Officer, Surgeon...Gentleman!

by Janice Lynn

Besides his equilibrium.

  But who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Amelia was talking to him, smiling at him. The feeling was too good for him to do anything other than bask in her attention for however long the aberration lasted.

  “The wound is draining more than the area should be with as much time as has passed.” Had his voice croaked? “I want another culture to see if he’s developed a secondary infection.”

  Her smile didn’t miss a beat, perhaps even kicked up another few watts. “Any new symptoms?”

  A stun gun blasted him, scrambling his thoughts. He forced himself to focus on his patient, on science, on anything but how Amelia’s smile rerouted his circuitry.

  “Increased redness and drainage. Nothing else.”

  “Good.” She stared expectantly at him.

  Cole had a flashback to a stolen moment between patients in the busy E.R. where they’d both been pulling residency hours. She’d looked tired, he’d cornered her, teased her, and she’d looked up at him with expectancy. And longing.

  How had he missed that look at the time? How had he not realized what had been happening between them? Because he’d definitely felt longing in return. Only he’d stuck a big fat brotherly label on everything to do with Amelia so he hadn’t had to feel guilty at how his feelings for her had been growing.

  “I haven’t re-dressed the wound yet.” Why did his tongue feel like a lead weight? “Do you want to look prior to seeing your next patient?”

  “Thanks. I’d love to.” With another smile, she nodded, as if she’d been waiting for the invitation. Just as she’d done when he’d been with a patient and she’d wanted to observe, only this time his head spun.

  Maybe while she was in such an agreeable mood he should suggest a private talk in the office. One where he pushed her up against the wall and kissed her until they both had to come up for air.

  Not that he could or would on board ship. Neither was he such a fool that he didn’t realize she was up to something. She was. The question was what? And why? Because despite her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth smile he had no illusions that he had a long way to go to win Amelia’s forgiveness.

  “Hey, Dr Stockton,” the corpsman greeted her when Amelia stepped into the bay. The young man’s eyes ate her up.

  Quelling his dislike of another man checking her out, Cole admitted he didn’t blame the guy. With her swept-back dark hair exposing the graceful lines of her neck, the luminous quality to her big brown eyes, the fullness of her naturally pink lips, Cole’s eyes did some gobbling of their own when Amelia leaned in to examine Corporal Wright’s thigh.

  “Hmm,” she mused, reaching for a pair of disposable gloves. “When I checked you last, the abscess looked better. When did the area start getting worse again?”

  “Just last night, Doc. That’s why I came back this morning rather than waiting until my follow-up appointment tomorrow.” He flashed a flirty smile. “I remembered what you said about coming back sooner if there were any negative changes.”

  “Good job.” Amelia smiled at the man, a real smile, inadvertently jump-starting Cole’s heart as surely as if she’d hooked him up to a defibrillator and cranked the juice.

  She used to smile at me like that. Only better.

  Knowing he needed to do something before he succumbed to the errant electrical charges running rampant through his nervous system, Cole gloved up to swab the abscess again.

  “Did you see the culture I’d previously done?” she asked, smiling sweetly. Sweetly? Cole didn’t know whether to laugh or be afraid. Amelia was a lot of things, but sweet wasn’t an adjective he’d use to describe her. Unless they were talking about her lips. She had tasted sweet.

  “Yes,” he answered, studying her, “but your notes say the area was healing well. That’s obviously no longer true. I want a new culture.”

  She flashed her perfectly straight teeth. “Good idea.”

  Cole managed not to blink. Barely. Had she agreed with him without an argument? Something was definitely up. And not just his temperature and heart rate. He dabbed the swab in the center of the abscess, carefully inserted the tip into the auger filled tube and sealed the lid.

  “You think something new is wrong?” the man lying back on the elevated exam table asked, watching as Amelia ungloved and opened a sterile drape, dropped gauze onto the field, poured a small cup of antiseptic solution and opened a package of sterilized scissors, needle holders and toothed tweezers.

  “Possibly. That’s what the culture will tell us.” She opened a bottle of packing gauze and glanced toward Cole. “Do you want to irrigate the area or do you want me to do it?”

  Cole hesitated only a millisecond. Despite her sugary sweetness of the past five minutes, Amelia was a take-charge, don’t-put-me-in-the-backseat kind of woman. Even during her residency, she hadn’t liked watching from the sidelines. If he wanted to win her trust he’d have to prove he could deal with her strength and independence, right along with her feigned sugary sweetness.

  “You do it,” he told her. “I’ll assist.”

  The smile she gave him was so brilliant the sun could have come out in bay two. Definitely his body heated as if the sun had. He was on fire from the inside out.

  She donned more gloves, cleaned and irrigated the wound, then packed a thin ribbon of sterile gauze into the opening, leaving the tip out for easier removal.

  Watching her work, Cole handed her what she needed before she had to ask. When she was finished and had covered the area with a dressing, she glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with something that bit deep into him.

  “You make an excellent assistant, Cole.”

  Cole. She called him by his first name rather than Dr Stanley. Hearing his name on her lips made his knees wobble.

  Whatever Amelia was up to, he was in trouble. Big trouble.

  Because hearing his name on her lips brought back memories of the night he’d gone to her a few weeks after his breakup with Clara. Amelia had whispered his name right before he’d kissed her. As he’d kissed her.

  As he’d pushed her back onto her dorm room bed, planning to make love to her.

  Rubbing her fingers across Corporal Wright’s bandage, Amelia wondered if she was laying her friendliness on too thick? She hadn’t meant to be overly nice, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to enjoying the perplexity in Cole’s eyes.

  Good. Let him wonder.

  Not that he wouldn’t figure it out. He’d once known her too well not to know what lengths she’d go to for her crew, for her patients. Still, she welcomed the respite. Carrying around her anger for him was starting to give her an ulcer. At least now she felt as if she was on the offensive.

  She much preferred offensive strategies. Always had.

  In the grand scheme of personal protection, being nice to Cole for the sake of the crew and their patients wasn’t the greatest idea. But a girl had to do what a girl had to do for the greater good.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if she was going to fall right back into her crush for him. She’d seen what he was capable of. Had seen him bail out on Clara, had seen him walk away from her after a kiss that had singed her toes to the soles of her maid-of-honor high heels. Then walk away from her room after she’d kicked him out, despite her body screaming for him to stay.

  Although he’d always seemed to long to be a part of her family, Cole had major commitment issues.

  “It’ll be a few days before I get the results of the culture back, but I’d like to see you again tomorrow,” she told their patient. “Keep your appointment that’s already scheduled, and I’ll change the dressing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I think we should change his antibiotic,” Cole cut in. He told her the name of an antibiotic with better anaerobic coverage than the antibiotic Corporal Wright currently took.

  “Okay, that sounds like a feasible plan.” She shot the corpsman another smile. “Take the antibiotics exactly as prescribed and be sure to finish the entire p
rescription to prevent developing resistance.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cole gave his hand to the corpsman, helped him from the table. Amelia watched the man grimace at the pain that shot up his leg at weight-bearing. She hated it that he’d have to rest in the uncomfortable bunks where he’d have no privacy. As an officer, Amelia had the privilege of sharing a small room with only Suzie, but most of the crew shared large open berths where crew were stacked in so tightly they could barely roll over without bumping the cot above them.

  “If you get worse today, make sure you let us know.”

  “Will do.”

  The corpsman left the bay and Amelia stared at Cole. He watched her with an inquisitive light in his eyes. One that saw a bit too clearly below the surface.

  “What do you think is going on?” she asked, making great effort to keep her voice cordial, pleasant even.

  “With Corporal Wright’s leg or you?”

  Good question. “With Corporal Wright’s leg, of course.”

  “Most likely he has a secondary infection that’s spreading into the tissue. If he doesn’t respond to the new antibiotic, I’ll consider excising the area.”

  “I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

  “I hope not, but surgical excision would be preferable to him ending up with septicemia or gangrene.”

  “True.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Do you want to stop by and see him with me tomorrow? That way you can decide if surgery should be arranged? You could schedule him if you feel that’s the best treatment option.”

  Eyes narrowing, Cole nodded. “That would be great.”

  “I’ll have Tracy see what time he’s supposed to come in.”

  Amelia turned to step out of the bay, but Cole grabbed her arm. A thousand lightning bolts struck her at once, charring every brain cell to wispy bits of ash.

  “About the other?”

  “What other?” she gulped, although she knew exactly to what he referred.

  “What’s going on, Amelia? Did you suddenly decide I deserve forgiveness?”

  Forgiveness? She wasn’t touching that one.

  “You wanted us to work in peace, right?” she challenged, biting her tongue to keep from correcting him on the use of her name. “I can manage being civil for five and a half months.”

  “Why the change of heart?” He studied her closely.

  So closely Amelia wanted to squirm. She didn’t. She held her chin up high and met his gaze head-on in a blatant dare. “Why do you think?”

  “Amelia—”

  “Hey, Dr Stockton, about that strep patient in bay one?” Tracy poked her head around the curtain, paused when she spotted Cole’s hand wrapped around Amelia’s upper arm and their low conversation. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No interruption,” Amelia assured her, smiling appreciatively at her nurse. “I’m on my way to check the strep patient. Tell Richard to bring back the next patient, and, Tracy, could you let Dr Stanley know what time Corporal Wright will be by tomorrow for his follow-up? If he’s not in surgery, he’ll have a quick look at the patient.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NEAR the end of Amelia’s shift, a corpsman was brought in who’d slammed his fingers in a hatch during a training exercise.

  Amazingly his X-ray didn’t show any displaced breaks, only a hairline fracture of the proximal phalange of the index finger, which wouldn’t require an off ship consult with an orthopedic.

  After washing her hands and donning gloves, Amelia removed the bloody towel pressed over the man’s hand. She didn’t wince at the bleeding, macerated tissue. She’d been trained to see far worse than the man’s sliced-open, deformed fingers.

  “I hope the other guy looks worse,” she teased, hoping to ease the strain from his face. An aircraft carrier with its ladders, hatches and catapults was a host of injuries waiting to happen. Unfortunately.

  “Not even a scratch,” the man responded, his eyes not leaving his injuries.

  Where the heavy metal hatch had come across the top of his fingers, the skin was split in a deep gash. Amelia dabbed away blood with sterile gauze, seeing bone through the mangled flesh of his index and middle fingers. The cuts on his ring finger and pinky didn’t appear to have reached the bone.

  She turned to Tracy. “Set up two suture trays. I’m going to ask Dr Stanley to help with the two deeper wounds as they’re more extensive.”

  Although her eyes widened, Tracy just nodded and went about setting up the trays.

  Amelia explained what she was going to do to her patient then left the bay to find Cole. Technically, he should have left the medical ward hours ago. Instead, as he’d done each day since arriving, he’d hung around.

  Now he stood across the sick ward, talking to Richard, Peyton, who was the ship’s nurse anesthetist, and the physician assistant. As if sensing Amelia, he glanced up, met her gaze, and grinned. Why did her heart light up at his smile? She was just tolerating him to keep things running smoothly in her medical ward. She didn’t like him, didn’t enjoy being in his company, didn’t even want him there.

  But she’d been crazy about him once upon a time.

  Crazy about him in the worst kind of way because she had liked him, had enjoyed being in his company, had wanted to spend as much time as possible with him because he’d made her smile, laugh, look at life in Technicolor.

  She’d denied just how much the way he affected her had meant, had denied she’d cared more for him than she should have. On the night of the wedding rehearsal, she’d quit denying. And look how that had ended up—two Stockton hearts broken in one night. What a fool she’d been.

  Even now, looking at him, unable to suppress the quivers low in her belly, she wondered if she was just as much a fool.

  “I need your help,” she said, shoving aside her self-preservation instincts.

  Immediately, he stepped away from the men he’d been talking to. “I’m yours. All you have to do is ask.”

  She so wasn’t touching his comment, but her imagination toyed with the double entendre. Had he intentionally sent her thoughts into a whirlwind?

  “I have a hand injury that’s going to require multiple sutures. Capillary refill is good in all fingers. Sensation is decreased. There’s a hairline fracture in the index finger, but no other breaks. I was hoping you’d have a look. The index and middle fingers will require more extensive suturing.”

  “Sure.” Cole followed her into the bay. While he washed his hands, he introduced himself to the injured corpsman. He examined the patient then turned to Amelia. “You’re right about the first two fingers. I’ll suture them.”

  She could do them, Amelia wanted to argue. But this wasn’t about what she could and could not do. This was about proving to her crew that she wouldn’t compromise them or their patients, that she could set aside her personal feelings because she was a professional, a Stockton.

  “I was hoping you’d offer.” And not because he really could do a better job on the man’s fingers. She might be trying to make a point, but she didn’t plan to beg Cole just to prove to her crew that she was a team player.

  “Like I said…” his gaze sought hers “…I’m all yours.”

  Still not acknowledging his comment, she smiled at the pale man. “Dr Stanley is the ship’s surgeon. He’ll do an excellent job on those fingers while I sew the other two up so we get you put back together a little quicker.”

  With Tracy and Richard assisting and the man’s fingers spread wide, Amelia and Cole worked from opposite sides of the exam table, slowly closing the man’s wounds. Their workspace was tight due to the close proximity of the injuries, but just as they’d done earlier, done years ago, they worked well together, rarely encroaching on each other’s space.

  From time to time, Amelia would sense Cole glancing up, toward her, but for the most part their concentration centered directly on their patient and his well-being.

  Amelia had asked Tracy to give the man something for pain pri
or to starting the closure. Between the narcotic and the local anesthetic at the injury site, the man seemed comfortable. Actually, Amelia was fairly positive near the end of the procedure that he’d fallen asleep.

  She finished the less extensive lacerations on his pinky and ring fingers prior to Cole finishing the deeper wounds.

  She turned to the nurse and Richard. “I’ll assist Dr Stanley. If there are no more patients, you both can go ahead and sign out for the day. Thanks for all your assistance.”

  Sharing a stunned glance, Tracy and the corpsman left the bay to finish their day’s duties.

  “I’m glad you asked me to help,” Cole told her when they were alone. “It was just like old times.”

  Old times when she’d been an eager resident and he’d allowed her to sit in on procedures to give her the experience.

  “You’d have been here another hour at least if you hadn’t.”

  “Saving time wasn’t why I asked you to help.”

  “So why did you?” Pulling the ethilon thread through, Cole’s gaze lifted to hers, his blue eyes twinkling with a teasing quality that made her almost giddy. “Because you knew I was a better seamstress?”

  “No.” Prior to seeing his handiwork on the man’s lacerations she might have argued that these days she could out-suture him. She was good, but Cole was doing a great job of repairing the man’s wounds. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t have done better. “That isn’t why I asked, either.”

  Wondering why her insides shook when what he thought of her didn’t matter. Neither should that twinkle in his eyes make her want to smile in return. She shouldn’t want to smile at him, shouldn’t feel lighter because he was teasing her.

  But she did.

  “Tracy told me I was treating you unfairly and should let go of the past.”

  “I see.” Keeping his gaze trained on his handiwork, he looped the needle back through the sleeping corpsman’s flesh. “How did you respond?”

  He’d already seen her response. He knew she was going to set aside her aversion of him for the better of the crew. But he’d asked because he wanted her to tell him one on one that she was ready to let the past go, for them to develop an amicable working relationship. Amelia wanted to dislike him all the more for it, but found she couldn’t. Not when he seemed so genuinely pleased, as if she’d done him some great favor.