motions startled then slowed at the pleasant but wholesome sensation. Not only that, her carefully exacted comment about meeting halfway held unmistakable emphasis.
He met her gaze. “Meeting halfway sounds better than fighting constantly.”
The depth of beauty and bravery in her smile plunged all rational thought into disarray. He had not expected it.
Seemed to him they took their time near the end of the butter bowl baptizing marathon.
Afterward Lauren washed the table. “Mitch, are you going to the trauma center today?”
“No. I’m going tomorrow after I come here and clear out Lem’s gutters. I’ve already rounded at the center today.”
“May I come with you tomorrow, to check on Mara?”
“The texting teen?” He hadn’t meant it to come out so abrupt. But seriously, what was Lauren’s draw? The girl killed someone with whatever string of words she’d felt too important to pull over for. Talk about a death sentence.
Mitch’s annoyance regained ground.
“Yes.” A wary expression accompanied Lauren’s answer. Perhaps his ire was a little overdosed. Yet hadn’t his dad’s life been snuffed out by an equally distracted driver?
Mitch scrubbed the opposite end of the table with fervor. “Suit yourself. But just to warn you, Mara’s still on a ventilator, unconscious. There’s also a possibility I’d get held up at the center because the other surgeon who’s been graciously covering for me is on call at Refuge Memorial, his primary hospital.”
Mitch really did not want Lauren getting attached to Mara. Nothing good could come of that. Right?
The stubborn set to her jaw resembled Lem’s when things—like tractors—didn’t go his way. “I’ll take my chances.”
Chapter Six
O ne hour into their trauma center visit the next day, Mitch guessed Lauren regretted saying that.
She took her chances coming in, all right.
A bus of summer-camp teens overturned shortly after Mitch and Lauren arrived, which filled the center with victims.
“Eighteen and counting,” Ian informed Mitch. “No way to divert.” Ian referred to the fact that the center was diverting low-risk patients to other hospitals until Mitch and Ian secured a second trauma team. Today that wasn’t possible.
Kate handed him a chart. “Want me to call help in?”
Mitch nodded then faced Ian. “I need to get on the ball putting together another full-time trauma crew.”
“Yeah. You’ve been tied up at Lem’s, though.”
“Not enough hours in a day to get everything accomplished that needs to be, this summer.”
“Let me know how I can help.”
“I will.” Yet he knew Ian was already strapped for time with his divorce, court hearings, housing and custody stuff.
“Where’s Lauren?” Mitch asked Kate, passing by with an armload of ice packs.
“Your new director assumed Lauren came to help. She assigned her to triage to treat non-emergent wounds which, thankfully, she did graciously. She’s doing awesome, Mitch.”
Still, he’d better go check. Mitch found Lauren and assessed her for signs of panic. None whatsoever, but he should ask anyway. “Are you okay?”
“Are you absurd?” She looked down the hall of writhing, wailing, wall-to-wall youth and laughed. “I’m not about to abandon you to the fate of all this teen angst. I’m the last person you should be worried about right now, Mitch. Your director, however, is having a total freak-out.”
“So I heard. She’s not used to trauma care.”
Lauren made the funniest face. “Uh, hello? Neither am I.”
Yet he didn’t see her screeching down halls and complaining in front of patients and their families, as he’d received reports of the director doing. His mistake. Some applicants looked good on paper, yet they had no people skills.
“Point well taken, Lauren. I trust you. Unequivocally. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling overwhelmed.”
“I doubt there’s a staff member here who doesn’t feel overwhelmed. Twenty patients
He met her gaze. “Meeting halfway sounds better than fighting constantly.”
The depth of beauty and bravery in her smile plunged all rational thought into disarray. He had not expected it.
Seemed to him they took their time near the end of the butter bowl baptizing marathon.
Afterward Lauren washed the table. “Mitch, are you going to the trauma center today?”
“No. I’m going tomorrow after I come here and clear out Lem’s gutters. I’ve already rounded at the center today.”
“May I come with you tomorrow, to check on Mara?”
“The texting teen?” He hadn’t meant it to come out so abrupt. But seriously, what was Lauren’s draw? The girl killed someone with whatever string of words she’d felt too important to pull over for. Talk about a death sentence.
Mitch’s annoyance regained ground.
“Yes.” A wary expression accompanied Lauren’s answer. Perhaps his ire was a little overdosed. Yet hadn’t his dad’s life been snuffed out by an equally distracted driver?
Mitch scrubbed the opposite end of the table with fervor. “Suit yourself. But just to warn you, Mara’s still on a ventilator, unconscious. There’s also a possibility I’d get held up at the center because the other surgeon who’s been graciously covering for me is on call at Refuge Memorial, his primary hospital.”
Mitch really did not want Lauren getting attached to Mara. Nothing good could come of that. Right?
The stubborn set to her jaw resembled Lem’s when things—like tractors—didn’t go his way. “I’ll take my chances.”
Chapter Six
O ne hour into their trauma center visit the next day, Mitch guessed Lauren regretted saying that.
She took her chances coming in, all right.
A bus of summer-camp teens overturned shortly after Mitch and Lauren arrived, which filled the center with victims.
“Eighteen and counting,” Ian informed Mitch. “No way to divert.” Ian referred to the fact that the center was diverting low-risk patients to other hospitals until Mitch and Ian secured a second trauma team. Today that wasn’t possible.
Kate handed him a chart. “Want me to call help in?”
Mitch nodded then faced Ian. “I need to get on the ball putting together another full-time trauma crew.”
“Yeah. You’ve been tied up at Lem’s, though.”
“Not enough hours in a day to get everything accomplished that needs to be, this summer.”
“Let me know how I can help.”
“I will.” Yet he knew Ian was already strapped for time with his divorce, court hearings, housing and custody stuff.
“Where’s Lauren?” Mitch asked Kate, passing by with an armload of ice packs.
“Your new director assumed Lauren came to help. She assigned her to triage to treat non-emergent wounds which, thankfully, she did graciously. She’s doing awesome, Mitch.”
Still, he’d better go check. Mitch found Lauren and assessed her for signs of panic. None whatsoever, but he should ask anyway. “Are you okay?”
“Are you absurd?” She looked down the hall of writhing, wailing, wall-to-wall youth and laughed. “I’m not about to abandon you to the fate of all this teen angst. I’m the last person you should be worried about right now, Mitch. Your director, however, is having a total freak-out.”
“So I heard. She’s not used to trauma care.”
Lauren made the funniest face. “Uh, hello? Neither am I.”
Yet he didn’t see her screeching down halls and complaining in front of patients and their families, as he’d received reports of the director doing. His mistake. Some applicants looked good on paper, yet they had no people skills.
“Point well taken, Lauren. I trust you. Unequivocally. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling overwhelmed.”
“I doubt there’s a staff member here who doesn’t feel overwhelmed. Twenty patients
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