The Doctor's Devotion

A doctor’s vow

When he fled Eagle Point years ago, former air force trauma surgeon Mitch Wellington left only broken dreams behind. Now he’s back with a new dream—opening a trauma center in the rural area and saving lives. He hopes to hire the quick-thinking nurse who impressed him during an emergency. But Lauren Bates lost her faith and doesn’t believe she deserves to help anyone. Mitch knows firsthand what loss feels like. And it’ll take all his devotion to show Lauren that sometimes the best medicine is a combination of faith, community—and love.

“Lauren, listen to me. I need your help,” Mitch said.

She shook her head vehemently.

He swiveled his neck to watch the next chopper prepare to land.

No time to argue.

“Nurse Bates, I’m not asking. I’m ordering. Triage chopper number three, then meet me at four.”

Desperate hands came up to clutch his. “Mitch, please,” she rasped. “I can’t. I’m not qualified for trauma. I worked OB.”

Compassion vying with impatience, Mitch leaned close to her ear. “Lauren Esther Bates, I’m convinced God put you here for a reason. I don’t have enough manpower. I need you. People are dying. They need you. Go.” He gave her shoulders a gentle nudge—okay, more like a shove.

Tears streamed from her eyes. She spun and ran to the chopper.

CHERYL WYATT

An R.N. turned stay-at-home mom and wife, Cheryl delights in the stolen moments God gives her to write action- and faith-driven romance. She stays active in her church and in her laundry room. She’s convinced that having been born on a naval base on Valentine’s Day destined her to write military romance. A native of San Diego, California, Cheryl currently resides in beautiful, rustic southern Illinois, but she has also enjoyed living in New Mexico and Oklahoma. Cheryl loves hearing from readers. You are invited to contact her at [e-mail] or P.O. Box 2955, Carbondale, IL 62902-2955. Visit her on the web at www.CherylWyatt.com and sign up for her newsletter if you’d like updates on new releases, events and other fun stuff. Hang out with her in the blogosphere at www.Scrollsquirrel.blogspot.com or on the message boards at www.LoveInspiredBooks.com.

The Doctor’s Devotion

Cheryl Wyatt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

May the Lord turn his face toward you

and give you peace.

—Numbers 6:26

This book is dedicated to the memory of my grandmother, Leavada Pauline Elliott, who passed away during the writing of this book. She was a lavish giver and lived a truly sacrificial life. She was all about others.

I am pretty sure God’s construction angels had to build an addition onto her house in Heaven in order to contain the rewards she had waiting for her when that sweet chariot came forth to whisk her from this life into eternity. I’m also pretty sure she had a mob of loved ones and friends racing to be first to meet her with a fishing pole. I’ll bet Jesus was the point man.

Utmost thanks to God for giving us time with her. Thank you, Jesus, for being Grandma’s perfect example of true sacrifice. For coming humbly, then living and dying hard in order to hand us the hope of Heaven. Thank You, Sweet Spirit, for hovering to help us look forward through grief clouds and glimpse assurance of seeing our loved ones again.

Immense thanks to Herrin and Memorial Hospital of Carbondale, Illinois, ICU and IMCU departments in particular. Every doctor, nurse and ancillary staff member who went above and beyond to not only care with deep compassion and dedicated skill for Granny Veda but for providing extraordinary emotional support and comfort care to us. Thanks also to Hospice of Southern Illinois. Denise (our fellow Okie), you are truly gifted and a blessing.

Special thanks to Sally Shupe, whose efficient eagle eyes with proofreading enabled me to spend more precious time with my grandmother. You are a wonderful line editor!

Melissa Endlich, thank you for continuing to believe in me. I have grown as a writer due to your editorial guidance. No doubt God put us together. I am so thankful you know my writing better than I do and that you steered me toward crafting stories about caregivers. Thank you for putting wind to the sail of this series.

To Rachel Kent, much love and thanks for your encouragement and character. You are blessed to be part of a stellar agency iconic in the industry and to be mentored by someone as well respected and forward-thinking as Janet Grant. May God turn His face toward you and give you, Books and Such and your families peace and blessings for your futures.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

“Change of plans, carrottop.”

Suitcase in tow, Lauren Bates smiled at Grandpa Lem’s voice coming through her cell phone. “What, you’re picking me up in your tractor?” She exited Refuge Airport. Southern Illinois welcomed her with breezy warmth and a bouquet of bright June colors she wasn’t accustomed to in Texas.

Lem chuckled. “Ought to since you haven’t come to see me in five years.”

Guilt whooshed in like planes on runways nearby. “I know, Grandpa. I’m sorry. What’s this plan change?”

“Accompany me to the ribbon-cutting of a new trauma center Doc Wellington founded at Eagle Point? Starts in half an hour.”

Anxiety knotted her gut. Not only was she weary hearing about Dr. Wellington, a medical facility was the last place she wanted to be. She sighed. “For you, Grandpa, I’ll endure it.”

“Good. We’re in a blue Dodge Ram. See you in a few.”

“We?” She maneuvered past people cluttering the sidewalk.

“Yes. Dr. Wellington’s helping me pick you up.”

“Why would you need help?” Lauren canvassed curbside cars and spotted a spiffy blue truck near the front.

“I don’t drive on streets anymore. Only fields.”

Alarm slowed her steps. “Why not?”

“In case you forgot, I’m nearing a hundred.”

She almost pointed out he was only turning seventy, but swift remembrance of her reason for this spur-of-the-moment trip halted her. Anticipation spiked as Lem exited the truck.

“Look who’s here!” Grinning and hunched, he seemed older and slower than she remembered. Lauren rushed him with a hug. His bear strength was gone. Tears welling, she squeezed thin ribs.

She’d come because of his sudden uncharacteristic fear over turning seventy. Terror struck her now, too, but according to that Dr. Wellington he always spoke of, Lem was healthy. Still, she’d had to come see for herself. She should’ve come sooner.

“I’ll take your bags,” a deep voice said behind her. Strong hands reached around and deftly lifted Lauren’s purse and colossal suitcase from between her and Grandpa.

Lauren turned. Grandpa leaned aside. Up stepped the most gorgeous creature ever.

Lauren gulped then remembered her manners. The tall man looked less like a doctor and more like a landscaper, with his deep tan and fit build. Intense and chiseled, yet polished like an airbrushed movie star. And he was her age. Not Grandpa’s.

The doctor’s easy smile tilted her world. His eyes were a stunning mixture of mostly silver with hints of blue. She gawked like a junior high geek facing the football captain.

“Mitch, this is my granddaughter,” Lem said.

“Lauren, pleased to finally meet you.”

Ooh, his voice! Pleasant. Deep. And, wow. He knew her name? She blinked. He blinked. Her gaze inched to the hot pink handbag draped over his manly shoulder. She tried not to laugh at the sharp contrast of megamuscles toting a tiny pink purse.

As though the striking doctor with the black hair cut in a military buzz and epic eyes suddenly caught on about the purse—and also diagnosed this weirdness between them as attraction—he lowered her handbag. He offered a sheepish grin and a masculine hand. When she settled hers into the strength of his, the warmth flowing from it enveloped her entire being.

No dead-fish handshake here. His was firm. Confident. Alabaster teeth gleamed from a mouth framed by a strong jaw. His grin gave way to a shy laugh.

She knew the feeling. She’d been bamboozled by attraction, too. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Wellington.” She rescued his endangered ego by retrieving her purse from his fingers.

“It’s Mitch.” He tilted his head, openly assessing her. His hearty smile expanded and he seemed in no hurry to look away.

She cleared her throat and searched for something else exciting to stare at. Unfortunately, sidewalk cracks weren’t near as interesting to behold as the dashing doctor.

Observing them, Grandpa chuckled as if having a private party with himself. Mitch moved first. He placed her suitcase behind the seat then assisted her in so she sat in the middle of the truck’s seat. His grip was as sturdy, warm and steady as his fond gaze.

Mitch approached Lem. “Up you go, Gramps.”

Gramps?

Lauren’s irritation overrode Mitch’s appeal, as he helped Grandpa in, then approached the driver’s side. His shoulders were broad enough to require a rather pleasant pivot to enter the vehicle and, once inside, for her to move closer to Grandpa.

Not that she noticed.

“Where to?” Mitch asked Lem.

“Since Lauren’s flight was delayed, she’s coming to the ribbon-cutting so you’re not late to your own party,” Lem said.

Mitch laughed. The sound both grated and soothed. Grated because of the closeness he obviously shared with her grandpa, which stirred a surprise pot of jealousy. Soothing because Mitch’s Grand Canyon voice could make a typhoon swoon.

At a red light, Mitch caught her stare. The corner of his mouth slid into a colossal smile.

“I expected you to be older,” Lauren explained. “Grandpa talks about you nonstop.”

“Likewise,” Mitch said. “I feel like I know you.”

Yikes! What all did he know? The failure she’d been?

“So, Lauren, how long will you be in town?” Mitch asked.

“Three months!” Lem announced. “I couldn’t be happier.” He beamed. Mitch did, too, which meant he obviously cared about Lem. How close were they? Drizzles of dread seeped into her stomach.

“How’d you manage to get so much time off?” Mitch asked.

“I’m between jobs right now. I’m opening a specialty shop in Houston with a friend this fall. We started the business from scratch in her home a year ago. Our client list and workload grew to the point where we needed more space.”

“What’s the specialty?” Mitch kept a keen eye on traffic.

“Sewing. We’re leasing an historic building in town after receiving permission from local government and the Historical Society to open it. It’ll be called Ye Olde Time Seamstress Shoppe. We’re restoring the building’s nineteenth-century period decor. Took a lot of wrangling and red tape but it’s in the renovation stage now, so this was a perfect opportunity to finally visit Grandpa.”

“She’s getting over a much-needed breakup,” Lem inserted.

Lauren smirked. “Grandpa’s not letting me live it down.”

Lem harrumphed. “Told you from the start he was no good.”

Lauren noticed that Mitch navigated the roads with extra care. “You’re a very safe driver,” she commented. “I like that.”

“A welcome change from her ex who regularly drove ninety. I know because she called me, often upset,” Lem announced.

“My ex got arrested for speeding past a school bus and almost striking a child. That was my last straw,” she explained.

“He was reckless in general. With others’ lives and their relationship.” Lem relaxed. “I’m glad she refused to marry a man who’ll have little regard for his future children’s safety.”

While Grandpa was right, Lauren felt like sinking into the seat. She didn’t like Mitch knowing about the poor judgments she’d made.

“Do you miss him?” Mitch asked gently.

“No, actually I don’t.”

He’d not only ignored Lauren’s frequent pleas to slow down, he’d ridiculed her for caring. Mitch was obviously the precise opposite kind of person. One who cared deeply about the safety of others. If only that would ease her concern over his closeness with Lem. Maybe in time. Right now, it hurt. Badly. Still…

“It makes me feel better knowing Grandpa has someone like you looking out for him.” Lauren meant it. She shouldn’t be jealous. The men’s friendship should ease her guilt about living in Texas. But being here with Grandpa and the fear that he contended with made her never want to leave him again.

Unfortunately she’d given her word to her best friend, who’d forfeited her career to start the specialty business with Lauren. They’d poured their talents, time and savings into it. The first pangs of doubt about her decision assailed Lauren.

Lauren studied Mitch. Did he know why Grandpa’s fear surfaced now? He needed to. Maybe he could help alleviate Grandpa’s anxiety. Just because Lem’s grandfather and father died in their seventieth year didn’t mean Lem would. Right?

For a fleeting moment, she hated that she’d taken out a loan to start her seamstress shop and bound herself to be a business partner with her friend. It hog-tied her to Texas.

“He misses his only granddaughter.” Mitch raised his chin in a perceiving manner. “Lem tells me your parents died within hours of one another. I’m deeply sorry. What was it?”

His frankness surprised her. “Carbon monoxide poisoning. Their room sat over the garage of a house we’d moved into that winter. Daddy started the car to warm it up before taking me to school and Mom to work. They lay back down and…never woke up.” Lauren blinked swiftly against a wave of emotion.

“Losing her mama and daddy made Lauren want to become a nurse to help people,” Lem inserted. “And educate on safety and accident prevention.”

“I hear you,” Mitch said soberly. “I believe every accident is one-hundred-percent preventable. My dad perished in a motorcycle wreck.”

“Across the road from the trauma center site,” Lem added.

Had that inspired Mitch to build it? Lauren studied him.

Mitch turned onto the interstate that led Refuge to Eagle Point. “Dad was critically wounded. He could’ve been saved by surgery, had a hospital been closer, and if the person who pulled out in front of him had been looking.”

Lem clicked his tongue. “He also lost his mama. She died from cancer not caught in time. She didn’t have insurance and put off going to the doctor until too late.”

“But thanks to Lem inviting me to church chili-suppers and becoming like a second dad, I turned out all right.” He grinned.

Lauren’s heart arched toward Mitch. “I know what it feels like to lose someone to something preventable.”

Lem harrumphed. “Yeah, preventable like me losing you to Texas again when your building renovations are complete. I hope you hired horrible contractors who delay the timeline.”

“Grandpaaaa. Don’t be cranky. My friend sacrificed a lot to go into business with me. She’d be devastated if I bailed.”

“Yes, it’s prudent to honor your word, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that you made this big decision out of duress.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Lauren.” Mitch’s chuckle dissolved the squabble. He sounded like he really meant his words.

She crammed her hands under her knees. “Thanks. The seamstress shop will specialize in costumes and uniforms. A percentage goes toward charities for children who’ve lost parents.” For some reason her formerly noble plans felt barren.

“She makes specialty clothes for free to needy little kids and nursing home patrons, too,” Lem added. “Nice, although I hate that she’s not using her nursing skills like her sewing gift.”

“Grandpa! We don’t discuss that,” she remarked gently. Futile since she inherited her stubborn streak from Lem.

A determined scowl bore down on Lem’s bulbous nose and farm-freckled grin. “She don’t like me pestering her about it.”

“So I won’t tread there, either,” Mitch said with another tension-diffusing smile, which thinned into a tenacious line as his gaze gripped Lauren’s in the mirror. “Yet.”

What did that mean? She eyed Lem, smug now, then Mitch. Neither man’s expression offered clues. “This smacks of conspiracy.” She folded her arms and refused to look into that mirror, or Mitch’s arresting eyes, again.

Her resolve lasted an entire eighth of a mile.

At the next red light, she caught Mitch studying her through the rearview mirror. He said nothing at first, then, “Feels almost like we’re having a family spat here.”

“Yeah. Hatfield and McCoy caliber,” she quipped. Especially if he joined forces with Grandpa and tried to talk her back into nursing. Not happening. Even if Lem put him up to it. And no one softened her like Grandpa could.

He’d essentially raised her every summer since her tenth birthday after her parents died. She spent the rest of the year changing homes with the seasons, depending on which relative had room. Lauren’s mom was Lem’s only daughter. Grieving over her had bonded the two like suture glue.

Now it seemed as if Mitch’s bond with Grandpa was stronger.

She shifted in her seat to put some distance between herself and Mitch. His overwhelming presence in the truck’s cab made her feel snuggled next to a nuclear reactor with a compromised cooling system. Lem stretched, scooting her closer to Mitch again. She shot Lem a that-did-not-help look.

Which he ignored with fervor.

The whistling old scamp clearly had matchmaking in mind, which meant he was out of his mind. Lauren would no more date a doctor than Grandpa would give up his greasy biscuits and gravy.

These last twenty minutes were going to be one long ride.

Despite her pulse pounding, the ribbon-cutting was not something she could bring herself to joyfully anticipate. Hopefully her unruly heart rate had nothing to do with notions of romance.

* * *

Mitch never thought this day would come. Or end.

But here he was, standing at the door of a dream. He poised an outrageously large pair of scissors over the ribbon. “They’re heavier than my military rifle.”

Laughter erupted from the crowd. Bulb lights flashed and popped from every angle. Townspeople and reporters snapped images of Eagle Point Trauma Center’s grand opening.

Surgery tech Kate Dalton leaned over the microphone. “You’d think our top trauma surgeon would slice right the first time,” she teased in reference to this being Mitch’s second attempt.

“Cut me some slack. These are duller than your bedtime stories.” Actually Kate’s stories coaxed countless soldiers to sleep, though she claimed she bored them into oblivion instead.

“Come on, Mitch! Those scissors can’t be older’n me,” Lem heckled good-heartedly from the crowd.

Laughing, Mitch sought out his friend in a sea of onlookers but snagged on a stunning redhead instead. Her gaze hit the ground like platelets in a blood storm, and her face turned just as red.

Same attraction that had jolted them earlier. Mitch hadn’t counted on this distraction.

Therefore his inner guard better be on its best behavior.

Lauren was profoundly attractive in pictures Lem so proudly displayed, but exponentially more beautiful in person. Her eyes were so unique he could barely look away. Mitch diverted attention to Lem, who watched him studying Lauren with peculiar interest. Lem’s grin heated Mitch’s neck.

He shifted uncomfortably at the podium, unable to recall the last time he’d blushed.

“To-day, Dr. Wellington.” Kate gave a dramatic sigh.

Though the sash-cutting delay was staged by request of news camera crews, Mitch’s team joined the crowd in genuine laughter.

Getting cues from reporters to continue the stall, Mitch pivoted. “If I had a scalpel rather than these turn-of-the-century scissors, I’d be set.”

Kate’s eyebrow cocked. Having worked with her in Afghanistan performing combat surgeries, he knew the look.

Mitch turned his palm up. “Scalpel?” He used his official surgeon voice. Kate produced the stainless-steel instrument.

The crowd went wild. Cheers and clapping abounded. Jubilation escalated when Kate raised the blade and saluted the building’s flag with it. The curved edge glinted in sunlight.

“Scalpel,” she repeated per surgery protocol and gently smacked its handle into Mitch’s palm.

How he loved that feeling. Only, this was epic. The moment turned surreal. Mitch hardly believed they were standing at the newly built trauma center, set to open part-time the first of next month. Seventeen days, and his team’s battlefield dream would become reality.

Next the mayor started a speech about how the center would bring their town economy-reviving revenue.

Mitch’s gaze drifted to the building, an undeniable answer to prayer. Awe for God engulfed him as he studied the magnificent steel-and-glass structure. It took his breath away, because despite titanium faith, he was a frontline fighter who’d wondered if he’d ever live to see this day.

Thank You, God, for bringing us through and to.

His eyes caressed a scripture etched above the Eagle Point Emergency entrance logo. A battlefield promise he’d clung to and prayed over every service member his scalpel came in contact with. His architect cousin had engraved it on the building: “The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. Numbers 6:26”

Speech ended, the mayor left the podium.

Ian Shupe, Mitch’s best friend and head anesthesiologist on his trauma team, stepped up and pulled the ribbon taut. “Ready?”

Mitch drew an elated breath and inhaled pure joy. “Ready.”

“Don’t amputate your fingers.” Ian slid his hands farther apart and grinned, evoking more crowd laughter. “Or mine.”

Mitch chuckled and set scalpel to ribbon, camouflage to celebrate the team’s war-veteran status.

He opened his mouth to utter the dedication, but sounds of distantly approaching helicopters ripped wings from his words. Probably news choppers.

Mitch didn’t look because he really didn’t fancy the notion of slicing or suturing his best friend’s finger.

That instant, Ian’s hands went lax. The uncut ribbon fluttered like a feather to the ground. Mitch looked up at Ian.

But Ian wasn’t looking at the fallen ribbon.

He stared at the sky. And he definitely wasn’t smiling.

Mitch turned, saw what Ian saw and straightened. Sheathed the scalpel and handed it to Kate, who said, “Hey, are those…?”

“Trauma choppers,” Mitch finished for her.

“What a show!” a crowd member yelled. Mitch and Ian stared at the two incoming helicopters. Medical, not news.

If this was part of the show, Mitch had missed the memo. He faced Ian. “You set this up?”

“No, you?” Ian followed Mitch, who stepped off the stage. They headed toward an adjacent field where the choppers seemed destined to land within minutes.

“What, have mock trauma teams come?” Mitch shook his head, adrenaline surging. “No. This is no drill. This is the real deal.”