AMBROSE
“Ican’t thank you enough,” Catalina says, smiling broadly at me four days later.
I shrug, standing in the driveway of her grandmother’s house. “No worries. I’m glad we could make this work.”
“You should at least let me reimburse you for the alternator.”
“Nope,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “It was my pleasure and an easy fix.”
I reconsidered my original plan the night after the auction, ordering an alternator for Catalina’s Corolla. Though she had to make do for a couple of days, carpooling with the County Recorder, who also commutes from Hollister to Ophir City, I rush-ordered the part so that I could fix it after my forty-eight-hour shift, which began bright and early Monday morning.
Gran appears on the porch, calling toward me, “Young man, can you stay for dinner tonight?”
Catalina’s eyebrows lift, and I eye her face, trying to read her reaction. A glimmer of a smile teases her lips. “You’re more than welcome if you’re okay with beef stew and homemade bread?”
“Is that a trick question or something?” I ask, grinning. My stomach lurches just thinking about the delectable spread. But what really pulls me in? The coziness of a shared meal in a space that could feel like family.
“And you can see all the flowers you’ve been decorating our house with,” Catalina adds, cheeks glowing.
“That sounds like—” The warmth of possibility flares in my chest … and then my pager shrieks.
I frown. I’m not typically on call at the fire station, though as a trained paramedic, they bring me in for major emergencies. Dispatch follows. “Attention all units. Multi-vehicle accident involving a semi with injuries. Highway four eighty-eight, approximately five miles past the town line. Possible entrapments. Roadway blocked. Fluids on the road. Request law enforcement and heavy rescue.”
My gut tightens, adrenaline pumping.
A flicker of fear flashes across Catalina’s face. The kind that whispers I might not come back. “Do you have to go?”
I nod firmly, and the fear grows, flaming in her eyes like a spark to dry wood. Bobbing my head between her and her grandma, I excuse, “Sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check.”
Catalina licks her bottom lip. “Sounds dangerous.” A tremor hovers in her voice, both warming my chest and filling me with dread.
“Comes with the job. I’ll be fine.”
She looks skeptical, eyes fluttering to the side. Her concern warms my chest, but the panic in her eyes also chills me. If this kind of thing shakes her to the core … Well, I don’t know how that would bode for getting into a deeper relationship.
“Be careful,” she calls after me breathlessly as I head for my vehicle.
“Always, Sparky.”
“And please … just promise me you’ll text when you’re safe,” she blurts, her voice cracking before she shuts it down.
“You’ll be my first text,” I answer with a confident wink.
As I race towards the station, I gear myself up for total focus.
This is it. My chance to prove I’m not just a pretty face who lucked into the badge.
I have to put Catalina, her grandmother’s invitation, all of it out of my mind to be as present as possible. Though her lingering look of worry knots my stomach, hinting at a far bigger obstacle than my fame could ever be. Her fear might be the one thing I can’t fight off with a grin or strong arms.
At the station, we organize and get briefed before we grab our equipment and gear. Once I’m in the thick of the smoke and chaos, adrenaline takes over. Sheriff’s deputies swarm the scene. So do firefighters, working to quell the blaze.
Chief Kurt, soot-faced and breathing hard through his self-contained breathing apparatus runs in our direction. Nodding towards the semi, he says, “Driver’s trapped inside. We’ll keep the fire suppressed while you work on extrication.”
I scan the overturned semi, its ominous circular chrome trailer, and the cars piled around it through my face shield. “That’s a liquid fertilizer truck.”
“We’ll buy you as much time as we can, but listen for my order to pull back. If the diesel and ammonium nitrate mix. Kaboom.”
I nod, stomach tightening. The crew and I race for our truck and the tools we’ll need. We set up the generator and spreader, and then I make contact with the driver through his shattered window. His white-bearded face pulses with panic, dazed and incoherent.
