Page 71 of Wild Card

10

TALON

“Feel free to go home.”

Sterling doesn’t break his speed, typing furiously on his laptop. “Waiting on the test results.”

“Doctor said they won’t be ready until mid-morning.”

“I’ve put a rush on them. As soon as they’re posted, I’ll get an alert.”

“Perk of working here?”

“Something like that.” He continues to type.

Few men test me, but Sterling Richards is one of them.

Earlier, when I pulled up to the ER, he was waiting with Chase and barking orders. When two men in scrubs unloaded Willow, it was all I could do not to snap.

Ford and Major came to get Wolf, and by the time I got inside, Willow was convulsing.

Sterling eyed me with contempt at my refusal to leave.

It wasn’t until later that Chase formally introduced us. Sterling shook my hand and thanked me dismissively. I ignored him.

All the regular allergen tests came back negative, and her initial blood panels were normal. The ultrasound showed no problems internally.

Willow was exhausted and frustrated. She begged to go home, arguing her dad and Chase were overreacting.

Sterling almost seemed convinced until the Immunologist ordered a food challenge. At the directive, Willow knew she was stuck. She’s under supervision for at least the next twenty-four hours.

Sterling suggested firmly, again, that I should leave. He would stay with Willow all night.

I didn’t take his advice. Instead, when they took her for the ultrasound, I followed.

The man looked like he was going to blow when I returned with the bag I keep packed in my truck. I sensed the heat of his disapproval after I changed into a clean shirt and settled into a recliner.

This move earned another notch of approval from Rosie and Lynden. Unlike their dad, Chase and Willow’s grandparents were warm and welcoming.

Usually, I wouldn’t give a shit what someone thinks of me, but Sterling is a different story. My feelings for his daughter mean the man will be in our lives.

“What is your position here?” Maybe talking about his job will open him up.

“I don’t have a position here. I float between the hospitals.”

“Doing what?”

“Administration.”

“Finance? Accounting? Personnel? Janitorial?”

“Yes,” he answers tersely.

“Pretty vague.”

He stops typing and blows out a breath, running his hands through his hair. “It’s been a fucking shitty day.”

“Yep.”

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