Page 57 of Protecting What's Mine
“A fair assessment,” he announced, wiping his mouth on a linen napkin that he’d produced from his lunch bag. “Now, your turn.”
She winced.
“You can intubate a patient in mid-air, but ask you to discuss the weather or TV and you freeze up,” he told her.
She bit off a sigh. “A fair assessment.”
“It’s something to be improved, not embarrassed about.”
“I shouldn’t be this bad at something.”
Russell placed his chopsticks just so in the folded napkin.
“There’s no shame in not knowing how to do something. There’s no shame in learning and trying. Shame never works as a motivator.”
She wanted to argue. Shame had been a constant motivating factor in her life. She’d worked hard to distance herself from the things that needed distancing, to prove herself over and over again to be good enough.
“By all accounts, Mackenzie, you are one of the most technically proficient doctors this county has ever seen. That’s a huge compliment. But it doesn’t excuse you from having to learn how to relate to patients. We both know you can be a hell of a lot more than just a competent set of hands in an emergency.”
She wasn’t so sure she knew that.
He waited a beat.
“I’m processing,” she said. “I suppose your theory means that shame doesn’t work on patients either.”
He clapped his hands—manicured nails, smooth palms—together. “Exactly.”
“I can’t get Leroy Mahoney to return my calls,” she said. She thought of the messages she’d left. An urgent medical matter, she’d said. So it wasn’t necessarily calling him out for being negligent with his health, but it wasn’t a friendly open approach either.
“His grandson plays Little League in the park by the high school a couple of nights a week. He’ll be there.”
The personal touch. Ugh.
She wished she’d picked up a few extra air shifts with the hospital. At least there she didn’t have to chase patients down for routine information. There she was in charge, in her element. Confident.
“Things happen for a reason, Mackenzie,” Russell insisted. “You’re here for a reason.”
Yeah, to babysit patients and kiss firefighters.
“I guess we’ll see,” she said.
“Now, tell me about slow dancing with the fire chief at Remo’s last night.”
Mack’s fork hit the table.
Freida and Tuesday poked their heads into the doorway. “About time you asked her,” Freida said.
19
The chopper rose smoothly into the early evening air at Sally’s behest, and Mack’s stomach gave its customary dip. Nerves and excitement hummed in her veins. Things had been too quiet the past few days, giving her entirely too much time to think aboutthat kiss.
Which led to her thinking about all of the other things that kiss could lead to. Which led to her making the effort to dig her vibrator out of a moving box.
A good trauma patient was exactly what she needed to clear her head and stop thinking about Chief Reed…and his very talented mouth. And his equally impressive cock.
But now she had a life to save. Female. Mid-twenties. Backroad altercation with a tree. Head trauma. They’d be there in two minutes, landing in a cow pasture with permission from the farmer.
While her fingers worked their way through supplies and equipment—checking and double-checking—Mack let her mind settle. It ran through scenarios and protocols. Training, education, and experience molded together into instinct.
