Protecting What's Mine(58)

“I don’t know how to cook a Thanksgiving feast, and I might be on call.”

“Win will use us as sous chefs. And I know darn well that town of yours has an urgent care that will be open on Thanksgiving. And if you do get called to the clinic, we’ll hold dinner for you. But you are expressly forbidden from taking a flight shift that day. Got it?”

“Yeah, about that,” Mack said, studying the ugly boot on her foot. “I can’t take any air med shifts until I’m out of the walking boot.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, “Why are you in a walking boot, Mackenzie?” Dottie shrieked.

Mack filled her in with a toned-down version.

“What kind of town is this? Was he on meth? Are you living in a meth hub?” Dottie demanded.

Mack laughed. “No. I promise. It’s actually a very nice town. And that’s kind of why I was calling. There’s a guy.”

Another pause during which she could hear Dottie tear open a single-serve bag of chips, her one and only vice. “Tell me everything. But be prepared to circle back to the broken ankle thing so I can guilt-trip you about not telling us the moment it happened. We care about you, Mackenzie O’Neil.”

“I know. And thanks. And I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now spill it.”





27





“Good morning, Mackenzie.” Russell clapped his palms together enthusiastically. “Guess what you get to do today?”

She was already exhausted and barely in the door of her office. She was not ready for enthusiasm of any sort.

The boot was pissing her off more than usual today. Hell, everything was. Everything was unsettled and would remain so until she hashed things out with Linc. But she needed to plan out her apology. Carefully structure it. Give him a couple of days to cool off. She needed at least two or three days. Maybe put together an outline and then work her way up to a Venn diagram?

She wasn’t a groveler. But she’d been an asshole, and he deserved a real apology.

“What do I get to do today?”

Gingerly, she lowered herself into the chair she’d yet to replace. It was a matter of principle now. She was determined to wait out the chair’s lifespan. It couldn’t hang on much longer. It gave a terrifying clunking noise and dropped her three inches. But the chair remained intact, and she remained upright.

Russell watched her chair drama with amusement. “You and Freida get to go to the fire station for firefighter physicals today,” he said with a big, toothy grin.

Shit.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” she hedged.

“Oh, it’s not really a choice,” he said, dropping into the chair in front of her desk and steepling his fingers. “You see, the physician who does the physicals has to examine close to forty patients. Burly, farting firefighters who don’t take kindly when you point out that they are in danger of failing the physical requirements of their service.”

“Your daughter is one of those burly, farting firefighters,” she reminded him. “And what requirements?”

“So is your manfriend,” he said, with a knowing tilt of his head. “Benevolence monitors the physical fitness of its firefighters annually. The station has its own tests of aerobic capacity, grip strength, endurance. That kind of thing. But they are also required to submit to a physical exam every year.”

Double shit.

“Linc isn’t feeling very manfriendly toward me right now,” she said.

“Care to talk about it?” Russell offered.

He meant it, she realized. And there was something both comforting and dismaying about that.

“I’d rather let it fester a while,” she told him.

“Don’t let it fester too loudly,” he warned. “Freida will sense it and latch on.”

“Sense what?” Freida appeared in the door wearing scrubs with little firefighters and dalmatians on them.

“Nice scrubs,” Mack said.

“Bought ’em special for today. I love firefighter physical day! When are we leaving? What will I sense?”





The Benevolence Fire Department was a large, two-story building that took up half of a block on the south side of town. Three huge garage bays, all of them open to the crisp fall breeze, held gleaming trucks—apparatus—ready and waiting to be called up for duty.

The floors, a polished concrete looked clean enough to eat from. There was a wall of cherry red metal lockers stocked with personal protection equipment. The space smelled like diesel and oil and polish.

“Hey, doc.” Assistant Chief Kelly Wu was a sharp, take-charge kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. As demonstrated by the engine grease she was wiping off on a rag.

“Nice to see you, Kelly,” Mack said, glancing around but not seeing Linc. Her stomach tickled like it did on her way to a call. Nerves and excitement. The fight had raised her adrenaline, and she wondered if the apology would do the same.

“Same place as usual?” Freida asked, patting her med bag.

“You got it. They put the screens up so you can go back and forth between exam rooms,” Kelly said, nodding toward the stairs.

He was probably up there. Was he still mad? Was he still thinking about what an ass she’d made of herself? Had he given up on her? Was he even now turning his attention to some other less frustrating woman? Maybe one of the nurses from the ED.