Lynne Marshall - Temporary Doctor, Surprise Father

By the time her meal break was up, Beck had already donned scrubs and was tending to a laceration in one of the emergency exam rooms. She tiptoed by, only to be snagged by Carmen.

“We’ve got a DUI in transit. The guy wrapped his car around a telephone pole and partially scalped himself. Gavin wants Beck to stitch him up, so get a minor operations kit and meet him in the procedure room pronto.”

Jan nodded, wishing they’d assign Beck to someone else, but she needed to accept there’d be no getting away from the ex-love of her life for the next month.

In a world where justice had a way of weaseling its way in at the most inconvenient times, she knew this would be her punishment for lying to him.

Fifteen minutes later Jan cleaned the wound. She flushed the patient’s skin with copious amounts of saline followed by antiseptic solution then patted it dry with sterile towels. The majority of the patient’s hair was intact. A full head of brown hair had been partially severed from the forehead back, looking like a floppy, cheap toupee. She’d never seen anything like it before outside old cowboy and Indian movies.

Jan dabbed at the last few trickles of blood as Beck injected a local anesthetic along the forehead and waited for it to take effect. She avoided his eyes as much as possible after his initial raised brow and shake of the head when first examining the wound. But occasionally their gazes met. Each and every time small explosions of adrenaline made her tremble. She prayed he couldn’t tell.

Jan had to admit Beck was a skilled clinician. But even with his expert suturing, the patient would have a thin white scar along his hairline for the rest of his life to remind him of his bonehead decision to drive while drunk.

Fortunately, the patient was still inebriated enough not to mind having his scalp sewn back onto his head. Thankful for the mask she’d opted to wear to protect the patient against her cold, she didn’t have to breathe in his liquor fumes first hand.

Beck concentrated, using a curved needle in a holder and toothed forceps to help insert the needle through the thick skin and out again. He made even stitches with fine braided silk, taking meticulous care to fit the jigsaw pattern of the “scalping” together. He’d divided the wound into manageable lengths, placing a suture at the halfway and quarter points to avoid “dog-ears”—unequal bites of tissue that would heal with gaps. Even without the help of the plastics department, the patient stood a good shot of healing with minimal visible scarring—as long as his hairline didn’t recede.

Once the tedious procedure of what seemed no less than fifty stitches concluded, Beck dropped the needles into the sharps container on the wall and, gathering the remaining instruments, helped Jan clean up.

“I can do this,” she said, dismissing his efforts.

“Just trying to help, January.” He wadded up the betadine-stained blue paper barrier and tossed it, like a basketball, into the nearby trash can. It landed perfectly, and Beck stared at Jan with deep-set penetrating eyes that almost made her knees buckle.

He’d matured and grown into a formidably handsome man. Muscle had thickened and replaced the lanky limbs of his youth. With his hair nearly completely shaved, his features seemed all the more chiseled and striking. The old trace of a furrowed brow had settled more deeply into the map of his forehead. Lightly etched squint lines hinted at the many sights he’d seen since his departure from her life.

He’d once had thick wavy dark hair and he’d worn it styled and gelled to perfection. He’d warn her not to mess with his do and she’d complain about how he always managed to ruin her hairstyle and then she’d run her fingers through his hair just to spite him. Typical of high-school students, they’d end their silly challenges and arguments by glaring at one another, calling each other a name, and rushing into a smoldering make-up kiss.

He’d changed dramatically, and, if possible, for the better. His sexy appeal sent chills undulating through her body. How would she survive the next month?

Deep in myriad thoughts, she spun round and bumped Beck with the kidney basin filled with antiseptic. Some spilled over the brim, splattering onto his scrub top. He held her wrists to steady her hands and she panicked.

“I told you I don’t need your help. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let things be,” she said, clenching her jaw.

He pried her fingers free of the basin, all the while keeping eye contact, then dipped his gloved fingertips into the solution and flicked it at close range onto her scrub top. Jerk. He strolled to the sink and poured the rest of the liquid down the drain.

“Now we’re even, January ,” he said in a familiar taunting whisper. If it were only that simple. He seemed to seethe whenever he looked at her. Could she blame him?

The inebriated patient lay snoozing, oblivious to his surroundings.

The look in Beck’s eyes dared her to challenge him. He may have over a decade’s worth of questions for her, but she couldn’t allow him to become familiar with her again. There was too much at stake. She’d endured the pain alone for years and could think of no good reason to share it with him. He’d only hate her more.

“Call me Jan, please. And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep our past out of this place. No one needs to know about us.”

One brow rose slowly and he nodded, the hazel gaze muted by a cautious veil. “Still worried about your reputation, I see,” he said, before turning and leaving the room.

The patient snored and Jan wanted to scream. After thirteen years of hiding from her past, doing everything she could to respect her decision instead of loathing herself, it had finally caught up with her. Sheer reflex made her want to run into the night. But she’d prided herself in growing up and facing the toughest parts of her life head on. If spending the next month working with the father of her child—the baby she’d given up for adoption—was the price she would have to pay, she’d pay it. And at the end she’d try to do what she’d done for years—forget and move on.

* * *

Beck had seen men die before his eyes. He’d lived by his wits and survived close call after close call in battles across the globe. He’d defied his parents, who’d always thought he was too hard to handle, he’d proved his high-school principal wrong with his predictions of incarceration. Now Beck was one of the “good” guys. And where had it gotten him?

Hell, he’d given up the one person he’d ever loved for the sake of his quest for adventure. Breaking free of Atwater had meant that much to him. Nothing, he’d sworn, would hold him back from grabbing life by the tail and holding on for a wild ride. Except the “wild ride” had included pain and suffering and memories he wished to God he could get out of his head.

After all of that, how could the simple task of brushing up his medic skills throw him for such a loop?

Beck knew the reason. The task involved being near the one person who’d taught him the purest and most honest feeling he could ever hope to experience. Love. Of course, she’d been the one to rip that same feeling out of his chest and ruin it for the rest of his life. No other woman had ever gotten to know that vulnerable secret part of his soul since January Stewart. It had ruined more than his share of otherwise satisfying relationships, too.

January had ripped away any chance of trusting a woman that much again when she’d refused to wait for him. When she’d coldly broken off their relationship over the phone, and only then after he’d tried to track her down through some friends. At first he’d thought she was paying him back for leaving her and joining the army, but her decision to break up with him had gone beyond stubborn resolve or hurt. He’d never been able to pinpoint what the missing piece of the puzzle was, but in his gut he knew there was something more to their break-up. He’d given up guessing what long ago.