Chasing Treasure: Granite Lake Romance Read online

  “Can we take this outside?” she asked.

  “Sure. Let’s go. This should be good. I already like my new partner.”

  How is he going to take my news about us never fooling around again?

  Treasure swung the ambulance door open, climbed in, and tucked her travel mug in the cup holder. She stashed her bag behind the seat and settled down behind the steering wheel. Court sat shotgun, apparently waiting until he had her full attention before defending himself. “No one’s ever told me I have a pretentious name before.”

  It took every ounce of willpower not to roll her eyes. Something she found herself wanting to do every few seconds around this guy. She ground her molars and kept a straight face. How did I enjoy myself at Paradiso? Then she remembered bits of conversation that entertained her. The tequila had to be to blame. “You insulted my parents and my name, so I thought I should square up with you.” She refrained from making eye contact and started the engine. Treasure double checked radio settings and the computer monitor to make sure everything was in order for their shift; it gave her an excuse to not look at him.

  He clicked his tongue. “You’re straightforward attitude would come across as offensive to most men, but it’s one of those things that makes you cool, Treasure Hope.”

  “Please, don’t call me that. It’s Treasure or Hope, but not both.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, baby.”

  Now, she really wanted to punch him in the face and not just slap the look off it. Baby? He crossed a line and didn’t even know it. Treasure was anything but someone’s baby. She clenched the steering wheel with one hand and shifted the ambulance into drive, leaving the parking garage while contemplating the fastest way to acquire a new partner.

  Their first call came in seconds later and saved her from ripping him a new one. No one called her baby and got away with it. Treasure flipped on the lights and sirens and slammed down the gas pedal with more thrust than necessary. A fifty-eight-year-old male suffering from chest pains and numbness in his arms waited for their arrival. It sounded like textbook myocardial infarction. Treasure desperately needed something to focus on other than the mistake she made with Court twenty-four hours earlier.

  They arrived at the given address four and a half miles away and jumped out of the rig. Treasure instructed Court to prepare the gurney as she grabbed the backboard and her kit. They hustled to the front door, rang the bell, called out, “Washoe County EMS!” and let themselves in. All of Mr. Young’s vital signs and symptoms screamed heart attack. Court took a quick verbal medical history from Mr. Young, and they wasted not a single second loading him into the ambulance.

  Treasure hooked the patient up to the electrocardiogram and gave him a nitroglycerin tablet. Much to Treasure’s dismay, Court insisted she stay with the patient while he drove to the hospital.

  “I’ll drive now,” he informed her.

  It was her night behind the wheel and she had no idea if Court was competent enough to handle the rig on unfamiliar streets. He’d been in town, like, three whole days.

  She flashed him an irritated glance, but didn’t contradict him in front of a patient. Her and Court should have ironed this out before picking up a patient.

  “Mr. Young appreciates your soft womanly touch. Don’t you, sir?” Court asked as he moved to shut the doors on the back of the rig. “We’ll let the man drive, and Treasure can stay with you.”

  Mr. Young, glassy eyed with fear and uncertainty, simply stared between them. He didn’t reply and it didn’t matter to Court because the doors swung closed, sealing Treasure inside. The patient closed his eyes and continued taking deep breaths as she had instructed him to do earlier.

  Treasure’s duty was to stay in the back and make the man as comfortable as possible. Patient care was a top priority and she would care for anyone in the back of the truck, but that wasn’t the point. All emergency medical persons should be able to medically aid their patients, which included giving comfort and assurance. If Court lacked in the personal comfort department, she needed to know, and before they went on a call together.

  Treasure kept one hand resting lightly on Mr. Young’s arm. “We’ll be arriving at the E.R. in three minutes.”

  The man nodded beneath his oxygen mask. She thought he would be okay and told him so. Cardiac arrest hadn’t happened yet, and if it did, they were close to the hospital. He’d have more than a fighting chance of survival. Plus, the nitroglycerin should already be taking affect and dilating his arteries. Mr. Young would not die on her watch, she was sure of it. Treasure’s gut never steered her wrong. The man’s eyes stayed locked on hers. The stress lines were still there, but his eyes seemed more focused. With a sigh, she knew it was for the best she rode in the back. She would never admit it to Court, though.

  After delivering the patient to the waiting emergency room staff and giving them Mr. Young’s information, they closed up the ambulance and pulled away from County General. Treasure once again sat behind the wheel.

  “You were good with that man.” Court reached over and squeezed her thigh, giving her an, “Atta girl.”

  “Umm… it’s sort of my job.” What she wanted to say was, No shit, jerk face.

  “Since we’re going to be working together, you should do patient duty in the back and let me drive the wagon. You’ve got the female compassion thing workin’ for you.”

  “Maybe you should take this opportunity to hone your bedside manner rather than assuming it’s my responsibility.”

  Taken aback by her tone, Court’s brows rose toward his hairline. He faced forward, silence filling the cab as she drove to one of her usual parking spots while on duty.

  “I’ve been at this for about ten years. I can handle the patients. They don’t always appreciate my direct manner. I thought it would be in the guy’s best interests to have your motherly touch, but if you’re not comfortable, I’ll do it.”

  Motherly? No one had ever said Treasure had a mothering temperament. She thought of herself as anything but motherly. She had compassion and gentleness for people, but that did not make her motherly. She forced her clenched jaw to loosen so she could set this jackass straight. “It’s not about that. You’re still in training and I’m supposed to be driving your sorry, abrupt, ill-mannered ass around until you know the area better. If you can’t be kind to the patients, then, by all means, keep your hands off.”

  “You’re feisty, Hope. Sexy and feisty. I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you slink up to me at the bar. That was a smokin’ hot outfit the other night. The uniform doesn’t compare. Not even close.”

  Treasure turned into the mall parking lot and aimed the ambulance toward the back where there were no cars. She stopped, put it in reverse, and backed into a space. God, please let another call come in soon, she thought as she turned off the engine. The radio remained traitorously silent.

  “Listen, Court. You can’t talk to me like that while we’re working. It’s not professional.”

  “You liked my mouth last night. Especially when I was—”

  She interrupted before he could remind her of where his mouth had been and what he had used it for. “I don’t date coworkers. If I knew we’d be working together, I wouldn’t have let anything happen.”

  He placed a large hand over his chest as if struck by sincerity. “I regret nothing. If you want to keep it a secret, that’s fine with me.” Then he went on and Treasure resumed growing her dislike of Court Prescott. “No one has to know how you took advantage of my stud services. We can have a go at it again in case you didn’t get enough last night. Like, right now. The radio’s quiet.”

  “I’m going to throat punch you,” she said, her fingers curling into a fist.

  He chuckled and flashed all his perfect straight white teeth.

  Treasure almost wished she were joking, but she honestly had to keep herself from throwing her fist into his larynx.

  “You’re the hottest paramedic I’ve ever seen.”<
br />
  “Drop it,” she warned.

  “Come on, Hope. I’m only kidding. No, I’m not. We could, uh, have a quickie. I’ve never gotten it on during a shift before. No one’s around this time of night.” He glanced at the nearly empty parking lot, then slid a crooked grin her way.

  She clenched the steering wheel so hard her hands started to go numb.

  “Lighten up. We’re supposed to be working together while your old partner is away. It’ll be more fun if we get along.”

  She took a long steadying breath. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s pretend last night never happened, okay?”

  The smugness on his face beamed at her in the dim light of the parking lot. This guy is unbelievable. She would swear he was undressing her with his eyes. It made her skin crawl.

  “On duty? Fine. We never got naked together. Off duty. That’s something else entirely.”

  “I’m not dating you,” she said again with cold clarity in her voice. She didn’t know how else to spell it out for him.

  Luckily, the dispatcher came through the radio and they raced toward a motor vehicle accident.

  * * *

  The next three nightshifts went marginally better with Court. He stopped the insinuations and managed to be slightly less pig-headed. It was a busy week for MVAs. Treasure blamed the bad weather in combination with the full moon for the abundance of car accidents. It kept her on her toes and the emergency room full of new patients.

  Court’s competence on the job showed, but he seriously lacked in people skills. She again wondered how in the hell she had found him interesting enough to sleep with last weekend. With a discouraging sigh, she knew the answer was his muscular physique and handsome face. Plus, his knowledge of motorcycles and classic cars was notable. Continually scolding herself for the mistake she made didn’t help her mood. She decided once the work week was over, she would request to change shifts. At this point, any other schedule would be better than working alongside Court.

  At the end of her last shift of the week, she pulled into the ambulance barn, shut off the engine, and made sure everything was in order for the next crew.

  “Are you going back to Paradiso this weekend?” Court asked, watching as she went through her end of the week routine.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Too many beefcakes, but nothing you want to sink your teeth into? That’s how I usually feel when I hang out at a meat market. Until I saw you.”

  She tried not to groan, but couldn’t hold back the seething repulsion. He didn’t notice as he chuckled and went inside the break room.

  Court stood by the door, waiting for her after she clocked out.

  “Come on. I want to show you something,” he said.

  “I can’t,” she said, and squeezed her brain for any excuse to walk away and be done with this week, and with him.

  “Don’t be stuck up. I promise you’ll like it. You can see it from here if you look outside.”

  Treasure dragged her feet in his direction. Every effort she made at keeping the peace between them would be worth it. Wouldn’t it? She would put in her request with Paul and then be free of Court Prescott. Court pointed at something through the glass door. The sun barely crested the horizon, but the parking lot remained lit from street lamps.

  “That’s my new baby,” he said.

  He could only be pointing at the full size pickup truck with the motorcycle in the back.

  Treasure shouldered her workbag and was out the door, bee-lining straight for the truck. She climbed into the bed without stopping to wait for Court. The bike spoke to her on the most primitive level and she forgot self-restraint or anything she should be doing.

  She examined it with an eagle eye. “Is this a seventy-five?”

  “Yep.”

  Treasure heard him but didn’t look over, too entranced by the 1975 BMW R90 S. The bike was exactly what her father had ridden when she was a kid. It even had the same black and silver paint job with the gold pin stripe. Only Court’s motorcycle was in pristine condition. The odometer made her heart race. It had eighteen thousand miles on it. This motorcycle was a freaking wet dream. Her father’s had more than eighty thousand miles on it before he sold it to pay the mortgage.

  “How?” she mumbled, and then spoke up. “Where did you get it?” she asked, still dazed, a little dazzled, and letting her curiosity rule her better sense.

  Treasure brushed the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand to check for drool. Any BMW enthusiast would salivate over this bike and she was not immune. Treasure hadn’t been keeping up with the online motorcycle forums and sale pages. She owned too many motorcycles already and that didn’t include the ones at her dad’s old shop in Granite Lake, which technically were hers even if she didn’t think of them that way. Watching the internet for collectible bikes to come on the market used to occupy her spare time, but she’d more or less put it aside. The last thing she needed was another motorcycle. Yet, if she’d seen this one listed, she’d have jumped on it. Much like Court probably did. The bike had no license plate and she could feel the green monster of envy peeking through her eyes.

  “I found it online. I couldn’t believe it. Some lady wanted it out of her dead brother’s garage and she wanted it out immediately.”

  Staring at Court across the pristine vintage bike, she vividly recalled why he captured her interest at Paradiso. He had amazing taste in motorcycles and classic cars. Their common interest in motorcycles and tequila had fooled her into thinking he was more appealing than he really was. Since then, she’d obviously moved him onto the “lessons learned” checklist, but he was still hanging around like a viral infection she couldn’t shake.

  Court’s mouth moved. Words were spoken, but Treasure tuned him out and only saw the bike. Its boxer engine, spoke wheels, and its 0-60 in under five seconds were singing a song to her no one else could hear. She wanted to check the oil, slap on a new set of tires, and take it for a long ride.

  “I said, the lady who sold me the bike asked if I wanted to buy any motorcycle parts. I thought you might be interested.”

  Treasure glanced over at Court, barely having registered what he said. “What did she have?”

  “She said there were some BMW parts and pieces, but she wasn’t sure what everything was.”

  “I might be interested.” Treasure hopped down from the back of the truck. What am I doing ogling and daydreaming over Court’s new ride? She needed to go home.

  “Would you like her number?”

  Treasure glanced over at the ambulance barn and wondered if Paul was in his office. She doubted it. “I need to go. It’s been a long night.”

  “I saw most of another R90 in her garage. Didn’t you tell me classic BMW’s are your kryptonite?”

  “Are you telling me the truth?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Scouts honor.” Court held up three fingers.

  Her faced switched from wary distrust to blatant dislike. To Treasure, he wasn’t being charming or cute. He annoyed the inner bitch right out of her. She honestly couldn’t fathom why he continued to try with her. She’d done everything in her power to make him understand she wouldn’t see him outside of work, as friends, or anything else. He pushed the limit for her even as a barely tolerable coworker.

  “Okay, fine. Give me the number.” She had to admit, she was interested in the contact information for someone with BMW motorcycle parts. Her father had been rebuilding a R90 S in his shop when he’d gotten sick and died. He passed away a little over a year ago and she only visited the shop twice. The memories, heartache, and overwhelming task of organizing and dealing with the garage and her father’s apartment had been forced to the bottom of her priorities list — or more like the top of her procrastination list. Even now, one tiny nudge to open the door on everything that waited for her in Granite Lake made her slam it closed again. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, and was half-tempted to sell the whole mess as is, or quit paying taxes and let the county take it of
f her hands. So, why did I tell Court to give me the number?

  Treasure sighed as he found his phone.

  “The phone number is in my email. Climb in and give me a minute to search for it. I’ll start my truck and let it warm up.”

  She should have said forget it, but Treasure was distracted with thoughts of the motorcycle repair shop in her old hometown. She walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. Court started the truck. The rumble of the engine shattered the peaceful calm of the early morning and Treasure took a shuddering breath. This guy knew no bounds. Everything about him had to be over-the-top, ego-driven, or totally asinine. The lift kit with the humungous knobbed tires and the modified, or missing, muffler solidified her opinion of him. He desperately needed to prove something either to himself or to society. She had no desire to find out what excited or motivated Court. Bodie came to mind — he seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her gray matter — and being inside Court’s truck made her miss him again. Bodie drove a sweet truck, too. Nice without all the expensive modifications. He didn’t need to prove anything. In her mind, Bodie was everything Court wasn’t. She could use a heavy dose of his sanity and humor right now. Court searched the contents of his phone as Treasure stared out the windshield, lost in her own thoughts.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s taking a long time to load. Okay, here it is,” he said. “You need something to write on?” He leaned across the cab and started to reach for the glove box.

  “No. I’ll save it to my phone.” She opened her bag which sat by her feet.

  Court fumbled his phone and it fell to the floor. Since Treasure was bent down searching for her own phone, she said, “I got it.”