Falling Hard (Colorado High Country #3)

by Pamela Clare

  “A … what?” asked Sasha Dillon.

  Petite, blond and only twenty-three, Sasha was the country’s top-ranked female sports climber and lived off professional sponsorships.

  Talk about a dream life.

  Megs explained. “A shotski is where shot glasses are fixed to the back of old skis, and four people as a team drink a shot at once, trying not to spill a drop. The winning team gets some kind of prize.”

  “A hangover,” said Harrison Conrad, the Team’s mad dog alpinist. As big as an ox, he had climbed Everest twice now and had his sights set on K2 next year.

  Megs went on. “It seems you’re right, Conrad. The morning after the shotski, Knockers is hosting the ‘Hair of the Dog Breakfast.’”

  Laughter.

  “There will be bonfires at night, food vendors all day, bands playing at the main event tent, lots of drinking, and, of course, skijoring. The organizers are seeking volunteers to work each of these events. They would also like help at the first-aid tent. The official sign-up is online. It’s first come, first choice. Those of you who wait will have to take what’s left.”

  After that, Megs gave them a quick budget update then asked for someone to fill in for her on the dispatch desk for two weeks in March when she and Mitch Ahearn, her partner and also a primary Team member, were heading to Alaska for serious skiing. And then the meeting was over.

  Jesse got to his feet, feeling dizzy.

  “Want to head out for a brew?” Herrera slapped him on the shoulder, then frowned. “Hey, you okay? You don’t look so good, man.”

  “Today kicked my ass. I’m heading home.”

  Twenty minutes later, he fell into bed, chilled to the bone.

  Ellie bundled up Daniel and Daisy at six Monday morning, piled them and their car seats in her rental car, and drove them to her parents’ house, where her mother met her at the door, still wearing pajamas. Ellie set the kids and the diaper bag down on the sofa. She reached into the bag and pulled out two bottles of amoxicillin. “Here are their antibiotics. Daniel still fights me about it sometimes.”

  Her mother took the medicine. “You won’t give Grandma a hard time, will you, Daniel?”

  Daniel didn’t answer, but curled up on the sofa with his blanket, still sleepy.

  Ellie gave her mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

  It would be so much harder to leave the kids if she’d had to put them into daycare. It wasn’t about saving money. It was about knowing that the children were in the safest, most loving hands while she was at work.

  Her mom smiled. “Have a good day. Daisy, come help your old granny make coffee. Can you say ‘caffeine’?”

  Ellie hurried back to her car and drove to Mountain Memorial, Scarlet’s little hospital, which sat a few blocks from the center of town. She was on call every other Monday, and today she’d been called in. Apart from days like today, she worked only three days a week. With the DIC payments she got from the VA and the small amount of Social Security she received for the kids, she didn’t need to work full-time. It was important to her as the twins’ only parent to spend most of her time with them.

  She arrived to find that they’d put her on Labor & Delivery for the day. She had four years of surgical nursing experience, but she’d taken a position as a float nurse working Fridays and weekends. Floating required her to move from unit to unit depending on patient load. A lot of nurses hated floating, but Ellie wanted to avoid the unit politics that had made her last nursing job in Kentucky so stressful. Besides, no two days as a float nurse were alike, and working across so many specialties kept her nursing skills sharp.

  Ellie spent the morning with an older couple that had opted for a C-section for the delivery of their in-vitro twins, their nervousness and excitement reminding her of how she’d felt when she’d found out that she was carrying two babies. She shared her C-section experience with them, hoping to reassure them.

  Kelly, the mother-to-be, teased her husband about his nervousness, then looked over at Ellie. “How did your husband hold up?”

  The question hit Ellie in the chest.

  She fixed a smile on her face. “Your husband will do just fine. The only thing you have to worry about is how you’re going to get sleep with two newborns at home.”

  She stayed with the couple in the operating room, her throat going tight when the new father wept at his first glimpse of their sons, both of whom announced their arrival by screaming their little heads off.

  Grief blindsided her, surging cold from behind her breastbone.

  Dan hadn’t lived to see his babies.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

  She reached over, stroked one baby’s cheek with a gloved hand, willing herself to speak in a normal voice. “They’re beautiful—just perfect. Congratulations.”

  Her patients in good hands, she fled the operating room, tore off her mask, hair net, and booties, and walked straight to the courtyard, where she stood in the cold and snow, drawing in deep breaths.

  You’re a professional. Get it together.

  When her emotions were under control once more, she went back inside and had just started back to the L&D nurse’s station when Pauline, the hospital’s assistant director of nursing, came up behind her, heels clicking on the tile. “How are you feeling, Ellie?”

  Ellie put on her game face. “Much better. Thanks.”

  “We still need someone to coordinate the first-aid tent for SnowFest, and no one has volunteered. I would like that person to be you this year.”

  Ellie had forgotten about SnowFest. “How many hours would that take?”

  “I’ve done it a few times. I had a couple of organizational meetings and did my best to delegate to other volunteers. You’ll work the event that weekend rather than your regular schedule here at the hospital. You’ll be head nurse of the tent.” Pauline said this as if it were an honor. “You can even take the twins.”

  Oh, glory. Because having two almost-three-year-olds running around a first-aid tent wouldn’t distract anyone, least of all Ellie.

  Ellie spent her afternoon with a young dreadlocked couple from Ward who wanted as natural a birth as possible—minimal monitoring, no pain meds, not even an IV. They’d brought a doula, who swept into the room all scarves and velvet skirts, her long silver hair smelling like patchouli.

  “Rose? I didn’t know you were a doula.”

  Rose owned Rose’s New Age Emporium over on First Street and was known more for her tarot readings, astrological charts, and gossip than anything else.

  Rose gave her a mysterious smile, as if she had a great secret to share. “Birth is all about energy, and I’m an energy worker.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t a certified doula.

  Ellie did her best to support the couple’s birth plan, leaving most of the hands-on support—and one hundred percent of the chanting—to Rose. By the time Ellie’s shift ended, the mother had only dilated to four.

  Ellie stopped at Food Mart on her way to pick up the kids and got a call from Frank, who owned the local gas station and garage.

  “The copper contacts on your starter are shot to hell. I can replace them for you for one-fifty parts and labor and have the car back to you late tomorrow,” he said.

  What choice did she have?

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  She picked up the kids, drove home, and made spaghetti and salad for supper. After some play time, baths, and stories, she tucked them in bed. She had just poured herself a glass of wine and plopped herself in front of Netflix when she noticed it sitting on the coffee table.

  Jesse Moretti’s business card.

  She still hadn’t thanked him.

  She picked up the card, held it for a moment, trying to decide whether to call or just send a card. It would be less personal to send a card. There would be no chance of the conversation drifting or getting awkward. She could write a few words and be done with it. Then an image flashed into her mind of Jesse stepping thro
ugh her door, six-foot-plus of man holding Daniel and Daisy in his arms, concern on his rugged face.

  She found her cell phone and dialed his number, her pulse spiking when it rang.

  “Moretti.”

  His voice was rough, as if he’d been asleep.

  “It’s Ellie Meeks. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Yeah. Well… No worries.”

  She had woken him. “I just called to thank you for everything you did to help us the other night. You made a big difference for us. I know you shoveled my sidewalk, too, so, yeah, thanks for that also.”

  Good grief, girl!

  She was babbling.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice was rough, almost as if …

  “Are you ill?” That’s the last thing Ellie had wanted to happen. “Oh, God. You caught it, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve got a wicked sore throat and a fever, I think.”

  “Have you taken your temperature or seen a doctor?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She made a guess. “You don’t have a doctor, do you?”

  Or a thermometer either.

  “No.”

  That meant he had no choice but to go to the emergency room for treatment, where he’d wait for hours. Unless …

  “My father is a doctor. I’m sure he’d be willing to come check on you and bring you a prescription for antibiotics.”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

  “Like you did for me?” He was stubborn. Fine. So was she. “Strep isn’t like a cold. It can permanently damage your heart if it goes untreated.”

  “Seriously?” He sounded like he didn’t believe her.

  “Hey, I’m a registered nurse, remember? I’ll call my dad and let you know when we’re on our way.”

  Chapter 4

  “Thanks for doing this, Dad.”

  Ellie’s father nodded. “You’re welcome. He helped you out. I think he’s the same fellow who fought like hell to save the poor Fisher girl last summer. Seems to me he deserves a break.”

  Ellie’s father turned into the gravel driveway, his headlights illuminating Jesse’s A-frame cabin. Its steep, overhanging roof covered a wide porch in front and was extended horizontally on the east side to serve as a carport, sheltering Jesse’s SUV and a covered boat. All the windows were dark.

  “Are you sure he knows we’re coming?”

  She nodded. “Maybe he fell asleep.”

  Ellie had called her father the moment she’d gotten off the phone with Jesse. She’d told him about the situation and asked him to help. He’d agreed when he’d heard who the patient was. Her parents had driven to her house straight away, her mother staying with the kids, who were asleep, so that Ellie could accompany her father.

  Her father parked behind Jesse’s SUV, and they climbed out, Ellie grabbing his medical bag from the backseat. No path had been shoveled to the front door, so they walked to a side door beneath the carport.

  Ellie knocked, her gaze traveling over a pile of neatly stacked firewood, the polished planks of the heavy wooden door, the skis leaning against the wall. A minute crept by with no answer. She was about to knock again, when she heard the sound of a deadbolt turning.

  Jesse opened the door, wearing a red and black flannel shirt, which he’d left unbuttoned, and a pair of faded jeans. He flicked on a light and stood back to let them enter. “Sorry. I drifted off.”

  His face was pale, dark circles beneath his blue eyes, his short, dark hair rumpled.

  “I’m sorry you caught this. After everything you did to help us…”

  Dark brows drew together. “It’s not your fault.”

  Ellie’s father stuck out his hand. “I’m Dr. Rouse, but you can call me Troy. Thanks for watching out for my daughter and grandkids. Let’s see if we can get you feeling better. Why don’t you have a seat somewhere, son?”

  The cabin’s main room had wood floors and was divided between a kitchen, a living area with a leather sofa and a big television, and a dining area with a rectangular wooden dining set. A wood stove stood on a raised platform of brick in the center of the space, giving heat to the entire cabin, firewood piled beside it. There were two doors in the far wall, no doubt leading to his bedroom and the bathroom. It was cozy and clean, if a bit Spartan. The log walls were almost bare—no artwork or photographs, no shelves with books or keepsakes, nothing but a calendar hanging by the phone and a large, plastic fish mounted as a fake trophy in the kitchen.

  Jesse led them to the table, drew out a chair, and sat, his shirt opening to reveal firm muscles and a trail of dark curls that disappeared into his jeans.

  He’s sick, for God’s sake.

  Ellie shifted her gaze to her father, watching while he took Jesse’s temperature with an ear thermometer, chatting him up.

  “I heard you served with the Army Rangers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And now you’re with the Team.”

  “Yes.”

  “Two upstanding institutions. I thank you for your service to both. My son-in-law, Dan, served as a special operations pilot flying Black Hawks. He was killed in Iraq.”

  Ellie wished her father wouldn’t bring this up with people, but she knew he’d loved Dan like a son. She wasn’t the only person who was still grieving.

  “That’s what Ellie told me. I’m sorry.”

  Her father read the digital temperature display. “You’ve got a fever of one-oh-three-point-eight. I bet you feel like hell.”

  Jesse nodded and raised a hand to his throat. “I’ve got a sore throat and a bad headache. I keep getting chills.”

  Poor guy! He wouldn’t be sick if he hadn’t stopped to help her.

  “That’s the fever. Let’s take a look at your throat.”

  Ellie took the ear thermometer from her father and handed him his pocket scope and a tongue blade.

  “My daughter’s a registered nurse. I trained her so she could help me when I make house calls. It’s hard to get good help these days.”

  Jesse nodded, as if seeing the wisdom of this.

  Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t listen to him. He told me not to be a nurse.”

  “Someone with her brains ought to be a doctor.”

  Ellie shook her head. “I wanted to be a nurse, Dad.”

  It was an old argument.

  Her father flicked on the scope’s light, held the tongue blade ready. “Open wide.”

  Jesse did as her father asked.

  It only took her father a glance.

  He removed the tongue blade and flicked off the scope. “Your throat looks like shit. I won’t bother with a throat culture. You’ve got strep.”

  Jesse looked up at Ellie, a lopsided grin on his face that made Ellie’s pulse skitter. “Kid germs, huh?”

  She nodded. “The worst.”

  Strep throat.

  So much for your monster immune system, buddy.

  “Ellie said something about this damaging the heart.”

  “If it goes untreated for a long time, you can get rheumatic fever. Trust me—you don’t want that.”

  Hell, no, he didn’t—whatever that was.

  The doc packed his things away in his bag. “Are you allergic to any drugs?”

  Jesse shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Well, then, you’ve got a couple of options. I can write you a prescription for ten days’ worth of antibiotics that you can take to the pharmacy tomorrow morning when it opens, or I can give you an injection of penicillin now. Either way, you’ll start to feel better about twenty-four hours after your first dose.”

  Jesse thought he understood what the doc was saying. “So, it’s either a shot now and done, or start pills tomorrow?”

  The doc nodded. “That’s right.”

  Jesse would rather be well sooner than later. “I’ll take that shot.”

  The doc watched him through heavily lidded eyes that were green like his daughter’s. “Just so
you know, the injection is given in a large muscle. Generally speaking, that means your glute.”

  Did the doc think getting a shot in the ass was a deal breaker?

  Jesse found himself grinning. “In the army, they give you vaccines for diseases that haven’t been invented yet. I’ve gotten more shots in my behind than I can remember.”

  “Okay then.” The doc reached into his bag, took out a small vial of medication, along with a syringe and a needle, both of which were encased in packaging. “What’s your weight?”

  “I’m two-twenty.” Jesse got to his feet, turned his back to Ellie and her father, and started to unzip his jeans.

  A cough. “I’ll … uh … step into the kitchen, give you some privacy.”

  Jesse glanced over his shoulder, saw pink in Ellie’s cheeks. He hadn’t thought this would embarrass her. She was a nurse, after all. She probably saw bare butts every day—and more. Why should seeing his ass make her blush?

  The answer shot through the fevered haze in his brain.

  She’s attracted to you.

  Nah. He was probably out of his mind. Fever. Germs.

  He would have offered to move this show to his bedroom, but she was already walking away, her back turned toward him. He unzipped his jeans and pushed them just low enough in back to bare the muscle the doctor needed.

  The doc rubbed a cold alcohol wipe over the skin high on his right buttock. “Now you’ll feel a stick and some pressure as the penicillin goes in.”

  Son of a …!

  It hurt more than Jesse had expected.

  “Done.”

  Jesse tugged up his jeans, zipped his fly. “Thanks.”

  “We’ll need to hang around for about fifteen minutes to make sure you don’t have an allergic reaction.” The doc dropped the syringe into a small biohazard container. “Let me know if you start itching or feeling short of breath.”

  Jesse glanced around the room, wondering where he’d left his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Owe me?” The doc frowned. “Not a red cent. You helped my daughter, and I’m returning that kindness. We take care of our own in Scarlet.”