Washed Away. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
would love to be dealing with any one of those assignments, yet here she was, still setting up the triage area. The only other thing she’d done was give a couple of firefighters their tetanus boosters.
“I’ve been ordered to take a coffee break,” Mitch told her.
“I thought you were the one who gave the orders around here.”
“Usually.” Mitch grinned. “But when Ruth, my dispatcher, tells me it’s time for a break, I know better than to argue. Come join me for five minutes.”
The rain was pounding on the roof now as Cheryl accepted the mug of coffee Mitch was pouring for her from a thermos. She took a sip, screwing up her face as she did so. “No sugar.”
“I figured you wouldn’t take it.” Mitch winked as he pulled a couple of sachets out of his pocket and handed them to her. “A skinny thing like you.”
“Too skinny,” Cheryl corrected. “I need all the sugar I can get, but even I don’t carry supplies in my pocket. Although,” she added shaking her head as he unwrapped a mountain of a sandwich, “I do bring my own lunch.”
“You’re not serious.” Mitch grinned as Cheryl put down her coffee and rummaged in her backpack pulling out a plastic container. Peeling off the lid, she revealed a large cheese and lettuce sandwich.
“That bread must have taken a whole field just to produce the grains loaded into it,” Mitch teased her. “You’ll upset the Women’s Auxiliary if you go spurning their sandwiches. We do eat in Texas, you know. We were intending to feed the volunteers.”
“I know. I just wasn’t sure when we’d get time to stop, so I figured it was easier to bring my own. I’ve got dinner in there somewhere, but don’t worry. I’ll tell the ladies that their sandwiches are the nicest I’ve tasted.” Her cheeky smile was rewarded with one of Mitch’s.
“So what’s a girl from New York doing in California?” Mitch asked. “You’ll never lose that accent, you know.”
“I don’t want to,” Cheryl admitted, stirring her coffee with the end of a pen, and avoiding the fire chief’s eyes, not quite ready to go there at the best of times and certainly not with someone she’d barely met. “Or, you could ask, ‘What’s a trauma nurse from California doing in Turning Point, Texas?’”
“Good point,” Mitch said lightly, realizing she didn’t want to talk about her past. But his curiosity was piqued. There was something that didn’t add up with Cheryl Tierney. Sure, she seemed to know what she was doing, was poised and assertive as well, and that long dark hair neatly tied back spelt Confidence with a capital C. But there was a sadness in those dark brown eyes, a slight aloofness behind that perfect smile that told Mitch all wasn’t as well as it seemed. And even though he had plenty of other things to be worrying about today, he was also a dad. Jolene, his daughter, was around the same age as Cheryl, and if he came across as nosey or a bit interfering, Mitch wasn’t making apologies. He looked out for his staff, and today, Cheryl was one of them.
“So where in New York are you from?”
“New Rochelle,” Cheryl answered stiffly, taking a slug of her coffee and effectively ending the conversation.
“How long have you been in Courage Bay?” Mitch persisted, despite Cheryl’s obvious reluctance.
“Two years now,” Cheryl answered, obviously feeling safer now that she could shift the conversation to work. “Heading up the trauma room.”
“A tough job?”
Cheryl gave a rueful smile. “Which is exactly how I like it.”
“What about your parents? Are they still in New Rochelle?” He watched her shoulders stiffen, heard the long pause before she answered way too lightly for a woman with pursed lips.
“My mom is. My dad moved out to…” She gave a tight shrug, took another sip of her coffee. “Look, I’d better get back to it—thanks for bringing the coffee over.”
“You haven’t even drunk it,” Mitch pointed out. “Or eaten your lunch. You’re allowed to have a break, you know.”
“I can eat and work at the same time,” Cheryl responded. “It won’t be the first time.”
“Take a break while you can, Cheryl. Things will soon pick up.”
“I hope so.” Cheryl sighed, then checked herself. “Not that I want anyone to get injured or anything,” she added.
“Oh, come on, Cheryl,” Mitch laughed. “You’re a trauma nurse. You get your kicks the same way I do. I’ve been in this game more years than I care to count, but I still get a thrill when the emergency bell goes, still get that high as we screech out of the station on the way to a fire. It doesn’t mean I want someone to be hurt or trapped, but if someone is, then I know one thing for sure—I want to be the guy to help.” He shot a look at Cheryl. “Are you gonna try and tell me you don’t feel the same?”
“No.” Cheryl grinned. “I guess we’re just good at what we do, Mitch.”
“Which is why you want to be out there,” Mitch said perceptively. “Which is why you want to be in the thick of things, not stocking up a few shelves and shuffling around in clothes that don’t really fit. Though you’ll be glad of them later!”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Cheryl conceded, warming by the minute to Mitch. He was down-to-earth, straight talking with a sense of humor—but more to the point, he also possessed a quiet air of leadership that demanded respect, and no doubt got it.
Mitch Kannon, Cheryl decided, was the type of guy that got the best out of a team, because, quite simply, he gave it himself. The type of guy who had taken five minutes out of his undoubtedly hectic schedule to get to know a member of the team he was leading, safe in the knowledge he would be rewarded tenfold later.
Cheryl knew that, because it was the way she herself worked.
Okay, she wasn’t the social butterfly of Courage Bay Emergency. Truth be told she kept pretty much to herself. But her patients always came first. No hidden agenda, no massaging egos to further her career. She gave her best and expected no less from those around her.
“It’s hard to believe we’re in the same country sometimes,” Mitch sighed. “Thanks for being so good with Florence, by the way. The old school nurse,” he added when Cheryl frowned as she tried to place the name. “I’ve asked her to man the high school where most people are being evacuated to. She’s going to deal with minor cuts and bruises once the place starts to fill. I figured she’d be happier over there, and judging by the way she took off, I reckon I was right. Florence might come across as fierce, but she’s a sweetheart really. She’s been around longer than anyone else I can think of. There’s not a single person who lives in Turning Point who hasn’t had their heads personally checked by Florence for nits.”
“And she makes a mean bed,” Cheryl said, “with hospital corners.”
“The bedspread is so tight you could bounce a dime off it,” Mitch agreed. “But she’s a good sort, and even if she comes across as bossy, she knows she’s not up to dealing with a major incident. She’s glad you’re here, really.”
“You could have fooled me,” Cheryl quipped.
“She is,” Mitch said firmly. “We all are. This is a great place to live, a great place to raise a family, but at the end of the day, it’s a rural community stuck in the middle of nowhere. When trouble happens, everyone’s more than willing to pitch in, but sometimes the job’s just too big. We get by for the most part using good old common sense, and there’s a lot to be said for it, but at times like this, a bit more is needed. The people of Turning Point and Corpus Christi deserve it. This storm’s going to devastate a lot of people. That’s why I called my old friend Dan Egan and asked him to see about sending help. The only doctor in Turning Point, Dr. Holland, had a heart attack a few weeks ago. He’s still in hospital in Houston.