With a Little Help (14 page)

“Luckily we don't have much on today,” Sophie said.

Emma pulled her thoughts together with an effort. “There's only the charity afternoon tea. Most of the baking's done and they're providing their own tea and coffee. It's an easy delivery, so I'll be fine.” Professionally, anyway. Personally, she was a long way from certain. “Can I bring you anything?”

“If you're going by the office on your way, I'm pretty sure I left the prescription for my medication in the apron I forgot to take with me when we moved to Nate's kitchen.”

“If it's there, I'll find it, get it filled and bring it over.” Doug might be on site, but he'd told her he couldn't start the removal process until his team was available tomorrow.

“Thanks. I'm going to lie down again.”

Emma smiled into the phone. “Confucius says Woman with headache sleeps alone.”

She was gratified when Sophie laughed. “Ouch, even laughing hurts. I'll gladly sleep alone today.”

Emma closed the phone and buttoned Nate's shirt, trying not to inhale the scent clinging to the expensive fabric. Trying not to relive her own foolishness. Before she drifted into sleep, he'd made it clear that last night would change nothing between them. Not that she expected it to. Wanting was another matter.

Once his injury healed, his work would reclaim him and there would be little room for her in his life. She'd known the risk when she let him make love to her. If she felt changed and he didn't, it was her own fault.

She put croissants in the oven to heat and was setting up the coffee machine when she heard him stirring. Her heart stirred in response. Cool, calm, she ordered herself. She kept her back to the door and busied herself with her task.

“That shirt looks a lot better on you than it does on me,” he said, his voice husky.

Unable to stop herself, she looked around, almost blurting out her feelings at the sight of him framed in the doorway. His jeans were slung low over his hips, the belt undone and his broad chest was bare. Her fingers itched to touch, to taste, but look where that had gotten her. “Are you hungry? We didn't get around to dinner last night,” she said, her throat infuriatingly dry.

He slanted her a grin. “We had better things to do.”

She willed herself not to blush, a futile attempt as she felt color rush into her cheeks. “Coffee and croissants will be ready in a few minutes. Then I'll make an omelet.”

He moved closer, dropping a kiss in the sensitive curve between her neck and shoulder. “I'll have a quick shower first. You?”

“In a little while,” she said. “Nate, last night…”

“Was last night,” he said firmly. “No strings, right?”

She could hardly argue with her own rules. “Of course not.”

 

W
HY DID
N
ATE HAVE THE FEELING
it wasn't what she'd wanted him to say? He was usually pretty good at reading people. Part of skilled doctoring was being able to assess a patient's general condition from their movements and demeanor as soon as they walked into the office. But Emma was a mass of contradictions. Impossible to read. One minute she wanted no part of his life, the next she erupted like a volcano in his arms. Which was the real Emma?

Keeping his injured arm clear, he turned the shower on full blast, relishing the cleansing stream. For a man who'd slept on a couch, he felt rested, strong. Better than he had for days. His wrist was improving, he found, as he wiggled his fingers. Soon
he could start squeezing a rubber ball and using a keyboard to increase flexibility.

He grinned. He'd felt flexible enough last night. Seeing Emma in nothing but his shirt skimming her shapely thighs had him ready to test that flexibility again. But she'd looked conflicted. As if she couldn't decide how she felt about last night.

He'd tried to reassure her by saying that nothing had changed between them. Unless…he clicked off the shower and grabbed a towel, winding it around his hips. Unless she'd wanted things to change.

Now there was a thought.

E
MMA SHOULD FEEL PLEASED
with her day. After adding the finishing touches to the menu, she'd delivered the order to the children's charity hosting the afternoon tea for their committee. The response couldn't have been more positive. Next stop was her place to look for Sophie's prescription.

Emma parked outside the house. No hazard warning signs yet, although most of the work would take place at the back. The building felt chilly as she let herself in the front door.

Some of the chill was inside her. Yesterday she'd known who she was, and what she wanted. Last night Nate had awakened feelings and stirred needs she'd thought long banished. Apparently they were only on her side.

Over breakfast he'd been so matter-of-fact she wanted to scream. But she'd made polite conversation as if last night hadn't happened. As if he hadn't possessed both her willing body and her less willing mind.

He'd offered to write Sophie a prescription for her meds to save Emma the trip. “It's on my way,”
she'd said, not wanting favors from him. Not wanting anything, except possibly a repeat of the nirvana she'd found in his arms last night. Not going to happen, she assured herself. The foundations of her existence felt rocky enough as it was.

Sophie's apron hung on a hook in the hallway, the prescription still in the pocket. Tucking the piece of paper into her bag, Emma went into the shell of her kitchen. The contents were stacked in the front room and some of the floorboards were up.

Placing her bag near the wall, Emma looked down, her eyes widening. Under her feet was a brick-lined room that might have been a cellar until access was sealed off. She hadn't known the space existed.

A pile of clothing and what looked like years of debris cluttered the cellar floor. A rickety set of steps led down into the gloom but started well below the kitchen floor level. She shuddered. Confined spaces made her anxious. Even if the steps could hold her, she didn't plan on exploring.

Then she heard the sound.

Mice? Surely not rats? The building was treated regularly against pests. Sophie said she thought the place was haunted. Could she be right?

Intending to get out as fast as possible, Emma hesitated. If someone was in trouble down there, could she walk away? She didn't believe in ghosts. More likely someone's pet was trapped under the cellar floor. Before she could change her mind, she groped
with her feet for the steps, testing them before releasing her grip on the edge of the hole and climbing down.

Actually, climbing was a stretch. The reality was more of a controlled fall. The cellar was deeper than it looked from above, and by the time her feet touched solid ground, her breath was pumping. She wiped her clammy hands on her shirt. From the look of the splintered steps, they weren't good for a return climb.

Panic threatened until she looked at the patch of light above. She was safe. She could pile up some of the junk to help her get out. And Nate knew where she was. If she didn't show up at his home, he'd come looking. The thought of him calmed her.

“Is anyone down here?” she called, hearing her voice tremble

What she'd taken for a pile of rags in the corner moved slightly. She dropped to her knees. “Doug? Oh, God, what happened?”

He must have fallen or collapsed into the cellar, landing on his back, the debris breaking his fall. She shook him gently then tapped his cheeks. “Doug, can you hear me?”

No response. Damn. She couldn't call for an ambulance because her phone was in the kitchen above, well out of reach. Helplessness gripped her. She fought it. She wasn't four years old anymore.

Focus. Doug needs help. Think about him, not yourself.

How could she, when she was as trapped as he was? The urge to curl up into a shivering ball alarmed her. Blackness ringed her vision. She was spinning off into a nightmare she couldn't make go away.

A dream of being trapped underground had haunted her for years. Now she was living the fear. Reason threatened to desert her.

No.
She couldn't give in. Doug's life might depend on her ability to function. She had to keep a grip. What would Nate do?

Slowly, the first-aid lessons she'd taken years ago started to come back to her. Doug was already lying on his back. When she checked, she could find no sign of broken bones. Had he fallen in or collapsed down here?

Doesn't matter. Make sure he can breathe.

With two fingers she lifted his chin and pushed down on his forehead with her other hand. She couldn't see his chest move, and when she placed her ear next to his mouth and nose, she felt no breath on her cheek.

OhGodohGodohGod.

“Emma!”

Dazedly she looked up. Had she conjured Nate up out of fear and desperation? He couldn't possibly be here. But he was, crouched at the edge of the hole above her head. Doug must have left the back door
unlocked when he arrived, and been checking things out when he fell. None of that explained what Nate was doing here.

“Nate, it's Doug. He's unconscious and not breathing.”

He must have heard the panic in her voice. “It's going to be all right. Did you see him collapse?”

“No, but he moved slightly when I climbed down. His breathing must have only just stopped.”

“Here's what I want you to do.”

“Can't you help him?” Again, she cursed the childlike voice that had somehow replaced her own.

“I can't get down to you with only one hand. You can do this, sweetheart.”

Wonderful, calm voice. Some of her panic ebbed.
Sweetheart? Mustn't think about that now.
“We're in good hands,” she said to the unconscious builder, then raised her voice. “What…what do I do?”

“Keep Doug's chin lifted and head tilted. Pinch his nose closed and cover his mouth with yours. Give him two slow, full breaths.”

Her breaths gasped out, sounding loud to her own ears. “That's good,” Nate said in the same steady tone. “Your breath is probably high in CO
₂
. That'll start his chemoreceptors working faster.”

His tone suggested that was a positive thing. At his command, she gave two more breaths. “He's still not breathing.”

“Okay, peel back his eyelid and tell me what you see.”

“His pupil…it's contracted.”

“Good, that's good. Now find the sternum, the breastbone, right between the nipples. You need to be over the lower part of the sternum. You don't want to bruise the liver or damage a rib.”

OhGodohGod.
“I'm there,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm.

As Nate leaned down to check her position, his shadow darkened the space, making fear claw at her throat.
Not now. There isn't time.
She made herself concentrate on Nate's voice.

“Perfect. Make a tightly clenched fist and thump as hard as you can on the sternum from about a hand span away, then pull your hand clear.”

“I wish you were doing this.” With a quick prayer, she followed his orders and was stunned by the instant reaction. “He's started breathing. I can't believe it, he's actually breathing.”

Nate must have heard Doug cough. “We call that a precordial thump. Gets the heart going again six times out of ten.”

The walls felt as if they were pressing in on her.
Breathe. Breathe.
Was she telling herself or Doug? “What next?”

“I've called an ambulance. Keep an eye on Doug and tell me if he stops breathing again.”

The contractor gave a low groan. “I think he's coming around.”

“That's normal, too. He'll be on his way to the hospital soon.”

She relayed Nate's comment. Doug nodded. He looked dazed and complained of being cold. “Better for your heart,” Nate said, picking up on the question.

“Was…looking around…down here. Felt…massive pain…” Doug lifted a shaky hand to indicate his heart. Hardly aware of what she was saying, she began to talk about his discovery of the cellar and what it might be used for. Anything to keep him calm.

After what seemed like an age, Nate disappeared from sight. Panic assailed her again until she heard him talking to what must be the paramedics. The jargon was lost on her but it didn't matter. A uniformed man was lowering a ladder and jumping into the space to take over Doug's care. “You okay?” he asked as he passed her. “You're very pale.”

“I don't like dark spaces. I'll be fine.”

As she started to climb, Nate reached out his good hand to her. “Can you manage the ladder?”

“A lot easier than staying down here.” Nate's grip felt strong as he helped her back into the light. When her legs threatened to give out, he hooked his arm around her. “You're in the wrong profession.”

When her shaken look met his, he added, “Don't
take that the wrong way. I simply meant you performed as well as any med student I've ever seen.”

For a minute, she'd thought…had this encounter almost blinded her to the gulf between them? But…
sweetheart?
“I feel dizzy,” she said, putting a hand to her eyes.

He steered her to a substantial steel toolbox she hadn't noticed when she arrived. It must be Doug's. Her legs folded and she sat, listening to the activity in the cellar. “Will Doug be all right?” she asked when she could trust her voice again.

“In the hospital he'll be checked for any arterial blockages, treated with blood thinners or beta blockers, whatever he needs. But yes, his prognosis is excellent, thanks to you.”

He blurred in her gaze. “I just did what you told me.”

“That precordial thump is only taught to medical professionals, not in first-aid courses,” he pointed out. “You performed like an expert.”

“But I felt so helpless.”

He went to cross his arms, remembered he couldn't, and braced his left hand on his hip. “Now you know.”

“Know what?” Realization flooded through her. “This is what it's like for you, isn't it? For my parents and my brother. Grace. All of you. Dealing with life and death on a daily basis.”

He nodded, his eyes bright. “The fear that you won't be able to help is always there.”

“How do you stand the uncertainty?”

“You never stop learning,” he said. “About your patients and about yourself. It's the only thing keeping the fear at bay.”

Could her judgment be so flawed? How could she not have seen what they went through, every day, Nate, her parents and their parents? The worst she had to handle was a botched recipe or a faulty ingredient.

He read her so easily. “Now don't start in on yourself. Saving a life is possibly the most extraordinary experience a person can have, only matched by bringing a new life into the world. But there are other levels of helping and caring, and they're all valuable. This isn't a competition.”

How could he think so? She felt like the last runner in an incredible race, where trying her hardest would never be enough.

He offered her his hand. “You're exhausted. We'll take a cab home. You're in no shape to drive.”

“But the rental car…”

“Sophie can bring it back tomorrow if she's feeling better,” he suggested.

“I found her prescription. She needs her medication.”

“We'll have the cab stop by a pharmacy and get
the script filled, then drop it off to her on the way home.”

Another question drove through her exhaustion. “Nate, what are you doing here?”

“Checking on you.”

Before she could ask what he meant, the paramedics lowered a stretcher into the cellar. Shortly after, they lifted Doug out. The builder looked haggard, but smiled as he was carried past Emma. “Thanks,” he murmured. “You, too, Doc. Next time I go exploring, I'll take one of you with me.”

“I'm glad we were able to help,” she said, feeling her heart swell.

Why was Nate still holding her hand? “Don't you want to go with him, make sure he's all right?”

“He's in great hands, and the hospital will contact his family. He'll have all the help he needs,” he said. “You're my priority.”

Had anyone ever said that to her before? If so, she couldn't remember when. Without warning, bile rose in her throat. Nate saw the color leave her face and got her to her feet, supporting her to the bathroom, where she emptied her stomach in a hideous rush. Then he sat her on the edge of the bath and sponged her face with a damp washcloth. “I'm s-sorry,” she said through chattering teeth.

“It's only reaction,” he assured her. “You held together when it counted.”

Amazed that he didn't find her weakness a turnoff,
she dragged in a few breaths to calm herself. She still didn't know why Nate was really here. Checking on her, he'd said. Because he thought she needed help, or because he cared about her? He'd agreed not to interfere without asking her first, so how was she to read this?

With her nerves wire-taut and her legs barely holding her up, the time wasn't right for puzzles. And he was a puzzle. The longer she knew him, the less she understood him. Sophie believed male and female brains were differently wired. Being around Nate seemed to bolster the argument. Or maybe he was only being Nate.

He stood beside her as if ready to catch her if she fell. There was comfort in that, too. “Time to go home?” he asked.

She nodded, so eager to get out of there that it took a second to realize she did think of his place as home. Later she would examine what that meant. After the fear of being in the cellar, she craved space and light. The cab to take her to Nate's house couldn't get there quickly enough.

 

W
HEN SHE FOUND OUT WHAT HE'D
done, Emma was going to be furious, Nate thought. But he'd wanted her family to know she'd saved a man's life today. They were ready enough to criticize her. Time they cheered her heroism.