Scott was staring at her tits again.

Alex shifted imperceptibly. She wished she had something better to do than cross her arms and shield herself with a patient's clipboard. The way her boss stared at her, you'd think she had dressed in a tank top three sizes too small rather than her usual pink form-devouring scrubs.

"Another intake—volunteer?" Scott asked. He stared as if he could penetrate her makeshift force field, as though he hadn't even noticed her wielding it in the first place.

We're gonna need a bigger clipboard, Alex thought with grim humor.

Mainly, she thought it to make herself feel better.

"Landon Brenner," she confirmed, relieved to have been given something to respond to. Scott had called her into his office almost five minutes ago, and she still had no clear indication what this was about.

Scott nodded, staring raptly at her breasts as if they had just delivered the news. "If those firefighters spent as much time out there battling the fire as they do inside the walls of this hospital, maybe they wouldn't have to put the call out so often for reinforcements."

Anger rose in Alex's throat, but she said nothing. There was nothing she could say, and worse, she'd be a hypocrite if she challenged Scott's cavalier assessment of the situation. She had thought the same thing herself upon seeing Landon headed for the ER.

"They're putting their lives on the line every day," she said finally. No judgment, just facts.

He nodded. "Speaking of every day." Scott finally segued into what the meeting was really about. His eyes slid from her chest, and he picked up a copy of the work schedule from his desk.

Her work schedule. Sudden understanding struck her like a bolt of lightning between the eyes.

Scott didn't even need to go on, but he did, of course. "You're working too many hours. The hospital can't afford to pay you this much overtime with the ongoing crisis."

Alex gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry?" she responded eventually. Sometimes it was just easier to pretend as if she hadn't heard right, especially where her boss's more lecherous comments were concerned. "I'm the most qualified nurse on your staff. If this is a crisis, then you need me here."

"At the rate things are going, this whole town could go up any day like a matchstick," Scott said callously. "But the hospital still needs to turn a profit. You knew what you were signing up for when you came onboard with us, Lex. We're a private facility. We don't do charity work, and we definitely don't love paying you this much overtime."

Ales wanted to scream at him. It wasn't just the use of her late husband's nickname for her, "Lex," that made her stomach turn and the bitter bile rise in her throat. She was needed, and what's more, she needed this. She couldn't go home to her empty house and be alone with her thoughts. She had tried that once, and the experience, the grief, had nearly killed her.

"If you want to work more hours, I have a volunteer form you can fill out. It's nice to see just how deeply people believe in their scruples. Volunteer hours obviously mean unpaid hours. Comprende?" Scott inquired when Alex's silence stretched between them. "Are we . . . simpatico?"

"Perfectly." Alex thought she hated herself more in that moment than she had ever hated the man standing across from her. "And I will fill out the form." She reached for the paper, and Scott's sausage fingers slid along hers as he passed it off.

A red warning light flashed in her head. She whirled, intent on leaving while she still had some scraps of dignity left.

"Oh, and Lex?" Scott called after her. Alex froze in the doorway. "Don't think that means I don't enjoy seeing you around the hospital. I've got to look out for the bottom line, that's all. As for my bottom line—"

Alex didn't turn. She didn't want to see what Scott's trailing words meant, or what part of his body he might be favoring in presentation to her. Who knew what signal she had sent already by standing here a split second longer than necessary?

She walked out of his office and shut the door behind her, knowing he always liked to keep it open. Like he thought his domain was a pot of honey that was bound to attract him something sweet, sooner or later.

Alex paused at the nurses' station to fill out the volunteer slip.

Gabriella, the receptionist, was just coming back from the breakroom. She glanced over Alex's shoulder as she passed. "He got you too, huh?"

Alex jumped. "He . . . what?"

"Scott." Gabby nodded to the form. "He's been dressing everyone down today and handing those out like Halloween candy. You're the first to actually agree to his bullshit."

"I don't agree with it," Alex said. "I just don't see any other choice." She passed the form to Gabby. "The sooner you can process this, the better."

"Mmhmmm." Gabby gazed at her sympathetically, dark eyes penetrating over the frames of her readers.

Alex wanted to say more, but her tongue might as well have been a paperweight between her teeth. She couldn't shake the sensation that Gabby knew that more was going on with Scott, but as always, Alex kept her discomfort to herself. She hadn't given herself adequate time to process yet. As soon as she figured out how to articulate what was going on—and as soon as she had assured herself beyond a doubt that it was inappropriate—she would go through the proper channels.

She would say something.

Henry would have stood up to him. Henry would have said something the minute Scott made you question if any action was required.

But Henry wasn't here now. It was only Alex, alone with her chart, pinned beneath the eyes of the all-knowing receptionist.

Alex broke from her reverie, flexed a wan smile, and started toward intake.

Today, at least, there was definitely going to be overtime, and there was nothing to be done about it. The bottom line can kiss my ass, she thought vengefully as she pulled open the door that led to her first patient.

The room was dimly lit. Orange sunlight filtered in through the drawn blinds, hinting at a time later in the day than it actually was. The gilded sky over Cedar Springs seemed in a state of permanent sunset these days. It would have been enchanting if it didn't bode such a bad omen.

The figure on the bed lay quiet. Landon Brenner. It helped to think of him in terms of his injuries. A few cracked ribs, a dislocated right shoulder, and second-degree burns. He was lucky that was all he’d escaped with.

Alex gazed down at her patient, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Any unconscious preening was ridiculous and useless, considering the man was out like a light. The sedatives should be wearing off soon, but for now, Landon slumbered peacefully.

She had seen him before, when his cocksure buddy from Alaska had gotten himself hospitalized ten days earlier. Though she hadn't known anything about him at the time, much less his name, Landon had struck her as quieter, more even-tempered than his squad mates, but now she could see she had been mistaken. No matter how cool the head, every man in uniform was cut from the same cloth: He rose to the occasion, sought out the action, and burned a blazing path to his own self-destruction.

She closed her eyes, summoned a breath, and pushed all thoughts of Henry from her mind. Letting her husband's death intrude into the room with her now did nothing to help her present patient. Later, when she was alone, she could deal with the torrent of memories threatening to burst the dam . . . but of course, Alex knew there wouldn't be a later. She had a shift after this one, and after that, only half a night's sleep ahead of her before her regular clinic hours kicked back in.

If she kept herself busy enough, she could keep the specters of the past at bay. At least, she hoped she could.

She checked the patient's stats, checked his drip, and ensured everything else was in order. She hovered by the instruments and tried not to number the times her gaze drifted back to the form sleeping on the bed.

She could see every hard hill and valley of his body outlined beneath the thin blanket. His shoulders were almost broader than the bed that held him, and his biceps were boulders of hard-packed muscle.

The blood pressure cuff dangled loosely in her hands as she considered the task before her. Then, shaking her head to dispel some very unprofessional thoughts, she gingerly took up his left arm and wrapped it in the cuff. She pumped the bulb, increasing the cuff's constriction, holding his arm steady all the while.

The firefighter's eyes snapped open.

His irises were a bright hazel, brown with a starburst of green around the pupil. Meeting his eyes, she saw they were unfocused, likely due to the drugs, but Alex reminded herself to retest for a concussion as soon as he seemed relatively lucid—

—and as soon as she could tear herself away from gazing back at him.

Cut it out, you idiot, her inner voice remonstrated. Don't go gaga for the man in uniform. You've been down this road before. You know where it leads.

But there was no harm in looking, right? And there was no harm in being looked at—at least, that's what she told herself, every time Scott's inappropriate leers started to creep under her skin. And really, there was nothing comparable about the way her boss stared at her and the way this handsome patient stared. Whatever mental haze he was struggling up out of, he fixed on her like she was a beacon on the shores of his consciousness

Don't look at me that way, she pleaded. I can patch you up, but I can't fix you.

Even though something in those eyes desperately made her want to try.