Amy Ruttan – His Shock Valentine's Proposal (страница 5)

“So are you calling a truce?”

“I am. Ow.”

Esme tsked under her breath. “It’s just a scrape. Don’t be such a baby.”

“Do you talk to all your patients this way?”

“Only ones who whine so much.” She smiled and continued to dab at his scrape. “There. I’ll just put some ointment on it. Do you want a bandage?”

“No, thanks.”

Esme shrugged and then rubbed some antiseptic ointment on the scrape.

“Ow.”

“Doctors are the worst patients,” she muttered.

“For a reason.” Carson chuckled.

“I’ve never really understood that reason.” She pulled off her gloves and tossed them in the medical-waste receptacle. “There. All done.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a bandage? Maybe a pressure dressing.” She was chuckling to herself and he rolled his eyes.

“Pretty sure.” Carson sighed. He had to get out of the clinic before something else happened. Such as him doing something irrational. Only he couldn’t move. “I better be going. Again, I’m really sorry for being such an idiot before.”

She grinned. “Apology accepted.”

Esme didn’t really know what else to say. She felt very uncomfortable around Carson, but not in a bad way. In a very good way and that was dangerous. When their hands had barely touched a few moments ago, it had sent a zing through her. One that wasn’t all that unpleasant. Actually, it had been some time since she’d felt that spark with someone. Of course, relationships never worked out for her. Men couldn’t handle her drive and focus to commit to surgery and she had liked her independence and career too much. No one messed with her career.

Well, not anymore. She couldn’t forget why she was a surgeon.

Hold on, Avery. Please.

Let me go, little sister. It hurts so much … let me go.

She’d dedicated her life to surgery. To save lives.

And until Shane, surgery had been her life. Her father had been so proud and she’d been training under Dr. Eli Draven, the best cardio-thoracic surgeon on the West Coast.

She’d thrown herself into her work. So much so, that she hadn’t had time to date, until Eli had introduced her to his son.

She’d met Shane and surgery had become second, because he had always been taking her somewhere. Esme had been swept off her feet and, being the protégée of Dr. Eli Draven, she’d become too cocky. Too sure of herself. She’d thought she’d had it all.

Then in a routine procedure, she’d frozen. A resident had jumped in, knocking sense back into her and they’d worked hard to save the patient’s life. But in the end they’d lost the fight.

Esme hadn’t been able to go on, because in that moment—in that failure—she’d realized that she didn’t know who she was anymore. She didn’t know who she’d become, but it wasn’t her.

Pulled back from her memories, Esme stared down at her hands, watching how they shook.

You’re not a surgeon anymore, she reminded herself.

She’d come here to rebuild her life and right now she should be focusing on building her practice up, because every last dime of her savings had been sunk into this building. She’d bought the clinic, the license and the apartment upstairs.

This was her life now. She didn’t have a retired parent to hand off a practice to her. Her stepmother had been a teacher and her father a cop.

They’d scrimped and saved to send her to the best medical school. Scholarships only went so far and she owed it to them to pay them back, since she could no longer be the surgeon they expected her to be.

She’d lost herself.

And she’d lost Shane. If only she’d come to the realization that he wasn’t the man for her before she was in her wedding dress and halfway down the aisle on Valentine’s Day. It was something she had to live with for the rest of her life.

Her father had made that clear to her. He’d been so disappointed. She’d let him down.

I don’t know who you are anymore, Esme.

She didn’t deserve any kind of happiness, or friendship. All she deserved was living with herself. Living with the stranger she’d become.

“Well, I have a bit of work to do tomorrow. I better hit the hay,” she said awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck and trying not to look at him.

“Yeah, of course. I …” Carson said, trying to excuse himself when there was banging on her front door. Incessant and urgent.

“Who in the world?”

“Just stay here.” Carson pushed her down into her chair, letting her know that he wanted her to stay put, before he headed out to the front door.

“As if,” she mumbled, following him.

“I told you to stay in the exam room,” he whispered as he stood in front of the door.

She crossed her arms. “You don’t know Krav Maga. I do.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Esme stood on her tiptoes and peered around him. When he opened the door a man let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God I found you, Doc Ralston.”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Carson asked, stepping aside to let the man in.

The man, Harry, was sweating and dirty, dressed in heavy denim, with thick work boots and leaving a trail of wood chips on her floor. He nodded to her. “Dr. Petersen.”

“How can we help you … Harry, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He was twisting a ball cap in his hands and it looked as if he was in shock. “There’s been an accident at Bartholomew’s Mill.”

“An accident?” Carson asked. “What kind?”

“Jenkins had a nasty incident with a saw, but there’s bad smoke from a remote forest fire and we can’t get a chopper in to airlift him to a hospital and paramedics are still two hours away.”

Esme reeled at that information. She knew they were far off the beaten path, but medical help was two hours away? Why wasn’t there a hospital closer?

“Let’s go. I’ll go grab my emergency medical kit.” Carson slapped Harry on the shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind driving, Harry. You know those logging roads better than me in the dark.”

“No problem, Dr. Ralston.”

“Can I help?” Esme asked.

Carson nodded. “Grab as many suture kits as you can.”

Esme panicked. “Hospitals take care of suturing. We’re not surgeons.”

Carson shook his head. “Not around here. I hope you have some surgical skills. We’re going to need them.”

Harry and Carson disappeared into the night. Esme’s stomach twisted in a knot. Suturing? Surgery? This wasn’t what she’d signed up for.

When she’d moved here she’d put that all behind her. She wasn’t a surgeon.

No.

Then she thought of Avery. Her brother bleeding out under her hands. She was being foolish. They needed her help. Someone was in pain. This wasn’t an OR. She would make sure she wouldn’t freeze up. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. This was about sustaining a man’s life until paramedics arrived. Esme rushed into her supply room, grabbed a rucksack and began to pack it full of equipment. Her hands shaking as she grabbed the suture kit.

I can do this.

Besides, she might not even have to stitch him.

Carson could handle it and nothing was going to happen.