Fucking great. Annoyed, he folded his hands in his lap to cover himself.
“Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” she said matter-of-factly, as if the spark between them hadn’t singed her the same way it had him.
Shit, he already knew what he was dealing with. His own personal hell.
Her motions brisk, Anamaría unzipped her backpack, removed a first aid kit, then opened and set it on the coffee table. She tugged on a pair of light blue medical gloves, the snap of the rubbery material against her skin loud in the quiet living room. Poor Lulu’s eyes widened with concern.
Anamaría straightened, her impassive expression grating on his frayed nerves. “You ready?”
No. For a slew of reasons he refused to admit.
With a brisk nod, he braced himself for the discomfort her ministrations would bring—to his leg, as well as his traitorous heart.
Chapter Two
Heart pounding, Anamaría knelt in between the floral sofa and wicker coffee table, her chest even with Alejandro’s elevated leg. Even knowing what she was walking into, she hadn’t been prepared for what greeted her.
Alejandro’s handsome face was thinner, his skin more jaundiced than the usual sun-kissed bronze she’d seen in the pictures he occasionally posted on social media. His usually clean-shaven, angular jaw sported thick scruff, proof he hadn’t shaved in days. Probably more like a week. Pain pinched the edges of his mouth, narrowed his dark eyes in a broody expression she should not have found appealing.
Doggedly, Anamaría willed herself to concentrate on “the patient,” and calm the nervous trembles vibrating through her system. Steady hands were needed here. Both to ensure she didn’t cause him more discomfort when she cleaned his pin sites and to dispel any question about whether or not being near him again might be a problem for her.
It wasn’t. Not in the least.
She empathized with anyone who was injured, especially this badly. It’s part of why she’d chosen her profession. And she was damn good at what she did.
Forget that the last time they touched had been the evening she and Alejandro had said good-bye. Back when she’d thought he would change his mind about staying away for good. And he apparently thought she’d eventually be okay leaving everything behind. Their home. His familia. Hers.
Wrapped in a tight hug, she’d held onto him as they stood on the concrete seawall behind her parents’ house in Big Coppitt Key. Above them, the midnight sky had sparkled with stars. A full moon shone its mercurial path over the dark open ocean at the end of the canal.
If she closed her eyes, Anamaría could sense the heavy humid air enveloping them. Smell the salty seawater mixed with the sweet scent of the bougainvillea trailing up the back stairs. Feel the harsh pain of her heart breaking.
Instead, she kept her eyes wide open, intent on doing her job, then getting the hell out of here.
Her fingers softly palpated the area a couple inches away from where one of the wires attached to the top ring on the external fixator pierced his skin. Two and a half weeks post-surgery, it was surprising to find bandages covering his pin sites. If there had been complications with healing, the surgeon in Puerto Rico wouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, let Alejandro travel.
“I’m assuming the bandages were placed here as a precaution to avoid germs during your trip home?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him from under her lashes.
Sweat beaded his upper lip and brow. Teeth gritted, his jaw muscles straining, he gave a jerky nod in response. Pain flashed like lightning in his nearly black eyes.
“Anamawía make Tio Ale better?” Lulu asked, her high-pitched voice breaking the tension filling the room as all the adults watched with varying degrees of concern.
“She’s going to try, mamita,” Cece answered.
Try being the operative word here. Based on the tension radiating off Alejandro, he was either really pissed to see her or experiencing a higher degree of pain than he should. Maybe both.
As for him being pissed, he’d have to suck it up. She wasn’t thrilled about their impromptu reunion either. It had their scheming mothers written all over it.
But the pain from his injury…that she might be able to help. Not, however, with this particular audience breathing down her neck. All of them waiting for any sign that past hurts lingered. Or worse, a hint they’d been laid to rest and the potential for a new future for her and Alejandro still existed.
She’d bet her next Kelly day that her mom and Señora Miranda had already started praying a novena for the latter. And Anamaría, like most firefighters, wouldn’t bet their monthly extra day off on anything that wasn’t a sure winner.
Pushing aside the irritating thought of their mothers’ matchmaking, Anamaría turned back to her task. Not the person.
“Okay, everyone, while I’m sure Alejandro enjoyed the welcome home fiesta, we should move him to his room where he’ll be more comfortable,” Anamaría announced. “After I finish checking his pin sites, Tio Ale needs to take a nap, like Lulu. Rest is important for his recovery.”
Plus, getting him to his room would allow them a small measure of privacy. Not exactly what she personally wanted, but necessary for her to do her job correctly. Instinct told her Alejandro wouldn’t answer her questions about his pain levels truthfully. Not in front of his worry-prone mother.
“Ernesto, can you help me?” Anamaría motioned toward the wheelchair parked in the combination dining-kitchen area.
It wasn’t easy, but after a few grunts of complaint peppered with muffled curses, Alejandro settled into the chair, his left leg propped up on the elevated footrest.
Now a light sheen of perspiration covered his haggard face, and she almost felt sorry for him.
Irritated at her reaction, she shoved her first aid kit in her
