Lightning Strikes

Her husband circled her shoulders and drew her close to his side, but his gaze never left Noah.

“I won’t try and soft-pedal the seriousness of the situation, Mrs. Collier. At the moment, she’s critical but stable. For now, that’s the best we can hope for.”

“Oh, God,” she cried, slumping against her husband.

Noah gestured toward the couch. “Let’s sit down, then we’ll talk.”

“Is Laura going to die?” Mr. Collier asked once they were seated.

Noah sat on the edge of the chair. “I’m sorry, but I can’t make that call. She has a lot of internal bleeding and numerous broken bones.”

“May we see her?”

Noah stood. “Of course. I’ll arrange it.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mr. Collier sighed. “I suppose the police will want to see us.”

“I would think so,” Noah said. Hoping to temper the stark, ugly reality, he added, “Remember, I’ll be around if you need me.”

He turned and made his way to his office, slamming the door behind him. He’d be lucky if he had five minutes to get a grip on himself. Already, he could hear another siren wail. Any second now, he’d be called again.

Meanwhile, he had to quell the urge to put his fist through one of the flimsy walls, venting his frustration. Some tragedies were unavoidable. But the accident involving those young people wasn’t one of them.

If Laura Collier made it through the night, she’d be one fortunate girl. More than likely she would not. Noah ground his teeth together while he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about the devastation mirrored on the Colliers’ faces. God, he could identify with that kind of pain, and it wasn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy.

With his thoughts veering into forbidden territory, he squeezed the back of his neck as though physical pain would obliterate the mental pain pounding his head.

The cot looked inviting as he forced his gaze onto something tangible. He was beat, but he’d have to forget about sleep and depend on coffee to keep him going. Anyway, who was he trying to kid? He could lie down, all right, but sleep would elude him; his demons would have a field day.

“Damn,” he muttered, hating it when he felt his control slipping. Peering at his watch, he hoped his mother was still at the lodge. In fact, he hoped she spent the night there, if they had the room. He hated the thought of her being on the road in this weather.

Unfortunately, he never knew which way Melissa was going to jump. One moment, she was a clinging vine who couldn’t do anything for herself. The next, she was as obstinate and unmovable as a block of cement. His father, who had died last year, had petted Melissa, encouraged her dependency.

Albert Howell, on his deathbed, had said, “Son, promise me my girls will never want for anything as long as you’re alive.”

His voice and body had been so weak from lying incapacitated for months with a dysfunctional heart, Noah had barely understood him.

“Dad—”

Albert’s clawlike fingers had clutched his arm, his eyes glazed with fear and pain. “Promise me.”

“Of course I’ll take care of them. You know that.”

Shortly after Noah had made that promise, his father had passed away. His mother, however, had made his good intentions difficult. She could be a royal pain in the butt with her penchant for living the good life, having put pressure for years on Albert to give her “things” when his job as a mechanic didn’t warrant that life-style.

Noah, to some extent, had continued to indulge his mother and his sister monetarily. That way he could remain aloof emotionally. Still, he cared deeply about them both.

Thinking about Randi jerked the knot in his stomach tighter. Where the hell had she gone? He had to believe she simply couldn’t handle marrying Hal and took off. But then again, where could she disappear to on this horrible night? He tried her phone again. Straight to voicemail.

Taking such a bold move was not like Randi. Now, if he, Noah, had pulled that stunt, no one would’ve been surprised. While he considered himself responsible—had to be when he held a scalpel in his hand—he was a gambler who wasn’t afraid to take chances.

Randi was not like that. His domineering and manipulative mother knew how to pull his sister’s chain and did it quite often, despite the fact that Randi was no social climber and was constantly torn between pleasing her mother and pleasing herself.

Noah refused to be put on that hot seat, which drove Melissa to distraction. And yet he loved his mother and would do what he could for her, short of letting her dominate him.

He shifted his gaze to his phone, his gut telling him he should check in with Melissa to see if Randi had been found. He was both worried and annoyed that she’d pulled such a stunt. Regardless of the situation between Randi and his mother, Melissa didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.

Perhaps he should return to the lodge. But he couldn’t. Hell, he was the only surgeon in the building, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that young wreck victim didn’t require a second surgery.

Still, Noah felt torn between his family and his job, something that didn’t set well with him. Something else that didn’t set well with him was having to work with Amanda.

Noah pulled a long face. Damn, she’d been uptight. No, she’d been downright hostile. Even now, he could feel the hostility stab him.

“What did you expect, Howell,” he grumbled out loud, “a hug around the neck?” Sure thing, he thought with a laugh that held no mirth. She’d like nothing better than to squash him like a poisonous varmint. And well she should. Whatever she dished out, he had coming.

However, that environment didn’t bode well for their working together. But who had a choice? They certainly didn’t, not when the entire town threatened to capsize under so much water and a damn blackout to boot, thereby creating a situation where other surgeons couldn’t get to the hospital.

Still, the bottom line was that seeing Amanda had been an unexpected kick in the gut. What they had between them was dead. He’d seen to that, and he’d thought he’d made peace with that conclusion. But when she’d looked at him as though he wasn’t there, it had needled him.

And her perfume. God, he’d smelled it, and his senses had gone wild. It was the same scent that had never failed to turn him on, especially when he’d known he would soon taste its bittersweetness on her skin.

“Man, get a grip,” Noah spat out, his rough voice bouncing off the walls.

What was done was done. Or was it? That question punched him in the gut again, especially as she still had the power to stir him sexually. Though he was ashamed to admit it, he’d reacted immediately, thankful that his baggy greens had hidden the bulge underneath.

When he’d first taken serious note of Amanda, he had been in a relationship, though not a serious one—at least not from his standpoint. Immediately, he had ended the affair and begun seeing Amanda, having fallen hard and fast, especially in light of her indifference to him, something that hadn’t been the norm.

He’d ached to find out what lurked behind Amanda’s secretive eyes and explore the delights of her dynamite body. And he had. For the first time in his life, he’d fallen in love. Then the bottom dropped out of his world, forcing him to walk out on Amanda and his commitment to her without an explanation.

He had no regrets on that score. He had been trying to protect her. It had been imperative that she hate him so that she could go on with her life, for there had been no way out for him.

That hadn’t changed, at least not for him and Amanda. His phone rang, interrupting his thought. This was the only time he was grateful for this storm. There was still cell service—for the moment. He took a deep breath and thanked God for small favors.

Work was his panacea.

Chapter Six

“Hey, Doc, I’m bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

Amanda rolled her eyes at the patient’s analogy, though she couldn’t stop a smile from relaxing her tired features. “Right, Mr. Osburn. But hopefully we’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Frank Osburn, a rough-looking logger who lived in a trailer up in the mountains, had had a physical altercation with his wife. Unfortunately, he’d come out on the short end of the ordeal.

“You’re lucky you’re not in surgery about now. As is, you’re only suffering from a scalp wound.”

“If that’s so, Doc, why did I bleed all over creation?”

“Head wounds often do that, Mr. Osburn.”