Fire Me Up (2 page)

And here he'd thought the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing was bullshit.

As quickly as it had slowed to allow him one last glimpse of his life, time yanked back and hit fast forward. Adrian made the rude, full-bodied acquaintance of the wet spring asphalt, turning everything to an indistinct blur but the ripping agony in his chest. Up became down and then up again, hitting his vision like a Tilt-a-Whirl with a busted kill switch. For just a heartbeat, Adrian was weightless, soaked in the sweet, preternatural darkness beckoning from the edges of his consciousness.

And then he sucked in an ear-popping breath, his lungs expanding as if they'd been taken by surprise, and he tumbled back into his body on the serrated edges of all the pain in the world.

In the six years Teagan O'Malley had been a paramedic with Pine Mountain's Fire and Rescue Squad, she'd seen boatloads of terrifying things. None of them scared her quite so much, however, as the sight of her name posted next to the words
clean out the fridge
on the station's chore calendar. She battened down over the dread clenching her stomach like an industrial-grade vise and popped the thing open, taking a peek inside.

Takeout containers marked with cryptic scribbling and questionable food stains lay strewn about the dim interior, smelling about as appetizing as the Styrofoam they were made of. Two brown bags, both grease-tinged and labeled
Touch this and lose a limb !
sat stashed in the far corner, where they'd likely been for two weeks, easy. She didn't even want to ponder the possibilities for the leftovers-slash-science experiment jammed on the bottom shelf, affectionately known among her colleagues as Where Food Goes to Die.

There might be an upside to being a woman in a male-dominated profession, but living with heathens sure as hell wasn't it.

“Ugh.” Teagan slammed the refrigerator shut with a chorus of
oh hell no
jingling through her head. Getting out of this was going to cost her, but some prices were worth every red cent.

She kicked her legs into a purposely casual saunter across the station's common room, sliding her fingers into the pockets of her careworn navy blue uniform pants. Although the station manager scheduled ten people on any given shift, four of the firefighters were out clearing a small-time call with no injuries. The remaining four were napping away the still-early hours of the morning in the sleeping quarters down the hall, leaving Teagan to set her sights on the couch where her partner sat sprawled with the
Pine Mountain Gazette
.

“Hey, Evan. What do you say we swap chores this week? I totally don't mind taking the floors off your hands.”

“Let me guess. You've got the fridge.” Evan didn't even look up from the sports section, the pain in the ass. But that refrigerator was her own monogrammed version of hell on earth. No way was she giving in without hauling out every last thing in her arsenal of please, pretty-please, and do-this-or-I'll-spill-your-deep-dark-secrets-on-the-ten-o'clock-news.

“I'll do the floors and whatever you get next week, too. Consider it an act of camaraderie among paramedics.” As a pair, she and Evan were half the certified paramedics on Pine Mountain Fire and Rescue's payroll, plus they were partners. There had to be honor in there somewhere.

Right?

“Camaraderie, my ass. That chill chest hasn't been properly cleaned out since Christmas. It's going to take more than next week's chores to move me, O'Malley.”

Teagan dialed her pout up to ten and tried for some good old-fashioned sympathy as she upped the ante. “I'll buy you a drink at the Double Shot after shift.”

“A pretty woman offering to ply me with liquor. Sweetie, I think you've made a bit of a tactical error.” Evan buried his smile in the newsprint in front of him, but it held way more amusement than heat.

She returned the expression with genuine ease and deadpanned, “You're already busy tonight?”

“Uh, that, and I'm still as gay as I was when we met four years ago. You didn't seriously think that lower-lip thing was going to work on me, did you?”

So much for the pout being a universal ploy for sympathy. It had been worth a shot, anyway.

Teagan released her breath in slow increments, discouraged enough to give in, but too stubborn to actually follow through. “I don't suppose you'd just cut me a break? I get enough interaction with the fridge at my dad's bar.”

God, was that the truth. Teagan's fingers did double duty as prunes at least four nights a week from all the cold bottles of beer she served up. It was enough to make even the toughest person want to run screaming from anything culinary, including the appliances. And lately, it had only gotten worse.

“You've been at the Double Shot a lot this month, huh?” Evan's sandy brows kicked up in question, prompting her to force a shrug. She was no rookie when it came to an honest day's work, but even she'd been running on fumes since their day cook ran off with their only good waitress and they had yet to replace either one.

But if Teagan had it rough spending a few extra shifts behind the bar, her father had it exponentially worse trying to keep the whole damned place afloat. A little sleep deprivation was the least she could do for the man who'd raised her all by himself.

“Yeah, we're a little short-staffed, that's all.” She laughed, because it was either that or cry. “Know any gourmet chefs willing to work for peanuts in a small-town bar and grill?”

“Maybe you should bite the bullet and learn how to cook, T. Or does your fear of the refrigerator extend to the entire kitchen?” Evan lobbed a good-natured smirk over the edge of the paper as he folded it up.

Heat prickled at the back of her neck, but she swiped it away before he could catch the flush that surely went with it. In this profession, the only thing worse than fear was
showing
fear. And anyway, you didn't last more than a day at this job by getting all girly about a little ribbing.

Even ribbing about the stuff that hit home.

“Let's just say I'm all fridged out.” Relieved to have a segue out of the conversation, Teagan went full circle. “Look, if you switch chores with me, I'll even take the next belligerent patient we get, no matter what the injury. Scout's honor.” She held up one hand in a show of good faith, throwing on her very best doe-eyed look. “Please?”

Evan's laugh was as agreeable as his smirk, and Teagan heaved a silent sigh of relief through her too-tight smile as he caved. “Okay, okay. I'll take the fridge, but you can sell that innocent-girl routine somewhere else.” He dropped his thick-soled boots from the futon to the floor, allowing himself a good stretch before heading over to the refrigerator.

“Thank you!” She paused, tacking on, “And ouch on the innocent-girl thing.”

But Evan wasn't having it. “Teagan, please. You single-handedly broke up two bar fights last week alone. It's pretty clear you're not rocking a halo.”

Eh. He had a point. “Okay. Maybe innocent isn't the best word for me,” she said, crossing the dove-gray linoleum to rummage through the supply closet for a broom.

“Innocent is the
last
word for you.” Evan's quip came out more endearment than insult, and Teagan pointed the broom handle at her partner with a grin.

“Aw, stop. You'll make me blush.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to launch an obnoxious comeback, but the piercing alarm signaling an incoming call from dispatch interrupted him. The broom was barely an afterthought as Teagan shoved it back toward the closet and yanked up the handset from the desk acting as command central between the kitchen and the common room.

“This is Pine Mountain Fire and Rescue. Go ahead, dispatch.”

The radio hissed out a quick breath of static before carrying the reply, “Pine Mountain Fire and Rescue, this is dispatch. Requesting fire and EMS for a two-vehicle MVA on Rural Route Four, a mile north of Pine Mountain Resort. Police have been dispatched, over.”

She shot Evan a look, but he was already moving with brisk steps toward the in-house intercom that would rouse the rest of their team from sleep.

Teagan cradled the handset against her palm, her thumb finding the smooth groove of the
reply
button with the same ease she used to draw in breath. “Received, dispatch. Engine Seven and Paramedic Two responding to Rural Route Four for an MVA, out.”

Adrenaline raised Teagan's heart rate another level as she replaced the radio handset with methodical resolve, but she was far from holy-shit panic mode. Car crashes were pretty ordinary fare for a paramedic, and all things considered, a two-car bang-up was usually pretty tame since it was tough to go terribly fast on most of Pine Mountain's winding roads.

Still, she relayed the information to Evan and the rest of the responding team in clipped tones that meant business. Taking care of whomever was on the receiving end of this accident might be her job, but she sure wasn't in it for the money or the glamour. Somebody needed help, plain and simple, and she had the knowledge and tools to take care of business.

Plus, if she wore herself out saving other people, maybe nobody would notice that she couldn't patch her own life together if someone spotted her a needle and thread.

Teagan squashed her thoughts like the contents of an overly full trash bin, yanking open the ambulance's passenger door with barely enough time to haul herself inside before Evan threw the thing into
drive.

“Dispatch, this is Paramedic Two. We are en route to the scene. ETA eight minutes.” Teagan caught Evan's look of approval out of the corner of her eye as she returned the radio in the rig to its perch.

“You know we're probably a good ten minutes from the resort, right?” Evan hitched the wheel to the left, steering the ungainly ambulance up Pine Mountain's main road with mind-boggling finesse.

“Mmm-hmm. I also know you could get us there in six if you push it.” After all, not every MVA was a fender-bender. Even if the cops beat them to the scene and had it secured, someone's life could well be on the line.

That fact got hammered into place as soon as she caught a distant glimpse of the black and chrome Harley lying belly-up on Rural Route Four. Shit.
Shit
. This had
very bad things
written all over it. In block letters. With a Sharpie.

Teagan shouldered her first-in bag and jumped out of the rig, her boots barely making contact with the pavement before one of the cops securing the scene had fallen into step beside her. “Morning, Officer. What've we got?”

Although her eyes were locked in on the scene about thirty yards away—which was thankfully blocked from incoming traffic by a pair of police cruisers—Teagan's attention was just as sharply focused on the cop's response.

“Motorcycle versus minivan. Motorcycle driver is over there, single rider, wearing a helmet. Denies losing consciousness, no visible head injury, but he's combative and complaining of left arm pain. I've got an officer on him now, just to make sure he didn't fly before you got here. He's going to be a handful.”

“Oh goodie. I eat those for breakfast,” Teagan said, moving swiftly past the barricade. “How about vehicle two?”

The officer tipped his chin at a dark green Honda Odyssey sitting halfway on the shoulder of the road, hazard lights flashing in perfect orange rhythm. “Minivan driver has her two kids in the backseat, all parties belted in. Everyone appears stable with no visible injuries, no complaints of pain. Scene is secure. Just let us know what you need.”

“Got it, thanks.” She swung her gaze at Evan before letting it land on the Honda. “You want the minivan before the cops take her report? I'm grabbing Chris and Jeff from Seven to help nail down this single rider and make sure he's stable for transport.”

Evan shook his head and shot her a wry grin. “I know you owe me, but I can take the cranky biker.”

As if on cue, strains of a heated altercation filtered past the scene noise, pulling a sardonic laugh from Teagan's throat. “Call it even for the fridge. I've got this.”

He turned with a shrug toward the nearby minivan. “You're a glutton for punishment, O'Malley.”

Understatement of the frickin' year.

Teagan called for the two firefighters before turning her attention toward her patient, who stood arguing with one of Pine Mountain's finest in the middle of the road in spite of the fact that she was certain he'd seen better days.

Holy big-man-on-a-stick, this might be more than she'd bargained for.

Even though his back was half-turned and she was a good ten paces away, the guy was obviously huge, and from the sound of it, he was no stranger to being righteously pissed off. Still, the unmistakable edge of pain bled through his tone as clear as sunrise over Big Gap Lake, and the way he clutched his left arm at such an awkward angle against his body told her all she needed to know. Pissed off or not, she was getting her hands on him, pronto.

“Hey, Chris, run and grab the backboard from the rig and roll the cot over here, yeah? Jeff, you're with me for trauma assessment. I get the feeling it's going to be an adventure.” She lasered her focus from her crew to the injured man without breaking stride or waiting for answers.

Time to get to work.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I heard this is where the party is.” Without a second thought, Teagan slipped into the hairbreadth of space between the cop and her irritated patient, assessing the latter with a critical eye. Her subconscious gave a whisper of recognition as she looked at his rugged, stubbled face, but the tickle of familiarity took a backseat to the visual assessment she needed to do in order to gauge his injuries.

The guy had nearly a foot on her, which was pretty freaking impressive considering she measured in at five-foot-seven. The physique that went with his height left impressive in the dust, though, especially since his chest was as thick as a double-wide trailer and every ounce of it appeared to be muscle.

Make that leather-clad muscle, which had probably saved his ass, quite literally. As best she could tell, thanks to his now-banged-up jacket, the guy's road rash appeared shockingly minimal, although she'd have to get the garment off to be sure.

Too bad the rest of his injuries didn't match, namely that arm he was cradling like a helpless newborn. She didn't even want to get started on the laundry list of other injuries that could be lurking beneath the dirt-streaked denim and leather.