Montana Doctor (Saddlers Prairie, 2, Band 1408) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Ann Roth lives in Seattle with her husband. After earning an MBA, she worked as a banker and corporate trainer. She gave up that life to write, and if they awarded PhDs in writing happily-ever-after stories she'd have one. In 1999 Ann won the Golden Heart  for unpublished writers for best long series. Since then she has sold numerous romance and women's fiction novels, a novella and short stories.For more information, visit www.annroth.net 

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Eager to leave Montana for good, Mark Engle sped down the empty highway, toward the Billings airport. The flight to L.A. left at seven, and he was still a good four-hour drive away.

He should've left Steer Bluff earlier, but his mom had treated him to lunch. Mark hated that she spent her hard-earned money on his send-off meal. At least she had a means of getting around now—the old but reliable car that had taken him through med school, a three-year internship/residency at Sheridan County Hospital and a two-year stint there as a family-practice doctor.

Overhead, the dark clouds suddenly opened up. Furious rain bounced off the road and pummeled Mark's rented sedan. Given that this was May in Montana, it was no big surprise. The pavement was slick now, and he slowed down and turned the wipers to high speed.

On either side of him, the celery-green prairie grass and spring flowers bowed under the onslaught. No doubt, the steep drainage ditches lining the road would soon fill with churning water.

A Josh Ritter song started on the iPod and Mark sang along, vaguely noting the white sedan advancing toward him. He thought about his new life in L.A. One week from today, he would start his dream job at Archer Clinic, a private facility for the wealthy that paid a hefty salary and a few years down the road offered the chance to buy a stake in the business. Provided the other partners approved.

He was in hock up to his ears, but at last he could pay down his massive student loans and start a savings account so that when the time came he'd have the funds to buy into the clinic. Meantime, he'd work extra hard to convince the existing partners of his value. He also intended to purchase his first-ever brand-new car, and date lots of gorgeous females—women who understood the importance of putting your career firs—

Without warning, the white sedan veered into his lane. Mark gripped the wheel and swerved to the side of the road. Mere inches from the ditch, his car screeched and skidded to a stop.

The other car didn't fare so well. With a sickening bam! it slammed headfirst down the incline.

Mark jumped from his car. Heedless of the rain, he jogged toward the sedan. The front end was rammed against the far side of the ditch, and the back end hovered a few inches off the ground. The air bag had deployed, pinning an elderly woman in place. She was unconscious.

Swearing, he slipped and slid his way down to her. Cold, murky water, already ankle-high, seeped rapidly into his sneakers and soaked the bottoms of his jeans.

Mark checked her pulse. To his relief he found one, though it was weak. He lifted one of her eyelids. Peered at her. "Can you hear me?"

The woman groaned.

"Hang on." He pulled his cell phone from his hip pocket and called 911. "This is Dr. Mark Engle. I'm on the highway, south of—" He broke off to squint at an exit sign a few yards away. "Saddlers Prairie. An elderly female just crashed into a drainage ditch. Unconscious, but coming to now. Pulse thready. Send an ambulance, stat."

"Our closest hospital, Flagg Memorial, is twenty-five miles west of where you are," the dispatcher said. "It'll be a few minutes."

"What about EMTs from the fire department?"

"They're out on another call."

"Great, just great," Mark muttered, and hung up.

The woman's eyes were open now. A faded blue, and unfocused. "What is this thing in my face?" she asked, feebly pushing at the air bag.

"Don't move—you might have a broken neck. You crashed into the ditch and your air bag deployed."

"Take it off me."

"Do. Not. Move," Mark repeated. "The medics will deflate it when they arrive." He hunkered down to eye level. "What's your name?"

"Florence Jones."

"Age?"

"Seventy-three."

"Is there someone I can call?"

"Dr. Tom." She recited the number.

"Is he a family member?" Mark asked.

"With a name like that? Of course not. He's my doctor."

"Is there any family?"

"I don't.. I think so. Where am I, and who are you?"

"My name is Dr. Mark Engle. You ran off the highway, near the Saddlers Prairie exit."

"At least I'm close to home." Florence Jones closed her eyes.

"Stay with me," Mark said.

"Oh, I'm here, all right. I'm going to take a nap now."

Not wanting her to do that, Mark said, "Please keep your eyes open while I contact Dr. Tom."

He dialed the number the woman had provided, which connected, thank God.

"Saddlers Prairie Medical Clinic. This is Stacy," a crisp, female voice said.

Mark pictured a youngish woman with a take-charge expression and dark hair pulled severely back from her face. "Dr. Mark Engle here—I need to speak with Dr. Tom…" Not knowing the man's last name, he let his voice trail off.

"Dr. Sackett is with a patient. Can he call you back?"

Sackett. Mark mentally stowed the name in his memory. "Would you let him know that one of his patients, a Miss—"

"Mrs.," the elderly woman corrected.

"Mrs. Florence Jones has been in a car accident. She just came to, and we're waiting for the ambulance."

"Why didn't you say so?" The woman's tone stopped just short of a scold. "Hold on."

Moments later, Tom Sackett picked up. "I've treated Florence for decades," he told Mark. "She may have had a stroke. Tell her I'll get hold of her son and daughter, and they'll meet her at the hospital."

Before long, sirens filled the air. Flashing bright lights, the ambulance sped down the highway, followed by a sheriff's car.

By the time the EMTs loaded Florence Jones into the ambulance and Sheriff Gabe Bennett finished questioning Mark, the tow truck had arrived and the rain had stopped.

Mark was soaked and cold clear through. He'd also missed any chance of catching his flight to L.A. He trudged to his car to pull fresh clothing from his suitcase and changed quickly with the trunk up. He was zipping the fly of his dry jeans and about to toe into a pair of loafers, when his cell phone rang.

"This is Tom Sackett," the doctor said. "Thanks for taking care of Florence. Heard you missed your plane."

Mark wasn't surprised that the doctor knew about his flight. In small towns, news spread quickly. "There's another flight tomorrow afternoon. I'll fly out then," he said.

An afternoon flight would give him plenty of time to make the trip to Billings in the morning.

"You missed that plane because you were helping my patient. The least I can do is treat you to dinner. Why don't you stop by my clinic. I'll show you around and we'll leave from there."

Mark had zero interest in touring the man's clinic, but as he was stuck in Montana for one more night, he saw no reason why he shouldn't take Tom up on his offer. The country doctor might know of a decent place to bunk for the night.

"Why not?" he said. "Tell me how to find you, and I'll be right over."

"Stacy, the gray sedan just pulled into the parking lot!" Dr. Engle had arrived.

"Thanks, Mrs. Card." Stacy Andrews dashed from the kitchen in the back to the reception desk mere seconds before Dr. Engle exited his car.

They'd been expecting him since Dr. Tom's announcement that he'd invited the man to tour the clinic and then have dinner. He was just passing through, but you never knew….

An opportunity like this rarely came along, and Stacy meant to take full advantage of it.

She'd spent the past thirty minutes tidying up. Her desk, which she always kept neat and clean, was even more orderly than...