Summary:
When reformed bad boy Mitchell crosses paths with the town doctor, can he let himself learn to love?
Mitchell has always felt misunderstood, labeled as the troublemaker, the alcoholic, and the failure. However, his decision to invest in the Ellery Mountain resort and establish a home for himself, his sister, and his niece catches the attention of the Fridays and Doctor Liam Wolfe. In Ellery, Mitchell discovers genuine friendships that accept him for who he is and allow him to distance himself from his troubled past. As he falls Liam, he can even imagine a promising future for himself in Ellery.
Liam works long hours as a doctor at the small Ellery hospital with little time for a social life or for finding a partner. After he operates to save a young girl with appendicitis he meets her uncle, the tall, dark, stubborn, bad boy, Mitchell, who punctuates every sentence with a curse. Liam is determined to show Mitchell, as they fall in love, that it’s perfectly okay to accept help from others, and that no one has to battle their inner demons alone. Now, if only he could get Mitchell to believe him.
Summary:
Paramedic Jamie Llewelyn moves to Ellery to start a new life away from the City. Attached to the hospital and working for his friend Liam Wolfe he's happy — even if he has to keep coming up with excuses to miss the Friday meet ups. He had peace and he could finally make a difference in a community that needed him.
When he and Max rescue John Doe from a crashed car balanced on the edge of a ravine Jamie didn’t know but his life would never be the same again. John opens his startlingly violet eyes and suddenly Jamie is falling hard. If only John didn’t have a gun and could remember why he’d shot the passenger in the car. Then maybe passion could change into something else. Love.
Summary:
A Navy SEAL with PTSD and a Barman starting a new life. Maybe they can find love in Ellery.
Travis Baranski, Navy SEAL, is the first veteran to attend the Ellery Mountain Veteran Center. He is having a hard time coming to terms with what he had seen and what he has done. When he has a very public meltdown in Ellery stores it is Avery Gideon who steps up to the plate and helps him.
Avery Gideon, a man cut off from his family for being gay, runs the only bar in town - The Alibi - and listens to many a person's problems whilst trying to forget his own.
He sees something in the wounded warrior who needs a friend and very soon finds himself falling in love with Travis.
Nothing will deter him from helping Travis, or from making Travis see he's still capable of loving Avery in return.
Original Overall Series(1-7) Read July 2015:
What starts out as three friends weekly get-togethers we discover how lives can intertwine over time in very unexpected scenarios that can actually create a pretty good life, community, and family. Each book in this series centers on a different couple and because of that, strictly speaking each story is a standalone but in my opinion you really should read this one in order because one half of the couple had either a cameo or was mentioned in passing in the previous book. Also, each of the previous couples have at least a partial scene in the following installments. For these reasons I'm doing an overall review as opposed to each book having their own write up. Ellery Mountain has loads of drama, interesting and intriguing characters both main and secondary, hints of mystery, and of course plenty of romance, not to mention what would an RJ Scott story be without some well placed hotness. So come along with the Ellery Mountain Fridays and see what life has in store for them.
RATING:
The Doctor and the Bad Boy #4
Mitchell Askett knocked firmly on the door then stepped back. After glancing down at the piece of paper with his hastily scribbled instructions, he again checked the cabin. There was no number on it or sign to indicate this was where Brenda Skylar lived, but the directions had led him this far.
"Uncle Mitch," Bobbie called from the car. "It hurts. I feel sicker than before."
"I’ll be with you in a minute, sweetheart." Mitchell knocked on the door again. If there was no answer, at that point he would skip finding where he was supposed to be staying and meeting the other owners. He’d find the nearest hotel room and get his niece tucked up into bed. Maybe if he was really clever he could locate a shop in Ellery that sold dry crackers, or eggs. He always liked eggs when he had a hangover. Not that twelve-year-old Roberta was facing the awful post-alcoholic binge effects like he did. No, she just seemed to be suffering from car sickness. Or she had a bug. Or something.
"I’m gonna be sick," she whined. Mitchell was torn. No one was answering. He should just go and find the hotel, or hell, maybe even a doctor, just to get her checked out.
"I’ll be right with you," he called.
To be fair, they’d been driving on and off for quite a few hours and their diet had consisted of whatever they could get from gas stations en route. At twelve, he would have jumped at the chance of a road trip fuelled entirely on chocolate and Doritos, but the normally buoyant Bobbie had refused everything he’d offered.
The front door finally began to open.
"Unca Mi—" he heard, then the sound of a car door opening and retching.
Suddenly torn between what he had come here to do and what he needed to do, he threw a hurried "Sorry" to whoever had just answered the door then jumped the steps back down to the car. Sliding to a halt around the passenger side, which faced away from the cabin, he stared in horror for a second. Not only had Bobbie been violently sick, but she was curled in a ball and sobbing.
Without further hesitation, Mitchell crouched down next to her and in a smooth move had her up in his arms.
"Baby? Are you okay?" Stupid question, but all he wanted was for her to open her eyes.
"What’s wrong?" a voice broke through his concern. Holding Bobbie protectively close to him, he swivelled to face the owner of the soft words. A short woman with grey hair and a concerned look on her face stood with her arms outstretched like she wanted to take Bobbie from him. He tightened his grip, only for Bobbie to whimper at the hold.
"Does she need a doctor?" the woman asked in a rush.
"I don’t know," he said. God, he felt worse than useless. What would Annabelle do? Not that he could remember his sister having to deal with a sick Bobbie, as Bobbie was usually one healthy child.
"What’s wrong, sweetie?" She touched Bobbie’s head. "She’s very hot."
"She complained of stomach ache, but it’s been getting worse."
"Let’s get her to the hospital."
Mitchell felt suddenly as sick as his niece. Hospital? That sounded like this was serious. He’d only been responsible for her for two days and he’d already fucked up.
"Hospital?" he said.
"Our doctors are there—we just need to get her looked at. Wait…" The woman ran up the steps then came back out almost instantly. In her hand she had wipes and some keys. She locked the door behind her then came and climbed into the back seat.
"Give her to me," she ordered firmly. "You drive."
"I’m not— I don’t…" he stammered. Bobbie was curled up in his arms, then her head lolled back and suddenly Mitchell’s instinct to get things done kicked in. In seconds, he had her laid with her head in the woman’s lap, and he pulled a blanket from behind the seat up and over her.
"Where?" he asked quickly. Bobbie was crying quietly and the woman shushed her gently with soft words.
"Left out of here and down into Ellery," she said.
Forcing the car into gear, Mitchell wheel-spun on the loose gravel and the car lurched as it gripped and surged forward. In a few minutes, he was back at the road. Only when they were on the main route to town did he speak again.
"Is she okay?"
"She’s very hot, and listless," the woman said.
Mitchell realised he couldn’t keep thinking of her as ‘the woman’.
"I’m Mitchell Askett. Mitch."
"I know who you are, Mr Askett. Brenda Skylar."
"The little girl…my niece, Roberta—we call her Bobbie." Or Bobs when she was cute, or Roberta Jane when she caused mischief.
Brenda had a cellphone in her hand, talking to someone, possibly the hospital, but Mitch had to watch the road. He came to a three-way stop and for a moment was confused, then realised which way he needed to go. Down. Into town. Where was the hospital? The last time he’d been in Ellery, he was only twelve or so, the same age as Bobbie. All he remembered was that the limousine he had been riding in had a mini bar and that he’d had his first taste of brandy. It hadn’t made him sick but it had taken the edges off the anxiety inside him.
They hit town and he spotted the sign for hospital and in no time at all he was pulling up at the Emergency Room door. Maybe the doctor would be elsewhere, but Bobbie was shaking and crying and in pain. The ER was certainly the place to take her. He threw the car into park, jumped out and pulled Bobbie into his arms. She reached a hand up around his neck and gripped hard to his long hair. Just like she used to when she was a baby. Compassion, love and fear warred for dominance. A small group of people waited at the entrance, but Mitch saw none of it. Someone took Bobbie from him and in the next instant she was on a gurney and all Mitch could hear was shouted words like ‘ultrasound’ and ‘emergency’. He ran in after them, then stopped at the glass internal doors beyond which he could see two women and a man checking Bobbie out.
"Uncle Mitch," Bobbie called from the car. "It hurts. I feel sicker than before."
"I’ll be with you in a minute, sweetheart." Mitchell knocked on the door again. If there was no answer, at that point he would skip finding where he was supposed to be staying and meeting the other owners. He’d find the nearest hotel room and get his niece tucked up into bed. Maybe if he was really clever he could locate a shop in Ellery that sold dry crackers, or eggs. He always liked eggs when he had a hangover. Not that twelve-year-old Roberta was facing the awful post-alcoholic binge effects like he did. No, she just seemed to be suffering from car sickness. Or she had a bug. Or something.
"I’m gonna be sick," she whined. Mitchell was torn. No one was answering. He should just go and find the hotel, or hell, maybe even a doctor, just to get her checked out.
"I’ll be right with you," he called.
To be fair, they’d been driving on and off for quite a few hours and their diet had consisted of whatever they could get from gas stations en route. At twelve, he would have jumped at the chance of a road trip fuelled entirely on chocolate and Doritos, but the normally buoyant Bobbie had refused everything he’d offered.
The front door finally began to open.
"Unca Mi—" he heard, then the sound of a car door opening and retching.
Suddenly torn between what he had come here to do and what he needed to do, he threw a hurried "Sorry" to whoever had just answered the door then jumped the steps back down to the car. Sliding to a halt around the passenger side, which faced away from the cabin, he stared in horror for a second. Not only had Bobbie been violently sick, but she was curled in a ball and sobbing.
Without further hesitation, Mitchell crouched down next to her and in a smooth move had her up in his arms.
"Baby? Are you okay?" Stupid question, but all he wanted was for her to open her eyes.
"What’s wrong?" a voice broke through his concern. Holding Bobbie protectively close to him, he swivelled to face the owner of the soft words. A short woman with grey hair and a concerned look on her face stood with her arms outstretched like she wanted to take Bobbie from him. He tightened his grip, only for Bobbie to whimper at the hold.
"Does she need a doctor?" the woman asked in a rush.
"I don’t know," he said. God, he felt worse than useless. What would Annabelle do? Not that he could remember his sister having to deal with a sick Bobbie, as Bobbie was usually one healthy child.
"What’s wrong, sweetie?" She touched Bobbie’s head. "She’s very hot."
"She complained of stomach ache, but it’s been getting worse."
"Let’s get her to the hospital."
Mitchell felt suddenly as sick as his niece. Hospital? That sounded like this was serious. He’d only been responsible for her for two days and he’d already fucked up.
"Hospital?" he said.
"Our doctors are there—we just need to get her looked at. Wait…" The woman ran up the steps then came back out almost instantly. In her hand she had wipes and some keys. She locked the door behind her then came and climbed into the back seat.
"Give her to me," she ordered firmly. "You drive."
"I’m not— I don’t…" he stammered. Bobbie was curled up in his arms, then her head lolled back and suddenly Mitchell’s instinct to get things done kicked in. In seconds, he had her laid with her head in the woman’s lap, and he pulled a blanket from behind the seat up and over her.
"Where?" he asked quickly. Bobbie was crying quietly and the woman shushed her gently with soft words.
"Left out of here and down into Ellery," she said.
Forcing the car into gear, Mitchell wheel-spun on the loose gravel and the car lurched as it gripped and surged forward. In a few minutes, he was back at the road. Only when they were on the main route to town did he speak again.
"Is she okay?"
"She’s very hot, and listless," the woman said.
Mitchell realised he couldn’t keep thinking of her as ‘the woman’.
"I’m Mitchell Askett. Mitch."
"I know who you are, Mr Askett. Brenda Skylar."
"The little girl…my niece, Roberta—we call her Bobbie." Or Bobs when she was cute, or Roberta Jane when she caused mischief.
Brenda had a cellphone in her hand, talking to someone, possibly the hospital, but Mitch had to watch the road. He came to a three-way stop and for a moment was confused, then realised which way he needed to go. Down. Into town. Where was the hospital? The last time he’d been in Ellery, he was only twelve or so, the same age as Bobbie. All he remembered was that the limousine he had been riding in had a mini bar and that he’d had his first taste of brandy. It hadn’t made him sick but it had taken the edges off the anxiety inside him.
They hit town and he spotted the sign for hospital and in no time at all he was pulling up at the Emergency Room door. Maybe the doctor would be elsewhere, but Bobbie was shaking and crying and in pain. The ER was certainly the place to take her. He threw the car into park, jumped out and pulled Bobbie into his arms. She reached a hand up around his neck and gripped hard to his long hair. Just like she used to when she was a baby. Compassion, love and fear warred for dominance. A small group of people waited at the entrance, but Mitch saw none of it. Someone took Bobbie from him and in the next instant she was on a gurney and all Mitch could hear was shouted words like ‘ultrasound’ and ‘emergency’. He ran in after them, then stopped at the glass internal doors beyond which he could see two women and a man checking Bobbie out.
The Paramedic and the Writer #5
Jamie Llewellyn didn’t do early mornings. He had never quite got used to waking up at the ass-crack of dawn for any reason, not even emergencies or early shifts.
Unlike Daniel and Max, who thrived on the early mornings and were chatting about a TV room and exchanging sarcastic remarks while stretching, ready to go for a run.
"I hate early mornings," Jamie muttered. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously when he caught Max grinning and Daniel reaching into his shorts pocket and handing over a five-dollar bill.
"You should have known it was the first thing he’d say," Max said. He placed the note in his pocket and zipped it. "You’ll never win."
"I thought he would at least say good morning," Daniel groused.
"When has he ever done that?" Max crowed.
"Guys. I’m right here," Jamie reminded them. "And given both of you fell asleep in your drinks last night at the planning meeting in The Alibi, then you can’t talk. Some of us work well in the morning, some of us normal people at night."
Daniel glanced at Max and the two of them began laughing in earnest. Jamie turned his back on them so they didn’t see him smiling along with them. Instead he used the advantage to begin the run and get ahead. Max and Daniel were both really competitive—it didn’t take them long to realise he’d gone and within a minute they had caught up. The three men fell into a companionable rhythm. The direction took them out of the cabins where they had met and into the forest behind. Jamie didn’t need to think about the direction—it was so familiar to him now. Through to the road, over the road, across the bridge, down into Ellery, then back to the cabins with a punishing uphill finish.
The time in the forest was more steeplechase than run—jumping fallen trees and small stream beds—and by the time the road was in sight, Jamie was feeling the warmth in his muscles. They crossed the road and made their way to the narrow bridge over the canyon between the two levels of Mercury Peak. Jostling for position, Jamie decided he’d let the other two go first and it was lucky he did. In holding back for those few seconds he glanced over the side of the bridge and saw the car.
"Max! Daniel!" He slid to a stop as he shouted. Peering over the edge, he tried to make out what the hell had happened. But it was Max with the experience and Max who suddenly was on point with this.
"Hell," he said with an added curse. "Car, off the road." He indicated back to the barrier on the corner. They hadn’t even seen the bent and buckled metal. Max leaned over the bridge and Daniel passed him his cell phone.
"Car off the road under the bridge at Mercury Peak," he relayed to emergency services. "Through the barrier. We’ll need shoring… It’s right on the edge. No sign of passengers—"
"Wait," Jamie said. He concentrated on the driver side where he thought he’d just seen movement. Then he saw it again. A hand gripping the open window covered in the scarlet of way too much blood. "There’s someone in there." Without conscious thought he was up and over the rail and scrambling down as far as he could get. He was about six feet away when the car slid from him. Only a few inches but it was enough to have him stop absolutely still.
"Max, the car’s sliding!" he yelled up.
"Stay where you are!" Max shouted. "I’m coming down."
Jamie opened his mouth to protest. If the car had moved because of him, then adding Max to the equation was going to have the car falling over the edge. But Max knew what he was doing. Not everyone was like his ex-boyfriend, Zach.
Not everyone wanted to put their life at risk, whatever the cost.
He watched as Max carefully made his way towards the car. Instead of taking the direct route, as Jamie had, he moved slowly and tested the ground before each inch.
"Help…" The word was faint but Jamie was attuned to small voices in difficult situations.
"We’re here," he called to the driver. "Help is coming to you. Stay very still."
There was no answer. He hoped to hell that meant the guy was still, and not unconscious. He concentrated on locating ingress. The driver’s door looked intact but the entire windshield was gone. Jamie’s inspection tracked the outside of the vehicle, a grey sedan, of which make Jamie couldn’t see. This close it was easy to see someone under the car. Little more than three or four feet away from where he was, Jamie found himself staring into sightless eyes and so much blood and damage that it was clear this guy was dead. His face was a mess, carved and bloody, and his neck looked broken from the unnatural angle of his head.
"Passenger through the windshield and wedged under the car," he summarised for Max. The fireman wouldn’t be able to see the body from the side he was approaching the wreck. "He’s dead," he added. Max nodded and carried on to the trunk of a tree that grew at a crazy angle from the side of the peak. It had probably been that which had saved the car from going the whole distance into the ravine itself down the sharp drop. Max finally disappeared from sight and Jamie imagined the large man checking to see how unstable the car was.
"Help…" The word was fainter.
God, Jamie wanted to move. Every fibre of him needed to check the driver out, but he couldn’t—years of training and he was still like a statue until he got the all-clear. Finally, Max crawled back up.
"We’re okay. It’s steady for now," he said, "but wait. I’m coming to you. I need to counter some of the weight."
Max steadied himself by digging his feet into the mud and pushing back, then he gripped the underside of the car hard. He looked over at Jamie and nodded. They didn’t discuss what they were doing. Max was doing his thing, and Jamie hadn’t hesitated to climb down to help with injuries. It was what they did.
"Help’s coming," Max said. In the distance Jamie could hear sirens. There would be lifting equipment, but who knew how hurt the guy in the car was? Time was a luxury they couldn’t afford. He slowly slid forward until finally he was right by the car. The driver’s door opened easily and Jamie got a clear look at the driver. One hell of a lot of blood, but he was still in his seatbelt.
"Can you tell me your name?" Jamie asked as a matter of habit. Asking a name gave a first responder a level to work with. Was the patient aware?
The man muttered something that sounded like ‘no’, but Jamie couldn’t make it out.
"Where does it hurt, sir?" he asked quickly. He needed to get a feel for whether the guy was able to talk coherently.
"O-o-over…" the man stuttered. "All…"
Jamie got himself a better foothold and leaned in to check his pulse. He couldn’t see the main wound that had caused all this blood and considered that maybe it was from the dead passenger. Then when the driver shifted it became obvious—a slice out of his thigh, and he was losing too much of the red stuff.
"He’s bleeding," Jamie called urgently. As he said it, the car shifted another inch and the metal groaned.
Max cursed. "Pull him out."
Jamie reached in and checked that there was nothing trapping the man’s legs. "What’s your name, sir? Can you hear me? We need to get you out of here." Jamie could smell petrol and knew that they had to get away.
"Jus’…leg…" the victim said. He opened his eyes and stared right at Jamie with a gaze so deep blue it was near violet. Shakily, the injured man reached for the belt. "Help…" he said. His voice was raw. "Out." His hand slipped and Jamie caught it and instead assisted him to release the belt. Under his own steam, the driver moved towards Jamie who cautiously helped him free. The car shifted a little and he could hear Max cursing up a storm. With a final tug the victim was clear and lying half on Jamie. Something hard was between them and when Jamie shifted a little he could see a gun gripped in the driver’s hand.
"Clear," Jamie called. Max must have let go as a ton of Toyota teetered for a second then crashed in three loud bangs down to the river at the bottom of the two-hundred-foot ravine. Jamie pulled the gun out of a loose grip and tossed it to where Max was, then held his patient tight. He realised immediately that they were sliding as the car had torn away mud and grass. Max grabbed them both and dug into the mud to stop the slide. Jamie cast a grateful look his way then focused entirely on John Doe. He rolled him off as soon as it was safe and realised he had an unconscious survivor in his hands.
"He’s still bleeding," Jamie summarised. He ripped off his running top and pressed it on the open wound.
"Take his weight, they’re sending down a gurney," Max said quickly. Jamie nodded and did as he was instructed.
Max assisted the guys at the top with getting John Doe on the lifting apparatus and suddenly it was just Jamie and Max left alone.
Jamie knew the guy would be whisked away. St Martin’s Hospital in Ellery could probably handle it.
Unlike Daniel and Max, who thrived on the early mornings and were chatting about a TV room and exchanging sarcastic remarks while stretching, ready to go for a run.
"I hate early mornings," Jamie muttered. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously when he caught Max grinning and Daniel reaching into his shorts pocket and handing over a five-dollar bill.
"You should have known it was the first thing he’d say," Max said. He placed the note in his pocket and zipped it. "You’ll never win."
"I thought he would at least say good morning," Daniel groused.
"When has he ever done that?" Max crowed.
"Guys. I’m right here," Jamie reminded them. "And given both of you fell asleep in your drinks last night at the planning meeting in The Alibi, then you can’t talk. Some of us work well in the morning, some of us normal people at night."
Daniel glanced at Max and the two of them began laughing in earnest. Jamie turned his back on them so they didn’t see him smiling along with them. Instead he used the advantage to begin the run and get ahead. Max and Daniel were both really competitive—it didn’t take them long to realise he’d gone and within a minute they had caught up. The three men fell into a companionable rhythm. The direction took them out of the cabins where they had met and into the forest behind. Jamie didn’t need to think about the direction—it was so familiar to him now. Through to the road, over the road, across the bridge, down into Ellery, then back to the cabins with a punishing uphill finish.
The time in the forest was more steeplechase than run—jumping fallen trees and small stream beds—and by the time the road was in sight, Jamie was feeling the warmth in his muscles. They crossed the road and made their way to the narrow bridge over the canyon between the two levels of Mercury Peak. Jostling for position, Jamie decided he’d let the other two go first and it was lucky he did. In holding back for those few seconds he glanced over the side of the bridge and saw the car.
"Max! Daniel!" He slid to a stop as he shouted. Peering over the edge, he tried to make out what the hell had happened. But it was Max with the experience and Max who suddenly was on point with this.
"Hell," he said with an added curse. "Car, off the road." He indicated back to the barrier on the corner. They hadn’t even seen the bent and buckled metal. Max leaned over the bridge and Daniel passed him his cell phone.
"Car off the road under the bridge at Mercury Peak," he relayed to emergency services. "Through the barrier. We’ll need shoring… It’s right on the edge. No sign of passengers—"
"Wait," Jamie said. He concentrated on the driver side where he thought he’d just seen movement. Then he saw it again. A hand gripping the open window covered in the scarlet of way too much blood. "There’s someone in there." Without conscious thought he was up and over the rail and scrambling down as far as he could get. He was about six feet away when the car slid from him. Only a few inches but it was enough to have him stop absolutely still.
"Max, the car’s sliding!" he yelled up.
"Stay where you are!" Max shouted. "I’m coming down."
Jamie opened his mouth to protest. If the car had moved because of him, then adding Max to the equation was going to have the car falling over the edge. But Max knew what he was doing. Not everyone was like his ex-boyfriend, Zach.
Not everyone wanted to put their life at risk, whatever the cost.
He watched as Max carefully made his way towards the car. Instead of taking the direct route, as Jamie had, he moved slowly and tested the ground before each inch.
"Help…" The word was faint but Jamie was attuned to small voices in difficult situations.
"We’re here," he called to the driver. "Help is coming to you. Stay very still."
There was no answer. He hoped to hell that meant the guy was still, and not unconscious. He concentrated on locating ingress. The driver’s door looked intact but the entire windshield was gone. Jamie’s inspection tracked the outside of the vehicle, a grey sedan, of which make Jamie couldn’t see. This close it was easy to see someone under the car. Little more than three or four feet away from where he was, Jamie found himself staring into sightless eyes and so much blood and damage that it was clear this guy was dead. His face was a mess, carved and bloody, and his neck looked broken from the unnatural angle of his head.
"Passenger through the windshield and wedged under the car," he summarised for Max. The fireman wouldn’t be able to see the body from the side he was approaching the wreck. "He’s dead," he added. Max nodded and carried on to the trunk of a tree that grew at a crazy angle from the side of the peak. It had probably been that which had saved the car from going the whole distance into the ravine itself down the sharp drop. Max finally disappeared from sight and Jamie imagined the large man checking to see how unstable the car was.
"Help…" The word was fainter.
God, Jamie wanted to move. Every fibre of him needed to check the driver out, but he couldn’t—years of training and he was still like a statue until he got the all-clear. Finally, Max crawled back up.
"We’re okay. It’s steady for now," he said, "but wait. I’m coming to you. I need to counter some of the weight."
Max steadied himself by digging his feet into the mud and pushing back, then he gripped the underside of the car hard. He looked over at Jamie and nodded. They didn’t discuss what they were doing. Max was doing his thing, and Jamie hadn’t hesitated to climb down to help with injuries. It was what they did.
"Help’s coming," Max said. In the distance Jamie could hear sirens. There would be lifting equipment, but who knew how hurt the guy in the car was? Time was a luxury they couldn’t afford. He slowly slid forward until finally he was right by the car. The driver’s door opened easily and Jamie got a clear look at the driver. One hell of a lot of blood, but he was still in his seatbelt.
"Can you tell me your name?" Jamie asked as a matter of habit. Asking a name gave a first responder a level to work with. Was the patient aware?
The man muttered something that sounded like ‘no’, but Jamie couldn’t make it out.
"Where does it hurt, sir?" he asked quickly. He needed to get a feel for whether the guy was able to talk coherently.
"O-o-over…" the man stuttered. "All…"
Jamie got himself a better foothold and leaned in to check his pulse. He couldn’t see the main wound that had caused all this blood and considered that maybe it was from the dead passenger. Then when the driver shifted it became obvious—a slice out of his thigh, and he was losing too much of the red stuff.
"He’s bleeding," Jamie called urgently. As he said it, the car shifted another inch and the metal groaned.
Max cursed. "Pull him out."
Jamie reached in and checked that there was nothing trapping the man’s legs. "What’s your name, sir? Can you hear me? We need to get you out of here." Jamie could smell petrol and knew that they had to get away.
"Jus’…leg…" the victim said. He opened his eyes and stared right at Jamie with a gaze so deep blue it was near violet. Shakily, the injured man reached for the belt. "Help…" he said. His voice was raw. "Out." His hand slipped and Jamie caught it and instead assisted him to release the belt. Under his own steam, the driver moved towards Jamie who cautiously helped him free. The car shifted a little and he could hear Max cursing up a storm. With a final tug the victim was clear and lying half on Jamie. Something hard was between them and when Jamie shifted a little he could see a gun gripped in the driver’s hand.
"Clear," Jamie called. Max must have let go as a ton of Toyota teetered for a second then crashed in three loud bangs down to the river at the bottom of the two-hundred-foot ravine. Jamie pulled the gun out of a loose grip and tossed it to where Max was, then held his patient tight. He realised immediately that they were sliding as the car had torn away mud and grass. Max grabbed them both and dug into the mud to stop the slide. Jamie cast a grateful look his way then focused entirely on John Doe. He rolled him off as soon as it was safe and realised he had an unconscious survivor in his hands.
"He’s still bleeding," Jamie summarised. He ripped off his running top and pressed it on the open wound.
"Take his weight, they’re sending down a gurney," Max said quickly. Jamie nodded and did as he was instructed.
Max assisted the guys at the top with getting John Doe on the lifting apparatus and suddenly it was just Jamie and Max left alone.
Jamie knew the guy would be whisked away. St Martin’s Hospital in Ellery could probably handle it.
The Barman and the Seal #6
The cold was biting. The cutting wind carried ice and snow high up in the Salang Pass three thousand metres up in the Afghan Mountains northwest of the capital Kabul. Normally his captors covered him—they would tell him in their broken English they weren’t completely lost to conventions of how to look after prisoners. But tonight was different. From the vantage point in the centre of the camp, two feet off the ground in the small metal and wood cage, he could see them drinking and the campfire that warmed them was the only light in this small unsheltered area. Tents flapped in the wind and the raucous laughter was enough for him to know they’d probably stumble to their tents in drunken stupor. The SEAL wasn’t important. He called for help. No one heard him or brought over the tarpaulin that was his only protection against the night.
He had curled over seven of his ten fingers when the sun rose this morning. Yesterday it had been six fingers to count the passing of time. Seven days in this place and the infections in his leg and arm were nothing to the rattling cough that had his chest squeezing in pain and his back in spasms. He shifted to find comfort and ended up twisted like a pretzel in the five-foot cube with his back to the worst of the snow. His cold weather gear, including his boots, had long ago been shared out to the rebels and he was left in combat pants, a tee and his thin under-jacket. Sneakers finished off the protection for his skin. He was fucked and he knew it. Even if someone got him out, even if any of his team had survived, he was broken in half by this place.
The pain in his back increased and he heard the inhuman whimper that left his mouth. He needed antibiotics and pain meds. Little by little his humanity was being stripped from him. He was dying—an hour at a time the ice was burning his skin and he curled his hands and feet so he wouldn’t lose them to frostbite.
Feebly he rocked in the cage, hoping the whole thing would topple on its side. Then if it crashed to the floor at least someone could possibly cover him from the snow and ice. A lethargy stole over him. He should be trying to get out, but there was no point. He’d seen the explosion, seen the mountain fall, crushing the team—he was lucky he’d been covering their six and his only open injury was the evil laceration from his knee to his ankle that now oozed pus and hurt like a bitch. All his equipment gone. Any hope gone.
He was sweating and bile rose in him, but his stomach was empty. He didn’t fight the retching or the pain—if he concentrated hard enough on home, on the hills and valleys of Virginia, then he could at least escape in his mind. He stretched his legs and the extremities of the cage held him solid. Pinned.
He cried…
Then he woke up in a bed thousands of miles away. He couldn’t see the stars through the bars of a cage, or feel icy wind bite into his skin. He was safe.
* * * * *
"Hey," Daniel said from the stove. Travis almost turned on his heel and left the kitchen. It was three a.m.—no one was supposed to be up. Especially not Daniel with his sensitive observations, his no-nonsense assessments and his damn understanding green-eyed gaze.
"Hey," Travis said in reply. He felt like shit. The dream of being back in that place, with the pain—and the crying—had wrenched him from sleep. Again. He couldn’t remember the last full night of sleep he’d had.
"You want hot chocolate?" Daniel asked. He shook the tin of chocolate powder in front of his face and smiled. "I can’t promise cream and marshmallows like Luke uses, but I can mix hot water and powder."
Travis debated. Saying yes meant Daniel and he would probably have to talk. Travis didn’t want to talk. His throat was still clogged with tears and his head and shoulders ached with tension. Damned sleeping pills weren’t even working if the terror in his head could drag him so sharply out of sleep. Sickness rolled in his stomach as the thought of chocolate hit his mind. Can’t even drink fucking hot chocolate. For fuck’s sake.
"I just came in for some water," Travis lied. "Need to take some pain pills." Why did he do that? Why did he even talk let alone elaborate. Yes, he could get water in his own room, but he could have got away with no more talking if Daniel had just accepted his excuse. But no—idiot—he had to go and mention pain. Daniel made that patented frowning face of his then nodded. The frown was so quick it was blink and you miss it, and though Travis may well be a fucked-up, washed-up ex-SEAL, he still had the ability to read expressions in a millisecond.
"Cool" was all Daniel said. He didn’t push on the pain meds or the fact Travis was awake or that he probably looked like shit. He was soaked through with sweat and he knew from looking in the mirror that his face had a gaunt, haunted look. Five weeks he’d been here in the middle of freaking nowhere at this place and every single night he’d had these dreams. Afghanistan would never leave him—the scars on his body and in his mind a permanent reminder.
Pathetic. You cry like a freaking girl.
He crossed to the sink, pulled down a glass and filled it with water. Then quietly and with a soft goodnight he left the kitchen and made his way back to his room. A hot drink would have relaxed him maybe. His mom had this way of adding cinnamon to hot chocolate and he needed that connection. He’d talked himself out of his room on the promise of finding god damned cinnamon.
Freak.
Ellery Mountain—a series of books set in the town of Ellery in the Smoky Mountains focusing on heroes as they navigate the barren landscape of being gay in a small town. Read stories of men like Finn the cop, Daniel the ex-marine, Kieran the carpenter, Marines, SEALs, teachers, soldiers, and a town that embraces them with love.
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
The Paramedic and the Writer #5
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
The Barman and the Seal #6
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
Series
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