Harvest Moon Read Free

They fought like junkyard dogs over control of the restaurant. She assumed if they were talking, it had to be about her.
    That light-headed feeling returned, and she ignored it. Kelly yelled that the salmon was up, the crème brûlée was ready for the flame, the filet was out of time.
    She had a little trouble catching her breath, and her heart raced. Then suddenly, a burning ache in her chest. This is probably what happens when a man’s wife comes to tell you to end the affair you’re not quite having yet, she thought. This is probably what I deserve! I always knew I should have said, “Great, let’s talk again when the divorce is final! ”
    But the worst pain came from imagining Luca selling her out like that—admitting they were close, perhaps too close, and sending his wife to shut it down.
    She was panting, couldn’t catch her breath. She grabbed her chest. A scary bit of heartburn; she never had heartburn. She broke out in a sweat.
    Durant’s cruel smile appeared before her, which was easy—they were both five-five. “You slept with Luca Brazzi didn’t you, you stupid cow?”
    Kelly’s eyes rolled back in her head and she went down. Lights out.

    When Kelly awoke, a man in a navy blue T-shirt smiled into her eyes as he wheeled her toward a vehicle with red-and-blue flashing lights. There was a mask over her mouth and nose. She realized she was on a gurney or stretcher; she felt the motion of it as it slid into the back of an ambulance. “Well, hello,” he said after he’d closed the doors. “Feeling okay?”
    She clawed away an oxygen mask. “Where… What…”
    “You passed out, got a little cut on your head. Your EKG looks okay at first glance but has to be checked by a cardiologist. Your blood pressure is way up there and you were out a little on the long side.” Then he asked her a series of questions—who is the president, what year is it, where do you work? He listened to her heart, checked her blood pressure. She lifted her hand and saw the IV. “We started the IV in case we need to administer drugs. Do you have asthma? Allergies?”
    It was pure instinct that prompted her to struggle to sit up. “No, I’m fine, I’m just…”
    He pushed gently against her shoulder. “We’ll be there soon, Miss Matlock. Trust me, you need a little visit with the doctor.” She watched as he tinkered with the IV, then pushed something in with a syringe. Then he laughed uncomfortably. “That kitchen,” he said with a snort. “I might never eat out again…”
    “Huh?”
    “Seriously,” he said. “We have paramedics in the kitchen and people are yelling about spinach sides and they’re stepping over us! Don’t they take a little break when a chef could be having a heart attack?”
    She put her hand to her chest, and her eyes were panicked. “Am I having a heart attack?”
    “Nah, I don’t think so. You’re stable now. But you had some noticeable symptoms. One of the cooks said you grabbed your chest and had trouble breathing. You have to see the ER doc before you go anywhere. Seriously, that kitchen is a nuthouse.”
    She fell back onto the gurney, suddenly very tired. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”
    “You under that kind of stress all the time?” the paramedic asked.
    She nodded, but what she thought was, Except for Luca’s wife confronting me, it was a pretty average night.
    He chuckled humorlessly. “Unbelievable. I had to clear out the kitchen…”
    “Huh?”
    “I told them to turn off the stoves and get the hell out of the kitchen or I’d have the police do it,” he said. “Thing is, a lot of people have high-stress jobs—surgeons, stockbrokers, pilots. But I’d never work in that kitchen.”
    “Don’t like to cook?” she asked tiredly.
    “I love to cook. I bet I’m the best one at the house.” Then he grinned. “Firehouse. And of course there’s stress in being a paramedic. But I saw a difference the minute I was in that kitchen. We work as a team. We can count on