Jonas dropped yet another bucket by the bed and ran out the door. “I’ll show them up.”

Tessa heard a commotion as he cleared the stairs. Moments later, a stringy man barely old enough to drive and an older technician with streaks of gray in his dark moustache burst through the doorway carrying a backboard.

“Dr. Bruce. We had a heck of a time finding the place,” said the elder one.

“Yeah. Went right by on the first pass,” the other said with a laugh.

The older one silenced his partner with a look. He cleared his throat. “What’ve we got?”

Richard moved to the head of the bed and placed a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Febrile seizure. Stiff neck. Headache. Altered mental status. Petechial rash. Probable meningitis. Started IV penicillin.”

The young EMT swung one end of the backboard to Richard, narrowly missing Nora’s head. “Good call, Doc.”

Tessa smashed herself against the wall and massaged her lower back with numb fingers.

With an energy that struck her as both a little rough and almost casual, the technicians slung Rebecca onto the backboard. In seconds, they secured her and maneuvered through the narrow door onto the landing.

Trailing them closely, Jonas held the IV bag. He threw a glance over one shoulder and beckoned to Nora.

She bustled out the door on his heels.

Left behind, Tessa stared into the landing. Hollow thuds and shuffling filled the hallway. That staircase was steep. She hoped the EMTs knew what they were doing.

The front door opened and closed. A hush settled over the house.

Rustling came from behind. Richard. She almost forgot he was there. Richard, who came from a ball just when she needed him most. Richard. Whose heart she never intended to break. “Hey.” Pushing through a wave of shyness, she faced him. Regardless of how she felt…and really, how did she feel? Too muddled to name the emotion. Regardless, he deserved her gratitude. “You were amazing. Thank you.”

“You were right to call.” He coiled his stethoscope atop the other instruments and buckled the bag. “The girl should be fine.”

“You and kids.” She raised her brows. “You sure you weren’t meant for pediatrics?” He ran a hand over the bag, caressing the leather, and his expression softened. Her joke suddenly didn’t feel like a joke.

Outside and below, car doors open and closed. Voices rose.

He darted a glance to the window. “I guess neither of us is too old to become…something else.”

“Maybe so.” She retrieved the tuxedo jacket and extended it. “You left the ball.”

With a shrug, he slipped into the coat. “I can go back.”

All business again, he took up his bag and strode to the door. She held out a hand. “Richard.” Every ounce of fondness she once felt and probably would always feel shimmered in the saying of his name.

Pausing in the doorway, he turned.