Page 48 of Wrecked on the Mountain
"Sir, I'm Jamie with Mountain Rescue," I call through the partially open window. "This is Dr. Shields. We're here to help."
The man's eyes immediately go to Brooke, and I watch something incredible happen.
Her voice drops into this calm, authoritative tone that somehow manages to be both soothing and completely in control. "Hi there, I'm Dr. Shields. Can you tell me your name?"
"Robert," he says, wincing. "My chest... it really hurts."
"Okay, Robert. I'm going to ask you some questions while my partner here assesses the vehicle situation. Are you having trouble breathing?"
While Brooke starts her medical evaluation, I circle the SUV to check for structural damage, fuel leaks, anything that might make this extraction more complicated than it needs to be.
But I keep finding myself watching her work.
She's... fucking incredible.
The way she's talking Robert through everything she's doing, explaining her assessment in terms he can understand while simultaneously gathering the information she needs. Her hands are steady as she checks his pulse, examines his pupils, palpates his abdomen for internal injuries.
This isn't the woman who couldn't split a piece of firewood to save her life. This is a surgeon who's spent years in trauma bays,making split-second decisions that mean the difference between life and death.
"Robert, I need you to try to take a slow, deep breath for me," she says, placing her stethoscope against his chest through the open window. "That's it. Good. One more for me."
She catches my eye over the roof of the car and gives me a subtle shake of her head. Not cardiac. Probably muscular from the impact.
How the hell did she determine that so quickly?
"Jamie," she calls out, "can you check if we've got room to open the passenger door? I want to get a better look at his ribs before we think about moving him."
I move around to the passenger side, where the SUV is pressed up against the pine trees but not completely blocked. "Yeah, we can get it open, but it's going to be tight."
"That's fine. Robert, we're going to move you very carefully. I want to make sure you haven't injured your ribs or sternum."
The next five minutes is like watching a master class in field medicine. Brooke guides Robert through every movement, constantly assessing his condition while I handle the technical aspects of extraction and organize a medical vehicle to meet us on the road above.
She's talking him through the possibility of bruised ribs from the seatbelt, explaining that chest pain after an accident is common but that she wants to be thorough. All while maneuvering in snow and working around the limitations of a vehicle that's basically become a metal pretzel.
"You military?" Robert asks as Brooke carefully examines his torso, and I realize he's looking at me.
"Yes, sir. Former Army Ranger," I reply automatically. "Did three tours in Afghanistan."
"I can tell," he says with a grimace as Brooke palpates his ribs. "You move like military. My son's Navy. Deployment ends next month."
Something loosens in my chest that I wasn't aware was tight. It's been a long time since someone recognized that part of me in a positive way. Rebecca always acted like my military background was something to be ashamed of, like it marked me as damaged goods.
"What's his MOS?" I ask, using proper military terminology for his job classification.
"Aviation electronics," Robert says, then looks between Brooke and me. "You two work well together. Been partners long?"
I feel heat creep up my neck under my beard. "We're... uh..."
"She's new to the team," I manage, but Robert's smile suggests he's not buying the professional-only explanation.
"Right," he says, wincing again as Brooke checks his shoulder range of motion. "Must be tough, working with your wife out here. Dangerous job."
Wife.
The word hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
Brooke doesn't even pause in her examination, but I catch the slight smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth.
