by Lorenz Font
They stood there for a long time. The only sound audible was Sarah’s sobbing and the steady beep of the EKG monitor. After another minute ticked by, Lily took one step back to scrutinize her friend’s face.
“Hey, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but I believe you’re promised to the man I love. So why don’t you feast your eyes now?” She gestured to the stranger.
“What do you mean?” Sarah wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned, her gaze wandering in the direction of the examination table.
“Give that good-looking man one last look, because you’ll be Mrs. Meda very, very soon.”
The sadness in Lily’s voice shattered Sarah to pieces. She knew how much Lily and Trimble loved each other, but the cruel fact remained. She and Trimble would be tying the knot soon. They were expected to continue the long bloodline of their ancestors and would be held accountable for ensuring the survival of that legacy. Though their hearts abhorred the idea, their sense of responsibility superseded their own desires.
Sarah asked, “Why do I need to look at him?” Her eyes traveled again to the man’s face, questioning her attraction. She noted his even breathing, but his pained expression still lingered. Unable to turn away, she wondered what color his eyes were. She had met many boys at the university, good-looking ones, yet this man took the prize. He was stunning and oozing male vitality, even in his deplorable state. The bare chest peeking out from the thin white sheet made her want to run her hand over it to feel his body. Sarah shook her head and tried to dispel the overwhelming sensation coursing through her.
The two women heard voices outside of the clinic, and then Trimble, Mark, and Mr. V entered the room with a raggedy stretcher.
“Is he ready?” Trimble asked, shooting a quick glance in Lily’s direction.
“He’s all yours,” Sarah said, getting the IV from the pole and handing it to Lily. She heard a weak moan and saw the man shiver. After retrieving a thicker blanket, she wrapped it around his body.
“I did what I could. I’m rooting for you, and I’m going to pray that you make it,” she whispered, rubbing his arm in the process. It felt good to tell him how she felt, even if her words meant nothing to the unconscious man.
While Trimble and the others worked fast to transfer the patient onto the gurney, Sarah couldn’t help the feeling of sadness that swept over her. She had no idea if she’d helped or made things worse for him.
In a matter of minutes, she heard the roar of the car engine speeding away. She sighed and turned to Lily. “Why don’t you get out of here?” Sarah walked over to the desk and collapsed on the chair, her tired muscles screaming in protest.
“Okay.” Lily grabbed her purse and produced an apple. “Eat,” she ordered.
Sarah took the fruit and wiped it on her coat before taking a bite. “Get some sleep, and come back in the morning.” She pointed to the door by way of dismissal.
“Do you think he’ll make it?” Lily looked at her with eyes that mirrored her own uncertainties.
“He survived the operation. That’s all I can tell you. We’ll have to see if his condition improves.” Sarah glanced at the now-empty table. Her heart started pounding against her chest again. I will pray for him.
“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Do you need anything before I leave?”
“No, I’ll be okay. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You know what? I was happy to help.” Lily smiled and turned to the door. “I’ll be back in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”
When the doors had slid shut, Sarah leaned back in the stiff chair and closed her eyes, collecting herself for a moment. It had been a long evening. She made a mental note to stop asking Dotson’Sa for action. After tonight, she’d rather deal with common colds and flu any day.
She put the apple down on the desk, not feeling hungry despite her empty stomach. While the remnants of the receding adrenaline drained out, she stretched her legs under the desk and stretched her arms upward. It felt great, her tense muscles relaxing after hours of intense rush. She knew she was too tired to walk home. She’d sleep here and clean up in the morning. Sleep sounded very good now that her body had slowed down into a pleasant, dull rhythm. Massaging her scalp, she could feel lethargy begin to seep in, and she embraced the short reprieve she needed after the tense evening.
It was two in the morning when she woke. Even with the little nap, she still felt drained and exhausted. She made herself get up to turn off the lights.
Her back was screaming at her. Staggering back to the desk, she sat down with a weary sigh. Notes. She still had to write them, so sleep had to wait. She turned on the desk lamp and pulled one of the drawers open, took a paper, and began documenting the events of the evening: each procedure she’d performed, the dosages of Demerol given, and the vital sign readings that led to the spontaneous blood transfusion.
Once she’d finished, Sarah reviewed what she wrote. This record would have to be reviewed by Dr. Ancheta once she found someone to take it to him in Fairbanks in the morning. Man, that part made her cringe. It wouldn’t go well if they found out she wasn’t a licensed physician. But what could they do, revoke a license she didn’t even have yet?
A bubble of hysteria rose up her throat, making it impossible to swallow. With the quiet surrounding her, the full weight of her actions descended on her, making Sarah second-guess her decision to save the man’s life. Could this one incident destroy her chance to become a full-fledged doctor? Had her dreams ended tonight?
Sarah glanced at the empty, still-bloodied table a few feet away, and she hoped he was worth the effort.
Since everything had happened in one quick blur, going over the entire incident made her head ache. Reading and re-reading what she wrote was another thing. Her eyes fluttered closed several times and began to water when she strained harder to keep them open. At long last, she paused to take a short break, resting her head on her arm, but exhaustion won. She soon fell asleep, her notes sitting under her nose, and her long, black hair splayed all over the table.
The mind had a cunning way of alerting the rest of the body when it was in the midst of trouble, either through pain or other sensations, like throbbing, burning and soreness. Such was the case for Greg as soon as he surfaced from his blackened haze. He realized at once that he was in deep shit when he tried to move his body and everything felt somehow disconnected. A series of sharp, stabbing twinges radiated through his body before converging on the lower part of his abdomen. It felt like someone had left firecrackers inside his stomach and lit them all at the same time.
It was burning, exploding, hot and unimaginably painful.
He tried opening his eyes, but their sheer weight made it difficult. Moaning, he reached around for something to help push himself up, but the pain shot through him again and he’d have doubled over if he hadn’t been lying down.
That smell … what was it? The scent of metal came to mind, just before another searing ache emanated from his gut, burning until he stopped every attempt to move. Greg took shallow breaths to control the intense ache inside him. The more shallow his breathing, the less throbbing he had to endure. He tried lifting his heavy lids again, but his eyeballs just strained hard against the barrier and rolled up instead.
What in the world was wrong with him? Greg opened his mouth to speak, but the dryness in his throat made it impossible to get a word out. His throat was a scorching burn, as if someone sandpapered his mouth and left it to dry in the sun. A faint, raspy moan escaped his lips.
Although he’d been trying to regulate his breathing, he could do nothing to prevent the shaking of his body, which intensified the spasms. His body was vibrating from the cold shiver he was experiencing. Again, he was helpless to do anything but moan.
A rustling sound came from his left, and soft footsteps approached. Then a soothing, warm hand touched his forehead. An unfamiliar voice filled with gentleness spoke to him.
“I did what I could. I’m rooting for you,” the
voice assured him before a warm hand caressed his sensitive skin, bringing him warmth. Minutes later, darkness prevailed once again.
Chapter 4
Greg managed to pry his tired eyes open after several attempts. The pain had been terribly real, and he couldn’t get anything but moans out of his mouth when he tried to speak. The room was dim, but there was adequate light filtering through the gaps of the blinds. He looked around in confused haze.
Where was he? The stark white walls held no frames, no pictures—nothing to give away his location. Greg’s eyes swept around the place, and he noted the modern equipment next to his bed. There was also a constant beeping from another machine that he couldn’t see. After several attempts, he was able to raise his hand, but even that simple action drained him of energy. His confusion grew when he noticed a tube attached to his arm and the stale scent of blood wafting around him.
Then he remembered.
“Ready?” Cade McPherson grinned at him from the pilot seat of their rented DeHavilland bush plane.
“Sure am.” Greg propped himself up next to Cade. After pulling out the set of headphones hanging on the dash, he adjusted the earpiece before donning them.
Cade had planned this hunting trip and made all the necessary arrangements. This time, Greg had agreed to rough it, backpacking in the wilderness instead of employing the services of a guide, like they’d done in the past.
Flying and hunting had always been a passion the two friends shared. They had met when Greg’s father, Gregory Jr., brought Cade on to help Greg when business took him to out-of-town meetings and presentations. Cade had soon become his right-hand man.
“Let’s find out what Beaver has to offer this time.” Cade grinned before he powered up the plane. The engine whirred efficiently, and the lone propeller spun to life, spinning wildly while Cade turned his attention to the GPS. Keying their destination, he checked his watch and spoke to the man in a little shack that consisted of the control tower.
“Beaver, here we come.” Greg saluted.
A deckhand waved at them, signaling their ready position and clearing them for takeoff. What had made them decide to go on their own? That was an easy one. They’d joined many expeditions before. Hunting in the Adirondacks for bucks, they’d traveled to Calvert Hill in Illinois for their prized trophy, the white tail deer. They flew west to Tehama, California, to hunt for wild pigs and to West Yaak, Montana, to hunt for moose. But Alaska gave them more bang for their buck. From the rugged and remote areas to the variety of wildlife, Alaska offered one of the most ideal hunting conditions out there. The backdrop didn’t hurt, either. Greg couldn’t wait to get started.
Once airborne, he removed his earpiece and pulled binoculars from his backpack. This trip had been planned about three months earlier, and now that the wait was over, he began to imagine the hunting prospects. Wolves were in abundance in Beaver, and Greg had been salivating at the possibility of encountering one. He’d also been looking forward to the unbeatable rush and the play of the hunt.
After their departure from Fairbanks, it took them half an hour to get to Beaver, where they circled a planned area close to the sandbar of a river. Once their plane had been safely anchored, they set off on foot, hunting rifles in hand and their gear strapped to their backs.
This trip also doubled as an escape from the ugliness of his impending divorce. Greg sighed while they made their way through an opening in the vast wilderness awaiting them. Cassandra was a socialite he’d met a few years back. At first, it had seemed like a perfect union—a beautiful woman and a powerful businessman. He’d had no qualms marrying her, despite the negative feedback about her character. “Gold-digging bitch” was one of the mildest labels he’d heard applied to her.
Greg had shrugged it off. With her beguiling beauty, he had been taken in—hook, line, and sinker. He’d offered her the prettiest diamond money could buy, and they celebrated one of the biggest weddings in New York City history and honeymooned all over the world.
In a way, his money blinded her, and that had set them up for bigger troubles. As the old saying went, it hadn’t been long before “the honeymoon was over.” All of the predictions came true when Cassandra demanded more than he was willing to give her—she wanted a family. Even though he desired one as well, he couldn’t bear the thought of having children while in a failing marriage with a philandering wife.
Sure, he’d known all along, but he stuck it out long enough to see if things would change over time. When the last, little sliver of hope had been snuffed out, he’d filed for divorce, and the rest was history.
She’d be looking at half his net worth, which in plain lingo would make her a billionaire. With any luck, all that money would appease her and soon mark an end to their long, drawn-out court battle.
Two days into their trek and still coming up empty handed, Greg and Cade stopped at a clearing. It was a safe enough place to pitch their tent.
Looking back, Cade had been pressing more than usual for details about the divorce and Cassandra. Though Greg hadn’t found the questions odd at the time, he could now guess the motive behind the shooting—the bastard had been screwing his soon-to-be ex-wife. That had to be the reason. Nothing else fit. But why?
Greg’s head began to ache as pieces of information came flashing back. He’d often seen them talking, perhaps standing a bit closer together than was normal, but he’d shrugged it off. A man’s best friend and wife could develop a natural friendship—there was no need to make mountains out of molehills.
Would things be better for them if he were out of the picture altogether? That must be the case. Otherwise there was no need for Cade to go to such great lengths to get rid of him. Still, the bastard had been sloppy at best. Since the botched murder attempt, Greg had sworn to make sure to extend the same hell to his so-called friend. Simple as that.
No one attempted to kill Gregory Andrews III and lived to talk about it. His fists clenched at the thought how he’d been taken out like an animal, shot and left for dead. He’d get to the bottom of things. The first thing to worry about was getting out of this place, wherever it was, and getting home. Then he’d start planning payback.
The sound of moaning jolted Sarah awake. She bolted from the chair and rushed to check on her patient. His eyes were closed, although his mouth moved as though he were trying to speak. He made no audible noise except a faint groan, and his body shook.
Sarah’s instinct led her to place a comforting hand on his forehead. It was not a surprise that the skin was hot to the touch. The stranger jerked and let out another distressed sound. He appeared agitated, wincing with pain at the slightest movement.
“Don’t try to speak or move. You’re safe. Nod your head if you are cold.” Sarah kept her voice low, and she felt helpless while his face contorted once more.
He nodded once, with obvious effort.
Although she knew she’d regret doing so, Sarah rested her hand on his bare arm, light as a feather so as not to startle him. When his face registered nothing, she began rubbing his arm to help his blood circulate. When the friction between their skins built up, a tingling awareness rippled through her body. A sensitized burning on her palm sparked with every stroke of the hard muscles beneath his clammy skin. An inexplicable awareness of his male body and her response to their close proximity compounded her confusion.
After a few minutes, she had to pry her hand away. It was too much, and the fact that she enjoyed it scared her.
Oh, you know you want it. Stop hiding from yourself. Have a little fun, the little uninvited and unwelcome voice said from deep within her.
Trying to ignore it, Sarah moved to take out a blanket. She had been taught to cool down post-surgical patients when fever was present. In this case, though, there was a risk of shock or becoming septic without the proper antibiotics and equipment, and that swayed her decision.
Taking a quick peek at the wound, she noted a few improvements. The stitches seemed to be holding up and the bleeding had
abated, which was another good sign. After re-taping the bandage, she placed the blanket on him and tucked the edges around his body with care. That calmed the shivering a little.
Satisfied, she took his wrist and timed his respirations. Good, but not great.
Turning her mind to the next task, she leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “I will give you another shot of Demerol, which is all we have here for pain.” She could see that he was trying to follow the sound of her voice with his head, but he stopped with a wince. Sarah quickened her movements and administered the last of the vial she had on hand.
The shot took effect within minutes, and the man faded into another restless slumber. Sarah again checked his vital signs, recording his body temperature and the appearance of the surgical site, and jotted them down. Everything looked as well as could be expected. She hoped that the bullet removal and the transfusion were well within the golden hour. If so, he would have a better chance of survival.
Weary, she returned to the desk to complete the remaining progress report. Her stomach growled, but since she couldn’t leave him by himself, she concentrated on finishing her report.
A few minutes later, his teeth began chattering. Sarah watched him shiver underneath the layers of blankets. She was running out of options.
There were no other blankets left in the clinic, and his shaking began to turn into convulsive tremors. When he gave an agonized scream of pain, she thought, Man, it never ends. There was just one option left, and it was the one she had no right to do.
Everyone knew survival skill number one—body heat.
Not letting her doubts dissuade her, she climbed onto the little examination table, taking care to avoid his wound while she slid down next to him. This should be easy. Sarah expelled a deep breath and turned her body to face him, putting an arm across his chest and resting one leg around his. Simple enough, right?