Molly Rivers was hunched over to Sam’s right, her palms turning black as she skimmed the ash and timber. “Everything to the east is cool.” She straightened up, arching her back into her hands. “Ouch. This has got to be my least favorite part.”
Sam got to his feet and wiped his hands together, trying to loosen some of the soot free. Hand feeling the fire was backbreaking and exhausting, but it was critical to ensuring that a fire site was safe. “We still have to pack out ten miles with no trail. You sure that won’t be your least favorite part?”
“Are you kidding? It’s a gorgeous day in the Rocky Mountains. Most of my young, professional friends are spending it behind a desk. Me? I get to go hiking.” She grinned. “Best of all, my boyfriend is waiting at the end of the hike to rub my feet.”
On the other side of Sam, Ferguson laughed as he stowed his kombi shovel into one of the cardboard packs the crew would carry out. “The guy is a vet with his hand up some animal’s ass all day. Are you sure you want to let him touch you?”
She tsked at Ferguson. “What’s the matter Liam? Won’t any of the girls in town let you rub their feet?”
Dodson pulled some MRE’s from the pack filled with supplies and handed one to Sam. “Molly, didn’t you know the reason Liam lives at home is so his mama can protect him from all the women in Montana who want to rub his feet?”
“See, and I heard it’s because his mama serves him breakfast in bed,” Rivers teased as she took her own MRE from Dodson.
Ferguson gave them both a middle finger salute before pulling out his camp stool and tucking into his MRE. He ripped open the pouch containing the entrée and put it inside the plastic bag that contained the chemical heater. Then, he poured a small amount of water in to activate the chemicals before returning the bag back to the cardboard MRE box for a few minutes, allowing it to heat up.
“Not that I wouldn’t kill either of you two for one of my mother’s biscuits right now,” Ferguson grumbled after swallowing a few bites of the pasta meal. “This is the worst part of the job, Molly.”
Molly reached into her own pack and pulled out several power bars. She tossed one to each of the men sitting with her. “Who loves me now, boys?”
Sam relaxed at the sound of his team’s banter. They were all a bit punchy after the long night of grueling work, but Sam was pleased at how efficiently the firefighters had gotten the job done. Even with the added complication of casualties, they’d managed to contain the blaze quickly and professionally.
“Any word from base on the pilot and passengers?” Dodson asked.
“I asked search and rescue to give Jacqui an update when they got back.” Sam glanced at his watch. “I know you all want to linger over this gourmet breakfast, but there’s at least eight hours between me and a hot shower and I’d like to get a move on.”
Ferguson shot to his feet. “You don’t have to tell me twice, Cap. Tonight is karaoke night at The Drop Zone.”
Molly groaned as she pulled her pack over her shoulders. “I don’t suppose that means you’ll be saving your voice so we can be zen with nature on the way out?”
“Come on, Molls, you love when I get my Adam Levine on.”
She laughed. “Your singing voice is enhanced by the copious amount of alcohol your father serves. But I have to admit, when you start shaking your butt, it’s pretty hot.”
Ferguson shook his ass in front of her and Rivers groaned.
“Hey, why don’t you move that ass to the back of the line?” Sam picked up his pulaski and began wielding it like a machete as he and Dodson carved out a trail through the woods. The work was mind-numbingly distracting, which was just what Sam needed after Ferguson’s mention of The Drop Zone had conjured images of a Laurel’s kiss-swollen lips and that damn sexy yellow dress.
With over a hundred pounds of gear strapped to each of their backs, their progress was slow going. Still, Sam welcomed the physical activity. Now that he had time to process the scene from the bar last night, his annoyance began to churn in his gut again. Even worse, none of his feelings made a lick of sense. He wanted his relationship with Laurel to be casual, no strings attached. But when she had told Straight Air Johnson that they weren’t involved, something cold had seemed to seize Sam’s insides.
Damn it. He slashed at a vine that blocked their path. Laurel wanted a man who could give her and her son a quiet, risk-free life—even if that life was contrary to her impetuous nature. As much as he wanted to be, Sam wasn’t that man. His job involved risk and it was a career he excelled at. One he thrived on. He hadn’t been able to give up his life for Becky and he wouldn’t give it up for Laurel.
With a fierce hack, Sam leveled a branch with his pulaski. Laurel would never go for the just sex plan, either, no matter how intense the physical connection was between them. It didn’t matter how loudly her body called to him, her declaration at The Drop Zone that they weren’t a couple was even louder. She was living her life for her son, and the parts of Sam above his belt respected her for it.
Tyson needed a male role model who was a more constant part of his life than the selfish ass he already had for a father. Sam angrily pushed a small log with the heel of his boot, rolling it down the hill. He hated how Bryce Johnson was throwing away his opportunity at fatherhood. An opportunity Sam had lost before he even knew he’d had it. And it angered him further that Laurel was giving up on her dreams so she could be both mother and father to her son.
“Cap, I think it’s already dead,” Ferguson said from behind him.
Sam looked up from a bush he was pruning back to a twig to see three sets of anxious eyes trained on him. Damn. He needed to get his mind off Laurel Keenan and back onto his work. This was why he didn’t do relationships. If he’d learned one thing from his failure of a marriage, it was that he couldn’t have both.
“Why don’t I take the point for a while?” Dodson stepped ahead of Sam. “If you keep that up for the next eight miles, you’ll need a new rotator cuff.”
Sam nodded, falling in behind Ferguson who proceeded to butcher several Keith Urban songs while they hiked. By the time they reached the pick-up point five-and-a-half hours later, Sam needed some ibuprofen, a hot shower, and a bed, in that order.
“The investigators from the NTSB are waiting back at the base,” Miranda announced as Sam hoisted his pack into the back of the van. “They have some questions they need to ask you before they can file their report.”
He groaned as he climbed into the passenger seat. Ferguson was thankfully sprawled on the far back seat, his snores already filling the van while Dodson and Rivers shared the middle bench seat.
“Perfect,” Sam said. “Talking to bureaucrats is just what I want to do after spending the last twenty-four hours in the woods.”
As it turned out, the investigators’ questions were brief and to the point. Something Sam appreciated after the long hike and the hour car ride back to Glacier Creek. When he’d arrived back at the forest service station, only the on-call staff remained and they were engaged in a fierce game of HORSE at the basketball hoop. He stowed his gear in the ready room where it would be waiting for a thorough cleaning the next day. Then he went to his office to review the paperwork Jacqui had left on his desk, smiling to himself when he saw her sticky note that Pfeiffer had dropped out of rookie camp that afternoon.
The sun was low in the sky when Sam finally steered his truck up the drive leading to the A-frame, tucked high above Flathead Lake. His body was screaming for a beer and a soft pillow. Clearly, exhaustion was playing tricks on his brain because as he parked in front of the cabin he noticed a woman seated on the steps leading to the porch. A woman dressed for trouble in tight jeans, turquoise cowboy boots, and a straw cowboy hat. Sam swore as he killed the engine. He hesitated a moment before getting out of the driver’s seat. Climbing the stairs, he kept his back to her as he unlocked the front door.
“What are you doing here, Laurel?”
Chapter Nine
Laurel shifted
uncomfortably on the wooden step. This was such a bad idea. But she’d wanted to see firsthand that Sam was okay. When Ivy offered to take Tyson with her nephews to the minor league baseball game, Laurel had jumped at the chance of a few hours to study. Instead she had camped out on Sam’s front porch, waiting for him to return. Apparently, her impulsiveness was firmly back in the driver’s seat.
“What are you doing here, Laurel?”
Not exactly the welcome she was hoping for, but after her abject denial that they were a couple in front of everyone at The Drop Zone, she should have expected Sam’s miffed tone. What she hadn’t anticipated were the agonizing emotions the sight of a filthy, bone-weary Sam churned up inside of her. Laurel felt the same helplessness and fear she experienced every time Tyson was sick. Which was ridiculous because Sam was a grown man capable of taking care of himself.
She stood up from the porch, brushing her hands down her jeans. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
He turned to face her then, his eyes fierce in his tired face. “Of course, I’m all right, Laurel. I’m not some rookie making his first jump. I’m a professional. One of the best.”
Laurel fought not to roll her eyes. “Why must guys always mistake genuine caring for an attack on their manhood?”
“I’m fine, Laurel,” he practically growled. “You’ve done your good deed for the day. You can take the Little Red Riding Hood routine back to the ranch now.”
Sam pushed open the front door and stepped inside. Laurel raced to follow him into the cabin before he could shut the door in her face.
“Good deed?” she sputtered. “Little Red Riding Hood? Did you get conked on the head while you were out fighting that fire?”
Sam sank down on a bench just inside the door and began pulling off his boots. “I must have because I don’t remember inviting you in.”
“I’m here because I care what happens to you! Because we’re—we’re . . .” She couldn’t quite get her mouth to spit out the word lovers. It sounded so tawdry. Yet that was what they were to one another. Nothing more. And the thought made her sad. Suddenly, she wanted more with this man. She wanted Sam to be the guy she could spend her life with; to raise Tyson with. But he wasn’t offering that. And she couldn’t settle for less. She wouldn’t.
Sam’s expression was hard as he paused in the act of unlacing his boot. “We’re what, Laurel?”
She wrapped her arms around her midsection. His ego had been dinged when she’d publically rejected him last night, she got that. But the depth of his anger confused her. “We’re friends,” she said softly.
The sound of his boot dropping to the floor echoed throughout the small cabin. He didn’t say anything as he stood up and marched toward the kitchen at the back of the A-frame. Laurel followed behind him, surreptitiously taking in the starkness of the living area. Sam had lived in Glacier Creek for a month, yet he hadn’t made any effort to make the cabin his own.
“I know you’re mad about what I said last night,” Laurel said as she entered the modern kitchen with its panoramic view of the Rocky Mountains. “But I honestly didn’t know how to define our relationship when both of us can’t even figure out what this is between us.”
He was mute as he pulled a beer from the fridge and opened the tab. Reaching into a cabinet, Sam took out a bottle of ibuprofen. He downed three of the tablets with a healthy swallow of beer. Laurel opened her mouth to point out that mixing medicine with alcohol probably wasn’t a good idea, but when she met Sam’s annoyed gaze, she thought better of it.
“You just defined what ‘this’ is, Laurel,” he said as he slid past her, making his way up the stairs to the bedroom. “We’re friends. You just conveniently ignored the with benefits aspect of our friendship.”
“If that’s the case, then why are you so angry?” she demanded as she stomped up the stairs after him.
“Jesus, woman, I’m not angry. I’m fucking tired. And filthy.” He yanked off his Henley and his T-shirt and tossed them into a pile on the floor. “The last thing I want to do tonight is stand around here and talk about my feelings. Instead, what I want is a hot shower and a soft bed. You’re welcome to join me in either or both of those, but not if you’re going to examine our relationship under a microscope the whole time.”
Sam yanked at his zipper and shoved his jeans and his black boxer briefs down his muscled legs. Laurel swallowed roughly, watching him stroll naked toward the large walk-in shower. He chugged what remained of his beer while the water heated up, never bothering to spare a glance at her.
Bull crap, he wasn’t angry. She should call him out on it, but she didn’t want to be a bully after he’d spent the last twenty-four hours fighting a fire. Instead, she stood motionless, foolishly admiring the view.
Get out, her heart and her brain yelled at her. But her feet seemed to be glued to the floor. Sam stepped into the shower and Laurel tossed her hat onto the bed in defeat. Just once more, she reasoned with herself. It’s likely to be another long dry spell after this.
Laurel toed off her boots and stripped before she could change her mind. If Sam was surprised when she slipped into the two-person shower, he didn’t show it. His only tell was a slight softening of his mouth as he massaged shampoo into his scalp.
Water from the three jets sluiced over his hard body and Laurel cataloged the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that hadn’t been there a day ago. Battle scars from his profession. She ignored the anxiety his wounds provoked, instead pouring body wash into her palm before stepping behind Sam. He groaned softly when she began to knead the muscles on his shoulders before trailing her fingers down his spine. She inhaled the scent of soap and aroused male as her lips followed her fingers over his slick skin. White heat shot to her core the more she touched him. Unable to contain herself any longer, Laurel reached her hands around Sam’s torso to wrap her fingers around his erection. He swore when she pressed her wet body flat against his, her teeth grazing his shoulder.
Swiftly, Sam spun around and dipped his head to kiss her. His mouth was demanding and the force of their kiss had her leaning on the smooth tile of the shower for support. The soapy suds created an exciting friction between their bodies and Laurel wrapped her hands around Sam’s neck to keep from sliding to the floor. He reached for her leg and lifted her knee so her calf wrapped around his ass. Taking her mouth in another hungry kiss, he slipped a finger inside of her, teasing her sweet spot.
“Sam,” she cried. “Please.”
He entered her with one single thrust and the pleasure was so exquisite Laurel banged her head against the wall. Sam shifted their bodies so the spray of the water was at his back as he pushed into her again and again.
Sam abruptly stilled, causing a moan of frustration to escape Laurel’s chest.
“Open your eyes, Laurel,” he demanded.
Her breathing was fractured and she could only manage to lift her eyelids halfway. Sam’s gaze was intense as he studied her, his eyes seeming to encourage her when he slid in sharply again and again. Her climax overtook her without warning, the intensity of it nearly forcing her to her knees had she not had her arms locked around Sam’s shoulders.
Sam’s mouth grew tight as her body convulsed around him. He swore and jerked free of her. Using his elbow, he pressed the lever controlling the water so that the jets turned off. Then he pushed open the shower door. He grabbed for a bath sheet and wrapped it around Laurel’s trembling body before guiding her toward the bedroom.
She sat on the edge of the bed as Sam dug through the pile of clothes to retrieve his wallet. Laurel would have laughed at his desperation, but the pained look on his face stopped her. The hunger and heat in his eyes took her breath away. She leaned back on her elbows, letting the towel fall open in invitation. He hissed when he rolled the condom over his erection.
“Flip,” he commanded as he prowled toward the bed.
Laurel sucked in a breath before doing as he asked. His body was damp and hot when it covered hers. Reaching beneath
her stomach he lifted her up to her hands and knees. Sam’s breath was raspy against her ear. His fingers found her nipples. She rocked back against his arousal and he took her earlobe between his teeth. The pleasure and the pain of it made her cry out.
Sam reached for her hip with one of his hands, anchoring her body to his as he slid inside of her. “This is what our relationship is, Laurel,” he said. “This amazing physical connection.”
He began to move inside of her, slowly at first, making her body anxious and fretful. She writhed beneath him, but he didn’t adjust the pace. His finger slipped down between her legs to flick over her sweet spot, teasing her body so it was drawn tight like a bow. Laurel squirmed even more, desperate to find her release.
“Damn it, Sam!” He’d reduced to her begging again.
“This is all I can give you, Laurel.” He breathed the words next to her ear. “I wish I could give you more, but I can’t. I’d only fuck it up. And you deserve more. You deserve a guy who can give you his whole heart.”
He drove in and out of her then, his powerful thrusts shaking the bed. Laurel was glad to have her back to him, so he wouldn’t see the tears his words had brought to her eyes. She didn’t want another guy’s heart. She wanted Sam’s.
Her climax was the catalyst to his. Sam sank his teeth into her shoulder when his body shook with his release. They stayed upright for several long moments, Sam’s body cocooning hers while their breathing slowly returned to normal.
Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) Page 11