Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1)

by Tracy Solheim

  “You must be very fluid with a parachute.” She traced a finger over his chest, trying not to let the sensual fog lift so she’d be thinking about Sam jumping out of airplanes—into fires.

  His eyes locked with hers. “Put the condom on me,” he demanded. “That’s all I want you thinking about right now.”

  She did what he asked, still in awe of the way he could read her mind. But then he was slowly pushing into her tight body and she lost all coherent thought except for the intimate feel of him inside of her. Lowering her lashes so he wouldn’t gain any more access to her emotions, she drew him in deeper, letting the heat unfurl in her belly again.

  “That’s a girl,” he murmured next to her ear. “You feel so damn good.”

  He began to move, slowly, almost reverently at first. But Laurel’s insides were on fire again and her hips refused to stay still beneath his hot, heavy weight. She nipped at his shoulder. Message received, he picked up the pace as Laurel strained to meet his every move. Wrapping her legs behind his back to give him better access to her core, she cried out when he thrust against her. Her fingernails dug into the muscles of his back, slick from their exertion, as her head thrashed from side to side. Sam kept up the pace, all the while whispering lusty words of encouragement in her ear. This time, her climax came in a powerful wave, blinding her with its intensity. Sam stilled above her, poised on outstretched arms that shook slightly as he watched her shatter. Time stopped for a moment. Then his mouth found hers and she melted into him. Laurel rocked her hips and squeezed him tightly until he came in a rush, her name tumbling from his lips in a low growl.

  Chapter Six

  Sam woke with a start as something cold and wet nudged his chin. He caught a whiff of kibble and realized disappointedly that it wasn’t Laurel in the bed beside him.

  “Down boy,” he commanded both his hard-on and the terrier nuzzling his face.

  He cracked open an eyelid. Bright sunlight was streaming in from the high window behind him and Sam had to squint against the pain of it to read the clock on the night stand. Ten-thirty. Slowly, he turned his head toward the hot breath fanning his face. Oreo was indeed lying down, but with his head on his paws and his butt in the air, he looked as if he was likely to spring at Sam any minute.

  “Down.”

  With a frustrated whimper, Oreo settled into the pillow. Sam slowly stretched his weary body. Just as he suspected, Laurel was as impulsive in bed as she was out of it. A slow grin spread over his face just thinking about the things she’d done to him—and he’d done to her—last night. One part of him was up for doing it all over again, but Sam wasn’t sure precisely where they stood this morning. Her side of the bed was cold, which meant she was long gone. But she had promised him breakfast and Sam knew exactly how he wanted to break his fast.

  Climbing out of bed, he snatched up his clothes off the floor. A framed picture on the wall caught his eye and he paused to study it more closely. It was a charcoal drawing of a landscape that looked a lot like the ranch. Next to it was a stunning painting of a horse racing through the valley. The colors and details were so vivid it looked like a photograph. A black and white sketch of a laughing Tyson sat in a frame on the nightstand. Sam picked it up, carefully scanning the portrait for the initials that were in the corners of the other artwork decorating the room—LEK.

  He smiled in wonderment. Laurel was an artist. A good one if he was any judge. That certainly fit her impetuous personality more than a bean counter. It seemed Laurel was quashing more of her true self than he thought.

  Oreo was snoring contentedly when Sam made his way to the large, modern bathroom. The room featured a double vanity, a spacious walk-in shower and a vintage claw-foot tub. His junk grew tight just thinking of how he’d bent Laurel over that tub hours earlier. Reaching into the shower, he turned the water to cold. He was going to need it.

  When he emerged fifteen minutes later, Laurel was in the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets. She was dressed in her riding uniform of ass-hugging jeans, a bright western shirt, and cowboy boots.

  “Hi.” There was a wary tone to her voice. Sam hoped like hell it wasn’t regret.

  “Morning.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her and kissing the look of uncertainty off her face. Oreo trotted over and sat on Sam’s boot.

  “Oreo hates strangers. What did you do to him?”

  The little dog was gazing up at Sam expectantly while its stumpy tail swished back and forth.

  “I’m sure he just misses Tyson,” Sam said.

  Laurel reached down and patted the dog. “He’s having fun without us, little buddy.”

  The wistful way she said it made something catch in Sam’s chest. “How long will Tyson be away?”

  “Five days.” Her lips trembled before settling into a tenuous smile, as though she was trying to convince herself five days wasn’t an eternity.

  “Does he spend a lot of time with his dad?”

  “They see each other a few times a year,” she said. “But Bryce usually comes here. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from Tyson and, to be honest, I’m not handling it well.”

  While Sam was relieved her anxiety wasn’t morning-after regret, her words stunned him. What father would only see his son “a few times a year”?

  “Come here.” Sam wrapped his arms around her. He brushed his lips over the soft hair on top of her head and she relaxed against him. “He’ll be home before you know it.”

  “I know. And I keep telling myself that it isn’t fair that I have Tyson all to myself every day.”

  Sam wasn’t sure he saw the situation the same way Laurel did. In his opinion, it wasn’t fair that she should have all the responsibility of raising her son. Bryce Johnson had gone on with his life, gallivanting all over the world and chasing his dreams while Laurel shouldered the day-to-day burden of caring for Tyson. Based on the artwork in the loft, he suspected she’d given up her own dreams, likely blaming herself for the unplanned pregnancy.

  “You’ve done a great job with him,” he reassured her. “He’s a cute kid.”

  Her smile was beaming when she leaned back, her arms still draped around Sam’s waist. “Why thank you, Captain Cowboy. Keep up the sweet talk and you’ll definitely get lucky again.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed him soundly.

  He slid his hands down to cup her ass, bringing her in contact with the part of him that wanted to do all the talking.

  Her sigh was lusty, but she pulled out of his embrace. “I promised you breakfast. Breakfast food,” she said with a cheeky grin as though she’d read his mind. “Unfortunately, I hadn’t counted on company so our selection is limited to Pop Tarts or Special K. I could go over to my parents’ house and raid their fridge if you want something a little more sustentative.” She arched an eyebrow in question.

  “Only if you don’t have the brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts.”

  She smiled broadly again, waving a box in front of him. “Tyson’s favorite.”

  Laurel made him a cup of coffee as they munched on their food and chatted about everything and nothing at the same time. The wistful look that had been dragging her mouth down at the corners was gone. Sam told her about his sisters, their children, and his parents, now retired in North Carolina. Laurel laughed as she shared humorous stories of her childhood, her mom’s tenure as mayor of Glacier Creek and her days as a champion rider.

  “Why did you stop competing?” Sam asked.

  She shrugged. “Horses were always my parents’ passion. I loved my competition days—especially because they took me out of Montana—but I had different passions I wanted to pursue.”

  “Like art?” Sam took a sip from his coffee mug.

  “Kind of hard for you not to notice, huh?” She shook her head in exasperation. “My mom ran out of room in her house so she put several pieces in here.”

  “I’m sure she’s proud of you. And she should be. You’re very talented.”

  Most women w
ould have blushed at the compliment, but Laurel accepted it as her due. “Thanks. My art professors still bug me to take it up again, but ‘Starving Artist’ doesn’t go hand in hand with motherhood.” She shrugged again. “Maybe when Tyson gets older.”

  Sam wanted to say more, but Laurel picked up her Stetson and pulled it low over her brows.

  “I’m going to take Tabitha out for some training,” she said. “She’s really progressing well. Would you like to stay and watch?”

  The thought of watching his lover ride Becky’s horse should have bothered Sam more than it did. The truth was he’d endure just about anything to spend more time with Laurel. The only things awaiting him at the A-frame were boxes of memories he’d like to forget and an empty bed. Sam wanted another night in Laurel’s bed.

  “Sure,” he said. Oreo charged through the door in front of them and they both headed down to the barn.

  *

  The spring sun was warm on Laurel’s shoulders as she guided Tabitha through a series of patterns and spins. She squeezed her right thigh firmly against Tabitha’s flank so the horse spun counterclockwise three-hundred-sixty degrees while keeping her back pivot foot planted in the sand. The mare’s spins were nearly perfect—perhaps the best of any horse Laurel had ever ridden. When they ended up in exactly the same spot as they’d begun, Laurel gave her a big pat.

  “She’s a little better to her left than her right, but then most horses favor one side over the other. A good rider will be able to camouflage that,” she said as Tabitha ambled over to the rail where Sam was sitting, looking sexy as hell with his white shirt billowing in the warm breeze. He’d grabbed a Texas Rangers baseball cap out of his truck and pulled it low on his head, but that only accentuated the square jaw she’d traced her tongue along the night before.

  Laurel took a long drink from the bottle of water he handed her, hoping it would cool her off. His intense gaze wasn’t helping. She glanced down to the V in her blouse where her skin shimmered with a fine sheen of sweat. Pressing the cold bottle to the spot, Laurel sighed. Sam swore beside her, making her laugh, glad she wasn’t the only one feeling the sexual pull.

  “There a few other things we need to get smoothed out,” Laurel continued. “And she needs to develop a bit more muscle before you start advertising her, but I think another six weeks will be all it takes.”

  He nodded and his mouth formed a grim line. Tabitha nudged his thigh and Sam reached over to stroke her nose. Laurel cursed herself for being so callous. The mare was his late wife’s prized possession and she was nonchalantly talking about selling her.

  “Will you miss her?” she asked.

  Sam seemed startled by the question. “No. I wasn’t around the farm much. I was deployed most of the time Becky had her.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Tabitha? All her info is in the package I gave your dad. I’m not even sure of her age.”

  Laurel shook her head. “Not the horse, silly. Your wife. Becky.” She wasn’t sure why she’d asked the question except that suddenly, knowing this man’s body wasn’t enough. Laurel wanted to know everything that was Sam Gaskill. And his late wife certainly held some clues.

  Sam looked away from her and stared out at the lake as if the answer to her question was buried at the bottom. He was quiet so long that she didn’t think he’d answer her.

  “Why do women always want to know this shit,” he finally said. “What’s so important that you want to know about her? She’s gone and she’s not coming back.”

  Her stomach squeezed at the annoyed look on his face and her head was telling her to let this go. As usual, her mouth wasn’t listening. “Because she’s still here. With Tabitha. With you.”

  He swore violently, sending Oreo and Truman scurrying into the barn. Tabitha shifted from side to side but Laurel refused to be cowed. The laugh he gave had a hollow ring to it. “To hear Becky tell it, I left her years before she left this earth.”

  Laurel swallowed her gasp. “So you’re not ‘pining’ after the love of your life?” Her mother would be appalled at the indelicacy of the question, but his answer would change how she viewed him. How she viewed them.

  Sam’s stare was hard and challenging. “Only as much as you’re pining after Bryce Johnson.”

  She didn’t bother stopping her quicksilver grin as something warm and fuzzy unfurled inside of her. Dismounting from the horse, she held onto the reins and climbed up onto the fence beside him. Laurel leaned in and brushed her lips against his. Sam responded by wrapping his hands around her head, dislodging her hat in the process, and kissing her with a reckless force that nearly had them toppling off the fence. Digging her fingers in the wood, Laurel let him have his way with her, punishing her with his lips, his tongue, and his teeth.

  She groaned when Sam finally nipped at her lip before jumping down and retrieving her hat. He plopped it on her head then settled his back against the wood between Laurel’s thighs. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in to trace the shell of his ear with her tongue.

  “Tell me your story,” she urged him.

  He let out a frustrated sigh. “Becky was PK—a preacher’s kid. I met her on the base. She worked in the battalion office, answering phones and doing other things for the CO.”

  Laurel began gently kneading his tight shoulders and Sam draped his arms over her thighs.

  He relaxed beneath her hands as he continued. “It’s the usual tale told around every military base in the world. I was shipping out to face God-knows-what. At twenty-three, I thought I knew shit, that I had it all figured out, but really I was a green kid. I wanted someone to write to me, to keep me connected with what was going on here in the States. Something to look forward to. Becky just wanted out of her daddy’s house.” He was quiet again, and Laurel massaged the back of his neck until he spoke once more. “My parents, my sisters, they all have these amazing marriages. I was too ashamed to let anyone know I’d made a mistake. It wasn’t Becky. She was a really sweet girl. I think maybe if we’d had kids. . .”

  His voice trailed off, and suddenly Laurel’s shoulders ached, too.

  “I bought Tabitha for her so she’d have something to do when I went on my second deployment. The horse made her happy.”

  And likely made you feel less guilty, Laurel thought. Her chest was aching along with her shoulders.

  “How did she die?” Laurel asked softly.

  Sam’s body tensed up again. “We’d had a fight. I told her I was re-upping for one more tour and she was not happy. She hated what I did for a living. Despite the distance in our marriage, she didn’t want me to leave again. Funny, since she hated having me around. It kept her from spending time with Tabitha.” He reached over and tugged on the horse’s ear. “Becky took off in a rage. She took Tabitha up into Hill Country. They were both familiar with the trails there, but somehow Becky came off.”

  Tears burned the back of Laurel’s eyes. She hated where this was going, knowing Sam felt guilt for something that was not his fault.

  “She hit her head and bled out before we found her. I didn’t know she was pregnant until the autopsy.”

  The breath seized in Laurel’s chest and her fingers stilled on Sam’s neck. He’d lost his wife and a child.

  “Was the baby yours?” Laurel chewed on her lip, anticipating his reaction.

  Sam surprised the hell out of her by laughing. “Only you would ask that out loud.”

  He turned around to face her, letting his hands span her waist.

  She cupped his chin. “I really do try to control it.”

  His grin was resigned. “Becky wasn’t that kind of woman, no matter how unhappy she was. The baby was mine. DNA evidence doesn’t lie.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said before leaning down and brushing a kiss along his jaw.

  “Mmm,” he said. “It’s in the past. All that’s left is to make sure her horse is taken care of.”

  Laurel patted Tabitha on the neck. She doubted being free of t
he mare would absolve Sam of the guilt he was carrying around, but she’d do her best to see that Tabitha went to a rider who had a shot at the championship.

  Sam’s eyes had that hot and hungry look in them again. “You never told me what you noticed first about me?” Clearly Sam wanted a subject change.

  Laurel stepped down from her perch on the fence, sliding her body against his as she did. Trying for a seductive smile, she slid her fingers into the back pockets of his jeans and gripped his firm ass. “Your eyes,” she answered. “They were sad when you weren’t glowering and they made me want to do this.” And then she kissed him.

  *

  Early the next morning, Laurel studied Sam as he lay sleeping naked in the bed beside her. He was so beautiful with his chiseled muscles, lush eyelashes, and kissable lips. Even better, he was a generous lover, always taking his time to make sure she was satisfied. Not that her satisfaction took that much time to achieve given his talented hands and mouth. She smiled smugly to herself, pleased she’d been lucky enough to have ended her sexual drought with a guy like Sam.

  They’d spent the previous day wandering the ranch with Oreo and Truman in tow. Laurel wasn’t sure how long they’d hiked before she’d noticed that Sam’s hand had slipped easily around hers. Somehow, his fingers threaded through hers felt more intimate than when his body was inside her. The thought was both calming and unnerving at the same time.

  While Laurel liked the idea of their physical closeness, it was the mental connection that ruffled her. He seemed to know her—to get her—like no one else did. Sam didn’t chastise her impulsiveness. Instead, he embraced it as one of the many facets of her. His acceptance was freeing. Laurel felt like a light-headed high school girl again.

  She’d even acted like a high school girl, lying to Ivy about why she couldn’t meet for dinner last night. But she didn’t want to share what she had with Sam yet. Not when she wasn’t sure what she wanted with him.

  Now gazing at him unabashedly, she felt a stirring of sadness that his face didn’t relax even in sleep. Whether it was his experiences in war, with Becky, or something else, Sam’s body couldn’t seem to let go of all the tension coiling within it. Given that her own body felt like a rag doll’s after spending the past thirty-six hours in some form of sexual encounter with the man, the strain gripping him troubled her.