enough about me to last a lifetime. Why don’t we go into the hospital, see if we can rustle up a transfer or something? Maybe over to Buena Vista. The private hospitals always have much better cantinas.”
“Sounds good to me.” Saoirse knew when to stop digging. She had her own full-to-bursting cupboard of secrets so there was no point in poking around someone else’s. She slurped down her coffee in the same quick style as Santi, only to have her body reel from the effects. “For the love of Peter, Paul and Mary!”
Santi wasn’t the only strong, dark thing in town.
“What are you trying to do to me?” She glared at him while stuffing the paper cup into the garbage can. “Put hairs on my chest or something?”
Santi threw back his head and laughed. A rich, warm laugh that never failed to make her smile. Unexpectedly he reached out and ran a finger along her jawline, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Dulzera, believe me...” Despite the bright midday sunshine, Santi’s voice went all tropical-nights sultry on her, sending little shivers down her spine as their eyes connected. “There isn’t a single thing I would change about you.”
His words set her insides jigging about as if she’d just won the lottery. The last thing she’d felt since her fiancé had left her at the altar had been feminine, but the surge of I-am-woman Santi’s touch unleashed? Far too easy to let rip and roar.
And then he winked, the warm light burning bright in his eyes, giving Saoirse another unexpected shot of pleasure. Unwitting or not, she liked being the one who’d turned that frown of his into a smile. It was one worth waiting for. If she didn’t watch it... She pulled back and broke eye contact, tugging her fingers through the short pixie cut she was still getting used to as she did...
She’d just have to watch it.
“C’mon, slowpoke. Let’s go get that transfer.”
* * *
“High five!”
“What for?” Saoirse asked, pulling a fresh sheet onto the gurney for the next crew.
“One amazing nightclubber save—” Santi counted them off on his fingers “—even though you had to go down into the drain ditch and you stink to high heaven.” He pinched his nose then returned to his counting. “Two beach rescues, a broken arm splinted expertly by myself, of course, three hospital transfers and a head wound from a machete beautifully sutured by your good self. That’s what I call a good day with ALSA!”
Santi gave the inside of the ambulance door a final squirt of disinfectant and swipe of a blue paper towel before standing back to admire their handiwork.
“Who’s Alsa?” Saoirse climbed out of the back of the cab, having finished her restock, and joined him in the ambulance appreciation stance. Crossed arms, legs slightly apart, hips pushed slightly forward to allow for a bit of backward-leaning and head-nodding.
“Number 23, ding-a-ling! Haven’t you learned anything from your wise mentor? Advanced Life Support Ambulance.” He gave her a joshing elbow in the ribs. “That’s what they’re called, Little Miss Shamrock.”
“Ah, stick a four-leaf clover in it, would you? Joe was old school—he used all his big-boy words. No ALSA this or EMT that,” she gibed, obviously covering for the fact she’d been driving Ambulance 23 for two and a half months now and didn’t know the acronym. She quickly pointed a wagging index finger at him. “And the four-leaf clover thing, by the way, is not something all Irish people say. It’s a special saying for the likes of lippy Latinos who look a lot like you.”
* * *
Saoirse swatted his arm kid-sister-style, her hand bouncing off a biceps Santi managed to flex just in the nick of time.
He grinned as she feigned breaking her hand. So she made him want to show off a little. So what? Saoirse had never shown a flicker of interest in him and it kept things...workable.
“There are so many acronyms to learn in this fair nation of yours. I’ll never get my head round them. Not that—” She cut herself short, the quick flick of her eyes making it clear Santi was the last person she was going to use as a confessor.
“Not that you call them the same thing in Ireland?” He dodged the conversational bullet for her.
“Beats me.” She widened her bright blue eyes. “I just called them ambulances. I wasn’t on them at ho—in Ireland,” she corrected herself.
Interesting. Times two.
“I’m guessing you didn’t learn to be such a hotshot paramedic overnight.” A compliment never hurt when extracting information. “Did you say it was Pediatrics you were in?”
He knew damn well it wasn’t, but she’d heard his story...time for a bit of quid pro quo and all that.
“NICU,” she bit out, grabbing the roll of paper towel from him, before executing a brisk about-face and marching off to the supplies room.
Santi watched her trim, jumpsuit-clad figure stomp off, heard a couple of locker doors slam once she’d disappeared around the corner and, if he wasn’t mistaken, some grouchy muttering.
It appeared he wasn’t the only one with sore spots. Then again, who didn’t hit their thirties without a bit of baggage? He’d wrestled her age out of her earlier in the day when she’d complained about having to show ID every time she wanted a drink. A baby-faced thirty to his more “seasoned” thirty-three.
He huffed out a sigh. The last few years had most definitely added to the steamer trunks of issues he’d been filing away since the ripe age of thirteen. Not as early as some, but losing your parents and nearly losing one of your brothers when all the kids around you were worried about acne and homework was tough.
Working extensively in war zones gave stark reminders that bad things happened everywhere. He understood now that his family hadn’t been singled out. They hadn’t been targeted for having too much, being too happy or living the American dream. They had just been the hapless victims of a gang initiation meant to be carried out in a different bodega. So-called “friendly fire.” It had been sheer devastation at the time. Still was on some days. But it could have happened to anyone.
Even so, he didn’t like seeing Saoirse the sad side of heated up. She suited firecracker to a T...but he felt certain something in her was more bereaved than belligerent.
“Hey,” he called out when she reappeared. “You up for a margarita at Ron’s?”
She considered him for a moment, visibly trying to detect if there was an agenda attached to the invitation, her lips curling in and out of her mouth in a move he was fairly certain wasn’t designed to turn him on, but did. He shifted. Maybe the whole work buddies just having a drink thing was a bit precipitous.
“Yeah. Why not?” she answered, just as he was about to withdraw the invitation. “I just need to pop in and see Amanda for a minute.” She tipped her head toward the main hospital building, hands gingerly holding her backpack as if it were made of glass.
“Sure.” He easily matched the quick pace she was setting, having the advantage of longer legs. “I’ll come with you and we can shoot off from there. You cool with riding on the back of a bike? I have a spare
