NHC on his own.
Not that it seemed to be getting her anywhere. She was tired and not at her best. “Why don’t we table this for the night?” she suggested.
He was more than happy to accommodate her. “Fine with me. I’d rather talk about you, anyway.”
They weren’t going that route, either. “And I would rather go to bed.” No sooner were they uttered than her words came back to her. One second before her cheeks turned an electrifying shade of pink, bordering on red.
“I mean my bed.” That still sounded like an invitation, she thought, embarrassed. “Alone. To sleep,” she added with an almost desperate note in her voice.
Laughing, he took pity on her and let her off the hook. “Relax, Bethany. I didn’t take that to be an invitation.”
She was relieved, and yet there was a small part—a very small part, she qualified—that wasn’t so relieved. That was insulted.
Memories of being the butt of everyone’s jokes in elementary school and junior high came rushing back to her with such a force, they all but stole her breath.
Was he being insulting? After kissing her? Or maybe because he’d kissed her.
“Why not?” she demanded. “Do you find me that unattractive?”
Seemingly bemused, he looked at her. “Do you even own a mirror?” he asked. “Because if you do, I suggest you look into it more often. If anyone could pull me out of my workaholic state, it would be you—” he paused “—as long as you promised not to launch into another debate in the middle of a heated embrace.”
Flustered, yet at the same time warmly pleased, Bethany was at a loss as to what to say. She didn’t want to encourage him, and yet, if she were being totally honest with herself, she didn’t want to completely discourage him, either.
The upshot was, she didn’t know what to say in response. She had no practice here, no experience to draw on. For her, flirtation, or whatever this was, constituted uncharted waters.
And then he came to her rescue. “I think we should call it a night.”
She grasped the excuse with both hands. “Yes, so do I.”
He smiled, pretending not to notice how relieved she looked. “We agree on something. That’s a good sign. Maybe I’ll bring you around yet.”
She’d been so intent these past few days on getting him to change his mind and thinking of him as being incredibly stubborn, it had never occurred to her that he might be trying to change her mind, as well. This put everything in a slightly different light. Made the verbal tennis game a little trickier.
“Don’t count on it,” she told him.
“Counting” on it wouldn’t have been the way he would have put it. Still, one thing was certain. His outlook. “Oh, but I’m an optimist, remember?”
How could he hem her in so effectively when the words were of her own choosing? “I—”
Whatever she was about to say was cut short by the sound of squealing brakes and the screech of tires. A bone-jarring crash followed, as the sound of metal twisting and entangling itself about the obstacle it had just disastrously met echoed through the coffee shop.
Peter was on his feet instantly, forgetting his overcoat behind him.
Stunned, Bethany’s mouth dropped open as she watched him fly out the front door. She felt the blast of cold air from the open door.
“Peter, wait,” she called. “You forgot your coat.”
But the door was already shutting, separating them. Leaving her inside the warm shop while he braved the cold without any regard for himself.
Hastily throwing on her own coat, she grabbed his and hurried out the door.
The cold threw its skeletal arms around her, locking her in a frigid embrace. As the warmth of the shop swiftly faded, Bethany initially had trouble focusing.
And then she saw the accident.
She didn’t have far to look. The car she’d heard screeching had crashed into a utility pole so hard, two-thirds of it had folded up into itself, forming a grotesque metal accordion. Luckily for the driver, his car had spun around and it was the rear of the vehicle that was compressed.
Had it been the front, there was no way the teenager would have survived the impact.
By the time she reached Peter, he had managed to pull the teenager free of the wreckage.
The windshield had shattered, as had one of the side windows. His attention never leaving the victim, Peter pointed that out to her.
“Call 911,” he instructed.
She nodded, already pulling her cell phone from her coat pocket. “You forgot your coat.” She handed Peter the garment and then quickly hit the three crucial numbers on her phone’s keypad.
Someone picked up immediately.
As she spoke to the dispatcher on the other end of the line, Bethany watched Peter drape his coat over the driver in an effort to keep the teenager warm.
But not before he began ripping a strip of the lining out.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
The lining resisted but finally separated from the coat. “Trying to stop the bleeding.”
“With the lining from your overcoat?” she asked incredulously.
“It’s not the most hygienic way to go,” he agreed, “but it’s all I’ve got unless I use my shirt.” Even as he wrapped the material around the young man’s arm, he could feel Bethany staring at him. “What?” he finally asked.
“Did it ever occur to you that if something goes wrong, this guy you’re working over might just turn around and sue you? And if he doesn’t, maybe his parents will?”
Peter shook his head. He couldn’t think about things like that now. It wasn’t the way he operated. “Frankly, no,” he admitted freely. “I have people like you for that.”
Chapter Nine
The police and paramedics arrived less than ten minutes after Bethany had placed the 911 call. The sounds of their approaching sirens created a chilling cacophony of noise.
Peter gave as much information as he could to both the paramedics and the fresh-faced officer who looked as if he was only minutes out of the academy. In the case of the latter, Peter began by saying that he didn’t really have much to offer. He hadn’t witnessed the accident and he wasn’t acquainted with the victim, who was still unconscious. The officer clearly wished he had more information.
The paramedic appeared pleased with not only Peter’s recitation of vital signs, but what he had done while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Bethany realized that the two knew each other by the way the paramedic spoke.
“Nice work, Doc. If you hadn’t been here to stop the bleeding, we’d be taking this kid down to the morgue instead of to the hospital.” As carefully as possible, he and his partner transferred the teenager from the ground to the gurney they’d taken from the back of the ambulance.
Stepping out of their way, Peter brushed away the compliment. At this point in his career, saving lives was second nature to him.
He nodded back toward the parking lot. “I’ll get my car and follow you in,” he said to the lead paramedic, then bent over to retrieve his bloodstained and rumpled overcoat.
“See you there,” the paramedic told Peter just before he closed and secured the rear doors of the ambulance. Walking to the front of the vehicle, he opened the driver’s side and got into the cab.
Bethany looked at Peter. “You’re going back to the hospital?”