Doctor to the Rescue

“You mean, like a barter?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Think about it.”

The next moments were a flurry of activity as Bri was assessed, prodded, questioned, medicated, primped with surgical garb and prepped.

Ian smiled at her. Her vitals had calmed after he’d proposed the barter. It could work. He’d just have to be brutal with his time, which meant no entertaining, no socializing and definitely no dating.

Lisa rushed up, tying her mask. “I’m here, Ian. Shoo. Go.”

Bri hyperventilated at the O.R. doors. Understandable, since, according to Caleb, their mom died in surgery. Ian brushed fingers along Bri’s hand. She clutched him in a death grip. “Please don’t tell Caleb I broke my arm. I’m scared it’ll distract him in combat. I can’t lose another family member. He’s all I have.” Her raw voice disintegrated.

That she was more concerned for her brother than for herself hit Ian to the core.

He held on to her fingers as long as he could. He was already late for court, and her orthopedic surgeon waited not so patiently. But Bri’s pleading eyes really got to him.

But, he had to get to court.

He also had to call her brother. If she had complications in surgery or under general anesthesia, they’d need directives from family. She’d be mad, but being a doctor wasn’t a popularity contest. It meant making hard decisions that sometimes caused pain. He averted his gaze.

“Ian, Caleb can’t know I’m in surgery. Okay?”

Despite the risk of making her angry by disregarding her request, Ian was convinced Caleb needed to know. Ian released Bri’s fingers and nodded to Kate to take her on in.

Even out of sight, Bri’s pleading face wouldn’t leave his mind. He sighed. Rounded the corner. Walked the hall. He pulled out his phone, knowing legally, ethically and morally, he had to call her emergency contact. He hoped it would be a nonissue.

Especially when Bri discovered he’d called her brother.

Caleb was a capable army medic. He could handle hard information and compartmentalize it in a way to keep his head in the game and not endanger himself or his fellow soldiers.

On the other hand, if something happened to Caleb...

Ian weighed his options, waffling between Bri’s atypical emotional plea and what his doctors’ creed dictate he do.

Ian sighed. This time at the irony of staring at a so-called smart phone while wondering if this would turn out to be the stupidest thing he had ever done.

His Hippocratic oath came to mind. But doubt assailed him. Her surgery was dangerous and she had no one else to call. Caleb had confided that their estranged dad was incapacitated in a nursing home. A sense of sadness over her isolation riddled Ian.

Nevertheless, he pulled up the number for Caleb’s commander, texted a message marked as urgent and pushed Send.

* * *

The morning after surgery, Bri woke from a groggy mist to a most pleasant sound. A masculine voice drawing close. A deep chuckle, then, “Get some sleep, Kate.”

Ian? Bri’s eyes fluttered open at the smell of evergreen. Ian’s cologne reminded her of Christmas. He approached and rested casual elbows on her bed’s side rail. “Good morning, Crash.”

A smile touched her lips before she could stop it. She took in Ian’s disheveled appearance. Wrinkled scrubs. Ruffled hair. Sleepy eyes and a shadow-roughed jaw she hoped he wouldn’t shave. “You look worse than I feel,” she fibbed. “Rough night?”

Lip twitching, he ripped an O.R. mask off his neck. “Yeah. The shortest day of the year feels like infinity.”

“That’s right. Today’s the first day of winter.” She also recalled the barter. “Were you serious yester—”

Rock music chimed. Annoyance flashed across his face as if it were the call coming across his touch screen. Ian’s reaction made her courage disappear, taking her back to intimidating tones Eric had used when she’d unwittingly called at “inconvenient” times.

Ian touched his cell phone. “Shupe.”

“Ian, this is your neighbor,” said an older woman. “I want to make you aware your little’n wandered over here again.”

Ian’s face snapped up, his expression full of worry. “Tia’s there?”

“Yes. I’m guessing your babysitter got too busy texting again to realize Tia was gone. Again.”

Ian’s jaw rippled. “I’ll be there right away, Miss Ellie.”

“I’d watch her for you, but I’ve got chemo today.”

“No, no, Ell. You need to keep your appointment.” His voice, tender upon first hearing Ell’s voice, softened more.

Suddenly realizing Bri had heard the entire conversation, Ian masked his features and stepped out.

His child care wasn’t working out and he was considering a leave from EPTC, which opened mere months ago. His absence would strain staff and halt expansion projects. She knew about those from small-town breakfast chatter at Sully’s, a local mom-and-pop eatery.

Also, Mitch, EPTC’s founder, requested prayers at Eagle Point Lake Pavilion’s “PRAYZ” gathering Tuesday, a weekly event Lauren and Kate had invited Bri to attend. Bri had learned there of Ian’s struggles with Tia, whose mom had abandoned her. Bri had her own wounds from when her father had left them destitute. Like her neurotic inability to accept help.

Would Ian be angry if he knew people prayed for him? Eric had gone ballistic upon discovering she confided in praying pals about their faltering relationship. She’d been foolish to let him bully her into staying together. Never again would she let a man intimidate and manipulate her with angry words and arctic moods.

Ian exited an office across the hall and reentered her room. He grabbed his lab coat off a wall hook, brusque motions depicting the strain of a struggling single dad who hadn’t gotten enough sleep in the two weeks Tia had been living with him. He stormed for the door, then doubled back.

He snatched a parent how-to book off her chair, evidence he’d been here before. Her gaze sought his. Face stony, he crammed the book under his arm. Why hide it? No one blamed him for wanting to be a better dad. He left in a stiff, halfhearted daze.

Fifteen minutes later, the sound of a little girl crying pierced Bri’s heart. “I don’t wanna come here! I want my mom!”

Ian passed by with a tiny flailing person clad in a purple tutu. His face and bulky arms were severely strained, and the child was crying like a banshee. “I want my mo-o-om!”

But your mom doesn’t want you.

Bri knew that from town chatter, too—that Ian fiercely shielded Tia from her mom’s rejection.

“I don’t want you! I don’t know you!” Tia screamed at Ian.

“I know, Tia. I’m sorry,” Ian said, his voice raw but gentle. “But I know and love you. Things will end up all right. I promise.”

Bri hoped Ian believed his own words. But while his voice was calm and confident, his eyes were desperate.

Thankfully, Tia couldn’t see. Her face was red, and her cries gradually softened to hiccuppy whimpers.

Ian walked the floor with Tia swaddled in the strength of his arms. He swayed her, feet bouncing in gentle rhythmic daddy-dance Bri hoped Tia would recognize as his way of infusing security and comfort. Bri’s heart squeezed.

How could she complain about her own problems when fragile Tia was in such harrowing turmoil? Bri’s heart broke for the little girl.