Page 17 of Tasting Fire
“As a physician in the Baltimore General ER.” She wouldn’t be reduced to ticking off her many accomplishments since leaving her hometown. “But I’m excited to be back in Steele Ridge. I’ve missed it.”
“That also surprises me. You were always so ambitious. Maybe the most ambitious student to ever graduate here.” Mrs. Southerland stepped closer. “You know, there were some around here who thought you’d never make it. Not after…”
Nope. Emmy would not pick up that dangler.
Mrs. Southerland could be implying so many things. Ninety-nine percent of which Emmy didn’t want to name. “You know what they say,” she forced a lightness into her tone, “never overlook the long shot.”
“Of course, I knew better.” A bin of bell peppers caught Mrs. Southerland’s attention. “And I told people, but you know how they are.”
Yes, some people didn’t like the idea of others getting too big for their britches. Well, Emmy’s pants had always had plenty of room for growth in them. “I guess my work in Steele Ridge will just have to speak for itself.”
“No doubt it’ll sing your praises.” Mrs. Southerland popped two peppers in the basket on her arm. “But I’m sure it’s a relief that you don’t have to tutor to make ends meet anymore.”
Obviously, the woman had no concept of med school loans.
“I enjoyed tutoring.” And she’d been damn good at it. But she’d turned down any opportunity to do so in college because after what had happened with Cash, she hadn’t wanted to risk that closeness ever again. Something trickled down Emmy’s wrist and under the cuff of her sweatshirt, and she realized that she was squeezing the tomato so tightly that the skin had broken. She casually wiped her arm against her hip and fumbled for the nearest plastic bag. “But Cash Kingston definitely ruined me for anyone else.”
When he strode into Hoffman’s, Cash was still seething about the debriefing from earlier. After providing them with a step-by-step critique of their technique and performance, Emmy outlined how they would be expected to improve if they wanted to remain on the team.
Who did she think she was…
Cash let the air in his bloated lungs release through his clenched teeth and rolled his head from one side to another.
Everything she said was spot on, and you know it.
Emmy was a doctor with specialized knowledge in emergency medicine and tactical crises. When she’d walked through the scenario with the team, she never raised her voice, never used a condescending tone.
She’d been earnest and had provided excellent guidance.Be quick, but take your time with patient assessment because missing a patient injury could cost a life.
He wanted to be pissed, but that would be stupid. If he let his temper override logic, he would be just as guilty of the big-dick syndrome he’d accused Stan Jackson of suffering from earlier.
Pride would cloud his ability to assess a situation clearly. And that was the kind of thinking that could kill people.
Emmy hadn’t come to Steele Ridge to bust Cash’s balls.
She hadn’t come back to doanythingwith Cash’s balls.
Which meant he needed to buck up and be a big boy about the tactical medical team. Emmy was his boss, and there was no point in thinking about anything personal between them. That was long over.
Life went on. But to live it, he needed to put a few things on the empty shelves of his fridge, so he grabbed a handbasket and headed for the produce section. All he wanted was a damn cantaloupe and some salad, but one glance at the tomatoes made it clear he needed to shop sometime between midnight and two in the morning if he wanted to get in and out with as little brouhaha as possible.
Because Emmy was standing next to Mrs. Southerland stuffing tomatoes into a plastic bag that would’ve given his dad recycling palpitations. If she crammed them in there with any more force and tossed in a jalapeño, she would be well on her way to a decent salsa.
Maybe some oregano for a marinara sauce.
That made Cash’s lips quirk up.
He needed to rescue the women from one another. In high school, Emmy had worked for Mrs. Southerland, tutoring students like him. Ones who had good college prospects because they were excellent athletes, but didn’t have the grades to make the cut. But he’d screwed all that up.
“Mrs. Southerland,” he said, pitching his voice over the store’s country Muzak playing from the ceiling speakers. “I heard you’ve been feeling under the weather.” Or what his granny Kingston would callpuny.Puny covered everything from the common cold to a gout flare-up. “I’ve been meaning to stop by and check on you.”
Mrs. Southerland turned his way to reveal kind blue eyes and a smile a few people described as indulgent when it was focused on Cash. “Cash!” She hurried over and hugged him, her lilac scent rising up from hair she’d let go naturally gray. “It was nothing. Just the sniffles. But it’s sweet of you to think of me.”
Over her head, he locked gazes with Emmy. She gave him a pained smile before she stretched over and scooped up several jalapeños. Salsa it was, then.
“I did think you were going to call me about scheduling lawn service.” Mrs. Southerland chastised, patting him on the chest and straightening the collar on his shirt. As a teenager, he’d enjoyed getting a little extra mothering from her since his own mom was often busy with her career. Back then, he’d liked to think he filled a gap in Mrs. Southerland’s life, too, since she and her husband never had children.
Her life had always revolved around serving kids and families here in the area. At one time, she’d been known as a rainmaker for helping high schoolers land scholarships and gain admission to the schools of their dreams.
