All I Need (Hearts of the South) by Linda Winfree

are you doing?” Amy frowned, her sympathy morphing into concern.
    “Proving you wrong.” Savannah held the phone aloft as a terse yes came back as a response. “I can spend time with him, and it doesn’t mean anything.”
    Mouth slightly open, Amy stared at her, then laughed quietly and lifted an Egyptian-style golden collar from a display of costume jewelry. “Here, you need this.”
    “What?” Savannah scowled at her. “Why?”
    “Because, sister dear, you are definitely the queen of denial.” Amy’s mirth died a quick death. “I only hope you get over that before you do some serious damage to him or yourself.”

Chapter Five
    Savannah erased the just-discharged patient’s name from the board. Two slow days in a row, filled with more primary than urgent care. The hours had dragged, and she was ready to put this one to bed. Thirty more minutes, and she’d be on her way to dinner with Emmett. Down the hall, the emergency radio crackled and Mackey’s voice murmured in a tense exchange. The skin along her neck prickled in response to the stress in his low tone.
    “Mills.” He strode down the hall to grab a paper gown from the shelf. “Multiple trauma victims en route. ETA two minutes.”
    She snagged her own gown and pulled it on while following him to the ambulance bay. The two nurses on duty were already gowning up and pulling supplies. “Auto accident?”
    “No, two with multiple GSWs.” Sirens whupped closer and closer, competing with his voice. A police siren wailed long and low in the background.
    The first ambulance barreled into the bay. The EMT driving jumped down and ran to aid his partner in unloading the patient. The second ambulance jockeyed into position. A marked sheriff’s unit flew into the lot.
    The pair of medics jogged up the ramp with the gurney. The shorter of the pair—the young paramedic Savannah had treated for a sprained ankle last week—called out patient stats. “Twenty-nine-year-old male, multiple gunshot wounds to the torso, intubated on scene, saline IV in place, pulse is 82, pressure is 90 over 40, decreased breath sounds on the right side, patient is not responsive, hypovolemic class two—”
    “Take that one. I’ve got the next one.”
    Savannah nodded and met the gurney, ready to assess the situation. Her throat closed. Blood spattered a blue emergency-medical-services uniform, sliced open to reveal occlusive dressings covering a pale chest. The same South Georgia Ambulance blue uniform she’d seen Gates put on countless times, the same uniform she’d taken off him as many times.
    The same uniform he’d worn the night he died, when the blue fabric had turned purple with spilled blood, just as this one was.
    She slammed the memories away. Her patient didn’t have time for those remembrances. As they entered the ER, she rattled off directions to the nurse. “Haley, type and crossmatch, CBCs, and start four units of whole red cells. Need a complete lab workup.”
    One nurse. Damn it, she had one nurse when she needed at least two. She glanced over the gurney at the paramedic. “Can you start a Foley catheter?”
    “Can I start a Foley catheter?” He snorted around a grin, although stress and concern dimmed the attempt at humor. “Watch me.”
    “Thanks.” She palpated the chest and abdomen. “Haley, call radiography. We need a chest and abdominals. There’s fluid in his abdomen, so maybe a liver or spleen laceration. Let’s decompress the stomach, then surgery will need to know he’s going to be on his way after radiography.”
    With the paramedic’s help, she placed the nasogastric tube to remove the patient’s stomach contents.
    “Radiography’s backed up with two Labor & Delivery patients, plus Mackey’s just went up.” Haley hung up the phone.
    “Okay. We’ll do it ourselves.” Savannah ground her teeth. Frustration curled through her. She jerked her chin at the medic. “There’s a sonogram machine in exam four. Can you wheel it in