Rescued (A McKenzie Ridge Novel Book 1) (2 page)

Sam was in a coma. Evie rambled on for who knows how long, and before he knew it, he was alone again. Evie had slipped out without notice, it was just him and Sam. He began to reconcile the feelings and emotions that engrossed him; he didn’t understand them, as it had been years since he felt anything for anyone. Dawson fell asleep to the beeps and chirps, hearing every breath she took, in the chair next to her bed, holding her hand.

6 WEEKS EARLIER

Taylor and Tayler—it was the joke amongst their colleagues. Dawson Tayler an EMT, Sam Taylor an ER nurse. It never failed, when someone yelled out “Taylor” in their presence, they both answered, usually in unison. A small mountain town hospital, where everyone knew everyone, it was common for emergency medical, fire, and police to co-mingle, as well as the local ER staff. They all worked together often, were fast friends as their paths crossed often, and they all understood each other’s world just a little too well.

Nobody used their first name, as this kind of camaraderie was different. You either went by your last name or some sort of ridiculous nickname. The worst were those nicknames earned by stupid deeds or mistakes in the field. Once declared, they stuck forever, never to be lived down. This crowd was tight, they were there for each other, supported each other, they were family.

Sam and Dawson intended to spend their down time with the same characters from the hospital, and the H
ouse
; the House was the station that housed all of Fire, EMS, and Police. All departments shared the same building and quarters, intermingling. As unconventional as it may be, it worked for their small tourist mountain town, that was cradled amongst the Cascade Mountains that rested in Oregon. They were more efficient that way, they crossed lines and helped each other, allowing their small force, to have a big impact.

Dawson and Sam both declared the single life as the only life, but sparks flew and the heat undeniable, obvious to everyone but Taylor and Tayler. Associates through work for years now, they both struggled to ignore the curiosity that surrounded one another, always trying to maintain those unfortunate professional boundaries that were bound to fail eventually, if just one of them would remove the invisible stick up their stubborn ass. They bantered, playing off their similar last names, flirted shamelessly at work and outside of work when everyone ended a shift, at The Pump House to decompress, before calling it a night.

It never went any further, even though both thought about it…often. No, neither would take the next step, neither one did the dating thing, and most definitely didn’t do
relationships.
The thought of either was like a quick cold shower, no thank you. They were content with where things stood, completely safe, unattached, and single.

Taylor and Tayler, as silly a joke as it was, was their connection. Confusion over who was being summoned in the ER, or at The Pump House after a shift, generated as many laughs as it did opportunities to acknowledge each other. Dawson and Sam may have been able to avoid the obvious, but everyone around them saw it for what it was—they liked each other…a lot.

***

Dawson Tayler is a humble and modest man. Quiet even. As a child, he had a deep desire to help, starting with stray or injured animals, but ultimately being called to save his fellow man. His kindness and warm soul made him an outcast amongst his family. From a deep-rooted, ruthless, business savvy family, he was living an average life his family would be appalled by…if they were alive. Although his heart was hardened and his soul numb, his instinct to help people remained.

A gentleman through and through, as his mama raised him to be, Dawson stood at over six feet tall, with sun kissed skin, a chiseled body of rolling muscles. He had raven black hair, day old facial scruff, and the greenest, emerald eyes that made hearts break and panties melt. He was a bit of a man-whore when the opportunity presented itself, and present it was. Often. Dawson Tayler, a no strings, man’s man, had a stockpile of numbers to call at midnight, but not a soul to give him anything else. He liked it that way.

Regardless of his declaration of eternal bachelorhood, his satisfying life, emotionless as it was, began to change because of her. Dawson found Sam a mystery. He was drawn to her, wanted to figure her out, with or without clothes. It didn’t help that she was
hot
. After many months of brazen flirting, he still knew very little about her. He wanted to solve the mystery, who was the real Sam Taylor and why was she so damn captivating? He wanted to ask her out. Not on a date, just ask her out because he
didn’t
date.

The storming ball of fire, that is five feet and a handful of inches, Sam Taylor defines the word fighter. Her long dark locks, slate blue eyes hooded with long thick lashes, and full rosy lips harassed Dawson every night in his sleep. Her compact size was athletic in nature, complimented by perfect curves, in all of the right places. Curves he wouldn’t mind exploring. She was so sexy, it should have been a sin, and he was a willing sinner.

Sam found herself, living the life she always dreamed…sort of. With a flakey mother, divorced who knows how many times, Sam’s childhood was as unremarkable as her name. Sam, not Samantha, not even Sammy, just Sam, good enough for the woman she referred to loosely as
mother
.

Her life was destined to be full of trials. Sam was practically raised by her best friend Everly’s grandmother, Granny Lou. Although not ideal, Sam didn’t regret one bit of her childhood. She always had big dreams to be a nurse, and so she was. She was a no nonsense girl in life and in the ER, doling out her fair share of snarkiness and rejection to doting men, wanting to explore the hard ass that was Sam.

***

“Hey Taylor, you off tomorrow?” He asked, followed by his knock your socks off smile.

“Yep! You?” She replied, nonchalant, acting as though the mere conversation, let alone question, didn’t faze her in the least, or make her palms sweat.

“Sort of, I picked up a graveyard for Jack, so I’m not on until midnight.” he replied, as he sat on the stool at the nurses’ station.

“I heard Shelly was having the baby tomorrow!” She said with excitement for her friend, Shelly, Jack’s wife. “Poor girl, she’s what, like two weeks over due?”

“Yes, something like that.” Not interested in discussing children or where they come from, he replied with a dose of disinterest, before finishing his thought. “We are all chipping in and covering shifts for him so he doesn’t have to use up all of his vacation time before the kid even gets here.”

“Baby,” Sam corrected, with an eye roll for the Neanderthal-like reference of the little bundle.

Smiling, with raised eyebrows, he tossed her an ounce of sarcasm, “Yes,
honey
?” He deadpanned, proud of himself for the clever reply.

Clearly not impressed or charmed by his wit, on the outside anyway, she amended her previous thought, replacing the previous eye roll, with a shake of her head. “Baby, Dawson. It’s a baby, not a
kid
.” On the inside she was praying that he would leave before he made her sweat through her scrubs.

“Oh, gotcha,
honey
.” He was on a roll, getting under her skin, enjoying how uncomfortable he was making her, he took that as a sign. It was almost as promising as that little bead of sweat accumulating between her brows.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, lives to save, ladies to charm?” She tossed, trying to get rid of him before she showed all her cards.

He left his perch and began to follow her down the hall, her arms full of files, distributing each to its rightful place as she went. “Nope, just you. Is it working?”

“I don’t need saving and I’m immune to that hunky, I’m too good looking for my own good, charm.” Immediately squinting, making a sour face at her own words. She regretted saying anything. Crap, she just showed him her hand. So much for the poker face.

“So you think I’m too good looking and hunky?” He upped the ante by tossing her a wink, topped with wiggling eyebrows, and that sexy grin that revealed his adorable dimples—hook, line, and sinker, as he called it.

“Get out of here Tayler!” She said putting her hand on his chest, and a mighty hard chiseled chest it was, and giving him a shove. Of course he flexed his giant peck, under her hand, sending a slicing tingle straight to her core, making her jump, pulling back her hand like it stung.

“Okay I’m going, but first I wanted to let you know I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow,” he shot, not a question, a statement, no ‘yes’ or ‘no’ required, just an okay, see ya then.

Her heart stopped, her face felt hot, and her palms began to drip sweat. Holy shit, Dawson just asked her out. She just stood there wide-eyed, and damn it, she was actually thinking about it! What the hell! Her brain was saying run, you don’t date, but those gorgeous green eyes and that sexy grin that was attached to that strong jaw, were telling her and her lady parts, to say yes, oh yes,
please
. Oh my God, he just licked his lips while his gaze drifted to hers. Why was this turning her on, why was
he
turning her on?

“I don’t date, Dawson,” she said, turning to walk away. “Especially co-workers and guys that change their women as often as they change their underwear.” The last part was punctuated with a sassy grin, proud of the below the belt hit. She finished him off with her own devilish side eye and wink.

“I don’t date either, and I’m not some kind of gigolo, Sam,” he struck back, a little offended. He may see the occasional nighttime visitor, but he wasn’t what she was implying. Why did it bother him that she thought that about him? “I just want to have dinner with a friend and figure out what makes her…
her.”

“Not interested, Tayler. Not going to happen. It’s dinner, it’s a date. I don’t need
figuring out,
I’m out.” Walking away again, moving to her next task, she quickly closed her eyes and took a deep breath while her back was to him, and collected herself. He was having an effect on her that she couldn’t explain. It was pissing her off, or was it?

Giving her his best pitch yet, he delivered a pretty convincing plea as to why this wasn’t a date, but he was starting to wonder if maybe it was. “It’s not a date. If it were a date, I would bring flowers, candy, and all that fluffy shit you girls like. I’m just buying a friend dinner. We both have to eat, so why not together?”

“Drinks? Will there be dessert,” she questioned.

“Now you’re talkin'. I can
do
dessert, whatever you want, wherever you want…”

“I meant like cheesecake, or bread pudding, you ass.”

“I know, I know, I’m just kidding.” Excited he was wearing her down and she was coming around, he knew she would see it his way and meet him for this
non-date
, date. “I figure if I start with the bar that high, you’ll give in when I say, cheesecake sounds amazing.”

“Cheesecake is a date.” She wasn’t giving in, he was tempting, but that was the problem.

“Fine, no cheesecake. Just dinner, maybe a drink, friends, very public, not a date.”

“Drinks…date.”

“Fine, no drinks.” Christ, she had rules, but he liked it, he was enjoying the challenge. He clearly had her in final negotiations, tomorrow night was looking good.

Sam paused as she assessed the situation, assessed
him.
Her darkened, hooded eyes and open mouth leaving her ponderings less than a mystery. She had a strict no dating rule and was pretty confident that rule applied to smexy, sex on a stick, co-workers especially. Nothing good would come from a Tayler and Taylor rendezvous, nothing at all good. Oh who the hell was she kidding?

No matter how loud her instincts protested the idea of fraternization, her libidinous drive sat on her right shoulder, like the devil himself, whispering indecent lust filled notions that were much more convincing than her good intentioned constitutions. She turned a deaf ear to logic and reason, and fell victim to all the pheromones, or hormones, or whatever it was pushing her down the perilous path that was Dawson Tayler. She might regret this at some point, but she was certain it would be worth the thorny ride, or maybe it was horny ride, that would inevitably present itself.

She turned to him and looked him straight in the eye, and delivered her matter of fact terms. “No dinner. Breakfast. Baker’s, after shift. Coffee and a fritter, very public, friends, I’ll meet you there,
not
a date.”

“Sold. See you at Baker’s,
honey
,” he said before kissing the back of her hand and turning his back to walk away. And watch him walk away she did. It was a glorious site to be seen, that ass, those pants, and God help her, he was flexing his enormous biceps, giving her an intentional show, smug son of a bitch.

***

With a wicked grin and a sexy wink that said anything but
just breakfast
, he was gone. What the heck just happened here? How the hell did he do that? And why was she already wondering if it was appropriate to have first date nookie? Or after breakfast nookie, in this case. Maybe it was because she wanted to know if he was really built the way she imagined him, often.

Her better judgment scolded her as she questioned her sanity or lack thereof.
Geez, get it together Sam
. She was humming at the thought of him, and those thoughts were naked and dirty. Why did he have this effect on her, he isn’t the first hotter than hell guy to cross her path the past few years. The House was full of them from Police, Fire, and Rescue.

What was it with Dawson Tayler that made her think all men were bad, but him? She couldn’t answer those questions, but she was sure looking forward to figuring them all out, even the naked ones, over coffee and a fritter…maybe not in that order.