Page 123 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

46

COOPER

Ihad parked my truck three blocks away from the festival, partly to avoid the congested streets near the town square and partly because I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reception I would get from Joy. The walk gave me time to rehearse what I wanted to say and practice the words that might convince her to give us another chance.

I had given her space. I just hoped I hadn’t given her too much space. I hadn’t heard from Lynn, but she had certainly been trying to get to me. Constant texts and phone calls. Thankfully, she hadn’t come to the station. I had a feeling she was more afraid of Katrina than my rejection.

Katrina was livid Lynn was stirring up trouble. My sister could be pretty mild but piss her off and shit got real. She used to kick my ass when we were younger. And that was just for cutting her Barbie’s hair. I would hate to see what she would do to her ex-friend for fucking with her brother. She wasn’t physically bigger than I was, but she had always declared herself my big sister. My protector. And it wasn’t terrible. It was good to know someone had my back, even if I could toss her over my shoulder and haul her away if I wanted to.

As I turned onto Main Street, I could see a small crowd gathering around someone on the sidewalk about fifty yards ahead. Years of emergency medical training kicked in automatically. I quickened my pace, scanning the scene for signs of what might be wrong.

The crowd parted slightly as I approached. Most people around here knew me. They knew I was the guy that could help. I could see a figure in a distinctive red suit sitting on the curb, one leg extended awkwardly in front of him. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the white beard and the generous belly.

Pat Samson. Our Santa. And he was clearly in distress.

“Excuse me, coming through,” I called, pushing through the circle of concerned onlookers. “I’m a paramedic.”

Pat looked up as I knelt beside him, his usually jolly expression twisted with pain and embarrassment. “Cooper, thank God. I slipped on some ice back there by the post office. Went down hard on my knee.”

His face was pale and there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of significant pain.

“Can you describe what happened?” I asked, gently examining his knee through the red velvet of his costume. Even through the fabric, I could feel the massive swelling around the joint.

“I was hurrying to get to the workshop—running a bit late, you know—and I hit a patch of ice I didn’t see. Felt something pop when I went down.” Pat winced as I carefully palpated the area. “It’s not good, is it?”

“I need to lift the pant leg,” I said. “Are you wearing anything under?”

He nodded. “Long johns.”

That’s what I was afraid of. “Pat, I need to see the knee—can I cut them?”

“Do it.”

I pulled my pocketknife from my pocket. I slid the Santa pant leg up and then cut the area around his knee. I grimaced when I saw the damage. The man had to be in extraordinary pain. I had dislocated my knee in high school, tore my meniscus, and it hadn’t looked this bad.

“Well, the good news is it doesn’t feel like anything’s broken,” I said, though I was concerned about the amount of swelling I could detect. “But you’ve definitely done some damage to the ligaments. You need to get to the hospital for proper imaging and treatment. If we don’t take care of this right now, I’m worried you’re going to lose circulation to your foot.”

Pat’s face fell. “But the children. Santa’s workshop. I can’t let them down.”

I could hear the genuine distress in his voice. To his credit, Pat took his role as the town’s Santa seriously, and the idea of disappointing the children was clearly causing him almost as much pain as his injured knee.

“Let me worry about that right now,” I said, pulling out my radio. “Matt, this is Cooper. I need an ambulance at the corner of Main and Third. Non-emergency transport, but we need to get someone to the hospital with a banged-up knee.”

“Copy that, Cooper. ETA five minutes.”

The crowd around us had grown. I could see people starting to whisper among themselves. Word was going to spread quickly that Santa was injured, and that meant Joy was going to have a crisis on her hands very soon.

“Is there anything you can do?” someone asked. “The children have been waiting in line for over an hour. They’re getting restless.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I said, though privately I was already running through the limited options available. Finding a replacement Santa on five minutes’ notice wasn’t a five-alarm fire but it didn’t have an easy solution either.

Matt arrived with the ambulance and our lead paramedic, lights flashing but siren off to avoid creating a ruckus. He jumped out of the passenger seat and walked toward us.

“What have we got?” he asked, grabbing a backboard and medical bag from the ambulance.

“Knee injury, possible torn ligaments. Patient needs transport for X-rays and evaluation.” I helped Matt position the backboard. “Pat, we’re going to get you loaded up and get that knee looked at properly. You’ll be back on your sleigh in no time.”

The paramedic grabbed a leg brace and quickly put it on the swelling leg.