How to Save a Surgeon

by C. M. Stone

  He shrugged. “Eliza is. I couldn’t tell you what Chris is actually thinking.”

  Outside rush hour traffic was over, the constant flow of vehicles on the Strip picking up speed. Horns blared here and there while people wove between lanes as if playing a particularly dangerous game of Candy Crush. Tourists crowded the sidewalks, many of them with large drinks in their hands thanks to the city’s liberal open container laws. It was a combination that never failed to put Jackson on edge.

  Chris stopped. “What do you think about doing the Big Shot?”

  Jackson followed his eyes to the Stratosphere Tower that loomed over the city like the world’s tallest toothpick. “I dunno. You have to wait so long, and the ride only takes about thirty seconds.”

  Eliza put her hands on her hips. “Absolutely not. You guys can do that if you want, but I’ve been talked into enough traumatizing rides.”

  “Is that the one on top of the Stratosphere that shoots you into the air and then you drop back down over a hundred feet?” Darla was looking at her phone rather than the tower.

  Jackson nodded. “That’s the one.”

  “And it’s got a g-force of four when you’re dropping and people with back problems and heart conditions shouldn’t ride it?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  She shuddered. “I’ll stick with Eliza on the ground, thanks.”

  “Did you just google that?”

  She put the phone back in her pocket and gave him a defiant look. “I like knowing things.”

  He laid a hand on her arm, feeling her shiver under his touch, and stepped closer to her. God, she was appealing. “I’m not complaining.”

  “Oh.” The word came out as almost a sigh. Then she pulled herself free and coughed into her fist. “This has been great, but I really should go home. I have to catch sleep when I can.”

  “I’ll take you,” Jackson said automatically, then wanted to smack himself in the face. Of course, he had to take her. He’d driven her from the hospital and she had no other way to leave, short of a cab or waiting hours for the bus system to function.

  “God, Jackson. Your boringness is rubbing off on her. That should be criminal,” Chris teased.

  “If I’m so boring, why do you guys keep hanging out with me?”

  “Because we’re hoping to cure you, obviously.”

  The screech of locked brakes and sliding tires cut through the air, followed by crunching metal. Before he had fully processed the sound, Jackson grabbed onto Darla and dragged her back from the edge of the sidewalk, his arms like vices around her as if just holding tight enough would keep danger at bay. It took him a moment to realize the accident hadn’t been near them, and she wasn’t at risk.

  “Jackson?” Darla remained still in his arms, concern clear in her voice.

  Rather than try to explain his reaction, he released her to head toward the upheaval, but even without his arms around her she stayed with him. Behind him, he could hear Eliza calling 911 on her phone.

  Further down the road a truck had over-corrected at the corner and rolled into a light post. Glass littered the ground like raindrops. Mercifully, no other vehicle looked to have been involved.

  The driver was crawling out of his side of the cab, looking dazed and bruised. A gash near his hairline was oozing blood down his face. When they got closer, Jackson saw that it was a double-cab truck, with the backseat crushed by the weight of the vehicle on top of it.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” The driver weaved a bit on his feet. It was difficult to tell how much of that was from injury and shock and how much was related to the stench of alcohol on his breath.

  From inside the crushed backseat, a muffled little voice cried, “Help!”

  “Here, I’ll handle this,” Chris said, jogging up to the driver. A veterinarian was probably better than nothing, at least.

  Eliza started barking for people to stay back. Like Chris, Jackson’s sister was good in a crisis.

  Ignoring the driver for the moment, Jackson pulled off his jacket and crouched down to inspect the truck. Gas dripped everywhere—the tank must have been punctured during the roll—and wires from the busted light post were sparking. He covered his mouth with his hand, fighting back a few dozen other swear words. “Just stay calm. We need you to hold still in case you’re hurt. Darla, I can’t reach him to see how bad it is. Do you think you can?”

  She crouched down beside him, shaking her head. “I’m not any smaller than you.”

  Did she honestly think that? He shot her an annoyed look as he sized up their physical differences. There was a hell of a lot of curve to her, but that was less likely to get in her way than broad shoulders. “You’re a lot smaller than me. Will you do it?”

  A torrent of emotions ran across her face all at once, her body frozen in the conflict.

  The little voice from inside the crushed cab began to sob. “My leg’s stuck.”

  Her jaw set, the fear and doubt vanishing. “Hold my purse.” She stripped off the jacket she’d worn for the cool spring evening and then crawled through the front of the cab before working her way back to the boy.

  Through the broken glass and crushed frame, there was too little room for him to see. He craned his neck, only able to catch glimpses of Darla’s movements in the dark interior.

  “There’s gasoline all over everything in here. We need to get him out!” she called.

  He cocked his head, straining to hear how close the sirens were. “Moving him could aggravate a spinal injury. If he can’t get out on his own, you’d better come out to wait for the ambulance.”

  “His spine won’t do him a damn bit of good if he burns up!”

  From inside, he heard several hard kicks until the driver seat was knocked forward and the little boy crawled out. He looked about seven, with blond hair sticking out in every direction on his head and pale blue eyes wide in shock. A bump on his forehead was starting to swell and darken with bruising. Even with no blood and all his limbs in working order, Jackson knew better than to trust appearances after a crash like that. Internal injuries could hide. He picked the boy up to protect him from the broken glass and looked over to his sister, who was off her phone and coming toward him.

  “Eliza, take him and get back. There’s a lot of spilled gas.”

  He passed the boy to her, then crouched to help Darla. As soon as she was free, Jackson pulled her into his arms, hugging her in part just to keep from yelling at her. In the same situation, could he have done any differently?

  The driver sat on a patch of sidewalk free of fuel and glass, where Chris was doing his best to keep him still. “Could you get my wallet, too?”

  Rage and adrenaline narrowed his vision down to a pinpoint. He released Darla from his arms, grabbed the driver by the front of his shirt, and dragged him to his feet. “What were you doing driving drunk like that? You could’ve killed people. You could’ve killed your son.”

  The man shoved back at him. “His mom’s working and I couldn’t leave him alone at home. He had his games to keep him busy.”

  Jackson unclenched one hand from the drunk’s shirt and drew it back. Soft hands took hold of his arm to stop the punch. Darla gave a gentle pull. He blinked and looked around, noticing the crowd that had gathered around them as well as the welcome lights of a police cruiser in the distance.

  He released the man and raised his voice. “Everybody get back. This could catch fire.” He looked to the driver again, his lip curled with disgust. “Darla, you help Chris while we wait for the EMTs. I’ll look at his son.”

  Once the ambulance arrived and he could leave them to their work, Eliza grabbed him into a fierce hug. He hugged her back, then sagged against the retaining wall beside the sidewalk.

  Darla settled next to him. “Thank you for not getting arrested for assault. It’s not worth it. He’s a drunk driver who’s going to pay for what he did.”

  “Yeah, right, he’ll pay.” Jackson scoffed. “He could’ve killed people, but their
good luck means he’ll probably just lose his license.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He shook his head wearily, the aftermath of another accident on a film loop running behind his eyes. No one died this time, but it didn’t make the memories stop. “I’ve seen too many people get hit and even then there’s no real justice. You can’t undo the past.”

  “But losing his license might help prevent this from happening again. We can stop the past from repeating, right?”

  He was quiet for a moment, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She curled in against his side like she’d been made to fit there. “I hope so.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Darla leaned against the cool glass of the window, watching the lights of the city pass by the car as she replayed the aftermath of the accident. There had been no complete panic on her part once the worst was done, and she wasn’t sure if she could credit her medication or just getting better at handling stress. Maybe it didn’t matter why, just so long as there was improvement.

  Instead, it had been Jackson’s reaction that had been the extreme one. When she turned from the window to look at him, he was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel with a restless look on his face. He wasn’t trying to punch anyone, but he still seemed on edge and there’d been something more in the way he grabbed onto her than just safety.

  “I feel kind of stupid asking this after everything that happened, but…” She trailed off. It seemed so manipulative, but it was probably for his own good, wasn’t it? He’d just go home alone and bottle things up again otherwise.

  His hands stilled. “What do you need?”

  At least she didn’t have to feign embarrassment when she answered him. “I was just thinking of maybe not going straight home. My roommate’s at the hospital tonight, and I don’t want to be alone.”

  He nodded a little and one of his fingers restarted its tapping. He didn’t even seem to be aware of it. “Why don’t you come back to my condo? It can take a while for the adrenaline rush to die down.”

  That wasn’t what it was, she was sure. An adrenaline rush on beta-blockers wouldn’t really work. She’d never been able to understand the thrill other people took in adrenaline rushes, since they just tended to leave her shaky and sweaty in the worst way, but this was different. Every nerve was on alert, her senses picking up tiny details she wouldn’t have noticed before. Like the spicy masculine scent of him and the little bit of warmth coming off of his arm next to hers. If this was what excitement was like without the anxiety, she could see why it was addictive.

  “That sounds good. Thanks.”

  Part of her still couldn’t quite believe what she’d done. She’d crawled inside of a crushed truck and then kicked her way out again. Her. She never would have guessed she was capable of it until it had to be done. Rachel had told her that confidence came from being herself and feeling good about being herself. It turned out that being the kind of person who saved a child felt a thousand times better to her than being the kind of person who looked good in an evening gown.

  “It’s a lot more amped up like this than it is at the hospital, huh?” Darla asked.

  His eyes left the road briefly to meet hers, the hungry look in them catching her like a fly in amber. Something was amped up, at least, but more than simple need reflected in his eyes. A hint of pain flashed in them before he refocused on the traffic. Whatever that hurt was, it made her ache to comfort him as badly as lust had her aching for other things.

  “Yeah, it is.” He shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. “I’ve had to stop for a few car accidents and it’s always a little more…raw than it is coming in off an ambulance.”

  It sounded believable, but she was sure there was more to it. Something terrible had happened and yet he showed no sign of admitting it.

  She took a deep breath and this time noticed something other than Jackson’s scent. “There’s less getting drenched in gasoline, anyway.”

  He sniffed at the air inside the car and made a face. “Shit. I forgot about that. You can take a shower at my place, and I’ll throw your stuff in the wash.”

  Showering at his place? She’d be naked in an attending surgeon’s home, which had to cross the boundaries he’d tried to put between them. She couldn’t remember anything specific about showering under the anti-fraternization policy, but it surely broke the spirit if not the letter. Yet he’d suggested it. Just like he’d asked her to come out with him. Just like he kept looking at her like he wanted to eat her up. His comments about her she’d overheard before had to have been a misunderstanding. Pleasure bubbled up in her, considering that.

  Caution tempered it, though. As good as it felt to be a bad influence on his self-control, those boundaries he’d tried to construct did serve a purpose in her favor. Getting transferred because of a relationship before she was ready to leave the hospital would complicate everything.

  At his split-level condo he let her in and directed her downstairs to the bathroom. The condo was a rung or two up the socioeconomic ladder from her apartment, but still more modest than expected for a surgeon pulling in as many hours as he did. The few pictures scattered around the place looked to all be from childhood, and there were no signs of hobbies. She wondered what sins he thought he was paying for by depriving himself.

  In the medicine cabinet, she found two bottles of women’s body wash. One looked fairly fresh, and she guessed it had been left by Jackson’s sister before she moved in with Chris. The other looked to be years old and had remained in the same spot for so long there was a faint dust ring around its base. Darla scrubbed the gasoline off in the shower with the newer body wash, taking no time to linger, then toweled herself dry. Only when she was wrapping the towel around herself did she realize the obvious problem. She looked down at the pile of clothes on the floor, poked it with her toe, and sighed.

  She opened the door a crack to call out. “Uh? Jackson?”

  His voice answered from the top of the stairs. “Yeah?”

  “I’m not gonna have to wear a towel until my clothes are done, am I?”

  “Shit, I forgot. One second.”

  A moment later he appeared at the door with a T-shirt. Jackson handed it to her through the cracked door and his eyes slid over her exposed skin, drinking her in as if he couldn’t get his fill. His gaze worked its way thoroughly up to her eyes and her heart skipped a beat. “Your clothes?”

  She licked her lips. “What?”

  “I was going to put your clothes in the wash.”

  She winced. Of course. That was the only reason she was standing practically naked in front of him. “Right. Sorry.”

  She handed him her outer clothes, then shut the door. Being short worked in her favor for once. His shirt fell almost to her knees, and with her underwear it was as modest as most of the skirts she owned. She climbed the stairs again to find him in the kitchen, drinking a glass of wine.

  When he saw her, he picked up a second glass and offered it. “Want some? Might help settle you after the excitement.”

  She shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t. Alcohol doesn’t mix well with medication I’m on.”

  He frowned at that and looked like he wanted to say something more before he took another sip off his wine. “You did good tonight. You kept your cool better than I did, at least.”

  She hopped up on the counter beside him and hooked her ankles together. “Got a thing against drunk drivers?”

  “Lot of cases I see are the result of drunk driving. Did you know there were over eighty fatal car accidents in Las Vegas last year?” He finished off his wine and set the glass down again, avoiding her eyes. “Shitty parenting tends to set me off, too.”

  “Because of your parents?” There was more he wasn’t saying, she just couldn’t figure out what.

  “Mine aren’t really shitty, and my dad isn’t a drunk. Just completely married to his work.”

  She gave him a nudge with one bare foot and smiled teasingly. “That
doesn’t sound familiar at all.”

  He caught her foot before she could pull it away. His thumb rubbed back and forth along her arch, the sensation making her toes curl and her breath catch in her throat. “I don’t have kids to neglect.”

  “No, just yourself.”

  “What makes you think that?” He trailed his fingers up from her foot, following the curve of her calf to behind her knee.

  The tickle of his fingers sent a shock like lightning up her thigh and made her inhale sharply. “Just…” She trailed off and her eyes closed as he slid his hand under the shirt to massage the tense muscles of her thigh. “You don’t seem to know how to have fun.”

  He chuckled and the warm, low sound was like velvet down her spine. “Haven’t we had a lot of fun together already?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  Her eyes still shut, she felt him take her glasses off and set them aside. The first brush of his lips against hers was so brief she almost missed it. Hungry for more, she leaned forward into him, catching the back of his neck to pull him in. Without hesitation, his lips claimed hers and she opened to his onslaught. With the demanding explorations of lips and brief nibbles of teeth, she could feel the rest of the world falling away. The worries that plagued her at every turn were silenced, filling her mind with a dull roar of need instead. For the moment, there was just this. Just them.

  His arms wrapped around her, holding her in place like steel bands. It could have so easily felt stifling, but with him it only made her feel safe. Her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer in turn. He abandoned her lips, and she made a soft cry of protest that trailed into a sigh when he kissed down her throat. She tipped her head readily to invite him for more, the teasing brushes of his lips on her skin making her shiver. His teeth teased over her pulse point, which trembled with an unsteady beat.

  He pressed one more kiss there, then took her lips again. This time she pressed forward into the kiss to fight him for control, feeling just as demanding as he was. Driven by instinct, she hooked her legs around him and was rewarded by the heat of his hard arousal when he rocked against her. Awareness of just how little separated their bodies made her whimper.