Grief steals my words as I shake my head, a fresh set of tears filling my eyes for my little Biscuit as Asher’s men work to put out the flames inside my house. My front door is wide open and the hose lays across my threshold. I look around and see it took only a few minutes for almost every neighbor on my street to take up residence on their front porch to watch my world crumble.
“Come with me.” Asher nods to the back of the fire cruiser, pulling his helmet off as he lowers the tailgate and I step off the curb. I misjudge its depth and almost fall until he steadies me.
I’m accident-prone, which Asher has witnessed more than most. I can’t count how many nights he’s stopped me from stumbling out the door at the Horse and Barrel, the local bar where he sometimes works. As he helps me up onto the tailgate now, his hands circle my waist to steady me. The skin he’stouching immediately breaks out in goosebumps.
“I’m not hurt. I’m sorta drunk …” I croak out, nearly choking on a sob.
“Aye,” he mutters as he pulls out a medical bag.
As I look at my house and see the damage, I try not to hyperventilate.
“Howdrunk?” Asher asks, trying to catch my gaze with his own.
“A couple glasses of wine?” I answer, but he waits, staring at me until I look up at him with the truth. “Most of the bottle.”
“Christ sakes…” he mutters under his breath, so softly it’s almost inaudible.
“How long were you in there? Try to remember. This isimportant.”
“M-maybe two minutes,” I tell him as he moves robotically, popping an oxygen mask on me.
“Deep breath in,” he orders. He’s always been a man of few words, which makes him unapproachable on its own, but, in his fire gear, he seems even more intimidating.
I inhale, thinking of the way I must look right now: pajamas, tears, a mask, and to top it all off, my overstuffed cow slippers. Thankfully Asher doesn’t seem fazed by my appearance as he spends a few minutes taking my blood pressure. His warm, calloused grip grazes the underside of my arm, and everything buzzes under my skin when I watch his strong jaw tense.
“Again,” he orders as he watches his meter.
Smoke catches my eye again.Oh my God, my house …
“Olivia.” Asher’s voice is deep and commanding. The sound of it normally sends what feels like a live wire through me, but right now it’s oddly the only thing stopping me from spiraling out of control.
“It’ll be okay, understand?”
“Okay …” I say, my voice breaking. A few moments pass as Asher removes the blood pressure cuff and pulls off the oxygen mask, his finger lifting my chin as his scent washes over me again. God, he smells so good.
“Eyes here.” He points with two fingers to his own gray pools. I almost get lost in them before a light blinds me. I squint, and his frown deepens before he removes the light. He clips something onto my finger before glancing over his shoulder, assessing. “It’s nearly out now.”
His calm assurance allows me to take a deep, settling breath, and I realize I shouldn’t be so surprised he’s the one who’s able to calm me.
Asher Reed is somehow never far when I’m in need. At least Ithinkit’s him who watches over me; I’ve never built up the courage to ask.
I think back to the time a handsy cowboy spent the night hitting on me at the Horse and Barrel. I escaped to the bathroom to hide from him, and when I came back he was gone. His friend told me he got kicked out, and when I looked over to Asher standing behind the bar, he just nodded. I knew it was him.
A few weeks later, I worked a series of late nights at my clothing store running inventory. When I arrived at the store on the last morning, there were muffins and coffee from Spicer’s, our local bakery, resting on the step of my storefront. That was about a year and a half ago. Now, when I find myself in need of something, it seems to appear out of nowhere. The snow brushed off my car when I leave my shop on a cold night, or my driveway shoveled in the morning. My front porch light was replaced once, and my dad denied it was him. I know on instinct that it’s Asher and, although I know it’s not normal, it doesn’t scare me. It fascinates me. If I ever told anyone, they’d probably tell me I had some sort of stalker fetish. But what they don’t know is that I’ve always been drawn to dark andmysterious men, and Asher Reeddefinitelyfits that bill.
“You have to be more … aware,” he scolds me now, bringing my attention back to the present. “Especially when you live alone.”
His comment stings, but I cover it with a laugh. “Are you saying I need amanto take care of me?”
“Fuck no, and you’d probably find a way to take out the poor bastard anyway.” His eyes briefly flit to mine, but they don’t linger. “I’m suggesting you fuckin’ drink less while you’re alone, seeing as you tend to be …”
“Accident-prone?” I chide. “To say the goddamn least.”
“What if he’s an everyday superhero, like you? Mr. Right Place, Right Time,” I fire back jokingly. Sober me is gonna hate this tomorrow. “Seems tonight you’re my knight in shining red truck.” I pat his solid upper arm.
“You’ve had way too much to drink,” Asher grits out.
I snort in response. “Don’t go getting your dalmatian-covered knickers in a twist. I’m joking. And, for the record, it’s not that I don’twanta man.”
