Tasting Fire (Steele Ridge: The Kingstons Book 2)

by Kelsey Browning

  “I wouldn’t have stood in your way, but that’s not the point of this conversation.” He took a breath and blew it out. “When meth monster pulled that gun on you, I didn’t just feel like my heart had been sliced or broken. It felt like it was being ripped out of my body. I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I can’t keep denying that I still feel something for you, Em.”

  Which meant there was hope for them.

  “And when I care about people, I’ll do anything in my power to protect them. Even if it means hurting them.”

  Emmy’s body went cold. “What are you saying?”

  “When I showed up at your place earlier, I came to tell you that rumors are circulating all over town.”

  “About?”

  “About how you killed a young Hispanic boy.”

  12

  David Hernandez.

  It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, much less talk about. But it did trigger a realization. A worrisome one.

  “Give me just a second,” she told Cash as she unhooked her bag from the back of her chair and fished through it for her phone. She pulled up her recent calls and there were two new voice mails from a BaltGen number. Since Oliver left Steele Ridge, she had ignored a handful of calls and had deleted messages she’d assumed were from him.

  She hadn’t wanted to spend energy deflecting his attempts to strong-arm her back to the hospital. Back to him.

  That thought was so disgusting that it actually made her mouth taste as if she’d eaten slugs.

  “I need to return a call.” She hit dial, and the phone rang two times before someone answered. “Baltimore General Hospital, office of General Counsel.”

  The grain of hope inside Emmy shriveled up and blew away like a brittle leaf. “This is Dr. Emerson McKay. I received a call from this number.”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Sandberg has been beside himself trying to get in touch with you. I’ll connect you to his office.”

  While the call clicked over, Emmy’s stomach swooped down like it was on a cheap roller coaster.

  “Dr. McKay.” George Sandberg’s voice was big and booming, befitting a barrel-chested attorney. “You are a hard woman to reach.”

  “I thought the calls were…” No point in finishing that sentence. “I apologize for not returning them.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but it looks like some ambulance chaser got his hands on David Hernandez’s family and encouraged them to sue the pants off of anyone involved with their son’s death. Because the Corazón Negro gang is pretty damn hard to take legal action against, they decided you and Baltimore General and our management company were better bets. And since…”

  And since she was no longer associated with BaltGen, she’d be expected to provide her own counsel. On her dime. There went the down payment on a house. “Can you e-mail me the documents?”

  “Will do. After looking over the charts,” he said. “I’m not sure they have much of a case, but personal injury and wrongful death suits can be tricky.”

  “Thank you for the information,” she told him and ended the call. She stared down at the conference table for several minutes while Cash sat there, concern building.

  Finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Emmy? What’s going on?”

  “Well, the good news about rumors erupting here in Steele Ridge is that they prompted me to call the hospital. The shitty news is that I’m being sued.” And how that might impact both of her positions here in North Carolina, she didn’t know. But she’d have to give a heads-up to the SWAT captain and the ER director immediately.

  “Why?”

  “Because I couldn’t save a six-year-old who was shot by Corazón Negro as revenge against his uncle, who’s in a rival gang.”

  “Jesus, Em.”

  “I tried.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “He’d lost too much blood. I knew it, but I didn’t want to accept it. Because what kind of world do we live in that children die because of decisions—stupid, stupid decisions—that adults make?”

  “But not because of the stupid decisions you made.”

  “Afterward, I told the family I was sorry. Apparently, they took that as some kind of admission of medical malpractice.” Making a horrific situation all the more untenable.

  “Why don’t you let me take you home? Make you something to eat? Food has a way of making things a little better and helping us see solutions.”

  “I wish we could.” She realized she really meant it. There was nothing she’d like more than to have a normal, simple meal with a man she cared for. “But I’m now officially five hours late for my shift in the ER.”

  “Then consider yourself the recipient of a rain check.”

  Because he was so kind, so good, so understanding, Emmy brushed her hand over his, trying to convey her appreciation with the simple touch. “One I’ll be sure to cash.”

  Emmy could’ve died today. That reality had been ricocheting through Cash’s brain for hours. And it had convinced him that he couldn’t keep holding the past against her.

  Which prompted a visit to Grif. He hadn’t blinked when Cash asked him to unlock Emmy’s door for him. He simply said, “I really like her, Cash. She’s quiet, she’s nice, and Jonah thinks she hung the moon. But there’s something about her. Something sad that makes me think she’s not as unbreakable as she pretends to be. Don’t play with her. She’s not one of your normal hose honeys.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “Does this mean that young women all over the county are about to get their hearts broken?”

  “Anyone I’ve dated knows the score.”

  “If you say so,” Grif said. “But apparently Chelsea has been mouthing off about you, saying if this doctor-bitch tries to snag you, she’d better get ready to roll in the mud.”

  Really? Chelsea hadn’t seemed all that jealous at the Triple B. Then again, he couldn’t have given a shit less about her being out with someone else. Maybe she’d just been putting on an act. “Doctor-bitch? Were those her actual words?”

  “It’s not like I talked with her directly, but that’s what Mr. Greene told my mom, and he’s usually a pretty accurate reporter of all things Steele Ridge.”

  Which meant Chelsea could’ve been the brick tosser. Not that she would normally do anything that would endanger her once-a-week manicure. But she had plenty of charms to entice some good ol’ boy to do the dirty work for her. “Thanks for the intel.” Cash had heard Chelsea say catty things in the past, but he couldn’t imagine she’d ever resort to physical violence. “Now you go home and take care of your girls.”

  Grif gave him a half-assed salute and jogged down the stairs, heading home to his wife, teenaged daughter, and infant daughter.

  Cash hauled two bags full of food and supplies inside Emmy’s place and put them on the small counter before returning to the door and inspecting the locks. Looked as if Grif had recently replaced them. Good.

  After the day she’d had, when she got home Emmy would need some decent food and a good night’s sleep. Those were both things he would make certain she had.

  It didn’t take him long to put together a colorful salad of fresh seasonable vegetables and grilled chicken. One benefit of being the son of an organic farmer was that Cash never went without excellent produce. If his dad didn’t grow it, he had a friend one or two counties over who did.

  With oil, vinegar, mustard, and a few seasonings, he whisked together a vinaigrette. Cash wasn’t the cook Way was, but he could hold his own, and he had an honest prejudice against bottled salad dressings or jarred sauces.

  And although he wanted to make sure Emmy ate, he wasn’t setting up a seduction scene, so no wine tonight. Just a little sparkling water.

  Cash checked his watch. Emmy should be home within fifteen minutes, so he texted her.

  Hey, I’m at ur place. Didn’t want u to freak when u got home.

  Her response came back quickly, which hopefully meant the ER had been slo
w tonight.

  Really? My plan was bed.

  That made him smile. Another text came right away.

  I meant 2 sleep.

  As if he had anything else in mind.

  And another popped up.

  Didn’t mean 2gether. Not trying 2 make moves. Gah!

  Gotcha. Not here 2 make moves either. (Altho my moves r EXCELLENT)

  He dropped a couple of couch pillows on the living room floor and spread a quilt over them. On top, he arranged—as much as any guy arranged shit—the salad, plates, and glasses.

  When he heard Emmy’s steps on the stairway, he unlocked the front door and opened it wide. She did look wiped out—her normally braided hair with wisps standing out from static electricity, tired eyes, and a slow stride. But as a man with two sisters, he knew better than to mention that she looked like hell. Shep, on the other hand, would’ve been brutally honest.

  Probably one of the many reasons his brother was divorced. That and the fact that his ex was a certified wack job.

  “Hey,” Emmy said.

  “Long shift?”

  “Felt like forty hours. I don’t know if it’s better when it’s slow and I can actually keep up with charting or when we’re so slammed I have no idea what time it is.”

  “Been there.”

  Once she was inside, he secured the locks.

  Emmy hung her bag on a hook near the door, but it didn’t take her long to spot the setup in her living room. “You… You made a picnic?”

  It had about gutted him when he looked through her strategic plan for fun and Have a picnic was one of the entries. What woman hadn’t been taken on a picnic? Hell, he’d wanted to kick his own ass for not taking her on one when they were in high school.

  “This one’s like a practice picnic,” he said. “Simple food and no wine this time. I didn’t figure you could handle more than this.”

  Her smile was tired, but it was so genuine that it warmed Cash from his toes all the way up to his head. “It’s perfect.” She gestured down at her scrubs. “Mind if I get out of these?”

  “Nope.” In fact, he was starting to realize that getting her out of them and naked was something he wanted, but tonight wasn’t the night for that.

  Cash settled onto a pillow and kicked off his shoes. Before long, Emmy was back, and the sight of her was like a mule kick to his chest.

  She wore a faded Duke Blue Devils T-shirt and pajama shorts printed with colorfully masked turtles. Her feet were bare, and her face was freshly scrubbed. But what took his breath completely away was her hair. She’d released it from the failing braid.

  God, he’d always loved her hair. Dark and soft and long. Longer than had been fashionable when they were younger. So long now that it hung to her hips.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking something.”

  “Men do that occasionally,” he said, “even though there’s tons of evidence to the contrary.”

  “No, you’re thinking something dirty.”

  He took her hand and pulled her down to the quilt. “I hadn’t gotten quite that far yet, but I’ll be sure and tuck it away for later.” Still, he couldn’t resist brushing his fingers through her loose hair. “I haven’t seen this in years.” Too many years.

  “Mom’s been nagging me to cut it.”

  “All of it?” His fingers reflexively tightened. The thought of Emmy with short hair actually caused him physical pain.

  “No.” She laughed. “Just a good trim.”

  “Thank God.” Cash breathed easier and released his grip. He piled salad on a plate and handed it to her. “Eat.”

  “From your dad’s garden?”

  “Most of it.”

  Without another word, she dug in and shoveled a big bite into her mouth. It should’ve been totally unsexy, but the way Emmy groaned around the mouthful of organic lettuce, tomatoes, and radishes made it pretty much a sex show.

  Sexy radishes. There was a new marketing angle for Kingston Farms. Something else for Riley to add to the website.

  Emmy chewed and swallowed. “I want to marry your dad.”

  “All the ladies say that, but my mom’s sort of against it.”

  “I could make polygamy worth his while.”

  “Really?” Cash filled his own plate. “In what kind of currency?”

  “Free medical care for the rest of his life.”

  “Between Evie and me, we already have him covered.”

  “Damn.” She grinned. “Sexual favors?”

  That made Cash want to shove cucumbers into his ears. “Don’t go there.”

  Using her elbow, she poked him in the ribs. “Hey, where do you think you and your brothers got your good looks? Your dad is hot.”

  “This is the reward I get for making a picnic?”

  “And he gives good veggie.” Her salad was already halfway gone.

  “You didn’t eat while you were at work, did you?”

  “I was already late and I didn’t want to chance the vending machine. Those sandwiches look like they were made when Clinton was president.”

  “Randi can have someone deliver from Triple B.”

  “Good idea.” The movement of her fork to her mouth finally slowed and she sighed. “So what did I do to deserve food and water? And if you start saying thank you for this morning again, I’ll stab you with my fork.”

  “It has nothing to do with that.” Not totally true, but mostly. “I told you I wanted to help you make it through your strategic plan. And honestly, there’s not a lot to it yet, so this was an easy pick to start with.”

  Looking down, she fiddled with her shorts, straightening them so Leonardo’s mouth flattened into a serious line. “It’s downright sad, isn’t it?”

  He reached for her hand and leaned in. How he’d ever thought he had emotional control over this thing with her, he didn’t know.

  So he gave in to his need to kiss away her pain and uncertainty. She responded right away, her lips soft and warm beneath his. Her palm stroked down his cheek, and his heart punched his rib cage.

  If only they could sidestep the past.

  When he drew away, her brown eyes were heavy and sleepy with something more complex than simple desire. If he had to name it, he would call it emotional need. “No, your plan is not sad. It just needs some time and attention. And if we’re marking off fun experiences, then you’ll be forced to add more to it.”

  “What if I like the idea of completing the list? A short list makes that way easier.”

  Oh, Em. Her reluctance to have fun made him both sad and softhearted. “Life isn’t about marking things off the list. It’s about making a list so long that you’d have to live three lifetimes just to get to them all. But you damn well try to do them all in this one.”

  “Isn’t that how you live your life—purely for the fun of it?”

  “Are we back to the 'if you stay in a small town you can’t possibly have real ambition’ thing?” Cash’s salad had suddenly become unappetizing and he shoved it away.

  “No, I meant that you’ve always enjoyed life. You embrace what it gives you and run with it. I envy that sometimes. That easiness with who and what you are.”

  Somehow it still made Cash feel as if she believed who and what he was wasn’t all that impressive. But it kinda made sense, seeing as she was the doctor and he was a medic.

  Just a medic.

  Something he’d taken a fuckload of pride in before Emmy hit town again. Thanks for the ego check, Em.

  How had his dad handled the financial and status imbalance of his marriage to Cash’s mom? She’d always been the primary breadwinner. As a kid, Cash hadn’t thought much of it until he went to school and discovered few families were like his. His dad had been the primary waffle maker and knee kisser while his wife pursued a long and lucrative engineering career.

  But it must’ve worked for them because they’d been married for over thirty years.

  And if he and Emmy had any possibility of success, Cash had to figure ou
t how to navigate all this because she was a doctor to the bone.

  And professionally, Cash would never completely be her equal.

  13

  His mind still on the conversation he and Emmy had about his college and career decisions, Cash pulled up to his parents’ farmhouse. The spring sunshine was rising over the mountains, splashing all the tender green growth with golden light. He got out of his truck and breathed it all in.

  This.

  This was why he’d never wanted to leave his hometown for long. The air was clean and cool. The people were real. And the tempo was slow.

  Not that they didn’t have their problems, as evidenced by the meth monster and that clusterfuck a couple of days ago. But it didn’t have the dangerous edge of a city like Los Angeles.

  Yeah, there’d been a certain high in living and learning in a city of four million people. And bunking at Grif’s swanky condo hadn’t been a hardship at all.

  But at heart, Cash was a small-town boy who was happy living and working in the community he’d grown up in. Yeah, it created some limits on his career prospects, but he was proud of his work.

  But could he ever be enough for Emmy? And was he crazy for even thinking this way when not so long ago he had rejected the idea of ever being involved with her again?

  He gave a token knock on his parents’ front door and walked on in. “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad,” he called out as he walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. “It’s Cash. If you’re doing something wild on the dining room table, tell me now before I walk in and am scarred forever.”

  His mom’s laughter came from the kitchen. “You’re safe. Come on back!”

  When he strolled inside, he found her elbow deep in some kind of… dough? Dear Jesus. In fact, Cash paused and closed his eyes to send up a little prayer to the guy upstairs for patience and gastric protection.

  Because sure as hell, he’d have to eat some of whatever that culinary monstrosity was.

  “Kristofferson, are you okay?” Only his mom called him by his first name. For one thing, people couldn’t spell the damn thing and the one syllable of his middle name was a lot easier than four. She rushed over and placed a goopy hand on his forehead. “I heard the flu’s been going around.”