Part 3
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"Oh, my God, are you all right? I am so sorry! I didn't see you! Are you hurt? Can you talk?" Peter's words tumbled over one another in his distress over injuring this woman. He cast about in his mind, frantically trying to remember his first aid training. From what he could remember, as long as the accident victim was alive and breathing, he should just leave her alone. He gently stroked the hair that was much the same color as his own.
She closed her eyes while her mouth gasped uselessly, unable to draw in any air.
For several long, agonizing seconds, there was no sound at all except Peter's heart thundering in his chest. He had knocked out seasoned players in several hockey games with this same move, and they had been in full pads. "Oh, please, are you all right? Can you move? Can you talk? Oh, God, I am so sorry!"
She suddenly gave a short gasp, and then another, and finally her eyes opened again. The glassy look was gone, and awareness was beginning to flicker again as she kept drawing in small gulps of air.
Peter stared in fascination at the extraordinary color of her eyes. {What the hell color are they? Blue? Violet? Black?} He snapped back to the present when she spoke to him.
"Help...me...up...," she panted with difficulty.
"No-no, you need to lie still. You-you-you could be badly hurt."
"Wind...knocked...out," she wheezed painfully. "Like falling...off...horse." Her breaths grew fuller and steadier as time passed.
Peter continued to kneel by her side, encouraged by the fact she could talk, but he still feared he had caused a major injury.
The woman started to gather herself to her hands and knees on her own before Peter went ahead and helped her to her feet. She swayed dizzily before resting her forehead against his chest. He held her arms tightly to keep her from falling.
She steadied herself for a moment before mumbling something that was muffled by his coat.
"What did you say?" he asked in concern. "Are you OK? Do you need to lie down?" He felt her shake her head against him and he just held on, comforted that at least she seemed to be moving all right and could talk to him.
In a few moments, when her breathing was more regular and less strained, she pushed away from him and shook her head a few times. She tipped her face up to look at him. "I said," she repeated slowly and with effort, "nice body check."
For one stunned second Peter was absolutely speechless, wondering if she had suffered some kind of head injury.
A ghost of a twinkle appeared in the blue eyes that now flashed flecks of green. "Gretzky move?"
He answered automatically, "No, Doug Gilmour."
She rested her head against his chest and concentrated on breathing in, breathing out.
"Do you want to sit down? Do you hurt anywhere? Do you need a paramedic?" Peter's questions ran over one another.
She pushed away from him, shaking her head to clear away the last of the cobwebs. "No, yes, and no." She let go with one hand and made a move to pull away.
Peter kept hold of her arm with his right hand and circled his left arm around her waist.
She glanced up at him briefly and said, "Help me skate this off." He was about to open his mouth when she answered his unspoken objection. "Look, I've taken spills like this before, and believe me, I know when I'm hurt and when I'm not. You gonna help me, or do I do this on my own?"
While he admired her spunk, he couldn't help responding sharply. Flashing her a pointed look, he spouted back, "If I let go of you, you'll fall flat on your face again."
She nodded in agreement. "Probably. So, like I said, you gonna help me?"
He shook his head in exasperation, but allowed her to skate off slowly while he kept a firm grip around her waist. They glided smoothly across the ice without speaking as he watched her closely for any sign of pain or dizziness.
"OK, let me try it on my own a second."
He let loose reluctantly, and followed closely in case he needed to make a quick catch.
The woman skated in a small circle, using short, choppy strokes and pausing a time or two to bend over and rest her hands on her knees. Soon she put her hands above her head and linked them to rest there while she continued to skate slowly.
Peter noticed they had returned to the spot where he had changed into his skates. He called out, "Hey, I don't know about you, but I've had enough skating for one day."
"I think that I have, too," she agreed. As they stepped off the ice, she became a little wobbly again, and he helped her to the log. She sat down in front of it, and using the sturdy wood as a backrest, closed her eyes.
Peter was alarmed again. "Look, I have a phone in my car, and I'm going to call somebody to get out here and look at you." He leaped to his feet and started to take a step up the path.
Her eyes flew open, and she snapped, "I do NOT need any paramedics wasting their time coming out here when they could get a call to a real emergency."
Peter was fast getting frustrated with this female. "Listen, you took a fall out there that I've seen lay out men twice your size! You have two choices: either let me call the paramedics, or I take you to the hospital." Without realizing it, he had fallen into his no-nonsense cop tone.
She sighed in exasperation and suddenly gave in. "OK, fine! I can see that I'm not going to win this argument, and if I don't let you have your way, you'll probably dump me on the ice again."
She glared at him a moment, until she saw the hurt appear in his eyes and the way he involuntarily flinched at her sharp words. Instantly contrite, she put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. That was mean. You're just worried about me. I haven't had anyone to care about what happened to me in a long time, and I'm-I'm just not used to it. I'm sorry. You're being very sweet."
"S'OK," he spoke gruffly, wondering how she had picked up on his feelings so quickly. "As long as it got you to agree with me."
She smiled at him -- the sun breaking through on a cloudy day. "Help me up, then, and let's get this over with. Oh, wait, you better go get your gear."
He looked at her suspiciously. "How do I know you're not going to run out on me while my back is turned?"
She snorted and replied, "Number one, I'm beginning to stiffen up; number two, I can't run in skates; and number three, my car is on the other side of the lake. Unless you're afraid I'll steal your car. And even then, you'd probably just sic the cops on me."
He flashed her a roguish grin and laughed. "Wouldn't have to sic the cops on you. I AM a cop." With that, he zipped off and left her staring after him in wide-eyed astonishment. In a matter of moments he was back with stick, puck, and her forgotten stocking cap.
The woman studied him a moment, smiling briefly before asking, "Am I supposed to fit in your car with that stick as my close companion?"
Peter look nonplussed, and then grinned. "I'll hide it here and come back for it later." He scooped some snow away from the windward side of the log and slid the hockey stick up close to the wood before covering it with handfuls of snow.
She sat quietly while he changed into his boots before dashing up the hill to put his equipment into his trunk.
She was sitting on the log when he returned. Without asking, he scooped her up into his arms to carry her to his car. He was a little surprised she made no move to resist and simply said, "Thanks. I thought the hill might be tough to make on my own."
He settled her comfortably into the passenger seat and climbed in to start the Stealth. Glancing over at her, he asked, "Where's your car? Will it be all right where it is?"
She hinted meekly, "We could stop and get it."
"If you mean 'will I let you drive yourself', the answer is no."
"Could I at least get my shoes, or do I need special permission from your captain?"
Peter held back a grin as he heard the cranky note in her voice. "Oh, I guess getting your shoes wouldn't hurt." He threw the car into gear and started down the road.
The woman frowned at him. "You drive a car like this and you don't let the engine warm up before you take off?"
Peter opened his mouth to make an irritated reply to her remark, but stopped when he saw that she was shivering against the cold air blowing out from vents.
She reddened in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business how you abu...drive...your machine."
He turned down the fan and regarded her with concern, keeping one eye on the road. "Hey, you doing OK?"
"I'm just cold. I'll be all right when I get out of these skates and into my shoes."
"I should've let the car warm up, but I'm in a hurry to get you someplace where you can get checked out."
She giggled. "You don't have to explain. It's your car. And I think your heater is actually starting to earn its name."
"Glad you like something about my car and me."
They rode in silence for a few moments before she looked over at him again and commented, "You know, if we are going to be on such intimate terms so quickly, we should at least know each other's name. Mine is Katherine Christine McConnell."
"Peter Caine."
"Do you go by Pete?"
"Peter. How about you? First name? Middle name? Both? Neither?"
She laughed at his rapid fire conversation. "Whatever. The guys at work call me 'Mac', and everyone else calls me 'KC' because of the initials on my name tag."
"I think I'll call you 'Kacie'. It fits you better than 'Mac'."
She made a wry face at him. "Thanks, I think." They rolled up next to a late model red Saturn parked off to the side of the road. "My shoes are in the trunk." When Peter pulled over, she started to undo her seat belt.
"Hold it right there. You just sit tight and give me your keys. I'll get your stuff for you."
Kacie glared at him crossly. "Are you always this bossy? You can be very irritating; did you know that?"
He grinned widely. "You're not the first person to say that, and I'm sure you won't be the last. Now hand over those keys."
She snorted in disgust and unzipped her coat to get to the pocket of her jeans. As she dug into her right pocket, she winced and stifled a moan. When her hand reappeared with the keys, both flesh and metal were smeared with blood.
Peter gave her a stricken look and apologized again. "Oh, Jeez, I'm so sorry! You are hurt!"
She smiled at him reassuringly and handed him the keys, after wiping them off on her coat. "I probably just landed on them and scraped some hide. No big deal."
Taking the keys from her, he scooted out of the car. Heedless of the snow and its effect on his leather boots, he stepped through the icy slush and around to the passenger side door. Opening it, he leaned in the car and unlaced Kacie's skates, tugging them off and tossing them into the back of the Stealth. Closing the door to keep the warmth in the car, he turned to her vehicle and hunted in the trunk for her shoes. Noticing her purse, he grabbed it, too.
Reopening the passenger door, he handed her the purse. He felt her jump as she winced in pain when bending her leg to allow him to slide on her shoes. When he'd finished, he closed the door and vaulted across the hood. Sliding into his seat, he took in the way she was trying to hide her obvious discomfort. Without a word, he set his police light on the dash and switched it on as he headed off to the hospital.
Kacie opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again quickly when she saw the set look on Peter's face. She had known him for a little less than an hour and already knew when it was better to just keep quiet. She sighed in resignation, leaned her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes. Her hip was beginning to throb painfully. {God, I hope I don't get blood on his upholstery.}
Peter watched her out of the corner of his eye. He could tell that the initial shock of the spill was wearing off and reaction was setting in. "So, where's work for you?" he asked casually. {Maybe I can keep her from thinking about how much she hurts.}
Eyes still closed, she half-laughed. "County General. I'm a surgical nurse there, and I sometimes fill in at the ER. By the way, is that where we're going?"
"Yup. I've gotten to know my way around there pretty well the past 15 years or so."
Her eyes popped open, and she turned to him and stared. "Wait a minute. You're not THE Peter Caine, are you?"
Peter's face flushed a bright red as he met her look. "What-what-what do you mean by 'THE Peter Caine'?" he demanded, even though he was sure he already knew the answer.
Kacie shifted her weight uncomfortably in her seat and then snickered briefly. "Well, there is a patient that I've heard tell of who has the floor nurses mumbling to themselves and the ER attendants wanting to switch their rotations to the psych ward." She looked at him quizzically. "You're him?" she asked ungrammatically.
Peter mumbled something under his breath and then muttered, "I hate hospitals."
"Well, then take me back to my car. I don't want to go to a hospital, either. This is my day off."
"This is different," he insisted.
"And just how is that?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. Her eyes were now a deep midnight blue, and under the sparkle in them he could see a shadow of pain.
"Because I hurt you, and I feel responsible, and I want to make sure you're really OK. Hospitals are great places as long as I'm not the patient. I hate being fussed over and poked and prodded and stuck with needles."
She was about to continue the argument, when the hospital in question came into view. Peter pulled up in front of the emergency entrance and braked to a stop.
Kacie released her seat belt and started to open her door, but Peter stopped her with a firm grip on her arm. "You sit right here until I bring someone out to get you, got that?"
Kacie looked at him a long moment and replied, "I am perfectly capable of walking in under my own steam. If you bring a wheelchair out here for me, I swear to God I will steal your car."
They glared at one another a second, and then both laughed. "All right, compromise," Peter said. "Let me carry you in, and you can skip the wheelchair."
"Is that the best offer on the table?"
"Take it or leave it."
"Some choice," she grumbled.