Kade
“Becca, come.” After zipping up my pants, I slip into my boots.
Two minutes later, the driver’s side door slams shut as the barefoot, stubborn Briana hops into the passenger side.
While she ties up her laces, I start up my Ford then I report in. “O’Malley. Be there in five.”
The dispatcher grunts. “Go straight to the trailer park. Someone will bring your gear.”
“Copy.” Window down, I snap the magnetic bulb onto the roof.
Someday, the county’ll spring for a real emergency vehicle. Until then, sirens wail out my makeshift speaker.
As I hit the highway. I glance at my uninvited guest. “When we get there, you stay put.”
“I can help. I—”
“Me, Sheriff. You, Jane. Promise or get out.” Seeing no agreement, I lift my foot off the gas until she nods. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
At the scene, I park behind the hose truck and leap out. My fireproof clothing’s waiting, courtesy of Jeff.
As I shrug into the heavy jacket, the crowd inches closer to the flame. Should the propane tank explode? I shudder at the thought.
Before I can shout for them to move away, a familiar voice booms through my truck’s sound system. “Everyone, back up. Now. Let the firemen do their jobs.”
I blink. The darn woman has parked herself behind my wheel, holding my mic like she was born for this.
No time for reflection, I rush inside, snatch the flaming frypan with a mitt, and slam it into the oven. Jeff hoses the hot spots while I yank an extinguisher from under the sink to finish the job.
If we’d arrived a second later, Millicent, who works double shifts at the diner, would’ve lost everything.
When it’s safe, I trot over to where the owner sits on my tailgate. Her toddler’s in Briana’s arms, cheeks sticky with donut jam.
“How bad?” The single mom stares at her scorched trailer, eyes welling up.
“Not fatal.” Voice steady, I shoot her a smile. “I’ll phone Bart. He can fix this up in no time. Stove’s fried, and there’s water damage. You got renter’s insurance?”
Crying, she shakes her head, no.
“No worries. I’ll call Father Lamoille. He’s got folks who’ll pitch in. You’ll be ready to go in no time.” After a quick hug, I step back, allowing her a moment to get her shit together.
Over her shoulder, Briana nods her approval. For once, she isn’t being a smartass. She’s simply… here. Seeing her take charge, calm the crowd, cradle the toddler—it hits me harder than I want to admit. She’s not only beautiful, she’s a fucking rock star under pressure.
This is the brave pilot who disobeyed orders, held steady under heavy fire, and gave me cover until my team dragged me into her bird.
A woman like her deserves better than a quick lay with a temporary lawman who moonlights as a fireman and fixes leaky pipes on the side.
Back at my house, she steps from the bathroom while her hair drips on my floor. Wrapped in my only towel, a halo of steam curls around her head.
“I left you some hot water.” Her river-nymph seductive eyes draw me in.
“Thanks.” Not ready to drown, I offer a clipped nod, rush past her, then shut the damn door, so I can't do something stupid, like take her to bed.
Heart pounding, I smack myself in the forehead before I twist the faucet all the way to the right. There, I wait for the frigid spray to cool the heat in my veins.
By the time I exit in my sweats, she’s curled up on my couch, cocooned in my grandmother’s afghan as if she belonged there.
I need sleep but I’m too wired. Instead, I dig into my mountain of unread emails. Behind me, the pilot moans from the sofa.
