LITMIR.BIZ

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on building her practice up, because every last dime of her savings had been sunk into this building. She’d bought the clinic, the license and the apartment upstairs.

      This was her life now. She didn’t have a retired parent to hand off a practice to her. Her stepmother had been a teacher and her father a cop.

      They’d scrimped and saved to send her to the best medical school. Scholarships only went so far and she owed it to them to pay them back, since she could no longer be the surgeon they expected her to be.

      She’d lost herself.

      And she’d lost Shane. If only she’d come to the realization that he wasn’t the man for her before she was in her wedding dress and halfway down the aisle on Valentine’s Day. It was something she had to live with for the rest of her life.

      Her father had made that clear to her. He’d been so disappointed. She’d let him down.

       I don’t know who you are anymore, Esme.

      She didn’t deserve any kind of happiness, or friendship. All she deserved was living with herself. Living with the stranger she’d become.

      “Well, I have a bit of work to do tomorrow. I better hit the hay,” she said awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck and trying not to look at him.

      “Yeah, of course. I …” Carson said, trying to excuse himself when there was banging on her front door. Incessant and urgent.

      “Who in the world?”

      “Just stay here.” Carson pushed her down into her chair, letting her know that he wanted her to stay put, before he headed out to the front door.

      “As if,” she mumbled, following him.

      “I told you to stay in the exam room,” he whispered as he stood in front of the door.

      She crossed her arms. “You don’t know Krav Maga. I do.”

      He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

      Esme stood on her tiptoes and peered around him. When he opened the door a man let out a sigh of relief.

      “Thank God I found you, Doc Ralston.”

      “Harry, what’s wrong?” Carson asked, stepping aside to let the man in.

      The man, Harry, was sweating and dirty, dressed in heavy denim, with thick work boots and leaving a trail of wood chips on her floor. He nodded to her. “Dr. Petersen.”

      “How can we help you … Harry, is it?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” He was twisting a ball cap in his hands and it looked as if he was in shock. “There’s been an accident at Bartholomew’s Mill.”

      “An accident?” Carson asked. “What kind?”

      “Jenkins had a nasty incident with a saw, but there’s bad smoke from a remote forest fire and we can’t get a chopper in to airlift him to a hospital and paramedics are still two hours away.”

      Esme reeled at that information. She knew they were far off the beaten path, but medical help was two hours away? Why wasn’t there a hospital closer?

      “Let’s go. I’ll go grab my emergency medical kit.” Carson slapped Harry on the shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind driving, Harry. You know those logging roads better than me in the dark.”

      “No problem, Dr. Ralston.”

      “Can I help?” Esme asked.

      Carson nodded. “Grab as many suture kits as you can.”

      Esme panicked. “Hospitals take care of suturing. We’re not surgeons.”

      Carson shook his head. “Not around here. I hope you have some surgical skills. We’re going to need them.”

      Harry and Carson disappeared into the night. Esme’s stomach twisted in a knot. Suturing? Surgery? This wasn’t what she’d signed up for.

      When she’d moved here she’d put that all behind her. She wasn’t a surgeon.

       No.

      Then she thought of Avery. Her brother bleeding out under her hands. She was being foolish. They needed her help. Someone was in pain. This wasn’t an OR. She would make sure she wouldn’t freeze up. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. This was about sustaining a man’s life until paramedics arrived. Esme rushed into her supply room, grabbed a rucksack and began to pack it full of equipment. Her hands shaking as she grabbed the suture kit.

       I can do this.

      Besides, she might not even have to stitch him.

      Carson could handle it and nothing was going to happen.

      This man wouldn’t die.

      This wasn’t a surgery case. At least she hoped it wasn’t.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ESME BIT HER lip in worry as they slowly traversed some windy hills up into the mountains. At least that was what she assumed by the bumps and the climbs that tried the engine of Harry’s truck. She couldn’t see anything.

      She’d thought she knew what pitch-black was.

      The sky was full of clouds and smoke from a forest fire, which Carson had assured her wasn’t any threat to them. California had wild fires, but not really in Los Angeles, at least not when she was there. Then again, she wasn’t a native Californian.

      Fire, wilderness, bears, this existence was all new to her, but then this was what she wanted after all. This was a big wide place she could easily blend in. She was small here. A place she could hide, because who in their right mind would come looking for her here?

      A large bump made her grip the dashboard tighter. She was wedged between Harry and Carson as they took the logging road deep into the camp.

      Another bump made her hiss and curse under her breath.

      Carson glanced at her. “You’re mighty tense.”

      “Just hoping we don’t die.”

      Harry chuckled. “We’re not on the edge of a cliff. Our only threat is maybe a rock slide or a logging truck careening down the road, but since there are no trucks running we’re pretty safe.”

      “I’ll keep telling myself that we’re safe, Harry.”

      He shook his head, probably at the folly of a city girl. Only it was a dark night like this when Avery had died. She’d only been ten years old, but the memory of her brother’s gaping chest wound was still fresh. The feel of his exposed heart under her small hands, the warmth of his blood felt fresh. It was why she’d wanted to be a cardio-thoracic surgeon.

      Why she’d worked so hard to be the best, because Avery had been a constant in her parents’ strained marriage. Even though he’d been twelve years older than her.

      He’d been her best friend and when he’d died, her world had been shattered. So she’d dedicated her life to surgery.

      The nightmares of his death faded away but nights like this made it all rush back.

      Carson slipped an arm around her shoulders and then leaned over. “Relax. You’re okay.”

      She glanced at his arm around hers and she wanted to shrug it off, but it felt good there. Reassuring. It made her feel safe and she wished she could snuggle in. Esme let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in trepidation and leaned back against the seat, shrugging off Carson’s arm. She could handle this. Alone.

      “So what happened again, Harry?” Carson asked.

      “Jenkins was overtired and nervous. Our new client, Mr. Draven, was

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