The Doctor's Devotion (Love Inspired) (2 page)

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.”

Chapter Two

M
itch and his sparse trauma crew sprinted toward the field. Reporters and onlookers chased.

“Stay back!” Mitch commanded the engulfing crowd. Lauren skidded in her steps. Did she think he meant her?

He waved her to follow, but she froze in place. Her wind-tousled fiery hair rose up from her face like a crown of silken flames. Remarkable emerald eyes darted awkwardly between him and the landing choppers. Abject terror wrestled other emotions on her face. She was concerned. Conflicted. Stricken.

His heart was full of compassion for her as it had been in the car when she’d mentioned the tragic way her parents had died.

Lem once told him that she’d been traumatized by not knowing how to help her parents she’d found barely breathing. That tragedy birthed her dream to become a nurse who had moonlighted as a CPR coach so other families wouldn’t have to live her nightmare.

Mitch didn’t make a habit of questioning God, but what a terrible twist of fate it had been for sweet Lauren to lose her first patient off her obstetrics orientation a year ago.

Lem said the subsequent lawsuit also raked Lauren over the coals. Mitch knew because Lem, in his love of telling stories concerning Lauren, had left nothing out.

According to Lem, the ordeal had so devastated her, she had not only bolted from nursing, she had pulled away from God, faith, friends and family. Then wrapped herself up in her only other skill—sewing. Something Lauren’s mom had taught her and was their special mother-daughter connection before her mom died.

Mitch’s heart broke for Lauren now, seeing in person the unleashed emotion on her face. The unshackled fight-or-flight reaction in her eyes. He knew it.

That instant a veil lifted, allowing Mitch to see the huge gaping wounds Lauren’s own trauma had left her with. Hurts she had yet to be healed from.

The moment suspended Mitch in time and made him wish for words that would heal and not harm.

For Lem, Mitch wanted like crazy to comfort her but he’d have others to focus on soon. He couldn’t be everywhere at once.

But Someone could.

Jesus, rescue her. Show her the truth. Draw her back.

No idea what the last phrase encompassed, but that’s the prayer that pressed out of him so he let it fly.

He maintained eye contact with Lauren as long as possible to keep stride and still send visual cues that she was not only welcome to help, but worthy and needed.

Apparently misinterpreting his directive gaze, she whirled toward the encroaching crowd. “Cameras off!” Lauren yelled above chopper noise to reporters. “They may have real victims here.”

They? By that word, Mitch knew Lauren no longer thought of herself as part of the medical community, which saddened him.

Nevertheless, the authority in her voice impressed him because even the most aggressive reporters complied instantly.

The crowd stopped as one unit and fell back in silence. Concern infiltrated faces. Mass murmurs rose.

Mitch trudged forward. “I hope this is someone’s idea of a very bad joke,” he told Ian. Ian’s jaw clenched as he nodded.

But when a crew medic jumped from the chopper before it fully landed, Mitch knew with sick certainty it wasn’t. The strained look on the man’s ruddy face confirmed it.

“Incomiiiing!” Ian yelled.

Mitch’s team rushed ahead, leaving him to obtain report and issue orders.

As when overseas, they worked like neurons not having to be told their duty.

Ian and Kate met one chopper. Mitch’s circulating and triage nurses approached another.

Gratitude for their professionalism filled him.

His pre-op and scrub nurses weren’t flying in until next week, and his recovery nurse had pulled out to reenlist. Mitch would need to replace her ASAP.

He grabbed a man with a microphone. “Clear paths. This isn’t part of the ceremony. We have injured on the way.”

The microphone man complied. Officials looked as baffled as Mitch felt. “But are you set up for that?” one sputtered.

Mitch’s risen hands both halted and calmed them.

The mayor jogged to keep up. “Sir, you’re not officially open… .”

“We are if those choppers have wounded in them.”

The mayor’s face turned grim. “They radioed they were coming to see the trauma center opening, but not with patients. Dr. Wellington, I fear something terrible has happened.”

Mitch’s sentiments exactly. “We’ll handle it, Mayor. We’ve handled worse situations before.”

Respect gleamed from the mayor’s eyes. “I’m sure you have. What can I do?”

“Send any available Eagle Point EMTs and other first responders. And thank God choppers were right there.”

“Yes, indeed, but are you sure the center is ready to—?”

“Absolutely.”
We’ll make it ready.
Mitch turned, ending the conversation. The crowd parted as he plowed through. He paused to focus on a third approaching chopper.

What had just happened?

If distant smoke billowing above trees lining the interstate was an indication, something massive.

A horrible thought struck. There was one major road in and out. If this was a northbound motor vehicle accident, the victims had most likely been on their way here to the ceremony.

So in building the trauma center, he’d created catastrophe?

No. He refused to believe that or doubt God’s goodness.

Until another medical chopper ripped through the clouds. Disbelief coursed through him. How many more casualties would come? No matter. They’d handle it.

Mitch peered into the domed windows of medical choppers to get an idea of how many patients occupied each.

Rushing air and the high-pitched
whup-whup-whups
of whistling rotor blades pushed all other sound away.

Mitch mentally counted his staff. Not nearly enough. More nurses were flying in next week. He needed help now.

Instantly Mitch thought again of Lem’s granddaughter.

He turned, scanned the crowd.

Lem had said her biggest regret was that intense college years had prevented her from visiting Lem. Hadn’t he mentioned something about her working as a surgery tech while in school?

If so, that meant she had the experience he needed. Mitch hoped like crazy she hadn’t let her license or certifications lapse.

He ran toward the throng of people. Found her huddled next to Lem, whose eyes rivaled hers for biggest and roundest of the crowd.

Gauging that his staff was triaging the ground choppers and he still had a minute until the others landed, he sprinted over.

Mitch faced Lauren and placed firm hands on her shoulders. Willed her to look him in the eye. “Lauren, are you current?”

“Wh-what?”

“Your nursing license. Is it current?”

“N-not in this state.” She blinked furiously.

“In Texas?”

She nodded slowly, looking confused as to why he’d ask.

“Are all of your emergency certifications up to date?”

“Y-yes, but—”

“That’s good enough. You’re legal in a mass casualty situation, which is what I fear we have here.”

“What? No, you can’t possibly ask—”

He could and he would.

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

She shook her head vehemently.

He swiveled his neck to watch the next chopper prepare to land, its flight crew frenziedly working over someone.

No time to argue.

Facing Lauren again, he increased hand pressure, hunkered his shoulders and got nose to nose with Lem’s granddaughter. “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 for impatience, Mitch leaned close to her ear. “Lauren Esther Bates, I’ll tell you what a wise man told me when I doubted I had what it took to be a doctor.”

He eyed Lem respectively, then Lauren pointedly. “God doesn’t call the qualified, He qualifies the called. I’m convinced He put you here for this precise moment. I don’t have enough hands. People are dying. We need you. Go.” He gave her shoulders a nudge—okay, more like gentle shove.

Rage streamed from her eyes, then tears.

She spun and ran to the chopper. He caught the piercing cry she hurled at him upon turning.

Her scathing reaction promised she’d never forgive him for this. But practicing triage medicine wasn’t a popularity contest. He had a job to do and people to save.

He faced Lem. “Sorry, but—”

Lem shook his head. “Just do your job, son. I’ll get a ride home.” Lem affectionately clasped his shoulder.

Mitch eyed the last chopper hovering above a windblown field. “I meant sorry for speaking to Lauren in that manner.”

“She’ll be all right.”

Mitch hoped so as he observed her taking a report from the third chopper crew on his way to meet the fourth.

She probably wondered how he knew her middle name. But Mitch knew nearly everything about her because, true to what he’d said in the car, Lem never stopped talking about her.

He’d already known how her parents had died, but had asked out of sensitivity in order to gauge how many details Lauren knew so he wouldn’t mistakenly speak of it.

Mitch had heard many times how she was named after the Biblical Esther at Lem’s request at her birth.

If Lauren Esther was made of the same moral fiber as her namesake and as her grandpa, she wouldn’t bail on him, his skeleton crew…or the people injured in those choppers.

Lord, I hope like the end of hiccups that You bestowed Lem’s courage, compassion, intelligence, recall, integrity and unflappable grit upon Lauren.

The next two hours would tell.

Chapter Three

S
atisfied Lauren was on board with his plans, Mitch sprinted to the last-landed chopper. Three’s crew worked feverishly, but he had peace Lauren could handle it. A medic disembarked and rushed Mitch, who eyed his beeper to be sure he hadn’t missed pages about this.

“Status?” Mitch asked the out-of-breath flight medic.

“Three-car accident. High-speed head-on.” He hitched a thumb toward the interstate. “Mass casualties…” He indicated the array of life flight choppers. “Obviously.”

Blades wind-whipped Mitch’s lab coat as they approached the fleet. Gas fumes permeated the air. “What happened?”

The medic’s eyes hooded. “Texting teen crossed the center lane. Hit a minivan, which spun into a third car. Perpetrating car ejected unbelted passengers. Twelve victims in all. Van folks in bad shape, but we can make it to St. Louis with them.”

“Who’re you leaving with us?”

“Both ejected teens. Driver’s bad, but not as grave as her passenger. Three more too critical for Refuge, and St. Loo’s too far. Place is a godsend.” He indicated Mitch’s center.

“Who’s the imminent death?” Mitch searched chopper windows.

The paramedic pointed to where Ian worked on a critical patient as Kate hurtled the gurney toward the entrance—which Mitch just now realized was still belted in uncut camo ribbon.

He dashed over, pulled his hook knife and slashed the band machete-style seconds before Ian and Kate torpedoed through.

“Not the way you envisioned the ribbon-cutting, huh?” Lauren, who’d jogged up, asked. “Got an extra stethoscope?”

Mitch draped his over her neck and squeezed her shoulders in respect and gratitude. She nodded, then bolted back to the field. Her previous terror and hostility had vanished.
Thank You, Lord.

He headed toward operating rooms. Had they even taken the plastic off the equipment yet? If only they had a bigger crew.

But Mitch had wanted to honor the community by saving remaining positions for townspeople needing work.

Ian looked to be thinking similar thoughts. “I got this case. You rally the troops. We need more help. I wish your pararescue jumper friends were here. We could use the PJs’ elite medical skills.”

“No doubt.” But the special operations paramedics were on a mission. Mitch ran back out. Scanned the crowd.

Lord, come on. You know I can’t do this without—

Like exclamation points on the end of his prayer, Mandy Briggs, pediatrician wife of one of the PJs, rushed up. “I’m here to help.”

Mitch nodded. “Anyone else medical, we need ’em. Check ID then team up with a nurse named Lauren at chopper three.”

“Will do.” Mandy instructed medical people to see her immediately. While she vetted, Mitch skimmed accident reports texted from EMTs and police officers on scene.

Amid nurses bearing badges, a uniformed man came forward. “The mayor sent me over, ma’am. I’m an experienced army medic on family medical leave.”

“Excellent. See him.” Mandy directed him to Mitch.

He approached Mitch, raring to go. “Name’s Caleb Landis. What can I do, sir?” He bounced on the balls of his feet and looked unafraid and eager to help. He had the air of a born leader. Good.

Mitch pointed to a chopper. “Triage that one.”

“Yes, sir.”

The head flight medic faced Mitch. “Those three are red-light critical and one grave. Wanted to give you a status. We didn’t have your contact info before because—”

“No one expected this,” Mitch finished for him.

The paramedic nodded. “Most docs would take my head off for not calling first. Thanks for letting us drop without notice.”

Mitch waved him toward his rig. “I call it teamwork.”

“I’d offer my teams to stay and help but we’ve had two more trauma calls across the river.” Apology resided in his eyes.

“We’ll take it from here. You’re free to fly.”

The second the medic settled in his chopper, it lifted.

How was Lauren holding up?

Mitch found her hovering expertly over a patient. She didn’t appear frazzled, but focused and quick on her feet. She held a terrified patient’s hand and spoke softly while wheeling the gurney. Mandy walked alongside, adjusting IV lines. No one rushed, so the patient must not be as critical. Just scared. The way the trembling woman’s eyes fixed to Lauren’s convinced Mitch that Lauren knew calmness was contagious, and she deftly infused it.

Despite the carnage outside, Mitch smiled. Lauren was meant to do this. Take care of broken people.

Lem had given Mitch a summer to-do list that included several big repairs prior to them learning Lauren was coming.

Perhaps repair of a different sort was meant to happen this summer. More than what they had anticipated. Mitch could fix Lem’s tractor, his deck and his aging kitchen and other projects. But he also determined to get through to Lauren’s broken place by summer’s end. Repair the rupture that had so wounded her soul, she’d walked away from the career Mitch was confident had comprised her calling. Then Lem would worry less over her.

Mitch got updates on all triaged patients then headed to the next critical. He threw on a surgical cap and mask, scrubbed in and backed through his sterile suite. Thankfully, someone had readied the room. Nurses from somewhere were gowned and counting instruments.
Eagle Point. Welcome home.

The staff gowned and gloved Mitch, then transferred the patient in. Mitch began exploratory surgery. “Clamp.”

Someone pressed it into his hand. “Clamp.”

“Scalpel.” Mitch grew impressed at the speed and accuracy with which she passed instruments.

Intense part of the surgery over, Mitch tilted to view the assistant and found himself absorbed in Lauren’s eyes. Delight rippled through him. He smiled, though she couldn’t see through his mask. “Hello, Nurse Bates. Thought you sounded familiar.”

She blinked rapidly, which revealed how nervous she was. Her cheek above the mask twitched.

He leaned closer. “You’re doing great, Lauren.”

“You, too,” she whispered back.

“Suture.”

She pressed it confidently into his hand. “Suture.”

He hadn’t even told her what thread size or type. Nice.

Upon closing the wound, Mitch rested his elbow against Lauren’s. He liked the feel of her working at his side. “So, Bates, my recovery nurse pulled out at the last minute, which means I’m hiring. You interested?”

She scowled above her mask. “Are you
insane?
”

He laughed. “Guess that’s a no.”

She shook her head, proving she really thought he was crazy. After the patient was moved to recovery, Lauren stayed while Mitch checked the progress of other patients. Surgeons and staff had come from nearby Refuge. Mandy or the mayor must’ve called for backup. Mitch didn’t recognize anyone from when he had lived in Eagle Point prior to entering the service. Hard to tell with no one in street clothes. Not even his primary trauma team.

Mitch was glad Eagle Point’s reporter suggested they wear scrubs for the ribbon-cutting to look official. Instruments in his lab coat had saved life-giving seconds. God had ways of taking care of them and patients in their charge. Like choppers being present. Therefore Mitch believed God would fix his acute staffing problem.
Lord, if You could do that STAT, I’d appreciate it.

Lauren approached that instant and handed him a chart. Hmm. “We’ve cleared a room and pre-opped the next case.”

“Would you like to assist me again?” He smiled.

She scowled. “Would you like a knuckle sandwich?” She sighed. Tilted her head. “Fine. If you need the help, I will.”

“We have sufficient help now.”

Her eyes widened. “Then why on earth would you ask
me?
I’m not cut out for this.” Papers fluttered as her arm waved.

“Because
you
need to trust you.” He took the chart and nodded toward recovery. “If they’re okay in there, you’re free to go.” He left her with his words. No time to waste. The next patient was on the table.

Multiple surgeries later, Mitch exited the broken-in operating area and peeled off his cap. He stood beside his team, hand-washing in silence. “We tried, guys.”

His words didn’t mend Kate’s melancholy or lift Ian’s irritation. Ian glared at the ceiling, looking tempted to take the injustice up with God. “It’s not right when the wrong one dies.”

“Chin up. She could’ve been your daughter,” Mitch said of the texting teenage girl who’d survived while her victim did not.

“No. Mine won’t be texting when she’s driving.”

“How can you be sure?” Mitch leaned against an IV pole.

“Because she’s not getting her license until she’s thirty.” A smile breached Ian’s weary face.

“How’s custody stuff going?” Mitch asked tentatively, knowing Ian was enduring a painfully ugly and disillusioning divorce.

Ian’s jaw clicked. “Not in my favor.”

Which accounted for Ian’s rift with God. Ian’s crumbled marriage cemented Mitch’s belief that distance only ruined relationships. That also mutilated Mitch’s last relationship when his girlfriend’s unit moved to another area of Afghanistan.

Precisely why he should re-up his efforts to ignore an unexpected attraction to a cute, carrottopped Texan.

“Sorry, bud.” Mitch wished he could ease Ian’s pain. And prevent repeating his own, which made him wonder why he’d entertained an attraction to Lauren at all. Mitch shook his head. “Man. All my brain cells must’ve dehydrated in the desert.”

“Nah. You have at least two left.”

“Then one’s hiding and the other fled to go find it.”

Ian laughed. “Why you say that?”

“You don’t want to know.” Mitch’s ridiculous attraction to Lauren was better off unmentioned. He’d just gotten over his girlfriend who broke up with him because they were long-distance. Lauren lived in Texas, which meant she was off-limits. Mitch wasn’t looking to break his heart twice in one year. Safer to lean on the wary side while getting to know Lauren this summer. A feat, since Lem already exacted some pretty stealthy matchmaking maneuvers on them.

Thankfully Lauren was the furthest thing from interested in him, too. So jealous, she probably bled green rather than red.

Ian eyed him peculiarly then retreated to the staff lounge. Mitch ran a last patient round. As Kate stood in the hall updating Mitch, a rush of red hair caught his eye.

“Lauren?” Surprise coursed through him.

She leaned out of a linen closet. “Yes?”

“You’re still here?” He approached Lauren slowly lest she unleash the anger he’d glimpsed earlier. Calm filled her face—and some other expression he couldn’t place.

“Surprised?” She smiled.

“I am. Thought you left hours ago. You’re free to.”

She fiddled with the blanket. “I know.”

He kept a gentle distance. She stepped away then turned back.

He readied for an explosion. Her face stayed thoughtful.

“Mitch?” Her mouth fumbled with words, which drew his attention to full lips. Bright red. Probably that color from dehydration, running halls for hours with nothing to drink.

He wrestled his unruly attention back to her eyes.

Finally she held his gaze. “I wanted to say thanks.”

He nodded, not wanting her to have to explain.

By not giving her the chance to opt out of helping, he’d given her something unexpected. Had her confidence in her nursing skills been restored by this horrible accident?

“Lauren?” He liked how her name rolled off his tongue.

“Yes, Dr. Wellington?” She paused. Lovely profile.

“How many more patients might you go on to help now?”

“Tonight?” She looked haggard at the thought.

“No. We’re done here tonight. I meant how many more patients…in life.”

She blinked rapidly but didn’t answer.

“Any?”

She bravely met his gaze and his question with an honest but vulnerable face. “Not sure. Jury’s still out on that one.”

“Would you reconsider my vacant nurse position?”

She looked shocked that he’d ask again. “I’m honored you’d trust me, but no. My life is in Texas.”

“But your grandfather is here.”

Scowling, she chewed her lip. “Thank you, Dr. Obvious.”

Mitch chuckled. “We need an assertive charge nurse. I have it on good faith you can hold your own with bossy physicians.”

She rolled her eyes. “My patient’s blanket is getting cold.
Your
patient, rather.”

Her answer far from pacified.

“Very well.” He motioned. “Carry on.”

Face lifted, she hugged the blanket. “It’s for the texting teenage girl. I heard you lost her passenger. I’m sorry.”

Mitch nodded. “We did everything we could.”

She searched his eyes. “I admire you and your team. How do you do it? Lose someone yet never give up?”

“Because despite each one we lose, there’s a slew to save.”

She tucked her chin, as though trying to draw warmth from the blanket herself.

Not caring that his back bore Kate’s insatiably curious stare, Mitch stepped close, his arms on her shoulders. “Lauren, I know this was horrific and hard. I didn’t leave you much choice, but you held up as well as anyone. Sorry if I came across as rude and unfeeling before.”

“You had a job to do and you were right…people were dying.” She backed out of his grasp. “The last thing I want hanging over me is more guilt. I couldn’t abandon you. Or your team.” She nodded toward Kate, who nodded back. “Or them.” Lauren indicated rooms of recovering patients.

Mitch stilled, respecting her need for space.

Good thing, because the beauty that unleashed every time she blinked was kicking his concentration to the curb. She had the most gorgeous green eyes.

Before she got out of hearing range he said, “Nurse Bates?”

“Yes, Dr. Wellington?” She appeared miffed every time he used the title. Like she knew he did so intentionally.

He leaned out of earshot of Kate, who’d be dying like an eavesdropping little sister to know what was said. “Please, call me Mitch. ‘Dr. Wellington’ makes me feel snobby and senile.”

A gorgeous smile dawned. “Agreed. But only if you stop, and I mean this instant, calling me
Nurse
Bates.”