Breaking Her No-Dating Rule

He frowned, his left hand lifting to his right shoulder to grip and squeeze through the thick coat he wore. “The other one tried to get back to the lodge when these four wanted to stay put.”

“Where were they?”

“South Mine.”

Ellory winced. The terrain around the mines was left rugged on purpose in the hope of discouraging exploration by guests. The mines weren’t safe, and signs announced that, but they could serve as shelter in a pinch. A very dangerous pinch.

“Did you see a trail or any sign of him?” Mira would want to know everything, so she tried to anticipate questions.

“There is a trail, but it’s the one that they followed in. If he’s wise and we’re lucky, he’ll follow it back. There’s still a chance that he’ll make it back to the lodge while we’re out looking for him. If he does, I need you to call on the radio and let me know. It was impossible to take the snowmobiles directly along that trail, but we’re going to go back out and look. We’ll take a quick peek in the mines between here and there, and hit South Mine again in case he went back to where they all were.”

“After the storm?”

“No.” He looked back and called to the group, all of whom had dove into the drinks and stew to fortify themselves. “Ten minutes and then we’re going back out.”

“You can’t!” Ellory said, much louder than she’d intended. She tried again, quieter, calmer than she felt. “The storm is going to get really bad.”

“We have some time.” His voice had a gravelly sound that sent warm sparks over her ears, almost like a touch. That kind of voice would sound crazy sexy in whispers, hot breath on her ear … Raspy and …

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I think I misheard you.” Or hadn’t heard him at all. God, she had to do better than this.

“Are you a doctor?” he repeated.

“No.” It was time for him to figure out she wasn’t important, or capable of handling this.

“Where’s Dr. Dupris?”

She noticed him looking back at the people in front of the fire, all out of their suits now, which meant time for step two.

Ellory spun and headed for the guests, expecting him to follow. “She’s here, but I’m like triage or something. I have a list of things to wake her up for. And we have water heated in case there were any frostbite cases. Also I read that heating the feet would help get the body temperatures up fast. Actually, I have the saunas roaring too if that would help. I just wasn’t sure whether or not that would be a bad thing or a good thing, and it wasn’t in the books. Do you know?” She didn’t stop, just threw the question out and then went on.

Since the staff had handled her warming requests, she headed for the smallest member of the party, a petite, pixie-like woman who wasn’t drinking her cocoa … and who held her hands above her lap as if they were hurting.

His stride longer, he overtook her and scooped up a stethoscope as he passed the tray of first-aid and examination supplies she’d laid out and slung the thing around his neck. Catching it caused a brief flash of pain on his handsome features. He ignored the pain, but Ellory noticed. That was her real job: Physio and massage therapy. Just not today.

He wasn’t the concern right now. He’d been mostly warm when out there in it, though his cheeks looked chapped from the winter winds …

She reached down to gently lift one of the woman’s arms to get a better look at her fingers. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Chelsea,” she answered, teeth chattering. “My fingers and toes burn. Like they’re on fire.”

“Socks off, everyone. Time to check extremities.” Chelsea’s fingertips were really red. Ellory didn’t want to touch them, but she didn’t really know enough about medicine not to investigate fully. Maybe frostbite started with redness?

Gingerly, she wrapped her hands over Chelsea’s fingertips, causing the freezing woman to gasp in pain but confirming that they were indeed hot. This wasn’t frostbite. Though that was probably going to be the next stage. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and let go of the hands, her gaze drifting down to where Angry Leader had knelt at Chelsea’s feet, which he now examined. Her toes were exactly the opposite in color from her fingertips: an unnatural, disturbing, somewhat corpse-like white.

That might be a good reason to call Mira …

“Is that—?” She hadn’t got the question out before he nodded and looked Chelsea in the eye.

“My name is Dr. Graves. Anson, if you prefer. I’ll even tell you my middle name later if you need some more names to cuss me with … This isn’t going to be pleasant. We have to warm your feet fast,” Anson said, his raspy voice much gentler with the woman. “You have the beginning stages of frostbite.”

Chelsea’s gaze sharpened and she blurted out, “Are my toes going to fall off?” She sounded so stricken every head in the lobby turned toward her.

Ellory’s heart skipped.

Anson looked grim and his wind-burned cheeks lost some of their color, but he shook his head. “It’s going to feel like it. It will hurt like probably no one but you can imagine right now, but that’s how you get to keep them.” He didn’t sugarcoat it, not even a hint of the usual discomfort nonsense doctors liked to say.

Chelsea nodded, her eyes welling.

Anson looked at Ellory again. “Get her pants off. How hot is the water?”

“One hundred and ten on the burners.” Ellory answered. That she knew.

He looked surprised they’d been using a thermometer on it. “A little too hot. Add a small amount of cold water to it to get it to one hundred and five and then pour. It’s got to be between one hundred and one hundred and five degrees Fahrenheit all the time. Dip out water, pour more in, or swap out the containers to keep it within range. I know that’s going to be hard to do in buckets, but it needs to be done as exactingly as possible for a full half-hour.” Anson said this to Ellory, who nodded and relayed the orders to her kitchen helpers, then helped Chelsea out of the bottom half of her suit.

By the time Chelsea was down to her thermals, the water had been sufficiently cooled and poured into a large rubber container. Ellory pushed the cotton cuffs to Chelsea’s knees and guided the woman’s feet into the water.

It hurt. She could tell by the way Chelsea’s lower lip quivered, though admirably she didn’t cry out.

With all the time Ellory had spent in disaster zones, witnessing human suffering, she should have built up some kind of callus to it by now, but it tore at her heart all the same. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you … We’ll get you something for the pain.”

“My fiancé is still out there,” she whispered, clarifying in those simple words what hurt worse right now.

Ellory put one arm around Chelsea’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “Let’s get your insides warmed up and see if we can beat the shivering.” She took the cocoa Chelsea hadn’t been drinking and held it to her lips. “We’ll help you with this until your fingers stop smarting and you can do it yourself, okay?”

“Ohh … chocolate,” Chelsea said.

“That’s pretty much how I feel about chocolate too.” Ellory lifted the cup to the woman’s mouth. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes the stuff we have to go through bearable. Though I do feel like I should apologize for not making it from better ingredients.” A nervous laugh bubbled up. “You didn’t do anything wrong, that’s not why I’m making you drink preservative juice.” She was doing that thing again, where she lost control of her mouth because she was nervous.

Chelsea looked at her strangely. “Preservative juice?”

She named the popular brand of cocoa everyone knew, then added, “I’m sure it’s fine. I’m just …” What could she say to explain that? “I’m big on organic.”

“Ahh.” Chelsea nodded, relaxing back in her chair.

Great bedside manner. Most of her patients worked with her for a long stretch of time so they got to know her quirks and oddities, and only had to suffer her help with exercise and a program that their physiotherapist designed. All Ellory did was help them through it and massage away pain, she didn’t need to be trusted to make decisions.

Ellory added in what she hoped was a more agreeable tone, “Ignore me. It’s a throwback to childhood.”

“You were big on organic in childhood?” Anson asked from down where he crouched, examining the feet of another patient. Which meant he was listening, and probably losing faith in her with every word that tumbled out of her mouth.

“Yes. In a manner of speaking.”

His eyes were focused on the patient, but it still felt like he was staring at her. “Which is?”

The only way out of this conversation was to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Stop. Talking.