How to Tame a Wild Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  He scowled at her, all his reservations from earlier flooding back. “It takes two, you know.”

  “Yes, but you’re the one who knows what he’s doing. I just went along for the ride.”

  That wasn’t how he remembered it. Hadn’t she tackled him, straddled him, and driven him out of his mind?

  “You have it all wrong, Lara. I don’t have any special sex skills.” Should he really be admitting that? Would he get kicked out of the man club?

  “Well, whatever you do, it works for me. That’s all I know.”

  He couldn’t take it anymore, the way she was treating this thing. “Well, what I know is that it isn’t always like this. Did you ever think it might be you and me, the way we click, the way we are together? Maybe that’s why it’s so good?”

  She stared down at him, the skin between her eyebrows creasing in a puzzled frown. “Why are you trying to make more of this than it is? I thought guys liked things to be all about sex. Especially you.”

  At least she winced as she said that, but it still hit home.

  Patrick hauled her off his body and set her on the blanket. He got to his feet and fastened his jeans. “You think you know me so well? Maybe you should open your eyes, Dr. Nelson. You can’t put me in some little check box in your head.”

  She gazed up at him, mouth open, eyes wide, looking so adorable and tousled that he wanted to take her all over again.

  No. Not this time.

  “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  What had gone wrong? Lara kept asking the same question as she scraped paint off the door to the steam room, known in Haven language as the Energy Cleansing Room. One minute she and Patrick had been deep in sexual bliss, the next he’d practically tossed her over his shoulder and hauled her back to his truck. He’d barely said a word as he drove her back to the Haven. She’d jumped out as soon as they reached the front door and was hurrying inside when he called out to her.

  “I volunteered to help out at the firefighters’ charity barbecue this weekend. I want you to come.”

  But he’d said it almost grimly, as if he wanted her to come despite himself, or maybe as a challenge of some sort. And he hadn’t said he wanted her to come with him. Just to come.

  Oh, the man was simply too confusing. Things had been a lot easier when she’d been fifteen and simply hated him.

  She dug the scraper against the soft wood. No, that wasn’t quite right. She’d never hated Patrick, at least not without simultaneously being fascinated by him. He’d always been full of contradictions, the caring brother and the careless one, the wild one and the loyal one. Impossible, but impossible to forget.

  “What are you doing to that poor doorjamb?” Romaine peered over her shoulder. “You’re gouging big scratches in it.”

  Lara stared at her handiwork. Oops. “This wood is pretty rotten. Maybe we should replace it.”

  “I think we’re going to have to. Let me ask Vader.”

  Right. And that was another thing. Patrick had magically materialized one of his big, brawny fireman buddies to help them with repairs. For free. Since when did Patrick care what happened to the Haven? She couldn’t get a handle on him. He was always, annoyingly and inconveniently, showing a new side.

  “Yup, I’d say that has to go,” said a deep voice that seemed to come from miles over her head. She stood up and found the muscleman Vader, hands on hips, tool belt on pelvis, scanning the work she’d done. “Don’t know what you’ve got against that door.”

  “She’s probably transferring her emotions to inanimate objects,” whispered Romaine.

  “I’m not transferring anything, except paint from wood to floor.” Lara tossed aside the scraper. “And apparently I’ve been wasting my time. All right, Vader, you’re the boss. Tell me what to do.”

  “Oh baby.” He winked. “I like the way you think.”

  Romaine prodded him in the side with the dull end of a screwdriver. “Zzzt. That’s the kind of inappropriate innuendo we’re talking about.”

  “Really? But I didn’t mean anything by it. Lara knows it. It’s harmless.”

  “What is this, more relationship therapy?” Lara rolled her eyes. The Goddesses had immediately taken to Vader and made him into their favorite new project. It reminded Lara of the one time she’d allowed them to give her a makeover.

  “Don’t knock it,” said Vader. “I’m learning a lot. Romaine and I are going to dialogue later, right?” He curled his lip like Elvis.

  Romaine poked him with the screwdriver. “Zzzt. Innuendo.”

  He groaned. “I can’t help it. I’m a man. Maybe it would be easier if you cut my balls off.”

  When Romaine waved the screwdriver, he took a quick step back. “I wasn’t serious.”

  “We don’t believe in violence here at the Haven,” she said sweetly. “And we don’t want to neutralize your source of male potency. We merely want to bring it into harmony with the other elements of your being.”

  Lara nearly choked at the expression on Vader’s face. “Romaine, why don’t you start him off slow? Didn’t you say you were going to teach him healing massage too?”

  Vader looked as though he might fall at her feet from gratitude.

  “We tried that. He wasn’t able to deal with the feminine energy flooding his chakras. He might have to practice on another man. We thought your Patrick might be a good subject.”

  Now it was Vader’s turn to choke. “Hell no. You have to give me another chance. I can handle the chick energy. Come on, let’s go. I’ll do it exactly how you showed me.” He tugged at Romaine’s wrist. When she didn’t move immediately, he picked her up and flopped her over his shoulder. “Massage time. Let’s git-’er-done.”

  “Vader, you can’t just pick people up and haul them off,” she said as Vader carried her down the hall. “Zzzt zzzt zzzzt!”

  “If there was a fire, you’d be begging me to get you out of here.”

  Lara couldn’t help laughing. She had to admit that having Vader around made things a lot more fun. And even though they all teased him, and he made fun of himself, everyone agreed he had tons of potential. Romaine came alive around him, and he and Dynah had already spent a night drinking at the Love ’Em and Leave ’Em.

  The Haven was starting to shape up, although a daunting amount of work still remained to be done. She could probably beg another week of vacation from the hospital, but any more than that and she’d be in trouble. Her time in Loveless—and with Patrick—was running out.

  Lara put a great deal of thought into what to wear to the barbecue. Vader was going too, as were all the Goddesses. They’d gotten to know the local firefighters well during the Waller Canyon Fire and had received a handwritten invitation from the fire chief. They were thrilled, even though only Dynah actually intended to eat anything resembling a rib.

  Were cutoffs too casual? What about a denim miniskirt? She’d noticed that Patrick seemed to like her legs, though she saw nothing special about them herself. On the other hand, she wanted the people of Loveless to see her as a respected doctor. Ever since that night at the bar, she’d noticed more smiles when she went into town, more friendly waves and shouts of “Hey, Lara.” If people here were finally starting to accept her, why jeopardize that?

  Her standby, capris, would do. She chose a navy blue pair with a pattern of daisies at the hem, then dug out a white halter top. Sandals, hair in a ponytail, and hopefully she looked just the proper degree of casual and unworried about impressing Patrick Callahan IV. This was her chosen personal style—whimsical and casual—nothing “Goth Nun” and nothing like the colorful Gypsy-wear the Goddesses wore.

  In case she wanted to leave early, she drove her rental car to the park where the barbecue was being held. As soon as she pulled up to the building, excitement tightened her stomach. She hadn’t seen Patrick in two days. What would he do when he saw her? Smile or scowl? Kiss her or ignore her?

  She walked around the side of the buildin
g, following the flow of people. Mr. Olson from the hardware store waved to her, as did her old biology teacher. She smiled back, but she couldn’t keep from scanning the grills where firemen were brandishing spatulas. Where was Patrick? She didn’t see him anywhere; she felt his absence in the pit of her stomach. He was supposed to be working here. Had he stood her up?

  She nearly tripped over a folding card table with a cash box on it and an alarmed girl behind it. “Oh, sorry.”

  “You should really pay more attention,” said the girl with a sniff. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. “Five dollars, please.”

  “It’s on me.”

  Shivers skittered up and down her spine at the sound of Patrick’s voice. Awareness stroked the skin of her arms.

  “That’s not necessary,” she said, turning to face him. He was smiling, that electric, blue-eyed smile that seemed to rearrange every atom in her body.

  “I invited you.”

  He paid the girl, then took Lara’s arm. She clenched her teeth to hide her embarrassing reaction, which was an all-body shiver of pleasure.

  “Come on, you can help me with the ribs. You’re good with a scalpel, right?”

  “Actually, my surgical rotation was not my strong point.”

  “Good to know.”

  She darted sidelong looks at him as they headed toward a covered pavilion. He looked even tanner than he had two days ago, his short hair had picked up some blond streaks, and his biceps were straining his blue T-shirt more than usual. He’d probably been working out in the sun nonstop—instead of coming to see her. Maybe he’d flopped into his bed at the end of the day, worn-out from all that hard labor for his ungrateful family.

  “What have you been up to?” she blurted. No reason not to ask, right?

  “Working my ass off. I got most of the backyard cleared. Luckily, I’ve got my best helper on the job with me.”

  “Vader? But he’s been with us . . .”

  “Not Vader. He wouldn’t be able to munch grass at nearly the same rate as Goldie can.”

  She laughed as he led her into the pavilion, where various brawny men were milling around in an atmosphere of cheerful, organized chaos.

  He elbowed her and pointed toward one of the grills, where a boyish-looking Hispanic man was roasting ears of corn wrapped in foil. The smell made her stomach rumble. Megan Callahan was hovering nearby, darting nervous glances at her mother. Candy Callahan stood at the fringes of the crowd, watching the goings-on like a queen surveying the troops.

  “I think I’ve finally figured out who Megan’s crush is,” Patrick whispered.

  Judging by Megan’s bright pink cheeks, Lara had to agree. “I know that guy. I treated him for a burn on his scalp. He’s a sweetheart.”

  Patrick gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “Oh yeah?”

  It took her a moment to recognize the look on his face. When she did, she couldn’t hold back her broad smile. “Wow. You’re jealous. Of a twenty-something.”

  “I’m not jealous. Just curious if I’m going to have to defend my sister’s territory.”

  He stationed himself behind a foil pan filled with marinating ribs and picked up a knife, brandishing it with a move right out of Psycho, the movie.

  “No, no,” said Lara quickly. “He’s all hers. And no wonder they call you Psycho.”

  Patrick laughed, spun the knife around and plunged it between two of the ribs. “Actually, don’t tell anyone, but the nickname’s because I was studying psychology at Princeton. Hey, are you thirsty? I got us some drink tickets too.”

  “I’m good.” She watched him carve a swift line between two ribs, his hands sure and precise. A flush of desire flooded her. How did the man manage to make chopping short ribs sexy? “But I can get you something, since you’re busy.”

  “No. Stay here. I want to talk to you.”

  She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “What about?”

  “How’d you like med school?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What’s your favorite movie?”

  She shook her head at him, completely confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s just questions, Lara. A normal part of getting to know each other.”

  “You must have some kind of fever from working in the fields. Have you been hydrating enough? We’ve known each other forever.”

  “And yet . . . we don’t really know each other at all, do we?”

  Apparently not, since she could never predict what crazy tangent he’d take next.

  “You could ask me some too. For instance, you could ask me what Farris told me about the night of the accident.”

  “You talked to the firemen?” A sense of pleasure bloomed somewhere in her middle. She’d suggested he do that, but never thought he’d listen.

  “I did. Farris was there. Said it was completely the fault of the owner of the motor home. Never even thought to blame me. Or either of us. There was nothing we could have done to avoid it. Except not be out there in the first place, of course.” He piled the ribs into a bowl, said, “Ribs up!” and another fireman came running to take them.

  “Yes, but . . .”

  Someone slid another pan of ribs in front of him. But before diving in, Patrick looked up at her, eyes bright as a bluejay’s tail feathers. “But what?”

  “But then you and Liam wouldn’t have been you and Liam. You guys loved riding those bikes. It was your thing, your brotherly bond thing.”

  He looked down, then up again, with an expression that surprised her. Almost . . . tender. “You always did know him best. When’s the last time you . . . ?”

  She braced herself, waiting for the one question about Liam that she didn’t want to answer. But just then the equivalent of a Gypsy circus flocked into the park. Or maybe a Roman emperor with a bevy of queens. Vader, arm in arm with Dynah and Janey, strolled in first, followed by Annabella and Romaine, who were carrying two big bowls of salad. They were dressed in a dazzling kaleidoscope of colors, from Romaine’s pure white to Janey’s royal purple. Vader wore tight jeans and a T-shirt with a leather vest over it. Heads turned, whispers rippled through the crowd.

  Lara stepped farther behind the table, as if trying to hide, the way she had as a mortified teenager whenever she went anywhere with the Goddesses. She felt a warm hand on one shoulder, and turned blindly toward Patrick, ready to meet a glance of scorn or pity. Instead, she found sympathy brightening those vivid eyes.

  He cupped the back of her neck and murmured, “Isn’t it funny how something can take you back to your childhood as if no time had passed and you’re still about ten years old?”

  She let out a shaky laugh. “It’s not that I don’t love them. I do, even though they’re completely wacky and I don’t understand half the things they say. It’s like I was a duck plopped down in a family of swans.”

  His hand left her neck and traveled down her back, nudging her closer to him. “I think you’ve outswanned them all.”

  She shifted closer, her body craving the feel of his. Ah, that felt better. Snuggled next to him, she let out a sigh. With the Goddesses snagging all the attention at the barbecue, she could finally do what she’d been longing to since she walked in. She turned her head into his side, into the clean cotton of his T-shirt, and inhaled deeply. Then she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss into the warm flesh of his neck. She felt muscles move under her lips as he swallowed.

  “Lara . . .”

  “No one’s watching,” she said, nibbling at the place where his neck joined his shoulder, where powerful tendons ran beneath salty skin.

  “No.” Firmly, he picked her up and put her aside. She stared at him, shocked. “Why do you think I invited you here?”

  “Um . . . ”

  “I invited you here so we could hang out at a public event, so we could talk instead of just groping each other all afternoon.”

  She drew away, wounded. “I wasn’t ‘groping’ you.”

  He snagged the sleev
e of her T-shirt and tugged her back to his side. “I didn’t mean it that way. I like the groping. I could grope you all day. I just mean that maybe we ought to mix in more talking. More getting to know each other.”

  She pushed his hand away. “You’re not making any sense. We’ve known each other forever. What are you really trying to say?”

  His eyes flared vivid blue. “Okay. I’m really trying to say that I’m not some ‘stud.’ That’s insulting.”

  Horror-struck, she stared at him. Her “stud” comment came back to her in all its stupidity. She hadn’t intended to hurt Patrick with those words, but she could see in his eyes that she had. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Of course he wasn’t just a stud. He was a glorious, complicated, fascinating man, one she couldn’t stop thinking about. And that was the most terrifying thought of all.

  “Sorry,” she said again, louder.

  Blindly, she spun around and pushed her way through the crowd, past people balancing paper plates loaded with ribs, potato salad, and corn. The heavy aroma of roasting meat made her stomach clench. Before she could make it out of the park, Annabella stepped in front of her.

  “What’s going on, querida? You can’t leave yet. There’s a drama taking place.”

  “A drama?” As if she needed more drama right now. Unless it came with a chaser of tequila, she’d skip the drama. She tried to tug herself away from Annabella, but the older women only held on tighter.

  “Look over there.”

  Lara glanced in the direction Annabella was pointing and could barely believe her eyes. Tall Janey had one long arm wrapped around Candy Callahan. And Mrs. Callahan was . . . crying. Not polite, discreet tears, but big, heaving sobs. Megan hovered behind them, dancing from one foot to the other, wringing her hands.