Chapter Five #2
The man stretched to his full height, a cleaning towel folded in one hand. He reached out to close one of the doors, turning his head just enough for her to see the angle of his profile.
Her steps halted altogether. What. The. Hell?
The paramedic was no mystery man. It was Nick.
A guilty flush sank into her cheeks faster than she could spurn it.
She shook her head in automatic denial as her gaze arrested on the display of his biceps flaring against the short sleeve of his left arm and something low in her belly stirred.
A frisson of warmth that spread slowly in all directions as his curly hair fell across his brow in the exact same way she’d seen it do since grade school, making her reaction disproportionate.
The warmth spread outward in a circle of yearning that made no flipping sense.
This is Nick, she thought. Robotics club Nick. Former D&D dungeon master Nick. Six-years of brace-face Nick. Tuba-playing, double-dog-daring, sci-fi movie–obsessed Nick!
Her partner in crime. Her ride-or-die. Her pinkie promise best friend of almost twenty years. She knew the exact date of his tonsillectomy, how many teeth he’d lost in the fourth grade, how many times he’d puked during an unfortunate field trip to the Edge of the Cedars State Park Museum.
And still, as he turned to face the street where she froze like a deer in the headlights, the heat in her face reached a fever pitch and her panties… Dear God. Were they…melting?
Never in the last twenty years had she thought of Nick Malone and her underwear in the same breath.
This is not happening.
As his gaze seized on her, the instinct to run hit her. She took a long step in retreat.
Then a smile sank deep into his cheeks. His teeth flashed white. The tension dissipated from his features. He slung the cleaning towel over his shoulder and braced his hands on his hips, facing her with his feet spread on the pavement. Wordlessly, he lifted his palm in greeting.
She bobbled the cardboard-wrapped frames braced against her chest. The muscles of her throat worked in an involuntary swallow.
Juggling the paintings, she lifted her hand in return.
When he set off in a stroll toward her, she closed her eyes for a moment, desperate to cool the burn of her cheeks.
She gathered a long breath and shifted her weight, hoping he wouldn’t notice their mortifying hue.
“Need some help with that?” he asked and held out his arms.
She took another step back. “No!”
He drew up short as the near shout reverberated off nearby storefronts. The corners of his mouth lowered as he hesitated, eyeing her warily. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s wrong?’” She cursed inwardly when she heard the defensive sting in her own voice. Calm down, Haseya. For God’s sake. It’s just Nick.
Sweet-eyed Nick, his neck slick with perspiration, his shadow long over her with the sun behind him, making a white halo of light shine around his curly head.
Stop. Stop. Stop! she chastised herself, gritting her teeth together. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, doing her best to modulate her tone. She made the mistake of running her eyes down his long frame, over his uniform…that trim stomach…those long, long legs. “You’re working?”
His eyes narrowed slightly on her in confusion. Still, he gave a nod of affirmation. “I had a 24/72 scheduled.”
Twenty-four hours on, seventy-two hours off. Her frown deepened. If she looked close enough, she could see the outline of blue capillaries under his eyes and the weariness in them. “Can you make it through a twenty-four-hour shift?”
“I don’t have much choice,” he said with a shrug.
“Yes, you do,” she charged. “You could go home. Get some rest. Take care of yourself, maybe?”
“I’m fine, Sassy.”
She shook her head. “I was hoping your trip to Dark Canyon Wilderness would get you back in touch with reality.”
“Which means…?” he ventured, tilting his head.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “You’ve been on the edge of burnout for weeks.” When he looked away, long into the distance, the line of his mouth going firm, she went on. “I thought you getting back in touch with nature would help you see that you don’t need to work yourself into the ground.”
“Sassy,” he said. “I said I was fine. And you know why I’m doing this.”
“There are other ways to raise money for River House,” she said.
“Let me help you. If you won’t take my money, let us organize a fundraiser like the Coltons’ annual auction coming up.
I could organize a fun run, a story competition, partner with local businesses.
We could create a lottery, a hike, weekly trivia nights at the Sauce Spot…
Hell, we could start a community skydiving event.
Anything to help you and your mom through this.
You’ve been residents of Dark Canyon your whole lives.
You’d be surprised how people come together in times of need. ”
“I’m not a charity case,” he told her, tension back in full force. “And neither is she. I don’t need help. From anyone.”
Why did it feel like anyone meant her? “You can’t take care of your mother if you don’t take care of yourself. Give your shift to someone else. I’ll bring dinner over. We can watch something nerdy and you can turn in early.”
His lips twitched and the ghost of humor flashed across his expression before leaving it hard and unyielding again. “Thanks. But I’ve got this. You need to trust me. Trust that I have everything under control.”
Maybe he did. But she was afraid he was reaching the point of breaking.
She’d watched him break once, after his father’s death.
She’d hate to have to watch it again. Her eyes burned, shocking her when she felt the familiar bite of tears against the ducts.
She blinked rapidly, looking away. Anywhere but at him.
He reached up for the rag, wrapping his fingers tight around it before he tugged it off his shoulder. He wrung it between his hands. “You still want to drive to the reservation tomorrow afternoon? Check on Ava, Chay and the baby?”
She gave a scant nod. “I have to get these to the hospital.”
He nodded, too. “I’ll call you tomorrow at eight when I’m off shift.”
He’d be too tired to talk by that point, but she agreed. “Say hi to Ryan for me,” she murmured, knowing her cousin was likely on call, too.
“Will do.”
She set off, telling herself not to look back. The breeze felt cool on her cheeks. It knifed through her thin denim jacket and she shivered as the fire station grew small behind her.
She was so deep in thought she didn’t hear the whir of tires until the truck was practically on top of her.
As it jounced over the curb behind her, she cried out, alarmed.
Diving back against the front of a used bookstore, she pressed her shoulders against the wall.
Springs squeaked as the truck’s suspension lurched.
The front bumper flashed as it angled toward her, tires squealing as they fought for purchase. Sassy turned away, her heart pounding. The acrid stench of burned rubber stung her nostrils.
At the last second, the bumper skimmed by, a hairbreadth away. The truck bounced back over the curb, the engine revved and then it took off down the street, blowing through the red light at the turn for Baldwin Memorial.
She didn’t breathe until it was out of sight. She’d dropped the paintings. They lay scattered across the concrete, their cardboard faces hiding the damage underneath. Pressing her hand to her chest, she dropped to her knees, mind reeling.
The shopkeeper came out of the bookstore, shouting her name when he recognized her. As he crouched in front of her, gripping her free hand, she watched his lips move. Whatever he said wouldn’t penetrate the high-pitched terror ringing in her ears.
Her gaze fell on the sidewalk. It seized on the black stain of tire treads, marking the place she’d been seconds before.