“Walker,” he calls over toward one of his crew. “Quick report?”
Walker Black pulls off his helmet as he starts to fill us in. He’s tall and broad with a thick, dark beard. His face is covered in soot from being inside the house, and the color contrasts with his deep blue eyes.
“The fire was contained to the kitchen, but I’m afraid the house is uninhabitable.” He turns to me. “I’d say everything in your houseshouldbe salvageable, aside from … anything inthe kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I all but whisper as I hold back another wave of tears.
“Ma’am.” He nods. Walker turns to go as Asher pats him on the back, then glances toward me.
“Where are your keys? And some proper shoes?” He looks at Wayne. “I’ll take her.”
Wayne seems satisfied as he shakes Asher’s hand before following in Walker’s footsteps.
“In the basket in the entryway and … my sandals are at the front door,” I answer. “Thank you. I obviously … can’t drive.”
Asher’s jaw tics.
“Obviously.” He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket as his stormy eyes rake over me. “But I’m not taking you to a hotel.”
CHAPTER 3
Asher
It’s a goddamn miracle Olivia Sutton makes it through each day alive. She’s the most oblivious to danger and accident-prone woman I’ve ever met in my life. So much so I’ve privately dubbed herOblivia.
The call to her house came in right at the end of a double shift where I just left a family of four, including two toddlers, at the local hospital after they flipped their minivan to avoid crashing into a deer. There are days since I began my firefighting career on Staten Island a decade ago, and especially since taking over in Laurel Creek as battalion chief, that this job shows me horrors. And those horrors are hard to forget. Today was one of those days. Made even worse byOblivia’santics.
Something to trip over? She’ll find it. A bar fight breaks out? She’ll be caught in the middle. Any chaos and Olivia is always there. She’s like a moth to a goddamn flame. And yet, I couldn’t fucking get to her fast enough tonight.
My radio continues to sound as I cruise through the quiet streets of Laurel Creek in my truck. Olivia sits beside me in the front seat as the sound of soft country music fills the space.
Before tonight, I hadn’t seen Olivia for over a week. I know she’s been away because she hasn’t been at her clothing boutique downtown in days. I know because watching her, making sure she’s safe and hasn’t accidentally fallen asleep on a train track, has become a bit of a shameless ritual for me since I met her. One that fucking pisses me off.
Because I’ve never watchedanywoman before. I’ve tried to figure out why, but I can’t. She just compels me. Outwardly, Olivia is an illusion.Alwayswearing a smile, even though I know it hides hurt. I know that there’s a truer version of Olivia behind the sunshine mask, and learning what makes her tick has become a habit I can’t fucking break. Those deep blue eyes both haunt and tether me. I’ve told myself it’s because sheneedswatching over, and because watching people from the shadows is second nature to me. I was trained to watch by my father since I was very young. And I’m good at it. So good that locating people and keeping eyes on them became my job in my past life.
Shit is hard to let go of, especially when watching Olivia means I could potentially keep her from choking to death or getting kidnapped on her way home from work. Or, in tonight’s case, burning to death.
Keeping my gaze trained to the dark road ahead, I push away the thought that she could have been another set of screams added to my haunting memories. Instead, as Olivia’s eyes flutter closed from exhaustion beside me, I think back to the first time I met her.
“Are you fucking trying to die?” I ask, scowling down at the woman who just about offered herself up as a sacrifice to the old gray truck passing us now. Zach Bryan blares out its open windows as she turns to look at it. It takes her about two seconds to realize she was almost a redheaded pancake, then she straightens out and looks up at me, bigblue eyes peeking out from under copper bangs. She’s clearly terrified of me—an inked, leather-clad, unfamiliar man. I can see her fear, but another emotion also lingers there. Intrigue maybe?
“I-I would’ve seen it before I crossed.” Her sweet voice is tinged with a hint of attitude.
“Aye. Doubtful. You were oblivious,” I counter, letting go of her soft arm, noticing the way my tight grip marked her pale skin. She rubs at it with the back of her hand.
It wasn’t the gold necklace dipping lower into her cleavage, or those full hips that lead to a round, plump ass barely covered by her little white sundress, bouncing perfectly as she walked. It wasn’t her small waist and full tits or her smooth, shiny-looking hair tied back with a silk scarf that caught my attention. It was that I couldn’t figure her the fuck out. This woman was a blend of way too much confidence with way too little self-awareness, about to step right out into traffic, texting on her phone, like all the traffic would stop for her.
I let my eyes move to her face now, taking in her features. I knew she was pretty as soon as I saw her. But close up, the details ofhowpretty are breathtaking. There’s a dusting of freckles across her nose that I imagine gets darker with the sun. Her lips are full and luscious, glossed in candy apple red, and thick black lashes frame big ocean-colored eyes. Her smooth skin contrasts perfectly with thick copper hair, the color of which I can tell is one hundred percent natural. I suppose that explains the sass.
She straightens out her dress and looks up at me quizzically.
“You’re new here? Tourist?”
“What makes you think that?” I ask, surprisingly invested in her response. Talking with a stranger is rarely something I’m interested in.
“That isn’t exactly a Kentucky accent. And … everyone knows everyone in Laurel Creek. Though I don’t know you.”
Her tone is sharp, but the way she looks at me? The way those blue eyes heat for just a second? She’s judging my appearance, and if
