by Marie Harte
Carrie shot her a look. “So, what’s your damage tonight, woman? I thought you said the horny cowboy looked too good to be true and you were glad to be done with him. Now you’re telling me you two will be working together for the next two weeks while you shadow the fire department. Why?”
“I wish I knew.” Bree slowly sat back up, letting the blood rush from her head and enjoying the dizzy feeling. “Dad liked him, but when he mentioned maybe assigning someone else, I couldn’t go through with it. First of all, that would be letting my personal life interfere with my professional one. I mean, Tex’s lieutenant gave him the okay. He might be a dick, but he seems good at his job.”
“Okay, that’s first of all.” Carrie nodded. “What’s second?”
“Second, there’s no way I can let my dad know I even thought about dating a fireman.”
“So, you’re twenty-seven and still being bossed around by your daddy.” After a pause, Carrie added, “Having met John Gilchrist, I concede your point. What else?”
“My third and final issue…I still get nervous when he’s around.”
“Your dad? I know. We just confirmed that you’re a twenty-seven-year-old tween.”
“No, doofus. Tex.” Thoughts of him stirred an odd sensation in her belly, a flurry of excitement she had a hard time ignoring. “He’s freaking hot, and he keeps acting like he’s totally into me. It’s messing with my head.”
“You—”
“I know I should kick him firmly to the curb,” Bree interrupted. “I meant to. I did twice before. Then he makes these excuses, and I find myself wanting to believe him.”
“Hell, I’m just glad I don’t have to go up against that charmer in court.” Carrie shot her a disgusted look. “I should pity you.”
“Shut up.”
“But instead, I’m deeply ashamed. Your honor, I call to the stand…”
“No. Please, not the fake court proceedings.”
“…Ms. Bree Needs a Man to Be Complete.”
“Ambulance chaser.”
Carrie chuckled. “So sad.”
Bree frowned. Even she knew that corporate litigation was worlds away from tort litigation. “I tried. Lame lawyer. Crooked counselor. Ha!”
Carried rolled her eyes.
“Ack. I know. They’re pathetic. Just pick an insult.”
“You’re out of order.” Carrie’s dark eyes sparkled. “Now, Ms. Needs a Man, please tell the court why you can’t say no to the long, tall Texan.”
“I need to get laid.”
“Granted. And?”
“And I need to have better standards because I only deserve someone who will treat me right.” Bree both loathed and loved these conversations with Carrie. They reminded her of all she’d overcome up to this point in her life. And all she still had to work on. “Why can’t I be more like you?”
“The judge would normally overrule this as outside the scope of the question, but I’ll allow it.” Carrie gave her a smug smile. “Go on. Tell the court why I’m so worthy of emulation.”
“You and your million-dollar words,” Bree muttered. She cleared her throat, took a sip of juice, and just said it. “You go your own way and fuck everyone else. They tell you you’ve gained a few too many pounds for a photoshoot? You tell the photographer to kiss your ass. The agent isn’t pleased with your attitude? He can go fuck himself. Your boss tries to sexually harass you? You laugh in his face and tell him he’s the reason you’re a lesbian.”
“He’s not, but the insult was too good to pass up. What else?” Carrie waved at her to continue.
“Isn’t that enough?”
“No. I also don’t cleave to put-downs from a jealous stepsister. I’m okay admitting I go to therapy because it’s not a big deal. It’s called being normal.” She pointedly looked at Bree’s blushing cheeks. “And I’m happily hopping beds at the moment because I can’t decide if Cheryl or Mattie fits me best, and until I’m ready to commit, I need to be free to choose. And they both know about it because I’m not a dog.”
“A bitch is a female dog, and you claim to like being a b-word.”
“I am a bitch, and I wear the moniker with pride. But I’m not a liar or a cheat. I don’t have ex-girlfriends throwing water on me in a restaurant. When I say I’ll be there for a date, I’m there, or I communicate if I’ll be late.”
“All good points.”
“I know.” Carrie flicked invisible lint off her suit jacket, because yes, Carrie liked to relax while still styling. The weirdo.
“I wish I could be so confident.”
“Hey, it’s taken a lot of years and a lot of wading through other people’s bullshit to get this fierce. But at least your parents aren’t homophobes. So, I’ve got that not going for me.”
They clinked glasses again and finished off their juices. “Am I winning or losing this court case, your honor? I can’t remember.”
“Well, you’re a loser because you threw perfectly good caramel corn all over my carpet.”
“Nag, nag.” Bree picked up the pieces and tossed them in the kitchen trash before joining Carrie once more. “I know I should talk to a therapist about this new inability to steer clear of problem men.” At least she’d been doing better to put her animosity toward Melissa on the backburner.
“It’s only one problem man, though, isn’t it? You haven’t been dating in a while.”
“True. I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t had the time.” Which should have rung true for the too-attractive fireman. There was just something about Tex McGovern. She wished she could easily forget him. Unfortunately, the memory of him had stuck with her for months. “Like a bad case of the plague,” she muttered.
“When you start talking to yourself, I get really worried.” Carrie laughed at the finger Bree gave her. “Easy, girl. You know this will work out okay. Just do your job, keep your legs closed, and remember that ‘sex’ is a three-letter word.”
“So what?”
“So, ‘love’ is a four-letter word. And that’s what you really want, isn’t it?”
“I hate to tell you this, but ‘fuck’ is a four-letter word too. And it’s the word my brain seems stuck on whenever I look into Tex’s lying eyes.” Eyes that happened to be silver, enticing, and confusing—that about summed up Tex McGovern in a nutshell.
“For God’s sake.” Carrie huffed. “Your problem is you’re pent up. Go have a nice night with one of the guys in your little black book.”
“Um, it’s pink. I tossed the black book a few months ago.”
Carrie sneered. “Pink. Ugh. Why not add more stereotypes to your life? You’re a girl who loves pink. And what, are you a dumb blond too? A daddy’s girl?”
“Hey. I like pink. I’m not stupid—”
“Debatable.”
“—but I do love my dad.”
Carrie paused. “Well, actually I do too. Pink is fun, and your dad’s amazing. But we don’t want to satisfy anyone’s expectations. We mean to break them. No, even better, exceed them.”
“Um, er, right.” Even for Carrie, her zeal tonight seemed a bit much.
Carrie must have realized it. “Sorry, I’m so buzzy. I won our case today for my client. She kept the majority of the company…worth twenty-five million! Her scum-sucking partner was nearly crying when we were done. My bosses are super happy with me.” Carrie beamed. “So, I’m a little man-hating and anti-bad-relationships tonight. I know, I don’t do divorce work, but corporate work can feel like a divorce when the company breaks up. And my client’s partner was a huge dick.”
“Geez, Carrie. Why didn’t you lead with your win when I walked in the door?” Bree gave her best friend a huge hug before settling back on the couch. “Instead, you let me go on and on about my pathetic problems. I’m so happy for you!”
“Me too.” Carrie smiled, and that genuine joy me
lted her icy demeanor, leaving her the warm, loving woman Bree had clicked with upon first meeting. Though very different, the two of them were soul sisters. That Melissa hated Carrie only made it more obvious what a gem Bree had found in her best friend.
She firmed her resolve. “I’ll deal with Tex. He’s nothing more than a blip on my professional radar.”
“Good for you. And hey, if it gets too bad, just sleep with him and get him out of your system. Then work the hell out of your new grant project.”
“I can do that. Not the sex part, but the picture taking.”
“Uh-huh.” Carrie gave her the eye. “Just remember that any man who looks like Tex and has that many exes isn’t the safest guy to sleep with, if you get my meaning.”
“Not going there.”
“Right. I’ll tuck a few condoms in your bag just in case.”
“Do it and die.”
Carrie stood and looked down at her.
“Well, you’ll metaphorically die from all my loathing and disdain.” Bree paused, then muttered, “Not like I could reach that scrawny neck to strangle you.”
“It’s good to have dreams, little girl.”
“You know only three inches separate us, right?”
Carrie’s grin looked more menacing than happy. “Whatever. Now quit it with all the chitchat and let me tell you about this hot waitress I was talking to during my lunch break.”
“What about Cheryl and Mattie?”
“Hey, I have a lot of love to give. Don’t rain on my million-dollar parade.”
“And you call Tex a stud? You could give him lessons in breaking hearts.”
“Aw, you say the sweetest things.”
Chapter Four
Wednesday morning, Bree watched Tex stroll into Sofa’s Bakery at nine on the dot, swaggering like he owned the place. After having wrangled with one of the owners, a kind though sarcastic friend Bree had known since her modeling days, she now sat with a vanilla latte she hadn’t asked for as well as a tray full of goodies. Apparently, a plain coffee and breakfast cookie were “way too pedestrian” for a woman like her. Who knew?
“He makes one wrong move toward you and I’ll end him,” Elliot, her overzealous friend, had threatened before seating her near the front counter, where he’d be able to overhear everything.
But as Tex ambled—there was no other word for his lazy but controlled stride—toward her table, Elliot muttered, “Holy croissant, but that man is buttery goodness all rolled up into hot crossed buns…of steel. Would you look at those thighs.” He winked at her, intentionally overdoing it to make her laugh.
She had to bite her lip not to, though she mentally agreed. She shot the busybody a dark look to let him know what she thought of his comments.
“Sorry, sorry.” Elliot left her to help his sister fix a few drinks and serve new customers.
Wearing a working uniform of dark-blue Nomex pants, a button-up Seattle FD shirt, and dark-black boots, Tex looked like a walking advertisement to protect and serve. Or, you know, strip down on a stage.
She itched to take a few photos of him and forced herself to relax.
He nodded at her. “Mornin’, Bree.”
“And that accent,” she heard clearly from Elliot’s direction. “Cream my bagel and butter my toast.”
Bree coughed to cover her laughter.
“Ease up, Elliot.” His sister sighed. “It’s going to be a long-ass morning.”
“Good morning,” Bree said to Tex, hoping he hadn’t heard or understood Elliot talking about him. The man didn’t need another fan in his corner. “Have a seat.”
He sat, said nothing more, and waited.
She waited in silence with him.
After a minute, he smiled. Which caused her to smile then try to hide it with a frown.
His smile grew wider.
Elliot brought a coffee for Tex. “Welcome to Sofa’s. Any friend of Bree’s is a friend of mine.”
Where the hell had the threats and taking her side gone? The way of a pretty face, that’s where. She shot Elliot another dirty look. He winked and left, whistling.
She glared after him. “I’m not leaving you a tip.”
He snorted and turned around to wave at Tex. “Enjoy the food, and don’t let Miss Bossy keep you away when you become addicted to me.”
Trust Elliot to add his own flavor to her morning.
Tex blinked. “Addicted to him?”
“To his food. He takes his catering and baking seriously.” She bit into an apricot tart and cursed Elliot for being so good at his job.
When she’d finished the treat, she noted Tex staring at her. “What?”
“I’ve never seen anyone eat so fast in my life. And I live and work with people constantly on the go.”
She ignored the heat in her cheeks. “I like sweets.”
He sipped his coffee and polished off his croissant, a blondie, and two pastries before he said, “You broke the silence first, so I win.”
“Real mature, Roger.”
He flushed. “I hate that name.”
“It doesn’t quite fit, does it?” She laughed. “Fine, you win.” Pause. “Roger.”
“Call me Tex, or I’ll make the next two weeks miserable.”
It took her a moment to process the threat, because it had been delivered so politely in that deep voice. Man, he might be able to hold his own in an argument with Carrie. “Don’t get your panties in a knot…Tex.” She loved that she’d gotten under his skin. His warm, manly, rough-where-it-counted skin.
She blew out a breath, calming her unwelcome arousal. Real professional, Bree.
Tex cocked his head, appearing concerned. “You all right?”
Now feeling like an idiot, she cleared her throat and nodded. “Peachy. Okay. Do-over. Tex, for the next two weeks, you’re my shadow while we move through the city and Seattle’s Fire Department. I’m open to what you have to show me. And I’d appreciate it if you treated this seriously.”
“Trust me. I know this is a big deal. With my LT, captain, and the battalion chief watching where this goes, I’ll be on my best behavior.”
She didn’t trust that smile. It looked sincere and innocent, but she’d swear something darker lurked behind Tex’s silver-eyed promise.
“Okay then. This should go well.”
“I hope so.” He waited for her to finish a croissant, because what the hell, she needed a boost in fortitude, then left a large tip in the jar on the counter before walking her to her car. “Follow me to the station, and we’ll take the ‘company car.’” He used air quotes. “I’m authorized to use a battalion vehicle for your project.”
“Okay.”
He looked her over, grunted, then left for his truck.
“Huh. What did that mean?” She followed after him, focusing on what kind of shots she wanted to get, pictures of the hardworking firefighters of Seattle doing a sometimes thankless job. Of them interacting with the community, surely. And with any luck—and she felt terrible hoping for it—some really big fire (where no one got hurt) that she could capture on film.
She arrived at Seattle’s newest fire station and parked near Tex’s truck. Station 44, part of her father’s battalion, sat between the Beacon Hill, NewHolly, and South Beacon Hill areas, providing greater assistance to Fifth Battalion’s responsibilities.
The outside looked typical: a large, two-story, brick building situated on a busy road. The attached bay, otherwise known as a garage, housed the engine and medical vehicles. The building itself provided a large area for the thirty-six firefighters and administrators who worked there—not all at the same time, obviously.
“You ready to go inside and look around?” Tex asked, now wearing a Station 44 ballcap.
“What is it with you and hats?” she asked, gripping her camera bag. “You going bald o
r something?” Not that a lack of hair would harm his good looks.
He held a hand over his heart. “Words can wound, Ms. Gilchrist. Bald? Please. We McGoverns never go bald. Gray, sure. But that’s on account of the women in our lives.”
“I dare you to say that to your mother.” She squelched a tingle of excitement when he put a hand on the small of her back to guide her inside the open bay housing the engine truck, E44. Several men were cleaning Aid 44, one of the medical trucks beside it, and stopped to stare.
“I’m not as stupid as I must look,” Tex said with a grin. “No way in hell I mess with my momma. She’s got a mean right.”
“No, he really is as dumb as he looks.” Mack came forward, all smiles. “I just want to apologize in advance.”
She took a cautious step back and bumped into Tex. Mack, with that large grin and bright eyes, was a hunk of man candy for sure. And an all-around nice guy she’d enjoyed during the calendar shoot a month ago. “Apologize for what?”
“That you have that guiding you around.” He nodded at Tex. “They didn’t choose me to show you around, I think because the LT was afraid you’d be too distracted by all this”—he waved a hand at himself—“to get your work done.”
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Oh, right. All of you are this bad. I’d forgotten.”
Reggie walked around the medical truck, rubbing his hands with a cloth. “No, that’s just Thing One and Thing Two. The rest of us are normal.”
“Yeah, right,” Mack huffed.
“Nice to see you again, Bree.”
“You too, Reggie.”
Talk about a heartthrob, flashing those pearly whites, a smile in his kind eyes, and those biceps. She had to take a few shots. Quickly digging in her camera bag, she pulled out her Nikon and started taking pictures of Reggie and Mack. A glance down at her view screen showed lighting issues, and she hung the camera around her neck by its strap as she jotted down some notes in a notepad.
“Um, do you need any help?” Tex asked after a moment.
She glanced up to realize a few more firefighters had joined them. “Oh, sorry. It’s going to be like this for the next two weeks. I’ll need to figure out lighting and timing, maybe take some photos from different perspectives, add some filters… Hmm.” She was talking to herself, ignoring Tex, but this time not on purpose, fully immersed in her work.