One Night With The Army Doc

Jake shoved the soiled gauze pads into a portable hazmat container, then unwrapped several fresh ones to cover the laceration before twining a bandage around the man’s leg. Not perfect, but it would hold him until the Anchorage Mercy ER could suture the wound closed properly.

Talk of mate-seeking moose only served to remind Jake of the sad state of his own relationship status—or lack thereof. He wasn’t completely pathetic. He was a healthy, red-blooded male after all. But these days he only engaged with women who knew the score, women who never expected more than a few pleasant hours between the sheets.

The firefighter beside Jake cleared his throat and brought him back to the present. He secured the end of the bandage around Mr. Leonard’s leg with a metal clip, then straightened.

“Are we done?” Mr. Leonard tossed the blanket aside and tentatively put some weight on his injured limb. “Can I see my wife now? What about my son?”

“Stay here with the officers while I check in with the crew. Once they give me the okay, you can see them. All right, Mark?”

“Okay.” The man’s tense shoulders relaxed a tad. “Thanks for helping.”

“That’s my job.” Jake packed up his gear again before joining Zac near the vehicle. “Dad’s doing fine. What’s happening here?”

“Mom says her arm hurts, and the boy is really frightened, but neither seem to have any serious issues. Remarkable, considering the shape of this SUV.”

Jake stepped back and took his first real look at the damage. Shards of shattered glass littered the roadway and the sharp smell of gasoline and burning oil stung his nose. The whole right half of the car closest to him was dented and twisted, making the doors impossible to open.

A small voice called from the busted-out rear window. “Where’s Lamby? I want Lamby.”

The little boy’s plaintive tone pummeled Jake’s heart and took him right back to his last day in the Kandahar desert: to the acrid stench of diesel and melting rubber clogging his throat and choking his lungs, to Bobby pulling him from the blazing village amidst a hail of gunfire. Jake was supposed to have been the one doing the rescuing, but Bobby had done the saving that day.

They’d been best buds since their first day of basic training—a friendship that had only strengthened over the years. Bobby was his rock, his shield, same as Jake was for him. He couldn’t lose his best friend. Not after everything they’d been through.

As the memories crashed in—of other emergencies in far-off warzones—Jake slowly counted down in his head from ten to one, as his counselor had taught him, and the shadows gradually withdrew.

“You okay, man?” Zac thumped him on the shoulder, his expression concerned.

“I’m fine.” Jake focused on the trapped family members. He’d always wanted kids of his own—always figured he’d get around to having them someday. Then time and circumstances and his career had slapped a quick kibosh on those dreams.

Jake battled the knot of regret tightening between his shoulder blades. Didn’t matter. He was better off alone. Alone was safer. Alone was more comfortable. Alone didn’t run off for a life in front of the cameras in glitzy, glamorous Manhattan.

He reached into his bag for the stuffed animal, then knelt beside the mangled car, clicked on his flashlight, and peered inside. Two huge dark eyes stared at him from the shadows. It was the child, still protected in his booster seat.

“Hey, buddy. My name’s Jake. What’s yours?”

The boy’s bottom lip quivered and tears welled anew.

Jake hung his head. Here he was—a former special operations combat medic, trained to think on his feet with a hundred snipers poised to take him out at any second—yet all he wanted was to make this scared little boy smile again.

“Lamby’s busy, but he sent a friend to keep you company. Want to meet him?”

“My son’s name is Noah,” the mother said from the front of the SUV, where she was secured partially upside down by her seatbelt. “He’s four.”

“Noah, my man.” Jake held up the dino-giraffe. “This is Chewy. He’d like to come in and say hello...maybe sit with you until we get you and your mom out. Would that be okay?”

The little boy eyed him warily for several seconds before extending a tiny hand.

“Awesome.” Jake passed him the stuffed animal, then turned his attention to the mother. “I’m Dr. Jake Ryder, ma’am. Are you doing all right?”

“My arm is killing me, and I’ve been pinned in this car for way longer than I ever wanted—but other than that, yeah. I’m fine, thanks.”

The snark in her tone made him chuckle. “Do you recall what happened?”

“My husband swerved off the road to miss a moose, then glass shattered and flew everywhere and we were tumbling...over and over and over.”

“Did you lose consciousness?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about your son? Has he been awake the whole time?”

“Yes. I’ve been talking to Noah to make sure he stays calm.”

“Excellent.”

Jake shifted to survey the wreckage again. It looked like a bomb had gone off inside the car. He’d seen enough destroyed villages to know. Still, Jake and Bobby had been the lucky ones, coming home in one piece, without too many mental or physical scars from the war. Many others hadn’t been so fortunate.

“Hey, Doc. Fire’s ready with the Jaws of Life,” Zac called from behind him.

“Ma’am, the crew’s here to free you now.” Jake started to retreat from the vehicle. “There’ll be a lot of loud noise and some shaking, but I promise we’ll have you both out soon.”

“Thank you.” The mom sniffled, her voice trembling. “Noah, sweetie? Remember the fireworks in July? All the loud booms?”

The boy nodded.

“It’ll be noisy like that for a short while, but Mommy’s right here with you, okay?”

“Okay.” The little boy looked from his mom to Jake, the new toy clutched to his chest. “Bye, Jake.”

“See you soon, buddy.” Jake thumped his hand on the side of the car, then moved away as the firemen brought in the heavy equipment.

* * *

Moose!

Dr. Molly Flynn slammed on the brakes of her rented burgundy Range Rover and veered to the berm of this oddly deserted stretch of roadway. Well, deserted except for her and the behemoth creature standing twenty feet ahead. She shifted into “Park,” then met the animal’s startled gaze while fiddling with the onboard GPS once more.

Still nothing.

Molly shook her head and snorted.

“Go to Alaska,” her executive producers had said last week. “A high-profile sports case is the best way to raise the ratings.”

Normally she would’ve told them that her soon-to-expire contract clearly stipulated she got final say on all cases portrayed on her reality medical drama, Diagnosis Critical. But, considering she was on thin enough ice with the MedStar cable network, those ratings might be the only thing saving her career. And her career was all she had these days.

Besides, she’d earned this show, darn it. Built it from the ground up without any support from her father or her family. Now she’d do whatever was necessary to save it—even if it meant traveling to Anchorage, Alaska, a place that was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Chicago.

She took a deep breath and stared at the lush forest around her. Maybe the middle of nowhere wasn’t such a bad place to be after all. It might allow her a chance to escape the spotlight for a while.