The Surgeon's Christmas Wish Read online

  CHAPTER TWO

  “HOW DID YOU know to get me a gingerbread latte?”

  “I had some help.” Fraser nodded towards Marian, who threw a coy beauty-queen wave in their direction.

  Tara couldn’t help but give him a smile of thanks as he pushed the steaming mug of cinnamon-scented coffee across the table. Poor sap didn’t know he was being used. Marian had been trying to set her up with just about every male with a pulse she’d met since she’d arrived in Deer Creek just over a year ago. Heartbroken. No. Heart shut. Heart shut for good. Which was exactly why she and ol’ Dr. MacKenzie here needed to get things off to a more professional start.

  “How’s the little boy doing?”

  Tick! Top marks for starting off with a work question, Fraser.

  “He’ll be fine, thank goodness. His wrist was sprained, which was the worst of it. He had a small cut on his forehead, but no concussion.”

  “I suppose you get your fair share of sprains up here.”

  Tara sat back in the worn leather chair and laughed, relieved to be back on familiar terrain: doctor talk. “Not to mention broken clavicles, arms, legs. The regular business is in ligaments. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s the same in every ski resort, but by the end of the season you’ll be examining medial collateral and anterior cruciate ligament injuries in your sleep!”

  *

  He liked how her eyes crinkled when she laughed. In fact, Fraser liked how Tara’s whole face lit up when she spoke about medicine. It clearly fuelled her.

  “Oh, and I forgot to say, I do a couple of voluntary shifts every couple of weeks at the local hospital in the ER. I’m sure Valley Hospital would welcome it if you followed suit but it’s by no means required.”

  “To see patients from the clinic?” Fraser was impressed. Tara really seemed to see things through with her patients.

  “No, not really. I mean, if they’re there, obviously I’d see them, but it helps me keep all of my skills up to speed and, more importantly, I don’t want the locals thinking we are a bunch of elite medics who swan in and out with the good snow. It’s mostly about giving a bit back to the community. Proving we’re here for the long haul.”

  Fraser’s grip tightened on his coffee mug. Ouch. That one had hit a bullseye.

  “How about altitude sickness? Much of a problem with that?”

  Tara pushed her lips forward in a let-me-think-about-it-for-a-second expression. She was clearly unaware of the fact that her thinking pout was about as close an invitation to give her lips a languorous après-ski kiss as you could get. Fraser shifted in his chair. Lasting this season bachelor-style was definitely going to be a bit tougher than he’d thought.

  “Not too much,” she continued, oblivious to the not-necessarily-unpleasant sensations Fraser was experiencing. “I’ve only been here a year or so, but the only altitude sickness case I’ve come across was a couple who went heli-skiing who hadn’t been before. The chopper crew got to them before any of their symptoms became too severe and we were able to get them home safely.”

  Helicopters. Fraser felt his lips twitch involuntarily. He hadn’t been behind the controls of a helicopter since... Well, long enough that he shouldn’t be having a physical reaction at the mention of a helicopter. Maybe he should’ve talked to someone about it when he’d had the chance. Someone in the forces.

  Who was he kidding? It had only been recently he’d felt anywhere near being able to speak about that day. But not to just anyone. If he were to open up, which was unlikely, he would need to speak to someone who could understand precisely how scarred he felt. The chances of finding someone else who could understand what it was like to be responsible for their own brother’s death, leaving his wife a widow and two children fatherless—well—they were pretty small.

  “Many deaths?” It slipped out. Sounded too keen. He felt a scowl form.

  “No. Sorry to disappoint you.” Tara’s dark eyes turned quizzical, obviously wondering why a lack of extreme trauma would upset someone who’d taken the Hippocratic oath to care and protect.

  “We do get the odd spinal injury, and the rescue crews have seen their share of fatalities over the years. To be honest, I try not to dwell on the extreme cases, because it just means someone’s life has gotten a whole lot harder.”

  Fraser sighed heavily, nodding in agreement. He could relate to that. “It’s part of the job. Seeing people’s lives, their dreams, come to an abrupt halt.”

  *

  Tara felt herself examining Fraser more closely. The cavalier guy who’d been trying to win her over with her favorite coffee seemed to have been spirited away. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Something dark. Was he lost in the same black hole she’d been pushed into after her ex had betrayed her? She scanned his face. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge.

  Don’t go there, Tara. He’s male. Emotions only run skin deep. No loyalty.

  “Listen.” She stabbed her fork into a final triangle of pancake. “I’d bet none of the injuries we have here are different from what you’ve seen at any other ski resort. Probably the biggest difference up here in Deer Creek are the bears.”

  “Bears?” Fraser felt his eyebrows raise a little too high. Had his voice risen too? Unlikely.

  Tara laughed and clapped her hands, “You should see yourself! A big strong man like you getting all nervy over a little grizzly bear.”

  So she thought he was big and strong, eh? That was a plus. Little grizzly bear? Yeah, right. Fraser cleared his throat, trying to regain some professional composure.

  “What do you do in the cases of a severe injury on the slopes?”

  “The ski patrol up here is really good,” Tara enthused. “The boys work on the same radio frequency as we do and they are all trained to a high level of first aid. In fact, a couple of them are the local ambulance medics during the summer, so they know their stuff.”

  Fraser felt himself nodding along with Tara’s breakdown of how the ski support staff all worked together in Deer Creek. Sounded like a smooth operation. Good blueberry muffins as well. He could definitely do with one of these every morning.

  As if on cue, Tara’s radio began to crackle to life with the ski patrol radio tag. She pulled it off her belt and set it between the two of them on the table.

  “Morning, team.” They heard the male voice continue, “Afraid we’ve got a fifty-three-year-old male presenting with a cardiac arrest. Ski Patrol Unit One is administering CPR. They are about five minutes out from the clinic on the Starlight Slope. Tara, do you read? Switch to Channel Two. Over.”

  Tara simultaneously picked up the radio and rose from her chair. Speaking into the radio, she gestured for Fraser to follow her and gave Marian a quick wave goodbye. “We’re on our way to the clinic now. Do you need an AED on site? Over.”

  “Negative. Patrol has a defibrillator on the skidoo. Prepare for arrival of patient. Over.”

  Tara pulled on her jacket, giving Fraser a concerned glance. “Are you sure you’re up to starting now? You’re not scheduled yet.”

  “You bet your woolen socks I’ll help.” Fraser was all too aware that the first few minutes after a person suffered from cardiac arrest were critical in terms of maintaining an oxygen-rich blood flow to the body’s vital organs. Compromising those precious opportunities just because he wasn’t on a roster? Not a chance.

  As they jogged the few yards to the clinic, Tara looked up at slopes at the sound of the approaching skidoo. The ski patrollers were highly visible in their bright red jackets with white crosses on the back. She saw one of them administering CPR whilst riding on the rescue stretcher with the patient.

  Not a good sign.

  Tara ran into the clinic, calling out to Liesel about the incoming patient.

  “Already on it!” replied the nurse, pulling open the double doors to the trauma room housing all the necessary equipment.

  Tara did a quick scrub at the sink and turned round to see Fraser carrying in the stretchered patient along with
one of the patrollers. Good to see he wasn’t afraid to lend a hand. On Fraser’s quick count, they shifted the man to the exam table.

  “How long has he been out?” His voice was all business.

  “Two to three minutes max. The patient is suffering pulseless ventricular tachycardia,” came the reply. It was Brian, an EMT based in the Valley. Tara had worked with him on a couple of river rescues over the summer. Reliable. He would’ve been doing all he could. “You guys need me in the room?”

  Tara looked up quickly at Fraser, “I think Dr. MacKenzie and I have this one?” He nodded a quick assent, simultaneously unzipping the man’s jacket to reveal a skin-tight ski shirt.

  “Scissors?”

  Tara quickly pulled a pair out from a drawer and handed them to him, while steering the heart-rate monitor to the head of the gurney.

  “Update before you go, Brian?” Tara worked as she spoke, reaching for the defibrillator.

  Brian spoke from the doorway, giving the doctors room around the patient, “We administered on-site CPR for three minutes and confirmed chest rises, but no pulse. We administered one shock from the defibrillator, and received a weak pulse and heart rate. We then lost the pulse after loading the patient onto the rescue stretcher so I continued to administer CPR until now.”

  Tara thanked Brian, who slipped out of the room as Fraser efficiently cut away the clothing surrounding the man’s chest, applied lubricant and stood clear in order for her to apply the shock from the defibrillator.

  They both stood completely still for a moment, waiting for the tell-tale beeps on the heart-rate monitor. Silence. Silence.

  They repeated their motions—each working wordlessly—only looking to one another for confirmation of the other’s movement. Eighty percent of patients could survive a heart attack with prompt defibrillation.

  Tara increased the charge. “Clear!”

  Fraser stepped back.

  They waited again, listening, watching the patient for signs of a response.

  Silence.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Tara heaved a sigh of relief. They’d done it. She looked up at Fraser and received a broad smile of confirmation. A shot of heat poured straight into her stomach. Espresso hot and just as stimulating. Uh-oh. She hadn’t experienced girly flutterings like this for some time. A long time. And that was just the way she liked it. Clean and simple. No feelings. Just medicine.

  She tried to shrug away the growing suspicion that working with Fraser would be much more than “just medicine.” They’d saved this man’s life. With medicine. And now just one lovely, warm smile and her knees were going all wobbly. Terrific.

  “Arthur Jones.”

  “What?” Tara was jolted back into the room at the sound of Fraser’s voice.

  “That’s his name,” Fraser was looking at her with an odd expression as he held up a driver’s license he’d retrieved from the man’s wallet. “Arthur Jones.”

  “Yes, right, of course.” Of course. Really proving your worth in the doctor department, aren’t you, Tara? “Mr. Jones?” Tara rested a hand gently on the man’s shoulder. “Mr. Jones?”

  The gray-haired gentleman’s eyes fluttered open with a look of bewilderment, “Where—where...?”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Jones. I’m Dr. Braxton and this is Dr. MacKenzie.” Tara didn’t afford herself a glance in Fraser’s direction. “I’m afraid you’ve had a heart attack. Are you here with any family?”

  “Yes, all my family.” Arthur’s voice was weak but audible.

  “Can you tell us how to get in touch with them?”

  “We’re staying in one of the lodge’s chalets. The Pine... The—”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Jones.” Tara laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “We’ll call the lodge and find your family for you. Right now, your job is to rest and we’ll get everything organized for you.”

  Fraser leant back against the counter, enjoying watching Tara interact with the patient. She had a soothing nature—a good bedside manner they called it in med school. He’d reluctantly inherited the moniker Smooth Operator by his medical peers, teased for the warm responses he seemed to elicit from the female patients in particular. Any smooth operations he might’ve pulled off in the past few years had passed him by. He wasn’t one for one-night stands and dating someone for the fleeting duration of a ski season just seemed cruel when he knew he had no intention of hanging around. He was going to have to watch himself around Tara Braxton because everything about the last few hours at Deer Creek was teasing at his psyche, asking the unthinkable, Why not stay awhile?

  One thing Fraser knew he couldn’t handle was settling down. Long term just wasn’t for him.

  “Dr. MacKenzie, would you mind getting Liesel to call the Valley Hospital, please? We’re going to need to transfer Mr. Jones for further tests.”

  “What about Thanksgiving?” Arthur tried pushing himself upright on the medical trolley. Gently pressing him back down to his pillow, Tara replied with a regretful smile, “I’m afraid you will definitely have to go to the hospital. I suspect they will want to keep you overnight for observation just in case you need to have an operation.” Arthur closed his eyes and let out a quiet moan. “Ginny’s gone to so much work! All those pies...”

  “I’m afraid pie might be off the menu for a while.” Tara chuckled, gesturing to Fraser to help her raise the patient’s bed so he could sit a bit more upright. “We’re just going to move you into a seated position, Arthur, all right?”

  After helping Tara, Fraser slipped out of the room to hunt down Liesel. Once he was happy the ambulance had been organized and family members had been contacted at the lodge, he decided to take a little nosy around the facility. Of course, he wouldn’t be staying in Deer Creek forever, but he may as well be familiar with his immediate surroundings for the next few months.

  Behind the reception area there was a break room kitted out with the requisite coffee-maker, refrigerator, table covered with a smattering of local newspapers and a half-finished Sudoku puzzle. The refrigerator wore the usual array of amusing medical and skiing cartoons that usually found their way into any ski clinic. A strip of coupons and flyers for local attractions were held in place by a magnet advertising a local real-estate agent. The bowling alley looked fun. The art house cinema? Maybe. House buying? He put the magnet back in place over the clipping. House buying was the last thing on his agenda.

  A corridor off the room led to one other examination room with X-ray facilities. He nodded approvingly. It was a good set-up. They had everything they needed to deal with the bread-and-butter cases a mountain clinic dealt with and just enough to see patients through to a fully equipped hospital for the more extreme cases. He worked his way back to the reception area of the clinic, where he found Tara and Liesel bent over the counter, sorting out some paperwork.

  “Having a look around our humble clinic?” Tara offered a tentative smile.

  “Yes.” He tried to put on a hokey Southern accent. “Looks like you folk know what you’re doing round these parts.”

  Despite herself, Tara let out a peal of laughter. Hearing a hillbilly accent was one thing, but hearing a hillbilly Scottish accent was hilarious. “You’d better watch how you use that lingo of yours, mister, or you’re going to find yourself lost up some holler or another, drinking hooch with the local yokels.”

  Fraser laughed with her, a twist of bewilderment washing across his face, “I have no idea what you’re saying, but I’ll be sure to try and take your advice.” Pointing at the medical paperwork, he moved back to more familiar terrain. “How’s Mr. Jones faring?”

  “He’s doing well. Ambulance will be here in ten,” Liesel answered easily. Efficiently. Tara didn’t know how the nurse did it but she was clearly unaffected by Fraser’s lilting brogue. And his lovely midnight-blue eyes, and his broad chest... Stop. It. Now.

  “Once he’s been picked up by the EMTs, how about you take me on a quick spin around the village so I can get my bearings?�
�� Fraser flashed Tara one of his full-mouthed smiles, oblivious to the incredibly unprofessional thoughts swirling round her head.

  “Sure, yes. That’s fine. Liesel, we’ll be on the radios if you’re all right manning the fort for a bit. I’ll be back for the afternoon shift.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Liesel gave her boss a comedy salute.

  Tara winced at the memory of Fraser doing exactly the same thing. Was she really such a taskmaster? Her concerns weren’t allayed when Liesel crinkled her brow and chewed on her lip for a moment before asking, “You’re still all right covering Thanksgiving on your own tomorrow so I can have dinner with Eric’s family?”

  “Yes, of course! You must! Don’t be silly!” Aha! That was it! Now she remembered why Liesel hadn’t fallen under the same spell she seemed to have been smitten with. The local ski patroller had already taken Liesel’s heart. Tara had promised her she would cover the clinic over the holiday as she had no plans to celebrate it herself. Thanksgiving was definitely a family holiday—something you celebrated with loved ones. Right now, Tara’s family consisted of herself. She was okay with that. But having Fraser watch her exchange with Liesel was making her behave like an over-cheery spinster. Not a winning look. Not that she cared. Oh, mercy...

  “I’ll be sure to bring you some pie if I can weasel it out of Eric’s mum. I’m sure she’ll make loads. Your favorite is pumpkin, right?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Tara waved off Liesel’s concern. “I’ll pick up something from Marian today before she closes. I’ll be just fine.”

  “What about me?” Fraser interrupted, putting on a forlorn expression. “What’s a poor Scotsman to do with himself all alone on America’s biggest holiday?”

  “I—I’m going to be running the clinic,” Tara faltered. She hadn’t been expecting Fraser to be working for a few more days. Her plan had been a simple one. Block out the fact she didn’t have her own family to celebrate her second-favorite holiday with and work in the clinic. There would probably be a few of the usual bumps and bruises that came along with skiing, but hopefully the worst thing that would happen to any of the visitors to Deer Creek was a bit of indigestion. “Besides—” she tried to cover her dismay with false cheer “—there’s always Christmas!”