One Night With The Army Doc

She resisted the urge to mic-drop the useless device into a nearby mud puddle and instead returned it to her pocket.

Looking back, she should’ve expected the break-up. Brian had always been complaining about her long hours and frequent trips, even though she’d been up-front with him about her demanding schedule from the beginning. And their blazing fights over the past few weeks had only served to resurrect painful memories of her father’s indifference and cruelty when she’d been a child—the day he’d called her weak for crying over the death of her pet cat, the way he’d taunted her because she hadn’t been able to make friends with the popular girls in her class, the night she’d graduated from medical school and overheard her father saying what a hopeless, awkward mess she was and how embarrassed he was to have her for a daughter because she’d been denied the membership of the Ivy League exclusive clubs and cliques her father had deemed necessary to mingle in his lofty social circles.

Even now those words gutted Molly to her core.

Brian, in the end, had pushed those same agonizing buttons, causing Molly to withdraw inside herself until they’d been basically nothing but glorified roommates. Still, she’d thought the year and a half they’d spent together rated more than a two-line text to end it all.

She guessed she’d been wrong about that too.

One more reason relationships were off her radar. Not even one-night stands. She preferred certainties to messy emotions, thank you very much. And, honestly, why bother when people left once you’d opened up and revealed your true, flawed self to them. Luckily, she wasn’t likely to find a man who’d challenge those beliefs out here in Alaska.

Ignoring the lingering sadness in her chest, she concentrated on Officer Not Budging, still blocking her path. Intimidation was out of the question, given the guy had at least a hundred and fifty pounds on her, but maybe a healthy dose of mind-numbing logic would do the trick.

Whenever she felt overstressed or insecure, random facts always popped into Molly’s head and out of her mouth. Blind dates, heated confrontations, heated situations of any sort, really. She’d ramble on and on about useless information until the poor victim’s eyes glazed over and they wandered off in a fog of utter boredom.

Considering she was thousands of miles from home, hopelessly lost, and late for a potentially career-altering meeting, Molly couldn’t get much more stressed. Plus, she’d done some light reading on the flight—facts and figures about Alaska, atlases, safety manuals, wildlife guides. Perfect for boring an unsuspecting cop to tears.

“Officer Bentz, did you know traffic fatalities in this state increased by twenty-six point eight percent from fifty-six in 2010 to seventy-two in 2011? Also, the percentage of statewide traffic fatalities related to alcohol-impaired driving decreased from thirty-four point three percent in 2009 to twenty-eight point six percent in 2010...”

Molly hid a smile. The man was fidgeting, his expression growing more uncomfortable the longer she droned. Soon the poor guy stifled a yawn and gazed skyward.

Chalk up another win for her near-eidetic memory.

“Most interesting of all...”

Officer Bentz looked at Molly again, his eyes as blank as his expression. “Go on ahead. I’m sure you can help with something. In fact, ask for Jake. He’s with the ambulance crew tonight. He owes me one anyway.”

“Thank you very much.”

She turned on her heel and sidled through the maze of squad cars and fire trucks toward what she could now see was an overturned vehicle. During her emergency medicine rotation in Chicago, Molly had treated plenty of accident victims. That had been a while ago, however, and she’d been out of the ER trenches since signing on to do her TV show.

Fresh nerves and adrenaline quickened her steps and her pulse. Amidst the bright floodlights set up around the perimeter of the scene, Molly peered past the end of an ambulance in time to see a huge metal claw rip off a chunk of twisted debris from the SUV’s side.

“Dammit.” A man stalked over, his gray eyes sparkling with fury, his impressive build only adding to his imposing presence. “The cops are supposed to keep any rubberneckers away.”

Molly looked around to see who he was scolding and realized, too late, that it was her.

“Get out.” He stood at least a foot taller than her. And from the top of his dark brown hair to the tips of his black work boots the guy looked every inch the alpha protector. “Before you get hurt.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She did her best to stand tall and forget about the fact this man was movie-star-handsome. Even with the beard. Molly had never gone for the lumberjack look before, but he made her seriously reconsider her life choices.

“The cop back there said I should ask for Jake.”

His gaze narrowed. “Who told you that?”

“Officer Bentz.” She pointed in the direction of her Range Rover. “I’m a doctor. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I have a—”

“We’re ready,” said another guy. He was dressed in an EMT uniform, African American, maybe midthirties, and was calling from near the crash site. “Time to quit flirting and start working.”

Her gaze darted from the wreck to the scowling hunk before her.

Flirting? With me?

If glares and glowers were this man’s idea of how to attract women, it was entirely possible she’d finally met someone who was worse than her in social situations.

“Excuse me.”

Molly started to move around him, only to be stopped by his hand on her arm. Never mind the warmth spreading through her bloodstream, or the zing of awareness crackling like fireworks. Verbal sparring was one thing. Unwanted contact was another.

Outrage stormed through her and Molly tried to shake off his grip. “Let go of me.”

“You need to wait over there.”

The first responder pointed toward the area beyond the yellow crime scene tape, his rigid posture and stern expression obviously meant to wither any defiance. He was a man who was used to being obeyed—that much was obvious.

Molly squared her shoulders and glared. “And you need to remove your hand before I remove it for you. Permanently.”

The man’s eyes widened slightly and a hint of admiration ghosted across his features. Before Molly could dwell on it longer, however, he released her, crossing his muscled arms across his broad chest.

“Fine. Stay at your own risk. I have work to do.”

With that, the hunk jogged back to the wreck and joined the other man inside the half-crushed SUV. Soon they’d removed a small boy from the front passenger seat, stabilized his neck with a brace, then slid him onto a waiting body board before repeating the same with a woman.

Reluctantly, Molly’s curiosity about the daring rescuer blossomed. She watched him cuddle the child, coaxing a smile from the little guy, and a fresh pang of loneliness stabbed her—along with a lingering worry about ever finding someone who’d look at her that way.

Considering her relationship with Brian was DOA, Molly had grave doubts. For a woman brilliant in her profession, when it came to her personal life she was one big mess. Not that flirting at an emergency scene was appropriate, but she wasn’t good at it anyway. She’d always been a wallflower—one more check in her Don’t-Date-Much column.

“Gurney coming through.”

Molly barely had time to keep her toes from getting crushed before the EMTs rolled past with the first victim. The two men hoisted the little boy up into the ambulance, then returned for the mother.

After they’d gotten the woman secured alongside her son, another man with a bandaged leg joined them in the back of the rig and the doors were closed. The hunk crouched near Molly’s feet, gathering up scattered gear and shoving it into a medical bag. From her vantage point she couldn’t help noticing how his tight navy blue T-shirt clung to his muscles and sinews and the way his black pants cupped his butt like a second skin.

Throat dry and head swirling, Molly panicked and said the first thing that popped into her mind—more random trivia. “Moose are herbivores and will casually devour seventy-three pounds of plant material a day in the summer. They like an assortment of shrubs, woody plants and aquatic vegetation; in the winter, their diet is more restricted.”

She clamped her lips shut to prevent more useless facts from spilling out. Her father’s voice echoed through her head, calling her pathetic. Worse, her last argument with Brian replayed in her mind like a bad song. The red flags were so easy to see now. She’d asked him to set a wedding date, to take their relationship to the next logical step, but he’d balked.

“Not everything’s about logic. You solve everyone else’s problems, but not your own.”

The handsome first responder straightened and gave Molly a slow once-over. “Your facts are correct—except the bull that caused this accident wasn’t looking for a meal. He was looking for a date.”

Ah, right. She’d read about the mating season starting in late September in one of her pamphlets. Embarrassed heat prickled Molly’s cheeks. Nervous, she smoothed a hand down her blond hair, still secured into two braids. Quickly she removed the bands at the ends of her plaits and ran her fingers through the stick-straight strands that wouldn’t hold a curl to save their life.

The man’s gaze followed the movement, the gray of his irises darkening to gunmetal. A throb of want started low in her belly, spreading like honey through her blood. It had been so long—too long—since a man had looked at her like that, and she found his arousal intoxicating.

“C’mon, Doc,” the other medic said through the open door. “We got patients who need to be transported to Anchorage Mercy.”

“Have a nice evening, ma’am,” the hunk said, his stormy gaze flickering to her lips before returning to her eyes. “Be careful on the roads.”

Molly stepped aside as the rescuer slung the medical kit over his shoulder, then climbed into the passenger side of the rig. The ambulance pulled away, maneuvering out of the tangle of vehicles blocking their path to the open roadway.

Hurrying back to the Range Rover, Molly started her engine, hoping to follow behind the emergency vehicle to her destination, all the while analyzing the new information she’d just gleaned. So he wasn’t an EMT, he was a doctor. At Anchorage Mercy. Where they’d be working in close proximity.

Whoops. No.

Molly doused the sudden flare of excitement sweeping through her like wildfire. The last thing she needed was a rebound fling. Not with her career in the balance and her life in Chicago a shambles. Besides, she’d never chased after a man, never lived dangerously. At least not outside of the medical realm.

In the pursuit of a cure for her patients she’d tackle any challenge, take any risk.

In the pursuit of her own happiness? Not so much.

Still, one of the other reasons she’d chosen to do her TV show was to learn to listen to her gut. And right now her instincts were screaming that following that man and his ambulance represented her best shot at finding the hospital. So, Molly reasoned, this wasn’t about a rebound relationship or a booty call with a hot doctor at all. It was about solving her next case and saving her show. She would worry about the rest later.

Squinting out the windshield through the gathering twilight, Molly realized she couldn’t go through all the jumbled vehicles snarled in gridlock and still catch up to the ambulance, so she went around instead, driving her off-road-capable vehicle into the grassy gulley between lanes and past the still blocked section of roadway, then back onto the asphalt highway.

She might be late to her meeting, but if she was lucky she could still salvage this debacle.

CHAPTER TWO

“DR. FLYNN, I’M glad your producer was able to find a slot in the schedule for us.”

The hospital’s chief of staff grasped Molly’s hand, his white hair and jolly blue eyes reminding her of Santa. He’d been kind enough not to mention she was an hour late. She was never late. Another lesson courtesy of her bully father. He’d always noticed any tardiness and the results had never been good.

“Your dad and I were classmates in medical school. How is he these days?”

Molly took the seat he offered. It seemed she hadn’t quite outrun the looming shadow of her father after all. “He’s currently in Beijing, conducting a training conference on the latest alternative techniques for closure of the open abdomen.”

“Fascinating.” The chief sat behind his desk and straightened his name plate. “Dr. David Carpenter” it proclaimed, in engraved gold letters. “And, please, call me Dr. Dave.”

“Okay.”

The cluttered room was the opposite of Molly’s own pristine office back home. Amongst his papers and files were several family photos, in which everyone was laughing and cheerful. Smiles—genuine ones, anyway—were rare in the Flynn family.

“What can you tell me about my patient, Dr. Dave?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” He searched through a stack of charts on a shelf against the far wall then handed her one. “His name is Robert Templeton, though he prefers to be called Bobby. Thirty-one and a professional hockey player for our hometown team the Anchorage Anoraks.”

“Anoraks?” Molly raised a brow. “Isn’t that a type of jacket?”

Dr. Dave chuckled. “Yep. But it sounded cool so we went with it.”

“I see. Says here he’s an enforcer. What exactly does that mean?”

“It’s not an official position on the hockey team, more of a tough guy. He starts fights to protect the smaller guys from taking the hits.”

“Huh.”

Molly had gone to a Blackhawks game in Chicago once, with Brian, and had had to cover her eyes during the worst of the brawls. Even a year spent in the ER hadn’t prepared her for the copious amounts of gore and raw testosterone. If her new patient regularly partook in those kinds of brutal activities, it was no wonder he’d landed in the hospital.

“What are his current symptoms?”

“He was initially seen through our outpatient clinic for contact dermatitis.”

She frowned. “How does a man go from a simple skin rash to cardiac arrest?”

“Good question.” Dr. Dave sat back in his chair. “The treating physician gave him samples of diphenhydramine to take before he left and the wheezing started shortly afterward.”

“He was allergic to the anti-allergy medicine?”

“It would appear so.”

“Looks like they gave him point one cc of epinephrine to counteract his reaction to the antihistamine.” She traced her finger down the chart documentation. “Could he have an underlying heart condition? A skin infection like cellulitis can cause a rapid pulse. Or perhaps inflamed blood vessels from vasculitis?”

“Nope. His CBC results were normal. No signs of an infection anywhere.”

“Hmm.” She flipped to the patient’s labs, then went back to the history and the physical. “No food allergies? He’s not taking any meds on a regular basis?”

“None.”

“And he’s been complaining of strange scents?”

“Yes. Says he smells cinnamon and cloves all the time.”

“All right.” Difficult cases were Molly’s bread and butter. She took them as a personal challenge. “Can you please order a CT of his chest to rule out Churg-Strauss Syndrome? His bloodwork may have been normal, but inflammation of the blood vessels in his heart, lungs and skin would explain all his symptoms. Also, let’s start him on a high-dose steroid therapy.”

“CSS doesn’t have a good prognosis, does it?” Dr. Dave asked, his tone concerned.

“For patients diagnosed and treated quickly the life expectancy is five years. Untreated, Mr. Templeton would have a year at most. Of course there’s always the chance this isn’t autoimmune-related.”

“You’re the expert, Dr. Flynn. I’ll get these orders to the staff right away.” Dr. Dave smiled—the kind of fond grin she’d always wanted from her own father but never received. “You look so much like your dad.”

Molly clasped her hands atop the file on her lap. Looks were about the only thing she and her father had in common. Always active, Roger Flynn expected everyone around him to adhere to his hectic schedule. To him, Molly had always been too quiet and boring, preferring to stay home and read a good book rather than operate in the jungle.

“Would you like to meet your patient now?” Dr. Dave stood and moved toward the door. “I believe your crew’s waiting for us outside Bobby’s room.”

“Of course.” She followed him out into the busy hallway. “And, please, call me Molly.”

“Okay.” He pushed the button for the elevator. “All the staff assigned to Bobby have signed the required releases except one. I’m still working on him.”

“Unfortunately anyone who doesn’t sign the forms can’t participate in the care of the patient from this point forward. My crew films whenever I’m present, to make sure we get an accurate portrayal of the process.” The elevator dinged and they boarded. “Perhaps this person can be reassigned?”

“Right.” Dr. Dave chuckled. “And perhaps polar bears will learn to tap dance.”

Molly glanced up, surprised by his sarcasm.

“This particular physician is a close friend of Bobby’s and can be...stubborn when it comes to people he considers family. I talked to him again, before you got here, but he hasn’t budged on the publicity releases. I’m afraid he prefers to keep a low profile. Dedicated workaholic, really.”

“I see.” Molly crossed her arms, wishing she’d had time to unpack her lab coat and cover up her casual travel clothes. “Well, I don’t know anything about this Dr. Ryder, or his reasons for not signing, but those rules come directly from the network. Besides, treating a close friend or family member is a conflict of interest.”

“Oh, I’m still the patient’s official care provider.”

The elevator arrived on the fourth floor and Dr. Dave held the doors, exiting after Molly.

“But Bobby signed consent forms allowing Jake full access to his medical records when he was admitted, and granted him power of attorney in case he’s incapacitated.”

Molly waited while Dr. Dave walked on ahead to the nurses’ station, to speak with a curvy Latino woman whose name tag read “Gladys.”

“Our boy available?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, Dr. Dave. He’s got company, though.”

“Dr. Ryder?”

“Yep.”

“Great.” He turned to Molly once more, his smile broad. “You’ll like Dr. Ryder. He’s a brilliant trauma surgeon, like your father. The youngest head of EM in Anchorage Mercy history. Cut his teeth on combat rescues in Afghanistan...”

Molly only half listened from that point, her mind still snagged on Dr. Dave’s earlier words.

“He’s a brilliant trauma surgeon, like your father.”

Great. Just what she needed. Roger Flynn, Version Two.

“Hey, Mol. About time you got here,” said her cameraman Rob, coming around the corner with her show’s field producer, Neal. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”

“Funny.” She smoothed her hand down her shirt, then asked Neal, “Everything all set?”

“Everything except the guy sitting in the room with the patient.”

“Molly?” Dr. Dave stood with his hand on the door. “Ready to go in?”

“Of course.” She turned to her crew. “Give me a moment.”

Resolve steeled, she followed Dr. Dave into Bobby Templeton’s room. Whatever this Dr. Ryder’s issue was with being on TV, she needed him to get over it or get out. Perhaps all those years of dealing with her father had made for good practice after all.

“Bobby, this is Dr. Molly Flynn, from Diagnosis Critical. As we discussed, she’ll be managing your case from this point forward.” Dr. Dave placed a guiding hand on Molly’s back and gave her a slight nudge. “Dr. Flynn, this is our local superstar—NWHL MVP Bobby Templeton.”

“Hey.” The burly guy gave her a small wave. “Honor to meet you. I watch your show all the time when I’m not training. My favorite episode was the one with the weird toe fungus.” His gaze darted from her to the man at his bedside. “What’s the matter, Jake? Tongue-tied around a beautiful woman?”

Dr. Dave smiled. “Dr. Flynn—this is Dr. Jake Ryder.”

She turned, her polite smile freezing then falling. Dr. Ryder was the gorgeous rescuer from the accident scene. With her luck, she should’ve guessed.

He looked different now, dressed in scrubs instead of his navy and black EMT uniform. Not that the pale green material looked bad. Quite the contrary. With his stethoscope slung around his neck—no lab coat—he was transformed into a stoic professional, but she wasn’t fooled. She’d seen glimpses of the passion lurking beneath his surface at the accident scene. In fact, just the thought of him rushing headlong into danger to save that little boy and his mother caused a fresh wave of giddiness to bubble through her.

But her attraction to him wasn’t a good thing. It was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

Molly swallowed hard against the lump in her throat caused by the tension between them. “Nice to meet you again.”

“Again?” Dr. Dave asked with interest. “You two know each other?”

“I came across an emergency scene where Dr. Ryder was working on my way from the airport. He seemed quite...handy to have around.” Molly rubbed her arm where Dr. Jake Ryder had grabbed her, her flesh still tingling from his touch.

“I should’ve guessed you were media.”

The way he said the last word, like a curse, set her hackles rising. Common sense demanded she keep her head down, focus on work. Ignore this man who broke her concentration and keep her distance. Unfortunately he seemed to push all her buttons without even trying.

She met his sanctimonious stare directly. “What’s wrong with the media?”

Instead of answering her question, the man looked back to Dr. Dave and exhaled sharply, his expression a mix of disgust and exhaustion. “Can we hurry this up, please? I’m coming off a thirty-six-hour rotation.”

“Jake, please,” Dr. Dave implored. “Dr. Flynn’s one of the best in her field. You should reconsider signing those forms. Together, you two could make a fabulous team.”

“No.” He widened his stance, an immoveable wall of nope. “No releases. Not until I’ve seen for myself I can trust her.”

It was the derision in his tone, Molly decided, that really got to her. She’d developed a thick skin over the years out of necessity, and could put aside almost any slight. Except one against her professional conduct.

Incensed, she stepped closer to the arrogant man, ignoring the heat of him penetrating her thin cotton T-shirt and the clean, soapy scent of his skin. Bad enough that she had to constantly prove herself to her father. She wasn’t about to take the same crap from this pompous stranger—no matter how maddeningly attractive.

“My integrity isn’t in question here, Dr. Ryder. Now, as per my network’s guidelines, I must exclude you from Bobby’s care unless you sign the required paperwork. I understand having the crew trailing your every step might be a headache, but—”

“You don’t understand a damned thing, lady,” he growled, his jaw set.

“Sorry, Dr. Flynn, but no one’s touching me if Jake’s out of the picture,” Bobby added. “My prerogative.”

Molly crossed her arms, all previous flutters of attraction for the handsome ER doc buried beneath a mountain of affront. She hated appearing so flustered, and cringed inwardly at the thought of how her father would judge her—letting her emotions get the better of her—but there was nothing to be done at this point.

“Then it appears we’re at an impasse.”

“Sure does.”

Dr. Ryder mimicked her defiant posture and didn’t give an inch. His gaze had gone positively flinty, and a small muscle ticked near his tense jaw, drawing her eyes to the hint of stubble shadowing his tanned skin.

“Why won’t you sign the releases?” she demanded.

“Why do you think it’s any of your business?”