Risk Factors. Calisa Rhose

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       RISK FACTORS

      CALISA RHOSE

      LYRICAL PRESS

       http://lyricalpress.com/

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/

       To my sweet Mitch. Everybody needs a hero and I’m so happy you’re mine. It’s not every husband who will help brainstorm with their struggling writer wife several times, while driving three hours to and from out-of-town jobs. I love you for volunteering to be my captured audience and believing in me.

       Thank you, Melinda B. Pierce, for helping this book come to be with your ridiculous challenge.

       To my darling editor, Piper Denna, who knows a good thing!

       Acknowledgements

      

      I want to thank a certain woman for her help in my research of Connor McKay’s job in Risk Factors. She spent twenty years as a Medi-Flight nurse, and is now so much more involved in the air rescue business from a ground position. Rescuers do their jobs to help, not gain recognition. I need to acknowledge this person and the time she gave me on phone, email and even reading a crucial scene (that I ended up cutting). She helped me get some of the medical aspects true in general. If anything is not to form in any of this book with the medical/veterinary side that is my sole responsibility as the author and I sincerely apologize for any mistakes.

      If you find yourself wanting to give money away but don’t know how- donate to any air rescue service as many are operated solely on donations and use every dollar they get to help others.

      I have to give special acknowledgement to all First Responders and air-medical units for your daily bravery to help others. Without you we would all be worse off in any emergency, and many times you are not shown the appreciation you deserve until it happens to us. Thank you and God Bless you all. And to those special veterinarians who go above and beyond the call of duty, thank you.

       Chapter 1

      “Glad you’re here, Con. The crew’s extracting the driver from the truck. I have a family trapped in the car, and a shitload of cows blocking our efforts at every turn.” Fire and Rescue Chief Dillan Reed yelled for someone to “get those rubber-neckers moving” and snatched up the radio as it growled on his hip. He issued directions into the device, and whirled back to Connor. “It’ll be a while before the driver’s free. They’re getting the jaws to cut him out. Gotta empty the car before we can move the semi. Hell, I hoped for a smooth R and R when I took the call.”

      Connor McKay shifted the weight of his emergency pack to the other shoulder. He trailed after Dillan, toward the grinding noise of rescue equipment, allowing time to take in the full scene. The stench of fuel and cow manure from the overturned truck and trailer assailed his senses. Cattle lowed and milled on one side of the roadway.

      He followed Chief Reed around the twisted semi and stock trailer blocking most of the two-lane road. Another helicopter hovered above the multi-injury accident, preparing to land. His flight nurse had latched onto the first patient, and pumped the resuscitator with a steady hand. Every emergency worker preferred a smooth rescue and removal, but that was rarely the case. “What can I do?”

      “There’s three occupants still in the car ground units and Flight Five are waiting to transport. We need them out before the truck rolls. Those damn straps securing the cab of the truck slipped once already, so we’re trying to get a crane in for backup. The first responders have everything under control at the moment. Jump in where you’ll be most helpful.”

      Dillan snapped curt orders into his walkie-talkie as Connor left to weave around firemen in various stages of procedures. Focused on his destination, he wound his way toward the car in which paramedics operated. An unexpected bump halted his steps, followed by a grunt that drew his attention to where he’d been walking. A woman sat flat on her fanny, legs stretched out on either side of a Husky-looking dog.

      An apology tickled his tongue before it promptly took a hike when she rose to full height and stared at him with the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen.

      “Hey! Didn’t you see me–the dog…” As her gaze latched onto his, her voice stuttered to silence.

      “Are you all right? I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

      She barely reached his shoulders, but she came across as larger than life when her crystal-blue gaze scanned him as thoroughly as a security wand at the airport. Easy to look at summed up her symmetrical features and smooth complexion. Hair the same yellow-gold shade as Janna’s Barbie dolls’ ruffled in the wind, allowing the sunlight to catch in the deeper copper strands throughout.

      Small, pink latex-covered hands clutched a syringe tightly. Who was she? He didn't recognize her from any other scene. Someone he'd likely never see again, therefore, probably forget by the time the day was over.

      A flowery scent carried on the breeze amid rank fumes, and Connor glanced around. No flowers in sight other than dandelions. The sweet smell had to be hers. Damn. “Sorry.” His stomach muscles tightened of their own accord, punctuated with a quiver in reaction to her womanly fragrance. Suddenly he had a strange sensation of developing an elephant's memory.

      * * * *

      Vivian Dane stared at the man in front of her. All negative thoughts fled as she sized him up. Holy Mama, where have you been all my life? A paramedic’s uniform sheltered his body attractively and displayed the last thing she imagined a paramedic to resemble. The man before her was tall, handsome, and ripped, with a startled golden gaze.

      The syringes in her hands preoccupied her, as she squeezed her eyes closed and hoped he’d vanish. She worried her lower lip as she peeked. No such luck. The Herculean man still stood surveying her.

      “It’s okay. I’m in a bad place here.” She went to her pink medical bag to store the used syringes. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d leave. She could get back to business if he did. It wasn’t her choice to be stuck at the accident rather than at dinner with Patsy. But when she’d happened on the scene, she couldn’t leave with animals in serious need of attention.

      Heavy, cushioned steps echoed hers. She had a job to finish and she was sure he did, too.

      “Is your dog hurt? Are you?”

      She surveyed the accident scene. Twenty-some-odd cows milled in various states of distress, survivors of the accident. Bright pink smears of non-toxic, environmentally safe ink on their necks marked the ones she’d treated with a mild sedative. Sometimes the job took all the smiles from her day. As if to agree, her stomach growled, matching her mood.

      “It’s not my dog.” Then it hit her. He thought she’d been involved in the accident. “Oh, no, I’m fine.” Or I was until you walked on me and proceeded to steal my breath with your godlike presence!

      She’d seen this man at a distance as he emerged from the helicopter, but hadn’t imagined him so handsome up close. Not that she’d had time to look around much, with the cattle and the dog from the car. She’d lost sight of him when he went with a nurse to meet Chief Reed.

      There was a spicy man. Her coincidental arrival on the accident scene under an hour ago had been less than well-received. His “You have no business gawking around like you’re on a Sunday stroll,” comment had made her laugh. Born dedication to help animals held her, and she’d made him an informed man by revealing her occupation. The chief had been thrilled to have her on site once he knew her trade.

      But now, here this guy came, tripping over her, staring at her, generally