Crossfire Christmas. Julie Miller

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      The truck’s lights were on. The plume of exhaust making a black spot in the churned-up snow meant the engine was still running. The accident was recent. Or else the driver wasn’t able to turn off the motor....

      Gamberro is your middle name. Despite her sister’s teasing, Teresa didn’t believe she caused that much difficulty or misfortune. But she wasn’t about to walk away from trouble like this when there was something she could do to help.

      Teresa clicked on her hazard lights and pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She glanced ahead at the dark road. She checked the pavement behind her in her mirrors—equally dark. A curtain of falling snow seemed to mask her and the accident below from the rest of the world.

      Had the driver called for help yet? Was he or she even able to call?

      Taking a deep breath, Teresa pulled the hood of her parka up over her dark hair and unbuckled her seat belt. She pulled out the flashlight AJ had insisted she keep in her glove compartment and braced herself for the blast of winter outside. Deciding to leave the engine and heater running in case the driver was able to move and needed a warm place to sit and wait for a tow truck, she climbed out and circled to the front of her car.

      Dots of blowing snow melted on her cheeks and nose and obscured her vision as she huddled inside her coat.

      “Hello?” Her shout was swallowed up by the cold, damp air. Her flashlight was too small to pierce the gloom at this distance. “Is anyone in the truck?”

      Her sigh formed a puffy cloud in the air. The snow was knee-deep for a woman who was only five-three. And even though she’d changed from her work clogs to wool-lined ankle boots, she knew they wouldn’t be tall enough to get her past that first drift where the road crew had piled snow when they’d scraped the road.

      “What’s a little wet and cold, anyway?” she dared herself, tightening her scarf against the biting wind.

      She punched in 911, put the phone to her ear and plunged into the shallowest part of the drift. By the third step, she was sinking in up to her thighs, and the snow quickly chilled her through the scrubs and long underwear she wore. When she lifted each foot, she scooped the icy crystals into her boots, where they melted, wetting her socks and freezing her skin.

      The dispatch operator answered. “This is 911. What is the nature of your emergency?”

      “I need to report a vehicle off in the ditch by... Oh, heck.” Teresa glanced back up the hill. Since she’d been daydreaming, she had no idea how far she’d come or how close she was to reaching the nearest subdivision. “I’m somewhere along old Lee’s Summit Road—between the medical center and 40 Highway. On the east side.”

      “Are you in the vehicle?”

      “No, I just drove up on the accident.” She broke through the snow at the bottom of the ditch and stepped into ankle-deep slush that soaked her to the skin in icy water. Her teeth chattered through the dispatcher’s next question. “I’m sorry, what?”

      “Is there anyone inside the truck?”

      Teresa’s wet feet left her shivering as she climbed out of the ditch. “Just a minute. Let me check.”

      She tilted her flashlight up to inspect the damaged vehicle. The driver’s-side window was down—no, it was missing. It must have shattered with the impact of the crash, leaving tiny blunt shards along its bottom edge. Still, with the coming night and no light on inside the cab, she couldn’t make out any driver or passenger. Not for the first time in her life, she silently cursed her diminutive height. When she reached the door of the jacked-up truck, she was too short to see in.

      “Hello?” she called again. She reached up and tried the handle, but it was locked. She knocked on the door panel. “Is anyone in there?”

      No response.

      “Just a sec,” she warned the dispatcher. Finding a safe spot to grasp the edge of the open window, she tucked the flashlight into her pocket, stepped onto the running board and pulled herself up. “Madre de Dios.”

      There was a man inside, slumped over the steering wheel. His dark blond hair was frosty with moisture. There was blood oozing from a knot on his forehead, and his skin was far too pale.

      “Sir?” The ice cubes of her toes and the woman on the phone were forgotten as alarm, compassion and her years of training kicked in. “Sir?” She stuck the tip of her wool glove into her mouth and pulled it off with her teeth. She slipped two fingers beneath the collar of his padded leather jacket and pressed them to the side of his neck. Even with the thick jacket and the heater running, his skin was cold to the touch. But she could feel a pulse. It was faint and erratic, but it was there. “You’re alive.” She spat out the glove and raised her voice for the dispatcher to hear. “He’s alive.”

      Pushing up onto her frozen toes, she gently leaned him back against the seat. With a groan, his head lolled toward his shoulder. A quick glance across the cab revealed a heavy nylon duffel bag but no other passenger to worry about.

      “One victim,” she reported. Hooking her arm inside the door to free her hands, she reached across his lap to turn off the ignition and saw more blood staining the front of his coat and the left leg of his jeans. “How fast were you going?” she mused out loud, wondering at the extent of his injuries. The wreck hadn’t looked that bad from the road. Plus, he was still wearing his seat belt.

      An answering moan silenced the random thoughts, and she moved her chilled fingers to his face, willing him to open his eyes. “Sir? Hey. I’m a nurse. I’m here to help.” She pushed aside the damp spikes of straw-colored hair on his forehead to inspect the gash there. It might need a bandage, but no way could it account for all this blood. She pushed open one eyelid, then the other. Honey-brown irises looked back at her, trying to focus. She smiled. Good. Probably no concussion, then. “I need you to talk to me. I’m Teresa. What’s your name?”

      His pale lips drew together. “Don’t need a candy striper, kid. Run along.”

      His speech was slurred. But it could be from the cold.

      Kid? A little defensive fire crept into her veins before common sense reminded her to ignore the dig. The man was in trouble and needed her assistance. “I’m a registered nurse, and you’re badly hurt. You want me to hike back to the road to get my hospital ID or do you want me to help?”

      “Bossy little thing,” he muttered. His eyes blinked open again, long enough to assess her face. “You’re...nurse?”

      “What’s your name?” she repeated.

      He inhaled a quick breath, gritted his teeth, then squeezed the words out. “Charles. I’m Charles.”

      “Like Charlie? Or Mr. Charles? No, don’t close your eyes.” She cupped her palm against the sandy beard stubble on his jaw. “Keep looking at me. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

      He pulled his left hand from his lap and grabbed the steering wheel. By sheer will, his vision seemed to sharpen and his gaze dropped to the phone tucked to her ear. “Is that 911?”

      “Yes.” When he reached for it, she handed it over. “Good idea. You can tell them exactly what hap— What are you doing? Give me my—”

      “No cops.” He disconnected СКАЧАТЬ