Page 9 of A Spark of Luck
Hers was an unsteady road in her medicine quest. She decided to be a doctor when her father and little brother died in a drunk-driving accident. That hadn’t been the original plan. She’d had no plan. She became a paramedic in college. How she’d earned her chemistry degree while working full-time in a fire department was a feat of her young age.
Emergency medicine had been her specialty though, an extension of that paramedic work. But then medical school rolled through, and she followed the spark in her gut to trauma surgery, discovering a skill for the precise profession. She hadn’t planned to join the Army either, but again circumstances dictated a change in plan. It wasn’t a path she regretted, but war zone duty wasn’t for the faint of heart. The hard challenge of itsometimes beat her down and changed her. She’d found strength and confidence in her newfound occupation.
She couldn’t claim a desire to serve her country when she signed the paperwork to join. Her goal was to escape. But in the ten years since, she could claim a deep affinity with what she was here to do – take care of the troops. She did her duty day in and day out with as much dedication as she could muster. The blood and the death she filed away, saving them for a time when she could release the horror and sadness, when it wouldn’t affect anyone’s care.
But she teetered against the door that held it back, and working on LT Hunter had a sexual surge attached that she did not need. She released him a week ago yet still thought about him, dreamed about him in technicolor. Miles of skin, sweet intent in his eyes, and a flash of heat across her skin.
The food he’d dropped at the desk for her a couple of days ago – the fruit and pie welcome – sent a confusing message. Was it a thank you or an ask for more?
Nothing to do about it now. She’d released him on purpose. She could have drawn it out. Made him come back for another check. But all it would amount to was a desire to touch him again, andthat was so far past inappropriate – even if no one knew – that she couldn’t do it.
She sighed and slipped over on her side, feeling sticky from work, and yet not wanting to move to fix that. She planned her path, her goals, her attitude to the minute detail, and yet here she was, derailed by warzone depression. The dreams aroused her, and not sleeping and avoiding meals didn’t help. None of that good.
The hard knock on the door had her glancing at the clock. Probably Colonel Jo Cartwright. The hospital charge nurse had a way of dogging her people.
Another light knock sounded.
She swung her legs around and sat up. “Hold on. I’m coming.”
Her messy space glared and pushed her guilt. Bed not made, clothes laying over the lone chair. Not up to an inspection and another glaring sign of depression. She kept her stuff together. Usually.
She reached the lock and twisted, the click loud to her ears. She paused with a hand on the knob, no way to tell who was there, but she wasn’t hiding. In the interest of security, she eased the door open and froze.
“Can I come in?” Travis Hunter pushed through without waiting for an answer and closed the door behind him. He immediately put a hand up. “Noworries, Doc. I don’t want anyone to see me lingering in the hall.”
She stepped back, disguising her sharp gasps. “Not supposed to be here?”
“I don’t know what your rules are, but we’re supposed to stick close to our area for a lot of reasons. I’m off duty for six hours.”
“And you decided to look me up?” His black hair was shorn close to his head. A sunburn across his nose stood against his dark tan. His eyes, a deep green, studied her, waiting for a reaction.
She was too tired to come up with one.
“Are you all right, Doc?”
She took a rough breath. “Long day.”
“I heard. Seems like you’re always too busy with nasty stuff. Some kind of shootout at the marketplace? How many patients?”
The quiet concern pierced her. He struck her as a rugged and no-nonsense kind of man. That was to be expected as a member of one of the toughest units in the world.
She finally found her voice. “Too many. Too tired. Sorry.”
“Did you eat?”
“No.”
“First rule of a job that tires you out. Fuel.” He held up the sack he had in his other hand.
“Where did that come from?”
“The mess. Sandwiches. An apple. I’ll share.”
“You’re going to feed me? Again?” She hadn’t meant for the words to imply he was crazy, but her tone came out wrong.
“The first time was a thank you. This one isn’t. Once in a while I do the unexpected. It’s what makes me good at my job.” He slipped a hand to her elbow and turned her around, leading her to the bed – the only place to sit.
Okay, this was not good. Her body throbbed at the simple warm contact of his fingers. Defensive, she shrugged his fingers away. “What are you doing here?”
