Their Mistletoe Baby

by Karin Baine

  “I’m not going to say it again—you need to leave! For all I know, this could be the work of terrorists, with a chemical attack to follow. I’ve got this guy, and responders will be here any minute.”

  The thought of a chemical attack sent a shiver down Miranda’s back, for both herself and anyone else nearby, but she wasn’t going to leave until she knew survivors were taken care of. “Have you seen anyone besides this victim?”

  He yanked off his coat, completely ignoring her question. His tone changed so completely when he spoke to the man, its gentle quietness surprised her. “I’m going to move you so I can look at your arm. Try to relax, and don’t help, okay?” He slowly rolled the victim to his back with extreme care, wadding his coat up under the man’s feet to elevate them, obviously knowing how to treat someone going into shock. Then in one fluid movement he pulled his shirt over his head before ripping it into pieces, pressing one section against the man’s forehead. “You hold this against your head wound while I look at your arm.”

  “My dog,” the man said on a moan. “Do you see my dog?”

  “Remember? I said I’ll look for him after I check you out. And I will, but it’s not going to do your dog any favors to have you go into shock, is it?”

  The patient nodded in response. Miranda finally reached them and crouched down. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

  The bossy man paused to look up at her, his eyes meeting hers in an intense stare before he gave her a quick nod. “All right. Hold his arm steady as I get this off.” He pulled a knife from his coat pocket, flipped open the blade, then began quickly and efficiently cutting away the victim’s coat sleeve.

  “Got it.” She briefly flashed her light over the victim’s arm, noting the navy-blue sleeve was dark with what was probably blood. She put her flashlight down on the rubble, trying to direct the light toward the man’s arm, before she reached to gently but firmly hold it in place as the rest of the sleeve was cut away.

  He paused in his cutting to clamp his flashlight between his teeth so he could use both hands and see at the same time he worked, which made Miranda look more carefully at his shadowed and dirty face. His ridiculously handsome face, which she now realized with a start she’d seen before, and that always made her take an involuntary second and third look. A face that belonged to an EMT she’d often seen in the hospital, bringing in patients.

  Trying to remember his name, she was filled with a short rush of relief that she wasn’t alone in this place, trying to deal with this serious injury before figuring out how to get him to the hospital. That the man working on the patient knew what he was doing, and that they could work together as a team.

  The way he was leaning over the patient made it hard to see the man, so she stared at the medic’s head instead, tipped downward as he cut away the cloth. She knew his short hair was normally black, but right now gray powder covered both it and his dark brows. More of the silt filtered down onto all three of them, and she swallowed hard, shoving down the fear that skittered down her back again at the thought of being buried alive.

  The last of the coat and clothing was cut off, and they were both finally able to see the jaggedly ripped and bleeding flesh of the victim’s forearm. While she couldn’t see the bone beneath it, there was no doubt this was a compound fracture. Which meant the bleeding had to be stopped and the arm stabilized while trying not to jar the broken pieces in the process.

  The medic’s eyes met hers, and what she saw there telegraphed loud and clear that he knew as well as she did that if the bones got moved the wrong way, they risked an artery being torn, which would turn a bad situation worse.

  He took the flashlight from his teeth and tucked it under his chin. “You still got his arm steady? I’m going to wrap it.”

  “Yes. You can let go. I have a book in my purse. We can use it as a splint.”

  He glanced up, his intense eyes meeting hers again. “I have a magazine folded in my coat pocket. I’ll use both to stabilize the arm after I get the bleeding stopped, so leave the book, then go.”

  Ignoring his comment the way he’d ignored hers earlier, she watched him carefully lay a piece of his shirt on top of the bleeding wound, then lift his hand, apparently planning to press down on it.

  “Don’t do that, you’ll dislodge the bones!” she said. “We need to be as careful as possible not to cause further damage. Putting pressure on it isn’t a good idea. A tourniquet is a better option to try first.”

  “I realize that a lowly EMT knows little compared to you, Dr. Davenport,” he drawled, emphasizing the word doctor as he continued to work quickly, wrapping a strip of torn shirt around either end of the cloth bandage. “But I know a lot more about field medicine than you do and I have the technique down pat.”

  Surprise that he knew her name was quickly replaced by serious annoyance as his nearly amused tone started to really tick her off. She opened her mouth to retort that an ER doctor was fully trained in all kinds of emergencies. Until that emotion and her words dried up fast as she watched the remarkable efficiency and competency he showed as he tied off a makeshift tourniquet, then held the victim’s legs up with one arm as he grabbed his now filthy coat from the ground to pull out a magazine.

  All right, she had to admit it, but not to this autocratic male. While she worked hard to be the best doctor she could be, this guy had her beat when it came to this kind of emergency, working without all kinds of medical supplies and the equipment she always had available at her fingertips.

  “This is probably going to hurt, so hang on,” he said to the patient. “You doing okay?”

  “O-Okay,” the man said on a gasp that turned into a groan as the medic slowly and carefully straightened his arm. He then curved the magazine beneath the man’s elbow.

  “Can you—?”

  “Yes.” She reached to cup her hands underneath to hold it in place as he worked to secure it with strips of his shirt. The patient moaned, and Miranda leaned closer. “I’m sorry, sir. I know it hurts, but the hospital’s close by. As soon as we get the wound secured, we’ll get you out of here. You’re going to be fine, and getting meds to help with the pain really soon.”

  “Where’s that book?” the medic asked, never pausing as he knotted the strips and reached for another.

  “Here.” With one hand, she slid her bag from her shoulder and reached in to fish out the book. “I’ll place it under his wrist when you’re done.”

  A quick nod as he finished up with the magazine, then suddenly lifted his eyes to hers. The quick grin he sent, along with a smile in that brown gaze, took her totally by surprise, and for some ridiculous reason made her heart beat little harder. Apparently helping him had taken her off his list of highly irritating things. For the moment, at least.

  “I’m sorry, I should know, but what’s your name?” she heard herself ask, suddenly needing to know.

  “Mateo Alves. This is John, and his dog, Benny, ran in here after the collapse, which is why John came down here in the first place. He’s a fast one for a shorty dog, but I’ll find him. And I already know you’re Miranda Davenport. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, except you shouldn’t have come in here to begin with.”

  “Too bad. There’s nothing falling now, so we’re probably safe.” She knew she sounded a little breathless, which was probably due to the silt in the air and not at all to the fact that she’d fantasized about the über-handsome EMT more than once in the ER. During those times, they’d all been busy treating patients, so there hadn’t been time to spend more than a brief moment staring at him, and now wasn’t a good time either. Except she found that, for what felt like a long moment of connection between them, she was staring at him anyway.

  “Yeah, well, that could change in one second.”

  She glanced up, gulping at that reality. To cover her worries, she threw out a tart response. “Aren’t you goin
g to admit that both of us working on John’s arm has been faster than you doing it alone, and better for him?”

  “Maybe.” Another quick flash of teeth.

  “I’m going to put the book under his forearm now.”

  “Wait. I want to cover the wound better first.”

  Her rapt attention on his handsome features was interrupted when he frowned and paused in his work on the wrist splint. She looked down and saw that he’d used every scrap of fabric from his torn shirt.

  “Give me your scarf.”

  “Oh. That’s a good idea,” she said, wishing she’d thought of it. She slipped it from her neck and handed it to him. “And I can cut the bottoms off my pants, too, if we need them.”

  That flash of grin. “What do you think, John? How often do you have a woman offering to rip her clothes off for you?”

  “Not often enough.” A weak smile accompanied his words, then disappeared again. “My dog. My Benny. I haven’t heard him bark.”

  “Probably too scared to bark. But I have a surefire way to call dogs—you’ll see. Right now, though, we have to get you out of here without jostling your arm any more than necessary. Dr. Davenport?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you up on the offer of your pants. Don’t worry, I won’t cut any above your knees.” That sexy smile again. “But that fabric is a lot better than my jeans to finish securing the splint, since I’m going to use your scarf as a sling to keep it still.”

  “That makes sense.” Of course he’d need a sling, and she thrashed herself that it hadn’t occurred to her. Thank God none of her siblings or father could see her. She’d spent the last thirteen years trying to make them proud of her, to earn their respect, and right now she felt totally inept.

  She reached for the knife and pushed the point into the knit material. It went in easily, even as she inwardly cringed at the thought of accidentally jabbing herself in her own calf. And being that kind of wimp proved even more that Mateo was absolutely right—he was definitely better at this field medicine stuff than she was, and she vowed to study it again, maybe even go on some runs with the EMTs to refresh her skills.

  But not with Mateo Alves. She’d find someone whose sexy face and body wouldn’t distract her from her training mission.

  “Careful. Don’t cut yourself.”

  “I know how to use a knife.”

  “Do you cut clothes off yourself on a regular basis? Pretty sure that’s harder than cutting a sandwich.”

  “Funny.” She struggled to move the knife down through the pants leg without gouging herself in the process, and as she did so heard an impatient sound come from Mateo.

  “Let me.”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “Yeah? Well, every second is time John isn’t at the hospital for pain meds and treatment, and we’re all still down here.”

  “There hasn’t been any debris for a while. Right?” She paused in her cutting to look up at the dark tunnel ceiling again, wishing he’d stop pointing out the possibility of impending collapse.

  A snorting humph was his only response as he tugged the knife from her hand and took over, getting it through the cloth in mere seconds, then hacking it off from around her knee before tearing it into strips. For some reason, having the blade so close to her skin didn’t worry her when it was Mateo doing the cutting. Maybe it was because the touch of his fingers on her skin as he moved them down her leg distracted her from being scared. “Rule number one is to get the hell out of any collapsed building ASAP. Which you’re going to do right now, to get a crew down here with a stretcher. I’m surprised someone hasn’t already come in here.”

  “Okay.” She knew he was right, that trying to move John, even with his injury splinted and in a sling, would be painful and dangerous if he had to try to walk, especially after all the blood he’d lost. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Back?” His focus was on finishing tying the last strip over the book then fashioning a sling from her scarf, but his scowl was most definitely directly at her. “Don’t be stupid. Just tell them where we are.”

  And again he was right. Why she was feeling this weird need to actually see both of them make it out, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t needed here, and might well be needed at the hospital. “Okay,” she repeated as she stood, ridiculously feeling a need to brush some of the powdery dirt from her coat. “Since I definitely am not stupid, I’ll see you at—”

  “Anybody in here?”

  Miranda sagged in relief at the voices and the sight of two bobbing flashlights.

  “Back here! About thirty feet. Bring a stretcher,” Mateo called. “Just one victim. No access to the subway platform. He came in because he was trying to get his dog out.”

  “Got a stretcher right outside.” In mere moments two medics were there, Mateo helping them get John settled on the stretcher as he shared details of the patient’s condition and treatment. They wore full gear—reflective coats, hard hats, gloves, and various tools dangled from their belts. Which made Miranda wonder, for the first time, why Mateo was in street clothes. Or, actually, at that moment, very few clothes, with his shirt destroyed and his coat still off, and she found herself staring at his wide, muscled chest and broad shoulders.

  “Are you off duty?” she asked.

  “Yes. I was on my way to the main collapse when I saw John run in after Benny, then get hit by a chunk of concrete.”

  “My little dog...” The two men picked up the stretcher, ready to carry him out, and John’s words were bitten off as he moaned.

  “You get out of here too, Mateo,” one of the rescuers said. “You’re not equipped. I’ll send some guys in to check for anyone else, just in case, but the good news is that it looks like a structural collapse, nothing else. We’ve got plenty of crew on the scene and if no one else is in here, that means everyone’s out and clear both places. So you can go on home.”

  “I have make sure a certain stubborn doctor gets to the hospital first.”

  “Tough job you have,” one said, laughing, as they made their way toward daylight.

  Miranda bent to casually retrieve her purse and flashlight from the ground, not wanting to show him how eager she was to get the heck out of there now that John was taken care of. Not wanting him to see how she’d been staring at his beautiful body. “You know, I’m not stubborn. It just seemed like I should help if I could, just like you did.”

  “It’s my job to run into harm’s way when necessary. Don’t think that’s in your job description. Come on.”

  He slid the filthy coat back on over his naked torso, then reached for her elbow. As they stepped over chunks of concrete, Miranda suddenly longed to be outside in the cold air and out of the dark gloom. Which she wouldn’t admit to Mateo for the world. “You don’t need to hold me up. I’m perfectly capable—”

  “I just want to get outside, and if you fall and gash open your head we’ll be stuck in here all that much longer.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve made the situation more difficult,” she said, her stomach churning a little that he seemed to still think she’d done exactly that, and what did that make her? A pain in the neck, that’s what, just like her stepmother had told her for years. “I should have thought it through better and gotten a firefighter instead of coming in here myself.”

  “Yes, you should’ve. But I have to admire how brave you are. And you were a big help, even though I hate to admit it.”

  Even in the darkness she could see the smile in his eyes, which put a warm little glow in her chest and had her smiling back.

  “That’s much better than telling me I’m annoying and stubborn,” she said. “You—”

  A deep, ground-shaking rumble was followed instantly by sharp cracks and the thud of chunks of concrete hitting the ground. Miranda gasped, ins
tinctively covering her head with her arms, as though that flimsy barrier could protect her in any way, when a heavy weight slammed straight into her.

  Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  ISBN-13: 9781488020872

  Their Mistletoe Baby

  Copyright © 2017 by Karin Baine

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