Luckily, the ski patrol snowmobile came into view a second later and immediately his focus returned to the rescue...and only the rescue.

Mostly.

Picking up their pace, they heard the skier before they saw him.

“What’s taking so long? I’m freezing to death on this snowbank,” the guy on the ground said.

Hardly. It was forty degrees outside. And the guy should be thankful for the cold ground beneath him, it was no doubt dulling some of the pain from his injuries. His left leg was twisted and his skis had been removed. Ski patrol was trying to calm his ranting, but the guy continued to beak off.

“We’re here,” Reed said, approaching the two ski patrol guys kneeling on the ground next to the injured man.

“Thank God,” Jimmy, a young ski patrol crew member, muttered. “He’s been talking smack about suing for forty minutes now.”

Doubtful. Reed had read and signed enough ski resort release forms to know the man wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on. All injuries are the fault of participants. Ski hill conditions and unpredictable weather made this sport a “do at your own risk” thing. “We got it,” he said, doing a visual assessment of the skier. “What’s his name?”

“Kent,” Jimmy said.

Kent was in his midthirties, Reed would guess. Five-ten, two hundred pounds. The litter should work. A quick glance at his left leg confirmed it was broken. The odd angle of the knee joint was slightly sickening and he shot a quick sideways glance at Erika to see if she turned even the slightest bit green.

Nope. Her own critical gaze was assessing the scene same as his. Unfazed. Calm. Thorough.

It was a little hot.

“Is someone going to help me? This fucking hurts,” Kent said.

Erika dropped to the snow next to the guy. “It hurts more when you expel too much hot air unnecessarily,” she said.

Reed’s eyes widened. Her bedside manner could use a little work, but the guy did zip it.

“Broken leg...where else are you experiencing pain?” she asked.

“Right shoulder. I think it’s dislocated...” Kent said, calmer now. “Why aren’t you dressed like these guys?” he asked as she moved closer to his arm.

“I’m not search and rescue.”

Reed bent next to her and stopped her as she reached for the zipper on Kent’s coat. “That’s right. You’re not. You are just here to observe.” There were two thick gloves between their flesh, yet the contact resulted in an electric current shooting up his arm.

She yanked her hand away from his. “Bullshit. I’m a qualified surgeon. Under my oath as a doctor, I have to help in an emergency situation.”

He forced a breath. Arguing in front of the injured man would be unprofessional, but he wasn’t letting her take lead on this. It was his job, his team, his responsibility...his ego. “We are fully trained to deal with these types of injuries...”

She ignored him, unzipping the coat and shaking her head. “Not a shoulder dislocation. Looks like a clavicle fracture. It’s swollen pretty badly. Do you hear any grinding when you move your arm?”