It Started at Christmas...

Letting out a long breath, McKenzie shook her head. “You know better than that.”

Cecilia had been her best friend since kindergarten. She’d been with McKenzie through all life’s ups and downs. Now McKenzie was a family doctor in a small group of physicians and Cecilia was a hairdresser at Bev’s Beauty Boutique. They’d both grown up to be what they’d always wanted to be. Except Cecilia was still waiting for her Prince Charming to come along and sweep her off her feet and across the threshold. Silly girl.

McKenzie was a big girl and could walk across that threshold all by herself. No Prince Charming needed or wanted.

Her gaze shifted from her friend and back to Lance. He was watching her. She’d swear he’d smiled at her. Maybe it was just the sparkle in his eyes that made her think that. Maybe.

Or maybe it went back to what she’d been thinking moments before about how the man looked at her. He made her want to let him look. It made her feel uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

Which was probably part of why she kept telling him no.

Only she was here tonight.

Why?

“I think you should go for it.”

She blinked at Cecilia. “It?”

“Dr. Spencer, aka the guy who has you so distracted.”

“I have to work with the man. Going for ‘it’ would only complicate our work relationship.”

“His asking you out hasn’t already complicated things?”

“Not really, because I haven’t let it.” She hadn’t. She’d made a point to keep their banter light, not act any differently around him.

If she’d had to make a point, did that mean the dynamics between them had already changed?

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t take him seriously.”

“He’s looking at you as if he’s serious.”

There was that look. That heavenly making-her-want-to-squirm-in-her-chair look.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

But then suddenly he wasn’t looking at her.

He’d rushed over to one of the dinner tables and wrapped his arms around a rather rosy-faced gentleman who was grabbing at his throat. Everyone at the man’s table was on their feet, but looking lost as to what to do.

McKenzie’s natural instincts kicked in. She grabbed her purse and phone. Calling 911 as she did so, she rushed over to where Lance gave the man a hearty thrust. Nothing happened. The guy’s eyes bulged out, more from fear than whatever was lodged in his throat. The woman next to him was going into hysterics. The carolers had stopped singing and every eye was on what Lance was doing, trying to figure out what was going on, then gasping in shock when they realized someone was choking.

Over the phone, McKenzie requested an ambulance. Not that there was time to wait for the paramedics. There wasn’t. They had to get out whatever was in the man’s throat.

Lance tried repeatedly and with great force to dislodge whatever was blocking the panicking guy’s airway. McKenzie imagined several ribs had already cracked at the intensity of his chest thrusts.

If the man’s airway wasn’t cleared, and fast, a few broken ribs weren’t going to matter. He had already started turning blue and any moment was going to lose consciousness.

“We’re going to have to open his airway.” Lance said what she’d been thinking. And pray they were able to establish a patent airway.

She glanced down at the table, found the sharpest-appearing knife, and frowned at the serrated edges. She’d have made do if that had been her only option, but in her purse, on her key chain, she had a small Swiss army knife that had been a gift many years before from her grandfather. The blade was razor sharp and much more suitable for making a neat cut into someone’s neck to create an artificial airway than this steak knife. She dumped the contents of her purse onto the table, grabbed her key chain and a ballpoint pen.

As the man lost consciousness, Lance continued to try to dislodge the stuck food. McKenzie disassembled the pen, removed the ink cartridge, and blew into the now empty plastic tube to clear anything that might be in the casing.