“And there is your personal invitation,” he said, turning left onto the coastal highway, his truck spitting up gravel from the beach parking area. Chris must be moving slow today, he thought, braking for a family to cross the road. Chris Martinez, the dispatcher, usually sent out the call to cell phones before the siren blasted through the community warning system.
Casting one last disgruntled look in his rearview mirror at the perfect waves breaking against the shore, he turned inland.
The Bay Station was the second to respond. Thorne jumped from his truck as the emergency vehicle rolled to a stop and men began dragging hoses toward a lone duplex. One side of the brown brick structure had flames licking out of its broken windows while black smoke oozed from the adjoining home.
Watkins, the officer on duty, met them. “Looks like an old tank on the vacant lot behind the property was the origination point. There’s a trail burnt in the backyard to substantiate.”
Thorne wiped a drop of sweat from his eye. “Victims?”
“None that we know of yet.” Watkins cocked his head toward a group of three gray-haired ladies clustered together across the road. “They’re from the old house yonder. Old-maid sisters. Said no one lives in the side of the duplex that’s engulfed. Said a woman lives in the other side, but they don’t know if she’s home or not. We’re trying to keep it contained to the one side, regardless.” He wiped the sooty sweat from his face with the back of his arm. “I need you and these men to join me for a body sweep of the attached unit.”
Jaw clenched, Thorne pulled on his goggles and respirator as he followed the line of men around the back of the smoke-filled house.
A small dog jumped through the pet door as they approached, skidding to a halt in front of Thorne.
The dog sneezed, then issued a weak bark.
Thorne released his respirator mask and pulled one glove off with his teeth. He dropped to his knee in the grass and held out his hand for the dog to sniff. When the animal came closer, he scratched her ear. As soon as the dog’s body relaxed, he scooped her up and yelled, “I have a little survivor out back! Someone come get him.” He glanced down at the shivering dog. “Sorry. Her!” he yelled. “Someone come get her!”
Relieved of his burden, he dropped to his knees at the entrance and followed his comrades into the black smoke-filled kitchen. On hands and knees, each man holding an ankle of the man in front of him to prevent disorientation, they made serpentine progress, sweeping out with their free arms. Looking for bodies. It was the part of the job he liked least. Unless you counted actually finding a body.
It was a small duplex. They found no one. On their way back to the rear door, they continued sweeping. The lead was going through the door when Thorne heard a soft cough. He stretched to sweep his arm farther.
“Ow,” a voice said through the smoke and the noise from the other firefighters in the next unit.
“Watkins!” Thorne spit out his respirator. “Watkins! We got a live one!”
3
Thorne waved away the EMT heading toward him and stared at the green-faced woman stretched out on the gurney. As he watched the rise and fall of her chest while she breathed in oxygen, he noticed tendrils of smoke wisping out of her wild-looking dark hair.
“Hey.” He tapped the EMT attending the woman. “Is her hair on fire?”
The tech’s eyes widened and he hurried to tap her head. His shoulders slumped. “No, thank God. Just looks like smoke got trapped in her hair.” He grinned, exposing a mouthful of silver braces. “She has a lot of hair.”
“She sure does.” And, right now, it looked like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical outlet. Thorne wondered if her hair was always that… big, for lack of a better word.
While he stood and watched, her eyelids fluttered open. For a moment her eyes looked unfocused; then her eyes widened and she jackknifed to a sitting position, shoving the technician aside. “Lola! Move! I have to find Lola!”
Thorne caught her as she tumbled from the gurney. “Easy. Is Lola your dog? A beagle, about this tall?” He bent his knees and held his hand about a foot off the burnt grass.
“Yes!” Tears glistened in her unusual eyes. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” he assured the woman, stepping close in case she didn’t have her balance yet.
“That’s right,” the tech chimed in. “They gave her a hit of oxygen, then stashed her in the crate by the back of the truck.” He pointed.
“A crate?” The woman sounded horrified. “What kind of crate?”
The tech had returned to the ambulance. Thorne could only blink at her.
She grabbed his arm. “What kind of crate did they put my dog into?”
He blinked again before he found his voice. “Did you know you have a green face?”
Summer’s hands flew to her face, tight beyond words thanks to her now extremely hard facial mask. She spun to run back to her house to try to wash the cement-like mess off her face, but the fireman stopped her before she’d moved more than a step.
“You can’t go back in there yet.”
“But I have to get this stuff off.” She clawed at her hard face. “It itches!”
The man looked like he wanted to recoil from her and she couldn’t really blame him. She could only imagine how she looked.
He was staring at the top of her head. She rolled her eyes up as far as she could, but, of course, she could see nothing. “What are you looking at?”
“Your hair. It’s still smoking a little.” Before she could stop him, he reached a long arm out and swiped his hand across the top of her hair a couple of times.
“It’s not on fire, is it?” Surely she’d have felt it if it were.
He shook his head. “No. There’s just … a lot of it.”
If she could have felt anything in her stony face, she was sure she’d have felt heat flush her cheeks. Just her luck. The guy before her looked like a tanned centerfold—okay, she couldn’t really tell that, because of his firefighting attire, but she had a good imagination. She scanned him from the tips of his spiked sun-streaked hair, down his soot-and sweat-stained face, over his slicker-covered body to his long, black rubber-encased legs and feet. Oh yeah, make that a great imagination.
And here she stood in her late grandmother’s muumuu-style housecoat. She didn’t even want to guess at what her hair and face looked like. Oh, crap. Her recent pedicure was all messed up. The dry grass adhering to the polish made her feet look like a collection of ten weird Chia Pets someone had neglected to water.
Tears stung her eyes. Some first impression she was making. He was still staring at her, so she felt compelled to explain. “It’s my day off. I was giving myself a spa day. Since my creep boss pays poverty wages, I can’t afford to go to a real one.” She touched her hair and would have winced, if her face could express anything, at the feel of the voluminous hairball sticking out from her scalp. “I did a conditioning treatment on my hair and let it air-dry.”
“Must have been a hell of a lot of air.”
Biting her lip, she reminded herself this man and his fellow firefighters had saved her and Lola.
A tall, Ichabod Crane–looking man loped up, wiping his face with a towel. He removed his hat and hood, swiping the towel over reddish-looking sweat-soaked hair. “You the home owner?” She nodded. “Anyone beside you and the dog in there?”
“No.” She pulled her voluminous robe around her. “The other side has been vacant for as long as I’ve lived here.” Taking a deep breath, she noticed the men packing up. “Is it okay for me to go back inside now? I would really like to wash this stuff off my face.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Does it hurt?”
“No, it’s just uncomfortable.”
“And ugly,” the first man she’d been talking to said with a smile that was blinding white in his tan face.
“Smooth, Pax,” the tall man said. “If you’re through dazzling her with your charm, it’s time to pack up.”
“Can I at least go get dressed and grab a few things?” She clutched the arm of the man who seemed to be in charge. When he glared down at her, she released the slicker, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Sorry. But I really do need to go back into my house.”
“Not allowed. You just regained consciousness. You have no business going back into all that smoke.”
“It wasn’t from smoke inhalation! I hit my head when the explosion—”
“What explosion?” Ichabod loomed over her.
“I don’t know! All I know is I heard a boom and when I went to look out the window a big fireball was heading my way. Then another boom happened and … well, that’s all I remember until I woke up by the ambulance.”
“You’re lucky to be alive. You can’t return to the house. I’m sorry,” he seemed to add as an afterthought.
The hunky firefighter stepped up beside her. “I can go for her, sir. She’ll need some things, her ID, money or credit cards, clothing—”
“Money and credit cards?” Horror filled her. She turned back to the tall man. “Are you charging me?”
Ichabod gave a bark of laughter. “He means for a motel. Don’t look so crushed, miss. Everyone knows you can’t live in a smoke-damaged house until the arson and reclamation crews do their thing.”
“But I have a dog. Hotels don’t like dogs. Well, some of them are okay with it, but do I want to stay in those kinds of places? I mean—”
But the tall man was walking away, motioning with his hand to the firefighter standing next to her. “Handle it, Pax; I’m outta here.”
4
Summer trudged behind the broad back of the firefighter the man had called Pax, Lola at her heels, as they made their way to her back door.
“I don’t understand why I can’t stay here,” she grumbled. “Most of the smoke is gone now. I’d be fine. And I—oomph!” Her face slammed into the broad back in front of her. The hard fabric of his coat smelled of smoke.
“Steady,” he said, turning and grasping her arms. “Easy,” he said in a low, gentle voice as though she were a wild horse.
Attractive image.
She swatted his hands away. “Will you stop! I’m fine.” Furiously she blinked back the tears welling in her burning eyes. Okay, maybe she was sort of pathetic, but he didn’t need to know that.
His white grin flashed. He reached out to lightly tap on her hardened facial mask. “But you are human, right?”
Summer and Lola growled.
Pax held up his hands. “Easy. Just kidding.”
“Not funny.” She glanced around his arm at her open back door. “Is it okay to go in now?” And if it was, why couldn’t she stay?
“Just tell me what you need and where it’s located. I can get it for you.” He pulled his mask back up and waited patiently.
That was the problem. While she’d like to think she was disoriented from the blow to her head or from the smoke and related events, in truth she was—at best—a haphazard nester. In other words, she had no idea where anything was in her home. Okay, those were the exact words, unfortunately.
Organizational skills were one of the few traits her mother had failed to pass down to her. Height? Check. Heck, about half of the men in the seaside town of Harper’s Ferry were shorter than her, even when she was barefoot. That was probably why she kept sneaking peeks at the yummy firefighter who stood a good head above her five feet nine and a half inches. Where was she? Oh yeah, traits from dear old Mom. Eye color? Check. Wild, frizzy hair? Check. Although, in all honesty, Summer’s mother’s mane was coiffed and straightened to within an inch of its life these days, bearing very little resemblance to Summer’s out-of-control locks.
The fireman stood, looking down at her expectantly.
“Um.” She racked her brain in an effort to remember what she needed and where it might be found. “You know, I hate to bother you. Why don’t you just grab my purse? It’s hanging on the hook on the back of my bedroom door. I’ll just go stay at a motel and buy new stuff to use until I can come home again.”
“I got the impression you were strapped for cash. Why would you want to replace everything instead of using whatever was salvageable?” His gaze raked her from the top of her head to her toes before he looked her in the eye. “You really want to go out like that?”
She attempted to narrow her eyes, but the facial mask was now shrink-wrapped to her face. “Do I have a choice?”
He shrugged and pulled his mask down again. “There’s bottled water in my truck and clean towels. You can wash most of the stuff on your face off. I can grab some clothes. They will smell a little charbroiled, but if you have stuff in drawers, they won’t be as bad.”
The relief that washed through her lasted about a second. Did she really want this guy pawing through her panty drawer? Then again, what choice did she have?
Shoulders slumped in defeat, she said, “Fine. There’s a tote bag on the floor of my bedroom closet. Underwear is in the top drawer of the chest. Just grab whatever is in the drawer. There are sweats in the bottom drawer.” Sweats were a good plan. She could wear them as outerwear and sleep in them. So what if the temp was near one hundred degrees? It was just temporary until she could get out to a store. “I’ll replace anything else I need.”
He nodded and pulled the mask up again, motioning for her and Lola to stay outside.
Suddenly weak, Summer sank to sit on the cement patio, absently scratching Lola’s ear. The dog wiggled in an effort to get closer, not stopping until Summer pulled her into a hug. “What are we going to do, Lola-belle?” The dog’s fur was warm and smelled smoky. “We really, really don’t want to go back to Grandma’s, do we?”
Lola whined, bringing a smile to Summer’s lips. Or it would have, had the stupid mask not prevented facial movement.
“I don’t blame you,” she told the dog, “Grandma isn’t much fun. And she’s not a dog lover, is she?” Despite the smell, Summer planted a kiss on the dog’s head, smiling at how her mother would react to being called Grandma to a dog.
Summer sighed and blinked back tears. Now here she was, twenty-six, divorced, back in the little beach community she’d sworn to leave in the dust, working for a lecherous, mean-spirited, miserly man, barely making ends meet. It had taken almost a year to save enough money for the down payment on her little duplex. A year of scrimping and saving, having no social life, in order to buy Lola’s dog food.
A year in which Summer’s mother never missed an opportunity to remind her of what a mess she’d made of her life by letting a Wadsworth get away. Cory may have been a member of the illustrious Wadsworth family, but he was still a creep.
Closing day for her little duplex had been the happiest day of Summer’s life. Finally, she could breathe again.
And now this. Her heart had plummeted when the fireman had told her she couldn’t stay in her house. Where would she go? How much would a motel cost? How long would her money last?
5
The firefighter stepped through the back door, her duffel bag and purse gripped in his big hand. “I hate to tell you this, but it looks like a tornado hit your bedroom.” He shook his head. “We’re usually neater than that, Miss … ?”
“Oh!” Summer set Lola on the patio and stood, extending her hand. “Wadsworth. Summer Wadsworth.” They shook hands. “But you can call me Summer.”
Especially since the Wadsworth portion didn’t technically apply anymore.
“Thorne Paxton.”
“Hi, Thorne.” She smiled. Well, she tried to smile, anyway. “And don’t worry about the room.” She shrugged. “I’m still in the process of moving in,” she fibbed. It was sort of true because she really was still in the process—it just happened to be a long process. “The fire trucks are leaving. Don’t you need to take off?”
The fireman handed her purse to her and set the duffel on the patio. “I followed them in my pickup. Today was supposed to be my day off.”
They stood staring at each other for
a few seconds before Thorne cleared his throat. “I didn’t see a car when I drove in. Do you need a lift to a motel?”
“My car’s in the shop.” And it would likely stay there until she scraped up enough money to pay for the new water pump. “Do you know any nearby motels that take pets?” She mentally calculated her available credit. “And do you have any idea how long I will have to stay out of my house?”
He raked a blunt-fingered hand through his hair and shook his head. “I’d guess no more than about two weeks. Basically just as long as it takes the reclamation people to get the smoke out of everything.” He shifted from one booted foot to the other. “Um, I don’t know much about motels in the area, since I just moved here a few months ago. But I do know of a place that allows dogs.”
“Is it expensive?” She picked up her belongings and her squirming dog.
“Nope. I’d say it’s pretty reasonable. And the owner is willing to negotiate.”
“What motel is it?” Maybe it was the one she’d just seen on the evening news, the one that operated a call girl business on the side. That would be just her rotten luck.
“Well, it’s not actually a motel. Not anymore, anyway.” He led the way toward a dusty red Tundra pickup truck.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm, tugging him to a stop. “If it’s not actually a motel anymore, what is it?”
He stared at his feet for a moment, then raised incredibly blue eyes. “My place.”
6
“Your place?” Summer’s voice squeaked. What kind of woman did he think she was? Her tight face reminded her of her green facial mask. A glance at her less than come-hither attire startled her. What the heck was he thinking? Who in his right mind would be attracted to someone who looked like this?
Hard on that thought came another: no one in their right mind! What if he was some kind of pervert or criminally insane? Then again, how would someone like that pass the test to become a firefighter?
It was all so confusing. Maybe she had inhaled more smoke than she thought.
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