by Lisa Childs
At thirty-one, he was older than Cody. Probably just three or four years, but in Hotshot experience it was nearly a lifetime. For some, it was—a few years as a Hotshot was all it had taken to end their lives.
He feigned resentment and murmured, “I thought we never left a man behind…”
“That’s the Marines,” Wyatt said.
“It’s why we went back and saved your sorry ass,” Cody teased Wyatt. “You know old Hess here. He was physically unable to not rescue you and those kids.”
Dawson glared at him. They all teased him about having a white knight complex. Sure, he’d saved a reporter or two in the past when they’d gotten too close to the fire. He’d even recently saved a girl from a bar fight. But it wasn’t a complex; it was just part of his job.
Cody ignored his glare and grinned. “The reporter must have figured out that you and I were the real heroes.”
Wyatt nudged Cody’s shoulder with his. “It wasn’t you she was staring at.”
“At least for once it wasn’t you,” Cody said with a chuckle.
“It shouldn’t have been me, either,” Dawson said. And he glanced around the garage area of the firehouse, looking for the kid who’d told her where to find them. Where to find him…
Dawson was the one she’d been looking for, and he doubted it was for a thank-you kiss. She wanted to interview him, wanted to do a story on him. But he doubted the story would be just about his helping to rescue the campers from the fire. It would dredge up his past, too. And dredging up his past might risk his present and his future. He could wind up losing his job with the Hotshots.
So there was no way in hell a kiss could coerce him to grant an interview. Even a kiss like that… He groaned at the thought of how silky her lips had felt beneath his, how sweet her mouth had tasted. He shouldn’t have kissed her at all, because now he wanted to do it again.
“Hey, she didn’t get to you, did she?” Wyatt asked.
Someone snorted, drawing Dawson’s attention to the rear of the truck. Braden Zimmer leaned against it. “If anyone can handle the press, it’s Hess.”
Dawson grimaced. His boss clearly didn’t know him very well. “I don’t want anything to do with the press.”
“That’s why I wasn’t worried about leaving you behind with her.”
Had the superintendent not seen her? Of course, the guy was still hung up on his ex-wife. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how stunning Avery Kincaid was.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dawson grumbled.
“I knew she wouldn’t be able to get you to talk,” the superintendent said.
She hadn’t gotten him to talk, but she’d gotten him to kiss her. Why the hell had he done that?
It wasn’t as if he’d believed her sad little sigh and claim of having been rejected already. What idiot would reject a kiss from a woman like her? Not him.
But maybe he’d been a bigger idiot to kiss her—to risk her getting under his skin…
Cody laughed. “Hell, we can barely get him to talk.”
Wyatt nodded in agreement. “It’s like pulling teeth.”
Dawson held back a chuckle and glared at them both. “Who can get a word in edgewise with you two smart-asses?”
Cody laughed harder.
“You are better at getting other people to talk than talking yourself,” Zimmer said.
“See? It’s your fault we talk so much,” Cody said.
Dawson snorted.
“Did you get the reporter to talk?”
He’d gotten her to stop talking—when he’d covered her mouth with his, when he’d driven his tongue between her lips and deepened that kiss.
“Was I supposed to?” he asked his boss.
Zimmer nodded. “I wonder what she’s doing back in Northern Lakes. Other reporters have given up. Why hasn’t she?”
“She’s a hometown girl,” Dawson said. “And two of the Boy Scouts were her nephews.”
Zimmer grinned. “You did get her to talk.”
He shrugged. “She talks all the time—like all reporters. They love to hear themselves talk—just like Wyatt and Cody here.”
Wyatt flipped him off.
“Get her to talk some more,” Zimmer suggested. “Find out if she suspects there’s more to the Northern Lakes fire.”
She did. Him. But he wasn’t about to admit that to these guys. He’d never hear the end of it. And it wasn’t as if he was going to allow her to do a special feature on him anyway.
Dawson narrowed his eyes and studied his boss’s face. “I thought the idea was to not draw attention to that fire—to the arsonist.”
“We don’t want to,” Zimmer said. “And we haven’t. Maybe that’s compelled the arsonist to act.”
“We haven’t proved yet that he set the other fires,” Wyatt said.
But maybe the other fires that had flared up in Northern Lakes hadn’t been hot spots. Maybe failing to burn down the town the first time made the arsonist want to keep trying.
“He might act in other ways,” Zimmer said. “He could have contacted a reporter to claim credit for the fire.”
Dawson’s stomach muscles tightened. “You think the arsonist could have reached out to Avery Kincaid?”
“She’d be the most likely choice,” Zimmer said. “Like you said, she’s a hometown girl who made it big. Her nephews were even in the fire. She has a personal connection to it.”
And that was probably her only reason for pursuing a story that other reporters had let die. She was still upset about what had nearly happened to her nephews. Unless she had been contacted…
He recognized that tightness in his gut as fear. But it wasn’t fear for himself. It was fear for her. If the arsonist had contacted her, she could be in danger. While the guy probably wanted attention, there was no way he’d want to get caught. If she dug too deep and discovered more than she should…
“And if he has,” Zimmer continued, “maybe he’s given her a clue to his real identity.”
“But she would have run the story then,” Dawson said. “It would be a very special feature for her.” Much more special than anything about him. But it would also put her life at risk.
“She didn’t get to where she is in her career without checking sources,” Zimmer said. “She would want to confirm that the fire had been ruled arson before she’d believe some guy claiming responsibility for it.”
She would. She might be ambitious, but she wouldn’t have been hired by a national network if she wasn’t good. Had she been fishing for information? If he’d agreed to an interview, was that where it would have led?
Cody uttered a sigh of feigned resignation. “I volunteer,” he said. “I know it’s a tough assignment. But I’ll sacrifice myself to find out what the hot lady reporter knows.”
Wyatt snorted. “I know your fragile ego can’t handle it, but she’s clearly not interested in you.”
“She’s not interested in you, either,” Cody told him.
“Good thing,” Dawson murmured.
They looked at him with shock—as if they thought he was jealous or something. That was so not him. He dated, but he’d never had any serious relationships. His job would always come first, and most women weren’t willing to take second place. Most women weren’t willing to get involved with a man with such a dangerous career.
Wyatt was lucky his insurance agent girlfriend had disregarded the risk of falling for a Hotshot. And even though a Hotshot from another team had recently died in the wildfires out West, she hadn’t broken up with him. She loved him enough to accept what he did and the risk involved.
“Because Fiona would kick her ass,” Dawson explained. Wyatt’s hot little redhead had a temper to match her hair.
Wyatt chuckled but didn’t deny it. He had fallen hard for Fiona O’Brien. Dawson wondered at his bravery after they’d all seen how their boss’s marriage had crashed and burned. Braden’s cheating ex was so cruel she’d even invited him to her wedding.
That was one cold woman. Fiona was nothi
ng like her. Was Avery Kincaid? Would she be as callous with someone’s heart?
He suspected she might—that what mattered most to her was her career. That was probably the only thing he and Avery had in common. But his job helped people. Hers could harm them. And herself. Her career mattered so much that she would probably willingly put herself in danger with the arsonist.
“I’ll find out what the reporter knows,” Dawson begrudgingly volunteered. It wasn’t as if he needed to worry about his heart with her. He would never fall for a reporter.
Cody shook his head. “I’m not sure you’re up to this assignment.”
“I think he’s up for it.” Wyatt pointed toward Dawson’s mouth. “That’s not his shade of lipstick.”
“You kissed her?” Cody asked, his green eyes wide with shock. Then he chuckled. “Maybe you’re not as slow as I thought you were…”
Ever the boss, Zimmer jerked his head and sent both men off toward the weight room. They had a workout scheduled and had to keep in top shape for their job. It was one way of staying alive. Another way was not taking unnecessary chances.
Anticipating Zimmer’s pep talk, Dawson assured his boss and himself, “I can handle this.”
But even as he said it, he couldn’t help but think that he was taking an unnecessary chance.
4
“YOU’RE WELCOME…” AVERY murmured as she walked back into her sister’s kitchen. Her legs had regained their strength; maybe she’d just imagined going weak-kneed from that kiss. But she couldn’t deny that her lips were tingling, that her skin was still hot. Even now—hours later.
After the Filling Station, she had stopped back at her house and changed from her heels and dress into tennis shoes and shorts. She’d thought about running but her legs hadn’t totally recovered until she’d walked over to her sister’s.
A few years ago she’d bought a cottage just around the corner from her sister’s ranch house. Kim’s place was perfect for her family, with several acres for the boys to run, a wide front porch and a big country kitchen.
“I didn’t thank you,” Kim said, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked up from washing dishes in the farmhouse sink. She studied Avery’s face and smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “You look a little flustered.”
Avery opened the refrigerator—not for anything to drink but because she needed a blast of cool air on her face. Not wanting to let her sister know how right she was, though, she pulled out a water bottle, barely resisting the urge to press it against her cheek.
“Did you do it?” Kim asked. “Did you actually give that Hotshot firefighter a thank-you kiss?”
“I didn’t kiss him,” she said, which was technically true since he hadn’t given her the chance. He’d kissed her, instead. And what a kiss…
“Denied again?” Her sister gave her a pitying glance. “You must be losing your touch.”
She was more worried that she’d lost her focus. She’d let Dawson Hess and his wicked kiss distract her. She hadn’t gotten him to agree to the special feature, and she hadn’t gotten any more information out of him about the fire.
Was there anything else to learn, though? Maybe it had just been a random wildfire—but it had started so early in the season…
Too early.
She remembered how the Hotshots had looked when she’d found them in that back booth—their heads bent together, tension on their faces. Something else was going on—something they didn’t want the public to learn.
She hadn’t become a reporter just because she’d wanted to get out of Northern Lakes. She’d become a reporter because she liked digging until she discovered the truth. She believed the public had a right to know. Apparently the Hotshots didn’t care about keeping the public informed.
That irritated Avery nearly as much as Dawson Hess’s little comment after he’d kissed her senseless. You’re welcome…
But he hadn’t given her the chance to thank him. Or to question him…
“I’m not losing my touch,” she replied, but in reference to the story, not the man. Dawson Hess was part of that story, though, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Why didn’t he want to admit it?
She hadn’t met a man yet who didn’t want to brag about his accomplishments. And Dawson had more reason than most to brag. Was it himself he didn’t want the attention drawn to, or the fire?
If someone didn’t want to talk to the press, it was usually because they had something to hide.
What was Dawson Hess hiding?
Kim sighed and murmured. “Uh-oh…”
Avery blinked and focused on her sister again. “What?”
“You have that look…” She shook her head.
“What look?”
“That scary determined look you get when you’re after a story.” Kim shuddered, as if in fear. “I feel sorry for whoever tries to get in your way.”
Dawson Hess was the one who should be afraid. He had gotten in her way—denying her the feature, denying her the truth. The only thing he hadn’t denied her was the kiss. But instead of letting her kiss him, he’d kissed her.
Clearly he was used to being in control. But nobody controlled Avery Kincaid. She would get what she was after—the story.
But was she fooling herself that the story was all she wanted?
*
DAWSON HAD SPENT the afternoon hoping for a fire call—nothing catastrophic, just a small campfire, a car fire, a big bonfire…
Anything that would have given him an excuse to put off his new assignment. But no call had come in to the Northern Lakes fire station. And there was nothing big enough happening anywhere else in the country that required the Huron Hotshots. Other crews were on the fires out West. Maybe the Hurons would eventually be needed to relieve teams that had been on the job too long.
But tonight he had no excuse.
So he crossed Rick and Kim Pritchard’s porch to the front door. It stood open, allowing the evening breeze to blow through the screen door. Voices drifted outside through the mesh.
She was here.
Since he usually avoided the news, he hadn’t heard her voice that much until the afternoon at the Filling Station. But it was clear and full and grabbed one’s attention, making him want to listen to her, want to believe her. But Dawson knew better than to trust a reporter. She wasn’t really interested in him—in doing a special feature about him or kissing him. All she wanted was information about the fire.
And he wanted to know why…
Had the arsonist contacted her?
“I met Dawson today,” she said.
At the sound of his name on her lips—the luscious lips he’d so enjoyed kissing—his body tensed.
“Dawson?” a young voice repeated. “The Hotshot who saved us? He’s not busy fighting another fire?”
“He wasn’t today,” she replied.
“Maybe he’ll come by and see us,” the young voice said. “He said he would when he wasn’t busy.”
Guilt flashed through Dawson. He’d made that promise to them, just as he’d promised they would survive the fire. At least he’d kept the most important of his promises…
He had been busy, though—with the fires out West and with trying to determine who’d set the one in Northern Lakes. All of the Huron Hotshots had been on edge, waiting for the arsonist to strike again. They needed to stop him before that happened—before lives were lost.
He lifted his hand and knocked on the frame of the screen door. It rattled in the jamb.
“Someone’s here,” one of the twins said.
“Were you expecting anyone?” Avery asked, and her voice grew louder as she walked across the foyer to the door.
He’d thought she was hot before—in that blue dress. But in shorts and a tank top, the woman was nearly lethal. Her legs were even longer than he’d thought, her breasts even fuller. What would she look like in nothing at all?
His body hardened at the thought of finding out, and he barely managed to suppress a g
roan. Hotshots were on the front line of the fire, facing it head-on, so he was used to putting himself in danger. But he suspected he’d never been in as much danger as he was now—with Avery Kincaid.
Through the mesh her gaze met his, and her eyes widened in surprise.
“You weren’t expecting me,” he surmised.
She pushed open the screen door and uttered a small sigh—almost as if she were disappointed.
Hadn’t she been as into that kiss as he’d been? Or had those little moans just been an act, a way to seduce him into an interview? Even though he’d suspected as much, she wasn’t the only one who was disappointed now.
“I should have been expecting you,” she said. “Men usually don’t turn down—”
“Your kisses?” he interrupted. “So you were lying about getting turned down already today?”
“No,” she said. “But I wasn’t talking about my kisses—”
“Yuck,” one of the boys said as he joined his aunt at the front door. “Hey, Dawson!”
“Dawson!” the other boy exclaimed as he rushed out from whatever room was off the foyer—probably a living room.
Dawson released the breath he’d been holding over visiting them. He hadn’t known how they’d react—if seeing him again would bring the nightmare back for them. But they seemed genuinely happy to see him.
“Is she trying to kiss you, too?” the first boy asked.
A grin tugged at the corners of Dawson’s mouth. Now he knew who’d rejected her kisses earlier. Of course it hadn’t been a man. No red-blooded adult male would have been able to turn her down; he hadn’t been able to and he usually had enough self-control to resist temptation. He couldn’t believe he was actually attracted to a reporter. But after that kiss, he couldn’t deny the attraction was there—burning hot—making him want to kiss her again.
“Tell your mother Mr. Hess is here,” Avery told the boys.
One of them ran off to do her bidding while the other lingered.
“You, too,” she said.
“It doesn’t take both of us to tell her,” he argued petulantly.
Dawson chuckled and wriggled his eyebrows at the boy. “I think your aunt wants to be alone with me,” he said.
“Ewww,” the kid said. “Don’t let her kiss you!” As he turned to run away, Avery swatted his backside.