One More Step Read online

  Holy hell, this guy. At least six feet and three inches of sculpted muscle towered over me. A square jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass, beautiful dark eyes, lush brown hair… And the entire package wrapped in a uniform that announced I save lives for a living.

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  The guy blinked. “Come again?”

  “Nothing. Uh, hi. Yes, I’m your problem child today.”

  “Name?”

  “Faith Benson. And you are?”

  The EMT didn’t answer but squatted in front of my mud-splattered legs to examine my ankle. “Move your toes for me?”

  I did as he said—ordered, really. He had a gruff voice, rough and low.

  He laid two fingers on the top of my foot, feeling for a pulse. “These shoes aren’t appropriate for this trail.”

  “I’m painfully aware.”

  His eyes were dark as he rose from his crouch. “If I had a dollar for every tourist who traipsed in here without preparation…”

  “You have a lovely bedside manner,” I said, ignoring how this guy’s uniform shirt clung to his chest in a way that made my ovaries stand up and take notice. “And you don’t look native, by the way, so maybe cool it on the dumb tourist talk? This hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  He grunted in response and turned to his fellow EMTs. They powwowed for a moment about what to do with me. The whirring helicopter came into sight again—a red bug that flitted across the blue sky.

  “Okay, time to get you out,” a second guy said.

  “How?” I asked.

  My EMT pointed a finger upward.

  “That helicopter?” I shook my head. “Oh no, no, no. That’s not necessary.”

  “We have to evacuate you from the area, ma’am—”

  “Yes, please, but a helicopter? That’s ridiculously dramatic, don’t you think?”

  Just the sort of drama I was trying to erase from my life.

  Silas will never let me hear the end of this.

  “It’s necessary for your safety and to ensure your ankle isn’t further injured.” The second guy turned to my new friend. “Ash, you ready?”

  “Ready, Cap.”

  So the Hottest EMT in the World is named Ash. Makes sense. He sets panties on fire.

  Apparently, the pain in my ankle didn’t stop the inappropriate thoughts. Typically, I let them fly out of my mouth, but I managed to restrain myself that morning.

  “Your name is Ash?”

  “Asher. Only the guys call me Ash.”

  “What do the girls call you?”

  What name do they scream in your bed?

  He smirked. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said, as Asher and the captain started to move to either side of me to lift me up. “Can’t you just piggyback me out?”

  “For two miles?” Asher’s brows furrowed. “And on whose back?”

  “You look more than capable.”

  “As fun as that sounds, we’re using the chopper.”

  “How are you going to land a helicopter on a waterfall?”

  “We’re not,” Asher said. “Ready?”

  Asher and the captain stood on either side of me, and I hooked my arms around their brawny shoulders. Gently, they lifted me. My ankle complained and I bit back a small whimper as they carefully picked their way over the dry rocks that fronted the waterfall and found an outcropping to sit me on.

  Mortified, I waited while the EMTs talked into walkie talkies. Hikers gathered around, taking photos of me, the chopper, and the casket-shaped basket that was slowly making its way down on a cord, a guy in an orange uniform and white helmet coming down with it.

  “You’re going to put me in that?”

  “Don’t worry,” Asher said, crouching beside me to splint my foot. “Roy is the best in the business.”

  My glance darted to the basket, the cables, and the dinky-looking helicopter hovering hundreds of yards in the air above us. I looked back to see Asher’s granite expression had softened a little.

  “Is there someone I can call?” he asked.

  “Question of the hour,” I said, willing the tears back.

  I don’t cry. I never cried. I was allergic to being emotional, but suddenly I felt so helpless and stranded on an island thousands of miles away from anyone I knew, about to dangle in the sky in a basket.

  Asher’s brows rose. “Well?”

  “No. There isn’t anyone to call.”

  “You’re on the island alone?”

  “Yes, okay?” I spat. “I came here to find inner peace. That’s not exactly a team sport. If I’d brought a gaggle of girlfriends, we’d have spent all our time drinking wine and shopping. Which is exactly what I do in Seattle. I needed a change. This”—I indicated my ankle—“is not on the itinerary. Obviously.”

  Asher wore a grudging look of…admiration? Understanding? Doubtful. I was just another dumb tourist. Even dumber for coming here by myself.

  Roy and his Basket of Doom were brought over. My pulse kicked up another notch.

  “You want me to lie down in that? On purpose?”

  A hint of a smile touched Asher’s lips. “It’s safe, I swear.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls about to fly through the air in nothing but a basket attached to a rope suspended from a helicopter.”

  The guys helped me lie down flat on my back, and I clutched my muddy backpack to my chest. From inside his white helmet, Roy busily worked attaching various buckles and straps.

  “Where are you taking me, Roy?”

  “They’re going to land you on dry ground,” Asher said. “An ambulance is waiting to take you to Wilcox Hospital. Where are you staying on the island?”

  “Kapa’a.”

  “Then you’re near the hospital.”

  A lot of good that would do me. I couldn’t drive. Couldn’t walk.

  How did I get here? What the hell am I going to do?

  I realized that, outside of Silas, there was no one I wanted to call to help me get through this. I wasn’t one for freaking out, but at that moment, it took all I had to not burst into tears.

  Asher read my expression and frowned.

  “You good?”

  “Just peachy,” I managed, though my heart pounded like a gong. There was no way I was going to lose it in front of this guy. “Does it change anything if I say I’m afraid of heights?”

  Asher’s expression softened with his voice. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

  I flashed him my flirtiest covered-in-mud-sprained-ankle-scared-shitless smile. “Thanks.” I looked up at the helicopter above. “This is nuts. Do I have time for a photo?”

  “Seriously?”

  “When is this going to happen again?”

  “Next week?” He nearly offered me a grin. “You strike me as catastrophe-prone.”

  “And you still need to work on your bedside manner.”

  I fished my phone out and took a shot. Then I whipped my phone to the right and grabbed a pic of Asher.

  “To show the folks at home the hero who rescued the dumb tourist with the bad shoes.”

  “That’s Roy. Not me.” His expression softened with his voice. “And you’re not dumb. Shit happens.”

  Did I detect a twinge of remorse in his gruff, manly-man voice? I had no time to contemplate. Takeoff was imminent; I wasn’t going to see Asher ever again.

  “Take care, Faith,” he said as he and the rest of the guys backed away. “And be more careful next time.”

  “There is no next time. This trip is over.”

  Before it even began. God, what a nightmare.

  Roy made a circular arm motion, and the chopper rose higher, taking the basket off the ground. I caught sight of Sam with his sons, amid a bunch of gawking tourists. He waved at me. I waved back and mouthed Thank you.

  Only a slender cord, swaying in the breeze, tethered Roy and I to the helicopter above us. Below, the earth—beautiful as it w
as—swept beneath us at a frightening distance.

  I looked to Roy, somehow attached to the side of the basket by cords and buckles. “You do this often?”

  He couldn’t hear me from inside his helmet. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the ordeal to be over. Three minutes later, it was. We landed the basket in the playground of an elementary school.

  “So that happened,” I said to the sky.

  As promised, an ambulance was waiting. Two more EMTs—neither of them Asher, of course—rushed out and disengaged us. I was put on a stretcher and rolled toward the ambulance.

  “I think I’m fine, guys,” I said. “A hospital seems like overkill.”

  “Might be broken,” one guy said. “Better to have an X-ray.”

  I sighed. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be.

  • • •

  For four hours, I waited on a gurney in the ER, shivering with cold. The thin blanket they’d given me was purely decorative, apparently, and the ice pack on my ankle felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. An X-ray was taken and determined nothing was broken. A young dark-haired doctor with a nametag that read Akana gave me the news.

  “X-ray shows no broken bones. Ultrasound shows no ligament tears,” she said. “Without an MRI we can’t be one hundred percent certain, but in my experience, it looks like a bad sprain. You’re lucky.”

  “Yep. That’s me. Lucky.” I brushed a tangle of hair out of my eyes. “What do I do now?”

  The doctor smiled gently. “We’ll give you a boot to stabilize your foot, a pair of crutches, more ice packs to take home. Is there someone we can call to come and get you?”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “If I had a dollar…” I sniffed and sat straighter. “No. I’m here by myself.”

  Doctor Akana frowned, and we both looked at my mud-splattered legs. “I can have the nurses clean you up if you’d like.”

  “And wait another four hours in this Arctic hell? No, thanks. Someone less lucky probably needs this bed anyway. I’ll call a cab. Or an Uber.”

  “Very well. I’ll get the nurse to bring your paperwork.”

  The doc left, and a nurse appeared nearly thirty minutes later to wrap my ankle and put it in a little black boot that came to mid-shin. I signed some papers, and they rolled me in a wheelchair to the front of the hospital.

  The orderly waited with me until the Uber arrived—a young guy with a small white Kia.

  I hauled myself out of the wheelchair, and the orderly handed me crutches. I’d never used them before and struggled to find my balance. My ankle throbbed. I felt as if I were being cast out of the space station into the unknown, alone.

  Just get back to the condo.

  And then what? I had no clue how I’d be able to maneuver into a bath to clean myself up. I could change my flight and get the hell out of here, but I had three pieces of luggage to somehow get to the airport. Just the thought of packing in my condition made me tired. And my rental car? How did I return it? I couldn’t drive…

  Just get back to the condo, I thought again. Do that first, figure out the rest later.

  I crutched three steps to the Kia slowly, awkwardly. Exhausted and wanting to sit.

  The Uber driver eyed my muddy clothes dubiously. “Wait, wait. Um, is there a towel we can put down?”

  “Seriously?”

  “For my back seat?” He looked to the orderly who was already taking the wheelchair back. “Hey, man. Hold up.”

  He ran after the orderly, leaving me standing on the curb. Alone.

  The dam finally broke and I burst into tears.

  TWO

  THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY no reason for me to go Wilcox hospital after my shift. None. I had friends there, of course. Docs and nurses and other guys in my line of work whom I saw on the regular. But I had no plans with anyone that night, and didn’t normally make a habit of hanging out at a hospital for shits and giggles. So why was I driving there like a bat out of hell, straight from the fire station, still in uniform no less?

  You know why.

  I cursed myself for being such a wuss but didn’t turn my Jeep from its course to Wilcox. For her. For Faith Benson, the stunningly beautiful tourist who made bad choices in hiking shoes. Something she had said stuck with me.

  I came here to find inner peace… I needed a change.

  I’d heard variations on that song a hundred times from tourists I’d come in contact with in my five years on the island. But Faith sounded like she meant it. That her injury had ruined more than a vacation for her. It’d been…

  “A reset,” I muttered on the highway south to Lihue. “Like mine.”

  I liked to drive fast, and I drove faster, even though it was likely too late. She’d been admitted hours ago and was probably long gone by now.

  I screeched my Jeep into the parking lot and was about to park when there she was. Faith stood propped up on crutches at the curb. And she was crying.

  “The hell…?”

  Tires squealing, I reversed course and pulled into the pick-up/drop-off drive behind a dinky white Kia.

  “Hey,” I said, climbing out of the Jeep and striding over to her. “You okay?”

  “No, I am not okay!” she cried, then blinked tearfully at me in confusion. Her voice softened for a second and she looked almost glad to see me. “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, she stiffened her voice and hurriedly wiped her eyes. “Come to get a few more digs at the dumb tourist?”

  I glanced around. “Is someone picking you up?”

  “I have an Uber,” she said. “The driver’s trying to find a towel.”

  “A towel?”

  “He doesn’t want my muddy ass on his seat.” Faith broke down again, shoulders shaking, her blond hair blowing around her shoulders. Then shook her head defiantly. “No. Never mind. Not going to freak out. I’m fine.” But the tears started again and she gestured furiously at her muddy, bandaged leg. “How did this happen? I came here for personal growth. Does this look like personal growth to you? My entire trip is ruined.”

  “How long are you here for?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “That’s not so bad—”

  “I got here yesterday.”

  “Oh.”

  “What is so bad about shopping anyway?” she cried. “What’s so terrible about sleeping in and cocktail parties and meaningless sex?”

  “Nothing,” I said, grinning despite myself. This woman…

  “This was stupid. I should have stayed at home.” Faith huffed a steadying breath.

  “Feel better?”

  “No.” She wiped her eyes, then glared at me. “Asher, right? Once again, why are you here?”

  I started to answer, but then she winced as a flash of pain came over her. She didn’t need to be standing on a curb. She needed to get cleaned up, elevate her leg, get some ice on that ankle.

  She needs someone to take care of her.

  “Fuck the Uber,” I said, moving toward her. “I’ll take you.”

  “What? No, I’m fine.”

  “You want to wait for Towel Boy and then try to cram into the back of his car? Come on.”

  She grimaced and I could see her struggle to keep the pain off of her face.

  “Hurts, right?”

  She nodded. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

  “Maybe you’re growing on me.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “I strongly disagree.”

  The Uber driver rushed over, waving a white towel. “Got it.” He beamed. “Ready, ma’am?”

  “Ma’am?” Faith muttered. “I’m twenty-nine, for God’s sake.” She looked between me and Towel Boy, hesitating.

  I took a step closer to her so that we were face to face. “I’ll get you home safe,” I said. “It’s what I do.”

  Her green eyes—stunning and clear—widened. “Do you practice lines like that in the mirror?” she asked, though the breath in her voice betrayed her brassy words.

  I didn’t a
nswer but slipped my arm around her slender waist. Her lips parted, eyes locked on mine. I took the crutches out of her hands and thrust them at the Uber driver.

  “Carry these,” I said, and then gently lifted Faith and strode toward my Jeep.

  “My hero,” Faith said, trying to maintain her sarcasm, but I felt her melt into my arms with relief.

  And my arms answered by holding her tighter. She tucked her head against my shoulder. Her hair was soft as it brushed my chin, and the scents of her flowery shampoo wafted to me. Carefully, I maneuvered her into the front seat, stowed her crutches in the back, and sent Towel Boy on his way.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Pono Kai condos.” She watched me throw the car in drive and take off, wincing as I hit the gas. “You don’t need GPS?”

  “I’ve lived here for five years,” I said. “And this island isn’t exactly huge.”

  “True. Where are you from?”

  “New York City.”

  “Were you a fireman in New York too?”

  “Nope. Hedge fund investment manager.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wall Street?”

  I nodded.

  “You traded all that for island life? Permanently?”

  “Never looked back.”

  She whistled. “I could never. Especially since Kauai doesn’t seem to like me very much.” She winced as the Jeep jounced on a turn. “Easy, Mario Andretti.”

  “Sorry.”

  Faith yawned. “I want to know how a Wall Street hedge fund manager becomes a firefighter on a tiny little island half a planet away, but I’ve had a day. I’m going to take a little nap. If that’s possible with your stellar driving.”

  I grinned. “That bad, eh?”

  She settled herself against the window and closed her eyes. “The helicopter was less traumatic.”

  I scoffed but couldn’t wipe that stupid grin off my face, while wondering what the hell it was about Faith Benson that was making me upend the rest of my day to put up with her. I’d made it a personal rule to never get involved with tourists for more than a night or two, but sex wasn’t on my mind.

  Okay fine, it was lurking somewhere in the deepest recesses of my brain because she was a stunningly beautiful woman and I was a red-blooded male.