Page 28 of Rescuing Dr. Marian (Made Marian Legacy #1)

FOSTER

“Tommy?” I watched the color drain from his face as he stared at his phone. “What is it?”

The change in him was instant and devastating. One moment, he’d been laughing with the other instructors about our impromptu cave adventure, and the next, he looked like someone had punched him in the gut. His hands were shaking as he thrust the phone at me.

I read the messages, my stomach dropping with each line. Hydroplane. Hazel trapped. Blood loss. The words painted a picture that had my own pulse spiking in sympathy.

“I have to go,” Tommy said, already moving toward the cave entrance despite the rain still pounding outside. “My sister. Her wife. The baby. There’s been a multi-vehicle crash on Highway 170 south of town, and they can’t get Hazel out of the car. I have to?— ”

“Tommy.” I caught his arm, feeling the tremor running through his entire body. Around us, conversations had stopped. Everyone was watching as the composed doctor they’d known all week came apart at the seams. “Breathe. We’ll get you there. Let’s wait for a break in the lightning.”

“Everyone, get out your med kits and bring them here.” Jasper didn’t add a right now , but his firm tone had everyone complying instantly anyway.

“If there are multiple injured, responders might need more supplies than they’ve got, but Dr. Marian can bring ours to the scene.

Pull anything trauma-related. I’m talking pressure dressings, tourniquets, burn dressings.

If you’ve got extra gloves or thermal blankets, pull those, too. ”

As the group scrambled, Jasper moved with measured efficiency, sorting gear like he’d done it a hundred times—which, I guessed, he probably had as an EMT.

I’d spent nearly three weeks judging the guy harshly because he couldn’t seem to think on his own. Now, it was clear he was more than capable. I just didn’t get why he’d hung back before.

Just as Jasper finished prepping the supplies, Tommy turned from where he’d been scanning the weather from the mouth of the cave.

“The storm—” he began.

“We got the break we need,” I said, understanding what he meant and already mentally calculating routes. “Trace, I need your truck keys.”

Within minutes, Tommy and I were racing through the storm-darkened afternoon to the vehicle. The rain was lighter now but still treacherous, turning the mountain roads into a maze of potential hazards.

“Fucking fuck,” Tommy said, his voice tight with controlled panic as he tried to get his phone to cooperate. “I need to reach someone at the scene.”

I kept my eyes on the road, navigating the slick asphalt while Tommy’s fear filled the cab like a living thing. Every few seconds, he’d curse under his breath as another call failed to connect, the storm playing havoc with cell towers.

“We need to stop at SERA,” I said, taking a turn faster than I should have. “Get my truck.”

“We don’t have time?—”

“It has lights and sirens,” I explained, seeing understanding dawn in his eyes. “We can make better time, and people will get out of our way.”

The brief stop at SERA felt like an eternity, but the transfer was worth it. My sheriff’s vehicle cut through traffic like a knife, emergency lights lighting up the gray afternoon as we flew toward Legacy’s main highway.

This was what emergency response looked like when it got personal—when the victim wasn’t a stranger but someone you loved.

I’d seen it before, the way training could both help and hinder when your emotions were involved.

Tommy was fighting between his medical expertise and his terror, and I could practically feel him vibrating with the need to do something, anything, to help his sister.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered, holding his phone toward the window. The blue glow of the screen reflected off his face, highlighting the tight lines around his eyes.

Finally, the call connected.

“Avery, honey, it’s Tommy,” he said, his voice still tight with barely controlled fear. “How are you and the baby?” His free hand tightened into a fist, knuckles white.

“Good, good—no, I know. I’m on my way. What’s her status?”

All I could hear was a panicked woman’s voice on the other end, but I watched Tommy’s face change as he listened.

The transformation was subtle at first—a straightening of his shoulders, a steadying of his breathing.

The terrified brother was still there, but something else was emerging now that he had a task to focus on.

“Okay. Okay, that’s good. Conscious is good.” His jaw tightened as he reached into the center console for a pen. “Can you hand the phone to the nearest EMT?”

After introducing himself and asking about Hazel, he began scribbling notes on his palm. “Open femur fracture, possible head trauma. How long until the firefighters get her out? No, don’t move her until they’ve got C-spine stabilized. I don’t care—if her neck isn’t cleared, they wait.”

The authority in his voice was absolute, and something shifted in my chest. This was Dr. Thomas Marian, trauma specialist, taking control of a situation even though he wasn’t there.

“We’re not too far,” he continued, glancing at me and pointing to the general location of the crash site on the dashboard’s GPS screen.

“Forty minutes, hopefully less. Tell Avery I’m on my way.

And DJ? Make sure someone’s documenting everything for when I get there.

I’ll ride with her to Billings if I get there in time. ”

He hung up and immediately started typing on his phone.

“They’re working on getting her out and trying to keep her stable through a gap in the frame.

Head injury, open femur fracture, but she’s conscious and talking.

” His fingers flew over the screen. “I’m texting an ER doc I know in Billings so they know she’s coming, but it sounds like it’s going to take a while to get her out, especially in this weather.

There are other accidents in the area, which is spreading emergency response thin. ”

The confidence in his voice sent something warm through my chest. I’d seen him work at SERA, had witnessed his competence during our rescue earlier today. But this was different. This was Tommy fighting for someone he loved, and the focused intensity of it was mesmerizing.

I glanced at the GPS. “ETA thirty-four minutes.”

The headlights cut through the darkness ahead of us, reflecting off wet pavement and guardrails. Beside me, Tommy continued to field texts and calls, and I watched as the last traces of panic disappeared completely, replaced by something laser focused and unshakeable.

“No, listen to me,” he said, his voice sharp with authority. “I don’t care if that’s protocol. I’m telling you what needs to happen. I’ve already reached out to the ER in Billings to have a trauma surgeon ready. It’s your job to get her out of that car and onto a bus in one piece.”

I found myself stealing glances at him as he worked, simultaneously awed and unsettled by this side of him.

In the time we’d been at SERA, I’d seen plenty of instances of his natural leadership, but it had always been with a side of good-natured camaraderie.

Leading by example and by consensus, encouraging his students to take charge.

This was different. This wasn’t a teacher or a teammate but a man making hard calls, fast. It was even more impressive under the high-pressure situation of responding to a critically injured loved one.

“Her pressure’s dropping,” he told me between calls. “They need to get her out now, but if they move wrong…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but I could see the calculation running behind his eyes. Time versus risk. The impossible choices that defined his profession.

“How much farther?” he asked.

I glanced at the speedometer. We were doing ninety on a highway rated for sixty-five, and I was pushing it as hard as I dared in these conditions. “Thirteen minutes.”

“Thirteen minutes,” he repeated into the phone. “You can keep her stable for thirteen more minutes. I’m walking you through this.”

The next several miles passed in a blur of emergency lights and Tommy’s voice, controlled and commanding, talking people through procedures I couldn’t even pronounce.

I watched him guide what sounded like a nervous EMT through blood pressure management, coach someone through pain medication dosing, and somehow keep his pregnant sister-in-law calm while coordinating her wife’s extraction.

Watching him remain steady under pressure was incredible. And with each mile that passed, something in my chest grew tighter, warmer, more dangerous .

This wasn’t just competence. This was devotion in action. This was a man who could reach across miles of rain-soaked highway and save someone’s life with nothing but his voice, his knowledge, and his absolute refusal to give up.

We were almost there, when we came around a bend in the road and saw bumper-to-bumper traffic backed up for the final two miles.

“Oh fuck,” Tommy said, and for a moment, the fear crept back into his voice.

I quickly hit the “whoop” button and moved to the shoulder, pulling the radio and calling into local law enforcement to let them know we were coming down the shoulder with lights and sirens.

“Dispatch, this is Sheriff Foster Blake, Majestic County, en route to the MVA on Highway 170 at mile marker 82. Be advised, I’m running Code 3 down the eastbound shoulder of Highway 170, currently at mile marker 80. Requesting clearance and traffic advisories. Over.”

The response was nearly immediate but harried. “Copy that, Sheriff. We appreciate the assist. Units on scene have been advised. You’re clear to proceed Code 3 on the shoulder. Let us know when you’re on-site.”