the file under her arm again to take his hand. Clumsily. “I’m Doxtator … Samantha. I’m Samantha Doxtator.”
“Nice to meet you.” He was polite and reserved.
Good. Maybe he wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d originally thought.
Say something. You’re just staring at him.
“Are we going to get started?” he asked, looking at her like she’d lost her mind.
Samantha cleared her throat. “Sorry, it’s been a crazy day.”
George nodded. “I take it you’re one of the mentors I’m assigned to work with?”
“Yes, I’m your mentor. Your only mentor.”
He looked around. “How come the others have two mentors?”
“You have more experience.” Samantha cleared her throat and opened his file. “So we’re going to be working together over the course of eight weeks while you get your advanced care paramedic training. Of course, with a pilot license, in less time you could get your critical care training—”
“I’m not interested.” Suddenly the sparkle was gone from his eyes and the smile wiped away.
“Why not? You have a pilot—”
“I’m not interested. I’m here to work in an ambulance.” He crossed his arms and Samantha got the hint not to push him any further.
“Okay. That’s fine.” Samantha pulled out some papers. “Just read these release waivers through, fill them out and we’ll hit the road for your first day.”
George nodded and she handed him the papers and a pen. He took a seat at a nearby table and got straight to work on filling out the forms. Samantha moved away to give him some privacy.
As she went to get a cup of coffee she snuck a glance at him.
She wondered what made a pilot with so much air time give up flying. He had more air time than she did and she couldn’t even imagine giving up flying.
So what drove him to ground himself, as it were?
As if he knew she was watching him, he looked up and their gazes locked across the room. His eyes were intense and pinned her to the spot.
She turned away quickly, pretending to ignore him, only she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her neck. Like his eyes had leapt from his body and were drilling through her flesh. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she wished her hair wasn’t pulled back in a ponytail. Maybe then her long hair would hide the inevitable blush she knew was creeping up her neck into her cheeks.
Her late husband Cameron had thought her blushing was cute. It was something she couldn’t control and she thought it was damn annoying. Control and order was everything to her.
When she glanced at him again, he had gone to his paperwork. He was so serious and focused. She respected it.
She had to get a grip on herself. She was his mentor, his teacher. It was her job to take him out and get a medic who was used to flying used to paramedic work in an ambulance instead.
Maybe a few times jostling in the back of an ambulance would change his tune.
Where he was from there weren’t many roads. Only airplanes and snowmobiles or ATVs, apparently, if you wanted to get from town to town. Not like here.
She grinned a secret smile to herself and set her coffee cup down.
She’d have to test out his driving abilities at some point. Whether he could handle an ambulance or not would determine his future being a rig driver, and maybe if he didn’t like it he would switch to air.
Not that she was going to sabotage him, but she was positive that someone not used to traffic would not enjoying driving an ambulance. It was only a matter of time before he was in the air again.
“Look alive, Atavik!”
“What?” George asked as he glanced up at Samantha. “What did you say?”
He was having a hard time focusing. He wasn’t expecting his mentor to be one foxy-looking lady.
Foxy, George? Really? He fought the urge to groan in frustration with himself.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he’d arrived at the Health Land and Air training base in London, Ontario. It was sort of a mixer and meet-your-mentor kind of affair and then down to work. The other mentors were men. Big, beefy guys, and that’s who George had been expecting to be his mentor.
He hadn’t expected a gorgeous woman like Samantha Doxtator.
The idea of being here was to get away from women. Focus on his career, be the best paramedic he could be. Bring back the joy to his job by trying something new and different. He didn’t want any distractions from that.
Distractions like this vixen.
She was tall, slim, but with curves in all the right places. George didn’t like them thin as rails. It took all his willpower not to cock his head and check her out in her tight paramedic uniform.
Her ebony hair shone with purple undertones and was pulled back in a high ponytail, and she had olive-colored skin and almond-shaped eyes, which were the bluest he’d ever seen.
She was graceful, poised and also had a rod rammed up her backside.
Why was he always attracted to type-A women?
It was his curse.
Maybe because he’d grown up with so many type-A women. His sisters were workaholics, though Mentlana straddled types A and B. She was more type A when it came to his nephew Charlie’s schedule.
No one messed with nap time.
His girlfriend in college had been a total type A and underneath that coiled, rigid exterior had been hot, explosive passion.
Too bad she’d decided that career and life in Toronto was more important to her than him.
Oh, well. He hadn’t been too crushed when it had ended. It had been his last girlfriend who had crushed him. The woman he’d planned to marry. The woman who’d torn his heart in half, leaving his soul as battered and bruised as the outside of him was.
He wouldn’t think of Cheryl. He wouldn’t think of the one woman he ever thought of settling down with. The woman who was set to become his air paramedic partner once Ambrose moved away.
Thinking about Cheryl just reminded him why he didn’t fly any longer and why he’d sworn off women and relationships completely. And he especially didn’t want a relationship with another paramedic. The last time he’d done that, it hadn’t worked out well at all.
“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Iqaluit Centre. This is Medic Air 1254. We have engine failure. I repeat, engine failure. We are making a forced landing twenty kilometers north. Four thousand feet descending, heading one-eighty.”
Beads
