Fire at Dusk: The Firefighters of Darling Bay

by Ashe, Lila

  “What about the other things?” Samantha’s heart beat so hard she was sure he would hear it, even over the chaos around them.

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Have a baby. That one I can’t quite manage on my own.” He looked directly into her eyes, and the warm coffee of them melted her heart. “Maybe you’d be able to help me with that someday.”

  “Someday, maybe,” she said, breathless. “That’s a someday-maybe list.”

  He nodded, looking back down at the envelope. “I like the getting married one, too. Again, I’d need help with that.”

  “I’m actually kind of good with helping people,” Samantha said. “Not as good as you are, but…”

  “I need to know this, though.”

  Samantha nodded, the green tendril of hope inside her quaking.

  “Are you brave enough to choose someone safe?”

  That was the question. That was what she’d been trying to answer, and she hadn’t even known how to put it into words.

  Safety.

  It was the most dangerous thing of all. To risk her heart on someone who was steady. In place. Someone who wasn’t going anywhere, or at least, not going anywhere without her.

  Samantha had never been so terrified in all her life.

  But she knew the answer.

  “Yes. I think I’m exactly that brave.”

  The paper fluttered out of his hands, and he was kissing her then, his mouth firm and hot on hers, and Samantha was kissing him back. She tasted salt and ash, and she didn’t know whose tears were in her mouth—it just mattered that his arms were around her, and she could finally, finally come home. And stay there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE ATTACKER BARRELED out of a side door, his prey the small, bird-like woman who perched nervously in the folding chair. She screamed when he knocked her to the ground, and the group watching the attack gasped collectively.

  Samantha, watching closely, couldn’t help noticing that the people in the audience who were having the hardest time weren’t the family members of the women who were graduating, but the ten firefighters who’d come to watch Hank demonstrate what he did on his days off. Each one of them was wound so tight that Samantha wouldn’t risk touching any of them—they might explode like that gas line had last month. When Wally had tested Kelly, they’d started the fight with her pinned against the wall in exactly the position she’d been pinned when she was raped in the bathroom of her bar. Pre-scripted, he said the same ugly words to her that the man had said then. Standing in the audience, Kelly’s sisters bounced on the balls of their toes as if they wanted to elbow their way in and fight for her. But they understood that Kelly had to fight her own way out.

  The firefighters might have understood that mentally, but physically, at a base level, it was obvious they hated this. To a man, they were twitching. One had let out an outraged bellow when the first student had been knocked over by her attacker. Tox had his hands balled at his sides, and Coin kept moving toward the mat, only drawing back when his girlfriend Lexie took his hand. These were men who ran toward the problem. They were men who, when something blew up, turned around and hurled their bodies at the fire to put it out instead of running away like average people. When someone was threatened, they moved to help without even thinking, and watching women have to fight their way out of an attack, alone, was almost killing them. Samantha had already seen a couple brush away angry, emotional tears.

  Tears were normal during a graduation. Emotions were high, for everyone involved.

  Especially for Linda McCracken, who hadn’t managed yet to win a fight. In all cases, Hank or Wally had to stop because she gave up, curling into a ball on the floor, refusing to fight back. Samantha was going to let her graduate with the rest of the class tonight because she deserved it, but she’d keep working with her after this until Linda had successfully used the power of her body to stop a full-strength attack.

  Hank didn’t hold back, even though just that morning, he’d confessed to Samantha that he could barely bear to fight her anymore. “It’s like beating up a child. I’m not sure I can be that guy anymore. Even though she’s paying you, and you’re paying me.”

  “Maybe if you would cash a single check I’ve made out to you, you could make that complaint. But until you do…”

  He’d smiled but persisted. “Tonight will be the last time I fight her. If she doesn’t win, then she’ll have to train with Wally. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “You’re helping her,” reminded Samantha.

  He’d shaken his head. “I know that, mentally. But physically, I can’t do it to her anymore. Tonight’s the last time.”

  Now, Samantha could tell that Hank wasn’t holding back on the mat. He had Linda pinned to the ground, and she was stuck. She was thrashing too much—how many times had Samantha gone over that with her? Linda was wasting her precious physical and mental energy fighting that way and she was getting nowhere.

  Fight smart, not hard. Samantha willed Linda to remember. Smart, not hard.

  Then Linda stilled, gathering herself. A head butt—a hard one, followed by an elbow jab, thrown from the ground. Then Linda burst into a flurry of short, very sharp kicks, kicks that would have broken Hank’s leg if he weren’t wearing the suit. Hank must have known it too, because he slowed.

  Her teeth bared, Linda screamed the most important two words Samantha taught: “Stop. No!” Linda scrambled to her feet, but so did Hank. He caught her arm roughly, yanking her to him, but Linda—without seeming to think—drew her knee up, hitting him in the groin. With a groan that was probably pretty real, Hank dropped. Linda raced to stand at his head, something she’d never been able to do before.

  “No means no!” she yelled.

  All around her, the audience roared, “Down and out!”

  Hank was down, Linda was out, running off the mat, toward Samantha.

  Samantha wrapped her arms around the small, shaking woman. “You did it. You really did it.”

  Linda hiccupped a sob and nodded. “I did. I did.”

  Hank took off his helmet and came toward them. Linda launched herself at him, but this time in a hug. “Thank you. Thank you,” she said.

  Samantha heard more sniffling from the crowd and knew hers weren’t the only tears flowing.

  From next to her, a woman said, “Yeah, well, he did pretty good, too.”

  Maureen, Hank’s grandmother, had sidled up next to Samantha. She stood knitting in place, a striped green sock dangling from two circular needles.

  “He did,” agreed Samantha.

  “I never taught him to attack women.”

  “I think you taught him the opposite.”

  “So this—” Maureen flapped the sock at the crowd. “This is what you do now? Instead of drinking?”

  “This is my addiction.” This and Hank.

  “Huh. I used to smoke before I took up knitting. Maybe sometimes we just have to switch a bad one for a good one. My first husband was no good so I got a better one, just for one example.”

  “I like your style.”

  Hank came up behind them. Maureen threw a fake jab with her elbow backward. “I can take you, young man.”

  “You know I can teach you, too, if you want to learn,” said Samantha.

  “I’d be scared of that. Gramma doesn’t need help in beating anyone up. She never has.” Hank caught Maureen’s elbow lightly and then slipped an arm around them both. “How are my two favorite women?”

  Maureen peeked her head around Hank’s chest at Samantha. “I’d say we’re tolerable.”

  “Yeah,” said Samantha, feeling that by-now familiar kick of joy in her chest. “Tolerable’s just about right.” She looked around the room—her sister Grace was laughing with Tox at the doorway. Earlier, during Gina’s fight, Grace had grabbed Samantha’s hand and whispered in her ear, “Mom would be as proud of you as I am.”

  If she hadn’t been so focused on Gina, Samantha would have wept.

 
; Now Linda was talking earnestly with Gus near the water dispenser, and a cluster of firefighters were reading Samantha’s brochure, talking about which of their wives should take the class first.

  Samantha had built this. In one place, with her two hands and the scrap of an idea, Samantha had built this for herself.

  And when it came to love? Samantha had leaped off the cliff, unfurling the wings she hadn’t known she had.

  So yeah, things were tolerable if that meant being in love with the sexiest, sweetest, strongest man in the whole wide world. If tolerable meant finding the exact right place to land

  If it meant setting out for adventure with a soulmate at her side.

  Hank dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re my favorite kind of trouble.” Then he whispered something in her ear that made her cheeks go red.

  Tolerable, indeed.

  ABOUT LILA ASHE

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  … or keep reading for an excerpt of Fire at Sunset.

  When Lila Ashe isn’t working at the firehouse, she’s writing the hot firefighters she knows so well. She’s lived in the big city long enough to know she craves the stars at night, and living on the rugged northern coast of California is just right. Fans of Kristan Higgins, Bella Andre, and Barbara Freethy will settle right into California’s Darling Bay and Florida’s Cupid Island. Lila is happily married and addicted to all things romantic, including surprise getaways to San Francisco for clam chowder or overnight trips to Napa for wine, but she’s also found that being romantic at home can be even more exciting.

  DID YOU ENJOY FIRE AT DUSK?

  Read the rest of The Firefighters of Darling Bay series:

  Fire at Twilight

  Fire at Dawn

  Everyday Hero: A Darling Bay Short

  Fire at Sunset, coming from Lila Ashe in March, 2014! (Make sure you’re subscribed to be alerted the moment it’s out!)

  And come visit Cupid Island, where romance is tropical and sweet:

  Kitty’s Song: A Cupid Island Novella

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of Fire at Twilight, where Darling Bay began…

  FIRE AT TWILIGHT EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  Everything was fine until the air conditioner caught on fire.

  “It’s not a big deal,” said Grace, blowing at the tendril of smoke that rose from the plastic cover. “Don’t get up.”

  Steve Swanson, who had been reclining with his needles in, popped his chair forward. His eyes bulged behind his thick glasses. “Kind of looks like a big deal to me.”

  Mrs. Little—who was anything but—also sat forward, adjusting her bosom as she went. “It smells like my toaster when the bread gets stuck. You sure it’s not on fire in there?”

  Eliza Cross, ninety years old if a day, didn’t even open her eyes. “Just let me know if we need to evacuate. Till then, I’m napping.” The hush was implied in the retired librarian’s tone.

  Grace waved her hands at the smoke. “I think it’s dissipating,” she said hopefully. No, this wouldn’t do, not at all. A fire in her group acupuncture treatment room wouldn’t be the best thing for business. Darling Bay was as progressive as small towns got, but residents were still figuring out what community acupuncture was. Word of patients being treated for smoke inhalation would be downright embarrassing.

  The innards of the air-conditioner gave a startling crack followed by pops, as if something were being cooked inside. A larger cloud of noxious-smelling black smoke curled into the room.

  “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Little. “Should I take my needles out?”

  “No, no, let me …” said Grace. “Just one sec. I think I can …” She tugged on the front of the unit, pulling hard until the cover came off in her hands. When she peered into it, she saw a bright red flame leap. “Oh, crap.” What were you supposed to do for an electrical fire? Baking soda? This was an office, not a kitchen.

  “Get a jug of water!” said Steve.

  “Not water.” Grace remembered that, at least. “I’ve changed my mind,” she went on briskly, clapping her hands. “I think the three of you should wait on the lawn. Eliza, let me help you. You can leave your points in—it won’t hurt them to move around a bit.” She kept her voice as even as she could, but inside, she was terrified. What if her whole office burned down because she waited too long to call the fire department? Her fingers shook as she dialed 911. Fire insurance was good from the day she purchased it, right?

  Lexie answered.

  “It’s me, Grace.”

  “You usually text me. Why are you calling me at work?”

  “Um, I might have a fire.”

  Grace heard Lexie sigh, and the clicking of a keyboard on the other side of the phone. “What’s on fire?” She gave Lexie the information as fast as she could. The fire was getting bigger, flames licking out the top of the unit now. The metal Venetian blinds were charring, and the cord started smoking.

  “We’re on the way,” said Lexie. “Can you get everyone out?”

  “I’m trying.” Grace ushered her three patients out, shooing them like chickens. Their acupuncture points bobbed, swaying lightly in their arms, legs and ears.

  Steve, on his way out the front door with his pants still rolled up to the knee, said, “Aren’t you supposed to have a fire extinguisher?”

  Of course she did! How could she have forgotten? Demonstrating she knew how to use it was one of the check-offs she’d done for the city before getting her business license.

  Grace made sure Eliza was comfortable on the lawn (the old woman was remarkably unperturbed and appeared as if she might go back to sleep) and then rushed back inside. The air was acrid, smelling of melted plastic and something harsher, more chemical. Grace felt dizzy and wondered if it was possible to pass out from smoke inhalation when it wasn’t a real fire. It wasn’t, after all, like a wall was on fire. Yet. She was pretty sure it was still contained to the unit. Mostly. Hopefully.

  She got the fire extinguisher off the wall, finding it heavier than she remembered. Would she have to read the instructions? The list of words on the fire extinguisher was discouragingly long. In the distance, she could hear a fire engine’s siren. Although now that she had the extinguisher, she bet she could have it out by the time they got there. Grace knew one thing about herself—she was good at handling a crisis.

  Well then, crap, why hadn’t she thought to unplug the danged air conditioner? Reaching forward, she yanked out the plug and threw open the window next to it. Fresh air, at least.

  Or would that make the fire happier? Fire wanted oxygen, right? What if the fire sped up the wall into the attic? The cottage her office was housed in was more than a hundred years old. She’d barely glanced at the attic when she bought it, just noting it was dusty and had housed mice at some point over the years.

  Speed. Hurry. Grace stood straight, willing herself to breathe slowly. She pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and pressed the handle, directing the nozzle at the air conditioner. The fire inspector, when testing her business, had instructed, “Sweep the spray side to side, hitting the base of the fire.”

  The difference was instant. The fire that had been creeping up the wall disappeared in a blanket of white spray. Grace took a deep breath of relief and immediately convulsed in a fit of choking.

  From behind her, she heard a man yell, “Got a victim here, roll medics code three!” She turned to see a huge man in some kind of a yellow jumpsuit coming at her. He had shaggy blond hair and a jaw like a cliff. His eyes snapped green fire at her. Or that’s what it felt like.

  She tried to tell him she wasn’t hurt, that she had it all under control, but she just said, “Thhbt.”

  Then everything went dark.

  Click HERE to keep reading Fire at Twilight.

  : The Firefighters of Darling Bay