Cowboy Firefighter Heat

by Kim Redford

  Craig sat in the chair. “The roses.”

  “Yes?” Morning Glory asked. “Lovely. But there appears to be an issue with them.”

  “Did you see the guy who brought them?”

  “Absolutely,” Morning Glory said. “Silver-haired dude with a fine physique. He might not be my cup of tea, but I doubt he gets turned down very often.”

  “He may be a stalker,” Craig said.

  “Oh no!” Morning Glory put a hand over her heart as she turned to Fern. “In Wildcat Bluff?”

  “He came to a few of my concerts on the cruises.” Fern felt her heart beat faster at just the thought of it now. “And he always sent white roses.”

  “But we aren’t sure,” Craig said. “We don’t like the coincidence, that’s all.”

  Morning Glory nodded in agreement. “It can happen. I’ve had a little of that action over the years, groupies.”

  Fern gave her friend a long look, brought up short by that revelation. What was Morning Glory’s story? Did anybody know? She was a flower child of the sixties, but what did that really mean? By now, the time period was mysterious history, unless still embodied by someone like MG who could never be tamed by society. She’d always be someone who went her own way. And it was a good thing because everyone benefited from her knowledge, expertise, and support.

  Craig cleared his throat, giving MG a considering look that reflected Fern’s internal interest.

  “Reminds me of that eighties Police song,” Morning Glory said with a faraway look in her eyes as if remembering something from her own past.

  “Yeah,” Craig replied. “Sting’s ‘Every Breath You Take’ turned out to be a real stalker of a song.”

  “Times change. It was a big hit back then,” Morning Glory said. “Nowadays, it’s a cautionary tale.”

  “I’m definitely feeling cautious.” Fern wrapped the quilt tighter around her body.

  “That’s smart,” Morning Glory said. “In my experience, they usually lose interest in time if they don’t get what they want.”

  Craig hummed a few bars of the Rolling Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

  “But sometimes you get what you need.” Fern added the refrain in her rich soprano.

  “Exactly,” Morning Glory replied. “We’ll get what we need, but if this guy turns out to be a stalker, he won’t get what he wants.”

  “That’d be ideal,” Fern said.

  “Now, what are you going to do about the situation, if anything?” Morning Glory fiddled with her long necklaces, obviously considering possible scenarios. “Sheriff Calhoun?”

  “If the guy shows up again, that’s exactly where we’re going,” Craig said with finality in his voice.

  “I want to wait until there’s definite proof that I have a stalker before bringing in the authorities.” Fern leaned toward MG to make her point.

  “Understandable.” Morning Glory patted her hand. “Still, I want to tell Hedy, so she can be on the lookout if the guy turns up. Do you know his name?”

  “Simon Winter,” Fern said. “Real name or not, I have no idea.”

  “Okay. I’ll share this news with Hedy but no one else. For now.” Morning Glory stood up. “But, Fern, just in case, don’t go anywhere alone.”

  “Right,” Craig agreed, standing. “And she’s living here now.”

  “Perfect.” Morning Glory headed for the door, stopped, and looked back. “Tonight was a big success, despite your early departure. Fern, everyone loves you, and they’re so glad you’re back in Wildcat Bluff.”

  “Let’s just hope somebody doesn’t love me too much,” Fern said with all sincerity.

  Craig nodded in agreement.

  “Don’t see me out.” Morning Glory opened the front door. “I’ll get rid of the roses. Sorry I brought them here, but I’m glad I got the news. We’ll take it from here. Nobody messes around with our folks.” And she was out the door in swirl of long skirts, jangling necklaces, and determined energy.

  “Are you okay?” Craig looked down at Fern.

  “Actually, I’m a lot better. I’d forgotten how fiercely protective MG and Hedy are about our community.”

  “You’re safe here. Never doubt it.” He walked over to the door, checked outside, then shut and locked the door.

  She rose to her feet and held out her hand. “Come on. I’ve had more than enough of this evening. Let’s go to bed.”

  Chapter 12

  Craig had Fern in bed with him. He had her nestled against him. He had her wearing nothing more than a Wildcat Hall T-shirt. He took a deep, shaky breath. She totally encompassed him from her sweet-tart scent and silky-soft hair to her satiny-smooth skin. He sighed out loud. What was the pot of gold at the end of his personal neon rainbow just a few days ago was now a nightmare setting him on the edge of wildness.

  Control—he had to stay in control so as not to spook her any more than she already had been this night. Yet how could he do it when his weakening will was rapidly losing the battle against his blazing body? He’d made a promise to himself to take it slow and easy with her, but he hadn’t counted on a knife thrust abruptly into their private world…and her fragile psyche.

  She needed comfort as well as reassurance. But was sex the best way to go about it? No doubt they both wanted it—and needed it to reconnect in the deepest, most spiritual way possible. But would it cause more harm than good? Maybe he was overthinking the entire situation when he simply needed to let the strongest part of him override any reservations he had about going forward tonight.

  “What are you thinking?” She nudged him with her foot, tracing down his calf with her soft toes.

  He groaned, knowing that if he answered her truthfully, she’d be out of bed so fast she’d simply be a blur of movement.

  “That bad?” She grew completely still. “It’s about Simon, isn’t it?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t use his name. It feels like that gives him too much power in your life.”

  She turned silent, as if thinking about his words. “You’re right. It’s just that… I don’t know… He can’t have that much power, can he?”

  “Not if we don’t let him.”

  “It’s all about power, not attraction, isn’t it?”

  “I’d guess it’s one motivating the other.” He didn’t want to go down this path, but if it helped her better understand her situation, he’d go there.

  “It’s not really me, is it? It’s his attraction, then his need to control the object of his desire. Is that right?”

  Craig could feel her soft breath against his bare chest, the strong beat of her heart, the warmth of her body curled against him. He pressed her closer with his arm around her shoulders, seeking to comfort but not really knowing how to do it best. If she needed words, that was what he would give her. In the back of his mind, a song began to develop…about how to be there for your love when she needed you bad.

  “Right?”

  “I’d guess it’s different for every man or woman. In this case, he saw you, wanted you, and went after you. I don’t think it’s all that complicated an issue.”

  “You’ve dealt with it, too.”

  “Women can be aggressive. Nowadays more so than in the past…maybe there are fewer social restrictions.” He hesitated, thinking about what he wanted to cautiously say next. “We’re professional entertainers. Fantasy is our stock in trade. Sometimes folks want more than we’re here to give them.”

  Fern placed her hand on his chest and followed the swirls of hair with fingertips slightly rough from playing guitar.

  He went rigid all over, hardening from a need that went way beyond the physical into the mystical. They were bound in a way she didn’t understand yet. He had to give her time while being there for her. When she rubbed her thumbnail gently across his nipple, he groaned and put his hand over hers
to still her. He could only take so much torment, no matter how pleasurable.

  “I want to hear about these aggressive women. Names. I’ll make sure they never bother you again.” She rose on one arm and kissed him softly, gently on his lips. “But first I’ll make sure you forget they ever existed in your world.”

  He tried to resist her. He really did try. And yet, she tasted him with her tongue and nibbled him with her teeth, demanding, coaxing, persuading. He wasn’t made of stone—although he was beginning to feel like it.

  “I don’t hear names yet.” She chuckled deep in her throat as she teased him with her lips and her words.

  “No names. You’re wiping my memory clean.” He heated up all over as she placed soft, warm kisses across his face, nibbling on his earlobes until she moved farther down to linger on the vulnerable indentation at the base of his throat. She stroked there with the tip of her tongue, playing with him, raising the heat between them until he was riding the leading curl of a powerful wave of passion. She had to be feeling the strong beat of his heart and know just how much she was affecting him.

  She lifted her head and looked at him in the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand. “No memory of them at all?”

  “Not a single one.”

  She smiled with a light in her pale green eyes that said everything about her intentions with him this night.

  He finally gave in. Who was he to deny her or himself? They both needed the closeness, the pleasure, the ability to forget the outside world. Here, it was only the two of them. No audience to please. No stalker to avoid. No plans to make. They only needed to make each other happy…and at the moment, that seemed the greatest calling in the universe.

  He pushed long fingers into her thick hair and cradled her head in both hands, leaning over to place a soft kiss on softer lips. She let him linger a moment, then she pushed him back against the pillow, as if needing the control after her recent experience. He relaxed on his back, letting her take charge, but then, he’d have given her anything her heart desired at that moment.

  He just wished he weren’t wearing sweatpants. He wanted them naked, so he could feel skin against skin as they both grew hot and slick with sweat. He kissed her, delving deep into her sweet-tasting mouth as he slid his hands up the back of her thighs, rucking up her T-shirt until he reached her enticing curves. He stroked there, molding her shape as he felt a mounting need to be deep inside her. He continued upward, stroking across her back, feeling her skin heat up with every touch of his hands, and the kiss between them grew ever hotter as they reached fever pitch.

  She raised her head and looked at him, eyes dark with need. “I’m on the edge and about to tip over.”

  “I won’t let you fall.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I promise to be slow and tender.” He spread his hands, moving them to her sides until he could nestle his fingers under the curves of her breasts.

  She caught her breath, hesitated as if making a decision, and then rose slightly to give him further access.

  He gently cupped her full breasts, rubbing the tips with his thumbs until the hard nubs told him of her mounting desire. She shivered all over and moved restlessly against him. He was relentless in building her passion, stoking their flames higher and higher with his hands and mouth and body. And she was moaning and undulating until he was about to go over the edge with her. He’d yearned for her so long that nothing could have held him back now, not when she was with him all the way.

  She raised her head again, giving him a soft smile, and kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m not sure if slow and tender will be enough tonight.”

  “I’ll give you whatever you want. You set the pace. I’ll follow.”

  She stared back with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’ll follow for how long?”

  He chuckled. “As long as possible.”

  She rolled over, kicked the covers off, bent one knee, and held out her arms. “Let’s see what we can make possible.”

  As he sat up and reached for her, he stopped, raised his head, and looked toward the open bedroom door.

  “What is it?” she asked, glancing in that direction, too.

  “Do you smell smoke?”

  “Oh no, surely not.”

  “Maybe not.” He couldn’t believe the bad luck, but he couldn’t take a chance, not with tinder-ready recycled wood on all the cabins.

  “I don’t smell anything.”

  “I’ll just take a quick look outside. Stay here.”

  “Not on your life. If there’s trouble, I’ll be right by your side.”

  He hesitated, looking down at her. He could see she meant she’d stand beside him. And it was more than just this moment, when there was possible danger to what they both held dear.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know.” And still he hesitated, even with seconds to stop a fire. “You’ll be by my side?”

  “I’ve got your back.” And she gave him a straight-up look that carried a lifetime of commitment.

  “If I asked you to marry me this very moment, would you say yes?” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have uttered them, but he’d also felt it was the right thing, in that moment, to do.

  She glanced away from him, shuttering her emotions. “How did we get from fire to marriage?”

  “Commitment.” He slipped off his side of bed, jerked on a T-shirt, pulled on sneakers without lacing them, and walked around the bed. He picked up his cell phone from the nightstand and slipped it into his pocket.

  “You ask that right now, while at the same time you’re leaping out of bed and leaving me all hot and bothered?”

  He grinned, chuckling at the idea. “Yeah. Guess my timing leaves something to be desired.”

  “Glad you agree.” She smiled, shaking her head. “Let’s go see about this imaginary fire of yours. Cowboy firefighters—I guess you’re always on call.”

  “Always. You just never know.”

  “And it’s a good thing for everyone.”

  He walked into the main room and glanced around the area. He didn’t see anything worrisome or hear suspicious activity, but he could definitely smell smoke stronger out here. He jerked open the door under the kitchen sink and pulled out two heavy-duty fire extinguishers as well as two metal flashlights before he walked over to the front door.

  “I can smell smoke out here.” She joined him at the front door. “What should we do?”

  “Check it out.” He handed her a can and a flashlight while evaluating what she wore. She’d put on sneakers, so her feet were okay, but if they had a fire on their hands, she’d definitely need to put on more clothes and go someplace safe.

  “Should we call Hedy or someone?”

  “Not yet. It could be somebody burning a brush pile.”

  “At night?”

  “They could’ve left a smoldering stump. If the wind came up, it might’ve stirred up the embers and spread smoke.”

  “In other words, this smoke doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the Park.”

  “Right.” He slung the canister by its strap over one shoulder and punched on his flashlight. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “I’m not.” She picked up a can by its strap, settled it over one shoulder, and grabbed a flashlight. “Let’s go.”

  He opened the door and got hit in the face with a wall of smoke and the stench of something burning as he stepped outside.

  “Guess a smoldering stump is out of the question.” She followed him, shutting the door behind them.

  “Yeah.” Nothing more to be said. “Don’t leave the porch. I’ll check the crawl space.”

  “Craig.” She coughed on the smoke, then held up a hand to cover her nose and mouth.

  He stopped on the first step and glanced back. She looked more l
ike an apparition than a real woman with white smoke illuminated by the porch light swirling around her. For just a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined her coming back and moving into the cabin with him. He’d wanted it for so long that maybe… He scoffed at the notion. He needed to get his head in the game and fight a fire, not grapple with ghosts.

  “Don’t take chances. We can call backup.”

  “I’ll be careful.” And he bounded down the stairs with light from his flashlight leading the way.

  He quickly walked away from the cabin to get a bigger picture of what was going on in the area. He left the smoke pretty quickly, so he looked back and zeroed in on the crawlspace underneath the porch. Smoke billowed out from under there, where it’d be easy to set a fire, but he didn’t see red flames, so hopefully it’d be fairly easy to contain.

  But why would somebody do it? And who’d do it? He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, an indicator that he was being watched…maybe from nearby. He dropped into a crouch to make a smaller target while he glanced up the stairs to where Fern stood in the glow of the porch light. He felt his heart sink. Maybe she was the target. Not him. Not the cabin. Smoke would send them running outside to check on a fire or to get better air.

  “Fern, go back inside and shut the door,” he called, hoping she’d obey him but not counting on it.

  “What?” She took several steps forward and looked down at him over the railing.

  Of course, she’d done the exact opposite of what he wanted her to do. Frustrated, he looked at the fire, then up at her. She came first, always. He bounded up the stairs, opened the door, and urged her inside.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. Just stay here. Give me that can. I think I can contain the blaze myself. It’s more smoke than fire.”

  “Don’t you need help?”

  “Please, stay in here where it’s safe.”

  She gave him a brisk nod, then handed over her canister. “If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after you.”

  “Okay.”

  He slammed the door behind him, raced back down the stairs, and crouched down near the heart of the smoke. He pulled a pin, aimed the nozzle, and sprayed the area. He emptied the first can, then backed it up with the second. After he was satisfied the blaze was out, he used the bottom of a can to drag out the smoking, burning material. A bunch of oily rags. It looked as if somebody had intended to smoke them out of the cabin but not burn it down. Why?