on her calendar. She glanced down at the phone’s screen and swore.
Pursing her lips, she opened tomorrow’s calendar and her fingers punched a new event into the screen.
Only moments after adding Clark to the event, it disappeared. Only to reappear on the day of the wedding—with her as the recipient. She didn’t even have time to scream before a text appeared.
“She’s not my mom and stop calling me Anh-Bon!”
Chapter 7
Emmitt strolled through the leaded glass doors of Tanner and Tanner Family Practice, and the cool air chilled the sweat beaded on his forehead.
He wasn’t sure whether it was walking ten blocks when the thermometer registered in the high eighties, with matching humidity, that had his chest spasming as if he was having a heart attack or if it was simply his body’s reaction to the pain slicing through his head.
Bottom line, Emmitt needed a comfortable place out of the direct sun to sit—preferably with AC—before he embarrassed himself on the main strip in town.
Christ. What would his climbing friends say if they saw him now?
Two years ago, he’d climbed Everest with nothing but a rucksack, his camera bag, and ten days at base camp. Today, he’d made it a whole half a mile before oxygen deprivation made it feel as if his chest was about to explode.
If it exploded in Gray’s clinic, Emmitt was SOL and would likely spend the next six weeks playing invalid on his couch. Then another scenario came to mind, one involving a sexy nurse-not-nurse who was—lucky him—into cheeky cut lace and possessed the softest hands he’d ever had the pleasure of being shoved with.
Would you look at that. Emmitt was suddenly all smiles. Teasing her last night had been fun. Better than fun, amusing. It was also one hell of a diversion from his other problems. Now, though, he needed to focus, get back into fighting shape. At least appear as if he wouldn’t buckle under the force of a gentle summer’s breeze.
Emmitt had one goal here: Convince Gray to clear him so he could get back to work.
Because, while Gray didn’t approve of doctors who fudged on medical forms, Carmen made it clear that she wasn’t going to risk sending an injured journalist on any kind of assignment, even the editorial variety—which was total bullshit—until a doctor cleared him. Neither his charm nor his Fear Nothing style of journalism was going to help him this time.
Emmitt had searched for a loophole that would allow him to keep working, without any luck. Carmen seemed fine being down one—take any assignment no matter how insane—journalist, and Emmitt was slowly going nuts being forced to sit stationary while stories were breaking somewhere in the world.
Maybe it was the thrill-seeker in him, or maybe it was that ten-year-old boy who needed answers to impossible questions, but photojournalism was in his blood. He didn’t want to be so pretentious as to say it was his calling, but no matter how difficult the topic or how dangerous the landscape, something inside him refused to let it go.
Everyone deserved to have their story told. Emmitt sought out stories from the silenced, the ignored, and the so completely marginalized the rest of humanity was unaware of their struggles.
There wasn’t enough time in the world to tell every person’s story, but Emmitt was committed to shining the light on as many as possible. So every day he rode the bench over a stupid doctor’s note was another missed opportunity to share someone’s story.
There was no way Gray would clear Emmitt for work if he knew the extent of the accident and injuries. His co-parent wasn’t the kind of guy who could be bribed, bought, or charmed into looking the other way. Something that shouldn’t piss off Emmitt the way it did.
When it came to his work, Emmitt had implemented his own strict code of ethics—and had never wavered. Didn’t mean he was above misleading or manipulating a situation if it kept him from the truth. Unfortunately, the good doctor had but one kryptonite—and she was off limits.
Emmitt would bathe in BBQ chip dust and play punch-tag with a rabid grizzly before ever bringing Paisley into this. Which left him with just one option. He wasn’t particularly proud of his game plan, but he was desperate. And desperate men did desperate things. Like lie to a man who could remove Emmitt’s kidney while he slept.
Dragging in a few deep breaths, Emmitt wiped his brow and entered the waiting room of the clinic. The place was hopping with patients, ringing phones, and intercom pages. Behind the table sat Rosalie, who ran the front office with the efficiency of an air traffic controller.
Emmitt didn’t know which was older, the town of Rome or Rosalie Kowalski. As far as he knew, she had been the office manager since before Dr. Tanner Senior hung out his shield sometime in the sixties.
Most people had assumed that when Gray graduated from med school he would come back to Rome and join the family practice. Anyone who knew Gray, like really knew him, would explain he was the kind of guy who liked to earn his accolades. Who always took the right path, even when it was the hardest.
Emmitt respected that. Respected him even more when, after his grandfather had a stroke, Gray gave up a lofty position in Boston to help his father with the practice until he could find another partner.
Then he’d met Michelle and decided Rome was where he wanted to be after all. Love was funny that way.
“Well, look who’s here,” Rosalie said, managing two phones at once. At first glance, the silver bun and perpetually nose-perched glasses brought to mind a plumper Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts. But while Rosalie had played Mrs. Claus in every Rome Christmas parade since the beginning of time, she was also the leader of Grannie Pack, a motorcycle club for people fifty-five and older. “Our own hometown hero.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I bet those women you pulled from the fire would disagree.” Rosalie placed a pudgy hand to her chest. “Putting their lives before your own. We couldn’t be prouder.”
Emmitt itched the back of his neck. “The women?”
“Yes, the group of Future Female Engineers of the World who were visiting the plant the day of the explosion. I heard you saved them all in one fell swoop.”
Emmitt cringed. The only way to keep his condition quiet was to say as little as possible. But instead of slowing the gossip, people took his silence as permission to fill in whatever holes were missing from his story.
In small town speak, people were flat-out lying.
“The lengths I’ll go through to get a pretty lady’s number.” The only numbers he’d received were from his doctor. The number of ribs fractured. Number of shrapnel pieces extracted. The number of days he’d been unresponsive. The number of months it would take to recover.
And the number of ways he was damned lucky to still be alive. Twenty-two women, eleven men, and
