When in Bloom

Page

A Totally Bound Publication

When in Bloom

ISBN # 978-1-78430-424-9

©Copyright Nicole Dennis 2015

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright January 2015

Edited by Sarah Smeaton

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Sizzling and a Sexometer of 2.

Southern Charm

WHEN IN BLOOM

Nicole Dennis

Book four in the Southern Charm series

Will the personal challenges of a former Army doctor and a brilliant florist get in the way of a chance at life and love?

Fighting type one diabetes since childhood, Jude Sebastian runs to prove he can live a normal life, until epileptic seizures begin to change his life. Even with Dawson, his medical alert Golden Labrador, at his side, Jude finds daily life difficult. He owns the floral shop Flowers in the Breeze, and designs everything from simple bouquets to elaborate themes for weddings and celebrations.

At the Shore Breeze Clinic, Jude comes across a man clearly suffering with a PTSD episode. A new arrival in the small town, Doctor Elliott Sheffield, a retired Army Ranger doctor, is looking for a second chance after what he saw in the Middle Eastern deserts.

Wanting a normal relationship, Jude tries to deny his disorder, but something is happening. He can’t regulate his sugars and his disorder worsens. When he returns to the clinic, Dawson alerts Jude to an oncoming seizure.

Dedication

To those readers who love the series and want more— Here you go!

A special mention for Jason Dean for winning the contest to name a skinny gray feline. He chose Sigmund Freud or Sigi. Hugs and purrs to you, Jason!

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Skype: Microsoft Corporation

Land Rover: Jaguar Land Rover Automotive PLC

Crocs: Crocs, Inc.

iPhone: Apple, Inc.

Swarovski: Swarovski AG

Michael Kors: Michael Kors

iPod: Apple, Inc.

Post-it: 3M Company

What’s up, Doc?: Warner Bros. Cartoons, Inc.

Kindle: Amazon.com, Inc.

The Cloud: British Sky Broadcasting Group plc

Angry Birds: Rovio Entertainment Limited

Fruit Ninja: Halfbrick Studios Pty Ltd.

Stay with Me: Sam Smith, James Napier and William Phillips

Glock: Glock Ges.m.b.H.

Blu-ray: Blu-ray Disc Association

iTunes: Apple, Inc.

Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

Chapter One

Cursing under his breath as the sky turned orange with another incoming sandstorm, Dr. Elliott Sheffield hated the situation. Though they’d tried to tie down the damn tent, the ferocious wind tugged the straps, causing openings everywhere to expose the critical care unit to the elements. Why had he ever agreed to come to this desert hell in the Middle East?

After struggling through several storms like this one, he knew the clouds could turn the sky black for at least seven hours. Blocking out the noises of men calling out in pain and fearing for their lives, he concentrated to save the man on the operating table. His hands and forearms were covered in blood as he searched for the damned bleeder in the man’s belly.

Come on… Come on… Where the fuck are you?

As the winds howled, Elliott felt the grit of the fine layer of sand digging underneath the scrubs and within any openings of his uniform. Along with the sweat dripping down his nape, the sand mixed with the moisture and aggravated him. Damn stuff could get through any crack and crevice of tent, Humvee or building. This place sucked when it came to performing delicate surgery, but he didn’t have a choice. The soldiers were here. He needed to be nearby to care for them.

Shit… Got it, Elliott said and made the necessary stitches to close the nasty bleeder. He scrambled to put the soldier’s innards back in place, flushed everything with saline to cleanse, and stapled the exterior wound. Cover him up tight. We’ll come back and make it nicer. He stepped back to let the other physician and nurse finish. He peeled off and tossed the gloves. Removing the sweat-soaked mask, he left the curtained-off operating theater and went back to the main infirmary.

When the blasted Taliban insurgents had overrun the garrison stationed at the American base, Elliott had transferred with most of the surgical team to the Canadian–British combat hospital at the Kandahar airfield.

It wasn’t any better here.

Elliott shoved a weary hand through his hair. He scratched at the heavy bearded growth. Since his boots had hit the sand, he’d adapted to the crazy, never-ending situations, difficult in the best of conditions, but aggravated in the worse. He’d figured out ways to suture and clean some of the most devastating wounds he’d ever seen in his career. He could never get around the constant issue of infection from the damn sand.

Fucking sand…

The thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades surrounded them. Everyone within the base knew the meaning behind those blades. It was never good.

We have incoming patients, someone called out.

They’re not friendlies! Take cover! another soldier shouted as bullets flew through the sand and darkness.

Crouching, riveted as soldiers rushed around, Elliott thought about the patients. He knew their lives were at the most risk, unable to defend themselves. When dark figures invaded the tent, Elliott covered a nearby patient. Several loud blasts blew through the base as bombs went off in rapid succession. He called out when searing heat scored through his shoulder.

Blood and gore rose in front of his mind. Within seconds, all the time it had taken to save these patients was destroyed.

Doctor…

Doctor…

Elliott blinked. He tasted the fine grit of the sand.

Doctor…

Dr. Sheffield? Are you okay?

When fingers touched his wounded shoulder, Elliott screamed and pushed back until he hit something hard then plopped his ass on the ground. The intensity knocked Elliott out of the intrusive flashback from his five years spent in Kandahar. He was home in the States. Having left Afghanistan and his ten year military career, he had now lived and worked in Florida for the last nine months.

He lowered himself until his scrub-covered ass hit the floor. He pressed his hands flat on the cool tile of the emergency room to ground himself in reality. He looked around, goggled as other staff fought to save a patient with a vicious belly wound. Two others moved toward him. He held up a hand and hyper focused on the blood-covered blue latex.

Are you with us, Elliott? Can you rise? another doctor said in a calming tone.

Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.

Where were you?

Kandahar.

Do you know what set you off?

Insurgents overran the base and hit the clinic and caused so much destruction among the patients and created more. It was the appearance of the wound. I took care of so many of them. Most were ruined by the fucking sand. Elliott knocked his head against the wall.

Easy. Can you stand? I’ll get you back to the lounge.

I’m okay, Harry, take care of the patient. Elliott pushed himself to his feet and stripped the gloves from his hand. He wobbled out of the room and down the hall.

Dr. Sheffield? a nurse called.

He held up a hand. Taking ten.

But…

Something toppled with a harsh clatter. The broken glass caused Elliott to crouch again in a protective corner and cover his head.

Dr. Sheffield!

Lost again in the sand, heat and blood, Elliott stayed put in his cover position. What the hell was he doing here in civilian life? He couldn’t avoid the truth of how he suffered from PTSD.

Dr. Sheffield… Major…

He lifted his head at the sound of his Army title. Another doctor crouched in front of him. Through the haze of blood and sand within his memory, he almost didn’t recognize the fellow soldier. James was a friend, a psychiatrist and military officer with the Air Force.

Major, are you with us?

Not an attack… Elliott knew his gaze would be dead and haunted since he saw it so many times in the mirror after one of the dreams woke him.

No, Major, a tray filled with containers crashed, James said. Major, I need you to stand and come with me. We’ll have a chat.

Yeah, guess I need to do that, Elliott said as he looked beyond James. I kinda lost it there.

Wouldn’t be the first time a soldier covered his ass, James said as he rose.

Elliott followed James, who chose to find someplace quiet and separated from the chaos of the ER.

* * * *

Settled within a chair, knee bouncing as he cradled a cup of coffee in one hand, Elliott stared at the dark liquid. I was okay the first few months and with less intensive patients. I concentrated on how it felt to be home, in civilian patient care and not the military. I didn’t take time to straighten out my head.

Why didn’t you want to take a position at a military hospital?

I couldn’t face the soldiers any longer. I did everything I could when the medics called me to assist on air flights to help stabilize those with massive trauma. Being stuck in one of those damn birds was hell on earth. We never knew what conditions we would find. He took a sip of coffee. Even if we managed to save one, there was a chance they would be lost to a massive infection from the fucking sand.

Do you feel you failed any one of those soldiers who were able to go home to their families?

No, it’s the ones who couldn’t make it I regret.

A patient could die any time there is massive trauma and unknown conditions.

After placing the cup on the table, Elliott shoved both hands through his hair, grown longer since he’d become a civilian. Glancing at James, he lifted an eyebrow. Do you think I need to be upstairs in the crazy area?

No, I don’t think you require intense psychotherapy, but you need something. Tell me about your other symptoms.

I’m hypersensitive and hyperaware in crowds and chaotic situations. At times, I can lose concentration on the simplest of tasks. Horrible insomnia plagues me multiple nights. You saw the reaction to the dropped tray.

Are you experiencing flashbacks?

While I’m in the middle of a patient’s care, and they fill what little sleep I get.

Would you rather avoid coming here and dealing with massive trauma?

If I could, yes, it’s why I didn’t return to surgery rotation. I’m strictly in general practice.

What about your personal life?

Elliott took another sip. You know I’m gay, right?

Do you have a partner?

I was with someone, but he left in the middle of my tour. I’ve been alone since I returned home.

Date?

I can’t do the club scene. It drives me out of my mind. I flip between being a cowering mess to acting belligerent and rude within a club. Especially if all the lights, like those strobe ones, switch on and off in patterns. Shit, a huge hit on the bass speakers and I’m on the floor. Damn, I loved to dance. I used it to sweat out all the frustration from a bad day and feel free. Elliott rolled the cup between his hands. I’m almost forty, abysmally single, and screwed up in the head.

James shifted in the chair. Do you still want to be a doctor?

Yes, it’s all I wanted since I was ten… A doctor saved my life after I tumbled off my bike. I wanted to be just like him, but the military called me.

Was your father in the military?

Two generations were Army. My grandfather was a one star general and buried with honors in Arlington in the World War Two section, Elliott said, pride filling his voice. He made it through the D-Day invasion in Normandy as a corpsman, a battlefield medic. He scratched a spot on his wrist. My dad served in Vietnam and Desert Storm.

Did you notice any difference in your father?

He drank more than he should and was a little short with us. Mom said he could never sleep a full night.

So he probably suffered the effects as well, but wasn’t properly diagnosed.

I’m not sure about my grandfather, but I’m sure he dealt with stuff, Elliott said with a shake of his head. How the hell they survived the invasion is a freaking miracle.

It’s why they’re called the greatest generation, James said with a grin. Back to you. Tell me more. Are you jumpy at home?

A freaking car backfires and I’m screwed. Elliott shrugged. What are you thinking?

You’re dealing with severe PTSD. You never transitioned from military life to civilian. You jumped right from one to the other without a break. I heard you were awesome with the one… The severe anaphylaxis patient…

He ingested some kind of nuts. I wonder if he figured out how the nuts got into his system. Anyone with that severe a reaction would avoid the cause, Elliott said.

It seems you remember a lot about him.

It helped that he was damn cute but he had a very concerned and protective lover hovering around him, Elliott said as he remembered the couple he’d helped a few months back.

James chuckled.

I couldn’t help it. His lover was also damn handsome.

It’s a good thing you responded. The attraction means you’re still alive.

The libido kicks in, but I can’t always follow through.

It’s the stress blocking your fantasies and masturbation.

What do you recommend?

Relaxation. Talking to someone. A change of pace.

How do I do all this?

Try to transfer to a smaller hospital. Give yourself the time to deal with what’s in your head, find a guy, and create friendships. If you leave Pensacola, we can talk via text or Skype.

You know the case you mentioned… They were from Shore Breeze. It’s on the spit of land south of us, over the three mile bridge. They have a medium-sized hospital. After they said something, I located the website. I found a few openings.

Put in an application. I’ll recommend the transfer to the board. James looked at him. For now, do something to change the routine and patterns.

Thanks, I appreciate the support.

We vets gotta take care of each other. James stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. I’ll handle the chief. Get to the lounge, grab your stuff, and go home. You have a doctor’s orders.

After finishing the coffee, Elliott tossed the cup in the wastebasket. Thanks.

Here, take my card. Call me once a week. James dug in a pocket and pulled out a simple cream-colored card with his information.

Elliott tucked it in his pocket. Thanks. He left the room, blew out a breath, and considered what to do with his life.

* * * *

Walking down the street to his condo complex, Elliott went through everything he’d spoken about with James.

A soft meow interrupted his thoughts as a skinny gray feline appeared from under a stoop. The cat wound himself around Elliott’s ankles, almost tripping him with its earnest need, then stared with the biggest green eyes.

I don’t have anything for you, Elliott said. I’m not a cat person. I avoid most people right now.

The cat lifted a paw and licked it.

This is the third or fourth time we’ve gone through this. Go find someone else, Elliott said and took a step around the feline.

The cat tangled itself around Elliott’s ankles.

Fine, but you shouldn’t expect much from me, Elliott said. "One stray