“Your patient is deaf. She’s trying to sign,” Luke said quietly, moving past a drop-jawed Quinn and—shit, yeah, Parker and Kellan, too. But since Parker putting restraints on his patient would be akin to slapping duct tape over her mouth and Luke had been the only person to recognize that little fact, he didn’t have a choice. Ignoring the lead-lined weight of their stares, he knelt down beside the woman, positioning himself directly in her line of sight and began to sign.

“My name is Luke,” he said, accompanying the ASL with actual out-loud words, partly because he didn’t know if the woman could read lips (or might be too groggy to the job even if she could), and partly because he didn’t want to have to waste time translating for Parker and Quinn any more than he’d already have to. This woman needed treatment, and fast. “I’m a firefighter and an EMT. I need you to be calm so my friends can help you. Okay?”

The woman stilled, her eyes widening with recognition and relief, and she gave up a loose nod.

“Can you tell me your name?” Luke asked. Parker released his grasp on the woman’s forearms, albeit a little hesitantly, and she signed in a weak reply.

Elena. I feel tired. And scared.

His chest tightened beneath his RFD T-shirt. “It’s nice to meet you, Elena. I know you feel tired and scared, but we’re here to help you. Can you tell me if anything hurts?”

Nothing hurts. But I’m diabetic. I missed breakfast. Elena lowered her arms to her sides as if the conversation had been a four-minute mile, and Christ, with a blood sugar of thirty-four and a history of diabetes, no wonder the poor woman was wiped out.

“No reported pain.” Although the words were for Quinn and Parker’s benefit, Luke made sure Elena could still see him as he spoke. She was the biggest part of the equation, and excluding her just because she was deaf wasn’t on his great big plan of let’s do that. “Patient is diabetic and didn’t eat breakfast.”

Quinn got over her shock first. “Okay,” she said, glancing at the monitor. “Her vitals are strong, and that D50 is obviously starting to kick in. Why don’t we get her on the gurney so she’ll be more comfortable? We can continue to monitor her blood sugar levels out at the ambo to make sure they’re coming up.”

After a heartbeat’s worth of a hitch, Parker nodded. “Copy that. Sounds good.”

Kellan grabbed the gurney from the spot where Parker and Quinn had parked the thing a few feet away, and Luke relayed the plan of action to Elena. He helped Parker get her situated on the white-sheeted mattress, staying close by in case he needed to translate further, and also a little selfishly to watch the treatment protocol as they relo’d from the coffee shop to the back of the ambulance.

“I’ll call this in and get the paperwork started since she’s stable. You two good to continue treatment back here?” Parker split his gaze between Luke and Quinn, and whoa, cue up the surprise.

“Sure,” Luke said, the words tagging along with Quinn’s nod. “I’m happy to stick around and help if you need a translator.”

“Good deal. And by the way?” Parker paused, brows up. “Nice catch, rookie.”

Oh, the fucking irony. But of course Luke had recognized Elena’s efforts to sign, just as he’d been able to fluently communicate with her.

After all, his sister had been deaf for a decade, and he’d been raising her for just as long. Shame on him if he hadn’t recognized it, or intervened on Elena’s behalf. Even if he had just tipped his personal-life hand to Parker and Quinn and everyone on engine.

No, check that. He might as well have flung every last one of his cards face-up on the fucking table.

Luke’s smile was about as comfortable as a sandpaper strait jacket, but he forked it over just the same as Parker swiveled on his boots to head for the front of the rig. “Thanks.”

Dodging Quinn’s unnervingly pretty, unnervingly laser-like dark blue gaze, Luke settled against the bench seat running the length of the left side of the ambulance. Between the dextrose and the fluids free-flowing through her IV, Elena perked up exponentially after only a few short minutes, her dark brown stare growing more focused and her sign language more fluid than it had been back in the coffee shop.

Now that she was stable, Luke asked and signed, “Would you prefer signing or lip-reading?”

She smiled, albeit weakly. I can read lips, but don’t mind you signing. Your ASL is quite good.

Sure. To this day, Hayley wasn’t shy about correcting even the subtle nuances when he got sloppy.

Luke’s gut gave up a hard slap shot. “Thank you. How are you feeling?”

Silly, Elena signed. I know better than to skip breakfast. I won’t have to go to the hospital or anything, will I?

“Don’t feel silly,” Luke replied, continuing to both speak and sign. “It’s our job to help, and believe me, we’ve seen far sillier. As for whether or not you need to go to Remington Memorial…”

He let the statement dangle, turning toward the spot where Quinn sat across from him. Her stare flicked from the exchange—which she’d been watching with far too much curiosity for him not to have to do damage control on the whole why-yes-I-am-fluent-in-ASL topic later—to the portable monitor now tucked safely beside Elena on the gurney.

“Her vitals are normal, and she’s pretty alert. We’ll have to check her blood sugar again in about five minutes.” Quinn left zero wiggle room in either her tone or her expression. “But if she’s up to the nineties, I think she can opt out of a trip to Remington Mem. As long as she eats. And Parker agrees,” she added.

“Seems fair.”

Luke relayed the message. He shifted over the bench with the intention of going to scrounge up some orange juice and maybe a granola bar from the coffee shop to get Elena’s levels closer to normal, but she reached out, grabbing his hand for a second before launching into some rapid-fire sign language.

“What?” Quinn’s spine snapped to attention. “What’s she saying? Is she in pain?”

“You can ask her yourself if you’d like,” Luke said, taking care to keep his tone free of judgment. He spent so much time around Hayley that he sometimes forgot most of the world wasn’t well-versed in deaf culture. “I don’t mind translating her answers, but Elena can understand you just as long as you’re face-to-face with her when you speak. And no. She’s not in pain. She actually wanted me to tell you she’s sorry.”

“Sorry?” Quinn’s brows furrowed before flying sky-high in obvious surprise. “What on earth for?”

But before Luke could answer, Quinn gave up a tiny head shake and turned toward Elena to repeat the question. She didn’t crank up her volume or slow her words to toddler speed like most people who spoke to someone who was deaf, and hell if that didn’t send a feeling Luke didn’t want to contemplate directly through his chest.

Elena looked at him for only a second, then turned her gaze on Quinn as she signed her reply.

“She says, ‘I didn’t mean to hit you earlier. I was frightened and really dizzy.’” He paused to process the rest of what Elena was saying, to make sure he was getting the translation just right. “‘I wanted to get your attention, but I didn’t realize you were so close. I’m sorry.’”

“That’s okay,” Quinn said directly to Elena, who met the words with an apologetic smile. “I know you didn’t hit me on purpose. I’m just glad I could help.”

Again, Elena signed, and Luke translated directly, the way he’d learned to ages ago. “‘Thank you very much for taking care of me.’”

Quinn’s cheeks pinked in a blush that made him thank his lucky goddamn stars he wasn’t the one having his vitals monitored. “Oh. Of course. You’re welcome,” she said to Elena. “Now go ahead and rest, okay? Your body has been through a lot. I’ll re-check your blood sugar in a few minutes.”

The second finger stick showed some greatly improved numbers, and after a snack, a once-over from Parker, and a sapling’s worth of paperwork, Quinn removed Elena’s IV.

“Okay. Your blood sugar is ninety-six, and you’re obviously feeling better,” she said.

Elena nodded, sitting up taller against the back of the gurney as if to prove it. “‘Yes,’” Luke relayed. “‘I feel much better.’”

“Good. Take it easy for the rest of the day, and be sure to monitor your blood sugar again in an hour. Do you have a test kit with you?”

“‘Right here in my purse.’” Luke bit his tongue. Direct translation might be the accepted norm with deaf people, but that didn’t mean it didn’t get awkward from time to time.

The smile Quinn had folded between her lips told Luke—and probably Elena, too—that she’d heard the humor, loud and frickin’ clear. “Then you’re all set. If you feel light-headed or if your re-test levels dip below seventy, you need to call nine-one-one right away, though. Okay?”

“‘I promise,’” Luke translated. Elena turned toward him, but rather than accepting the hand he’d offered to help her off the gurney, she squeezed his forearm and began to sign again.

You saved me today.

His breath stuck in his windpipe, and he cleared his throat even though he wasn’t going to use the damned thing. Quinn and Parker did all the work.

Elena’s brows traveled up, likely in a bit of surprise that he wasn’t also speaking the words. Excluding Quinn from the conversation when she was right there across from him was borderline rude, Luke knew. But she was right across from him, and he was already going to have a hell of a time playing dodge ball with the topic as soon as Elena was safely on her way.

He couldn’t air out anything else. Especially not anything personal.

Not that Elena was about to let him off the proverbial hook. Damn, she was fierce. Quinn and Parker took good care of me, yes, but so did you. You were on my side. You heard me. Thank you, Luke.

The words might not have been spoken, but God, they nailed him to that ambo bench just the same. You’re welcome, he signed, although steadying his hands to get the reply out smoothly took effort. I’m glad you feel better, Elena.

Parker reappeared around the back of the ambulance then, reaching up to help her to the pavement. With one last wave, Elena turned toward the friend who had offered to come get her and take her safely home for some rest.

Luke braced for impact in three, two, one…

“I had no idea you knew sign language.” Quinn’s tone was far from accusatory, but her stare held enough interest to tangle his gut like a ninety-foot string of Christmas lights.

Tactic Number One. Right fucking now. “I’m sure there are lots of things I don’t know about you.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Followed by a healthy dose of Tactic Number Two. “Do you need me to help with anything else? Paperwork or cleanup or anything?”

Luke tacked a polite smile over his face to knock the diversion all the way home. His gut tightened slightly when Quinn seemed to buy it—which was weird as shit, considering that it meant his duck and cover was actually working. But after a blink, she sent her gaze on a tour of the back of the ambo, and he let out a great, big lungful of mission accomplished.

“I need to do a little bit of housekeeping before we head back to Seventeen. Just some quick sterilization in case we catch another call right away,” she said, gesturing to the gurney between them. “But sure. I’d love a hand.”

“You got it.”

Reaching for the box in the storage compartment mounted to the wall beside him, Luke snapped a pair of blue nitrile gloves into place per health and safety regs for medical cleanup. He and Quinn put some easy teamwork to gathering the discarded materials she’d used while caring for Elena—blood sugar test strips, gauze pads, and the like—placing everything into biohazard bags. Having done no less than two dozen ride-alongs and training runs with other houses in the last couple of months, Luke was already familiar with the protocol. Still, just like rope drills, even the stuff that seemed like a no-brainer needed to be practiced if he wanted to help people when they really needed it. Plus, he couldn’t deny that while this part of the job was pretty standard-issue, the view certainly didn’t suck.

Even if he was singing an internal hallelujah for the bunker pants currently hiding his hard-on for the very set of sexy-sweet dimples that were probably going to be the end of him.

He could think of a hell of a lot worse ways to go.

“Hey.” The sound of footsteps on the pavement U-turned him back to the rear of the ambulance in about two seconds flat. “You two nearly done back here?” Parker asked, leaning in through the open space of the back door.

“Yep.” Luke nodded, dishing up a double dose of his most neutral smile as he tugged the end of a fresh white sheet over the corner of the gurney mattress. God, his sanity was on a serious leave of absence. He and Quinn worked together. Just because there weren’t rules against them getting involved, even casually, that didn’t mean anything about it was a good idea. Especially since he was a rookie, and—oh, by the way—as serious as a triple bypass about not just doing his job, but doing it well.

He’d come too far for anything less. No matter how pretty (and sexy. And smart. And sexy, had he mentioned sexy?) Luke found her.

“Ugh.” Leaning down from her side of the bench seat, Quinn aimed a high-octane frown at the mechanism anchoring the gurney to the floor of the ambulance. “This thing is loose again. I think there’s something wrong with the lock. See? It’s not holding properly.”

She placed a hand on the bright yellow frame and pushed, and sure enough, the gurney gave up far more movement than safety probably dictated.

Parker pulled himself inside the back of the rig, leaning down with a frown that rivaled Quinn’s. “Again?” He reached beneath the gurney, his arm disappearing beneath the expanse of vinyl mattress pad and steel framing. “This thing has been giving us fits for—”

All at once, the gurney lurched on its moorings, causing Parker to yank his arm back with a yell and Luke’s pulse to sit up and take notice.

“Parker?” Quinn shifted forward, concern covering her face. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

The guy grimaced, whipping his left hand over his right. “My hand got stuck in the goddamn mechanism trying to get it to lock.”

“Oh hell.” Quinn blanched, and Luke was pretty sure he must have, too, because fucking ow. “Let me see it,” she said.

Parker shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Her look was pure are you kidding me. Judging by the blood streaming through Parker’s fingers and starting to run down his forearm, Luke was inclined to agree.

“Don’t mess with me, Drake. Let me see your hand.”

She’d already gloved up—damn, Luke would have to figure out how she managed to do that so fast all the time—and had one hand out in expectation. Parker must have realized arguing would get him exactly nowhere, because he forked over the limb in question even though his expression said he was less than wild about the share.

“Whoa.” Luke clamped down on his bottom lip two seconds too late. Showing emotion at an injury was a strict no-no around patients. The freak-out factor tended to make them panic. But since he was pretty sure Parker had just torn through half the musculature in his palm and maybe even a tendon or two for good measure, the reaction was sadly warranted.

“Sorry,” Luke murmured, snapping up a pair of gloves and moving to the other side of the gurney, next to Quinn. “What can I do?”

“You can grab a couple of four-by-four QuikClot pads, please. From the cabinet over my shoulder,” she added. To anyone else, she probably looked cucumber-cool, examining Parker’s injury with efficient movements. But Luke watched and listened way more than he spoke, which meant that after working with Quinn for seven months, he had the luxury of knowing exactly what that hard press of her mouth meant.

Clearly, Parker had also gotten the memo. “Come on, Copeland. It’s just a scratch.”

“Nice try. Now pardon me while I call bullshit.” Taking the pads from Luke’s outstretched fingers, she pressed one to the top of Parker’s hand and the other to his palm. “The lac is deep, Parker, not to mention jagged as hell, and it’s right between the thumb and forefinger on your dominant hand. You know the drill,” she said, this time more softly.

Parker huffed past a highly frustrated frown, but even that couldn’t cover up the wince of pain underneath or the sheen of sweat on his forehead as he looked down at the gauze pads he was already starting to bleed through. “I’m telling you, this isn’t a big deal.”

“And I’m telling you, if the situation were reversed, you’d be hauling me into Remington Mem without question. So would you please do me a favor and let me take care of you? Otherwise Bridges is going to fire my ass for letting you go back to the house with a hand that looks like a Frankenstein field day.”

A beat passed, then another, punctuated only by the street noise filtering in past the still-open rear door to the ambulance and Parker’s resigned exhale.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s get this over with, since I know better than to think you’ll back down.”

Smart man, Luke thought, and not just because Parker’s hand really did look all sorts of Humpty Dumpty.

When it came to caring for people, Quinn was a barracuda. When it came to caring for the people she worked with? She was a great white that would make Jaws run crying for his mommy.

“Thank you.” Quinn’s shoulders loosened beneath her paramedic’s uniform, just slightly, but it was enough. She swung toward Luke and asked, “You know the protocol for this, right?”

He nodded. “Place firm pressure on the wound, dress and immobilize the injured limb, transport to the ED for treatment.”

“Perfect.” Shucking her gloves, she sent an apologetic look at her partner before jumping down to the pavement from the back of the ambo.

“Slater, you take care of one and two while I tackle number three. I’ll radio Remington Memorial and let them know we’re on our way.”