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This woman who is not paying attention is about to be crushed by a thousand pounds of steel if she takes one more step.
That’s not going to happen. Not if I can do anything about it.
chapter
five
Daisy
Trisha is right.
I need to work less and make more time for myself.
This means it’s time to recruit more doctors to work at the practice beyond a nurse practitioner on Fridays.
It’s not easy to draw physicians to this town, but if they could see it and understand the growth happening here, I’m sure I could get more applicants.
I take the afternoon off to shoot some photos of the downtown area for the recruitment brochure. I’m trying to compose a photo of the street with all of the new shops, as well as fit in the charming courthouse plaza and the gazebo where the town has all of its festivals, but it’s too much to fit in one photo.
I back up and keep trying, again and again, until my leg hits something hot and metal, and I hear someone shout at me so harshly it makes my blood run cold.
I whirl around just as I trip.
Someone else shouts like it’s a matter of life and death. “Watch out!”
The warning is a deep, rumbling voice that I recognize. But it comes too late.
Several thoughts flash through my mind in the split second that I lose my footing. Those thoughts include: Oh shit, that jagged metal ramp is going to bust my face open. Secondly, why is there a jagged metal ramp covering up the sidewalk? Third, my scraped-up face will take time away from my patients. Fourth, is there even a plastic surgeon in this town?
I brace for impact.
But when the impact comes, it’s not the sidewalk.
Instead, a massive arm snatches me. I’m weightless for the briefest of moments before I notice that I’m pressed up against a burly chest.
A gigantic metal box slides toward the spot where I just was.
“Oh my gosh!”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Who said that?
The scent of fresh laundry and earthiness tells me exactly who said that.
My heart hammers as the world is set right again and my brain pieces things together.
There’s a delivery truck, a ramp groaning under the weight of some huge commercial appliance, and four men are in front of it, straining to keep it from tumbling to the sidewalk. And over there, behind me, is a baby stroller. Lord have mercy, what almost happened?
My feet might be on the ground again, but that arm is a steel girder around my waist.
“I’m okay,” I say, inhaling Owen’s scent. When I look over, the knuckles of his other hand are bright white as they grip the bar of the baby stroller.
I shudder against Owen’s chest at the thought of how many things could have gone wrong with that almost runaway appliance.
“Is Graham okay?” I squeak, trying not to pee myself.
“He’s fine,” Owen says. His words rumble against my breasts. His entire frame is shaking like an earthquake. What did he just save me from? What did he just save Graham from, more importantly?
