Page 68 of All I Need (Hearts of the South)
“I’ve got to go get my gear.” He crossed to drop a hard kiss on her mouth, and she tasted anger in the caress. “I’ll see you later. Have a good day.”
“You too.”
With one last kiss, he strode down the hall, and moments later, the door closed behind him. Savannah ran a thumb over her lips. What was going on with him?
* * * * *
Fury pulsed in his ears, and he restrained himself from slamming his front door. He shouldn’t even let it get under his skin, but simply seeing the voicemail icon from his dad skyrocketed his blood pressure.
The son of a bitch had nothing to say that Emmett wanted or needed to hear.
“About time you came dragging in.” Coffee mug in hand, Landra wandered in from the kitchen. She jabbed his arm on the way by. “Bet I don’t have to guess where you’ve been.”
“Don’t start.” She’d been ragging him the past few days about Savannah. He’d ignored it for the most part because she was always trying to horn in on his life and because it wasn’t the right time to fight that battle, not when her own life was in shambles. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Ah, a little trouble in paradise?” Landra settled on the couch and lifted her mug in his direction. “Problems with the good doctor?”
“No. She is not the problem.” At his desk, he whipped his belt through his loops and snapped on his holster and cuffs holder. He reminded himself that beneath the nagging and probing lay sisterly love and concern, even if she was making him nuts. He’d missed her the last year, so maybe he’d just be grateful she was here and safe and acting normal with him. “Don’t you have anything better to do than give me a hard time about something that’s none of your business?”
“You are my business.”
“Landra, you’ve got to learn to stay out of my personal life. Besides, you have enough—” His phone vibrated to life in his pocket and he glanced at the screen. “Fuck.”
He would not throw the offending object across the room.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He silenced the phone and shoved it in his pocket. She would understand if he told her, but he didn’t want her to worry about anything more than she already was. “I’ll see you later.”
If he ignored the calls and voicemails, maybe sooner or later his father would get the message.
* * * * *
“Mills.” Mackey propped his hips against the desk and passed her a cup of coffee. “Better fuel up while there’s an opportunity.”
She took one sip of the dark liquid and set it aside. No telling how old it was—someone had probably run it before she’d dealt with the abscessed splinter, the forty-year-old male in V-fib and the guy with a toothache who couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t write him a prescription for Percocet. Mackey had matched her with a pregnant patient presenting with early labor pains, an infant with a high fever, and an elderly man with nonlocalized pain.
Mouth set, Mackey tapped a finger against the side of the counter. “You ever hear anything about our nursing numbers?”
“We’re getting two more per shift. HR is going through resumes and interviewing. They’re adding on a CNA per shift as well.”
The tension around his mouth gave enough to resemble a smile. “That’ll help.”
“It’s a start.”
“Block his number or quit bitching.” Clark Dempsey’s quiet voice drifted down the hall behind them. “Remember the prodigal son? Maybe this is the same, just in reverse.”
“This is not the same.” Emmett’s voice sent prickles of awareness over her. His words still held the same tension she’d detected earlier, and she frowned. “The prodigal son left home once. You know how many times this is?”
“Yes, I know how many, because you gripe to me each and every time.” Clark dropped his clipboard on the counter next to Mackey. “Remember…seventy times seven, my friend.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.” On the other side of Clark, Emmett rested his forearms on the countertop, hands clasped loosely before him.
“I am on your side. An unforgiving attitude eats a person up. You don’t like my advice, go ask someone else.”
Mackey sipped at his coffee and pulled out his phone, gaze on the screen. “Your dad again?”
“Yep.” The terse syllable spoke volumes. She’d bet her next paycheck that’s what had set him off this morning.
