Second Chance With Her Army Doc. Dianne Drake
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good on him. Three days’ growth of dark stubble which had made her go weak in the knees, imagining what it would feel like on her skin. And that smile of his...
OMG, it could knock a girl off her feet, it was so sexy.
He’d put all that masculinity to good use, too, asking the hospital owner’s daughter out after only knowing her for five minutes.
Of course she’d said yes. What else could she have done? She’d been smitten at first sight, sexually attracted at second, and in love at third. Well, maybe not real love. But that had come about pretty quickly when, after their first evening together, Carter never went home. Not the next day either, or the day after that. In fact by the third day he had totally moved in to her tiny apartment, making himself right at home as if he’d always been there.
“For what it’s worth, Sloane, Carter was crazy about you,” her assistant had said. “Everybody could see that. So maybe if he gets himself straightened out...”
“If,” she’d responded. “Not going to hold my breath on that one.”
But she was. Every minute of every hour of every day. And it was causing her to be distracted in her operating room. Distraction and heart surgery didn’t mix, and if it continued, she’d either have to step down from her position voluntarily, or her father—in his position as chief—would remove her. He didn’t play favorites when it came to patient care, and she was included in that. So, her distraction could conceivably cost her her job. Which was why she had to get away to sort it out. And maybe Forgeburn, Utah, wasn’t the hub of the universe, but it was beautiful, according to Matt McClain, an old friend.
She’d met him through Carter, and liked him right off. He lived in Forgeburn now, so why not visit? Maybe Matt would have a different insight into Carter than she did.
So, her goal was to sort it out, get over it, then get back to a life where she was in control of herself again—her life as it had been before Carter’s PTSD. She’d had goals then: becoming the head of cardiac surgery at Manning, having a family, a beautiful life. Then PTSD had happened and everything had changed.
“Thank you, Carter Holmes,” she whispered as the pilot announced it was time to prepare for landing. “Thank you for nothing.”
* * *
Matt’s clinic was a few miles away. He’d made that perfectly clear. Which was fine, because it was time for Carter to see if his own two feet would hold him up again.
For that he needed space—and Forgeburn, Utah, had plenty of that. He also needed to be successful here, because getting back to his recovery program was contingent upon that. If he succeeded here, he moved forward in the program. If he failed, he moved back to square one and started all over. If he was lucky.
Being kicked out of the program was a setback Carter didn’t want. What was more, if he got sent back to the beginning, did he have enough left in him to fight his way through it again? He didn’t trust himself enough to believe he could.
Of course he did have a job in medicine again, a place to stay, and a small salary. Life wasn’t great, but it was better, and apologizing to his best buddy was the first step in what he hoped would be many more steps in the right direction.
But not in Sloane’s direction. That much he was sure of.
“This will be fine,” he said to Dexter Doyle, the owner of what had to be the worst hotel within a hundred miles.
So here he was in his new home—one room with a double bed, a toilet, mini-fridge, microwave, desk and chair—all of it dated. It wasn’t the best place he’d ever stayed, but not the worst either. Maybe it was more like a reflection of his life. All the right equipment, but all of it dated—almost to the point of no recognition. Well, he was the one who’d walked out on the best living situation he’d ever had, so he couldn’t really complain.
“Is there a liquor store around here?” he asked, tossing his duffle bag on the bed, hoping bed bugs wouldn’t scurry out.
“A couple miles up the road.”
“And a television?” Carter asked, noticing the room didn’t have one.
“Out for repair.”
“I don’t suppose you offer a wake-up call?”
He remembered the way Sloane had used to wake him up. Always with a smile, and a kiss, and a cup of coffee. Often a whole lot more. Her touch. Her red hair brushing across his face. The mintiness of her breath when she kissed him. Yes, those were the mornings he’d loved waking up.
Dexter pointed to the old digital clock next to the bed. “If you want to wake up, set the alarm.”
“Well, then...” Carter said, sitting down on the bed to test it. As he’d suspected, lumpy and saggy. “Looks like I’m home.” For a while, anyway.”
But he was anxious to return to Tennessee, so he could work toward the next part of his life—whatever that turned out to be.
Upwards and onwards, he thought as he settled into his room. Things were looking up. Especially now that he wasn’t around Sloane any longer. So, on the one hand he liked the feeling of freedom and the optimism that went with it. But on the other he missed his life with Sloane.
It was an ache that had left a hole that would never be filled. But for Sloane he had to endure it and follow the course. More than that, he had to get used to the ache—because she couldn’t be part of him anymore. Not in a real sense. In an emotional sense. However, he’d never let her go. Not now. Not ever. Falling in love with her the way he had didn’t leave room for anything or anyone else. Meaning his destiny was set. And it was going to be a lonely one.
For Sloane, though...he’d do anything.
* * *
Next morning, when Carter surveyed his new office, he was neither pleased nor displeased with it; he was mainly ambivalent. That was the way so many of his days seemed to go, unless he made a hard effort to fight through it.
This morning he hadn’t started his fight yet. It would happen, though. Once he got himself involved he’d find his way through, instead of dwelling somewhere in the middle of it like he’d used to do.
He took another look at it his office. It was basic, but well-equipped. Spotlessly clean, with fresh paint. The white on every wall put him off a little, but color really didn’t matter when the basic medical tools were at his disposal.
The truth was, it wasn’t a bad little office, all things considered. Two exam rooms, a spacious storage closet, a reception area and an office. Matt would subsidize his rent at the hotel and the office for now, and then if Tennessee worked out for him, and he was good enough to come back here full time, he would take over the costs himself and buy out this part of Matt’s practice.
If things didn’t work that way... Well, he didn’t know what came after that. As he’d been told, over and over, by his recovery counselor, “Take it one day at a time, and strive to make that day the best day ever.”
In other words, he was not to mess up his mind with the future when getting through the current day was never guaranteed. It made sense—especially since he was given to projecting his future and that, so often, turned into a PTSD trigger.
Whenever it took him over he could almost feel the impending flare-up course through his veins. His vision blurred, his hands shook, his head felt as if it was ready to explode. He was like a fire-breathing dragon, puffing up and getting ready for his next battle.
Unfortunately Carter’s “next battle” had cost him dearly. His job, the love of his life... And now he was in Forgeburn, running a storefront clinic for seasonal tourists, and a handful of locals who lived closer to Carter’s part of the practice than Matt’s, keeping his fingers crossed that he’d survive this day and make it through till tomorrow.
On the door peg, in the room marked Office, hung a crisp new lab jacket. Carter smiled—maybe