Cheryl Wyatt - Doctor to the Rescue

Kate, the center’s surgical nurse, skidded in, dropped to her knees, took one look at Bri’s injured arm and gave Ian a pointed look.

He nodded once. “Already saw it. Get a gurney and splints.”

“Will do.” Kate flashed Bri a strength-infusing smile, then dashed back toward the trauma center.

“C-collar, too,” Ian called to Kate, then faced Bri again. Broad shoulders and impressive arms obviously well acquainted with a gym flexed and bunched as he maneuvered closer, training his eyes on her. His firm strength and sure demeanor erased her fears and convinced her that despite his terse reputation she was in good hands. “Where do you hurt most?”

“My left forearm. But I think I can walk the rest of—”

“No. In fact, don’t move.” Ian shirked off his suit coat, its raven color identical to his black military-style hair. Coat spread on asphalt, he settled Bri on it. His palms became her pillow. His gesture soothed. “Did you land on concrete?”

She started to shake her head but stopped when Ian’s thumbs pressed against her temples, keeping her neck still.

“No. I landed in the waiting arms of a winged euonymus.”

“A what?” Confusion amped up his cuteness.

“Big red hedge. More widely known as a burning bush.”

A congenial nod seemed out of character for his usual surly self. His fingers kneaded and prodded her bones and muscles. Fierce concentration knit his brows. Had he any idea how handsome he was in doctor mode? Her arm might be broken, but nothing was wrong with her eyes. Bri chided herself for noticing the good doctor’s bad-boy looks.

Not only had military deployments and divorce left him notoriously difficult and brooding, Bri’s heart still felt raw after the end of a bad relationship with a verbally abusive boyfriend.

Her move from the Chicago suburbs to downstate Illinois had finally given her the long-needed courage to break up with Eric two months ago. If only he’d stop calling and harassing her. Dr. Shupe’s abrasive manner reminded her too much of Eric. Except, Ian wasn’t being curt and caustic now, but gentle and thorough.

Bri huffed at the physical exam. “Nothing’s numb. Or tingly. Or blurry. I didn’t hit my head or black out, either.”

Ian’s mouth twitched. Wrestling back a smile? She’d love to see it. She didn’t think him capable of glee before now.

Bri sighed. “Sorry. Caleb’s injury training wears off on me. I’m his study buddy and procedural guinea pig. He splints, tags, bandages, braces and bores the living daylights out of me for his military medic certifications and field practice exams.”

The humor whispering along Ian’s lips in a near smile spread to his eyes now, deepening them to a breathtaking blue. They turned serious and probing. “What were you doing on the ladder?”

“Renovating the lodge. Replacing eaves.” Or attempting to.

“By yourself?”

Here came the lecture. She got enough of those from Caleb over her fierce determination to save Landis Lodge.

If she lost the lodge, she might also lose the memories, especially of childhood with Mom. Grief knotted her throat.

“Who else do I have?” She bit her lip as Ian’s eyebrows rose. But she had valid reasons to grouch. Her ex was a dud, her dad a deadbeat, her mom was deceased, her brother was deployed and a bank breathed ultimatums down her back. Now a broken arm ordeal that she didn’t have time for. But it could have been much worse. Lord, thank you for cushioning my fall.

“Who’s on call?” Bri instantly regretted her words. “You’re obviously off duty and not who’d take care of me, since you’re an anesthest—however you say it. I won’t need one of those, right?”

Ian’s vague expression did not make her feel good.

Lord, please don’t let me need surgery. Ian’s inexplicable rudeness since she’d moved back here proved she wouldn’t be his first choice in a patient.

Her new friends, Lauren and Kate, had told her that Ian only acted abrasive because he was attracted to Bri in the wake of his unwanted divorce. Gibberish.

On the other hand, the girls had to be in the know, since they were nurses on Ian’s trauma team. Plus Lauren’s fiancé, Mitch, was Ian’s best friend and lead trauma surgeon on the team. Ian suddenly flashed a penlight at her eyes, dotted with... “Fairy stickers?”

He smiled wryly. “My little daughter put them there.” The five-year-old he’d been embroiled in custody battles over. Ian would probably freak if he knew how Bri knew about that. She focused on the fairies to distract from excruciating arm pain.

Kate arrived with a gurney and supplies. After applying the neck brace, she brandished a pair of bandage scissors.

“Don’t cut my hoodie! It’s Caleb’s keepsake. Please, I have a tank top underneath.” The world went sideways as they rolled Bri onto a backboard before righting her. Kate texted someone.

“I’ll try. No guarantees.” Ian eased the hoodie off and splinted her arm as if he’d done it a hundred thousand times. Probably had, overseas during combat surgeries.

“Didn’t realize you could do all that being an anest—that.”

Ian’s mouth thinned into another smirk.

Kate leaned toward his ear. “Since your final custody hearing’s in an hour, I paged the nurse-anesthetist on call.”

Ian glanced at his watch. Scratched his jaw. Addressed Kate in low tones. Bri heard mention of her brother’s name. Caleb had commissioned Ian to watch over her when he deployed last week. Why Ian? Especially in light of Ian’s hostility toward her.

Then Caleb had suddenly dubbed Ian her bodyguard? What was up with that? She didn’t need to be protected. Or babysat.

Ian plucked sage twigs, fiery leaves and feathers from her hair. “Nest?”

“Almost.” Kate winked and strode in her usual militant but graceful fashion. How Kate could be runway-model pretty and a black belt was beyond Bri, but Kate was someone Bri was glad to know. Except she aimed a needle at her now.

Bri squished her eyes until the worst was over. Eyes open, she realized she’d not only grabbed Ian’s arm but left crescent marks. Bri recoiled, fearing an acrid verbal assault like ones Eric was prone to.

But Ian didn’t seem fazed. Calmly and gently, he wiped his arm with sterile gauze.

Perhaps Bri’s friends had been right: the craggy, abrasive creature she’d experienced these past few weeks wasn’t the real Ian.

* * *

Ian refused to react to the sting of Bri’s nails. She was anxious, hurting and stressed, so her actions were understandable.

Odd, though, her latching onto him for comfort so easily. Especially since he’d been a total jerk to her for weeks.

Not liking the claws of guilt scraping at him, Ian adjusted Bri’s IV drip and faced Kate, jotting Bri’s vitals. “She needs antibiotics, trauma labs, X-rays and CTs stat.”

Kate nodded. They effortlessly hefted the backboard to the gurney and push-ran Bri, who was so tall her heels almost hung off the end.

Kate’s cell chimed. Without missing steps, she answered. “Hey, wanna start this way? Ian needs to cut out and we have an incoming ladder mishap. Yeah. Lodge owner next door.”

“Lisa, my nurse anesthetist.” Ian couldn’t miss this court hearing. Yet he couldn’t leave Bri. Her condition could skid off a cliff without warning. Eighty percent of people falling from heights of eleven feet or more died. She’d fallen nine. Internal injuries didn’t always present right away.

He’d learned that the hard way, overseas while deployed with Mitch, Kate and other air force trauma-team members who had yet to join them at EPTC, Mitch’s stateside endeavor.

“Why would I need an anesthes—that thing?” Bri swallowed.