Page 15 of Hard Hat Hottie

Leaning back in my chair, I let my mouth fall open over dramatically. “You little harlot.”

“What? A woman has needs too.”

Lifting my glass in salute, I take a sip and let the burn of the scotch distract me from the constant ache in my chest. That hollow that keeps returning to remind me just how lonely my life has become. “You’re absolutely right. Good for you.”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“You’re in your prime. I love how devoted you are to your mother. It’s such a rare quality in a man.”

Oh, lord. Where’s she going with this?

“The day I find someone who’s half as caring and committed as you are, I’ll get down on one knee and propose myself. But you can’t live putting your whole life on the back burner.”

I thought she’d wanted to have dinner to put more fun in her life. Yet, this is starting to feel like an intervention. Instinctively, I take another sip of my scotch, my appetite folding in on itself at this conversation.

“There has to be another way. It’s a crime that you aren’t sharing yourself with someone. And don’t go trying to turn this back on me. I’m putting myself out there more than you see.”

I arch a brow at her, shocked she’s been keeping her dating life a secret.

“I have to keep some of my chances close to the vest.” She tucks a forkful of pad Thai into her mouth. “I’ll share once there’s something worthy of telling you. But I need to go this alone.”

“Char, you know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah. And I will, one day. But I need to fight my own battles. It’d be too easy to get caught up in our friendship. How supportive you are. Simply spend time with you, as I’ve done since Ellie left. But I’m not getting any younger.” Her eyes connect with mine, more earnest now than I’ve seen her in a long while. “And I want the fairy tale.”

Reaching for a spring roll, I dip it into the flavorful sweet and spicy sauce before biting off the end. As much as I wish Charlene would spill her secrets, having the attention off of my love life has allowed my hunger to return. “You deserve it,” I answer around the bite of food.

“So do you.” She places her well-manicured hand over mine, the bright red nails matching her shiny lipstick. I can’t help but examine it closer. That’s some powerful stuff to remain untouched after eating sesame chicken and a few pieces of Dragon roll. “You mark my words, Harrison Hightower. One of these days, some beauty is going to walk through those doors.” Charlene points her chopsticks in the direction of the street. “And it’s going to be game over.”

Dipping the sautéed chicken wrapped with thin pastry sheets into the sweet, hot red chili sauce, I lean back in my chair and savor the fiery flavors. The vision of a beautiful curvy brunette with silver gray tattoos inked on her arm striding through the locked doors comes to mind.

“You know, Char, if that day comes, I’m ready for it.”

CHAPTER SIX

HARLOW

“Harlow, can you come and give us a hand?” Gretchen’s voice carries over the bleeping monitors and constantly ringing phones in the adjacent nurses’ station.

Part of what I love about this little emergency room is the camaraderie. Even when we’re short staffed, we all pitch in to help the other out. This hospital isn’t keen on hiring outsiders. And by that, I mean paying travel nurses a much higher wage to work alongside those of us who’ve been here in the trenches for years. If push came to shove, I’m certain they’d hire whomever necessary to make sure we met the patients’ needs. But unlike some of the larger hospitals in neighboring towns, the administration seems to prefer to reward those of us who’re already on staff with shift differentials and raises. Then again, maybe I’m just being hopeful their allegiance is to us. They could simply be too cheap to pay for travelers.

Darting into the room, I come to Gretchen’s side, where she’s clearly having a hard time keeping the pale, thin, combative man still enough to secure an IV. We have a large elderly population in Candy Cane Key. And if memory serves, this gentleman’s been here before. I believe he has advanced Parkinson’s disease, which has caused significant cognitive impairment on top of theloss of his motor function. Not that you’d know it by the death grip he has on Gretchen’s arm.

“His son said he’s developed a stomach bug that has gone through the household. He’s pretty dehydrated from vomiting and diarrhea, but not so much he’s going to lose this round of arm wrestling.” Gretchen grimaces.

Verifying the name on his wristband, I scoot closer to the patient and hold his upper arm steady so Gretchen has room to work. “Mr. Richardson…” I try to keep my tone calm and soothing as I wait hopefully for his eyes to connect with mine. “My name is Harlow. I took care of you when you were here not that long ago. Do you remember?” I’m shocked when his wary orbs track my voice until his gaze holds mine. I usually don’t garner any acknowledgment when I attempt to communicate with dementia patients, particularly when they feel they’re under attack. It’s a shame they can’t see we’re only trying to help.

“I don’t know what magical powers you have, Harlow, but keep it up,” Gretchen encourages. Looking over my shoulder, I discover she’s managed to not only get the IV, but she’s also attached the much-needed bag of intravenous fluids.

Placing my hand on Mr. Richardson’s shoulder, I give him a grateful squeeze. “There. The hard part’s over. Now you’ll get some fluid replacement and medication to help you feel better.”

I’m met with a blank stare, just before he swings his other arm across his body, pulling me closer.

Before proceeding to vomit down the front of my scrub top.

“Oh, Harlow,” Gretchen consoles sympathetically. “I’m so sorry. And here you came to help me out.”

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