by Liz Crowe
Could she live this way? If she did admit how she felt about him, about how much she wanted to wake up in his arms every morning, slide out and make them coffee while he slept, there was still this. The ever present terror of his daily job of saving people from the most dangerous situations possible.
He grabbed her and kissed her, hard, making her go melty all over again. “I meant it, you know,” he said, gripping her upper arms and staring into her eyes. Tears filled hers, and she tried to blink them away but failed. He brushed them away with his thumbs and smiled. “I do love you, Sam. But I can’t discuss it now. Gotta go . . .”
“I know, save some lives.” She flapped her hand. “I’ll head home.”
“No way,” he said as he grabbed his keys and tucked his phone in his pocket. “I don’t want you on the roads. They’re washing out right and left. Flash flooding like mad.” He stopped and glared at her. “I mean it, Samantha. Stay here. That’s an order.”
She lifted her chin at him. He raised one light brown eyebrow. Sam sensed something in her release to it, to him, all over again.
“Okay, fine. I’ll find something to do.” She didn’t want to say anything more because she was bone deep terrified for him right then. “Be . . . um . . . safe. Okay? I mean, I just found you and . . .”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her close again. She closed her eyes and listened to his steady, calm heartbeat a few seconds. Then his phone bleeped, and he let her go. “I’ll look forward to seeing you here tonight when I’m done. Deal?” His eyes narrowed. “Cancel all your real estate crap today, Sam. I mean that.”
“Well, I did have . . . I mean, you may have to go save lives, but I have to go make money.”
He chuckled. “Nice try. Cancel it all and stay here. Period.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice as she watched him head for the side door to the garage. At the last minute, he turned and grinned at her. “Oh, and by the way, I’ve changed my mind, Miss Weaver. I don’t want to sell my house anymore. I have a different proposal for you . . . later.”
She opened her mouth to respond, to tell him they were rushing this, that they needed to get to know each other a little better, but he ducked out the door before she had a chance to say anything. She crumpled against the island, letting the tears fall, not even knowing why she was crying but needing to do it anyway.
After about forty minutes in the basement doing yoga stretches on a mat, the expensive sound system blaring around her, then a hot shower, she stuck Wade’s untouched steak from the night before in the microwave and settled in front of the massive television with it to wait. But after a few bites, she had to set it aside. She paced a solid thirty minutes before calling Skye.
“How in the hell do you stand it,” she demanded in lieu of a greeting.
“Oh, you get used it,” Skye claimed, not requiring any explanation.
Sam realized there were zero secrets in the tight-knit world of the fire and rescue crew. So she plunged on, modesty and keeping things a secret be damned. “I can’t, I tell you. I’m gonna go batshit nuts.”
“You’re at his house, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, tapping her fingers on the stainless steel counter and staring out into the ongoing downpour. “I can’t leave. I mean, the roads are . . .”
“I know, I’m under the same orders. So, let’s talk. Tell me all about it.”
“About what?” Her face flamed hot with recent memory.
“About the free trade agreement with Mexico. About it, you silly cow. How is he? I mean . . . you know.”
“God, Skye.” Sam put a hand to her warm cheek. “I don’t ask about your . . . you know.”
“You are so damn cute. Okay, spill it. Is he all that?”
Sam grinned, letting herself own that happiness for the first time in years. “And a bag of barbecue chips, sister.”
“Ooooh, I knew it! Tell me more.”
Sam sighed, poured herself more coffee, and revealed as much as she felt comfortable revealing. She knew Skye was trying to distract her from the worry. And Sam figured she was doing the same for her friend, so they stayed on the phone for over an hour, discussing this and that, including various potential outcomes between Sam and Wade, most of them pleasant, but many of them raunchy enough to make them both giggle like a couple of teenaged girls.
“Listen, Sam, I gotta go. I’m supposed to be baking six dozen cupcakes right now. The humidity makes it tough, but I can’t put it off any longer. Hang in there. Wade will be fine.”
“I know. So will Jax.”
“I know. Talk soon.”
Sam ended the call, noting that she’d been talking so long, her phone was warm to the touch. She wandered into the room that held the giant chest. The sight of the obvious playroom Wade had set up in the former office made her tingle all over. She trailed her fingers along the leather covered bench, the handcuffs, and the flogger and velvet blindfold. When she found a set of bright white, soft cotton ropes in the treasure box, she had to drop them, suddenly unsure about everything, despite Wade’s many words to the contrary.
She backed out of the room, unable to not notice it had been four hours since he’d left. Realizing he couldn’t stop what he was doing and send her an ‘I’m fine’ text, she fought the strong urge to call a cab and instead, wandered back into the bedroom, finding herself standing in the middle of a massive closet surrounded by his clothes and his distinct leathery, smoky odor.
After running her fingers down the neat line of his shirts, she walked out and grabbed the one he’d been wearing for their date, now in a crumpled heap on the floor, pressed it to her nose and tried not to cry, berating herself for being such a big, weepy baby. The man was out doing his job. No need to panic.
She dropped into the soft leather chair by the bed and curled herself into a ball, Wade’s shirt still pressed to her face, and must have dropped to sleep. The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her arm, calling her name.
“Sam, honey, wake up.” She startled and nearly fell to the floor. “Sam, I need you to be calm and just come with me, okay?”
She blinked, trying to figure out why Skye was standing in Wade’s bedroom dressed in ratty jeans and a T-shirt, her long hair yanked back in a haphazard ponytail, her eyes red-rimmed. Sam rose slowly, still clutching the shirt, her brain wrapping itself around the inevitable.
Chapter Thirteen
Two Weeks Later
Wade stared down at the cast covering his lower arm, the one remaining vestige of his bizarre experience trying to help pry a little kid out of a car that had been swept away in a terrifying flash flood. The car had been spinning its way down a major thoroughfare by the time Wade and Jax made it out to the middle of what had become a rushing dangerous river so they could loop a rope around it. The rope was attached to the hook and ladder truck, so that stopped the thing from moving forward. But when Jax handed him over to Wade, the little kid had gone into full freak-out mode, flailing around and screaming.
Wade remembered losing his balance and slipping on something as he held the little boy aloft. As he went under, he shoved the kid up and was relieved to feel someone grab him, even as Wade tried to regain his footing, only to slip again.
When he braced himself against the car, now straining hard against its tether rope, the damn thing snapped, whacking his wrist hard before he was literally run over by the car, but in the water, which kept him under long enough for his own crew to have to rescue him and provide artificial resuscitation until he coughed up a lungful of muddy water.
All in a day’s work, really.
He’d made it out okay, even with a hairline fracture in his wrist and a lump on the back his head, but no worse for wear. Shit, he’d take water over fire any day. He’d even fought the docs over the necessity of the cast.
However, when he’d woken up in the hospital and glanced around for the one pair of eyes he needed to see, they weren’t there.
“She freaked all the way out and back a
gain,” Jax told him. “Got one look at you banged up and out of it and bolted. Skye went after her, but . . .” He shrugged and patted Wade’s shoulder. “She’ll come around. You’re irresistible, I hear.”
He managed to bully the staff into releasing him after a couple of days—one day too long, as far as he was concerned. His bitch of an ex-wife even had the total nerve to check in on him at one point until he threw her out on her ear. The sight of her had done a number on him, though, so he’d decided if little Miss Samantha couldn’t tolerate him getting banged up now and again on behalf of saving lives, well, he was probably better off without her.
Except, of course, he wasn’t. Not even close.
He shook his head to clear it, then continued filing reports on the last week’s calls, the stupid, unnecessary cast on his lower arm hindering him just enough to make him insane. “Fuck this,” he muttered as he got up and headed for the tool case. As he rooted around for a hacksaw, determined to rid himself of the thing once and for all, he heard a distinctly female voice-clearing behind him.
“Ah hah,” he said, hoisting the tool up and turning around, expecting to find one of his lady crew members prepared to lecture him on his crappy self-diagnosis skills.
When he saw that it was Sam, dressed to kill in a short skirt, sky-high heels, and sleeveless blouse, he frowned and turned away from her. His heart raced, and he had to shut his eyes a split second to gather himself. He didn’t have time for a woman who would spook at the first sign of danger. His job was dangerous. And he loved it. End of story.
He plunked the cast on the top of the tool bench and tried to figure out the best way to divest himself of it, using the fairly rudimentary device in his other hand. When he recalled that there should be one of those motorized circular saws somewhere, the kind they used in hospitals that would cut the plaster but not skin, he tossed the hacksaw aside and resumed pawing through the tools.
“Wade,” she said, her voice soft. It went straight to his gut. But he set his jaw and ignored her. “Please look at me.”
He found what he needed, pulled it out, fired it up, and was lowering it to his cast with a grim smile when a loud shout from across the garage floor made him hesitate. “What the fuck are you doing, Roberts?”
Jax marched over and yanked the saw out of his hand, turned it off and glared at him. “You have company. I’ll take this somewhere safe.”
Wade sighed and turned to face Sam, keeping his expression as neutral as he possibly could. Of course, the sight of her brought back a tidal wave of memories. Memories that kept him up almost every night lately.
“Can I help you?”
She bit her lower lip. He got an immediate, painful hard-on.
Damn woman.
“Why are you here, Sam?” He marched away from her toward his small corner office. She followed him and stood, rubbing one bare arm with a shaking hand. “Well?” He sat and put his work-booted feet up on the messy desk, attempting not to care if she stayed or not.
“I wanted to apologize, for not . . . sticking around in the hospital.”
“I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. No apology required.”
“Well, I’m sorry anyway.” She blinked fast as if trying to gather her thoughts.
“Fine. Anything else? I’m kinda busy here.”
He waved at the stacks of paper on the desk, realizing he’d just gotten a snoot-full of his own medicine. All those women he’d fucked and booted out of his house were coming home to roost, he figured. All in the person of this one, tall, curvy, beautiful, perfect creature that he honestly believed he loved.
“No, I guess not.” She glanced around. Wade stayed quiet, wishing he had words, willing himself to get up and go to her. But something held him back.
“All right then,” he said. He dropped his feet back to the floor, rested his fingers on the keyboard and pretended to type something. His throat was so tight he could barely suck in air. But he stayed put until he sensed she’d left, tap-tapping her way across the concrete.
“Chief,” Cal said from behind him, making him jump and curse. “Sorry,” the young man said when he caught the look on Wade’s face. “Was I interrupting—”
“No, you weren’t. What is it?” Wade’s brain was spinning in a million different directions, concocting ways to get her back, but at the same time wondering which of the many nameless chicks he could call to come over tonight and help him forget her.
“Um, this,” Cal said, handing over a single piece of paper. Wade snatched it and glared down at the words, barely understanding them at first. When he absorbed what he’d been given to authorize with his signature, his ears got hot. He glared up at the young man who’d been such a killer addition to his crew. “I also brought this.” Cal held up the plaster saw and a wrist brace.
Once Cal had freed him of the cast and fastened his wrist into the plastic and Velcro contraption, Wade focused in the piece of paper.
“What the hell is this, Morrison?”
“I gotta get back home, Chief. Family stuff.”
“You just got here. I mean . . . shit.” He slumped back in his seat and stared down at the transfer request. “I’m sorry. I hope everything’s all right.”
“Yeah, well, it is kinda. Or not. It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, I’m needed back in God’s Country . . . you know, Kentucky. My brother…anyway, it’s a mess and I need to help sort it all out.”
Wade smiled at the kid. “How’d you know I’m from God’s Country?”
Cal shrugged and stuck his fingers in his belt loops. “Word gets around. You left to go to college here but had to drop out and take care of your mother when she got sick back home.”
“Yeah,” Wade said. “I grew up on the west side of the state. Murray, to be exact.” He glanced down at the transfer request. “You’re damn good at what you do, Cal. You’ll be missed. But family is family. I get it. I don’t like it. But I get it.” He signed the paper and handed it over. “I’ve got you for two more weeks, though, right? I’ll need that long to find a replacement.” The reality of that made a heavy stone settle in his gut, right alongside the one labeled ‘Sam’ and the one he liked to think of as ‘get rid of the house.’
He’d definitely arrived back at a shitty square one.
“So what happened with Sam?” Cal asked out of the clear blue, jerking Wade back from his approaching funk.
“Uh, well, none of your business, I guess.”
“I guess,” Cal said, not moving along as he should. “You ever think about pulling a hardcore romance move on her? You know, surprising her at work with flowers, champagne, that kind of thing?”
Wade glared at him. “No. I haven’t thought about that. She’s the one with the problem, not me.”
“Dude, I thought you knew the code.”
“The…what?”
“The code that states that no matter what, if the woman is worth the effort, you are always at fault and have to make things right.”
“Fuck that shit,” Wade grumbled, slumping further down in the butt-sprung chair.
“Yeah, well, it’s not really fair, but it is true. You want her back, you gotta go after her.”
“I’m pretty certain that I don’t need love life advice from you, junior. Beat it.”
Cal shrugged and sauntered over to the row of lockers. Wade watched him go, chewing on the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should take the punk’s advice. But anger rose, stifling any thoughts of Cal and his stupid code. He grabbed his phone and scrolled through a few numbers before finding one and sending a text, demanding the presence of the woman on the other end of the line at his place in three hours.
He stared down at the phone a few seconds then heaved the thing across the garage with a yell of frustration, noting with sick satisfaction when it broke into a zillion pieces against the side of his rig. A low whistle made him roll his eyes. Jax emerged from around the corner. He picked up the fragments of Wade’s device and dumped them on his desk.
>
Wade sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve got another one, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried about your phone.”
The silence between them was deafening. “What?” Wade demanded. “You gonna lecture me on the man code now, too?”
“The one where no matter what, we’re always at fault if she’s worth the effort? Nah, I figure you’ve got a handle on that one.”
“Great. Then fuck off. I’m busy.”
But Jax remained standing at his desk, putting his ability to speak volumes with his silence to its highest and best use.
Wade heaved a huge sigh. “I am not gonna beg her.”
Jax held up a hand. “Dude, what you do with her is your business. But you gotta remember that a woman who makes a zillion bucks a year selling houses doesn’t really have a sense of what our job entails until she comes face to face with it. Skye says she’s miserable and doesn’t know how to talk to you, to make you understand why she bolted.”
“Whatever,” Wade said, but he felt a tiny glimmer of hope at his friend’s words. “Tell your woman her message has been relayed. I’ll think about it.” His skin was getting that weird, anticipatory, tingly feeling already at the thought of seeing Sam again, of touching her, kissing her, and more. He glanced at his watch. “I’m going home.”
“Want to grab a brew?” Jax asked.
“Nah, I need to . . . do some thinking.” He didn’t meet his friend’s eyes, figuring he’d betray the roil of emotions churning through him. Wade was shitty when it came to emotions. His ex had reminded him of that daily. But that night, that amazing, incredible night with Sam, when he’d busted out and used the L word? That had been the most natural thing in the world to him. He cursed under his breath and climbed into his truck, still thinking he’d fuck whatever girl he’d invited over and purge Sam from his life.
But deep down, he knew better.
**
Sam stared at her computer screen, blurred by a scrim of tears. God, she was a weepy mess. Insomnia will do that do you, she figured. And insomnia was now her best buddy every night. Ever since she’d seen Wade, unconscious and bruised all to hell in that hospital bed.