Tasting Fire

by Kelsey Browning

  Boing! The raisin flew from Braden’s nose and landed on the lapel of Emmy’s lab coat. A quick glance down told her the piece of dried fruit had cleared out a little nasal congestion.

  It was official. She was a booger magnet.

  She told the boy’s mother the nurse would be by with release paperwork soon. As cute as he’d been, this was an issue that could’ve been solved by the triage nurse. Should Emmy mention that to the ER director?

  Might be a little too soon in her tenure here to provide constructive criticism.

  Head down, making notes on her tablet, she walked out of the exam room. And plowed straight into someone. So much for walking and working.

  “I’m sorry. I was...” She looked up at the person she’d almost run down and found herself staring at Oliver, his practiced smile firmly in place. “Wh…Why are you here?”

  “To see you, of course.”

  He took her by the elbow, and she was so shocked to see him that she allowed him to lead her down the pale yellow hallway to the staff lounge before she got herself together and pulled her arm from his hold. “Why?”

  Oliver glanced around as if worried about revealing a top secret plan in front of enemy spies. “This is better discussed in private.”

  Oh, now he wanted privacy instead of a three-ring circus of a marriage proposal? He was a piece of work, this man. But if it would get rid of him faster, she could spare him five minutes. Once they were inside the empty lounge, she pivoted to face him. “What do you want?”

  He gestured to a table. “Let’s sit down.”

  “Oliver, I don’t have time for tea and crumpets. If you have something to say, just say it. I have patients.”

  He cleared his throat and shot the cuffs of his immaculately pressed shirt, his appearance reminding her that she still had a booger brooch on her lapel. “I’m willing to overlook what happened a few weeks ago and allow you to come back to Baltimore General.”

  Piece of work? That didn’t even begin to describe Oliver Amory. Piece of shit was more like it. “No thank you.”

  “I’ve booked two tickets out of Charlotte for… What did you say?”

  Disbelief welled up inside Emmy. “I don’t want to come back to the hospital.” He’d done her a huge favor by firing her. Not that she planned to send him an embossed thank-you note or anything.

  “That’s ridiculous. General is the best hospital in Baltimore. None of the others even come close.”

  “I don’t live in Baltimore anymore.” She waved a hand toward the lounge door. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I happen to be living and working in Steele Ridge, North Carolina.”

  Oliver’s lip lifted in an aristocratic little sneer. “You ran home, tail between your legs.” He held out his hands in a placating gesture that made Emmy want to throat chop him. Just whack right to the larynx. “That’s understandable after the choices you made.”

  Lord, why hadn’t she ever seen Oliver’s self-confidence for what it was—arrogance laced with superiority. He twisted reality into whatever way suited him best. “No tail between the legs or running involved. I was offered my dream jobs here in Steele Ridge and I accepted them. Happily.”

  “Dream? This is a nightmare out here. Do you have any idea how long it took me to drive from Charlotte?”

  Yeah, real Boonieville. He’d probably taken Highway 77 to I-40. The first time he’d hit a two-lane road was when he exited for Steele Ridge. She should take him on a few of the backroads around here where the bridges narrowed down to one lane. One encounter with an eighteen-wheel log truck and he’d probably shit his Brooks Brothers pants.

  Now that would be something to add to her fun list.

  “You made a wasted trip. I’m not interested in coming back to Baltimore. St. Elizabeth’s just received a Level One trauma certification, and I’m heading up the first true tactical medical team in this area of North Carolina.”

  “I’m sorry, Emerson, but this simply won’t work. I have no interest in a commuter marriage.”

  Why had he become so fixated on the marriage that wasn’t ever going to happen? Maybe if she laid it out one more time, he would finally get it. “Oliver, I enjoyed working at BaltGen, but I love my new position here. I’m sorry if it came as a surprise to you that I didn’t want to marry you. I’d hoped that you would see I was right about our relationship simply being convenient for us both. I don’t know where you’ve gotten the idea that I would change my mind, but I can assure you that I won’t. Move on, Oliver. I wasn’t ever the right woman for you.”

  But instead of appeasing him, her words seemed to burrow under his skin, and his face took on a cast of cruelty. Mouth thin, jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn. “This isn’t the place for you, Emerson. I know that, and soon you will, too.”

  Enough was enough. Emmy sidestepped Oliver and opened the door. She waved him toward the hall, but his feet were locked in place. “Oliver, if you don’t leave, I will call security. And we both know you don’t want that kind of embarrassment.”

  He glared at her for long moments. Finally, he marched past her and through the doorway. But he stopped just on the other side, keeping her from leaving the room. “Don’t deliberate too long. My patience is running out.”

  Oliver strode through the ER, shoulders back and chin up, the demeanor of a man with the unshakeable belief that he was superior to everyone around him. Adios, Emperor Oliver.

  As he swept out toward the waiting room, the ambulance bay doors swooshed open and paramedics rushed a gurney into the ER. Damn, she’d missed the report. Thank goodness their best nurse practitioner was right there running alongside them.

  Emmy hotfooted it across the ER and into the exam room only to discover that one of the medics was Cash. He must’ve caught a half shift.

  His concentration never wavered as he gave her and the other staff his report. “Sixty-three-year-old male with a history of Type One diabetes. His daughter found him in an altered state approximately thirty minutes ago. He’s exhibiting blurred vision and mild confusion. Blood glucose levels at 512. We started a saline drip on scene.”

  Emmy shook away the need to ogle Cash, so handsome in his station blues. “Hyperglycemia.”

  “Yep. Administered an amp of D50 en route.”

  “Thanks,” she said to Cash and the other medic. “We’ve got it from here.”

  Emmy went through a checklist of questions and determined that Mr. Collier often forgot to take his insulin if someone wasn’t around to remind him. She patted him on the knee and told the nurse, “Please start an insulin drip.”

  When she walked back into the hallway, Cash was standing outside the snack area set up for the medics and firefighters. St. Elizabeth’s treated their emergency personnel well. He was chowing down on a granola bar and shooting the shit with another medic.

  Emmy was unable to look away from Cash and discovered the same could be said of the two nurses huddled up near the desk, casting speculative glances his way.

  “He’s good looking, but I don’t think he’s too bright,” one of them whispered.

  “Like it matters,” the other responded. “Because I hear he fucks like a machine.”

  No one else would’ve realized Cash had heard the whispers, but Emmy knew because his easygoing smile disappeared. Just whoosh.

  “Connie,” Emmy said in a sharp voice, “in case you weren’t aware, we have patients. Mr. Smith in exam room four needs a penile swab for STD testing.”

  By the way Connie’s eyes widened, she realized Emmy had overheard her conversation with the other nurse. “Of course. I’m on it.”

  A slow smile developed on Cash’s face and he executed a little two-finger salute. He was a grown man who could more than defend himself, but Emmy’s insides warmed at his acknowledgment that she’d stood up for him.

  She walked toward him. “I…”

  The words she wanted to say lodged in her throat. I missed you. I wasn’t happy without you. I want something more.

 
; Before she could force them out, Cash said, “Hey, I wanted to let you know I talked with Grif this morning, and he’s already taking care of the window repairs. It should be good to go by the time you get home tonight.”

  A small piece of her was disappointed that Cash wouldn’t be sleeping on her couch again. She’d really like to know if he woke up with an erection every morning.

  “Do you know what the replacement cost is? I want to repay Grif for the damage.”

  “Yeah, that’s gonna go about as well as it did when I offered him money.”

  The warmth inside Emmy grew. She didn’t need any man to take care of her financially, but it was a sweet gesture. She smiled up at him and squeezed his arm. “Let’s talk later about—”

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

  Every individual hair on Emmy’s arms lifted.

  “Emerson, I thought you said you had patients to attend to.”

  Cash’s eyebrows drew together at Oliver’s biting tone, but he put on a friendly smile and held out a hand. “Hey there. I’m Cash King—”

  “You’re a medic,” Oliver said in a tone so dismissive that Emmy was shocked speechless. “And it’s time for you to be on your way.”

  Cash’s expression went from casually friendly to I-will-fuck-you-up in a blip. “Dude, I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

  “Oliver Amory of the Boston Amorys. Chief of staff at Baltimore General and Emerson’s fiancé.”

  * * *

  Well, Emmy’s ex was just as big a dickhead as Cash had imagined he might be. Dismissive prick.

  “Emerson and I have some unfinished business,” Amory said and grabbed Emmy’s upper arm so hard that she winced.

  Oh, hell no. Cash might not know exactly how he felt about Emmy. Her fun list had simultaneously hurt his heart and thawed it some. But no one would ever hurt her while he was around. “I don’t care if you’re the motherfucking king of England. Get your hands off Dr. McKay or I’ll have you escorted out by security.”

  What Cash didn’t say is that he’d have him dragged out on his ass and then meet him in the parking lot. And no man wearing loafers that shiny would be able to hold his own in a fistfight.

  Well, except Grif. He’d been known to kick ass like some martini-sipping James Bond a time or two.

  “Oliver,” Emmy said, a plea clear in her tone, “you don’t want to do this here. This isn’t BaltGen, and you don’t have any authority in this hospital. Do not make a scene.”

  “Where are you staying?” Amory the Asshole asked. “I’ll meet you…”

  “Emmy, don’t tell him a damn thing,” Cash warned.

  “If you leave right now, I’ll call you later,” she said.

  Amory looked Cash up and down with a superior sneer. “I’ll leave if the medic does.”

  “When pigs grow wings,” Cash shot back.

  “Cash, just go,” Emmy said in a low voice. “I’ll settle this later.”

  “I don’t want to leave you with—”

  “I’m fine.” She jerked away from the asshole’s grip. Cash would be checking her for bruises later. “Now go. Both of you.”

  Cash waited until Amory walked through the ER waiting room door. Then he shot Emmy a hard look and stalked out the ambulance bay.

  After his shift ended the next morning, he stopped by the Murchison building, but the front door was locked and Emmy didn’t answer the buzzer Grif installed to ring directly to the apartment.

  So Cash stood out front and called her on the number he’d been given on the tac team roster. No answer.

  An uneasy feeling swamped him. “Dammit, Emmy. Pick up.”

  Instead, she texted him.

  I’m fine. I met Oliver at Triple B and persuaded him to leave town.

  He sent back a quick message: We will talk about this.

  Nothing to discuss.

  Damn her. If he didn’t have a lawn to mow and manicure, he would climb up the side of this building and through her window.

  Cash sighed at his own idiotic thought. Barging in on Emmy when she obviously didn’t want his company would make him just as much of an asshole as Amory.

  So he picked up his lawn equipment at home and drove to Mrs. Southerland’s house. He backed his zero turn mower off the trailer and went after her front yard with a vengeance. With all the frustration he’d been feeling since Emmy had shooed him out of the ER last night.

  There was something off about Amory. More than just the asshole factor. He’d acted as if Emmy was something he owned, not a woman he’d been involved with.

  How could she have ever been with a guy like that?

  Cash was just finishing the last turn on the yard when he caught sight of Mrs. Southerland waving from the front porch. With a raised hand, he acknowledged her and mowed the final strip of grass before powering down.

  “I made iced tea,” she called to him, a hopeful smile on her face. When she was home, she always did this, invited him in to keep her company for a few minutes after he was finished. But he didn’t mind. She had to be a little lonely since her husband passed away, so Cash always scheduled an extra half hour at her house.

  He pulled off his baseball cap and swiped an arm across his face. It was only March, but the temps in Steele Ridge had temporarily climbed into the eighties.

  “Let me put the mower back on the trailer right quick.”

  Once he had it secured, he strolled up the brick walkway and onto the porch where Mrs. Southerland had a tray filled with a pitcher of sweet tea, two glasses, and a plate piled with cookies. And unlike his mom’s eggplant bread, these were homemade perfection. Tea cakes, gingersnaps, and chocolate crinkles.

  She always made his favorites.

  He settled into a wooden rocker and she handed him a check. It was made out for more than he usually charged her. “I can’t accept this.”

  She smiled and simply said, “I know you give me the family discount, just like a good son would. Take the money. I want you to have it.” Then she filled a plate with half a dozen cookies and passed it to him.

  He folded the check and slid it in his back pocket, making a mental note to come by one day while she was at work to weed and mulch her flowerbeds. He bit into a gingersnap and groaned. “I didn’t expect you to be home at this time of the day, much less with fresh-baked cookies.”

  “Spring break.” She toed off the pink shoes she was wearing and kicked her feet up on the railing. “Ah. I do love spring break.” She placed a measly single tea cake on her own plate. “So tell me how things are going with the medical team thing. Obviously, I knew Emmy McKay was back in Steele Ridge, but I had no idea Maggie gave her a job that should’ve been yours. Your own sister!”

  “Actually, Maggie isn’t in charge of the SWAT team. Captain Styles made the decision.” The whole thing still needled him a little, but he was trying to get past it for the good of the team. “Emmy’s great at what she does. Has a lot more experience than anyone here. She’s big on training the rest of us.”

  “I thought all the medics had already attended a training class.”

  “With the types of situations the SWAT team is called out on, there’s no such thing as too much prep work.”

  “Honestly, I wouldn’t think a place as small as Steele Ridge needs something like that. Just another thing those Steele boys have been meddling in.”

  And thank God for it. This area of Carolina had benefited from his cousins’ money and ambition. But once Mrs. Southerland’s mind was made up on something, she hung on to it, so Cash changed the subject. “How is school going this spring? I guess the seniors are all getting ready to be done.”

  Mrs. Southerland shook her head. “It’s a constant struggle. No telling what would happen to those kids if I wasn’t watching out for them.”

  “Good thing they have you then.” And it was good for her. Her husband had died the fall after Cash’s class graduated. To make things worse, by the following summer her livelihood as a college talent and scholarship
scout had fallen apart. It made him feel better that she’d quickly landed a job as the high school college counselor.

  “For those even going to college, most of them are choosing to attend community college first.” She slid him a look he’d seen many times since high school—one tinged with disappointment. “You could’ve done that, you know. It wasn’t at all what I wanted for you, but it would’ve been better than nothing—”

  “College isn’t for everyone,” he said easily.

  “You had the opportunity right in your hand,” she said. “Until her. Have you been seeing her again?”

  “Emmy was the reason I had a chance at college in the first place.”

  She was the only reason NC State had signed Cash their senior year. Then he’d made an ass of himself in front of the whole town and decided he wasn’t college material.

  It had taken Mrs. Southerland, who had worked so hard to get him a full ride, a long time to forgive him.

  “Of course I’m seeing her—I’m working with her on the tac team.”

  “I heard you two were together at the Triple B. It appeared to be social. Some might even say a date.” Mrs. Southerland took a casual sip of her tea, but she didn’t pull off an air of total innocence.

  Cash turned fully toward her. She meant the world to him, but he didn’t enjoy playing games with anyone. “If something’s on your mind, just say it.”

  “She’s not good enough for you. Never was.”

  He wanted to laugh. Emmy was a doctor, for God’s sake. Good enough wasn’t the problem.

  “And I worry that she’ll hurt you again.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “But she’s still hurting people, Cash. Word is she recently killed a child.”

  11

  A few days after his chat with Mrs. Southerland, the gossip train in Steele Ridge was running wide open because everywhere Cash went, someone was talking about Emmy McKay and whether or not she should’ve ever been hired by St. Elizabeth’s and given the opportunity to lead the TMT.