Christy Jeffries - A Proposal For The Officer

Kaleb noted her use of military time and filed that nugget of information in the back of his mind. “How long does it usually take for you to recover from one of these, um, episodes?”

“Well, last time it took a couple of hours, but I got the insulin dose sooner this time so half that, maybe?”

Kaleb’s stomach balled into a knot. He’d once had a crate of antibacterial hand sanitizer delivered to the office when several employees came down with a minor cold. He didn’t do sickness or injuries or anything that might hint at the human body’s susceptibility to disease. He most assuredly was not the person to go to in a medical crisis. And while it seemed as though the lady now had a decent handle on her situation, he would feel a lot more at ease if they had a second opinion. “Listen, my brother’s fiancée is a doctor. Let me call her and she can drive over and check you out.”

Or check him out. Luckily, his adrenaline was pumping his blood around so hard he wasn’t likely to faint. Hopefully. He stayed squatted down, close to the ground. Just in case.

“No way. Especially not here where everyone in town would see me.”

He eyed the barcode sticker on the rear window of her car, a sure sign that it was a rental. “Are you a local?”

“God, no. I’m just in town visiting my sister and her family. What about you?”

“I’m from Seattle. So if you’re not from here, what does it matter if someone sees you?”

“Long story and I’m about to be late.” She pulled up her blousy sleeve and looked at the sturdy chronograph watch. Her hand and forearm were equally tan, but a thin line of skin around her ring finger was strikingly white.

Telling himself that he wasn’t one of his comic-book heroes and the lady beside him probably wouldn’t like being considered a damsel in distress, Kaleb did what he always did when he was out of his league. He pulled out his phone, tapped on the voice to text feature and spoke into the speaker. “Angela, find out how to recover from low blood sugar.”

“High blood sugar,” the woman corrected him. Yeah, that made more sense considering how much she ate at once.

“Make that high blood sugar,” he said into the phone, then nodded toward her lap. “Would you mind putting that thing away?”

“What, this?” She lifted up the object and Kaleb felt the color drain out of his face. “It’s just a needle. You’re not afraid of it, are you?”

“It looks like someone attached a syringe to Dr. Who’s sonic screwdriver.”

A blank look crossed her face. “What’s a sonic screwdriver?”

“Sorry. Geek reference.” An embarrassing flush normally would’ve brought his color back with a vengeance after that less-than-cool admission, but he was woozily watching her put the cap back on her insulin pen and zip it up in its case.

After several uncomfortable moments, the lady next to him broke the silence. “Who’s Angela?”

“One of my assistants.”

“Just one of them?”

He was saved from having to respond to her sarcastic question by the pinging of his phone. Several texts full of copied and pasted information flooded his screen.

“Hold on,” Kaleb said as he read.

However, he was easily distracted by the woman beside him. Now that her color was returning, he could see that there was an edge to her girl-next-door appearance, an attitude that implied she wouldn’t back down from a fight. She opened a bottle of water sitting in her center console and chugged it until the plastic concaved into itself. Then she used the back of her hand to wipe the dampness from her mouth. “Angela certainly is fast.”

He nodded. That was why he paid her the second highest salary in his company. “Okay, so it says here that, depending on the levels, it can take one to several hours to feel better. She’s also suggesting you drink more water and then eat something high in protein and complex carbs once your blood glucose levels return to a normal range.”

“An hour? I can’t very well sit out here in my car until I’m feeling better. Would you mind giving me a ride?”

“To the ER?” He felt his calf muscles clench, making him eager to stand up and run in the opposite direction. God, Kaleb hated hospitals more than he hated needles. Having multiple medical procedures during one’s adolescence tended to do that to a person.

“No. Just to pick up my nephew.”

“Can’t you get someone else to pick him up?”

She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to hack into the CIA’s router network. “His mom, my sister, left town this weekend on something called a ‘babymoon’ and put me in charge. I can’t very well call her and say, ‘Oops, sorry, I forgot to pick up your son because I was in a diabetic crisis.’”

“Actually, that’s exactly what you could do. Maybe he can get a ride home with a friend?”

“Right. And then my sister would find out and wonder why I couldn’t handle it myself.”

Kaleb seriously doubted that this woman slouched on the seat next to him could handle it. His heart constricted and his head was heavy, which was why he had to keep it supported against the door behind him as he balanced beside her, their bodies only a few inches apart. He of all people knew what it was like to not want someone—especially an overly concerned family member—to think he was weak or needed help.

Still. He was shocked when she turned those pretty blue eyes on him and asked, “Can you give me a ride to the baseball field?”

His throat closed in on itself as if it were the plastic water bottle she’d just drained. He coughed to clear it. “But...you don’t know me.”

“Hi, I’m Molly.”

Instinctively, because his mom had drilled good manners into him, he put his hand out and shook hers. “Kaleb.”

“Good. Now we know each other.”

“But you don’t know if I’m a criminal,” he argued.

“I know that you’re the type to rush to aid a stranger, which means you have a hero complex.”

“Ha,” he snorted. His brothers would argue that he was the least heroic of all of them, or at least the most self-absorbed. “Maybe I have a villain complex and you’re too weak to have figured it out yet.”

“I am not weak.” Her piercing look sent a chill down the back of his neck. He’d always associated the name Molly with a lovable cocker spaniel. But right this second, she looked more like a pissed-off Chihuahua. “Besides, a villain would’ve already robbed me or kidnapped me by now. And bad guys don’t have trusty assistants named Angela.”

“So you’re the expert on bad guys?” Why was he arguing with her about this? Just tell her you don’t want to give her a ride. Because he suddenly found himself actually wanting to take her anywhere she needed to go. She looked so delicate and fragile, yet he had a feeling there was a spine of steel under that petite frame. Plus, she was a mystery, a riddle, and he didn’t like leaving things unsolved.

“If you’d met my ex, you’d quickly figure out that I’m definitely not an expert on jerks.” He raised a brow at that little admission and she clamped her eyes shut. “God, forget I said that.”

Too late. Kaleb never forgot anything.

“Sir,” a cashier with salt-and-pepper dreadlocks called as she crossed the parking lot. “You forgot your ice and your limes.”

“Oh, geez, don’t let anyone see me like this.” Molly slouched lower in the seat. Great, now she was a cowering Chihuahua. “They’ll tell my sister.”

Kaleb sighed and stood up. He jogged toward the cashier, trying to meet her halfway.

“Thanks, Donae,” he said, reading the name tag on her apron. His father always said that people gave better service when you used their first name. Kaleb usually avoided the practice because it tended to invite familiarity when he was usually trying to keep the public from recognizing him. But he had a feeling he’d need all the allies he could get if he was going to survive the next ten days in this small town.