Free Number Seventy-Five by Ashley Fontainne Page A

watch my back if something seemed amiss. Such was the connection between cops and nurses.
    I had been thankful that Samuel was out of town and wouldn’t be one of the eyes watching me while on a date. Not only would I have been embarrassed for my childhood friend to know I was meeting someone that I met online, but it would have been awkward with him there since he still had feelings for me. What started out as puppy love for his older sister’s closest companion segued over to something much deeper as Samuel became an adult. When he would bring a person in to the ER for a breathalyzer or to follow up on an accident, he followed me around like a shadow.
    The seventeen years I had worked at the emergency room at Bainsville Mercy General garnered lasting friendships with local law enforcement. A few, including Samuel, got too friendly after my divorce, but once put in their place after some choice words were plucked out of my southern girl repertoire, they backed off. It was my love for the idle banter and deep camaraderie that kept me from resigning my position and moving to another venue. Working alongside my ex, the renowned Dr. Scott Russell, was like having a tooth constantly extracted. The pain was damned near unbearable, but my friends helped me through it.
    Both nurses and cops worked the same grueling shifts and witnessed up front and personal the dark deeds that humans inflicted upon each other. Oftentimes, the disturbed laughter and pranks pulled seemed to be the only release valve that could be found to keep from going stark-raving mad. Each group was exposed to senseless violence every day. The bonds were for life, and I felt an invisible safety net around me, so I let my thoughts leave the preparation stage and float over to the meeting.
    The anticipation of seeing if the constant communication the last six weeks with Jacob online might lead somewhere hit me next. At the same time, I feared that it could be worth pursuing and that it might not. My palms poured gallons of sweat as I gripped the wheel with ferocious intensity.
    What if all of our conversations were a drummed up farce? What if I walked in and didn’t recognize him? What if he took one look at me and ran out the door? Oh God, why did I ever let Shawna talk me into joining a freaking dating site?
    I parked at the front entrance and willed my hands to stop shaking, wiping the dampness away on my jeans. All these crazy thoughts, self-doubt, and worry I had already played over a hundred times in my head before I ever agreed to our meeting. The pros and cons were weighed, and in the end, sheer curiosity won out. Determined to not let my normally jaded behavior win, I checked my reflection one last time in the rearview mirror and reached for my purse. The .22 was bulky and made an obvious bulge, so I decided not to scare the pants off my poor date and slid it inside my boot before stepping out into the night.
    Hot, damp air greeted me as I exited, and I groaned in protest. I prayed my hair would stay in place and not become an enormous frizz ball before I made it through the front doors. I took a deep breath, grasped the door handle, and stepped inside.
    Relief washed over me when Jacob rose from his seat in the waiting area. The face in front of me was different from his online profile…he was even more handsome in person. Thank God! His light-blonde hair hung just below his collar in soft waves. His dark-brown eyes were deeply set and huge and framed by black eyelashes. He was tall and well built, about six foot one. It was obvious he wasn’t a natural blonde, which I found rather funny. I hadn’t met very many men over the years who colored their hair, except for a few who washed the grays away. Seeing one who was a bottle blonde was rather comical and I had to force myself not to stare.
    The first hurdle was cleared. At least he wasn’t some disgusting troll, nor did he run when he realized that I looked exactly like my online photo. Guess I was