Saving Dr. Tremaine

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Saving Dr. Tremaine Page 9

by Jessica Matthews


  When he ended the kiss, her knees wobbled and she clung to him until she could stand on her own two feet. In the meantime, she watched his expression, hoping to see some sign that he’d found their exchange as powerful as she had. Instead, his face showed uncertainty.

  He was going to apologize. She knew it with every cell in her body. Inwardly, she railed at the irony…the man who could literally sweep her off her feet was a man who was totally wrong for her.

  “Annie,” he began.

  She stepped back and forced a smile. “Don’t apologize. We’re both tired and acting out of character. By morning we’ll probably be sniping at each other again.”

  His mouth twitched. “Probably. But I’m not sorry.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  She waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. Unable to stand the lengthening silence, she simply said, “Goodnight,” before turning away.

  His hand grasped her elbow in a no-nonsense grip. “It’s dark inside. I’ll walk you through so you don’t crash into any walls.”

  His presence, his touch ignited the fires within—fires that shouldn’t be burning. “I have excellent night vision,” she said.

  “I don’t doubt it, but humor me.”

  Before she could protest, he guided her through his apartment to the front door. After enjoying the breeze, his quarters were stifling and she suffered momentary remorse over being the cause. Inviting him to spend the night on her sofa was the right thing to do, but would she be able to sleep, knowing that he lay in the next room?

  Unable to place her own comfort over his, she spoke before she could change her mind.

  “If your place doesn’t cool down enough to be comfortable tonight, feel free to borrow my sofa. It’s really quite comfortable in spite of its looks.”

  “Thanks.”

  Not certain if he was thanking her for her thoughtfulness or for the use of her sofa, she decided she might spend a more restful night if she didn’t know his exact whereabouts. “Goodnight again,” she said, before she hurried across the hall.

  Jared watched Annie disappear into her apartment, wanting to draw her into his arms again and knowing he had to let her go. He hadn’t planned the kiss and had, in fact, bargained on it being a platonic end to a pleasant evening.

  It had turned into quite the opposite.

  At first he’d been stunned, then both pleased and relieved. He’d told the truth when he’d claimed that he hadn’t regretted kissing her. What man would rue the moment when he’d experienced the most earth-shattering kiss in his life? Women weren’t the only ones who supposedly had to lock lips with a few frogs before they found their prince. He simply hadn’t expected Annie McCall to be the one whose lips caused every microgram of testosterone to flood his system at once.

  Fate must be laughing at him. He’d been waiting for someone who was as disciplined as he was to send his pulses racing. Instead, someone very different had been responsible, which was why he hadn’t been able to explain himself.

  He’d hurt her with his silence, but she’d risen above it to offer him a comfortable night’s sleep on her sofa. And now that he knew Annie was fuel to his fire, he didn’t know what would be worse…sweating in his bed because of the room temperature or sweating on her sofa because of his internal inferno.

  At least he understood why trouble shadowed her. She wasn’t easily distracted as he’d once thought. She simply ignored her limitations and outpaced herself. If given the opportunity, Annie would run herself into the ground taking care of someone else. She definitely needed a keeper, someone to ensure that an unscrupulous person didn’t take advantage of her good nature.

  Her protector had to be someone who would appreciate her free spirit. Someone like…Galen. Yes, Galen would be perfect. Unlike Jared, he wanted to settle down. He was the ideal candidate to watch over Annie and be her guardian angel.

  You’d let Galen hold her, touch her, kiss her?

  The idea didn’t comfort him like he’d expected. The only other alternative was for him to step in—to keep an unobtrusive eye on her, to be her voice of reason when her heart overruled her head—but he’d learned the hard way that doing so tended to backfire on the one with good intentions. He wanted to concentrate solely on his career and not juggle its demands with the demands of any sort of a relationship that led to more responsibilities.

  Don’t you want a family of your own?

  No, he decided. Raising children wasn’t easy and he wasn’t eager to start over again. He’d completed his tour of duty and if other people wanted to drive that route, they had his blessing.

  Even if he was willing to watch over her from the sidelines, the fiercely independent Annie had made it plain that she didn’t want anyone doing so. Yet if she continued on her present path, her patients would suffer.

  He wanted to walk away, to let her sink or swim on her own, but she’d managed to reignite those protective instincts he’d packed away before he’d moved to Hope. He simply had to lock those feelings back into the box and throw away the key.

  He felt his way to the kitchen and the flashlight waiting on the counter. As he stared at the remains of Annie’s presence—the glasses, the cheese and fruit—he sensed how empty and lonely his apartment seemed since she’d left.

  It’s only because it’s dark, he told himself. He should simply call it a day and go to bed, but he couldn’t. He wanted to join Annie where light and laughter dwelled, but after that kiss he’d only be placing himself in temptation’s way.

  The best prescription to keep his mind off her was a few miles of jogging, followed by a cold shower.

  A prescription to be taken as often as needed.

  “The cafeteria has your favorite breakfast special,” Galen told Jared the next morning. “Waffles.”

  Jared shook his head. “Not today.”

  “What’s the deal? Watching your weight?”

  “Nope. I’ve already eaten.”

  Galen frowned. “What?”

  “I had a ham and egg casserole before I came to work.”

  A knowing gleam filled Galen’s eyes. “So you decided to take it to the next level.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Erica,” Galen said impatiently. “I presume you finally made your move.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but it wasn’t Erica. Annie fixed breakfast.”

  He’d slipped into her apartment at six a.m., hoping to shower before she awoke, but she’d beaten him to it. She’d been standing in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled heavenly, and was immaculately dressed in her uniform. She’d greeted him as if last night’s kiss had never happened and he was both relieved and disappointed that she had.

  Galen’s stunned expression was comical. “Wait a minute. Are we talking about the same Annie you were angry with when you left on Thursday? The same Annie who, and I quote, ‘has her head in the clouds’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Details, man. I want details. What happened that I don’t know about?”

  “You know about the electricity problem.” At Galen’s acknowledging grunt, Jared continued, “Well, when I got home Friday morning, Annie told me that the power company wouldn’t turn on my power until Monday.”

  Galen slapped his thigh. “I wish I’d been there to see your face when she broke the news.”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Anyway, we’ve worked out a deal. I have free access to her apartment—and her electricity—until then. Plus, she’s feeding me.”

  “Ah. That explains the breakfast.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does Erica know?”

  “I told her.”

  “And she didn’t care?”

  “We never agreed to an exclusive relationship. She’s admitted that her career is more important at this time.”

  “If you say so.” Galen’s dubious expression turned once again to curiosity.

  “I say so. We have a friendly arrangement. That
’s all.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He nudged Jared. “I assume you and Annie have declared a truce?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think of her now?”

  “She’s too soft-hearted to say no to anyone who has a problem. She needs someone to keep her grounded.” Someone to give her the family she wants. Pushing that last thought out of his head, he outlined Friday’s events from morning until night, although he omitted the final and most personal detail.

  “Are you volunteering?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “You sang her praises from the beginning. You’re perfect for the job.”

  Galen shook his head. “No can do.”

  “Why not? You haven’t met someone, have you?”

  “No, but that’s not the point. I think Annie is a great gal—a fellow couldn’t find one better. The problem is, there aren’t any sparks.”

  “How can you not feel the sparks?” Jared asked, exasperated. “She’s beautiful, personable, a great cook—”

  “Sorry, buddy, but this is one of those jobs you can’t delegate. If you want it done, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

  Throughout his career, Jared had faced gun-toting gang members, desperate drug addicts looking for a fix, and distraught family members who’d lost loved ones. None of those, however, had scared him as much as Galen’s suggestion did.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE fire alarm reverberated throughout Hope’s Station Number Two at eleven a.m. on Saturday morning. Annie dropped the soup ladle on the stove and twisted the burner’s control to OFF as she listened to the dispatcher’s impassive voice announcing the location.

  Thirty-five twenty Highland Drive.

  The familiar address hit her like a dash of icy cold water.

  “Did you recognize the house number?” she demanded of Mic, who’d just come from the captain’s office and met her at their ambulance.

  Mic nodded. “Winona Hughes. What do you suppose she’s done now?”

  “Apparently started a fire,” Annie said grimly, as she slid into the passenger seat.

  Winona was a ninety-year-old woman who lived alone on the outskirts of town. Her only child—a daughter—lived three hundred miles away and rarely visited. Winona’s frailty tethered her to her home, but she wasn’t totally without human contact. The community had started a senior companion program for people like Winona, and every Monday through Friday the volunteer assigned to her would spend the afternoon with her and help with whatever odd jobs Winona might have.

  The problem came on the weekends, when Winona’s boredom would surface and she would call 911. Her complaints had always been minor and after Annie noticed the fresh plate of cookies waiting for their arrival, she realized the woman was simply lonely. After determining that the woman’s health wasn’t at risk and she’d signed the obligatory “refusal of treatment” form, Annie and Mic always returned to their station.

  Their fire chief wasn’t happy about these calls because, without a hospital transfer, they couldn’t bill for services rendered and that wreaked havoc with his budget.

  “Chief’s going to go ballistic if this is another false alarm,” Mic warned, as he pulled out of the driveway with lights and siren flashing.

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t seem the type to cry wolf over something as serious as a fire. It’s one thing to call and complain about chest pain, but it’s another to report a nonexistent fire.”

  “Maybe it isn’t non-existent.”

  Annie stared at her partner in horror. “Do you think she started it on purpose?”

  “Could be. People who want attention will do anything.”

  “She’s not self-destructive,” Annie insisted. “I’m willing to bet there’s a real fire in progress.”

  “If so, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit,” Mic replied. “With all the stuff packed in her house, a stray spark could create a lot of damage.”

  The last time they’d responded to a call to this address, they’d found piles and piles of old newspapers, magazines and junk mail.

  “I saw the date on some of those magazines,” Mic continued. “They went back to 1956. I’ll bet she has more periodicals than a library.”

  “Which is why I don’t think she’d start a fire on purpose, no matter how starved for company she is. She’s too proud of her collection to damage a single item.”

  “Maybe, but there’s a first time for everything,” he warned darkly.

  “Let’s hope this isn’t it.”

  Mic turned down Winona’s street. Her house sat between two empty lots and a wheatfield, so she was rather isolated from her neighbors. Their unobstructed view of her property made it easy to see thick gray smoke rolling out of two windows and a smouldering portion of the roof.

  What had happened to Winona?

  “Looks like we don’t have a false alarm,” Mic commented as he braked to an abrupt stop near a gathering crowd.

  As soon as Annie’s feet touched the ground, a woman in her forties approached. “My husband and I tried to go in as soon as we saw the smoke, but her doors are locked.”

  “Is there any chance she’s not at home?” Annie asked, hoping someone had taken Winona on a rare excursion.

  “As far as we know, she’s still inside.”

  Fearful for the elderly woman’s safety, Annie rushed to tell Bill, Manny, and Graham, who were slinging their oxygen tanks onto their backs and adjusting their air hoses. “The doors are locked and there is probably a ninety-year-old woman inside.”

  “We’ll find her.”

  Annie knew they would. As she watched them approach the front door, she hoped they wouldn’t be too late to rescue Winona. And although she knew how well trained her firefighter colleagues were, a fire of this magnitude didn’t come without risk to them either. No matter who went inside, a fire was an equal-opportunity accident waiting to strike.

  Graham attacked the door with his ax. Several swings later, the three waited for the smoke billowing out of the opening to clear before they disappeared into the haze with a water hose.

  “Let’s get a non-rebreather ready,” Annie told Mic. The mask would deliver the highest concentration of oxygen and its one-way valve would prevent expired air from entering the oxygen reservoir.

  While she laid out the supplies she might need, pulled on her latex gloves and protective eye gear, she kept a close watch on the scene. Yellow-jacketed men swarmed over the property like bees searching for a place to attack. Another engine company arrived as the eastern portion of the roof burst into flame. Minutes later, they aimed a huge stream of water onto the shingles.

  The late morning air was heavy with the acrid smell of smoke. She might not be in the midst of the action, but she and her clothes would carry the scent just like those who’d gone inside. Fortunately, she kept a spare uniform in her locker for times like these.

  Annie chewed on her lip and folded her arms across her chest, willing the men to hurry and find Winona. The battalion chief stood in the middle of the yard, speaking into his radio as he directed operations. It soon became apparent that Winona’s house would be a total loss and Annie prayed that the fire wouldn’t claim the feisty woman’s life as well.

  Minutes, seeming like hours, passed before Manny carried out a frail form in the standard fireman’s carry over his shoulder. Annie and Mic hurried forward with their stretcher and helped him place Winona gently on the thin mattress.

  “Found her on the floor in her bedroom,” Manny said heavily, as Annie listened to her breathing. Her rib cage hardly moved, her respirations were ten instead of the normal twelve to twenty per minute, and Annie felt very little air movement against her hand as she held it close to Winona’s face.

  “Oximeter shows eighty-two,” Mic announced.

  Oxygen levels in the blood should be around ninety-eight, so Winona definitely wasn’t receiving enough oxygen to her brain.
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br />   Annie immediately employed the mask and monitored Winona’s progress while Mic checked her radial pulse and capillary refill. In the field, primary assessments followed the path of ABCDE, which began with airway and breathing and continued on to circulation.

  “Pulse is sixty,” he announced, along with his description of her ashen skin color and delayed capillary refill.

  “What’s her oxygen saturation?” she asked.

  Mic glanced at the oximeter’s display. “Eighty-eight.”

  Her condition was improving. “Can you hear me, Winnie?” Annie asked, moving on to the D portion of her ABCDE assessment.

  D referred to disability or an impaired mental status. By rote experience, Annie ran through the AVPU mnemonic which stood for Alert, responds to Verbal stimuli, responds to Painful stimuli, and Unresponsive.

  “If you can hear me, open your eyes,” she instructed. Seconds before she was ready to move on to the next phase—painful stimuli—Winona’s eyelids fluttered open.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Oxygen sat is ninety-two,” Mic announced.

  Pleased by her patient’s response, Annie smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Mrs Hughes. You’re safe and sound so just relax while we take care of you.”

  Winnie nodded, then closed her eyes again while Annie went to the last phase of her assessment—expose. She quickly checked the elderly woman’s body for any other signs of trauma. Finding no visible wounds or burns, she covered her with a blanket.

  “Let’s get to Hope,” she told Mic.

  Winona’s eyes suddenly popped open. “Molly. You have to find Molly.”

  Molly? Annie exchanged a worried glance with Mic. The crew had only searched for one person—Winona—and after removing her from danger, they’d focused on the job of fighting the fire.

  “Who’s Molly?” she asked.

  “My poodle.”

  Annie couldn’t remember ever having seen a dog on their previous calls, but either Molly had been relegated outside on those occasions or she was a recent acquisition. “Is she still inside the house?” If so, the battalion chief who coordinated their efforts would have to get word to the men about the dog.

 

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