A Beautiful Fire (Love at Lincolnfield Book 4)

by Colette Dixon

  One-half of his mouth hooked up. “Don’t worry. I’ll carry you.”

  This time she wouldn’t be unconscious. She’d feel every point of contact of her body against his. Oh, the irony. This one close encounter with him could fuel her runs for months. But she wouldn’t be running—or seeing him again—anytime soon.

  Chapter Two

  Asshole Ritchie. The last thing Jakub needed was a woman teasing him about a teddy bear. But, damn, she was pretty. Even prettier up close. Her chocolate hair was swept into a ponytail as usual, her high cheekbones flushed from the autumn air or from the fact he was carrying her in his arms. While he carried her to his truck, she stole little peeks at him with her big, brown eyes.

  After the first time he’d seen her run past the station, he’d made a point whenever he was on duty to walk out of the building the same time of day in case he could catch a glimpse of her. He could have set his watch by the precision timing of her run. That fact also piqued his curiosity.

  She’d reach the fire station and slow her stride for the length of the sidewalk that spanned the station. At the corner, she’d do a sort of large, lazy U-turn, cross the street then run back the way she’d come, always with one last glance in his direction.

  Their eyes had never met. He didn’t want to invite anything. If her gaze darted to him, he looked away. Admiring a pretty woman was one thing, but he was not up for anything else. No matter what Ritchie said: Samara wouldn’t have wanted this. You gotta get back out there. Life’s passing you by, man.

  Jakub laughed one hard, ironic cough. Life wasn’t passing him by now. Nope. Now he was carrying a woman in his arms who’d fallen at his feet. And damn, she smelled nice.

  She was a sinewy feather of a thing, like someone who exercised a lot or deprived herself of dessert or maybe both. Something churned in his chest, and he did not like the feeling at all.

  He would not start thinking about this woman, would not feel sorry for her. Likely she just had a hairline fracture and after a couple months on crutches, she’d be back to life as usual. He’d just deposit her in his truck, then in a chair in the ER, go home, and sleep off his twenty-four hour shift.

  “You really didn’t have to do this.” She strained her neck to keep her head from falling against his shoulder.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, I really did have to. But I don’t mind. Stand on your good leg for a sec while I get the door.”

  He set her down gently, propped against the passenger side as he unlocked the door to the second row of the cab. Once he had the door open, he bent to collect her again.

  She hopped sideways out of his grasp, positioning herself in front of the opening. “I can get up on my own.”

  “And how, exactly, do you propose you’re going to do that?”

  “I’ll hoist myself up with my arms.”

  Only if she possessed some supernatural ability to launch herself several feet in the air with nothing but tricep strength. “Not going to happen. Trust me. This will be much faster and easier.”

  In one swift motion, he slid his palms behind her thighs, lifted her easily, and placed her bottom down gently on the seat.

  “Oh. Wow.” She flicked her head, aligning her bangs in a tidy brown swoop across her forehead. “That was fast. I mean you just did that—lifted me like I weigh nothing.”

  “You do weigh nothing.” Poor woman had probably only dated pasty geeks with more brainpower than biceps. Not gonna lie, though. He liked that she called out his strength.

  She scooted herself backwards into the opposite corner of the bench seat.

  He closed the door then rounded the truck and slid behind the wheel. “So you’re a doctor?”

  In the rearview mirror, she squinted at him with suspicion. “I am. How did you know that?”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t hack your phone or anything. You said to that person you called that you couldn’t make the meeting but you were going to be in the hospital anyway. So I used my firefighter skills and figured out you work at the hospital.”

  “That doesn’t explain how you knew I was a doctor.” The suspicion dissolved in her eyes, but there was still an edge to her voice.

  Probably he shouldn’t tell her she put off a clinical, detached vibe. He’d interacted with enough doctors to get a feel. And as a firefighter, he’d often been called cold himself.

  After witnessing people die before you on a regular basis, a part of you did shut down. Something he’d never been able to explain to his in-laws who took his lack of tears at Samara’s funeral as cold. No, he hadn’t learned to shut off emotion exactly. He’d just had a lot of practice being able to put that emotion down in a deep dark well and cover the lid.

  “I had a feeling is all. Maybe from how unconcerned you were about your leg.” He turned the truck onto a main boulevard and headed for Lincolnfield Hospital.

  “I wasn’t unconcerned.” She crossed her arms and cut her narrowed eyes out the window.

  Her defensiveness was interesting. Someone had called her cold before too, it seemed. “I just…well, panic doesn’t get you anywhere does it?”

  “True, that.”

  She smiled a sarcastic half-smile, but even so, the expression revealed a little dimple and magnified her attractiveness.

  Shit. Thank God she wasn’t an easy smiler or he’d really be in trouble.

  A minivan in front of him slammed on its brakes, forcing him to do the same. The truck jerked to a stop. A high-pitch cry pierced the air from the back of the truck.

  “Sorry about that. You okay?” He flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror to check on her.

  She breathed through clenched teeth as she clutched her leg. “I’m okay.”

  Her pained face hit him like a gut punch. Traffic moved again, so he let up on the brake as gently and smoothly as possible.

  He had to change something, try to lighten the mood. “So, Doc, I have this problem—”

  “I’m not that kind of doctor.” God, the woman really had no sense of humor.

  It made him want to tease her even more. “You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “I didn’t. But unless your problem is a rare infectious disease, which it most likely is not or else you wouldn’t be driving this truck right now, then I’m not the doctor you need.”

  A cocky reply rose to his lips but the dark power of the words infectious disease sealed his mouth. The ticking sound of the turn signal echoed in the cab. He waited for the line of cars to clear in the opposite direction then made a left turn.

  Halfway down the block, she broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

  He met her eyes briefly in the mirror. She did, in fact, look sorry. A twinge of guilt pricked his conscience for toying with her. “Don’t be.”

  “No, I… You’re being kind, and I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  He suspected she was rude a lot without even trying. “Just doing my job.” He forced a smile for her benefit. “And I was only joking about that. I don’t have a problem.” Not that she could fix, anyway.

  “Oh.” She nestled herself into the corner of the seat and the door.

  “Doctors get that sort of thing all the time, don’t they? ‘Oh, you’re a doctor? Hey, I have this wart on my ass, could you take a look?’ Am I right?” He hopped his eyebrows to catch her reaction in the rearview. This time he gave her a genuine smile so she couldn’t miss the humor.

  He shouldn’t have done that. She smiled back at him, the first complete smile he’d seen on her. Like sunshine thawing a frosty meadow, she transformed from restrained scientist to a warm, enticing woman. His pulse surged hot and fast.

  Shit. He didn’t need that.

  “You’re right,” she said and looked out the window, the smile lingering on her face.

  For a good while after the conversation lulled, her smile remained. Every so often, he checked the rearview to confirm its existence.

  The hospital came into view, then he made a right turn into the
driveway to the ER entrance. “Almost there.”

  A sense of relief washed over him. He’d help her to a chair, say goodbye, go home and sleep. No more worrying over injured women and their smiles.

  He gave the keys to the valet and opened the back door to retrieve her. That knee was red and angry and even more swollen now. If he carried her the way he had from the fire station to the truck, with his arms beneath her knees, that would force them to bend, and cause her a lot of pain.

  There was a less painful way to do this. But she might not like it. “We could get a wheelchair. But it’ll be faster if I carry you.”

  Eyes wide, she dipped her head in a restrained nod. A nod that said more ‘I’m listening’ than ‘I agree.’

  “But if I take you out the way I put you in, it’s going to hurt like hell. And hopping on one leg won’t be much better.”

  “I’m sure I can at least get down out of the truck on my own.” Lifting her bad leg with both hands, she scooted to the edge of the bench seat. “Can’t be that hard,” she grunted out. When her knee crested the edge of the seat and gravity pulled on it, forcing the leg to bend, she grimaced.

  Her big brown eyes rolled to the sky before landing on his. She let out a resigned sigh and gave him a look that implored him for mercy. “Okay, just do it the fastest and least painful way.”

  He bit back a “that’s what she said” as he knelt before her and folded her over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” She whisper-shouted from behind his back.

  “I’m doing what we agreed on.”

  She huffed, her abdomen tightening against him. “This is… I didn’t… I can not believe this.”

  He stifled a laugh at how flustered she was. “Do you want me to put you down?”

  “No.” Her voice dropped to a true whisper. “Just be quick.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be in a wheelchair in no time.” The tension of her abdominal muscles released as she yielded, melting into his shoulder.

  He carried her—bottom facing forward—to the sliding glass doors where a couple of empty wheelchairs were parked. Carefully, he set her down on her good leg and helped situate her into the chair, swiveling and positioning the metal footrests.

  He stood and surveyed his work. Her expression was unsettled, whether from the pain or the way he carried her, he wasn’t sure.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.” Her lips pressed into a line.

  “It really was the least painful way.”

  “That depends on your definition of pain.”

  He sighed roughly, annoyed at the insinuation that her embarrassment from being carried by him was worse than the pain of her busted knee. He didn’t have to be here, helping her. He could have called an ambulance. He could be sleeping in his bed right now.

  Pointing to the wheelchair, he asked, “Do you know how to work that?”

  “Of course, I do,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m a doctor.”

  “Yes, we established that already.” He folded his arms and watched as she fumbled with the metal handrails, her hands slipping, the wheelchair jerking and stuttering and going everywhere and nowhere like a kid trying to work a remote control car for the first time.

  He crouched and placed a hand over one of hers, stilling it on the rail. “I’ve no doubt you’re an excellent doctor. But I’m going to take a wild guess you’ve never had to use one of these from this position.”

  Vulnerability flashed in her eyes, followed by a slumping of her shoulders.

  Silently, he wheeled her to the triage desk. He’d just get her situated then get out of here.

  The nurse behind the desk widened her eyes. “Dr. Peters. My God, what happened?”

  “Oh, just tripped running and fell on my knee,” she said with a nonchalance anyone could tell was fake.

  She gripped the metal rails of the wheelchair and attempted to move herself closer to the desk. Jakub let go of the handles to eliminate any resistance and make it easier for her. But she couldn’t quite get the hang of navigating the wheelchair. The foot of her bad leg whacked against the bottom corner of the desk. She winced, and blood drained from her cheeks.

  He couldn’t leave her like this. Not with that pained look on her face. In fact, since she’d flashed those mercy-begging eyes, he’d wanted to give her much more than mercy. But all he’d intended to do was transport her here, help her to the triage desk then say goodbye. What he should do is walk out of here right now.

  He planted his butt in the chair next to her.

  Mouth parted open, she looked to his hand curled around the plastic chair arm. Slowly, she moved her gaze to his eyes.

  He didn’t want to ask himself what the hell he was doing here, never mind try to explain it to her. Before she could remark on his decision to stay, he shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun.”

  Chapter Three

  A hobbit-sized medical assistant arrived to wheel Harper to radiology. When the assistant struggled with angling the bed through the bay opening, Hot Fireman, looking rather giant next to the little green-scrub-clad man, sprang to his feet. He swooped the curtain wide with a decisive zip then proceeded to walk alongside her gurney.

  “You don’t have to come along for the X-ray,” she said.

  He leaned close and whispered, “Looks to me like you need a spotter.”

  The gurney swerved, heading for a mobile charting station parked in the corridor. Jakub placed a palm on the edge of the bed and gracefully guided her away from the unwanted target and back on course.

  Transport assistants could sometimes treat their patient cargo like cattle, Harper well knew. She’d never had first-hand experience, however.

  When they reached the double doors to radiology, Hot Fireman leaned against the wall. “I’ll wait here.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  He cocked his head and narrowed an eye. “Like I said, I’ll be here.”

  The X-ray was quick, hardly affording her enough time to understand how Hot Fireman had become so involved in her medical care.

  On the return trip to the ER, the question of how much damage had happened to her knee took center stage in her mind. But she was keenly aware of Wojick’s presence astride her gurney. When she dared a glance at him, he gave her a half-smile.

  Her gurney safely back in her ER room, he plunked down in the bedside chair and leaned a cheek on his palm, eyelids drooping closed.

  Poor man probably hadn’t slept in a long time.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Harper said, though the protest in her voice sounded weak to her ears. The fact he’d chosen to stay spread a warmth through her chest.

  She knew firefighters had twenty-four-hour shifts followed by forty-eight hours off. She also knew the fatigue of being up all night from her days of residency. A little louder, she said, “You should go home and sleep.”

  At the sound of her words, his eyelids flung open. He massaged his jaw with a few sturdy fingers and considered her. “You gonna Uber out of here on crutches?”

  She scooted to sit straighter. “Yes, as a matter of fact, that is my plan. And I will be just fine.”

  “Where do you live?” he asked with booming firefighter confidence, suddenly present and at attention. The only trace of fatigue visible now was the purple-grey swipe beneath his eyes.

  “That’s really none of your business.” His concern for her had been sweet, but this was getting a little too personal.

  He blinked a few times at her as though he was trying to consider how to explain something sophisticated to a child. “No, I mean, do you live in a condo building with an elevator or a house with a lot of stairs?”

  His anticipation of the logistics of her recovery revealed a thoughtfulness that stole her words. She tugged at the hem of her running shorts to cover more of her exposed thigh. “I live in a townhouse, if you must know.”

  “So, stairs.” His voice was flat and restrained of emotion, as if he were calmly
orchestrating a rescue.

  “I do have a flight of stairs, yes.” She looped the edge of her shorts around a finger.

  “Your bedroom is upstairs.” Same all-business tone.

  Now he was bordering on invasive. “I really don’t feel the need to tell you precisely where my bedroom is.”

  The attending doctor appeared in the Lincolnfield standard issue grey doctor coat, holding the curtain aside. He strode into the little makeshift room. She didn’t know this man. Must be new.

  In a voice full of empathy, he asked, “No fun to be on that side of the treatment table, is it, Dr. Peters?”

  “Definitely not.” Thankfully, someone had tipped him off that she was a physician.

  He gave her a collegial smile. “I’ve been there.”

  She appreciated his camaraderie but didn’t need the chitchat. She needed to know what the X-ray said so she could start to plan her recovery accordingly. “What’s the verdict?”

  “The good news is the fractures are closed.”

  “Fractures? Plural?” Wojcik leaned in for the information as though he were a family member hanging on the doctor’s every word.

  The doctor side-eyed him before returning his attention to Harper. “That’s the bad news. You have five hairline fractures. A pretty little star on your patella.”

  The word fuck echoed inside her head as she sealed her lips. She wanted to curse. Really badly. But she wouldn’t. One big inhale and a centering exhale then the urge was gone.

  A fracture. Not the end of the world. Just a pain in the rear, really. So she’d be non-weight bearing for a while.

  “We’ll get you crutches and get you out of here. I suggest you see an orthopedic as soon as possible though.”

  “Doc,” Wojcik turned to the attending, “what’s your opinion on stairs?”

  The attending tilted his chin up and volleyed a gaze between her and Wojcik. “More than a few stairs? Not really going to be possible for a while.” The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile. “Best not to push yourself too hard too soon.” With that, he exited through the curtain.