Читать книгу Following the Doctor's Orders - Caro Carson - Страница 12

Chapter Six

Zach sat on the tailgate of his pickup truck, killing time in the parking lot of an upscale apartment complex. In the last hour before sunset on a warm Texas day, it was good to have nothing to do but watch residents pull into their slots, lock up their cars and head for their apartment doors. It was all so ordinary.

Zach needed ordinary. Ambulance work was never his favorite, but a friend had asked a favor. An ambulance shift meant every person he saw was sick and in pain. Patients were scared and worried, and so were the friends or family members who’d called for the ambulance. Family members who rode along with the patient were as anxious and alarmed as the patients themselves.

It made for a long day. He’d take twenty-four hours with Engine Thirty-Seven over seven hours in an ambulance any day, but Zach, like most paramedics, picked up extra shifts to earn a little more money. Some days, the money wasn’t worth it.

The adult daughter of his last patient had ridden in the back with him, and her anxious face stuck in Zach’s mind more tenaciously than the rest. The transport had been very long. Despite running with lights and sirens, it had taken over half an hour to reach downtown Austin from the country ranch, and the woman’s gaze had darted between Zach and her father’s gurney the entire time.

The sorrow on her face haunted him. She’d known, as he’d known, that nothing he did would save her father. He’d done it all, anyway, fifty miles of work with her sorrowful eyes upon him.

An apartment door opened. An old lady stepped out, her white hair neat and tidy, and she poured a glass of water on a potted plant by her door. Then she went inside. She’d been in no distress at all. She’d looked bored. Zach could have kissed her.

He checked his watch. He still had thirty minutes, at least, to detox before his date with Brooke. He needed it. She was cool, calm and collected, no matter how chaotic the ER became. He needed to play it cool, too. He hopped off his tailgate and slammed it shut. His arm and chest muscles, tired from performing hopeless CPR, immediately protested the forceful motion.

Slow down. Keep it light.

He wasn’t here for any kind of emotional entanglement. He didn’t need Brooke’s cool levelheadedness to help him get over a bad shift. He was just here for a drink with a woman who reminded him of a sexy librarian. Nothing more.

A sedate sedan pulled into the spot next to his, and two couples got out. As the ladies passed him, they smiled. The men looked at him with suspicion. All four of them, like every single person he’d seen in the past half hour, were senior citizens.

This couldn’t be the right address. Brooklyn Brown, young and vital with legs that could slay a man, couldn’t possibly live in a retirement community.

A gray-haired man wearing a veteran’s ball cap passed Zach’s truck on his way to toss a trash bag in the complex’s Dumpster. On his return trip, he stared Zach down as he stalked closer and closer. If Zach were in his firefighter uniform, the man would probably salute. Zach had long noticed that old men liked seeing young men in uniform; maybe he reminded them of themselves in younger years. But since Zach was not in uniform, he could practically see the man wondering if he was a troublemaker of some kind. A hooligan.

Zach crossed his arms over his chest to stretch his sore triceps and looked up to the second floor and the door that was supposedly Brooke’s. Maybe he should find the mailboxes and see if the name Brown was on the one that matched this number.

“You lost, son?” the ball-cap man asked aggressively. Once a warrior, always a warrior, at least in attitude.

Zach tried to disarm the man with friendliness. “Nope. Just waitin’ on a woman.” He uncrossed his arms so his stance looked less aggressive, but the move cost him.

By morning, he’d be feeling every last chest compression he’d performed today. Instead of going out tonight, he ought to be soaking in a tub of ice water like he had back when he ran two-a-day football practices.

The old man grunted something that sounded like agreement. “Women. Never on time.”

“This one’s not late. I’m early.” Zach pointed in the direction of her second-story door. “I’d hate to be waiting at the wrong address. Do you know if Dr. Brooke Brown lives here?”

He dropped his aching arm before he finished his question. Maybe instead of going out, he could soak in Brooke’s tub. With Brooke.

And...that idea was wrong to entertain. It would only lead to frustrated pain in other parts of his body. This was their first date, and he half expected her to cancel on him. For the past four years, he’d had a never-on-the-first-date policy. Jumping into bed—and into love—with a certain blonde angel named Charisse had cured him of that impulse. Never again.

You’ve known Brooke for the better part of a year. She’s not keeping any secrets from you.