Second Chance With Her Army Doc

But this was the opportunity he needed. So it was time to put one foot forward and hope he could stay there for a while.

“When do you want me to start?”

* * *

Sloane Manning looked at the text messages on her phone, then at her phone messages. Still nothing. She’d been trying to call Carter for weeks. At least once a day. Sometimes twice. Not that there was much to say at this point. But she was concerned. Six years of her life had gone into that man—most of it waiting while he was in the military—and it wasn’t easy to detach herself from the life she’d expected to have by now.

After her father had dismissed Carter from his job at the hospital he’d disappeared. Hadn’t packed anything to speak of. Hadn’t said goodbye or even left a note other than a vague text message. The only thing that had told her Carter was gone was that their apartment—her apartment—seemed so hollow and cold now. She hated being there. Hated being by herself there. Because it was their home, not hers.

Which was why she was moving back in with her dad when she got back from this two-week vacation. She’d waited long enough for Carter to make a move. But after three months it was clear he wasn’t going to do that. In fact she didn’t even know where he was. He’d been in Vegas for a while, but after that...

So here she was at the airport, ready to board a plane to one of the places she and Carter had always talked about. She was ready to give herself some good, hard physical licks in the canyons and the desert. Ready to start over on her own.

“Dr. Sloane Manning,” the attendant at the desk called over the loudspeaker. “Last call for Dr. Sloane Manning.”

Hearing her name startled her out of her thoughts, and almost in a panic she grabbed up her carry-on bag and ran toward the check-in before the loading gate shut.

“Sorry about that,” she said to the attendant. “I was...”

What? Daydreaming about a romance gone bad? Everybody had one, didn’t they? So why would the gate attendant care about hers?

“I was preoccupied.”

The gate attendant made it clear that she didn’t care, and that all she wanted was to get Sloane on the plane and start focusing on the next group of passengers, already filing in to catch the next flight.

So, Sloane hustled herself through, took her seat in the third row of the first-class section, leaned her head back against the headrest and hoped people would assume her to be asleep and leave her alone. The way Carter had done the last few months of their relationship. She in one bedroom, he in the other. Barely talking when they met in the hall. Barely even acknowledging each other’s existence unless it was absolutely necessary.

With her eyes shut she could visualize everything. The apathy. The temper. The outrage. But most of all the pain. She could still feel it burrowing in, winding its corkscrew tentacles around every fiber of her being.

“Still no luck?” Gemma Hastings, Sloane’s surgical assistant, had asked, when she’d informed her people early that morning that she’d be gone for a couple of weeks.

“It’s done,” she’d told her. “I’ve hung on too long and too hard. It’s time to get myself sorted and start moving in a new direction.”

What that direction was, she didn’t know. But if she didn’t move in some other direction soon, she was afraid she might never move at all. Her friends, even her dad, had been telling her this was what she needed to do. So, after three months she was finally taking their advice. She was taking some me time to readjust.

As for loving Carter—tossing that away wouldn’t be as easy as stepping onto a plane and hiding out for a while. Still, what was the point in worrying about him when he didn’t worry about himself? Or worry about them?

That was the worst of it. He’d given up on them. And quite easily. But here she was, still hanging on. Why? Maybe her feelings for Carter were some sort of remnant, left over from the days when she’d first fallen in love with him, when he had been kind and good, and the best surgeon she’d ever seen. Maybe her love was nothing more than an old habit she didn’t know how to break.

Because she still loved him?

That was the question she didn’t want to answer, because the answer might scare her. Falling in love with one man, then watching him turn into someone else she didn’t even recognize had been tough. Trying to stay in love with the man he’d turned into had been even tougher, because there had still been parts of the Carter she’d known left and she’d been able to see them struggling to get out.

But she’d also been able to see Carter struggling to keep them locked away.

She thought about the day they’d met. She’d already heard about him from her father.

“He’s supposed to be the best of the best,” Harlan Manning had said. “Good at everything he does and full of adventure—which he says keeps him from getting dull.”

“Will he fit in here?” she’d asked her dad. “We’re a conservative little surgery in most regards. Everybody knows everybody else. There’s never any in-fighting, the way I saw it going on during my residency in Boston.”

Generally everybody got along, did their jobs, and walked away contented. But from the description of Carter Holmes she’d had some qualms, because he’d seemed so—out there. He liked big sports—skydiving, mountain-climbing, motorcycling. And he liked the ladies.

That was only his personal reputation—which she totally forgot when she first laid eyes on him. Carter was tall, muscular. Deep, penetrating gray eyes. Dark brown hair, short-cut in a messy, sticking-out style which looked so good on him. Three days’ growth of dark stubble which had made her go weak in the knees, imagining what it would feel like on her skin. And that smile of his...

OMG, it could knock a girl off her feet, it was so sexy.

He’d put all that masculinity to good use, too, asking the hospital owner’s daughter out after only knowing her for five minutes.

Of course she’d said yes. What else could she have done? She’d been smitten at first sight, sexually attracted at second, and in love at third. Well, maybe not real love. But that had come about pretty quickly when, after their first evening together, Carter never went home. Not the next day either, or the day after that. In fact by the third day he had totally moved in to her tiny apartment, making himself right at home as if he’d always been there.

“For what it’s worth, Sloane, Carter was crazy about you,” her assistant had said. “Everybody could see that. So maybe if he gets himself straightened out...”

“If,” she’d responded. “Not going to hold my breath on that one.”

But she was. Every minute of every hour of every day. And it was causing her to be distracted in her operating room. Distraction and heart surgery didn’t mix, and if it continued, she’d either have to step down from her position voluntarily, or her father—in his position as chief—would remove her. He didn’t play favorites when it came to patient care, and she was included in that. So, her distraction could conceivably cost her her job. Which was why she had to get away to sort it out. And maybe Forgeburn, Utah, wasn’t the hub of the universe, but it was beautiful, according to Matt McClain, an old friend.

She’d met him through Carter, and liked him right off. He lived in Forgeburn now, so why not visit? Maybe Matt would have a different insight into Carter than she did.

So, her goal was to sort it out, get over it, then get back to a life where she was in control of herself again—her life as it had been before Carter’s PTSD. She’d had goals then: becoming the head of cardiac surgery at Manning, having a family, a beautiful life. Then PTSD had happened and everything had changed.

“Thank you, Carter Holmes,” she whispered as the pilot announced it was time to prepare for landing. “Thank you for nothing.”

* * *

Matt’s clinic was a few miles away. He’d made that perfectly clear. Which was fine, because it was time for Carter to see if his own two feet would hold him up again.

For that he needed space—and Forgeburn, Utah, had plenty of that. He also needed to be successful here, because getting back to his recovery program was contingent upon that. If he succeeded here, he moved forward in the program. If he failed, he moved back to square one and started all over. If he was lucky.

Being kicked out of the program was a setback Carter didn’t want. What was more, if he got sent back to the beginning, did he have enough left in him to fight his way through it again? He didn’t trust himself enough to believe he could.

Of course he did have a job in medicine again, a place to stay, and a small salary. Life wasn’t great, but it was better, and apologizing to his best buddy was the first step in what he hoped would be many more steps in the right direction.

But not in Sloane’s direction. That much he was sure of.

“This will be fine,” he said to Dexter Doyle, the owner of what had to be the worst hotel within a hundred miles.

So here he was in his new home—one room with a double bed, a toilet, mini-fridge, microwave, desk and chair—all of it dated. It wasn’t the best place he’d ever stayed, but not the worst either. Maybe it was more like a reflection of his life. All the right equipment, but all of it dated—almost to the point of no recognition. Well, he was the one who’d walked out on the best living situation he’d ever had, so he couldn’t really complain.

“Is there a liquor store around here?” he asked, tossing his duffle bag on the bed, hoping bed bugs wouldn’t scurry out.

“A couple miles up the road.”

“And a television?” Carter asked, noticing the room didn’t have one.

“Out for repair.”

“I don’t suppose you offer a wake-up call?”

He remembered the way Sloane had used to wake him up. Always with a smile, and a kiss, and a cup of coffee. Often a whole lot more. Her touch. Her red hair brushing across his face. The mintiness of her breath when she kissed him. Yes, those were the mornings he’d loved waking up.

Dexter pointed to the old digital clock next to the bed. “If you want to wake up, set the alarm.”

“Well, then...” Carter said, sitting down on the bed to test it. As he’d suspected, lumpy and saggy. “Looks like I’m home.” For a while, anyway.”

But he was anxious to return to Tennessee, so he could work toward the next part of his life—whatever that turned out to be.

Upwards and onwards, he thought as he settled into his room. Things were looking up. Especially now that he wasn’t around Sloane any longer. So, on the one hand he liked the feeling of freedom and the optimism that went with it. But on the other he missed his life with Sloane.

It was an ache that had left a hole that would never be filled. But for Sloane he had to endure it and follow the course. More than that, he had to get used to the ache—because she couldn’t be part of him anymore. Not in a real sense. In an emotional sense. However, he’d never let her go. Not now. Not ever. Falling in love with her the way he had didn’t leave room for anything or anyone else. Meaning his destiny was set. And it was going to be a lonely one.

For Sloane, though...he’d do anything.

* * *

Next morning, when Carter surveyed his new office, he was neither pleased nor displeased with it; he was mainly ambivalent. That was the way so many of his days seemed to go, unless he made a hard effort to fight through it.

This morning he hadn’t started his fight yet. It would happen, though. Once he got himself involved he’d find his way through, instead of dwelling somewhere in the middle of it like he’d used to do.

He took another look at it his office. It was basic, but well-equipped. Spotlessly clean, with fresh paint. The white on every wall put him off a little, but color really didn’t matter when the basic medical tools were at his disposal.

The truth was, it wasn’t a bad little office, all things considered. Two exam rooms, a spacious storage closet, a reception area and an office. Matt would subsidize his rent at the hotel and the office for now, and then if Tennessee worked out for him, and he was good enough to come back here full time, he would take over the costs himself and buy out this part of Matt’s practice.

If things didn’t work that way... Well, he didn’t know what came after that. As he’d been told, over and over, by his recovery counselor, “Take it one day at a time, and strive to make that day the best day ever.”

In other words, he was not to mess up his mind with the future when getting through the current day was never guaranteed. It made sense—especially since he was given to projecting his future and that, so often, turned into a PTSD trigger.

Whenever it took him over he could almost feel the impending flare-up course through his veins. His vision blurred, his hands shook, his head felt as if it was ready to explode. He was like a fire-breathing dragon, puffing up and getting ready for his next battle.

Unfortunately Carter’s “next battle” had cost him dearly. His job, the love of his life... And now he was in Forgeburn, running a storefront clinic for seasonal tourists, and a handful of locals who lived closer to Carter’s part of the practice than Matt’s, keeping his fingers crossed that he’d survive this day and make it through till tomorrow.

On the door peg, in the room marked Office, hung a crisp new lab jacket. Carter smiled—maybe the first smile that had cracked his face in weeks or months.

At least he hadn’t lost his license to practice. That was good, despite the fact he’d lost everything else. He liked being a doctor. No, he loved being a doctor. It was all he’d ever wanted from the time he’d been a kid.

When all his friends had been vacillating between fireman, policeman and whatever else all little boys wanted to be at some point in their lives, being a doctor had been it for him, because he had wanted to find a way to cure his brother James. Carter had promised James he would, when he was nine and James had been on his last days, dying from cystic fibrosis.

Two years younger than Carter, James had spent his whole life in and out of hospitals. He’d never been strong enough to walk more than a few steps, and he’d never breathed well enough to go outside and play—not even for a few minutes. For James, life had been all tests and procedures, and somewhere in Carter’s nine-year-old mind he’d thought if he made a promise to save his brother and make him well it would happen. And it would give his entire family some hope to cling to.

But a week after his promise his dad had been sitting on the front step crying when Carter had arrived home from school. And after that, unlike his friends, who had gone back and forth on what they wanted to be, he never had. He’d been angry at the world for taking his brother. Angry at himself that he hadn’t been able to do more. Angry at the doctors who’d always predicted a grave outcome for his brother.

He’d expected them to do better. Expected them to produce a miracle. Expected them to offer hope rather than rip it away. Which was why he’d become a doctor—a surgeon. Because he wanted to do the things that hadn’t been done for his brother. Of course, the closer Carter had come to his goal, the more he’d realized that some outcomes would break his heart no matter what he did. That was part of the profession. But that hadn’t discouraged him, because many more outcomes were good. And it was those outcomes he always dedicated to his brother—without fail.

But now—well, now he was a GP. And he was grateful for that. Maybe it was the only thing left in his life he had to be grateful for, since he’d destroyed everything else that mattered.

“It’s nice,” Carter said to the twenty-something girl who’d been following him from room to room: Marcie, his new receptionist.

Her father owned the building and had seized the opportunity to lower the rent if the medical practice employed her. Apparently, Marcie had never worked a day in her life and this was to be her first ever job. Matt had hired her since, legally, this was his practice.

“Daddy had it painted fresh,” she said, her nose in her phone, scrolling, scrolling... Short skirt, long vest, tall boots, pinkish yellow hair... Not the professional image he’d hoped for. But a discount was a discount, and he’d have to make the best of his workforce virgin.

He actually chuckled. If his life weren’t so pathetic this could be funny. It wasn’t, though. Nobody could screw up so many things the way he had and call it funny. But, like he’d told Matt, he was a good doctor. That was the only sure thing he had to hang on to—his medical skills. Maybe—somehow—he wouldn’t mess those up, too.

“So, how about we open up for business tomorrow morning?” he asked Marcie.

Her reply was a head nod as she continued to scroll.

Who was it that had said something about fastening up for a bumpy ride? Well, this was his bumpy ride, but he wasn’t sure he was fastened up enough for it.

Time would tell, he supposed.

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