A Cowboy Firefighter For Christmas (Smokin' Hot Cowboys 1)

by Kim Redford

  “We noticed your fire station.” J.P. popped the top of a beer as he gave Ruby a sidelong glance. “Place looks new.”

  “It is,” Ruby agreed with enthusiasm. “The Wildcat Bluff County Volunteer Fire-Rescue Station is our pride and joy. Everybody pitched in, and we held benefits to raise funds for the new building. We’re all working hard to be able to afford to update and upgrade our old station, as well as get training for our volunteers.”

  “Our town and county need the services, so we make the extra effort,” Trey said. “The big cities have the money to pay full-time employees, but we’re all-volunteer. Folks from every walk of life in our county help when there’s trouble. There’s a lot of hometown spirit here. Our young men and women volunteer right out of high school and keep right on helping others all through their lives.”

  “That’s impressive,” Charlene said with a smile.

  “When a local home or business or ranch catches fire, we take it personally because it’s one of our neighbors,” Ruby explained. “And make no mistake, our fire station and apparatus would be nothing without the folks who serve faithfully whenever called to duty. They’re our greatest asset.”

  “We all just do what needs to be done,” Trey said as he glanced around the table.

  “Hogwash!” Ruby pointed at him. “Without you, Kent, Slade, Sydney, and all the other volunteers, we’d be up a creek without a paddle.”

  “You’re fairly near bigger towns like Sherman with far greater resources, so why don’t you rely on them?” Charlene asked.

  “Sherman and Denison are good for hospitals or other services, but they’re too far away for emergencies,” Trey explained. “Our folks live here in the Bluff or out on farms and ranches. If there’s a fire or medical emergency, they need help right away. In town, we try to arrive in less than three minutes. Farther out in the county, we get there as fast as we can make it.”

  Charlene nodded. “Do you get many fires?”

  “Lately, we’ve been getting more than our share,” Ruby said.

  “Guess that’s on account of the heat and drought.” J.P. took a swig of beer.

  “It’s on account of something.” Trey finished his beer and set it down with a sharp snap.

  “Misty helped him put out a grass fire on her way to the Bluff,” Ruby added with warmth in her voice.

  “Without her, we wouldn’t be sitting here tonight.” Trey gave Misty a warm look. “She’s our Christmas angel.”

  “Is that so?” J.P said. “Guess we all owe her something for her involvement.”

  Misty caught a look that passed between J.P. and Charlene. They must think she expected something. “Oh no, I’m not owed anything. I was happy to help out.”

  “Do you often help strangers?” Charlene clicked her nails against the top of the table.

  “I was just in the right place at the right time.” Misty avoided answering Charlene’s odd question, not wanting to make any reference to her business.

  “I’m thinking you might want to be more cautious in the future.” Charlene cocked her head to one side. “This appears to be a safe community, but life can be dangerous.”

  “Now, Charlene, don’t be putting your own worries on to somebody else.” J.P. spread his arms wide to include those at the table. “My dearest tends to be a little worrywart.”

  “She’s right to be cautious,” Trey said. “But in this case, Misty saved the day.”

  “She certainly did,” Ruby agreed.

  Charlene turned to Trey with a big smile. “Now that you’ve impressed us with talk of your big new fire station, I hope I’ll get a tour.”

  “That’d be a real pleasure to see,” J.P. agreed.

  “Do you have time while you’re looking for collectibles?” Ruby asked.

  “For something this interesting, we’ll make time.” Charlene glanced at J.P. “Won’t we, dear?”

  “Anything you want, my little buttercup.”

  Misty blinked at the endearments. They seemed out of place. But perhaps not. If Trey kissed her again, maybe she’d be calling him “buttercup,” too. Somehow she didn’t think so. Cindi Lou had warned her not to trust locals in conducting an investigation, and that advice had served her well in other cases. Now she was adding out-of-towners to that list of those not to trust, even if they did appear perfectly innocent.

  She glanced at Trey. He raised an eyebrow. So he didn’t get the “buttercup” endearment either. He also hadn’t invited the Gladstones for a tour of the station. She shrugged in response. Shockingly, she realized they were communicating without words. That couldn’t possibly be a good sign for noninvolvement, but it did sort of tickle her fancy.

  “Trey, thanks again for bringing barbeque tonight,” Ruby said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Yes, we do thank you,” Charlene added. “When we head home, I’m going to stop by the Chuckwagon Café and get barbeque to go.”

  “I enjoyed it, too. Thanks.” Misty smiled at Trey, remembering the spicy taste when she’d licked the barbeque sauce from his lips. From his pleased expression, he remembered, too.

  As Ruby started to pick up their trash and leftovers, a white streak of a cat leaped up on the table, grabbed a rib, and disappeared into the darkness.

  “Temple!” Ruby scolded.

  Trey laughed. “You know the best food is stolen food.”

  Ruby joined his laughter. “You’re right. And don’t try to tell a cat any different.”

  “If he gets sauce on his fur, he’ll be a red and white cat tomorrow.” Misty chuckled at the thought of that sight.

  “Oh no, you’d never see a messy Temple,” Ruby said, “He wouldn’t allow his dignity to take such a blow in public.”

  “Smart guy,” Trey said.

  As everybody laughed, Misty looked out into the night for bright white fur, but she saw only darkness. She liked the idea of Temple enjoying his stolen treat. She glanced at Trey. Was he a stolen treat, one she couldn’t resist snatching for her own? She shook her head, knowing she had to get control of her thoughts and actions. She was here to do a job—an important job that paid her well and came first—that might mean putting off certain temptations, at least till the job was complete.

  Ruby piled the remains of the barbeque dinners on the tray and added the empty beer cans. “Folks, I’ve got big doings tomorrow, so I’m headed to bed. Don’t let me spoil your fun if you want to stay out here.”

  Trey stood and picked up the lanterns. “I need to go, too. Early morning. I’ve still got fence to fix.”

  “I’m done, too.” Misty checked to make sure nothing had fallen under the table, picked up her wet towels, and then got to her feet.

  “We’re ready to pack it in as well,” J.P. said. “We’re shopping tomorrow to see if we can find a cache of vintage owls.”

  “They’re popular again, so collectors are asking for them,” Charlene explained.

  “What type?” Misty asked.

  “Anything. Everything. Ceramic. Plastic. Macramé.”

  “Macramé?” Misty wondered out loud, finding it hard to imagine.

  “Don’t ask.” Charlene shivered. “It was a seventies phenomenon. Back to the Earth type of thing. Everybody must have been making it. Necklaces. Bracelets. Wall hangings.”

  “Beautiful work, for the most part,” J.P. said.

  “If you like that kind of thing,” Charlene added.

  “We found a windup owl about six inches tall yesterday. Late sixties. Its eyes go round and round in a psychedelic pattern.” J.P. laughed. “You’ve got to say ‘groovy’ when you look at it.”

  Misty laughed as she accepted the wet towel Trey handed her. She was in a mellow mood as she walked with everyone back to the house. Out of the darkness, Temple leaped onto the walkway and led them with his tail held high.

  Whe
n they entered the garden room, she started to follow the others and Temple inside the house. She felt a hand on her arm holding her back. Trey gestured with his head toward the front sliding doors.

  “Good night,” he called.

  Ruby picked up Temple and glanced back, smiling. “Now be good and don’t keep my guest up late. And Misty, just put those wet towels down on the tile. I’ll get them later.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she set down the towels. “I’ll be right up.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Charlene fluttered a hand at Misty. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  J.P. laughed as he put an arm around his wife’s waist. “Come on, honey, time’s a-wastin’.”

  Misty waited till the others were inside and the door shut behind them before she turned to Trey with a shiver that had less to do with her damp clothes and more to do with the cowboy. “Don’t you have to be up early milking cows or something?”

  He chuckled. “Feeding and watering steers. Mucking out horse stalls. Want to help?”

  “Sounds like loads of fun, but I believe I’ll pass.”

  “Over here.” He pointed at the wooden swing that hung on metal chains from the ceiling across from a softly glowing floor lamp between two plush chairs.

  She sat down on a soft white cushion and looked up at him in inquiry. He eased down beside her, so close their thighs brushed together. They were both still damp. She felt the coolness of her capris contrast with the heat of his thigh against hers. He smelled like barbeque and the great outdoors, fresh, clean, and woodsy. The fabric of his jeans stretched taut across the muscles of his legs. She could see the veins on the backs of his hands and his thick, muscular wrists from handling animals. She swallowed hard. Every single thing about him put her nerve endings on alert.

  He set the swing to moving back and forth. “I’ve always liked to swing. My grandparents had one on their front porch. For spooning, my grandpa used to say.”

  “I like to swing, too.” And her wayward thoughts led her down the path to a naked Trey pleasuring her as the swing swayed and squeaked to his lusty thrusts. Oh my. If he knew her thoughts, he’d definitely think his Christmas angel was naughty, not nice.

  He picked up her hand and cradled it in his bigger, stronger one. He stroked back and forth across her palm with his rough thumb. “I want to make sure you’re okay before I leave.”

  “I’m fine.” She shivered at his touch, despite the way he made her temperature rise.

  “For now. But when I’m gone?”

  “I’ll still be fine.”

  “Maybe I won’t.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He raised her hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to her palm before he traced a pattern across her soft flesh with his tongue.

  She caught her breath at the tingling burn his touch created in her. How could one man make her feel so intensely needy with so little effort? Her clothes were cool and damp, but heat blossomed and blazed in the deepest, most sensitive part of her.

  “I want you to think about me tonight when you’re in bed.”

  “No. I’ll be asleep.”

  He pressed a kiss to each of her fingertips. “Even if you know I’ll be thinking of you?”

  “No. You’ll be asleep, too, after a day like today, putting out fires, doing ranch chores.”

  He kissed the pulse point of her wrist. “Are you calling me a fibber or should I question your truth?”

  She knew her fast heart rate was giving her away. She snatched back her hand and leaped to her feet.

  He lazily stood up. “Seriously, I’m concerned about you. You might wake up with something worrying at you, something you need, another panic attack.”

  “I told you I won’t.”

  “I’m going out to my truck to get my phone. When I get back, let’s program your number into my cell.” He grinned at her before he walked to the sliding doors.

  She didn’t know how he’d done it, but he’d made getting her phone number sound like a sensual act. Maybe he had phone sex on his mind. Maybe he thought they could share selfies. She abruptly stopped those thoughts before she went farther down that dangerous path.

  He slid open the door, then stepped back. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “And if I refuse?” She decided to put up some resistance to his dominant stance for her own moral rectitude, if nothing else. “I hardly know you.”

  “I aim to change that.” He grinned again, revealing strong, white teeth. “After all, I’m your personal paramedic. Doctor’s orders.”

  When he stepped outside and shut the doors behind him, she watched his long legs eat up the ground. His silhouette was familiar to her already and every bit of it was easy on the eyes. Did he really expect her to obey him? He acted like they were already a done deal. She felt a little frisson of excitement. Maybe it’d depend on the deal. Or was he just a flirt who felt some concern about her health? She was the one who’d let her thoughts stray, or stampede, down a forbidden path.

  She wrenched her mind back to business. He was the insider here. She was the outsider. He was a firefighter, so he knew about fires in the area. She couldn’t access those records or that knowledge without sending up red flags about her true intentions.

  Bottom line, she needed his information. Worse, she wanted him. Even more dangerous, he appeared to know it and was more than ready to let on that he wanted her.

  She flipped her hair back from her face in the universal action of a determined woman. She was a professional troubleshooter. She could certainly give her phone number to a cowboy firefighter and not lose any sleep over it.

  And before she had a chance to ponder him any longer, he was back. He must have jogged to and from his truck because he was suddenly sliding the door open, striding to her side, and holding out his phone.

  “I’d take it kindly if you’d program your number into my phone,” he said in a low, melodic voice.

  She didn’t know quite how he did it, but just the sound of his voice put her in mind of big, soft beds and long, hot nights. She took his phone, quickly tapped in her number, and handed it back, being careful not to touch the heat of his hand.

  “Thanks.” He leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then turned and strode to the open door. He glanced back. “See you tomorrow.” And he was gone into the night.

  She stood there a moment, feeling the heat of his kiss linger on her lips, and then shook her head. She was not going to moon over a man. She had a job to do.

  She checked to make sure the door was locked before she went inside, up the stairs, and to her suite. She heard her cell chirping inside. She quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  She grabbed her phone. “Hello.”

  “Now you’ve got my number, too,” Trey said. “Sweet dreams.”

  And then she was alone with her phone, his number, and the prospect of extremely sweet dreams.

  Chapter 11

  Misty unlocked her SUV door early the next morning. The Gladstones’ van was already gone. She guessed they were driving pretty far afield in search of vintage keepsakes. Interesting couple. Not quite her cup of tea, but she supposed others would be impressed with them, as well as their business.

  She set her to-go cup of Ruby’s delicious-smelling coffee in the cup holder and a blueberry muffin on the center console. She plopped her handbag down on the passenger seat and set her phone beside the muffin, almost expecting it to ring. But that was just her wanting to hear Trey’s seductive voice again, and who knew when he might call, if ever. He certainly hadn’t contacted her during the night or this morning.

  Anyway, today he wasn’t on her agenda. She wore comfortable jeans, a knit top, and running shoes since she had her sights set on reconnoitering the county and talking with folks in town. She particularly wanted to see wha
t was left of the burned Texas Timber Christmas tree farm. Trey had been a big help as a tour guide when she’d driven him into town, and now she had better background knowledge from a local viewpoint.

  She glanced around at the beautiful estate, morning sunlight bathing the pine trees and buildings in a golden glow. Still hot and dry with no letup in sight. If somebody had their sights set on causing trouble, between the weather and holiday distraction, there was no better time than the present. Texas Timber obviously understood that fact only too well.

  As she ate her delicious muffin, she thought about her research. She’d been too tired the night before to follow up on her plan, so she’d looked into water issues this morning. She’d found several interesting articles online. Turned out North Texas cities, as well as Oklahoma City and Southwest Oklahoma, all wanted the Kiamichi River Basin water in Southeast Oklahoma. That happened to be the homeland of the Choctaw Nation and the Chickasaw Nation, so they were now involved in trying to preserve their water rights. Lawsuits had been filed. Studies were being done. But as far as Misty could tell, that situation didn’t affect Wildcat Bluff County. What might affect the county was the feds blustering about taking more private ranchland along the Red River with access to that water. But for the moment, she didn’t see how any of those issues could affect Texas Timber, although she’d keep them on a list as potential problems.

  She took several sips of coffee and felt good to go. She backed up, drove out under the Twin Oaks sign, and made a right turn. She’d already programmed the GPS in her vehicle, so she simply punched the screen to call up the directions for her location. She pretty much had in mind where she was going, but she didn’t want to take a chance on getting lost on backcountry lanes.

  Soon she turned onto Wildcat Road and headed south back toward Dallas. She passed ranches and farms with cattle or horses grazing in pastures and big, round rolls of golden, baled hay baking in the sun. She could see where streams, maybe dried up now, meandered across the landscape by the trees that grew along their low banks. A pickup came hurtling toward her on the other side of the road and the driver raised the first finger of his right hand on the steering wheel in a neighborly greeting. She returned the favor, being reminded that good manners were vitally important in the countryside.