handed him a chart. “Want me to call help in?”
Mitch nodded then faced Ian. “I need to get on the ball putting together another full-time trauma crew.”
“Yeah. You’ve been tied up at Lem’s, though.”
“Not enough hours in a day to get everything accomplished that needs to be, this summer.”
“Let me know how I can help.”
“I will.” Yet he knew Ian was already strapped for time with his divorce, court hearings, housing and custody stuff.
“Where’s Lauren?” Mitch asked Kate, passing by with an armload of ice packs.
“Your new director assumed Lauren came to help. She assigned her to triage to treat non-emergent wounds which, thankfully, she did graciously. She’s doing awesome, Mitch.”
Still, he’d better go check. Mitch found Lauren and assessed her for signs of panic. None whatsoever, but he should ask anyway. “Are you okay?”
“Are you absurd?” She looked down the hall of writhing, wailing, wall-to-wall youth and laughed. “I’m not about to abandon you to the fate of all this teen angst. I’m the last person you should be worried about right now, Mitch. Your director, however, is having a total freak-out.”
“So I heard. She’s not used to trauma care.”
Lauren made the funniest face. “Uh, hello? Neither am I.”
Yet he didn’t see her screeching down halls and complaining in front of patients and their families, as he’d received reports of the director doing. His mistake. Some applicants looked good on paper, yet they had no people skills.
“Point well taken, Lauren. I trust you. Unequivocally. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling overwhelmed.”
“I doubt there’s a staff member here who doesn’t feel overwhelmed. Twenty patients hit the floor in two hours’ time.”
He grinned, loving the fire in her eyes. “You’re made for this. You are.”
“What I am is annoyed at the prospect of being babysat over a busload of mostly bumps and bruises. Now shoo!” But she smiled when she said it.
Satisfied she was okay for now, Mitch viewed X-rays. Then casted an ankle, miraculously the only bus-wreck fracture.
Between patients, he went to check on Lauren again.
She waved him toward another incoming gurney. “I’m fine. Check on that one. He looks kind of critical.” She smirked then righted herself before anyone but Mitch could catch it.
When Mitch found nothing but a nosebleed on Gurney Guy, he realized two things: One, Lauren had a gift at triage. Two, she knew when it was okay to use humor to cope. Something he felt crucial to anyone in trauma care. Otherwise stress and burnout would run off the best ones.
After earnestly convincing Gurney Guy he wasn’t bleeding to death, Mitch held an ice pack to the kid’s nose and issued fatherly hugs. Like Lem used to whenever Mitch had some kind of accident.
“Ever had a nosebleed this bad?” Gurney Guy asked him.
“Actually, yes.” He nodded at Lauren, bandaging a wound nearby. “I nearly broke my nose crashing a new bike her grandpa got me. Refuge Community Church had pitched in on it.”
“That’s cool,” the kid said.
“Not really.” Mitch laughed. “Considering I’m probably the only kid in Southern Illinois to have an entire congregation present to cheer me on when I learned to wreck and ride it.”
“You still go there?” The young man looked up to Mitch.
“Yep. That church has prayed me through med school and safely home from two wars. I have to say, though, that we didn’t have the distinct pleasure of experiencing a bus crash.”
That evoked the youth’s laughter and erased tension from his features. Mitch pivoted and caught Lauren, within hearing range, watching them with an adoring expression.
“She your girlfriend?” the kid asked.
Mitch caught himself before he reacted sharply. “Nope. She’s my nurse.” But he could hope.
“She could also be your girlfriend. Maybe even your wife.”
He could hope that, too. If he was hungry for more heartache. No, thanks. Still, the kid’s words circled around his head, stalked his brain and mocked his steely resolve.
If Mitch were smart, he’d refuse to entertain the innocent suggestion at all. Instead he dwelled on how to get Lauren to join Refuge Community Church this summer, as Lem had requested of him. Refuge lived up to its name and was where Mitch met the PJs who had become his friends.
After releasing the now-calm nosebleed fellow to his mom’s care, Mitch checked on other patients then the rest of his crew, including Lauren. Or maybe he just liked watching her work.
Her efficient yet calm body language revealed she’d picked up on the fact that the bus driver and chaperones had blown this wreck way out of proportion. Yet Mitch didn’t blame them for being scared. He was thankful it wasn’t worse.
It could well have been because they’d had to call Refuge’s pararescue team to help firemen extract teens who were in reality more frozen with fear and panic than physically trapped. Still, God had evidently had His hand over the kids and the bus. Thank You, God.
The bus patrons had non-life-threatening injuries, but Mitch wanted everyone assessed nonetheless. That, along with parental worry and teen drama, made for a long, interesting day. By the time they had finished, dusk’s velvet-purple evening winked at them through the trauma center’s windows.
Lauren approached. “Mitch, some off-duty PJs are here.”
“Probably checking the status of bus teens they helped rescue.”
“They also offered to man the center overnight so your current crew can make like platelets and regroup.”
Mitch laughed. “Is that how they put it?”
Lauren grinned. “Pretty much.”
The group of elite men came down the hall like a formidable force, prepared to strong-arm Mitch’s crew into a much-needed break should anyone protest. He knew those guys well.

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