Her Reluctant Hero: A Romantic Suspense Boxed Set

by MJ Fredrick

  “Lookout for what?” She straightened and resisted the urge to press her hand to the small of her back.

  “For spot fires, see if it goes up in the crown of the trees, up in the branches, kind of a safety inspector.”

  Another Hot Shot, Mike, working beside her, straightened. “No way. She doesn’t have enough experience to see what’s coming.”

  “She doesn’t need experience to watch and holler.”

  Peyton almost agreed with Mike—she wouldn’t know what to be on guard for. But her body rebelled at the idea of picking up the tool one more time.

  When Cooper walked over, all business, she wanted to walk into the fire.

  He folded his arms over his chest and flicked his gaze from one to the other with smoke- reddened eyes. “What’s going on over here? No time to stand around gossiping, ladies.”

  “Michaels can barely hold her shovel.” Kim’s tone was derisive.

  “I can dig,” Peyton muttered, humiliation washing over her as Cooper turned those astute brown eyes to her. She wanted to crawl under the ashes.

  Kim ignored her and continued, “I want to post her as a lookout.”

  “I say she’s too green to know what she’s doing,” Mike interjected.

  Cooper hadn’t turned away from her as the two Hot Shots voiced their opinions. He didn’t need to speak, so powerfully did he wield those eyes, daring her to look away. She didn’t, afraid to even swallow. He was assessing her and she couldn’t be found lacking. Not by him.

  “Hmph,” he grunted finally. “You said you can cut line?”

  “Yes, sir, I can cut,” she lied.

  He studied her a moment longer. “Damn it, there’s nothing like a stubborn woman. Come with me, Peyton.”

  She cast a glance at Kim and Mike, wondering what kind of trouble she was in, but their smug expressions told her nothing. With confidence she didn’t feel, she hefted her pack and followed Gabe. He stopped only long enough to pick up a chainsaw one-handed and sling it over his shoulder. The display of strength sent a very female thrill through her. She savored it only a moment before jerking back to the reality of what he was. A firefighter. A man married to his job. His dangerous job.

  No, no. She’d admire his ability, but would not think about him as a man. She couldn’t.

  “I can dig, Cooper,” she said, trotting beside him.

  “Can you watch?”

  She blinked some ash from her eye, lifted her gloved finger to wipe it away before stopping herself, winced when the irritating speck was joined by dirt. “What?”

  “You’re a spotter. Yell if anything falls out of the tree while I cut it.” He stopped where another Hot Shot was waiting, swung his saw in front of him and checked the chain.

  She stumbled to a halt a safe distance back and rubbed at her eye with her shoulder. “Like what?”

  “Branches, snakes—”

  “Snakes?” she squeaked, taking a step back.

  He handed her a pair of goggles and earplugs. “They climb up to get away from the heat. The vibrations from the saw knock them out.”

  “What kind of snakes?” she asked cautiously, standing where he directed her.

  He winked at her before lowering his goggles. “All kinds.” He revved up the chainsaw and went to work.

  Nerves jittering, she slid on her own goggles and watched him. He didn’t slash straight through the tree. Instead he made two shallow, angled cuts on the downhill side of the tree, then another on the back of it. The smell of sawdust seared through the smoke, burning her nose, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He shut off the saw and picked up a sledgehammer to knock out the wedge created by the cuts in the front of the tree. He took Peyton’s arm and drew her back with a firm grip.

  The tree swayed in the drafts created by the fire before it fell with the whining sound of tearing wood. Ash, embers and pine needles whirled up in a cloud, mingling with the smoke before scattering over the ground. The vibration rattled her bones up to her knees.

  Gabe released her arm, and he and another man with a saw approached the burning tree. Each braced a foot against the trunk and started cutting it into chunks to kill the fire. Two others joined them and started hacking at the burning branches with their Pulaskis. How could they stand having their feet against a log still aflame?

  Only then did Peyton realize she hadn’t done what he’d asked her. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of watching him as he worked, observing his grim face, his sure movements. His life depended on her vigilance.

  She followed him to the next tree and craned her head back dutifully, holding her hard hat on.

  After the cuts were made, Cooper showed her how to use the sledgehammer to dislodge the wedges. With her assistance, this tree fell faster than the last and his breathtaking grin curled right through her.

  The job, not the man. The job, not the man, she chanted silently.

  The audacity of his white teeth in his filthy face matched the audacity of his victory over the tree, and Peyton felt dizzy for reasons that had nothing to do with the smoke or the altitude. Creases at the corner of his eyes told her those smiles weren’t as few and far between as he wanted her to think. She hoped he’d wield such a powerful weapon with the utmost care. Especially around her. She didn’t have the resources to counter it.

  Suddenly her earlier aches disappeared, and she followed him to the next tree.

  A yawn caught her off guard, and she opened her eyes in time to see a flaming branch as big around as her waist hurtling end first, right toward Cooper. She screamed and grabbed his arm, pulling at him. He calmly shut off the saw and ducked out of the way. The branch landed right where he’d been standing. Peyton stared at it while Cooper picked up his saw again, as if he hadn’t almost been incinerated.

  Was that the type of job this was, where near-death experiences were a matter of course? The thought made her want to understand the man—the people who did this, she corrected herself—even more.

  Because they were Gabe’s crew, they were the last to leave the line, fourteen hours after they’d arrived. The fire had jumped their line, so they’d fallen back and cut another one. It jumped that one too, the bastard, and his crew was wearing down. A tired crew was a dangerous crew, so he called Jen to send replacements.

  Now as they hiked back, the sag of their shoulders told him they shared his frustration at losing the ground they’d gained. More time, more resources—there was never enough of either.

  Gabe made a habit of walking at the back of his crew after a shift, staying between them and the fire. The person directly in front of him on the hike down, moving in slow motion, was Peyton Michaels, her cute little butt dragging. The relief he felt knowing she’d stuck out her first fire was alien to him.

  “You okay?” he asked, pulling along beside her. It seemed rude not to say anything to her; he’d ask any rookie the same question on their first fire, on his crew or not.

  She smiled and wiped a dirty hand over her dirtier face. “I could sleep standing up.” “You ever work around a shift this long before?”

  “I stayed up all night to cram for an exam, but it’s hardly the same.”

  He grinned despite himself. “Well, let’s get you back to camp and into bed, then.”

  Her head snapped up at his words, her eyes wide. But he just pulled away. Whistling.

  Peyton’s saving grace was that camp was downhill. Every step was excruciating, from the soles of her feet to the base of her neck. Gravity pulled her forward because her brain and her muscles no longer communicated. No wonder so many of the firefighters were so young. Kids could blow off pain. No matter what shape she’d kept herself in back in Chicago, she was in no shape for this.

  She empathized now with the firefighters who’d crashed in the middle of the campground in broad daylight yesterday. Even as the sun set, turning the smoke around them a gorgeous mauve, she wished for nothing more than flat ground and a prone position.

  She envisioned her nerves shooting messages
from her brain to her muscles, begging them to move, and her muscles responding with shrieks of pain. She couldn’t work up the energy to cry, and anyway, there was no moisture left in her body; she’d sweated so much.

  Her arms ached from the relentless swinging of her Pulaski, her back ached from the weight of her backpack, which felt heavier, even with most of the bottles of water empty. Her eyes burned, black mucus ran from her nose. One more day of this would be the end of her.

  At the first flat spot, she veered off the path and opened her pack for another bottle of water.

  And saw two big rocks inside. No wonder it had been so heavy. She lifted a rock in each hand, looked up to see Kim, Howard and some of the others had stopped to watch and laugh.

  “Very mature,” Peyton muttered, hefting the rocks into the grass behind her, struggling not to cry. She hadn’t come here to fit in. What did it matter if she was leaving anyway? Still, it was damn mean.

  None of her other articles had been so demanding. Was this what she had to do to understand her husband’s death? There was no guarantee this story would answer all her questions. If it didn’t, she’d have to do another. She was putting her life in danger, as Dan had, but she didn’t have his emotional strength, certainly not his level of commitment. Even staying on an assignment was hard, when he could risk his life for his job. The same thing came up again and again in her stories. She just didn’t stack up to the people she wrote about.

  Relief emerged in a sob as she stumbled into camp. The other firefighters looked at her with disgust, muttering things like “rookie” and “Told you she wouldn’t make it.” It didn’t matter what they thought. She wouldn’t be around much longer.

  So she was a quitter, got going when it got tough. So what? One shift gave her enough information for her story. Maybe this wasn’t the place to find her answers.

  “Well, Michaels, we’ve got our spot staked out by the ninth hole,” Cooper said by way of parting. “I imagine you’ll be heading back to the motel now.”

  His implication that she would rent a room, for a nice shower and a soft bed raised her hackles. Oh, good. At least some part of her body could move. “I have a tent. I’m up for the whole experience.” Only moments ago she’d been ready to call it quits, had been fantasizing about a shower and a bed, the easy way out. Why did Cooper have to be the one to get her fired up again?

  And what did it matter? She couldn’t just react to challenges. She had to find the commitment in herself. But for now, she’d take his challenge.

  He nodded. “You know where the mess is, and the showers are in the trailers out by the road.”

  As wonderful as being clean sounded, she didn’t want to stand as long as it took to get all the grime off her body. She would hardly be the only dirty person in this camp. She staggered away in search of a flat place to lose consciousness.

  *****

  The next morning, after just enough sleep to leave him groggy, Gabe shoved out of his sleeping bag fully dressed and crawled out of his tent. He never used to wake up so stiff. Golf courses were free of rocks, but who knew such pretty green grass could mask such hard ground?

  He staggered toward the mess tent with one word on his mind—caffeine. He didn’t glance left or right until he got to the big overworked coffeepot and only then to find something larger than those pathetic Styrofoam cups for his coffee. Facing a definite lack of choices, he poured two cups and downed one in a single swallow before refilling it and heading out.

  “Gabe!” Behind him, Jen’s voice was panicked. Christ, he didn’t have the energy for her now, and her tone was familiar enough for him to realize she didn’t have good news for him. Hell, she rarely sought him out period.

  He kept walking.

  “Gabe!”

  She ran up and grabbed his arm. If he’d been in a better humor he might have taken solace that she appeared more exhausted than he felt.

  “Hey,” she said, looking up at him, worry darkening the eyes he’d once known so well. “I have some Girl Scouts trapped about five miles up the main road. Sheriff Bosquez tried to raise them and can’t get through, and the fire’s blocked our way in.”

  “Maybe they got out.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded with a nod. “But they’re unaccounted for at any of the evacuation sites. It’s some kind of scout camp. You know, with kids. You’d think if they got out they’d notify the parents. You have to go in and make sure they’re out.”

  Adrenaline chased fatigue from his body as the surprise of the request wore off. His feet itched to move out. He couldn’t let her see it, though. He couldn’t let her know he still felt the thrill.

  She’d never seen it when they were married, always pushing him toward a supervisory position, but he’d wanted to stay in the field. Year after year his friends left for full-time office jobs and grew sticks up their asses, but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t confine himself inside four walls.

  Jen hadn’t understood his lack of ambition. His satisfaction with his life looked like complacence in her eyes. She’d wanted her husband to be more than a mere ground pounder, even if he was one of the best. The harder she’d pushed the more he’d resisted and the more they fought.

  “Fine, all right.” He braced his feet apart. “Give me what you’ve got.”

  She spun on her heel and he followed her into the strategy tent, pulling his map from his back pocket.

  “We’ve got fifteen girls and three counselors trapped at McIntosh Ridge.” Jen walked around the table and gestured to the map pinned to the bulletin board. “Trees surrounding it, dirt road going in. The road is useless, though. The fire’s hooked below.”

  “Got it.” He scanned the map once again and compared it to his.

  “Did you hear me, Gabe?” She put her hand over the map, trying to force his gaze to hers. “The fire’s hooked below.”

  “I heard you.” She was emphasizing the danger so he had the whole story, but the truth was, he didn’t have a choice. He had to go in. “If they’re still up there, we’ll get them out.”

  He pushed out of the tent and collided with the soft body of Peyton Michaels. She must have found the showers, because her hair was no longer black with soot, and some fruity scent floated up from her, but he couldn’t stand around smelling her, thinking of her as a woman, as anything other than a reporter. His mind already moved ahead to the mountain. He acknowledged her with a nod and set her aside.

  She hurried after him and touched his arm. He stopped, glanced from her hand to her bold brown eyes. “Can I help you?”

  She didn’t drop her hand away despite his pointed look. “I want to go with you.”

  “Go where?” As if he didn’t know. Just like a reporter. This was not something he wanted to deal with now, on the heels of dealing with Jen. His shields weren’t all the way back up.

  “To the camp.”

  He glanced back at the tent. Of all the people to overhear, it had to be her. “Eavesdropping?” She merely lifted her brows. Always challenging him. “I have ears.”

  “We had a deal. One shift.” He sliced his hand through the air in a gesture of finality, not wanting the responsibility for her a minute longer. “Your shift is up.”

  “But this—rescuing trapped children!” Her voice shook with excitement as she trotted after him. “This is exactly what I’m writing about.”

  He scowled. “I’m not doing this for your amusement, Michaels.”

  She looked stricken he would think so, and he felt an uncharacteristic stab of regret. Hell, what did she think, making statements like that? That she was going to improve his opinion of reporters?

  “No, of course not. But you have to see how important this would be to me.”

  All the wrong reasons to go up on the mountain. He shook his head. “And just what makes you think that matters to me?”

  Her temper brightened her eyes. “Is it just me, or all reporters?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “All reporters.”

  She huff
ed out a breath. “Here I was all a-tingle, thinking I was special.”

  Here he thought he was starting to like her wise mouth. He didn’t dignify her remark with an answer.

  “What happened?” she pressed, hovering at his elbow. “Someone get on your bad side?”

  “Did you hear I had a good side?”

  A surprised laugh burst from her. Damn, she was cute, all dimples and white teeth. “You know, you’re right. An assumption on my part.”

  “Comes with the job,” he muttered, and she laughed again.

  “What is it?” Her voice was breathless as she tried to keep up with him. He wouldn’t feel sorry for her. “What makes you hate us so much?”

  “It couldn’t be the constant questions,” he said.

  “Sure, it could be, but that would be an annoyance, not downright hatred.”

  He stopped then and faced her. “Will you tell me, right here and right now, what your angle is?” She opened her mouth and he lifted one finger to silence her. “Not what your story is, but what spin you’re going to put on it?”

  “Is that it? You’ve been burned by interviews so all reporters are bad?”

  “See? You can’t even answer a damned question without a question. I need to go get my crew together.” He turned on his heel.

  She came after him, edging around a cluster of firefighters to look up at him. “All right. My series is on heroic jobs and the people who live them. People want to read about real-life heroes.”

  He snorted. “Then you’re following the wrong guy around.”

  “I don’t think so. You forget I watched you out there.”

  No, he hadn’t forgotten. Her presence had been more of a distraction, and not only because of the reporter thing. Distraction on the fire line because of a woman had almost killed him once. He wouldn’t give the dragon another chance.

  “I wasn’t being a hero.” He dismissed her claim with a shrug. “I was doing my job. I’m good at what I do, but I’m no damned hero.”

  “It’s the real heroes who don’t see what they are,” she said, her voice low.