The Spanish Duke's Holiday Proposal. Robin Gianna
“I’ll place it under his wrist when you’re done.”
A quick nod as he finished up with the magazine, then suddenly lifted his eyes to hers. The quick grin he sent, along with a smile in that brown gaze, took her totally by surprise, and for some ridiculous reason made her heart beat little harder. Apparently helping him had taken her off his list of highly irritating things. For the moment, at least.
“I’m sorry, I should know, but what’s your name?” she heard herself ask, suddenly needing to know.
“Mateo Alves. This is John, and his dog, Benny, ran in here after the collapse, which is why John came down here in the first place. He’s a fast one for a shorty dog, but I’ll find him. And I already know you’re Miranda Davenport. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, except you shouldn’t have come in here to begin with.”
“Too bad. There’s nothing falling now, so we’re probably safe.” She knew she sounded a little breathless, which was probably due to the silt in the air and not at all to the fact that she’d fantasized about the über-handsome EMT more than once in the ER. During those times, they’d all been busy treating patients, so there hadn’t been time to spend more than a brief moment staring at him, and now wasn’t a good time either. Except she found that, for what felt like a long moment of connection between them, she was staring at him anyway.
“Yeah, well, that could change in one second.”
She glanced up, gulping at that reality. To cover her worries, she threw out a tart response. “Aren’t you going to admit that both of us working on John’s arm has been faster than you doing it alone, and better for him?”
“Maybe.” Another quick flash of teeth.
“I’m going to put the book under his forearm now.”
“Wait. I want to cover the wound better first.”
Her rapt attention on his handsome features was interrupted when he frowned and paused in his work on the wrist splint. She looked down and saw that he’d used every scrap of fabric from his torn shirt.
“Give me your scarf.”
“Oh. That’s a good idea,” she said, wishing she’d thought of it. She slipped it from her neck and handed it to him. “And I can cut the bottoms off my pants, too, if we need them.”
That flash of grin. “What do you think, John? How often do you have a woman offering to rip her clothes off for you?”
“Not often enough.” A weak smile accompanied his words, then disappeared again. “My dog. My Benny. I haven’t heard him bark.”
“Probably too scared to bark. But I have a surefire way to call dogs—you’ll see. Right now, though, we have to get you out of here without jostling your arm any more than necessary. Dr. Davenport?”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you up on the offer of your pants. Don’t worry, I won’t cut any above your knees.” That sexy smile again. “But that fabric is a lot better than my jeans to finish securing the splint, since I’m going to use your scarf as a sling to keep it still.”
“That makes sense.” Of course he’d need a sling, and she thrashed herself that it hadn’t occurred to her. Thank God none of her siblings or father could see her. She’d spent the last thirteen years trying to make them proud of her, to earn their respect, and right now she felt totally inept.
She reached for the knife and pushed the point into the knit material. It went in easily, even as she inwardly cringed at the thought of accidentally jabbing herself in her own calf. And being that kind of wimp proved even more that Mateo was absolutely right—he was definitely better at this field medicine stuff than she was, and she vowed to study it again, maybe even go on some runs with the EMTs to refresh her skills.
But not with Mateo Alves. She’d find someone whose sexy face and body wouldn’t distract her from her training mission.
“Careful. Don’t cut yourself.”
“I know how to use a knife.”
“Do you cut clothes off yourself on a regular basis? Pretty sure that’s harder than cutting a sandwich.”
“Funny.” She struggled to move the knife down through the pants leg without gouging herself in the process, and as she did so heard an impatient sound come from Mateo.
“Let me.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“Yeah? Well, every second is time John isn’t at the hospital for pain meds and treatment, and we’re all still down here.”
“There hasn’t been any debris for a while. Right?” She paused in her cutting to look up at the dark tunnel ceiling again, wishing he’d stop pointing out the possibility of impending collapse.
A snorting humph was his only response as he tugged the knife from her hand and took over, getting it through the cloth in mere seconds, then hacking it off from around her knee before tearing it into strips. For some reason, having the blade so close to her skin didn’t worry her when it was Mateo doing the cutting. Maybe it was because the touch of his fingers on her skin as he moved them down her leg distracted her from being scared. “Rule number one is to get the hell out of any collapsed building ASAP. Which you’re going to do right now, to get a crew down here with a stretcher. I’m surprised someone hasn’t already come in here.”
“Okay.” She knew he was right, that trying to move John, even with his injury splinted and in a sling, would be painful and dangerous if he had to try to walk, especially after all the blood he’d lost. “I’ll be right back.”
“Back?” His focus was on finishing tying the last strip over the book then fashioning a sling from her scarf, but his scowl was most definitely directly at her. “Don’t be stupid. Just tell them where we are.”
And again he was right. Why she was feeling this weird need to actually see both of them make it out, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t needed here, and might well be needed at the hospital. “Okay,” she repeated as she stood, ridiculously feeling a need to brush some of the powdery dirt from her coat. “Since I definitely am not stupid, I’ll see you at—”
“Anybody in here?”
Miranda sagged in relief at the voices and the sight of two bobbing flashlights.
“Back here! About thirty feet. Bring a stretcher,” Mateo called. “Just one victim. No access to the subway platform. He came in because he was trying to get his dog out.”
“Got a stretcher right outside.” In mere moments two medics were there, Mateo helping them get John settled on the stretcher as he shared details of the patient’s condition and treatment. They wore full gear—reflective coats, hard hats, gloves, and various tools dangled from their belts. Which made Miranda wonder, for the first time, why Mateo was in street clothes. Or, actually, at that moment, very few clothes, with his shirt destroyed and his coat still off, and she found herself staring at his wide, muscled chest and broad shoulders.
“Are you off duty?” she asked.
“Yes. I was on my way to the main collapse when I saw John run in after Benny, then get hit by a chunk of concrete.”
“My little dog...” The two men picked up the stretcher, ready to carry him out, and John’s words were bitten off as he moaned.
“You get out of here too, Mateo,” one of the rescuers said. “You’re not equipped. I’ll send some guys in to check for anyone else, just in case, but the good news is that it looks like a structural collapse, nothing else. We’ve got plenty of crew on the scene and if no one else is in here, that means everyone’s out and clear both places. So you can go on home.”
“I have make sure a certain stubborn doctor gets to the hospital first.”
“Tough job you have,”