Montana Fire_A Small Town Romance

by Vanessa Vale

  Duh.

  “One minute I’m fighting a forest fire, the next minute a lunatic comes barreling out of the woods with a gas can in his hand. When he told us who paid him to start the fire, because clearly he couldn’t come up with the idea on his own, I had a bad feeling. Got any beer?”

  I nodded, completely baffled by Ty’s disappearance, reappearance, shower. Everything.

  He got up, got the beer from the fridge and returned to his spot.

  After a few swallows he continued, “I play poker with one of the 911 dispatchers. He recognized your name from your call and thought I might want to know. I was tracked down on the fire and patched through the details. Driving back to town was the longest two hours of my life. He said you were fine but I had to see for myself.”

  Any interest in crying was gone, replaced by the happiness I’d felt early in the morning when Ty leaned over me in my bed and said he’d fallen for me. This day had been insane.

  “I…I thought you walked away from me. From us.”

  Ty’s eyes flared in understanding. He shook his head. “No. Never.”

  I bit my lip. “What about my dinner with Dex?”

  Ty lifted an eyebrow. “I told you that night, you went with him for a reason. I know you’re not a cheater.”

  I was still confused. “Then why were you so angry in the ER?”

  He squeezed my foot again. “You just looked so fragile, so breakable, lying there. While you cried in my arms, I thought about what he could have done to you. What he had done to you. I was so angry, I had to get out of there. I was afraid in my anger I might hurt you, more than what Dexter had done. I’m sorry you didn’t understand that.”

  As apologies go, it was a darn good one. I picked up George, cracks and all, his ceramic body cool beneath my fingers. “Who would have imagined my entire life would be turned upside down by two garden gnomes?”

  “Never in a million years,” Ty grumbled. He took George from me and put him back on the coffee table along with his beer. He lifted my feet off his lap and worked his way across the couch, lying on top of me, propped up on one elbow. I could feel every hard inch of him, some places much harder than others. His body heat seeped into me. He smelled like my soap and beer. I felt safe and sheltered, protected with him over me.

  “Am I too heavy?” he asked, worried. He started to pull away, but I yanked him back on top of me.

  “No, just right.” I ran my fingers over the letters on his T-shirt, afraid to look him in the eye. “So, um, about what you said to me this morning in bed.”

  “Oh, you were awake.” One tip of his mouth curved up.

  “Only for the good parts.”

  “Good parts?” He tucked a curl behind my ear, studied my face, settled on my lips.

  I pretended to think about it. “You said something about sex.”

  He smiled. “Sex is definitely a good part.”

  I pushed against him and laughed. “I also heard something about falling?”

  Ty’s eyes met mine. I could see so much in them. The fear from the day, the playful lust, the love. “Oh, I’ve definitely fallen.”

  He lowered his head for a kiss. Not just an it’s-just-sex kiss. This was a love kiss and that made it all the better. Softened all the rough edges from the day. Lots of tongue didn’t hurt either.

  “I love you, Ty,” I said, when we surfaced.

  Ty smiled and exhaled. His expression was crowded with a mingling of relief and love. “I didn’t think it was possible to care that much again after all the shit I saw in the Gulf. The first time I saw you, bam, I felt something.”

  I was reminded of the zing I felt when I first saw him at the pancake breakfast. The day we got the gnomes at the garage sale. “You felt a bam? I felt a zing.”

  He ran his hand over my hair again. His look, his touch was almost reverent. “A zing, huh? When I started feeling too much, I thought it was best just to walk away. But somehow you slipped in there. Just like those gnomes, in one day, you just changed my life.”

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “I guess we just see what happens,” Ty replied. “Without anyone trying to kill you.”

  “Probably a good idea.” My heart lurched, forgetting the most important thing. “The boys. What about the boys?” What if he didn’t want to take on someone else’s kids? It was one thing to be in love with a woman, it was another to take on all her baggage, too.

  Ty grinned. “You have to know how much they mean to me. The question is, what do you think they’ll say to us being in a relationship?”

  “Does this mean…does this mean no condoms?” I wondered.

  Heat flared in his eyes. “I’m not ready for a baby, so we’d have to think of other birth control, but I’d love to take you bare, with nothing between us. I’ve…I’ve never done it before.”

  The idea of it had me squirming beneath him. “I’m on the pill.”

  He groaned, kissed me again. “The boys? You think they like me?”

  Good question. I turned my head and saw George the Gnome and his friend staring at us again. Now their evil grins looked like smiles. Happy smiles. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

  “If you bring the gnomes to the airport when we pick them up, you’ll probably be set for life.”

  “Done. Oh, Goldie called your mom to tell her what happened.”

  I nodded. “She told me. I’m glad because I don’t want to go over all that again with my mom. At least right now.”

  “What you don’t know is that your mom called me.”

  “Huh?” That was a surprise.

  “I guess she believed Goldie, but wanted confirmation from someone else. Don’t worry, I eased her mind and told her you’d call her later.” He ran his fingers across my cheek. “I spoke with the boys, too. They’re fine. Zach asked me a funny question though.”

  Ty smiled, kissed my forehead, my temple, behind my ear.

  I melted. “Oh?”

  “He wanted to know if I was giving you field hockey lessons.” He eyed me suspiciously. “Do you have any idea why he said that?”

  I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks. Looked at the gnomes again before looking into Ty’s eyes. Smiled. “Maybe I have to give you lessons instead.” My hand slid down his body to grab hold of his stick. “Starting now.”

  Note From Vanessa

  Don’t worry, there’s more Small Town Romance to come!

  But guess what? I’ve got some bonus content for you with Jane and Ty. So sign up for my mailing list. There will be special bonus content for each Small Town Romance book, just for my subscribers. Signing up will let you hear about my next release as soon as it is out, too (and you get a free book…wow!)

  As always…thanks for loving my books and the wild ride!

  Want more?

  Read the first chapter of Montana Ice, the second book in the Small Town Romance series.

  Montana Ice - Chapter One

  When little girls played make-believe with their dolls, most pretended they were mommies or princesses or teachers. Had little tea parties with them, played dress-up. That was what my sister, Violet, had done with hers. Me? I played plumber with mine. I dressed my little Betsy Wets-Alot up in a pair of gray coveralls stolen from a male test pilot action figure I'd found at the toy store. He'd been tossed naked into the back of my closet until my sister had found him and used him for the groom in her pretend weddings.

  Not only did I dress my self-wetting doll in menswear, I ran a straw down the pants leg to divert the faux pee away from her anatomically-incorrect little body. No potty for her. I’d been five and had known what I wanted to be when I grew up. I, Veronica Miller, had wanted to be a plumber. Just like my father.

  Now, over twenty years later, I'd fulfilled my childhood dream. I was the plumber I'd longed to be, working with my dad. Soon to be working on my own. One last payment to my old man stood between his official retirement and my small business owner status.

  I smiled to myself about
this almost-upon-me momentous occasion while lathering my hair in the shower. I squealed when the spray of water I was standing beneath went cold and quickly rinsed out the strawberry-scented shampoo.

  “Stupid hot water heater,” I grumbled to myself as I yanked back the plastic shower curtain and stepped out into the steam filled room. I longed to get back to my own house as Violet's plumbing system needed some serious work. Even in the thick humidity, goose bumps popped out all over my body as I quickly toweled off and snuggled into my ratty, yet wonderfully comfortable, flannel robe.

  While I leaned over and rubbed my wet hair with a bright pink towel, I heard it. The sound of a key in a lock, the front door opening. I froze in place upside-down, staring at my knees between the edges of the robe, towel tangling with my long hair. Since I was a plumber, not a law enforcement officer, I lacked the training to keep panic at bay. That hot, adrenaline-induced fear rose up inside me between one heartbeat and the next. I could have sworn the little wet hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  Help. I needed to get help, but my cell was in my purse, which I'd dropped by the front door, one room away. And Violet had no house phone.

  I stood up, flipped my dark hair back over my shoulder, held my breath and listened. Rustling and a little mumbling was all I could make out. Who was in Violet’s house? Sure, they must have a key since I hadn't heard a window break, but the only other person who was supposed to have one was Violet, and she was in Utah.

  I tiptoed over to the door, bit my lip and winced as I turned the knob and hoped it didn't squeak. I slowly opened the door as I held my breath. Peeking into the bedroom, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Barely made bed, dirty clothes tossed haphazardly at the wicker hamper. Something heavy thumped onto the floor from the vicinity of the front door and I looked in that direction as if I had x-ray vision and could see through the wall to the person in the living room.

  I squeezed through the small gap I'd made in the bathroom doorway, afraid if I opened it anymore, the old hinges would give me away. Breathing as quietly as possible, which was pretty hard in panic mode, I bent down and grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on to use as a weapon. What I held didn't register. I knew it was solid wood like a baseball bat and as good as I was going to get for protection.

  Violet's house was small, with only one floor and a scary basement I rarely visited. Living room, kitchen, bedroom and bath. That's it. Which also meant there wasn't anywhere to hide.

  For breaking and entering, the guy wasn't Mr. Stealth. It was the middle of the afternoon. He'd come in the front door and he was awfully noisy for someone being where they weren't supposed to be. Even if he was the worst robber ever, that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

  My palms were sweaty as I peeked around the door jamb into the living room. His back was to me and he appeared to be looking down at something he held in front of him, probably his phone. It appeared he was texting, or reading one. Tall, around six feet, maybe a little more, and solid. He wore jeans and dark leather shoes. His black jacket was a lighter weight than one would expect for the dead of winter in Montana in the throes of a bitter cold snap. A gray knit cap covered most of his dark hair.

  I didn't recognize him, but I wasn't in the mood to wait for him to turn around and see me. I decided to use the element of surprise. I tiptoed over to him and whacked him on the arm with my wooden weapon. Hard.

  Thwack!

  I'd aimed for his head, but nerves and slick palms messed me up and I hit his shoulder instead. The reverberations tingled in my fingertips.

  “What the fuck?” Mr. Intruder said, his voice deep, full of surprise, the cell phone dropping to the floor at his feet. He raised a hand to his upper arm. As he started to turn to face me, I hit him again, this time on the back of the head.

  Crack!

  It wasn't the sound of his skull breaking, but my weapon instead. The wood broke into two, one of the pieces clattering to the floor.

  Intruder grunted, fell to his knees with a thunk, then fell face first onto the floral area rug in front of the fireplace, his face turned toward me.

  I stood there motionless, stunned, holding half of my broken weapon. Huh, varsity softball had paid off. It appeared I'd hit a home run. I looked down at the prostrate form on the floor. One leg moved a little, which, combined with some groaning, indicated I hadn't killed him. Even with his eyes closed, I instantly recognized him.

  “Oh, shit,” I whispered as I knelt down beside him. The thick wool of the carpet was scratchy against my knees. Why hadn't I known who it was before I knocked him unconscious? I should have been relieved an axe-wielding mad man wasn't trying to kill me, but I was too surprised instead.

  It was Jack Reid. The guy I'd been in love with in high school who I hadn't seen in over ten years. Ten years where I'd often fantasize about him, about what could have been. I'd often dream about the moment he'd come back into my life, but this definitely wasn't it. Sure, when he'd gone out with Violet instead of me senior year I'd wanted to kill him, slowly and painfully for doing so, but I'd envisioned strangulation or a pummeling of some kind. Now that I'd possibly killed him, at least knocked him completely unconscious, with—I lifted my broken weapon—the Triple Smacker paddle from my box of sex toys for the toy party I was hosting tonight—I realized the anger and bitterness at his long-ago rejection hadn't gone away.

  How dare he barge into my life again, unannounced, when I wasn't the least bit ready for him! I wanted make-up, a killer dress, some fuck-me heels on, my hair done, with a hot guy in love with me on my arm when Jack saw me again. To make him see what he'd missed out on. Then I'd crush him beneath my stiletto heel before my lover shifted my attentions elsewhere.

  But a ratty robe and tangled, wet hair? A sex toy paddle? Revenge and maybe a little payback would be nice, but a felony conviction for assault? Oh boy.

  Dropping the broken paddle onto the floor, I leaned over Jack and gently probed the back of his head. No brains gushing out, no blood seeping from beneath his hat. One huge goose egg of a bump though. I winced, thinking about the headache—and maybe concussion—he might have.

  Man, he smelled good. Woodsy, clean, male mixed with the fruity scent of my shampoo from my hair tangled about my face. His scent was sexy in an unconscious sort of way.

  “Jack, Jack wake up,” I said, gently moving his shoulder. “Jack!” He had to wake up because I couldn't live with myself being known around town as the woman who killed Jack Reid with a Triple Smacker.

  After another groan and a few moans, he rolled onto his back, blinked his eyes a few times and stared at me. At first, unseeing, then with focus.

  Boy, even knocked practically unconscious, he sure looked amazing. Ten years had done the man a lot of good. His face was more rugged, jaw more pronounced. It could have been the five o'clock shadow at two in the afternoon that helped with that. He had a fabulous tan. The kind you got from living in Florida. Lips I'd dreamed about kissing when I was sixteen still looked appealing now. His dark hair that peeked out of his cap had a little curl. His blue eyes, even unfocused, were just as I remembered. Longing, once forgotten, flared back to life.

  He just stared at me, looking me over as if I was a space alien. A slow perusal from head to toe. I couldn't tell if he was confused or just addle pated. “Jack, say something.”

  He blinked. Smirked, but quickly winced.

  “Um.”

  Oh God, had I caused him amnesia?

  He cleared his throat. “Nice breast.”

  I glanced down at myself, one breast was definitely out there for Jack to see, my nipple hard. I yanked at the side of my robe that was glaringly open, my hand at my neck holding the lapels together.

  “Is this how you treat all your boyfriends?” His blue eyes had cleared, weren't quite so foggy as a minute ago. “A kiss hello would probably be better, although maybe that's not your way.” His gaze dropped to my chest again.

  My mouth fell open as anger flared. “You're not my boyfriend. Yo
u lost your chance ten years ago,” I said tartly.

  Jack leered. The smile he gave me couldn't be described as anything else. “You flash everyone who comes through the door, or just me?” He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his head, winced.

  I felt my cheeks burn hot at the thought of my epic wardrobe malfunction. It was completely and utterly mortifying, and on top of that, he was being a complete jerk about it.

  “Only ones I bash on the head first.”

  * * *

  Read more of Montana Ice now!

  About the Author

  Vanessa Vale is the USA Today Bestselling author of over 40 books, sexy romance novels, including her popular Bridgewater historical romance series and hot contemporary romances featuring unapologetic bad boys who don't just fall in love, they fall hard. When she's not writing, Vanessa savors the insanity of raising two boys, is figuring out how many meals she can make with a pressure cooker, and teaches a pretty mean karate class. While she's not as skilled at social media as her kids, she loves to interact with readers.

  www.vanessavaleauthor.com

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  Montana Fire

  Montana Ice

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  Montana Wild

  Montana Mine

  Steele Ranch

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  Wrangled

  Tangled

  Hitched

  Lassoed

  Bridgewater County Series

  Ride Me Dirty

  Claim Me Hard

  Take Me Fast

  Hold Me Close

  Make Me Yours

  Kiss Me Crazy

  Mail Order Bride of Slate Springs Series

  A Wanton Woman

  A Wild Woman

  A Wicked Woman

  Bridgewater Ménage Series

  Their Runaway Bride