“I am not a librarian,” she said, irritated that he made it sound like a bad word, and equally so that she’d been prompted to spit out a denial. “I own this store, from which I intend to sell books. Maybe you should read one sometime…see what a real hero is like.”
His eyes grew unexpectedly stormy, but the cloud left so quickly she wasn’t sure she’d seen it. “Is that why you’re afraid of everything? You can’t deal with reality because life is supposed to be like the books?”
“I froze on the bridge,” she said through clenched teeth. Anyone who had nearly lost their entire family in a flash flood would understand that, not that she owed him an explanation. “And most of us are a bit unpracticed in dealing with fire. Again, hardly everything.” She conveniently ignored the fact that both had happened within a space of a few hours. That part didn’t work in her favor. “You don’t even know me, so stop trying to analyze me.”
“What about skydiving? You afraid of that, too?” He’d ignored her request, still blocked her from her property, and now he was smirking. Her earlier instincts to kick him had been spot on, only now he stood six inches higher on the step, and with her below-average height she’d be lucky to bruise his ankle.
As for his skydiving question, it was hardly fair, considering the bridge. “How many times have you jumped out of a plane?”
He made some kind of tsk noise that did nothing to improve her opinion of him. “Twice. What about spiders?”
“How many people like spiders?” This was ridiculous. Her bookstore was on fire, and the fire department wanted to know if she liked spiders? She actually didn’t care one way or another about bugs, whether they had eight legs or six, but why was she even talking to him? Her first instinct every time was to avoid confrontation. They were on solid ground. Walking away from him should have been easy, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
His radio squawked a bunch of code talk, none of which Lieutenant Ego bothered to translate. “Is the store okay?”
He gave her a somber look. “With you at the helm? It’s not looking good.”
She planted her hands on her hips so she wouldn’t be so tempted to punch him. “You are the biggest ass.”
He adopted a serious countenance. “Your store is fine,” he said, his voice all businesslike. “Your air conditioner took itself out of service. We’ll make sure that’s the extent of things before we leave. Do you have any fans?”
Her mind flew to the Facebook page she’d set up for the store before she left Wyoming. The one with six likes. “People who like me?”
He blinked, like she was the dumbest person on earth. “No,” he said slowly. “The kind that move air. You’ve got a lot of smoke to clear out.”
“Oh.” She was losing count of the number of embarrassing moments a person could have in one day. “I’ll get some.” Her mind shifted to her bank account. Great. Fans probably cost a fortune.
“There’s a hardware store right around the corner. I know the owner. He has a couple he keeps in the warehouse to move the air on hot days. I’ll let him know what’s going on up front, but I’m betting if you go talk to him he’ll be happy to bring them down for you to use for a day or two.”
Um, wow. “That’s exceptionally kind of you,” she said. “Thanks.”
“I’d like to take the credit for being a nice guy,” he said, “but in doing so I must also confess I’m trying to avoid getting a smoke inhalation call during dinner.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to see you again, either.” She grumbled the words without forethought.
Much to his amusement, suggested by his grin.
Holy awkward hell. She had never been so embarrassed. Not. Ever. Her gaze dropped to her toes, but not without taking in the extinguisher-splattered view of Lt. Hottie. There had to be a casual way out of this situation. What did a person do to get rid of a fireman who had saved her twice in one day? She couldn’t offer him a drink or anything…not with her place currently cordoned off, though if it was contained to the AC unit, which had apparently been removed, she’d probably be back to work soon.
He cleared his throat, dragging her attention to his utterly handsome face. She’d love to see him with stubble, just a bit more rugged, but she’d read somewhere firefighters couldn’t have facial hair. Was that a universal thing? And why was she standing there thinking how good he looked when she was a hot mess? She hated to think what she looked like. She hated even more that she thought to care. And she really hated how weak her knees felt. Adrenaline. Her life investment had almost burned down. She was definitely allowed a weak moment, as long as she didn’t faint into his arms.
“I’ve never been sprayed with a fire extinguisher on my way into a building,” he said, though this time his tone had softened. Not teasing her, then. She looked around. Where was the rest of his crew?
“Ms. Tyler?”
Lt. Hendricks knew her name. And he watched her. She lost a blip of a moment to the absolute intensity of those coffee-colored eyes. When she opened her mouth to speak, she managed only to close it without saying a word. Her heart hammered. She chalked it up to a delayed reaction to the fact that her store had almost burned down. Or, maybe smoke had just blown in. Either way, she was entitled to freak out a little.
His radio squawked yet another round of gibberish. He listened, then appeared to ignore it. “Why don’t you head down to the hardware store? Unless we get another call, I’ll be here to keep an eye on things, and when they bring the fans down I can help you set them up.”
“I think I can plug in a fan.” Damn her shaky voice. But it had been one of those days, and she’d had way too much caffeine.
His mouth tipped into a soft grin. “And I think I can help you with placement to maximize the speed at which they do their job.”
“Okay.” She felt like an idiot. Again. “Thank you,” she sputtered at the last minute, trying not to sound ungrateful. What was it about this town that flustered her? As if she didn’t know.
As if those melty-chocolate eyes weren’t watching her that very moment.
She blinked, using the excuse to break eye contact. “I’m going to need my handbag out of the store.”
“Where is it?”
“On the table in the back room.”
“Wait here.” He disappeared, moving easily despite the bulk of his gear, and returned a moment later with her bag. She accepted it, but he didn’t release his grip when she began to turn away.
Startled, she met his eyes.
“You know,” he said. “You ran toward the fire.”
She blinked, unsure what to do with his statement of the obvious. “With a fire extinguisher.”
That now-familiar grin touched his lips and made her ache inside. He probably had that effect on a lot of women, though the thought didn’t tamp down her own appreciation of his smile.
“So,” he said, “maybe you’re not as afraid of everything as you thought you were.”
“Maybe,” she said. But she left the rest unspoken. Because it was much more likely she wasn’t afraid enough.
Especially when it came to him. Anyone who could disarm a hyperventilating woman off a bridge the way he had absolutely deserved wariness.
“I think you need to face your fears,” he said, in such a serious tone that she fully expected him to come back with news of a fear-facing class or support group, probably held right across the bridge.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m pretty sure you said I just did.”
He shook his head. “No, more than that. Get out and have some fun. I bet you’d love whitewater rafting.”
Had she told him she didn’t have fun? So maybe bridges were a stretch and she had some trouble buttoning her blouse. That didn’t mean she was a loser who needed to get out. Especially not whitewater rafting. Been there, done that, albeit in a pickup, but that night wasn’t the kind of thing a person just shook off. “No.”
He glanced toward the mountains that gave the town its western edg
e. “What about a hike to a waterfall?”
Now he was just mocking her. How professional. She should have his badge, or shield, or whatever fire officers were awarded, revoked. “Torrents of rushing water?” she asked, incredulous. “You think that sounds like something I’d enjoy?”
“What if it’s just a trickle?”
She crossed her arms and hoped her glare would reach him, the way he towered over her. Was that why he stood on that step? A power play? “I’ve yet to run from a running faucet, if that’s what you mean. And I don’t appreciate being the butt of your jokes. If you’re going to mock me, do it behind my back.”
The smirk left his mouth. “I’m not mocking you,” he told her with a surprising amount of sincerity. “But if you don’t get past at least one of your fears, you’re going to become a drain on city resources.”
She rolled her eyes and hoped it hid her cringe, because she knew he was right, and she’d have been fine to hear it from anyone but him. The man pushed all her buttons. “How very gallant of you. If it makes you feel better, I won’t call on you for help again.”
He tilted his head. “Or, how about instead of letting the store burn to the ground or stopping cross-town traffic, you just face your fears?”
“I tried. Which is how I ended up frozen on the bridge in the first place.” And if the success of that attempt was any indication, the best way for her to keep her hands out of the city resource coffers was to steer clear of fear-facing situations.
“That was admirable, I guess, but how about you take a slightly smaller first step?”
“What, with you?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized there hadn’t been any we in his suggestion. None whatsoever.
He blinked. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “With me. Someone has to keep this town safe from you. Ideally someone trained to deal with emergencies.”
Her heart flipped and tumbled around a big, flashing, neon sign screaming bad idea. Way past time to backpedal. “It would hardly be fair of me to rob this town of its savior,” she told him. “Maybe you have a friend who could go with me instead?” One last-ditch effort to get rid of this guy.
“Not a chance,” he said.
She tried to force a smile. “I’m sure there’s someone less…busy.” Never mind that she seemed to be the source of his tight schedule.
“Nice try,” he said. “But if anyone is going to send you down the river on a raft, it’s going to be me.”
Chapter Four
Twenty-four hour shifts with the Dry Rock FD didn’t leave Shane fatigued. They left him restless. He normally capped off those hours of being on call with a strenuous hike through the mountains that jackknifed the western sky, but today he found himself standing in front of Shelf Indulgence. A bookstore, of all places. He had absolutely nothing against reading—especially not good old-fashioned paper books—but there weren’t any mountains to climb within those walls, which thankfully stood unscathed. They’d removed the smoke-spewing window-unit air conditioner, and the brick exterior wall bore only the faintest scar.
The door didn’t have a sign indicating whether the place was open or what the hours might be. He hadn’t shut down the building, but she’d only arrived in town yesterday. Hardly enough time to get the paperwork in order, especially after the way her day had gone.
For that matter, he wasn’t sure if she’d made it back across the bridge, let alone twice. He should have looked up her address—one not in Wyoming—but what would be the point? He’d be gone in two weeks. He’d gotten her off the bridge and they’d kept her building from burning down. His job was done.
So why, instead of tearing up those mountains, was he knocking on her bookstore door?
And why the hell did he forget his name when she opened it?
If she’d been gorgeous the day before, today she took his breath and stomped on his chest. And that was before she smiled. She didn’t look different, exactly, so he wasn’t sure why she left him reeling. Maybe it was the openness of her expression. Maybe it was the way her eyes lit when she saw him. At least that’s what he wanted to think, or else his visceral reaction was seriously overkill.
“Hey,” she said, like they were old friends.
Bewildered, he glanced over his shoulder. Nope. No one there but him. “Uh, hey.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Come in.”
He stepped inside, though now as suspicious of her intentions as he was of his own. She wore the same clothes as the day before, he finally realized, though she’d managed to correctly button her shirt. Still, had she spent the night at the store? Only one way to find out. “I guess you made it across the bridge this morning?”
She hesitated. “Actually, no. I stayed here. But if that’s some sort of code violation, yes, I made it home and back just fine. And I wanted to thank you,” she rushed on, not giving him a chance to comment on her sleeping arrangement, “for yesterday.”
“You’re welcome?” Was this a sane version of this woman? Maybe this was what happened when one didn’t begin the day terrified on a bridge and round it out with a small fire. It should have been a good thing, but instead of relishing her apparent lack of fight, he found he missed it. Very few women batted more than their eyelashes at him, and this one had thrown nothing but roadblocks.
Her eyes hitched to his at his questioning tone. “No, I mean it,” she said. “You’re clearly good at your job. I thought you were being unprofessional, but you read me…well, like a book. So thank you, and, um, of course I won’t hold you to having to see me again. The justice system forgives statements made under duress, so I can do the same.”
He stared while her words tumbled over one another in their rush to get out. She didn’t want to see him again? He should have been thrilled. The woman was afraid to cross bridges, for heaven’s sake, and he rushed toward danger at every turn. Plus, he was moving in two weeks. He couldn’t begin to guess what else they didn’t have in common, but it didn’t matter. He was as good as gone.
He watched as she fought to hold her smile, then realized his suspicions had been on point. She really didn’t want him there.
He’d rescued her twice in one day, and she had to fake a smile?
“You’re probably right,” he said, only pretending to agree with her. “If you can’t handle that bridge, there’s no way you can handle me. Much better you stay somewhere safe. In fact, I could use the peace and quiet of a bookstore.” He vaguely remembered a sofa from his quick trip through the day before, and he found it in a corner before she had a chance to object. A faint smoke smell lingered, but she had the windows open and the fans on. Fresh mountain air poured in, only a hint of the city on its heels. He flopped onto the cushions, which gave more than he expected, but if she’d noticed the unceremonious landing, she didn’t flinch.
She bit her lip, leaving him with an ungodly urge to follow her bite with one of his own. “I’m not…open,” she said.
He ignored her and his stupidly clawing urge to kiss her. “Do I smell coffee?”
“It’s cinnamon roll.”
He inhaled, sure he smelled otherwise. “Not coffee?”
“No, it’s coffee, but cinnamon roll flavored.”
He blinked. “How is that coffee?” Coffee was supposed to be black and rich. Not…fluffy.
She pasted on a gratuitous smile. “Perhaps you should go to a convenience store for something more your speed.”
“I happen to enjoy a good cinnamon roll,” he said. He had no desire to drink one, but he didn’t throw that in. Plus, she hadn’t mentioned Starbucks, which he considered a huge plus. “I’d love some.”
She crossed her arms, though it was the only falter in her facade of friendly professionalism. “I didn’t offer.”
He glanced around the space. It was cluttered and a bit unkempt. That was to be expected, but it still reminded him of his grandma’s living room. “Can you recommend any reading material to go with my cinnamon-roll coffee?” Ignoring her was getting tough. He want
ed to call her out, get her all riled up, and wait for the hurricane to blow through, but she remained steadfast. To a fault.
“I’m still getting organized,” she said primly.
He held his arms out wide, accidentally whacking the windowsill with one hand and nudging a cardboard box nearly off the end table with another. He righted the box then returned her saccharine smile with one of his own. “And yet I see books.”
“Fine.” She smiled, and it was so tight he was surprised by the effort, but she spun on her toe and walked away.
He settled against the cushions and checked out the store, this time without the benefit of smoke and a fire crew at his back. The space wasn’t large, and with five short lengths of stacks dominating the room, the impression of his grandma’s place gave way to that of an elementary school library. A couple of long paper bookmarks poked from the lines of volumes on the shelves. He wondered if she’d begun inventory, or if that was where the last owners had left off. The proprietors before her had been an elderly couple, and the few times he’d stopped by he’d noticed their tastes tended toward the eccentric, but his last visit had been years ago. The place had closed down for a couple of years without any interest from a buyer.
Then Caitlin showed up out of the blue, or fresh from Wyoming, as it turned out. He found himself wondering what her plans were.
And then, why he cared.
She returned in short order with a coffee mug, handing it to him without a word before leaving again.
He read the cup. I’m single, because apparently the only good men are fictional. He grinned. This woman clearly had no idea how much he loved a challenge.
The squeak of a metal cart with poorly greased wheels caught his attention. “Reading material,” she said, handing him a book off the top. “I haven’t had time to get through much, but I’m sure these will do.”
He glanced at the book title. History of Childbirth. Fully illustrated, with a knobby brown exterior and crispy yellowed pages that looked and smelled to be a hundred years old. “It’s been a few months since my last paramedic recertification,” he said. “This might be useful.”
Her Sexy Challenge (Firefighters of Station 1) Page 3