Amy Ruttan - It Happened In Vegas

Yes.

“No. No, I don’t.”

He bent down and scooped her up in his arms.

“Good.” That was all he said as he carried her to shore.

Three years later

“I THINK YOU’LL be very happy here as our head of trauma.”

Jennifer smiled politely at the chief of surgery, Dr. Ramsgate, as they walked the halls of the hospital.

“All Saints Hospital is one of the top hospitals in Las Vegas, and with our new trauma wing opening soon …” Dr. Ramsgate continued and Jennifer tuned him out, only because she knew all the benefits of All Saints Hospital—it’s what had attracted her to this facility above all others in Nevada. The new trauma ward under construction would be the most modern in the country.

And her father was happy she’d returned to Nevada in time for his campaigning.

How good would it look if his surgeon daughter was working in her home state? Only Jennifer hadn’t come home for her father.

She’d come home to lick her wounds after her cardiothoracic fiancé had jilted her and then stolen the research they’d worked on together, before marrying someone else. There was no way she was going to remain in the same hospital in Boston with him, let alone the same state.

She’d moved back to be near her family. To hide from the humiliation. To remember why she’d become a surgeon.

Even if it had meant turning down a job at a prestigious Minnesota clinic.

At least it’s warmer in Las Vegas.

So that was a plus. She wouldn’t miss the winters.

Jennifer had had to get back to her roots and, most important, she was going to keep away from men. Especially other male surgeons.

She wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.

“And here’s our current trauma department. It’s not much, but it’s served us well.” Dr. Ramsgate was waiting for her to say something. “Of course, once the new wing is complete, this will close.”

“It’s wonderful. It’s laid out well.” It was a minor fib as she hadn’t really even looked at it, but a quick scan told her she wasn’t being totally false. It was laid out well. It was open and had lots of trauma rooms, with easy access to get gurneys in and out. Though the new trauma department would be better.

The ER was quiet for the moment, though she was sure that could change on a moment’s notice, like so many trauma departments.

She was eager to get this walk-through over and done with so she could throw on some scrubs, a yellow isolation gown and get her hands dirty. Figuratively, of course.

Until then, she had to play nice with the chief of surgery.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to the staff on duty before we head back upstairs to finish your paperwork.” Dr. Ramsgate motioned to the charge desk, where a surgeon stood with his back to them. Jennifer’s brow furrowed, because the surgeon leaning over the desk charting tugged at the foggy corners of her mind.

There was something familiar about his stance.

“Dr. Rousseau, this is Dr. Mills, the new head of trauma.”

The surgeon standing at the desk turned to greet her and when she came face to face with him, the foggy memory that had been eluding her came rushing back, like a tsunami of the senses. It was an overload in her brain, the way it had happened.

Lake Tahoe, a brilliant moon, starry sky and a whispered request brushing against her ear that still made her body zing with anticipation even years later.

“A kiss, in the moonlight.”

It had been three years and she wondered if he remembered her. He’d changed and so had she. His buzz cut had grown out, but his ebony hair was trimmed and well kept. There was stubble on his face, but it suited him. Even more than the clean-shaven face.

And a scar ran down his left cheek and she couldn’t help but wonder if it came from his time overseas. There was no wedding ring on his finger, but that didn’t mean anything. He might’ve come from surgery and taken it off.

His hazel eyes widened for just a moment, then he held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Mills.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Rousseau.”

Dr. Ramsgate nodded, pleased. “Well, we’ll let you get back to work, Dr. Rousseau. I have much more to show you, Dr. Mills.”

Jennifer found it harder to breathe, her pulse was thundering in her ears like an out-of-control high-speed train and it was like she was going to derail right here in the emergency room.

Dr. Rousseau nodded, but didn’t tear his gaze from hers until Dr. Ramsgate stepped between them, breaking the connection. If there even was one. Maybe she was losing her mind a bit.

What had happened between them had only been a fleeting moment.

“Dr. Mills, are you ready? I’d like to introduce you to some of the other staff members you’ll be in charge of.” Confusion was etched across Dr. Ramsgate’s face at her absentmindedness.

“Yes, of course.” She fell into step beside Dr. Ramsgate, though not without stealing a quick look over her shoulder at the charge desk, but Dr. Rousseau had disappeared; evaporated like he’d been nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

Only he wasn’t.

He wasn’t a foggy piece of a memory. One that she only allowed herself to think of from time to time. The one perfect romantic moment she’d had in her life. That soldier hadn’t left her standing at an altar, hadn’t stolen her work, and the kiss he’d given her still made her blood heat. Even after all this time.

This was going to be bad.

She had no inclination to allow her heart to open again, especially to another surgeon.

Jennifer knew she’d have to avoid Dr. Nick Rousseau and that wasn’t going to be an easy thing. Especially now she was in charge of his department.

She was in serious trouble.

Nick put the chart back in the filing cabinet. He’d moved away from the charge desk when Dr. Ramsgate had stepped between them, breaking the connection between him and Jennifer. It had been the escape he’d needed.

He wasn’t sure if Jennifer remembered him, from the look on her face. Maybe he just looked familiar to her, someone she couldn’t place. Which was fine. It was good she didn’t remember him, but he certainly remembered her.

There was no way he could forget that night.

Not when it was burned into his brain.

Not when every time he’d closed his eyes for the last three years he’d been able to feel the silky softness of her skin under his fingertips, inhale the fruity scent of her hair and taste the sweetness of her lips.

Though that’s all that had happened.

Just a kiss.

Well, several kisses, but it had been all he’d needed to carry him through his long tour of duty. When he’d been working at the front line, patching up soldiers, saving lives and, yes, even when one thoughtless act of bravery had cost his own brother dearly.

Nick clenched his fist and shook those thoughts away.

No, he wouldn’t think about Marc and he wouldn’t think about his brother hating him right now, because he couldn’t let those emotions out to air. When he thought of that moment, he hated himself. He’d let his anger get the better of him.

There was already talk circulating around the hospital about him, about his rages and about how he’d put his fist through a window once.

He was doing better. Or he thought he was.

Maybe it was seeing her again—whatever it was, it shook him. He’d been surprised to learn she was a surgeon.

That night they’d spent on the beach, talking to each other, she’d never told him that she was a physician, in particular a trauma surgeon.

Then again, he’d never opened up about why he was going overseas on his tour of duty. He hadn’t told her that he was an army medic.