You’re at work, Nurse Meeks.
Scolded by her inner Nurse Ratched, Ellie sorted through the volunteer forms for the first-aid tent, matching them with the CPR certifications she’d received. She was missing only one—Jesse’s. She’d left it at home on her kitchen counter.
They had a couple come in with their four-day-old baby. The poor little thing was crying and running a fever of 102.8. The doc on duty quickly diagnosed the cause—an infected circumcision. They gave him some IV fluids, piggy-backed antibiotics, and gave him oral medication for his pain and fever. Because he was so little, the doc admitted him. The mother, who was still recovering from giving birth, was clearly exhausted from being up all night.
Ellie did her best to support her. “The nurses will take good care of him. You should try to get some sleep.”
Then it was lunchtime.
She walked down to the cafeteria, sat down with her salad, and called Claire. “Hey, sis. How are you feeling?”
“Better than last night, or maybe the Percocet is working. I can tell you already that I don’t like walking on crutches or having my mobility limited.”
They talked for a while about the surgeon’s prognosis and the physical therapy regimen Claire would be starting in six weeks.
Then Ellie couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Guess what I was doing last night—or maybe I should say whom.”
There was a moment of silence—and then Claire squealed. The sound pierced Ellie’s eardrum. She jerked the phone away from her ear.
“Oh, my God! You were with Jesse, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Ellie had no sooner said this than she got a page from the ER. “I need to go, Claire. We’ve got an ambo coming in.”
“What? Oh, no you don’t! You can’t call me, tell me you slept with a super-hot guy, and then hang up on me.”
Ellie laughed, but the situation was serious. “I’ll call later. Love you. Feel better.”
She hurried from the cafeteria to the stairs and down to the ER.
“We’ve got two injured parties coming in—shrapnel wounds. Apparently, there was an explosives accident up at the ski resort.”
Ellie’s heart gave a hard knock.
Explosives accident at Scarlet Mountain Resort?
Handling explosives was Jesse’s job.
Chapter 12
“Can’t you turn the siren off?” Jesse called up to Chloe Rivas, who was driving. They were making a big fucking deal out of nothing. “No one’s dying here.”
Hawke, who’d ridden up with the ambulance when he’d heard the call, pressed sterile gauze against the cut in Jesse’s forehead, his hands in sterile gloves. “We like the sirens. They make us feel important.”
He gave Chloe a nod, and she cut the noise makers.
Jesse looked over at Ben, who lay on the gurney, still pale as a sheet, an IV running wide open in his arm. “You hanging in there, buddy?”
“I’d be dead now if it weren’t for you.”
“Yep.” Jesse wasn’t going to sugar coat it for him.
The kid had fucked up, nearly killing them both.
They’d gone back to Eagle Ridge when the wind had died down to toss a few bombs. Jesse had thrown his on the count of three, as they usually did. He’d started to ski away. “Fire in the hole!”
But Ben had stood there, live charge still in his hands.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“The fuse went out.”
Jesse had reacted on instinct. He’d grabbed the charge out of Ben’s hands and hurled it as hard as he could, throwing himself on top of Ben, knocking him to the ground, and covering his own ears.
BOOM!
The blast wave had shaken the ground beneath them, the negative air pressure making Jesse’s eardrums pop, hot shrapnel from the canister slicing through his ski pants and parka and striking him in the forehead. For a moment he’d laid there, stunned.
Kevin had radioed for a rescue. Jesse had sat up, blood streaming down his face, and started first aid. From there it had become a circus.
A helicopter. A ride down to the lodge. Every patroller at the resort standing around looking like someone had died. Half a dozen Team members in the parking lot ready to help with a rescue. Ben babbling and bleeding and in shock.
Fuck.
Jesse had insisted he could drive himself and Ben to the ER, but Matt, worried about possible concussion or internal injuries from the blast, had insisted on an ambulance. And here they were.
Hawke leaned in and examined the laceration on his forehead. “Looks like you’ve got some debris stuck in there. You need stitches.”
“Yeah?” Jesse didn’t know how to say it without sounding like an asshole, but he’d seen much, much worse. “I can do this myself, you know.”
“No headache or dizziness?” Hawke asked.
“For the fifth time, no.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re grumpy when you’re bleeding?”
They pulled into the ambulance bay and stopped, and Jesse caught a glimpse of a team in green scrubs waiting for them.
Ellie.
The doors opened, and there she was. Her gaze met Jesse’s, emotion in her green eyes. Had she been worried?