Page 13 of Unwanted Vows

I’ve not been at the Freedom location very long. I am anxious to do well here. What will this complication do to my career options?

All of this passes through my mind in a flash, memories and old terrors flooding my system with adrenaline.

David is my assistant. He is a gentle, sensitive young man who quickly picks up on moods around him. Some of my shock must have registered on my face. “Everything all right, Ms. Northernfield?” he asks.

“Fine and dandy,” I assure him, trying to project cheerful confidence. “Cece got hurt, so we have medical royalty to help us today.”

David flashes me a look that says he isn’t buying what I am selling, but he is far too polite to say so. “Gotcha,” he says. “Bring in the next?”

“Please do,” I tell him, hoping that the rhythm of work would quell the fear, anger, and reborn attraction roiling inside me.

Dr. Lane has come a long way from the newly minted M.D. who wined, dined, and bedded my undergraduate self, then vanished without a trace.

I wondered if Kate recognized him. She’d met him before the party, but had declined to attend, claiming she had an exam the next day.

Kate was like that. Even as a freshman, she was always working or going to school. Even now, when she has plenty of money and could hire as many servants as she needs, she stays busy. Charles runs a billion-dollar, multi-faceted business, but she remains the farm girl and early childhood teacher she had been when we first met.

My mind tumbled over old memories and new fears as I worked my way through the long line of minor injuries and illnesses. At last, the line has cleared.

“Can I buy you lunch?” Dr. Lane asks, smiling with all the devastating charm I remember from that amazing week. “You’re bound to be hungry.”

I shake my head. Since he doesn’t seem to know me, the farther I stay away from him, the better. I think of the goodies I grabbed from the breakfast bar. “I brought lunch, so, thanks, but no.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. I thought I would ask. The sun is brutal, and it would be bad form for the nurse in charge to pass out from heat exhaustion or hunger.”

“Scrubs are cool and comfy,” I say. “David and Ramey will keep an eye on the front, and I’ll just chill out in the air conditioned room for a little while.”

“Can I bring you back something?” he asks.

“Something cold to drink would be nice, as long as it is not from any of the vendors here,” I say.

His eyebrows fly up in alarm. “Is there a possibility of food poisoning?”

“No,” I say. “I’ve just had to scrub second-hand food off too many people today. Chili dogs, lemonade, and tilt-a-whirls are a lethal combination.”

He laughs at that. Oh, God, he has such a nice laugh. I feel myself melting, remembering his touch and the things that mouth could do.

I grit my teeth and remind myself that I needed a love ‘em and leave ‘em Lothario like I needed a case of chlamydia. Lotharios are always charming and sweet — right up until the time that they’re not.

Had his grandfather truly believed him to be dead, or was that a lie he told a scared young mother to get rid of her or to trick her into giving up her child to his rich family?

“I had a narrow miss, myself,” he says. “I’ll see if I can find something tasty that isn’t lemonade.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He leaves, and I heat up my second breakfast burrito in the lounge microwave, then get an iced tea from the dispenser. I place my food on a table in the cool room, and flop onto an anti-gravity lounger beside it. I adjust the chair so that my feet are up, but I can still enjoy eating. The chill air seeps through the mesh back of the chair, cooling me down and letting my loose cotton top dry.

Idly, I wonder what Paul is doing. I’m sure he is having a good lunch. Julia is in charge of the kids, and she would never stand for less.

I sit up, and throw away the wrapper from my burrito and my empty ice tea cup. I check the supply of various brands of electrolyte drinks. Then I check the ice in the cooler by the first aid stand. It is getting low, so I go to the tent flap to see who I can flag down to get more.

I see six men bringing a stretcher toward me. They aren’t running, but they are moving at a brisk walk. A quick glance shows what looks like a kitchen knife sticking out of the stretcher occupant’s abdomen. It moves with every breath he takes.

“Examining table, in here,” I say, pulling aside the curtain that hides the operating space. “Easy, try not to jostle that thing around. Did you see any other wounds?”

“No, miss,” says one of the crew, a stocky dark-haired man with a broad face. “We found him behind the cook tent during a routine patrol. No idea who the assailant might have been.”

The patient is a large man. He is a little overweight — not bad, just well-padded. With luck, the knife has only penetrated the fat layer, not gone all the way in. Ramey and David hurry in behind the security team.

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