Not Just a Cowboy (Texas Rescue)

by Caro Carson

  “Oh, that fire might go until dawn. You never know.” With a plop, Karen dumped more mashed potatoes into the plastic container.

  “Don’t do that.” Patricia’s tone of voice made Karen and the cook both look at her oddly. She realized she’d stretched out her hand to physically stop Karen.

  She snatched her hand back. “I haven’t eaten yet. How about emergency? Has anyone checked with them to be sure they’ve all had their break?” Feeling clumsy, she switched her radio back to the hospital channel, ready to call the ER.

  She had to wait. Others were talking on the channel, but she shot Karen a look that made her wait, too. Don’t you dare give away one more scoop of those mashed potatoes. What kind of supervisor gave away her own people’s food?

  Patricia was being a little irrational, and she knew it. The rules of safe food handling wouldn’t allow them to keep food warm until dawn, but Patricia couldn’t let go of this idea that she had to have dinner with Luke. He’d wanted to eat a meal with her, and she’d made a big deal out of saying no, although he’d been thoughtful enough to bring her a sandwich the night before.

  The radio traffic caught her attention. The ER had definitely been too busy to eat. A firefighter had fallen from a ladder. Too many bones broken to treat here; no MRI facility on site to be certain organs weren’t perforated. A med-evac helicopter was on its way to transport him to San Antonio. Patricia had been listening to the town’s police radio when the real news had been right here in her own hospital.

  “Don’t touch that food,” Patricia ordered, and she threw open the door and left the tent. Her neat and orderly complex seemed like a maze in the dark, and she nearly tripped on a tent’s spike as she tried to take a shortcut to the emergency room.

  A fireman fell from a ladder. His arms must have been tired. Luke’s arms were tired. I made him swing a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer! After he’d come into my tent exhausted from cutting down trees with an ax the day before. He fell from the ladder. His arms were tired.

  She didn’t know which firefighter it was, of course. There were firefighters in town from all over Texas. She just wanted desperately to get to the ER to find out, because she was being irrational and weak and she hated herself for it.

  The helicopter sounded close. Patricia started running.

  Chapter Seven

  She was too late.

  The lights over the emergency room’s door were bright enough for Patricia to see a stretcher being rolled to the waiting helicopter by personnel in scrubs. They had a distance to go, because the helicopter had landed as far from the tent city as possible. Wind from the blades still beat rhythmically at the complex. Strands of Patricia’s hair came loose from her bun and whipped painfully at her eyes.

  She cleared them away and blinked twice at the group of firemen who were walking past her. They were absolutely filthy, their heads uncovered, their coats undone. Underneath, they wore polo shirts instead of black Ts. Houston, their coats read.

  Patricia, breathing a bit hard from her short run, counted them silently. Six. Were there usually six people manning a ladder truck? Was there a seventh being wheeled into a helicopter? She felt like an awful person for half hoping so.

  She stopped an exhausted-looking female firefighter. “Have you seen the Austin truck?” she asked, trying to control her panting.

  The woman, probably too tired to talk, as well, stuck her thumb over her shoulder and kept walking with her crew. Patricia looked, but didn’t see another truck, just the stretcher being loaded onto the helicopter. Did the woman mean someone from Austin was on the stretcher? Patricia stood helplessly, staring at the little hum of activity around the distant helicopter. In mere minutes, the nurses in scrubs ducked as they ran with the empty gurney back toward the ER from under the helicopter’s downdraft.

  His arms must have been so tired....

  She was responsible. If the injured firefighter was Zach or Murphy, she was to blame, as well. But Luke—if it was her fault Luke had been hurt—her mind kept focusing on Luke.

  Stop it. This was useless conjecture. She needed to find out the patient’s name, now. Determined, she spun toward the ER’s door, and crashed right into a man. A very solid man in a black T-shirt.

  “Luke!”

  He steadied her with a hand on each of her upper arms. One of his cheeks was black with soot, his hair was a crazy mess and he reeked of smoke.

  “Oh, it’s not you,” she sighed, then took in a gulp of air.

  Even tired and dirty, he looked a little amused. “Actually, this is me.”

  The helicopter was taking off behind her. She gestured in its general vicinity and raised her voice a bit. “I mean, that’s not you. I thought, you know, with your arms being tired and all...I thought...”

  He said nothing at all, but stood there with a ghost of a grin on his face, watching her intently. Even in the glow of the ER’s artificial light, she could see how blue his eyes were.

  “They said a fireman fell off a ladder,” she explained. “His arms must have been tired, and I thought...”

  Realizing it still could be an Austin crew member on that flight, she glanced up at the rapidly receding helicopter. “That’s not one of your friends?”

  “No. We’re all present and accounted for.”

  Luke was here. He was fine. The wave of relief was a palpable thing, as physically painful as the worry had been. She was unprepared for it and the uneven emotions crashing inside her.

  She shook one arm free of him and poked him in the chest. “That could’ve been you. You realize that, don’t you? You shouldn’t have let me boss you around. You shouldn’t have done all that work for me today. I mean, sledgehammers are not easy—”

  “Patricia.” He gave her arms a friendly squeeze as he chuckled.

  Her poke became a fist. She gave him one good thump on his uninjured, healthy chest. “You can’t let someone wear you out like that. It’s dangerous. I shouldn’t have made you do it.”

  He caught her fist to his chest and held it there, pressing her hand flat against his cotton T-shirt and the muscle underneath. “You didn’t make me. You can say Chief Rouhotas made me, if it makes you feel better. And that guy in the helicopter got hurt because his ladder collapsed, not because his arms were tired. It was their mistake, a bad one. They didn’t secure their ladder properly. I’m okay.”

  “You’re okay this time.” The relief was coursing through her, an adrenaline rush she didn’t welcome. “But let me tell you something. I do not ever want to do this again. It is sickening and awful. I don’t even like you anymore, if I ever did.”

  “I can tell.” He was smiling openly at her now.

  “I’m serious.” She jerked her hand out from under his and took a step back. “But I saved you some dinner. There’s mashed potatoes in the mess tent for you. Go eat.”

  “So we’re on for dinner after all?”

  “I would never, ever date a fireman. Especially not you.”

  “Patricia, come here.” He tugged her with him out of the light, around the side of the tent. In the darkness, he stood very close, too close, the way he always did. Then he took it further, and put his arms around her.

  She shuddered. All her muscles shook with that relief, and she put her arms around his chest, needing to hold something solid, just for a second, until that shudder passed. She rested her head against him a little bit, her cheek on the top of his shoulder.

  “You were worried about me,” he said.

  “You smell like smoke,” she said, an accusation spoken into the side of his neck.

  She felt his ribcage expand, felt his breath in her hair. “And you, thank God, do not.”

  “I didn’t know what your call sign was. They kept calling for squad this and unit that, but I couldn’t remember what number was painted on your truck.” She picked her head up and glared at him. “I could hardly understand anything on that police radio. How can that be efficient communication in a situation that involves so many diff
erent agencies?”

  “Patricia,” he said, and he kissed her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Her cheek. “You were worried about me, and it’s about the sweetest damned thing I’ve ever heard. Now quit yelling at me.”

  He kissed her mouth, fully, gently, his lips covering hers as if he had all the time in the world. She felt his hand smooth up the nape of her neck to cradle the back of her head just below her pinned-up hair. His other arm stayed around her waist, holding her firmly against his body—as if she weren’t holding him tightly enough herself. Then his mouth lifted away for a breathy whisper of a second, and came back a little harder, at a different angle, nudging her mouth open to kiss her more intimately.

  Her knees gave way. Truly weak, she fell in a tiny dip of a curtsy, but his arm must not have been tired at all, because he kept her secure against his body. Still in no rush, he tasted her, tested the way their tongues could slide, teased her by lifting away again, just far enough to toy with her lower lip. He planted small kisses at the corners of her mouth.

  She wanted him to kiss her deeply again, to take all her weight against his body. It was beyond reason. She’d never needed a kiss before, but she had this terrible want. When he didn’t kiss her right away, she opened his mouth with hers and took the kiss she wanted.

  She could have cried at his perfect response, and she could have cried again when he broke off the kiss, the best kiss of her life.

  “Patricia, Patricia.” He murmured her name and lifted her against him so only her toes touched the ground. He hugged her, hard, then set her down again and stepped back, looking her over and reaching out to tug the hem of her shirt into place and brush some dust or dirt off her sleeve.

  She missed his kiss already, sorry it was over, because it could not be repeated. There was no place for this kind of helplessness in her life. There never would be. It served no purpose. She felt a little fuzzy about the exact reasons why, but she knew she had things to do, responsibilities to other people. Business entanglements. Family obligations.

  She gestured between the two of them. “This can’t be a thing between us.”

  He quirked one eyebrow at her. “A thing? Sweetheart, this is most definitely a thing.”

  “I mean, I can’t...I can’t be kissing you. I’m working. I’ve got things...”

  Luke stepped closer again, but he only rested his forehead to hers. “I know I’m filthy dirty, and I know you’re worn out from worry, so we’re going to call it a night. I know you’re always working. You are the boss around here, and you don’t want to be caught sneaking away to kiss a boy like this is summer camp. I respect that, but darlin’, do not kid yourself that I’m never going to kiss you again.

  “Now, take off while I’m being good and keeping my hands to myself. I’ll see you in the mess tent in a few minutes, because I could eat about a hundred pounds of mashed potatoes right now, and we’ll pretend we’re just pals and this never happened. For now.” He kissed her once more, a firm press of his mouth. “You’re beautiful. Now go.”

  Patricia went, looking back just to catch another glimpse of him, wanting to see him standing safe and sound in the middle of her hospital, but he’d already disappeared in the shadows, leaving her faster than she could leave him.

  * * *

  There was good, and then there was good enough. When it came to preparing the fire engine for another run, good enough was all Luke had patience for tonight. They’d been on the fire scene almost six hours. He wanted to get cleaned up himself, and he wanted to sleep, but mostly, he thought as he mindlessly executed the chores that came with a fire engine, he wanted to leave good enough and get back to what was great: Patricia Cargill. More specifically, kissing Patricia Cargill. He wanted to do it again, for far longer, until he lost himself completely in her cool beauty and forgot the black destruction he’d just lived through.

  Luke gave the pry bar a cursory swipe with a towel before returning it to its assigned place on the engine.

  “Heads up.” Zach sounded impatient.

  Luke turned and caught the pike pole Zach threw his way. Tempers were short because they were all tired. Even with full stomachs, they were snapping at each other. That hot meal was probably the only reason they hadn’t killed each other yet. Thank God Patricia had done that smooth-talking thing she was so good at, persuading Chief that the men needed to eat immediately so the rest of the food could be sent on to the new shelter.

  Patricia had eaten dinner with him, after all. In a way. She’d stood just a few feet from his table, eating precise forkfuls as Karen asked her questions about handling requests from sister agencies. Patricia had dished out instructions in a way that had Karen nodding and agreeing as if she’d always planned to do things Patricia’s way. Luke had been content to listen to his Thoroughbred race down her lane, but as the Houston and Austin fire crews rested and ate, they’d gotten louder and more raucous and ruined his ability to eavesdrop. Patricia had slipped away before Luke could invite her to sit down and get off her feet, too.

  He didn’t know when he’d see her again.

  Luke unpacked hose as Zach ran it to the overfull pond on the edge of the hospital parking lot. While the engine sucked in hundreds of gallons to refill its tank, Luke lifted the pike pole and slid it into its place along the ladder. Every muscle in his body protested.

  The pole wasn’t that heavy. Its fiberglass handle was the lightest in the industry, the best available, like everything else on this brand new engine, but Patricia had been right. His arms were tired. Damned tired. He’d ended days on the ranch with his body aching like this, but not many.

  His head wasn’t in the best place, either. No lives had been lost in the fire, but it had been harrowing to enter the building repeatedly, first to get all the people out, then again to retrieve pet carriers with terrified animals in them. Each trip in had gotten darker, smokier, hotter.

  The chief had been about to call it off, but a child’s high-pitched voice had carried right over the roar of fire and the growl of the vehicle engines. “Is it our cat’s turn? The firemen get our cat now, right?”

  Luke had heard the question, and all the faith in it, loud and clear. The bullhorn was in the chief’s hand, but he hadn’t given the command to stay clear yet. Luke had headed back in, tank on his back, pulling his mask on as he went. It had been bad, though. He’d lumbered in upright, but he’d ended up crawling out on his hands and knees, shoving the last two cat carriers in front of him as he went.

  Zach had met him at the egress point and grabbed the carriers. As Luke had struggled to his feet, the chief had practically lifted him by his coat collar and given him a hard shake by the scruff of the neck, the only condemnation Luke had received. He’d skated a fine line, but he hadn’t technically disobeyed an order, because chief hadn’t spoken the words yet.

  The families had stayed behind the yellow tape the cops had put up. They’d peered in their pet carriers and wept tears of gratitude and called out to Luke and the rest, thanking them and calling them heroes.

  Luke hadn’t felt like a hero. The only normal emotion in that situation was fear, and he’d felt it. He’d used that fear to keep himself going in the growing inferno, crawling as fast as he could while trying to control his breathing in the mask. He’d managed to keep the correct wall to his right and not lose his bearings, and he’d made it out. But hell, he was no hero. He was lucky.

  He wasn’t a man to stake his life on the whim of luck, not if he could help it. Just when he’d been feeling darkest, watching another fireman who was less lucky being wheeled away to a waiting helicopter, he’d run into Patricia. Her feelings for him had been transparent, all of her unflappable cool stripped away by worry. For him. And her kiss...

  Well, that had soothed his soul. Whatever it took, Luke planned on running into her again. Soon.

  Chief’s handheld radio squawked as they packed the last hose away. The voice that came over the air was feminine and cultured, extending an invitation as graciously as
if she were inviting them to tea. “Chief, I’m re-opening the shower facility for you and the Houston crew. The generators would wake our in-patients, but if you could bring flashlights and tolerate the inconvenience of unheated water, I think the noise will be minimal.”

  Chief keyed his mike to answer. “As long as the water’s wet, ma’am, we’ll be there.”

  Luke felt his mood lift. He wasn’t going to have to wait until morning to scheme for a chance to see the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. It looked like his very near future included soap and water and Patricia.

  How lucky could a man get?

  * * *

  Patricia knew he’d be here any moment.

  She was sitting on a plastic chair at the entrance to the field showers, waiting with the female firefighter for the men to finish so the women could take their turn. Still, when Patricia saw Luke’s large frame emerging from the shadows, striding toward her with a towel slung over his shoulder, she felt a little flutter, like she wasn’t ready for something.

  The shower facility was, of course, a specialized tent, with a locking wood door set into a wood frame at each end. Six vinyl shower stalls and a common area of tub sinks and benches were inside. Water from an external tank could be pumped in by hand, but lights and heated water were provided by generators. The showers were available to men and women in alternating hours during the day, but they closed every night at nine. There was a reason for that rule: in order to reduce noise when the majority of the staff and patients were sleeping, the mobile hospital ran only vital generators at this hour of the night.

  Patricia hadn’t bothered consulting her supervisor for permission to break the nine o’clock rule tonight. These showers weren’t a luxury for the firefighters. They wouldn’t wake the sleeping staff as long as they didn’t run the generators, so Patricia had made the decision and retrieved the keys from the admin tent. Besides, Karen was already in bed. Why wake her up only to tell her what she was going to agree to?

  Chief Rouhotas hurried ahead of Luke to greet her first. He was very appreciative. So much so, it confirmed Patricia’s earlier suspicion that he knew exactly who she was. The daughters of Texas millionaires were spoken to in a different way than non-profit personnel directors. Judging from his men’s antics while putting up the tent this morning, however, Luke and Zach and Murphy had no idea that Patricia Cargill was that Cargill.