Recon Marines III: The Marine's Doctor (39 page)

The stranger stayed on her mind. His
cold gray eyes stood out in his tanned face. Despite his attire and
the hair curled around his collar, he reeked of military origins.
His body hummed with the suppressed energy of a man on the edge of
violence.

Her former career had introduced her
to men like him. Men who had survived their time in battle but
returned to society with scars both physical and emotional. Her job
in the psychiatric medical corps had brought her in daily contact
with veterans and active military members as they battled their
nightmares. More ghosts than most swirled in the frozen gaze of the
man sitting so awkwardly at the small table.

She turned the heat back
on the oven holding the evening’s offering of chopped vegetables,
goat cheese, wild hen and her own combination of native herbs. The
dinner rolls sat in their greased pans, ready to be shoved in
alongside the casseroles. Her hands worked while her thoughts
returned again and again to Vin Smith. There seemed nothing
former
military about
Vin’s manner.

“
Seems drier than usual,”
Moe Hall huffed out as he entered the rear door of the kitchens. He
set the basket of red potatoes he’d brought along on the work table
and swiped at his brow with his thick forearm. Moe owned the café
and split the earnings with Emma. Though he helped as much as he
could in the kitchen, chopping, serving and washing dishes, he left
the cooking to her.

“
You say that every
ten-day.” Emma checked the solar clock near the only window and
decided to put the rolls in. The men always finished early on the
ten-day. The rains would move in with the dark and stay throughout
the day tomorrow, meaning no work. No work meant more customers
eating at the café during the daylight hours. “I might need more
potatoes for tomorrow.”

Moe sighed and shook his head, but a
smile played on his lips. He appreciated the extra money the
eleventh day rain brought. “I’ll get more after we serve the dinner
crowd.”

“
We have a stranger in
today,” Emma said.

Moe scowled and went to the curtain.
The big man didn’t resemble a shopkeeper with his thick arms and
deep chest. He towered over Emma and most of the men in Hovel Port
appeared as boys next to him. Making no attempt to hide his
perusal, he lifted the edge of the curtain. “Don’t like his
looks.”

Emma smiled. Moe never liked the looks
of a stranger and would keep a sharp eye on Vin.

Moe picked up a stack of plates and
walked out into the dining area. He sent glares toward Vin as he
set two plates on each table. Emma followed him, adding forks and
knives to each setting.

“
You staying for dinner?”
Moe demanded as they came to Vin’s table.

Vin swept an evaluating gaze over Moe.
“I will stay to meet Vannie Green.”

“
You’re looking for work
then?” Moe set a plate before Vin with obvious reluctance. “What
are your skills?”

Vin’s gaze slid to Emma and then back
to Moe. “I’ll tell Vannie Green.”

Emma saw Moe’s shoulders stiffen and
ducked around him. She gently set the utensils on Vin’s plate. “He
should be here soon. Moe, will you help me with the water
pitchers?”

Moe hesitated, his eyes narrowed at
Vin.

Vin rose to his feet and turned toward
the door, the move quick and fluid. Tension flowed from him to
engulf Emma.

“
What the hell?” Moe
sputtered.

Then Emma heard the excited shouts of
men out on the street. She knew what it meant and ran toward the
door.

Vin snagged her arm, stopping her more
with the shock of his action than his grip. He moved in front of
her. “Stay back.” He went out through the door.

The cold command of his voice stopped
her for a heartbeat, but then she chased after him.

He paused on the wooden walkway,
staring down the narrow street at the band of men hurrying toward
them.

Emma dodged around him and ran the few
steps to her surgery door. She pushed the door open to the long
narrow room. Once it had served as a schoolroom but a newer larger
building housed the school on the south edge of town for the last
three quarters of a year. Only Vannie and Moe knew she’d financed
the building of it.

The lights sputtered once but steadied
to bathe the shining surgical table and three clean beds with a
white glare. She hadn’t seen whom the miners carried toward her,
but their haste signaled the urgency. Two ten-days ago, she’d lost
her first patient since coming to Hovel Port. She hoped they were
bringing her a simple broken leg or a smashed hand, common injuries
with their work.

“
Easy there, don’t bump
his head on the door frame,” Vannie directed as he backed through
the doorway. He supported a corner of a canvas tarp along with
three other men. They somehow all squeezed through with Vin
trailing behind.

Vannie counted to three and then they
lifted together. Emma’s heart slammed against her ribs as she took
in the injuries. The same as last time. Both of the man’s legs were
nearly amputated. Like most of the workers, the victim wore short
pants to wade in the river and pan for silver. Blood colored his
lower legs from half way down his shins to his toes so it appeared
he wore crimson stockings.

The victim moaned and drew Emma’s
stare up to his face. Russ Little. A lump of cold horror filled her
belly. Russ and his wife, Jenny, had welcomed Emma when she first
arrived in Hovel Port and invited her to live with them until she
found her own residence. She’d stayed with them for three months
until the surgery had become livable.

“
Same as last time,”
Vannie said between gasps. He wiped his brow, leaving a red streak
to mix with the sweat. “He stepped into some shallow, muddy water
and the trap got him. Nearly drowned before we could free
him.”

Emma turned away to gather her
supplies. She needed three tries to fit the key into the medicine
cabinet. What she saw inside it deepened her despair. She gathered
two bags of saline to replace the fluid Russ desperately
needed.

“
I’ll start that while you
get whatever you need ready.”

A bag fell from her hand but Vin
caught it before it hit the floor. He stood so close she could feel
his heat on her cold skin.

“
Are you a doctor?” Hope
filled Emma. A military medic, experienced with battlefield wounds,
could make this case different than the last one.

“
No, but I know how to
start an IV.” Vin reached past her and grabbed a precious, sterile
needle out of the cabinet along with a packaged alcohol prep. He
carried it over to Russ’ side without waiting for her
permission.

Emma glanced at Russ’ pale face. There
wasn’t time to waste on questions or turning away unexpected help.
She took out another key and hurried to the small refrigerator that
held antibiotics. Not only did the murky stream pose a danger of
infection but the steel trap could carry contamination. Behind her
she would hear Vannie ushering the other men out of the
door.

When she returned to the table, Vin
had the IV running into Russ’ arm. He tore strips of tape and
secured the line so Russ’ thrashing couldn’t knock it
loose.

Emma drew a dose of antibiotics into a
syringe and shot it into the IV line.

Vin gathered nearly all of her gauze
and set it within reach on the edges of the table. He frowned down
at the wounds. Someone had wrapped pieces of shirts around each leg
but the rough bandages only slowed the bleeding. The cloth would
need to be cut off, something that would restart the severe
bleeding.

“
Do you have antibiotic
powder for in the wounds?” Vin asked.

His even tone calmed Emma’s racing
heart so her mind could conquer her emotions. She understood her
emotions in a way most people didn’t and now used her training to
funnel her fear into determination. “I don’t. That’s why I started
the antibiotic first. I have to hope the bleeding washed the wounds
clean.”

She went back to her cupboard and
found the curved stitching needles and the two types of thread
needed from among her meager supplies. Back in the more civilized
parts of the galaxy she would have liquid sealers for the skin
wounds and no fear of infection. And a trauma surgeon instead of
her to use them. She carried her instruments back to the table, her
traitorous memory pulling up images of the last victim of the
vicious metal traps. He’d bled to death while she tried to close
his wounds.

Vannie stood at the foot of the table,
his mouth set in a hard line. “I’ll hold him down for you,
Emma.”

Vin picked up the roll of tape he’d
used to secure the IV. He pulled long strips and used them as
straps above Russ’ knees. “I don’t know you, sir, but you look more
likely to pass out on top of this man than help hold
him.”

Vannie glared at Vin for a long
moment, but the soldier met his gaze without the slightest flinch.
Vannie shifted his gaze to Emma, lifting an eyebrow with a
question.

He would stay if she asked him, but
the look in Vannie’s eyes begged for escape. “Go.”

“
I’ll stay if you need me,
lass.”

Emma shook her head. “The tape should
hold him. Best if you go tell Jenny before she hears it elsewhere.
Keep her out until I’m done.”

Vannie’s shoulders slumped, the task
of telling Russ’ wife worse than witnessing the surgery. He trudged
out the door, giving them a glimpse of the men keeping vigil
outside.

“
Will you stay and help
me, Vin Smith?”

Vin studied her for a long moment and
then he looked down at Russ. “Do you think you can save him, Emma
Jones?”

She swallowed back the emotion
threatening her calm again, aware of precious minutes ticking by.
“I didn’t save the last one. I wasn’t fast enough.”

He held out his hand. “I can stitch,
too, though the needlework won’t be fancy or fine.”

She sorted through her needles,
handing him a small one for interior work and the larger needle for
skin and muscle. The thread followed, the dissolving sort for
inside the body and the dark thread for the exterior. “Where did
you get your medical training?” She handed him one of the packs of
disinfectant clothes for his hands that would wipe his skin clean
and protect it from any infections inhabiting Russ’
blood.

Vin cleaned his hands and then lifted
the small needle toward the light and pushed a thread through it.
“On the lines of battle, Miss Emma.”

The smooth efficiency of his
long-fingered hands distracted her for a moment and then his words
caught up to her. She threaded her own needle. “I knew you were a
soldier.”

His brow creased above his clear, gray
eyes. “Really? I look like a soldier?”

Emma appreciated his attempt to
lighten the mood, though when she looked at his expression he
appeared serious. She handed him a pair of sterilized scissors and
took a fistful of gauze from him.

They bent their heads to their work
and started cutting away the rough dressings. Vin worked faster
than her, working the sopping cloth free and dropping it to the
floor. Blood from Russ’ leg flooded the table. He pressed a wad of
gauze to the back of the leg and immersed his hands in the gaping
wound left by the trap’s jaws.

Emma looked up from her work from time
to time to check Vin’s competence. He knew as least as much as she
did. Despite her physician’s diploma, she’d never trained in this
kind of surgery.

The next hour passed in a horror of
blood, wet stitches, low curses and sweat dripping in Emma’s eyes.
Vin finished before her, knotting his last stitch and then using
bits of gauze to soak up the blood on Russ’ shin where she still
worked to close the horrid wound. When she tied off the last dark
thread, she wanted to wilt to the floor. Instead she checked Russ’
pulse and breathing rate. Weak pulse, uneven slow respiration and
his pallor resembled the gauze more than the skin of a man who
spent most of everyday in the sunshine.

Vin startled her when he flipped a
blanket over Russ. “I think we need to keep him warm.”

“
Of course.” Emma shook
off the crippling worry spawned by friendship and took another bag
of IV fluids from the cabinet. She hung it on the hook beside the
nearly empty first bag.

Vin took another blanket off of a bed
against the wall and spread it on top of Russ. After tucking it
gently along Russ’ torso, Vin removed Russ’ rubber sandals. Without
asking, he went to her small sink and searched underneath for a
pail. He filled it with warm water while she gathered rolls of
bandages. She needed all she had on hand to wrap his legs. After
Vin bathed the blood from Russ’ feet, they finished covering him as
best as they could.

Throughout their ministrations, Russ
didn’t stir. He hadn’t flinched through their stitching or tossed
about in pain. Not that Emma had much in the way of pain medication
to give him, but she wished he’d step far enough away from death to
at least groan or cry out.

“
He would rest better on
one of the beds, but I’m afraid to move him,” Emma muttered as much
to herself as to Vin.