by Debra Holt
Mercy’s Rescue
by Debra Holt
PRAISE FOR MERCY’S RESCUE
What do you get when you combine a picturesque setting, dynamic characters, and a feels-like-you’re-there storyline? You get a Debra Holt novel, and in Mercy’s Rescue, she delivers all that and more. This is surely an author to watch!.
~ Loree Lough
Best-selling author of
105 award-winning books … and counting
Love with the right person comes when you have a little faith. Mercy Smith had created the best self-contained life she could as a part of the helicopter rescue team. Josh Wellman sees her as his angel and believed that she was destined to be the one that helped save him after being shot. He prayed for a miracle and was introduced to Mercy.
Debra Holt writes characters with conviction, stories that are inspiring, and romance blush-worthy of desire.
~ Mary Gramlich
Blogger
Debra Holt’s Mercy’s Rescue was a delight to read. It is one of those good wholesome romances that satisfy the romantic in everyone. You will truly fall in love with Josh and his down to earth, old fashion ways. I love a book that has strong and considerate male characters with compassion. Mercy’s Rescue has that and so much more. Bravo for Debra Holt for writing a novel that leaves you fulfilled to the end.
~ Teresa Cross
Fresh Fiction
Mercy’s Rescue had me engaged from the first sentence and held me throughout this heartwarming story. I fell in love with the well-drawn characters and delighted over plot twists I never saw coming. If you like romance, you’ll love Mercy’s Rescue. It’s an impressive debut novel for Bling! Romance.
~ Ane Mulligan
Novel Rocket
MERCY’S RESCUE BY DEBRA HOLT
Published by Bling! Romance
an imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas
2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC, 27614
ISBN: 978-1-941103-93-7
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Holt
Cover design by Kim Killion, The Killion Group
Interior design by Karthick Srinivasan
Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at:
www.lighthousepublishingofthecarolinas.com
For more information on this book and the author, visit: www.DebraHoltBooks.com
All rights reserved. Non-commercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, provided the text does not exceed 500 words. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “Mercy’s Rescue by Debra Holt, published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Used by permission.”
Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.
Brought to you by the creative team at Bling! Romance:
Sandie Bricker, Managing Editor, Bling! Romance
Rachel Overton, General Editor
Deb Ogle Haggerty, Proofreader
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Holt, Debra.
Mercy’s Rescue/Debra Holt 1st ed.
DEDICATION/ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book is dedicated to the person who taught me more than anyone else what faith is and how fragile it can be. Sallie Mae Hannum exemplified faith each and every day of her life and proved it was strongest when it was tested the most. Besides being my grandmother, she was a southern lady in the truest sense of the word. She was a pioneer woman who raised her family in a mud dugout on the plains of Texas. It is her fiery spirit and gentle yet firm faith that can be found in the heroines I write. I miss you each and every day, Grandma. I love you a whole bushel full.
I want to acknowledge with the deepest gratitude five very special ladies who made this book’s journey into being a most agonizing yet amazingly rewarding and educational one for me. Sandie Bricker, Managing Editor at Bling!, placed her faith in my story and nurtured it and me through the highs and lows. Rachel Overton is the BEST editor I could have ever hoped to have. She made me frustrated, made me smile, made me a better writer for the experience. You two ladies rock!
To my go-to resource person for all things medical, my dear friend and former nursing angel in the air, Kim Arellano…I am indebted to your knowledge and thankful for your enduring friendship.
Last, but not least, Alisa Dollar and Dianne Caspell were with me from the beginning to the end of this story. They continue on the writing journey with me as my critique partners, beta readers, cheerleaders, venting walls, and my very dear friends. You are my treasures.
To each and every reader who opens this book, I hope you find something beautiful in it to touch your heart—a smile, a laugh, a sigh. If you do, then my work was worth it!
Blessings,
Debra
A Gift for You
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Chapter One
“Three minutes out. Descent begins in one.” The pilot’s voice crackled through the headset as he tossed a look over his shoulder to Mercy, strapped into the jump seat. She responded with a quick thumbs-up. “They’ve secured the scene,” he added. “We’re in and out fast. There’s only one to transport.”
A dull, leaden weight sank to the pit of her stomach. Mercy Smith knew his words meant the other injured person had died before their arrival.
“We can’t save them all, Mercy.” Paul Robards, the second medic onboard and seated across from her, responded to the shadowed look that crossed her face. “Some things are out of our control.”
“That’s true. I just wish we had the chance to try.” She’d served four years in the Trauma One unit on the ground before accepting the promotion to join the air evacuation crew as team leader, so she was a realist. She knew they would lose some of the patients they were called to assist, but that never stopped the feeling of defeat when they lost someone before they could intervene and attempt to save them. Mercy used to tell herself that everything was in God’s hands. She didn’t delude herself with that platitude any longer. The only hands she could count on were the two folded in her lap. She just needed the opportunity to try.
Mercy cast her gaze out the window. They were coming in low and fast over endless stretches of farmland. Cotton fields bordered the two-lane farm-to-market road that, as they approached, now resembled a river of flashing red and blue lights stretching into a long ribbon. First responders, paramedics, firefighters, and a myriad of law enforcement officers rushed back and forth like a colony of busy ants.
The helicopter’s skids touched the ground a few yards from the center of the intersection, kicking up a cloud of red dust. People shielded their eyes as the medics, in their bright blue jumpsuits and helmets, exited the doors the moment the aircraft landed. Guided by the collective motioning of the crowd, Mercy and Paul ran toward the motionless body lying flat on a stretcher.
“Tell me.” Mercy spoke with clear authority, her eyes already assessing the man lying before her. The paramedics gave his vitals and their preliminary findings. Mercy took in the amount of blood loss evident on the officer’s clothing. The khaki uniform she recognized as belonging to the Powell County Sheriff’s Department had been shredded by bullet holes, then ripped by the shears of the first-responder medical personnel in order to minister to him. His Kevlar armor had shielded his main torso, but there were still areas along his legs, lower torso, and arms that had not been so protected. At first glance, she would have expected his wounds to be fatal after such a vicious attack. His vitals were critical, and he needed specialized help fast.
“Let’s load.”
There were ample hands ready to do just that. Less than five minutes were required to load the patient and get the crew back in their seats before the helicopter took flight again. They had no time to waste, and the race with the invisible yet ever-ticking clock had begun.
Mercy began her in-flight assessment, speaking through the mic inside her helmet that linked her with the medical team at the hospital. Onboard technology allowed the doctors to hear her and monitor the patient’s vital readings in order to make the calls on which meds to push in-flight. She and Paul worked quickly with long-practiced ease in the tight confines of the jet craft. For the time being, the patient held his own.
Mercy looked again at the readout from the overhead blood pressure machine. Her glance then fell to the patient’s face. She caught a slight flicker of his eyelids as he tried to lift them. On his second attempt, she found herself the focus of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The thought came briefly that, given another situation, they might be quite mesmerizing, almost like watching the still waters of a serene lake. She hastily pushed the unbidden and whimsical thought to the side and returned to a professionally focused mindset. He wasn’t speaking yet, but his eyes were quite eloquent and anything but calm, holding a mixture of pain, fear, and questions.
“Hang in there.” She tried to reassure him with her practiced, soothing tones. “We’ll have you on the ground at the hospital in just a few minutes. Squeeze my hand if you can understand me.” She placed her hand under his. Very slowly, long fingers moved to grasp hers. “Good job.”
Mercy started to remove her hand, but the man held onto her fingers securely. She was surprised he had the strength left in him. When she looked down at him, his eyelids were closed again. Another sudden, odd sensation moved through her, both strangely pleasant and unnerving all at the same time. She could have pulled her hand away from his, yet something made her hold steady. Perhaps it gave him comfort to have contact with another human being. Often the patients they transported were more terrified from the flight than from their injuries. She tried not to dwell on the unexpected sense of security that settled over her as she sat beside him. Her job was to give comfort to him, not the other way around.
She knew that somewhere someone was notifying family members that this loved one was seriously hurt and might even be dying. They would begin the mad dash to the hospital, their hearts torn up, imagining all the worst possible scenarios. And they would start offering up every known prayer they could remember to whatever higher being they believed in, pleading and begging for a miracle. Mercy knew their feelings from personal experience. She’d walked this lonely path more than once. She also knew, from that same experience, the odds were likely that they would come up short. Regardless, she, her flight crew, and the waiting ground team would do everything humanly possible to save their loved one.
Mercy retrieved a cloth from the overhead compartment and gently tried to remove some of the blood and dirt splattered across the man’s forehead and cheeks—a strong-looking face. One of the paramedics had told them that this man had literally crawled and then dragged his fellow officer out of the line of fire before collapsing. Dark lashes appeared even darker as they lay against the ashen pallor of his skin. An equally vital mouth thinned into a harsh line of pain. The amount of blood still oozing through the bandaging concerned Mercy. Their methods were not working as effectively as she would have liked.
She looked down at him, and again his blue gaze locked on her face. Something stirred once more inside her, responding automatically on its own. Dragging her gaze away was harder this time. Darting a quick look outside the window, she could finally see a faint outline of the tall buildings that made up the hospital complex in the distance. Mercy felt his fingers stir, but he still didn’t break his grasp. She looked down again and gave him what she hoped was her best smile of reassurance.
“Just another couple of minutes, and we’ll place you in the capable hands of the doctors. They’re the best at what they do. But don’t tell them I told you that. Their egos are already too huge.”
His eyes narrowed a bit. Was that a feeble attempt at a wink?
This is one tough man. Mercy smiled in return. He’d better be tough for what’s ahead of him.
The smile left her face as she and Paul made ready for the landing. Only when the skids of the helicopter touched the ground did the man’s contact with her hand finally break. As she opened the door, Mercy experienced a strange, fleeting sense of loss. There was no time to dwell upon it. Several pairs of hands reached for the stretcher as she jumped out of the way. The ground medical team took charge of the patient. Mercy followed close beside the trauma physician, giving her report.
The patient was centered in ER Three. The room was alive with movement that was both hurried and precise. Removing her helmet, she stood to the side of the activity. The patient’s booted feet hung off the gurney a bit. If she took a guess at his age, she would bet he was somewhere in his mid-thirties.
She ventured a quick look but didn’t see a wedding ring. That meant nothing—many men didn’t wear rings. Her David would not have worn one either. He’d often said a ring would only get lost when he removed it to do surgery. The dark cloud of remembrance jolted her back to reality. Her job was done; she had passed her patient over to the trauma team. There was no need for her to stay.
With a last look at the man currently the focus of everyone’s attention, Mercy stepped outside the room. Her steps faltered as she realized that she’d automatically sent a brief request on his behalf to whatever power the man might believe in; a request that the trauma specialists behind her would be able to use their combined expertise to keep him in this world for those who loved and needed him. Maybe he’d experience one of those elusive miracles.
As Mercy moved down the hall and through the double swinging doors that separated the lobby area from the ER rooms, she became aware of the growing number of people seated or milling about aimlessly in the waiting room. They cast quick glances each time a doctor or nurse passed their way, obviously anxious to hear word on their comrade’s status. Officers in uniform—mostly from the Powell County Sheriff’s Department, some from state law enforcement—stood in small groups, talking or not, their faces all creased with the same worried concern. She didn’t see any civilians in the mix. Evidently, family members had yet to arrive.
Her beeper went off, and she glanced down to where it was secured at her waist. Another emergency awaited them. Picking up her pace, Mercy turned and headed quickly in the direction of the helipad. This was going to be a busy night.
“It’s a child,” Paul
called out as she joined him, crossing the helipad. “Found floating in the family’s backyard pool.”
“I hate calls involving children and pools,” Mercy ground out as she took her seat. There was always so much emotion involved—guilty parents, suspicious law enforcement, nosey neighbors. Their helicopter was airborne again in seconds. This time, they flew south from the city. The sun had set, and the evening stars were just making their appearance in the heavens above. The mosaic of lights on the ground blended with the stars in the darkening sky so that earth and ground easily became one. Suspended between earth and sky—this was where Mercy felt most at home. There was a safe cocoon in this place that quieted her soul and kept worldly things at bay. Sometimes she caught herself looking down upon the mortals scurrying to and fro on the ground and felt an odd detachment. In the beginning, when she was young and naïve and believed, she’d imagined that was how God viewed the world below. She quickly wiped that memory away. She had wised up. Thankfully.
The trip ended with a positive outcome. The three-year-old boy arrested twice before they could reach the destination, but the ground personnel were able to stabilize him. Mercy’s team delivered the child into capable hands at the hospital in record time. Two saves were a good shift. They didn’t keep score, but the good days were those when all their patients managed to have second chances at survival. That was their goal.
It was almost eleven o’clock before Mercy stepped into the team’s small lounge. This was their place to unwind between flights. While the hospital complex was huge by most standards, space was still limited. Her small office felt more like a closet, and more often than not, the team used the lounge. Jorge followed close behind her.
“Looks like we have some cold cheese pizza left over from dinner … or lunch. Want a slice?” she asked over her shoulder.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy that feast by yourself.” Her pilot grinned. “Marguerite promised to have some roast beef in the warmer for me when I get home. As soon as I put the final bit of information on my report, I’ll be on my way out of here.”