How to Catch a Kiss (Kisses & Commitment)
Page 16
Tori grabbed the front of his shirt. “Catch this,” she said, pulling him down for their first kiss as his future bride.
Excerpt
Rescue Me: From the Park City Firefighter
Romance Series , Book One
By Taylor Hart
Damon Freestone stared down at the five-mile trail run he’d just done. It had been fun. As fun as Damon could deal with at the moment. Truthfully, he hadn’t even felt it. All he’d known when he’d gotten off his first full forty-eight-hour shift at Park City Fire Department was that he needed to do something to get his mind off everything.
Sucking in air, he pulled the water bottle off his hip and took a long drink. Honestly, it hadn’t been that bad of a shift, considering it was his first one since he had come back from Boston. And he had been demoted to a truckie.
His mind flashed to his first day as captain six months ago in Boston, to the burning building. At this point, he usually clamped down on the memory and refocused his thoughts. At least, that was what he’d been taught to do by the stupid shrink he’d been forced to see for weeks on end after it had all happened. The one who told him none of it was his fault. After all, he’d followed protocol. Squeezing the bottle between his fingers, he crushed it and then tucked it back into the water holster at his hip. Forget the shrink.
His mind opened to that day—his first call as the captain at Boston Fire. He’d done everything right. They had vented the building first and then sent in the truck crew to make entry and start search and rescue.
They’d pulled out twenty bodies.
The fire was moving fast. He could hear his men clearing the rooms. He could see it in his mind as easily as if he’d been in there himself. They were good men, trained properly. His mind was clear as he barked out orders. Everything was going down perfectly.
Until he heard Trev call out. “Chief, she’s hurt!”
At that point, it was like lightning struck his heart, and he instantly knew who Trev was talking about.
Jamie. The candidate. The new girl who had only shown up a week ago.
Without thinking, his feet went into motion.
“What the—!” He called, running to the truck and donning his air mask. He’d already had turnouts and SCBA on before they even arrived.
Corey was by his side as he moved toward the building. “Cap, you can’t go in there. You have command. We need your eyes out here. There are still ten guys in there.”
But come hell or high water, Damon was going in there. Time lost all meaning. He barged through the burning doors, sucking air from his tank and trying to see her, trying to feel her. He keyed his radio. “Trev, where is she?”
“I … part of the wall has fallen up here, I can’t get her out.”
Climbing the stairs quickly, he rushed straight to where he’d sent Trevor. The smoke was awful, and he could barely see through it. The hungry flames snapped at him as he made his way to Trev who was trying to figure out how to get her free. Springing into action, he rushed to the beam that had fallen, using all his force to push it off, but it wouldn’t budge.
On the radio, he heard the battalion chief. “Freestone, what are you doing? Get your butt out here.”
He ignored it, struggling to find a way to free Jamie.
The battalion chief ordered everyone to abandon the building then started calling out his crew one by one, telling them to get out. Air horns blared long blasts of four tones, the symbol to evacuate. The fire had burned long enough that either this thing would flashover soon or the whole building might come down.
Even though Damon could feel the blow was coming, he couldn’t leave yet. He scrambled to get another board and make a lever to push the beam.
Trev stayed by his side without asking and helped him push the lever.
“Freestone! Clark!” The battalion chief barked, calling the two of them.
Damon pointed at Trev. “Get out!”
Trev shook his head. “I’m staying with you, Cap.”
The battalion chief’s voice pierced the radio. “Then you are both fools that are going to lose your jobs.”
They pushed and levered the wood until Jamie’s leg came loose. Damon picked her up and carried her out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the pandemonium outside.
The building had the decency to not flash until both he and Trev were out. Flames tumbled over their heads and the pressure forced Damon down to his knees. He climbed to his feet and ran toward the medics.
As he laid her body on the stretcher, ambo crews and firefighters swarmed them, helping them take off their equipment. Damon sucked in the cool Boston night air.
The battalion chief walked over with anger in his eyes and stared at him. “Freestone, you made the wrong call.”
All Damon was concerned with at the moment was making sure Jamie was okay. He saw them intubating her.
“Is she breathing?” he asked Craig, the main paramedic.
When Craig didn’t answer, he began investigating the equipment they were using, and then the other medic pulled out an AED and shocked her chest.
“Breathe.” He commanded her, getting on his knees and feeling emotion bubble up in his throat. Emotion he never let out anywhere besides a punch to the face of his sparring partner at the gym in the morning.
His battalion chief was next to him, his hand on his shoulder, as Damon watched the crew frantically try to get a pulse, get all the smoke out of her so she could breathe.
Shedding his turnouts, he hopped into the ambo with them. The medics worked efficiently, doing everything they could, but in the short ride to the hospital, he watched her unresponsive lips go blue. He watched her die.
When they pulled the stretcher out and ran her into the hospital, he ran with them down the hall, listening to the paramedics give their report to the doctors.
Can’t find a pulse, too much smoke in her lungs, gave her albuterol, cortisone, a plethora of other drugs.
His mind couldn’t decipher all of it. In truth, it was the first time he didn’t feel absolutely involved in the scene, but more like a bystander watching it all unfold.
As he watched them cover her with a sheet, he knew it was his fault. She’d died because he’d sent her in too soon.
He wished it had been him instead.
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Author’s Notes
I was asked recently why I write romance, specifically Romantic Comedy. Simple answer: I love a happy ending.
Our lives are a series of rises and falls. I choose to embrace the falls and conflicts, but end my stories on a rise.
The Romance genre can ofttimes be formulaic and cliche, but it can also be uplifting and inspiring. Best of all, the hero and heroine always find their perfect mate, allowing for the ultimate rise.
I also love to laugh, which is why my stories, even those dealing with the loss of a loved one, contain comedic scenes. I appreciate the readers who have, and continue, to take this journey of love and friendship with me.
—Sarah Gay
Acknowledgments
Special Thanks to the Following Individuals
Nannette Tibbitts (Tori) and Jessica Kearly (Gussie). Thank you for allowing me to borrow and modify your histories to create a tale that will aid and inspire others who have suffered a loss in their lives. Nan, thank you for being honest and real. Jessica, thank you for your thorough review of my manuscript. You are a fabulous and detailed copy editor.
Paul Fetzer, Master Gardener. Thank you, Paul, for allowing me to become a part of the beautiful refugee gardens. I admire the work that you put into such an important effort.
The wonderful refugees shown below. Thank you for welcoming a stranger into a wonderful culture and into your lives. I appreciate the contributions you bring to this great country.
My many devoted readers. To name a few— who are always eager to catch that rogue comma or misspelled word— Peggy Phillips, Jennifer Puder, and Krege B. Christensen. Many thanks for your unwavering support an
d eagle eyes.
Special thanks to the International Rescue Committee (IRC), a non-profit organization which helps thousands of people a year escape violence, human trafficking, and other harrowing circumstances. Learn more about IRC and how you can help in your local hometown.
A portion of the proceeds of this novel will be donated to the refugee gardens and the IRC.
Other Books by Sarah Gay
Twisted Timber
How to Train a Husband
Catching a Counterfeit Cowboy