DR. ALASKA first chapter!

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Chapter 1

Monday midmorning and Dr. Lee Tipton knew she’d been bitten by the bad-decision bug when she walked to her rental car and her nostrils immediately froze on the first inhalation of crisp Fairbanks, Alaska air. In early January, no less.
 
Crisp air? More like shatteringly frigid air. 

File this last-minute family-medicine-locums assignment under seemed like a good decision at the time. She patted her leather purse. Thank God the job would be lucrative. The only thing keeping her credit card functional was a generous credit limit, which was good news and extremely bad news.

Criminelly, Lee hadn’t felt her toes for at least a hundred miles as she steered the sedan west along a two-lane state highway that paralleled the Tanana River, soon to join up with the Yukon River. Not that her view would change—all rivers were frozen solid this time of year.
​
The relentless thuddidda-thuddidda rumble of studded tires on glazed, uneven asphalt rocked her into a mind-numbing haze. Low clouds blended with the snow-covered pine trees, barren hills, and mountains, visible out the fogged windshield in an unending white and gray scene of hypothermia. Every so often, there was a break in the terrain revealing two tracks that led off into the hills or stopped at an isolated house. The only humans who survived out here had to be rugged, resourceful, and unable to quit.

So, the exact opposite type of person as Lee.

Good life choices? Ha. Lee let out a hollow laugh in the car. No way. This assignment served as an escape, pure and simple. She had gone as far as possible from everything back home. This job would also be the ladder for her to climb out of the financial hole she’d fallen into. Why else would she ever travel to Alaska’s interior in January? 

She rolled her achingly cold fingers in the Thinsulate gloves she’d found at an outdoor store before she’d left Georgia. Apparently, when the product advertised ten below, that number didn’t indicate comfort, just survival.

A gust of wind buffeted the rental sedan. The sub-zero chill permeating the vehicle fought against the meager warmth from the heater vents. At least she had some comfort. She shifted her butt on the warm seat—oh yes, she’d set the tush-warmer to inferno, second-degree gluteal burns be damned.

What she’d give for a hot and steamy ninety degrees in Alpharetta, Georgia, land of sundresses, sandals, mimosa brunches, and the glow of perma-sweat.
      
Instead, she had perma-freeze.
            
Lordie knew her socialite mother would curl up like a frozen doodlebug if she could see Lee now, shivering in her thick gloves, shapeless puffy coat, and static-y hair shoved under a yarn cap. 

Mom. Bless her heart, but her image-preoccupied society parent was focused on what damage Lee’s divorce might do to Mom’s well-being and the damage a divorce would do to a family that kept up appearances at all costs. That one fact played a big part in why Lee was currently driving this tin can over swirling snow. Still, Lee wanted even more distance between herself and her bad decisions. She stared out the window and blinked in the bright yet low light.
            
In her rearview mirror, a truck that had been creeping up to her for miles finally pulled around and sped away, with a diesel growl and puffs of fading exhaust, replaced once more by wind and mind-numbing studded tire road noise. Lee shook her head as red taillights disappeared in the distance. The posted speed limit didn’t exist as a challenge on a wintry day like this. Common sense still counted for something.
            
She squinted ahead, expecting to see the outskirts of the town. Not much else other than frozen tundra.
            
What a place to run away from that money-sucker her parents had pushed her into marrying. Worst of all? She had found out that Preston Dupree IV had not only used her family connections to get a seat on the Alpharetta City Council, but he’d had an affair while Lee was in her early years of practice in Dahlonega. Then, he had drained her hard-earned savings account drier than Lake Lanier in a drought. His need to project success had required a big house and bigger toys and exclusive golf memberships and vacations in places with expensive hotels. 
            
Mom and Dad had approved of the show of wealth. Of course they did. Lord forbid, they should ever decline hosting a cocktail party to support the local political campaign du jour. 
            
The whole time, Lee had been too buried in three years of family medicine residency, then the rural obstetrics fellowship for a year, then practice. She hadn’t seen what occurred right under her nose. At least not until last fall when, at the age of thirty-five, Lee’s carefully planned world crumbled under her. All the while, her parents were more worried about the financial and social impact of Lee’s divorce on them. 
            
She rubbed her eyes. Hard to believe her parents had encouraged her to stick with Preston. Heck, after the divorce went through, he had even tried to raise funds by filing a HIPAA suit with her employer. He falsely alleged that Lee had discovered the affair by going into the chart of a patient—his girlfriend—whom she didn’t treat. The only time Lee was thankful for an electronic medical record that tracked every log-in and click was when she sat in the office of the hospital’s human resources department to defend herself.

Bull crap and good riddance to him. Fool me once, as the saying went. When Lee trusted any man again, it’d be a cold day in hell.
            
Welp. She peered out the frosted window, careful what she wished for.
            
Brake lights glowed red and grew larger.

She took her foot off the pedal. All Lee knew about traveling during Georgia ice storms was to stay home. That and, if you had to drive, maneuver like Granny was sitting in the passenger seat, wearing her best Sunday dress while holding an open container of church potluck gravy on her lap. Lee let the speed drop and gripped the wheel, easing over to what she hoped was the road shoulder.
            
Four wheels of the upside-down truck spun slowly, the cab resting at the bottom of a short embankment. Her heart pounded. Someone was in there, possibly hurt. She stopped the car, zipped up the neck of her Columbia puffy jacket, and secured the gloves. One step out of the car, and she bit back a curse as the wind cut plumb through her twill pants.
            
But Lee was a doctor. Ignoring an accident with no one else around? Not an option. A burst of adrenaline along with the ABCDEs of trauma assessment flashed through her mind.
            
​Distant sirens echoed eerily over the otherwise empty landscape. Faint flashes of red lights penetrated the blowing snow.

A weak groan coming from inside the vehicle got her attention. No time to wait for EMS. She gritted her teeth and scootched down the few feet of snowy embankment to the forty-five-degree upended cab. The front grill had quite a dent in it. 

Her ankles chilled as snow worked under her pant legs. 

Reaching the driver’s side door, she peeked down into the busted window and gasped when a bloody hand waved, next to an upside-down face.
            
Adrenaline giving her extra strength, she pulled on the inverted door. 

A man, looking to be in his late sixties, reached toward her, and she yelped. “Hold on, sir. Don’t move. Let’s get you stabilized.”

Spine precautions, airway evaluation, cardiac assessment. Could she do anything to help? Sirens blared, closer now.
            
“Oh hell, I’m fine. I already called 911 right when I realized I wasn’t going anywhere without a tow. State trooper will be here in a while,” he groused, his lips moving within a dense salt-and-pepper beard. “Damn moose. Should’ve known. I was due. It’s been a few years since my last head-on.” Blood flowed upward from a gash at his temple, due to gravity, turning his gray hair red. 

To Lee’s shock, the man unbuckled, gripped the truck frame, and heaved himself out, his leather and shearling coat scraping as he exited. She held the door and tried to steady him as he sat down at the bottom of the bank with a guttural oof. At least he moved all extremities well. For now.

She pressed a gloved hand against the briskly bleeding injury that now ran down his face instead of up it. She tried to get him to lay down, but he waved her off until she insisted.
“Fine. For you, I’ll cooperate,” he grumped, reclining against the bank in his coat and thick snow pants.

“Don’t move. You could have other serious injuries.” With her other gloved hand, she pressed against the opposite side of his neck, creating makeshift in-line c-spine stabilization between her two hands.

The loud sirens abruptly shut off. Her ears rang in the sudden silence.

“More serious than a broken truck?” He motioned toward the steam still coming from the vehicle. “Damn near going to take forever and a fortune to get it fixed.” He grimaced, lines deepening on his leathery face, redirecting rivulets of blood now through the creases. “Who are you?” He squinted one eye as he scanned her. “Some fancy-pants state employee? I passed you a while back, driving like an old person.”

“Which one of us in the ditch, sir?”

He grunted but shot her a glare crinkled with laughter.

She made a noncommittal sound and continued her assessment. The guy talked, so he could breathe. Airway was grossly patent. No visible neck bruises or swelling. She considered other possibilities—spine damage, organ contusions, brain injury. He answered her questions with fluid speech. At least cognition remained intact.

“And I’m not government. I’m the temp—”

Two vehicle doors slammed a few feet above her. “All right. We’ll take it from here, ma’am.” A low, authoritative voice cut through the cold air.

No way was she removing pressure from the bleeding areas. Sure as heck wasn’t releasing control of his cervical spine until it was safe to do so. “No, I don’t mind helping. I can—”

The man descended the bank, stomping the heels of his thick boots into the ground to create makeshift stairs.

He gave her a curt lift of his chin. “It’s nice of you to stop, but let the trained professionals handle it, okay?”

She squinted at the man with light brown hair peeking out from under a navy Yukon Valley EMS beanie, official-looking matching cargo pants with pockets bulging with what she presumed was medical gear, a large square bag slung over one broad shoulder clad in a neon yellow high visibility jacket. He finished off the look with a patronizing smile and nod.

“Hey,” she said, “I’m trying to stabilize his spine and limit his movement, but he isn’t cooperative.”

He paused. “Like you’ve seen on medical shows?” 

What? Despite the cold, a hot flush sped through her.

She searched for a name on the front of his jacket. Steen. “You’re kidding, right?”

The EMT paused, brown eyebrows drawn together.

Then he shrugged and turned to the patient. “Bruce, you been drinking?”

No way did she wish to be the focus of this rescue, but this guy discounting her response to the scene? The brush-off stuck in her craw. At the end of the day, she didn’t care about her pride, though. This patient needed appropriate care.

“Naw,” the driver—Bruce—said. “Though I wouldn’t mind some hooch right about now.” He shifted, and Lee moved her gloved pressure on his wound with him, limiting his range of motion. “This mess”—he waved at the steaming vehicle—“is truck versus moose.” He groaned. “Aggie is going to kill me.”

“She’ll be thankful that moose didn’t decapitate you. Then she’ll read you the riot act.” The EMT glanced at his partner, who had slid down the bank to join them, and they both chuckled.

First of all, who in the world chuckled at a time like this? This guy could have died.

Second of all, Lee was happy to turn over her Good Samaritan duties to the ambulance crew, but would it kill them to give her a tiny bit of credit for initiating the man’s care?

​Third of all, could a moose really decapitate someone?

The EMT winked a startling blue eye at her. Up close, she spied a few fine lines on his face, suggesting he was in his thirties, not twenties as his nimble movements and broad frame implied. 

He smiled. “You’re not really dressed for the elements, are you?”

Right then, a gust of wind-driven snow barreled right over them, chilling her to the marrow of her bones. Her toes curled in the snow melting inside her Gianni Bini leather booties. She had thought this choice of footwear would be professional, stylish, yet rugged.

Instead, they were damp and cold. And probably ruined.

“Come on, Bruce, let’s check you over,” Steen, the medic, said.

“I’m just a little banged up. No need to go to any trouble. I can walk back to town or wait for the sheriff to give me a lift,” he grumbled.

The EMT shook his head. “No can do, Bruce. Aggie would feed us to the brown bears if we didn’t do our job.” He motioned to his partner, a younger woman with dark hair in a ponytail that trailed from under a leather hat that had two fur-lined flaps pulled down over her ears. “Louise, let’s get him on the board.”

Lee maintained c-spine control while the two EMTs log-rolled and then secured Bruce onto the backboard. Only after they fastened the cervical collar and velcroed the orange foam blocks in place did Lee release in-line stabilization. Steen taped a thick gauze bandage on the bleeding head wound and secured it with Coban wrap, giving Bruce an old-school sweatband appearance. A quick pulse-ox check showed a heart rate of eighty-five and oxygen saturation of ninety-eight percent.

Bruce continued to answer questions. Heck, he continued to tell stories nonstop while the medics worked. He was cognitively intact. She sighed. Thank goodness. 

The medics efficiently snugged all the straps on the board, then Lee grabbed an open handle slot near his knees and helped the medics lift the patient.

She wiggled her fingers in the cooling dampness and shivered. Her glove was likely ruined. What a great first day at her new job.

Bruce kept griping as they eased him, firmly secured, up the few feet of the bank. Lee pushed the end of the backboard as the medics pulled. 

After the EMTs lifted the backboard onto the gurney, Steen turned back to her. Lee had little to no traction with the booties and was stuck at the bottom of the bank.

“Want help?” He knelt, took off his thick glove, and reached down.

Removing the glove that wasn’t saturated, she took the EMT’s offered outstretched hand—not EMT, paramedic. She’d read the lettering on the back of his coat when he set his bag down and turned. His grip was strong and steady as he easily pulled her up the last few slippery feet onto the highway shoulder. The sudden bout of breathlessness had to be due to the steep scramble.

He tightened his hand around hers. “Hey, thank you again for stopping. Not all citizens would have done that.”  

“I’m not just a—” She took a deep breath, which unfortunately caused crystals to form in her nostrils, and she coughed for ten seconds. Finally, she managed to wave her free arm at him. “Sure. Glad to help.” The man continued to hold her hand, his other hand resting on her shoulder, steadying her. Those two pressure points were the only warm areas on her body right now.

“Uh, need help getting anywhere?” Paramedic Steen asked, a friendly glint in his glacier-lake blue eyes.

“Nope, just going to Yukon Valley.”

He frowned, then stepped away and pulled on his glove. “Up the road a few miles. Thataway.” 

Then he pointed. Actually pointed. As if there were any other destinations on the only two-lane road in the middle of absolutely nowhere, which went to one place. Yukon Valley. Lee giggled. 

A full body icy shiver sobered her up in a hurry. Wow, she’d never experienced cold like this. She shoved her bare hand back in her glove and stared at his broad upper torso, which was where her eye level rested. How toasty it would she be if Paramedic Steen were to unzip that safety jacket and tuck her against his chest. She swallowed. Talk about an inappropriate thought. 

Besides, the guy had underestimated her.

Lee hated being underestimated.

The other medic prepared to load Bruce into the rig. Bruce winced as Louise peeked under the wrapped gauze on his forehead. Trussed with safety straps on the backboard, he had nowhere to go. 

He blew a raspberry. “You’re not getting a five-star rating on bedside manner, Louise.”

“Tough.” She fake-swatted at him. “A minute ago, you were planning to walk home. Let me work, or I’m telling Aggie that you’re a terrible patient and you don’t listen.”
Bruce went stock-still.

Paramedic Steen pointed a thumb up and behind him, drawing her gaze from his chest to his sheepish grin. “So, I should …”

“Yes. Patient.” Her teeth started to chatter. Lee waved with her blood-soaked glove toward Bruce as she fished out her car keys from the coat pocket with her other hand. “Good luck to you, sir.”

​Bruce wiggled a few unrestrained fingers in her direction. “I’ll be fine. No thanks to this guy. Look at him. He’s more interested in making goo-goo eyes at you than taking care of his mortally injured patient!” He hollered, “I’m suffering here, people!”

​If you enjoyed this first chapter and want to see more, click HERE!