by Gina Kincade
“Huh?” He stared at her for a moment before folding the rest of the slice of pizza in half and shoving it in his mouth.
Rosie maintained her silence. None of his damn business what she might be. Hadn’t she made that clear to him yet?
“How did you manage to find me in here?” she asked.
He almost choked on his pizza laughing at her. Man, she wanted to kick him.
“So suspicious,” he said after he’d swallowed. “What makes you think I was looking for you? I happen to live across the street, and I eat here a couple times a week because I don’t like cooking. Running into you was pure coincidence.”
She blew out her breath. “Just my luck.”
The jerk took another slice of her pizza.
“You did say help myself,” he reminded her when she glared at him. “I’m hungry. Tell you what. My treat, okay?”
“I do not need you to pay for my meal.”
“Too much like a date, huh?” He grinned at her again. His teeth shone white against his skin. He knew he was freaking gorgeous, but he had a lot to learn. His face and smile might have melted the panties off the big city girls, but not Rosie D’Angelo.
Rosie huffed out her breath again and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m going to count to ten and by the time I reach eight, if you and your cowboy boots aren’t ambling out the door, you’ll regret it. We are coworkers. We don’t socialize outside of business hours.”
“We don’t socialize inside them either,” Jack said, making no move to leave, damn him. “I don’t know what your definition of socializing might be, but mine includes talking nicely, exchanging pleasantries, and getting to know a person. Apart from the first time you said hello to me, I don’t think you’ve ticked any of those boxes yet. What I don’t get is whether it’s me personally you don’t like, or if four partners in a year has soured you entirely on the whole idea of partners.” He paused to give her an expectant look, then gestured with his pizza. “Feel free to enlighten me. I’m curious.”
Rosie opened her mouth to tell him he was an annoying bastard and, of course, it was because she didn’t like him personally, but nothing came out.
“I don’t like getting to know people who end up quitting and moving on,” she admitted after a moment. “I know I have a trust issue. Why can’t you leave me alone about it?”
“Because you’ll never realize I’m different if I do,” he said, his smile less sexy and more real than she’d ever seen it before. “I have a partner problem myself, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“If you told them any of those damn blonde jokes, it’s no wonder,” Rosie muttered.
“Ah, they loved them,” he said, waving at her with his pizza again. “Which reminds me – how do you drown a blonde?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Rosie groaned.
“Put a mirror on the bottom of the pool,” Jack said, laughing as he stuffed the pizza slice into his mouth.
For a moment Rosie wasn’t sure if she would explode in rage or laughter. Damn the man!
“Aha!” Jack cried. “I saw a tiny beginning of smile that time. I knew it! You think my jokes are hysterical, you just don’t want to give me the satisfaction of letting me know.”
“Hysterical is an exaggeration,” Rosie said, sighing. “A huge exaggeration.”
“But funny, right? They’re funny!”
“Not all of them.”
“Some of them though? At least one?”
“Maybe one.” The admission hurt.
Jack flashed her a blinding grin. “I knew it! I freaking knew it!” He bounced around in his seat with such a delighted expression, Rosie couldn’t help smiling a little. What a goofball.
“My God, you can smile!” Jack stopped bouncing to stare at her. “I was beginning to think your mouth stuck permanently at scowl.”
“Consider the source,” Rosie said, but she let her smile widen. Just a smidge.
“See? This is socializing. Doesn’t hurt much, does it?”
Rosie rolled her eyes. When he reached for a third slice of pizza, she figured screw it, and munched on her own slice. One slice remained on the pizza pan. She had to eat fast to keep him from scarfing down the entire rest of her meal.
“So, why do you say you don’t know if you’re Italian?” Jack took the time to sprinkle Parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes on this slice.
Rosie considered not answering him. She debated lying to him or distracting him away from the question, because she couldn’t predict how he’d respond to the truth. Somehow tonight they’d managed a détente. She didn’t want to blow it if he pissed her off with his reaction.
Taking chances sucked.
Screwing up her courage, she said, “I’m adopted. D’Angelo is my adopted parents’ name. I’ve never been able to find out what my birth parents’ names were. So maybe I’m Italian, but probably not.” She thrust out her chin. “Does it matter?”
He stared at her for a moment. He’d better not pour on sympathy or tell her about his adopted cousin or proclaim real family didn’t always mean a blood connection or she was so out the door.
“Seems like it matters to you,” he said. “Were things bad with your adopted parents?”
Unshed tears burned her eyes and turned the air in her lungs to ash.
“Bad enough,” she said. “Change the subject.”
“Every summer,” he said. “My parents guilt trip me into going back to Colorado to the reservation for a week. So I can meet eligible daughters, granddaughters, sisters, and cousins. They are determined to marry me off to another Ute and keep our bloodline intact.”
“I think that’s admirable,” Rosie said. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a bloodline you can trace back generation after generation. What’s wrong with the girls on the reservation?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Most of them are beautiful, wonderful women. They just don’t do it for me. Or they don’t want to leave the reservation. Or they only like me because they’re desperate to leave the reservation.”
“If I were you, I’d take back the Great Eagle name.” Rosie couldn’t believe her own audacity. Why had she said that and given him more space to worm his way into her personal life? God, his heritage was none of her business.
He smiled. “Now you sound like my dad. He’s taken it back. If he’d lay off the lectures, I might have done it too by now.”
“What about your grandfather?” Despite her serious misgivings, Rosie felt drawn into the conversation. Someone with a real family. She’d had that once with her adopted family. At least until she’d hit her teens and her healing powers began to show themselves. Before she’d learned how to use them. Hide them. If only she’d known her cultural background, she might have dived into being Italian. Or German. Or Irish. Native American. Something other than the blank wall that was her bloodline.
“He’s like me. Why bother? Do you know what a hassle it is to legally change your name?” Jack propped his elbows on the table and stared at her so intently she felt like a bug on a pin.
“No,” Rosie admitted. “But it would be worth it to me. I’d change mine in a heartbeat if I knew what my real name was.”
“A name is what you make of it. One is no less real than another.”
“Now you’re going to tell me since they dumped me at birth, they don’t deserve to have me take their name. I’ve heard this argument before.” Bitterness coated her tongue, and she took a swallow of beer to erase it.
“Ah, don’t take shit from anybody. What matters is how you feel and what you want. Who knows why they gave you up,” Jack said. “Maybe they had really good reasons. Maybe they were just irresponsible. Or not ready for kids. I’m not judging, just making an observation.”
Rosie shook her head. “Yeah. It’s not important. You’re right. A name is a name is a name.” She finished her beer and glanced at the slice of remaining pizza. “Eat that. I’m tired and I’m going home. See you next shift.”
The concern in his eyes threatened to
undo her. What did he care? He didn’t know her. And she’d treated him like dirt. Was he attracted to her? Could that be it? Maybe he just cared about people, and she shouldn’t take it so personally. Whatever. She had to get out before she burst into melancholy tears and made him think he had to comfort her.
“Take care, Rosie,” he said, and she could tell he meant it. She didn’t want to revise her original opinion of him, but damn it, she might have to. But not tonight. She was going home to a bath, another beer, maybe some cookies, and definitely bed. Where she would not dream about a crooked grin and intense brown eyes. No way. Not tonight. Not ever.
Chapter FOUR
Jack halfway expected Rosie to give him the cold shoulder during their next shift. He braced himself for her to barely acknowledge his greeting when he entered the stationhouse kitchen. She sat at the large table with a book spread out before her – studying as the notepad filled with scribbled notes attested.
“Extracurricular or job-related?” He pulled out the chair beside her, trying to peek at her notes. Her handwriting was horrible. She should have been a doctor. Now he’d moved closer he could see she intently studied some sort of gardening book. Hmm. Flowers. Rosie liked plants? Interesting. He mentally filed away the knowledge for future reference.
“I’m taking a horticulture course at the community college,” she said as she closed the book, slipping her notes between the pages to mark her place.
Jack regarded her in semi-astonishment. She’d given him a civil answer. Points taken away for the closed book, but she hadn’t bitten his head off for getting into her personal life. Progress.
“Shut your mouth or bugs will fly in,” she suggested, but a hint of a smile lurked in her vivid blue eyes. She pushed back her chair and moved to the coffee machine on the counter by the sink. “Want some coffee?”
“Say what?” Duke Johnson froze in the act of walking through the door. He looked at Rosie suspiciously. “Since when do you get coffee for anyone, Rosie?”
“Just because I won’t get it for you doesn’t mean I won’t get it for anybody.” Rosie’s tart reply made Duke’s lips twitch in amusement.
“You’re so mean,” he said, throwing himself into a chair with a theatrical sigh. “Here I am jonesing for coffee and you’re about to give the last of it to the new guy. He should be pouring us the last of the damn stuff.”
“He can make the next pot.” Rosie placed a yellow-and-green patterned mug in front of Jack. The heady scent of coffee filled Jack’s senses, almost as exhilarating as her openness. “But let him finish this mug first.”
“Hell.” Duke shoved back his chair. “I can’t wait that long. I might die. I need coffee STAT.”
“Look at him using the big doctor words.” Rosie snorted into her mug.
Duke extended his middle finger and they all laughed.
When Rosie laughed, her blue eyes softened, and her cold, distant expression melted. Jesus, she was beautiful. Jack tried not to stare at her for too long and ruin the moment, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d always been a sucker for blue eyes and blonde hair.
She usually wore hers up, but today she’d braided it so the plait fell over one shoulder. God, he wanted to tug off the hairband and run his fingers through the soft strands. Make her blush. Make her want him.
Jack hastily hid his face behind his mug. What the hell was he doing fantasizing about his partner? He wanted her trust and friendship. Sex would fuck everything up. Still, he was going to check his papers from HR to familiarize himself with the department’s stance on interdepartmental relationships. They were the same paygrade, so it shouldn’t be an issue. Not, of course, that he planned to make any moves on Rosie. He just liked to be prepared for every eventuality.
Thankfully, the station bell burst into life. Only two buzzes. Just the squad, no fire engine.
A voice over the intercom said, “Squad Nine! Possible heart attack. Thirteen twelve Old Mountain Road. One, three, one, two Old Mountain Road. Cross street O’Connell. Time out eight seventeen.”
Jack set his mug down and ran after Rosie, her braid bobbing, for the garage.
While she started the squad, Jack punched the address into the GPS.
“Ten to one it’s Hank Masters.” Rosie shifted into Drive as Jack flipped on the siren.
“You know the guy?” Jack scanned the road ahead for possible obstructions. Some drivers ignored sirens and darted out into intersections. He always thought of them as “snipers”. Rosie drove great. He had absolute confidence in her abilities, but a lookout never hurt.
“Yeah.” Her sour tone made him focus on her for a moment, not the road. This Hank Masters was a possible heart attack victim, but she didn’t sound concerned. More pissed off and resigned than anything else. Apparently, she didn’t like him.
Jack didn’t think she’d let her animosity get in the way of administering aid, but he’d bet she’d let him take the lead on this one. She could contact Fairhaven Hospital and relay the vitals.
As they sped along the two-lane highway just outside of town, Jack went over basic heart attack procedure in his head.
“Squad Nine, do you read? This is Dispatch.” The radio crackled.
Jack snatched it up. “Squad Nine. Loud and clear.”
“Squad Nine, be advised there is an ambulance delay. All available resources are currently out on a five-car pileup in Westgate. Ambulance response time for your emergency is currently thirty-five to forty minutes. Will advise if that changes. Dispatch out.”
Jack exchanged frustrated looks with Rosie, then depressed the radio button. “Acknowledged. Squad Nine out.”
A delay like that could be fatal for the victim. Jack hoped the attack was mild, and they were in time to help him, but his gut feeling didn’t bode well.
Old Mountain Road was a dead-end street in the middle geographical area spanning between Fairhaven and the bordering town, Westgate. Thick tree cover screened the houses from immediate view. The Masters house was located at the end of the road. Two deep ruts had worn grooves into a dirt drive. Piled-up junk littered the front lawn. Peeling green paint on the house had faded to a dirty linen color. One shutter hung askew next to the bay window by the open front door.
A scared-looking boy of around ten hovered in the doorway. Freckles stood out on his shock-white face. His tee-shirt was dirty, his jeans ripped at the knees. Barefoot on a school day. Maybe it was too early for him to have left for the bus stop, but Jack wondered how often the boy bothered to go to school. Judging by the appearance of his property, Masters didn’t seem the type to care much whether the kids got a decent education.
“It’s my dad. He was eating his cereal when he said he didn’t feel so good!” The boy had both his arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold, yet the spring temperature hovered at a moderate seventy-five. Jack wished he had time to spare to comfort the kid, but heart attacks needed immediate care. Every second counted.
“Where’s your mom?” he paused long enough to ask. Rosie shoved him aside in her rush to the kitchen, throwing him a look he couldn’t figure out. Impatience. Exasperation. But mixed with something not exactly that.
The boy flushed. “She and my big sister left a couple days ago. It’s just me and Dad. Last month my brother got mad and went to live with his girlfriend.”
“Do you know any of your neighbors? You want to go stay with one of them while we take care of your dad?” Jack could hear Rosie in the kitchen, talking to Masters and setting down her equipment.
“Okay.” The kid, thankfully, didn’t argue. He trudged down the dirt drive, head down. Jack spared him one last look then raced into the kitchen.
“Call Fairhaven.” Rosie’s tone was sharp and professional as she knelt by Masters. He sprawled across the kitchen floor, which was littered with cereal and splashes of milk. Jack kicked an overturned chair into a corner and knelt by the equipment. He took out his pad, ready to take down the vital signs.
“My chest feels so damn tight,�
�� gasped the man on the floor. “Burning like hell. Can’t catch my breath.”
“Lie still so I can get an EKG reading.” Rosie had Masters’s shirt open and she’d laid most of the strips.
Jack grabbed the field phone to establish an open line to the hospital. “Fairhaven, this is Rescue Nine.”
“Read you loud and clear, Nine. This is Fairhaven.”
Jack recognized the husky voice of the lead ER doctor, Janine Winchester.
“Nine, what’s your emergency?”
“Fairhaven, we have a possible heart attack victim. Stand by for vitals.”
Rosie relayed them over her shoulder as she continued to set up for an EKG reading.
Jack said, “BP one seventy over sixty, pulse sixty and rapid. Respiration sixteen and shallow. Stand by for EKG.”
“Copy that, Nine. Administer Ringer’s lactate D5W. Standing by for EKG.”
Jack set up the IV drip.”
“Ready,” Rosie said.
“Hey, my chest really hurts. I don’t need you, bitch. I need a doctor!” Masters tried to roll over, and Rosie and Jack held him down as he cursed.
“You’re not doing yourself any favors acting like this,” Jack told him. “Let us do our jobs. We have a doctor on the line right now.”
“That’s not a doctor. That’s a nurse. It’s a frigging woman,” Masters yelled, his face red from exertion. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be in big trouble.
Masters groaned and thrashed, his eyelids fluttering like window shades gone crazy.
“Rescue Nine? Where’s that EKG?” Dr. Winchester demanded.
“Coming, Fairhaven. Lead two.” Jack frantically flicked switches. He and Rosie watched the monitor.
“Fairhaven, the patient is in v-fib.” Jack dove for the paddles and smeared them with lubricant. He handed them to Rosie who positioned them over Masters’s chest.
Jack watched the machine, counting aloud. “Two hundred, three, four.”
“Clear!” Rosie barked.
Jack made sure he was not touching Masters, and Rosie pressed the paddles to the victim’s chest. When the electroshock hit him, Masters’s body leaped up.
