Automatic Proposal

Her guilt was multiplying by the minute. His dark eyes never left her face, and somehow he’d managed to capture her hand in his. Completely ignoring his own very real injury, he was the picture of compassion as they sped through the early evening traffic, strapped to gurneys.

“Thank God you weren’t shot,” he said, squeezing her hand. “That was a brave thing you did. Brave, but damn stupid, throwing yourself at me like that.”

“Well, there’s gratitude for you. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. But, my God, Julia, this could have turned out very differently….”

“Yeah. I’d rather have bruises and contusions than a big old entry wound.”

He frowned, not in any way amused. “You might have a punctured lung.”

“I don’t.” She closed her eyes. Closed him out.

Hating that she was again forced into a situation with him built on a shaky foundation of lies and misrepresentations. Especially when he seemed to be such a decent guy. “I don’t want to talk for a while, okay?” she said weakly, feigning discomfort.

She thought about his heartfelt apology. Replaying his words in her mind only multiplied her self-loathing. Yes, keeping up the pretext of a hardworking seamstress in a wedding salon was part and parcel of her job. Just as playing the naive Vegas waitress had been an important part of her cover for the Esterhaus sting six years ago.

But all the rationalization in the world couldn’t assuage her conscience. Not when he looked at her with genuine concern evident in his gaze. Not when he was gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

The ambulance came to a sudden, jolting stop in the emergency bay of Miami General. The doors flew open and the attendants rolled their stretchers into the bright, sterile examination area.

A thin, faded curtain was drawn between them. Julia could see Luke’s silhouette as he moved from the stretcher to the exam table with the assistance of a very chipper sounding nurse.

“What happened?” the woman cooed to him in a voice that practically begged, And can I kiss it better for you?

Julia rolled her eyes just as another nurse came into her own small cubicle—a middle-aged woman whose white shoes made squishy sounds as she maneuvered around the bed. Her black hair was pulled into a tight knot on her crown, and a pair of half-glasses rested low on her nose. “I’m Annette,” she stated in a bored tone. “I need to get some information. Name?”

In less than three minutes, Julia had provided all the basic biographical and medical information, as well as a brief recap of her chief complaint. Annette, who seemed most interested in whether she had health insurance, scribbled on a form, then made her sign her name in six different places. Then she was given a gown and a thin sheet and told to change. The nurse stood at the ready with a plastic bag, shoving each article of clothing inside and labeling the bag with a marker.

“One of the docs will be in soon and then probably send you for some X-rays,” Annette announced. Efficiently, she clipped a monitoring device onto Julia’s fingertip, then started to leave. “Oh, and the police are here. Want me to send them in?”

Julia nodded, thinking she might as well get it over with. She was distracted when the curtain separating her from Luke fluttered. Her eyes fixed on his outline.

Apparently his nurse thought he needed help removing his shirt. Yeah, right. Julia could almost hear the other woman drooling as she “assisted” Luke in guiding the shirt over the cut on his head.

“If you get dizzy, feel free to use me for balance,” the nurse suggested.

Or sex, Julia added cattily.

“My name’s Toni, by the way.”

And I dot the I with a little happy face.

“We’re pretty slow right now, so I can stay with you until the doctor is available. Just in case you need anything.”

Like me. When had she turned into a jealous woman? Luke was a handsome man. A man who didn’t belong to her. He was business.

Luke barely noticed the young nurse buzzing around his bed. He was more interested in Julia. He felt the cool air against his chest as he sat on the edge of the thin mattress, straining to see her through a crack between the curtain and the tiled wall. The smell of alcohol and antiseptic was strong and he had the beginnings of a killer headache.

The incessant sound of some machine beeping wasn’t helping. The nurse pressed a small ice pack against his scalp, then guided his hand to hold it in place.

“You should lie back.”

“I’m fine,” Luke insisted. “Can we open the curtain?”

The nurse’s hopeful smile slipped. “Oh, right. She came in with you?”

He nodded and was punished with a dull thud of pain at the base of his skull. “Is she okay?”

The nurse shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t I see for myself?” he asked pointedly. The nurse was sidetracked by the appearance of a short, nerdy looking guy wearing green scrubs and a too-large white coat.

“I’m Dr. Hallabach.”

“Luke Young.”

The doctor had Luke remove the ice pack, then did a quick examination of the wound. “It could probably use a stitch or two. Or I can close it with surgical glue and a butterfly bandage. Your call.”

“Glue,” Luke answered without hesitation. “I love that stuff.” He thought it wise to keep to himself his own first-aid technique of using Crazy glue on a wound.