Breaking Her No-Dating Rule

by Amalie Berlin

  Since the staff had handled her warming requests, she headed for the smallest member of the party, a petite, pixie-like woman who wasn’t drinking her cocoa...and who held her hands above her lap as if they were hurting.

  His stride longer, he overtook her and scooped up a stethoscope as he passed the tray of first-aid and examination supplies she’d laid out and slung the thing around his neck. Catching it caused a brief flash of pain on his handsome features. He ignored the pain, but Ellory noticed. That was her real job: Physio and massage therapy. Just not today.

  He wasn’t the concern right now. He’d been mostly warm when out there in it, though his cheeks looked chapped from the winter winds...

  She reached down to gently lift one of the woman’s arms to get a better look at her fingers. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Chelsea,” she answered, teeth chattering. “My fingers and toes burn. Like they’re on fire.”

  “Socks off, everyone. Time to check extremities.” Chelsea’s fingertips were really red. Ellory didn’t want to touch them, but she didn’t really know enough about medicine not to investigate fully. Maybe frostbite started with redness?

  Gingerly, she wrapped her hands over Chelsea’s fingertips, causing the freezing woman to gasp in pain but confirming that they were indeed hot. This wasn’t frostbite. Though that was probably going to be the next stage. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and let go of the hands, her gaze drifting down to where Angry Leader had knelt at Chelsea’s feet, which he now examined. Her toes were exactly the opposite in color from her fingertips: an unnatural, disturbing, somewhat corpse-like white.

  That might be a good reason to call Mira...

  “Is that—?” She hadn’t got the question out before he nodded and looked Chelsea in the eye.

  “My name is Dr. Graves. Anson, if you prefer. I’ll even tell you my middle name later if you need some more names to cuss me with... This isn’t going to be pleasant. We have to warm your feet fast,” Anson said, his raspy voice much gentler with the woman. “You have the beginning stages of frostbite.”

  Chelsea’s gaze sharpened and she blurted out, “Are my toes going to fall off?” She sounded so stricken every head in the lobby turned toward her.

  Ellory’s heart skipped.

  Anson looked grim and his wind-burned cheeks lost some of their color, but he shook his head. “It’s going to feel like it. It will hurt like probably no one but you can imagine right now, but that’s how you get to keep them.” He didn’t sugarcoat it, not even a hint of the usual discomfort nonsense doctors liked to say.

  Chelsea nodded, her eyes welling.

  Anson looked at Ellory again. “Get her pants off. How hot is the water?”

  “One hundred and ten on the burners.” Ellory answered. That she knew.

  He looked surprised they’d been using a thermometer on it. “A little too hot. Add a small amount of cold water to it to get it to one hundred and five and then pour. It’s got to be between one hundred and one hundred and five degrees Fahrenheit all the time. Dip out water, pour more in, or swap out the containers to keep it within range. I know that’s going to be hard to do in buckets, but it needs to be done as exactingly as possible for a full half-hour.” Anson said this to Ellory, who nodded and relayed the orders to her kitchen helpers, then helped Chelsea out of the bottom half of her suit.

  By the time Chelsea was down to her thermals, the water had been sufficiently cooled and poured into a large rubber container. Ellory pushed the cotton cuffs to Chelsea’s knees and guided the woman’s feet into the water.

  It hurt. She could tell by the way Chelsea’s lower lip quivered, though admirably she didn’t cry out.

  With all the time Ellory had spent in disaster zones, witnessing human suffering, she should have built up some kind of callus to it by now, but it tore at her heart all the same. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you... We’ll get you something for the pain.”

  “My fiancé is still out there,” she whispered, clarifying in those simple words what hurt worse right now.

  Ellory put one arm around Chelsea’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “Let’s get your insides warmed up and see if we can beat the shivering.” She took the cocoa Chelsea hadn’t been drinking and held it to her lips. “We’ll help you with this until your fingers stop smarting and you can do it yourself, okay?”

  “Ohh...chocolate,” Chelsea said.

  “That’s pretty much how I feel about chocolate too.” Ellory lifted the cup to the woman’s mouth. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes the stuff we have to go through bearable. Though I do feel like I should apologize for not making it from better ingredients.” A nervous laugh bubbled up. “You didn’t do anything wrong, that’s not why I’m making you drink preservative juice.” She was doing that thing again, where she lost control of her mouth because she was nervous.

  Chelsea looked at her strangely. “Preservative juice?”

  She named the popular brand of cocoa everyone knew, then added, “I’m sure it’s fine. I’m just...” What could she say to explain that? “I’m big on organic.”

  “Ahh.” Chelsea nodded, relaxing back in her chair.

  Great bedside manner. Most of her patients worked with her for a long stretch of time so they got to know her quirks and oddities, and only had to suffer her help with exercise and a program that their physiotherapist designed. All Ellory did was help them through it and massage away pain, she didn’t need to be trusted to make decisions.

  Ellory added in what she hoped was a more agreeable tone, “Ignore me. It’s a throwback to childhood.”

  “You were big on organic in childhood?” Anson asked from down where he crouched, examining the feet of another patient. Which meant he was listening, and probably losing faith in her with every word that tumbled out of her mouth.

  “Yes. In a manner of speaking.”

  His eyes were focused on the patient, but it still felt like he was staring at her. “Which is?”

  The only way out of this conversation was to pretend it wasn’t happening.

  Stop. Talking.

  Handing Chelsea’s cup to another staff member, she said, “Please assist Chelsea with her cocoa. I should assist Dr. Graves.” The man needed a different last name. Which she wouldn’t bring up. She probably already sounded like an incompetent idiot to them.

  She caught up with him kneeling before the last of the rescued, checking extremities.

  As she stepped to his side he looked up, locking eyes with her in a way that said he knew she’d heard him and that he wasn’t going to press the matter.

  Message delivered, he got back to work and the potency of his stare dissipated. “Get all their feet into the water. But Chelsea’s the only one you have to keep in the temperature range.”

  “What about the sauna?” She rolled with his return to business. As out of her depth as she felt, she did want to do a good job, take good care of them all.

  “Maybe later, or if they don’t get warm enough to stop shivering soon, but I’d rather you not put them into the stress of a sauna until a doctor is on hand should things get hairy.”

  Ellory nodded.

  “I’m going to check on my crew. And Max.”

  Hearing his name, the fuzzy black dog currently stretched in front of the fire popped up and looked at Anson.

  “Or maybe I’ll get him some water first...” He called to the rescuers to check their feet and while they peeled off boots he took care of himself and the big bushy dog.

  Ellory organized the helpers with instructions on the water, her shoulders growing tighter and tighter every time she looked through the door or the windows at the worsening storm. After assigning two people to Chelsea and getting them another round of hot blankets, she finally went to find Anson.

  And Max—maybe the dog would listen to her concerns.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “WHAT IF YOU’RE not back in half an hour, when they come out of the warm water? And isn’t tha
t weird, a doctor moonlighting as a rescuer?” She’d always considered Mira to be an unusual doctor—fabulous and outdoorsy—so Anson seemed like an anomaly. He had the bossy bit down, at least. But he could be safe and inside during this weather, or out driving his four wheel drive and...smoking cigars. Whatever people did in four wheeled drives, she wasn’t sure.

  “Dry them gently and wrap them in loose gauze.” He answered that first, then added, “I don’t moonlight. I work in the ER six months of the year, and the rescue team is my life during ski season.”

  His admission surprised her. Adrenaline junkie? Extreme sports wackadoo? Both those fit the idea of returning to the outdoors in this weather. Once more, her gaze was pulled to the glass doors. The snow, already heavy before they’d returned, had picked up even worse since. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better for you all to wait until the storm passes?”

  The sharpness that came to his green eyes shut down that thought process completely. Right. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

  Anson turned to his crew instead. “Five minutes.” He pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket and extracted some kind of jerky to give to the big shaggy dog.

  One of the group asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Blue Mine and South Mine,” Anson answered, then looked at Ellory. “Why are you not dressed for the weather?”

  “I haven’t bought clothes for being home yet, and all the winters in the past decade, I guess, have been in warm places. Before New Year’s Eve I was in Peru. It’s summer there right now. I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay, so I didn’t want to buy clothes I might not wear very long. It’s wasteful.”

  He shook his head. “Rent a snow suit when you’re going to be out in the elements...what’s your name?”

  “Ellory. And I have one.” It’s the one thing she did have, but it was old, hopelessly out of fashion and not nearly as well suited to the winter as the suits these people wore because she didn’t wear manufactured materials. So it was bulky, and kind of itchy. And she left it at her parents’ after every New Year...so it was musty from storage and...

  She didn’t need to share that with Anson. He was covered in layers of modern insulating materials, and while she could understand it and tried not to be jealous of his warmth and mobility, he wouldn’t understand if she explained. Not that his opinion should matter. “I wasn’t going out to stay in the weather earlier, just to meet you all. And I have thermal underwear under this.”

  Like he would think well of her if she’d been wearing wool and a parka in her short jaunt into the weather to meet them. She was a flake. That’s how normal people viewed her. So today she was a flake who didn’t dress properly. What else was new?

  “Go put it on.”

  Ellory didn’t know how to respond to a direct order like that. And she really didn’t like it that the bossiness made her tingle again... Wrong time, wrong place, wrong feelings.

  She wanted to blame them on her nerves too, like being nervous amplified all her other emotions, but she couldn’t even lie to herself on that. Ruggedly handsome wasn’t a look the man was going for—he just had it. Some combination of good genes, lifestyle and that voice gave it to him. She tried to ignore that, and the squirmy feeling in her belly she got when his mossy hazel eyes focused on her.

  “Anson.” She went with his name, in an attempt to reclaim some power. “It’s not just blowing more, it’s falling thicker. If you guys get all...frozen and stuff, then you aren’t going to help find—”

  “There’s still time.” He cut her off. Again.

  Rude. Curt. Terse. That should make him less attractive. That should definitely make him feel like less of a threat to her stupid resolution...

  He had flaws. The bossy thing, which shouldn’t be hot. What else? He probably wasn’t even half as strapping and impressive as his winter wear made him seem. It was just the illusion of beefy manliness from the cardinal rule of winter: loose layers kept you warmer. It somehow amplified the squareness of his jaw and the scruff that confirmed the dark color of the hair currently hidden by his knit cap.

  Her heart rate accelerated and her hands waffled at her side. This was not going the way she’d pictured it while waiting and watching through the windows. She didn’t anticipate having to try and convince someone not to go back out in the storm, and for some reason she knew he wouldn’t care that she was more afraid for the crew than for the missing man.

  She could just lock the door and keep everyone safe inside. Except she hated confrontation, and if he told her to give him the key in that bossy gravel voice of his, she’d give it to him. And possibly her undies too.

  She could really think of a good way to distract him. It definitely violated her Stupid Resolution parameters, but it was in the name of humanity and keeping people safe. Surely that was a good reason for an exception.

  Through all this stupidity, the only communication Ellory managed was skittish hand motions that made her jangle from the stacks of thin silver bangles she loved. Sentinels probably didn’t jingle.

  He glanced down at her hand and then back up, impatient brows lifting, urging her to say something else. Only Ellory didn’t know what else to say.

  Winter was his job after all. And, really, she’d spent most of the past lots of years in places where her weather awareness had mostly consisted of putting on sunscreen and seeking high ground during the rainy season. She probably wasn’t the best judge of snow stuff.

  When she failed to form any other words he started talking instead. Instructions. Things she’d already learned from studying Mira’s medical books when reading up on treatment for frostbite and hypothermia. But it was good to hear it from someone who really knew something about it. Anything about it.

  He even gave her additional explanations about signs of distress, outside the cold temperature illness symptoms she’d read about—other stuff to look for that would require Mira immediately, and he capped off the instructions with a long, measuring look. “If you’re not up to the task, tell me now. I’ll get Dr. Dupris down here.”

  “I’m up to the task.” She was, she just wished she wasn’t. “Are you? Your shoulder is hurt. I’ve seen you roll your arm in the socket at least three times since you came inside and you’ve been rubbing it too.”

  He closed the bag of dog treats and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m all right. We’ll call if we get stuck. And we’ve got survival gear on the ATVs.”

  Movement behind her made her aware that the team had all moved toward the door, ready to go wherever Fearless Leader told them to. They all either ignored what she’d been saying about the danger of going out in the crazy falling snow or were busy building an imaginary snow fort of denial.

  Anson held the door and looked at the dog. “Max.” One word and his furry companion scampered right out behind them.

  It would be okay. People who risked their lives for others had to build up good karma. The team would make it back, and maybe their karma would extend to the still missing skier. Until then she’d do her best—manage the lobby/ exposure clinic, keep the fire stoked and the water heated and flowing, and keep those who’d been out in it warm and safe.

  After the team returned, and when the head count was official, then she’d get Mira.

  *

  Anson Graves’s snowmobile crept through the falling white flakes. Theoretically, there should be another couple of hours of daylight left, but between the dense clouds and miles of sky darkened by falling snow it felt more like twilight. Zero visibility. He was half-afraid he’d find the missing man by accidentally running him over.

  A trip that normally took fifteen minutes was taking forever.

  Anson knew only too well how much longer it would seem for the man who was stuck in the cold, counting his own heartbeats and every painful breath, wondering how many more he’d have before the wind froze him from the inside and winter claimed him.

  That’s what he’d done.

  The blonde at the lodge hadn
’t been wrong, he’d just wanted her to be wrong. At least half an hour had passed since they’d started the trek to the third-closest abandoned silver mine, and they weren’t even halfway there yet. She should be getting Chelsea’s feet out of the water and bandaging them by now. He’d forgotten to tell her not to let Chelsea walk...though maybe she wouldn’t try.

  If they hadn’t had to take the long way they’d be there by now. But this was the safest route with the snow drifting the way it was.

  If the wind would just stop...

  The wet, blasting snow built a crust on his goggles, his eyes the only places not actively painful and cold from the wind. He shook his head, trying to clear the visor, but had to use his hand to scrape it off. He didn’t even want to see what was becoming of Max in the back. Snow stuck to his fur like nothing Anson had ever seen.

  The only thing he felt good about right now was leaving the four rescues with the hippie chick. Her choice of attire showed a distinct lack of common sense, but she’d picked up on his shoulder bothering him. She was perceptive and paying attention. And he’d seen her hug his frostbite patient. She cared. They’d be safe with her, especially considering the detailed instructions he’d given. She’d be watching them with an eagle eye for any slight changes. Getting Dupris should an emergency arise would be a simple enough task for anyone.

  His stomach suddenly churned hard, a split second before he felt an unnatural shifting of the snow beneath him.

  He reacted automatically, cutting sharply up the slope, and didn’t stop until the ground felt firm beneath him. Damned sliding snowdrifts.