Vital Signs (2 page)

Still, she was happy to be here living out her dream. And each day she worked meant she had more money in the bank. Soon she’d have enough to send for her
mami
and sisters. They too deserved a chance at a good life.

“Is there nothing the city can do to help the firehouse?” Sarita asked.

He waved a hand at the TV. “Haven’t you been watching? The budget cuts are taking programs from our city, and the last thing on their list of must-haves is fixing the firehouse.”

“But without it, what will happen? Will they move?”

“No, they’d probably close the station. Plenty of other firehouses around to come to the rescue.”

She wasn’t in agreement with her coworker. “There must be something the community can do to help.”

He lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, focused on the television. Sarita drank the rest of her coffee, but it didn’t totally dissipate the chill she felt. So this man—this hero—had just put his life on the line for a city that didn’t care that the building where he worked was safe. Or if he even had a job once he was on his feet again.

Getting to her own feet, she walked to the window and looked down on the bleak gray parking lot. Beyond, the city stretched and farther away was the ocean. Northern California cliffs pounded by waves. The cry of gulls.

All of a sudden she needed to spread her wings and go to the shore. She wasn’t always rattled by the people she met on the job, but today was different. Corey’s injury had made her see that while she’d come to the United States to see and do more, she hadn’t really done anything so far but work.

And life was short.

She tossed her empty cup in the wastebasket and walked to the nurse’s station. Over the past few months she’d become friends with some of the hospital employees. At her approach, Rachel looked up with a big smile on her face. Sarita returned it, though she was feeling knotted up inside. Why? She’d done her job. And Peter had said that Corey was lucky.

But he wasn’t out of the woods.

“Any news on how long the firefighter will be in surgery?” she asked Rachel.

They turned to look at the exit doors Corey had been wheeled through. The trauma his body had received…

Sarita suppressed a shiver and tried to hear what the nurse was saying.

“The doctors say hours of exploratory surgery. They have to tread carefully to make sure that pipe didn’t hit anything vital.” They exchanged a look. “I’ve never seen anything like that in all my years here at the hospital,” Rachel said.

“Me either. They say the floor was burned out and he fell all the way into the basement.”

“I know! Still holding the dog he’d rescued from the fire. You know his picture will be plastered over every TV screen across the country.” Rachel’s voice oozed with awe.

Sarita nodded.

“It’s almost time for my break. Would you like to grab some coffee with me?”

She considered the offer. Her idea to explore and visit the cliffs was better saved for another day when she felt more herself and could properly enjoy it. She smiled. “Maybe not coffee but tea sounds nice.”

“Great! I’ll just sign out and get my purse.”

The distraction of conversation and the little coffee shop down the street from the hospital helped Sarita—but not enough. Her mind kept wandering back to Corey. Why did she feel as if someone important to her had just suffered an injury? She’d never set eyes on the man before.

One thing was certain, though. She wasn’t forgetting him anytime soon. Those eyes of his—a warm brown sparked with gold flecks—had burrowed deep into her. She felt their touch even now.

What would happen if he didn’t make it? Her stomach cramped and she pushed her tea away. Rachel glanced at her phone. “Better get back. Are you finished with your shift, Sarita?”

“Yes, but I’ll come with you. I’d like to see if there’s any word about the firefighter.”

Corey.
His name rolled in her head, a boulder tumbling out of control. Gaining momentum. What was the matter with her? Maybe she’d suffered some trauma from what she’d witnessed today. Over such a short time, she’d seen a lot. She’d helped children with breathing problems from asthma all the way up to horrific five-car pileups on the bridge.

At the hospital, she walked up to one of his fellow firefighters who’d cut him out of the burning house. The man’s dark eyes looked as haunted as Sarita felt.

“Have you worked with Corey for long?” she asked. He’d introduced himself as Jagger. No last name, no first. Just Jagger.

“Almost a year. He was one of my first friends here at East Street.”

Suddenly it occurred to Sarita that Corey might have a family. A wife, children. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jagger cut across her.

“I told my wife I’ll wait here until I know Corey’s in the clear.”

Sarita nodded. “What about Corey—does he have family?”

Jagger pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not that I know of. I think there’s an ex-fiancée somewhere in his past, but I’ve never seen her or heard him speak of her.”

Something akin to relief settled in Sarita’s veins.
Why
was a question she didn’t want to examine too closely. Surely after she found out he was going to live, she’d move on with her life. Go home and sink into a hot bath and maybe curl up in bed with a book in order to fortify herself for another day of helping people.

She and Jagger exchanged small talk for several minutes. Then they drifted into companionable silence. Both holding vigil, neither needing to speak of the person they were thinking about.

When the door to the waiting room opened and a nurse walked in, Sarita jumped to her feet. The nurse’s eyes were filled with compassion above her mask, which she lowered to speak.

“Corey’s injuries were not as substantial as we’d first feared. He’s a lucky man and should make a full recovery barring any infection.”

Jagger let out a whoop, and Sarita found herself crushed to his chest. He released her almost as fast as he’d hugged her. He dug around in his pocket and came out with a cell phone. The nurse gave a nod of farewell and disappeared back through the door.

Sarita sank to the chair, her knees feeling a bit wobbly. Again, why? Corey didn’t belong to her. Yet how sad that if she and Jagger hadn’t been here, nobody would have heard the news that Corey was going to make a full recovery.

Jagger spoke on the phone for a long minute before coming to stand before Sarita. She looked up at his muscular body, tilting her head all the way back to look at his face. “I’m heading home for a while. Hanna’s got supper on. I’ll be back to check on him later.”

She nodded. “I…I think I’ll stay.” She passed a hand over her face, the fatigue of waiting in a hospital taking its toll on her energy reserves. But no way would Corey wake up and not see a person who cared that he’d pulled through.

Jagger offered her a smile and nod before he left. Sarita wiggled her bottom in her seat, trying to eke more comfort from the sparse padding of the chair. When he awakened, it was unlikely he’d remember who she was. He’d been so hopped up on painkiller during the ambulance ride.

But at least he’d be greeted by a smile and warm welcome back to the world of the living. A hero deserved no less.

Alarms blared in Corey’s head. Hot, throbbing echoes that made even his teeth ache. Hands touched him. Icy, bony hands that made the alarm noises increase.

His mouth was open wide.

The alarms were coming from him—he was screaming.

“Hold him. Don’t let him rip open that wound. I don’t want to take him back into surgery to repair it.”

Corey fought the freezing fingers on him. And then a silky touch grazed his jaw, and he opened his eyes to see his angel. He’d obviously died along his journey, but that was okay if she was here with him.

They rolled him. Searing-hot pain ricocheted through his torso. He roared.

“Corey, let us get you into a more comfortable position. Shhh. There now.” Sarita’s accent flickered in and out of his hearing. He’d caught every other word but managed to patch together the meaning.

Panting, he felt the painkillers rushing through his veins. He breathed deeper.

“That’s it now. Better?”

He opened his eyes to find those dark eyes staring down at him. A crinkle between them spoke of her own worry, and he suddenly felt ashamed for yelling.

Running his hand down his chest, he found it wrapped with thick bandages. A warmer, softer hand captured his fingers.

“You have tubes here, Corey. Don’t pull them or you’ll be back in surgery.”

He sank deeper into the bed, vaguely aware of other people in the room. Someone feeling for his pulse on his wrist and ankles. “Wh—What happened to me?”

His mouth was desiccated. Seconds later a sponge with icy water touched his lips. He opened his mouth and sucked eagerly. Sucked it dry. Before he could think to ask for more, the sponge was before his lips again.

“My lungs hurt.”

“No wonder. That’s the smoke inhalation. They had to remove your breathing apparatus to cut you free,” she said softly.

It all flooded back. The fire, the dog, the fall.

“You were in the ambulance with me.”

“Yes.” Her lips bowed into a beatific smile. He gulped for air and coughed.

Violent pain slashed through him once more.

“Let’s get him some oxygen. Keep him settled,” somebody said even as Sarita grabbed a pillow and held it over Corey’s chest to hold all of his guts in place as he coughed.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked. Inside his head, he sounded as though he were speaking into a wishing well.

“The pipe impaled you. It went into your chest and broke two ribs. It came out your back on your left side.”

Jesus. He stared at her.

“The pipe missed all your organs, Corey.” God, he loved how she rolled her R. He could take the news that he was permanently damaged, as long as it came from her. “You’ve had exploratory surgery and all is well.”

“Good.” He inhaled the oxygen through the nasal cannula someone hooked over his ears. The stabbing pain in his chest eased slightly.

“And you will be released from the hospital in a week or so. That’s if you cooperate and don’t try to pull out your tubes or get up without assistance.” Sarita’s voice took on a scolding tone, as if he’d done all these things already. Hell, maybe he had.

“How long…off work?” he asked, fatigue catching up with him and making his eyelids too heavy. He didn’t want to stop looking at his angel, though.

“That depends on you, but most likely twelve weeks.”

He reared up. Pain exploded. He bellowed.

Hands pressed him back to the bed, where he lay gasping and as weak as a newborn babe.

“Twelve weeks for sure,” Sarita said.

“Can’t. I’ll go crazy sitting around.”

That made her laugh, a high tinkle like the sound of a bell. It got into his head and played on repeat. He let his eyes slip shut at last. “You’re well on the mend already, I’d say. Typical man.”

He cracked open one eye at the note of admiration in her voice. “Stay with me, Angel.”

Her sweet sigh rushed his senses, as soft and soothing as the caress of a butterfly’s wings. He had no idea why she was still here with him and he didn’t care. As long as he could keep seeing her face when he opened his eyes.

“I’m here, Corey.” Hands on his face again. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

»»•««

Day two he had little recollection of even opening his eyes, but on day three he found himself propped up in bed, staring down the length of his bandaged body. Fuck, he looked like a bloated mummy. His feet stuck up, tenting the sheet in a strange way.

A click of the door and he swung his eyes to see her—Sarita. Angel. Whoever she was, she was here at long last.

“I thought I asked you to be here when I opened my eyes.” His surly tone only raised a smile from her. Her wide lips stretched farther as she approached his bed.

“Feeling well enough to be argumentative, I see.”

“I am not argumentative.”

“Oh you’re right. This says you’re combative.” She touched a paper taped to the side of his bed.

“Let me see that.” He snatched at it, but things pulled that shouldn’t and he fell back to the bed, gasping. His lungs rattled, making him sound as though he were filled with water.

She pulled the paper free and held it up for him to see. There in bright red letters was the word
combative
.

“Fine, I might have been a little difficult.”

“A little?” She taped the paper to the side of his bed again and pulled up a chair. He had a vague recollection of her dozing in that chair yesterday afternoon. Or maybe he’d dreamed it. Dammit, he wanted his wits back. This floating in a drug-induced haze was too much for him to handle.

“I want out of here.”

“You realize you still have a hole going all the way through you, right?” She wore her hair tied low in a ponytail today. It hung over one shoulder, the dark ends curling over her round breast. He let his gaze linger there for a moment. Her uniform shirt was sexy as hell on her.

“I need to get home.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Why? What do you have waiting for you there? A pet?”

“I don’t have time.”

Her features relaxed. “At least we don’t have to worry about that.”

At her tired voice, he looked at her more closely. “You’re just coming off shift.”

“Yes.”

“Why come here? You’re exhausted—I can see it in the hollows beneath your eyes.”

She blinked at him and then pressed her lips into a firm line. “If you don’t want me to visit you, that’s fine. I thought you could use the company to break up your day.”

“I do, Sarita. Thank you.” He couldn’t remember now why he needed to get home—there was nothing there for him. An empty apartment filled with boring things he used to distract himself from the fact that he didn’t have anything to care about.

Or anybody to care about him.

She covered his hand with her warm one. Her eyes flared wider. “Your hands are icy.”

“I can’t seem to keep them warm.”

“That will be your body trying to keep the warmth in your core and speed the healing. Here, I’ll get another blanket.” She got up and walked out of the room. He watched her go, gaze clinging to the round globes of her tight ass in her fitted black pants.