At the next red light, she caught Mitch studying her through the rearview mirror. He said nothing at first, then, “Feels almost like we’re having a family spat here.”
“Yeah. Hatfield and McCoy caliber,” she quipped. Especially if he joined forces with Grandpa and tried to talk her back into nursing. Not happening. Even if Lem put him up to it. And no one softened her like Grandpa could.
He’d essentially raised her every summer since her tenth birthday after her parents died. She spent the rest of the year changing homes with the seasons, depending on which relative had room. Lauren’s mom was Lem’s only daughter. Grieving over her had bonded the two like suture glue.
Now it seemed as if Mitch’s bond with Grandpa was stronger.
She shifted in her seat to put some distance between herself and Mitch. His overwhelming presence in the truck’s cab made her feel snuggled next to a nuclear reactor with a compromised cooling system. Lem stretched, scooting her closer to Mitch again. She shot Lem a that-did-not-help look.
Which he ignored with fervor.
The whistling old scamp clearly had matchmaking in mind, which meant he was out of his mind. Lauren would no more date a doctor than Grandpa would give up his greasy biscuits and gravy.
These last twenty minutes were going to be one long ride.
Despite her pulse pounding, the ribbon-cutting was not something she could bring herself to joyfully anticipate. Hopefully her unruly heart rate had nothing to do with notions of romance.
* * *
Mitch never thought this day would come. Or end.
But here he was, standing at the door of a dream. He poised an outrageously large pair of scissors over the ribbon. “They’re heavier than my military rifle.”
Laughter erupted from the crowd. Bulb lights flashed and popped from every angle. Townspeople and reporters snapped images of Eagle Point Trauma Center’s grand opening.
Surgery tech Kate Dalton leaned over the microphone. “You’d think our top trauma surgeon would slice right the first time,” she teased in reference to this being Mitch’s second attempt.
“Cut me some slack. These are duller than your bedtime stories.” Actually Kate’s stories coaxed countless soldiers to sleep, though she claimed she bored them into oblivion instead.
“Come on, Mitch! Those scissors can’t be older’n me,” Lem heckled good-heartedly from the crowd.
Laughing, Mitch sought out his friend in a sea of onlookers but snagged on a stunning redhead instead. Her gaze hit the ground like platelets in a blood storm, and her face turned just as red.
Same attraction that had jolted them earlier. Mitch hadn’t counted on this distraction.
Therefore his inner guard better be on its best behavior.
Lauren was profoundly attractive in pictures Lem so proudly displayed, but exponentially more beautiful in person. Her eyes were so unique he could barely look away. Mitch diverted attention to Lem, who watched him studying Lauren with peculiar interest. Lem’s grin heated Mitch’s neck.
He shifted uncomfortably at the podium, unable to recall the last time he’d blushed.
“To-day, Dr. Wellington.” Kate gave a dramatic sigh.
Though the sash-cutting delay was staged by request of news camera crews, Mitch’s team joined the crowd in genuine laughter.
Getting cues from reporters to continue the stall, Mitch pivoted. “If I had a scalpel rather than these turn-of-the-century scissors, I’d be set.”
Kate’s eyebrow cocked. Having worked with her in Afghanistan performing combat surgeries, he knew the look.
Mitch turned his palm up. “Scalpel?” He used his official surgeon voice. Kate produced the stainless-steel instrument.
The crowd went wild. Cheers and clapping abounded. Jubilation escalated when Kate raised the blade and saluted the building’s flag with it. The curved edge glinted in sunlight.
“Scalpel,” she repeated per surgery protocol and gently smacked its handle into Mitch’s palm.
How he loved that feeling. Only, this was epic. The moment turned surreal. Mitch hardly believed they were standing at the newly built trauma center, set to open part-time the first of next month. Seventeen days, and his team’s battlefield dream would become reality.
Next the mayor started a speech about how the center would bring their town economy-reviving revenue.
Mitch’s gaze drifted to the building, an undeniable answer to prayer. Awe for God engulfed him as he studied the magnificent steel-and-glass structure. It took his breath away, because despite titanium faith, he was a frontline fighter who’d wondered if he’d ever live to see this day.
Thank You, God, for bringing us through and to.
His eyes caressed a scripture etched above the Eagle Point Emergency entrance logo. A battlefield promise he’d clung to and prayed over every service member his scalpel came in contact with. His architect cousin had engraved it on the building: “The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace. Numbers 6:26”
Speech ended, the mayor left the podium.
Ian Shupe, Mitch’s best friend and head anesthesiologist on his trauma team, stepped up and pulled the ribbon taut. “Ready?”
Mitch drew an elated breath and inhaled pure joy. “Ready.”
“Don’t amputate your fingers.” Ian slid his hands farther apart and grinned, evoking more crowd laughter. “Or mine.”
Mitch chuckled and set scalpel to ribbon, camouflage to celebrate the team’s war-veteran status.
He opened his mouth to utter the dedication, but sounds of distantly approaching helicopters ripped wings from his words. Probably news choppers.
Mitch didn’t look because he really didn’t fancy the notion of slicing or suturing his best friend’s finger.
That instant, Ian’s hands went lax. The uncut ribbon fluttered like a feather to the ground. Mitch looked up at Ian.
But Ian wasn’t looking at the fallen ribbon.
He stared at the sky. And he definitely wasn’t smiling.
Mitch turned, saw what Ian saw and straightened. Sheathed the scalpel and handed it to Kate, who said, “Hey, are those…?”
“Trauma choppers,” Mitch finished for her.
“What a show!” a crowd member yelled. Mitch and Ian stared at the two incoming helicopters. Medical, not news.
If this was part of the show, Mitch had missed the memo. He faced Ian. “You set this up?”
“No, you?” Ian followed Mitch, who stepped off the stage. They headed toward an adjacent field where the choppers
