by Violet Paige
I knew it was his age, but he couldn’t help but drop bits of wisdom whenever he had a chance. I wondered if he had thought about going into medical teaching instead of practice.
“Right. I do. That part of the program’s training reminded me of my psych rotation. I had just enough to help me with my patients, but not so much I felt like I had to psychoanalyze everyone.” I remembered how much I enjoyed that rotation.
The older doctor chuckled. “Believe me, these guys already think that’s why you’re there. The first two I met practically threw me out. They didn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Really?” I tried to imagine someone trying to manhandle Dr. Mors.
“Oh yeah. We know we’re there to help, but it might not come across that way to them. Some of them just want to be left alone. They would rather struggle than ask for help. They think it’s a sign of weakness. Don’t forget that tomorrow.”
I flung my bag on my shoulder. “Good to know. Thanks.” Great. Not only was I giving up my time off, but I was also going to have to deal with a cranky soldier who hated me on the spot.
“Sure thing. I have a patient to check on. Good luck tomorrow, and enjoy your time off. Good night, Dr. Forrest.”
“Good night, Dr. Mors.” I walked out of the lounge in search of the list I needed for the Help a Hero Program.
“Darla, do you have the volunteer information here?” I asked, stopping at the nurses’ station on my way out.
“Sure do. Hold on a second.” The nurse returned with a clipboard in her hand. “Looks like you only have one.”
“Only one?” I scrunched my nose. “Did they run out or something?”
Darla shrugged. “I don’t know.” She handed me the sheet of paper. “And this one didn’t get called in until after five. You almost didn’t have any.”
“You mean the list was blank?”
“Yep.” Darla smiled. “There isn’t much information about him on here. Only that he just returned.”
“Captain Brett Jackson,” I whispered. I looked at the notes in the margin. “Not much to go on, but I’ll pay him a visit in the morning.” I turned for the door. “Good night, Darla.”
“Good night, doc.”
Three
Brett
I sat on the front porch of the cabin. For the past two years I had the same ritual when I woke up. I would unsheathe the dagger from the case I wore on my leg and sharpen the blade.
It became part of my survival routine. My gun could misfire, but my knife would always be accurate and sharp. The edge of the blade scraped over the sharpening block as I dipped it back and forth with a certain rhythm.
I could hear the engine before I even saw the car. My ears were tuned in to every sound. I clutched the handle when I saw the car approach. Who in the hell would be driving out here other than family? And that wasn’t family. My cabin was in the middle of the woods and off the beaten path.
I stood, scowling at the car. The last thing I wanted was a magazine subscription or to donate money to a political campaign. I glared at the windshield, but I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel. There was enough sunlight filtering through the treetops to cause a bright reflection.
My eyes narrowed when the car door opened. I crossed my arms, but my heart stopped and my chest seized when I saw the driver. She slammed the door behind her and walked toward me.
“Are you Captain Brett Jackson?” she asked from the base of the steps.
The physical jolt to my system was so fierce I almost fell backwards. What the fuck was happening?
I looked down at her green eyes. There were depths of green like rolling hills. Flecks of emerald like a glittery jewel. Her raven hair floated over her shoulders. Damn, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I swallowed hard, gripping the knife.
I thought I would be immune to this type of reaction. Two years of living in the desert, hunting enemy targets had erased my interest in women, or at least that’s what I had trained myself to think. I didn’t need softness or companionship any longer. I had trained myself to focus on the mission. To focus on the safety of the country. Women weren’t part of the equation any longer. They were only a distraction.
Especially a woman that looked like that.
She stepped back, her eyes landing on the weapon. I saw the fear in her reaction.
“Sorry.” I returned it to its case. “Sorry. I was only sharpening it.” I placed it on the chair behind me. I held my hands forward. I realized how menacing it looked.
The tension seemed to ease from her shoulders, but I could see the look of distrust still lingering there. Her eyes continued to dart to the knife.
“Are you Captain Jackson?” she asked again.
I had an instant desire to wrap my arms around her, but I stood anchored to the porch. What was happening to me? Why did I feel like my heart could rip through my chest? As if my blood was boiling under my skin?
“Depends.”
“I’m from the Help a Hero Program. I’m Dr. Forrest,” she explained.
“Help a Hero?” I was trying to study everything about her. I was trying to make sense of the urges gripping me from the inside out.
“Yes, someone added your name to the list of veterans who needed a volunteer visit.”
“I don’t understand. I’m on a list. What list?” The tighter I crossed my arms, the less likely I would be to reach for her. I’d already scared her once with the knife.
“Well, it’s an organization that checks on veterans when they return home from overseas. Check in to see if you need anything. You know, just a friendly face in the community who cares about your well-being.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that the wind had picked up. “I usually try to do a quick medical intake. It’s one of the perks of having a doctor be your buddy.” She raised a medical bag.
“Buddy?”
“Yeah, it does sound a little junior high. How about community friend? Or what about local link?” She sighed. “Ok, that sounds worse. This is why I’m not on the creative team. I’ll just stick to medicine. I’m your contact person in the program. Ok?”
“Who added my name?” I hadn’t talked to a single soul since I had been back. Not even my family. Why was I suddenly on a charity’s list? I didn’t want or take hand-outs.
“The calls are anonymous usually. It’s just a way the community tries to help our veterans.” She smiled and I felt something warm in my chest.
I slid my hands into my pockets. “I don’t need a checkup, doc. I already did in-processing with my unit once I was Stateside. I’ll pass.”
“Well, sometimes a second opinion is a good thing.” She smiled. “It will only take a few minutes. And sometimes people have different physical reactions when they first get home that should be monitored.”
She took a step toward the front porch and I felt the swell in my chest lurch. Holy fuck, I was losing it. I could smell her hair, and she was wearing some kind of lotion that reminded me of rain. She was affecting every sense I had. Senses that I thought had been shut down two years ago.
“Can I come in?” she asked. “I promise it won’t take long.”
I was stuck. Stuck because in one moment she had awakened a part of me I had been trying to keep buried.
I was dying to grab her, throw her over my shoulder, and finally unleash everything primal in me that had been in hiding for two years. But I tried to read the doctor’s eyes. She wasn’t here to notice me in that way.
She meant business. That much was obvious. She was a volunteer. The kind of woman who wanted to help soldiers. Soldiers who truly needed her help readjusting. I wasn’t one of those soldiers.
“I don’t need medical attention,” I argued. “I’m not one of those guys on your charity list.” I tried not to bark it out, but I didn’t want an exam. I didn’t want pity or sympathy. I was fine. There was nothing wrong with me.
“How far are you from your Army base?” she asked. “Fort Helix is it?”
&n
bsp; I considered the drive I had taken yesterday when I was relieved from in-processing. “About two hours,” I answered.
“All right. Then you’re two hours from a medical facility that has your medical records. If something happened to you while you were home, we wouldn’t have any baseline information to use.”
I chuckled. “I don’t think I’m going to need medical help.”
“Really?” She eyed my thigh where the knife was attached. “What if you slipped with that knife? Or what if you were in a car accident? You never know, Captain Jackson. Isn’t it an Army motto to always be prepared?”
I laughed. I liked her sass. “I think you have the Army confused with the Boy Scouts.”
“Oh.” Her lips formed a perfect line. I tried not to lick mine, staring at the pillowy softness of her mouth.
“And, it’s Brett.”
“What?” Her green eyes searched mine.
“My name. I go by Brett. You don’t need to call me captain. We’re not in the Army out here.” I smiled.
“Oh.” She chewed on her bottom lip and I wanted to pull it to my mouth, and taste every inch of her lips. The problem was I knew I wouldn’t stop there. Her lips were only the beginning.
“Look, Brett. This will be simple and easy. I promise it will be painless. No needles.”
“You think I’m afraid of the exam?” I cocked one eyebrow higher than the other.
She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s ok. A lot of men are scared of doctors. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I see it every day at the hospital.”
“I am not afraid of doctors.” I could feel my pulse rise.
“Would you tell me if you were?” she teased.
“You think a man like me would flinch at the sight of a needle? Or your shiny stethoscope?” I countered.
I saw her eyes dip to my biceps. She was checking me out. “I guess not,” she whispered. “But if you’re not afraid, why are you putting up such a fight?” Her eyes landed on me.
Why in the hell was I putting this off?
“All right, you can do the exam.”
She smiled triumphantly. “Good.”
I wasn’t sure I had a choice. I was a strong man, but if this woman wanted something, I didn’t think I could say no. There was something deeper inside me that wanted to see her smile. That wanted to see her happy. That wanted to give her pleasure in every way possible. And fuck. I knew that was only going to happen if I let her through the door.
Four
Gretchen
My heart was about to beat out of my chest. This wasn’t what I envisioned when I volunteered to help veterans have a buddy in the community. I was expecting a scrawny scared kid desert with no one to help him. The man standing in front of me didn’t look like he needed assistance. He was tall and strong. His shoulders were wide enough to fill the doorframe. His voice calm and steady. I was afraid if I looked into his dark eyes one more time my knees would buckle. He was hot. Too hot. The kind of hot that made me blush and made me realize just how wet my panties could get being near him.
I was a damn doctor. A medical professional. I needed to pull it together and give him a physical like any other patient, not wonder what he looked like shirtless. Medicine came first. I was here to be a volunteer in the community, not fall into a hot soldier’s arms.
Holy fucking hell, this was going to be hard.
I looked around the cabin and wondered if this was where he usually called home. There wasn’t much to it. The fireplace was dark and the mantle was clear. I didn’t see a single photo or personal touch.
“Why don’t you sit on the couch?” I suggested.
I inhaled sharply when he brushed past my arm.
“All right.” He moved in front of me.
I looked at him. Normally, I would open my kit and go through the routine physical, but I froze.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked.
I sat next to him and fumbled with the clipboard with his information. “I need to ask you a few questions, first.” I swallowed. “Your form is incomplete.”
“What do you need to know?”
“It’s standard stuff.” I started at the top of the list. “Do you have a history of blood pressure problems?”
“No.”
“Heart disease?”
“No.”
“What about high cholesterol?”
He shook his head. “Again, no.”
I moved through the next columns. I knew the answers before he gave them. The man had to be in perfect health. I had never seen anyone who looked like he did. Muscles firm and toned. Perfect chiseled jawline. A killer smile that made me tingle all over. His dark eyes were clear and alert. He was gorgeous and sexy. Why wasn’t there a place to check that box on the medical form?
“Ok. I’m just going to listen to your heart, take your vitals, and I’ll be done. I promised no shots, remember?” I smiled, knowing I had started to flirt in the worst possible way.
I nudged the earpieces into my ears and held the end of the stethoscope in my hand.
“Do you mind?” I asked, quietly, lifting the hem of his T-shirt.
He shook his head. His eyes watching me as I took in his sculpted abs.
His skin was warm, and as my fingertips grazed over the firm planes of his muscles, I had to remember to breathe. I wasn’t the one being examined, he was. But holy hell, my body was reacting to him. I was a doctor not a call girl. I had a sudden regret in my professional calling.
I pressed the stethoscope above his heart. I didn’t think I’d ever heard a beat thump so strongly before. My eyes met his and I tried to smile, but I was lost in the depths of brown. I wanted to throw my equipment on the floor and explore the rest of his chest and torso with my hands. I was paralyzed with a sudden case of lust.
“Everything all right, doc?” he asked.
“Oh yes.” I slid my hand away from his broad chest, letting it graze the ridges of his sternum. Would he have noticed if I had left it there a few extra seconds?
I reached in my bag for the blood pressure cuff. I wrapped it around his upper arm, taking in the way his muscles flexed under my fingers. I began to pump the gauge and tried to focus on the needle, not his eyes.
“Eighty over one-twenty. Perfect.” I smiled, reporting the result.
“See? I told you I’m in excellent health.”
“It’s good to have these records, Captain…I mean Brett. We hope you don’t need them, but emergencies happen, right?”
His eyes narrowed and I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or interested. “Right.”
“How have you been feeling since you’ve been home? Any fever? Coughing?” I asked as my hands slid along his neck, searching for any signs of inflamed glands.
He swallowed. “No. I feel fine. Really.”
“What about headaches? Blurry vision?”
“No. None of that.”
“That’s good.” I tried to think of what the next standard procedure was, but being this close to him made me forget a routine I had performed hundreds of times.
“What about your appetite?”
“Haven’t missed a meal.”
I sat back to record his answers on the clipboard. “And are you sleeping? Any changes in your routine?”
“I sleep fine, doc. Anything else?”
“Yes.” I handed him a pamphlet.
I was here as part of the volunteer program, not to gawk at him. “Now that you’re home we know that there is probably going to be a transition period. There are some phone numbers here if you need help adjusting. There are counselors available twenty-four seven. We want you to know you aren’t alone.”
“Wait, are you recommending a shrink?”
I nervously bit at my lip. “No. It’s only if you need the numbers. They are here if you need them, Brett. That’s all.”
“I told you I’m fine. You just said it yourself. Perfect health.”
The vitals checked out, but I got the sense that he was overpro
tective. He didn’t want me to prod into his life. I remembered what Dr. Mors told me last night about the men who tried to throw him out. They didn’t want help or interference. Brett was obviously strong, proud, and capable. But it didn’t mean I couldn’t help him if he needed it. I wasn’t just going to walk out the door and ignore everything he had been through. I needed answers. I wanted to know more about him. More about his life in the Army.
“How long have you been gone?” I asked.
“That’s not on your form?” He glanced at the clipboard.
“No. It’s not. I’m guessing the anonymous tip didn’t know that either. So why don’t you tell me? When did you leave home last?”
He lowered his eyes. “It’s been two years.”
“Wow. I didn’t think deployments were that long. Is that normal for the Army?”
He huffed. “What I do isn’t normal for the Army. I can’t say anything else about my assignment. So don’t ask,” he warned.
“All right. I won’t ask. But, I can’t imagine what it would like to be out of the country for that long. To be away from where you’re from. Two years is a long time to be away from home. I think it would be normal if you wanted to talk to someone about it. To talk about the parts that aren’t related to your assignment.” I smiled.
“Is that something you do? Are you offering?”
I tried to read his eyes. What was he asking me? I wasn’t a psychiatrist. I was an emergency room doctor, but part of the soldiers’ program was lending an ear or a hand. We had volunteered to help them in whatever capacity they needed. Talking to Brett had to fall under my volunteer responsibilities.
“I could.”
My heart beat a little faster. I wanted to help him. I wanted to be here for him. Maybe he was fine. Maybe he didn’t need me. But I didn’t want to leave. I needed to know this man better.
“I’ll let you know, doc.” He rose from the couch and walked to the door. “It’s something I’m going to have to think about. I’m not much of a talker. I’m sure you understand.”