Charming the Firefighter

by Beth Andrews

  She climbed the stairs, inserted the key, gave it its customary jiggle and opened the door. Shoving her sunglasses on top of her head, she entered the cottage. “Most folks around here don’t bother locking their doors. The citizens of Quincey are good people.”

  She’d locked this door only so he’d have to check in and sign the lease before moving in.

  After grabbing his duffel, he followed her, saying nothing. He kept his sunglasses on. Too bad. She’d like to see those blue eyes. It was easier to judge a man’s character that way. He carried her basket as if it held fresh manure, but she wouldn’t let his poor manners get to her.

  “As you can see, the place is fully furnished. Sofa, chairs, TV, but no cable. Madison, our landlord, provides wireless internet. The password is written on a card in the basket, along with a listing for local TV stations, fire and police departments’ numbers, a trustworthy auto mechanic, etc. Your copy of the lease agreement’s also in that envelope. I’ll give you time to read over it before you sign, but I’ll need it back this evening.

  “Water, electricity and internet are included in your rental fee. If you want satellite, you’ll have to pay for it and have it installed yourself. There are plates, utensils, and pots and pans in the kitchen, but there isn’t any bakeware. If you need that, I have some you can borrow.”

  “I won’t.”

  She suspected his good looks had contributed to his lack of personality. At least, that was how it had worked with her siblings. The better-looking their dates, the worse their dispositions. And Sam Rivers was definitely top-notch in the looks department, from his short, spiky hair to his stubble-covered square chin and fitness magazine–cover body.

  She walked down the short hall. “Water from the tap is safe to drink. You don’t have to waste money buying bottled water.” She flipped a wrist. “Washer-dryer here. Spare sheets and towels are on the shelf above them. Bathroom there. Bedroom here. I put clean sheets on the bed today. I have a grill on my back patio. You’re welcome to use it. And of course, you saw the pool, but you’ll need to bring your own lawn chair and swim at your own risk. There’s no lifeguard on duty.”

  He didn’t even crack a smile. What a grouch. He stepped into the bedroom, being careful to keep a few yards between them, and glanced around.

  “The chickens are egg layers,” she added. “You’re welcome to as many as you can eat. The eggs. Not the chickens.” Again, nothing. Man, he was a hard case. “Don’t worry about the skunk in the barn. He’s descented.”

  “Skunk?”

  Of all she’d said, that was what got his attention? “Yes, he’s the landlord’s pet. Don’t let him out of the cage—no matter how much he begs. Do you need a ride back to your vehicle? I’ll help you unpack it.”

  He lifted his bag slightly. “This is it.”

  “Not staying long?”

  “Do you always ask so many questions?”

  “Do you always avoid answering them?”

  “Thanks for the tour, June. I won’t keep you from your pool party any longer. Better get back before someone steals your seat.”

  So he got her jokes. He just didn’t have a sense of humor. And he was observant. “I’m next door, if you need anything. My cell number’s in the envelope, too. Text or call if you have a question or problem. I’ve lived in Quincey most of my life. If I don’t know the answer, I know where to find it. Also, there are some pretty good hiking trails down near the river. I can show them to you sometime, if you’re interested. Welcome to the neighborhood, Sam.”

  She stuck out her hand. He ignored it and jerked a nod instead. She couldn’t help but feel insulted. Good thing her landlord was about to move to a larger, more affluent veterinary practice and didn’t need the rent money from this jerk, because June was hoping Sam Rivers wouldn’t be around for long.

  * * *

  SAM SET HIS keys on the dresser after a fruitless trip to town. Movement outside the single bedroom window caught his eye. He paused to watch the blonde make her way toward the barn. She’d released her hair from the stubby ponytail and put on clothes.

  Too bad.

  Negative. He was grateful she’d covered all that golden skin. June might be nice eye candy, but he didn’t need the complication. Slip in. Slip out. Leave no trace or ties. That was his MO in the field and out of it. And nothing would change that.

  Jeans skimmed her legs and a red polo shirt clung to the breasts that had been about to spill out of her bikini top. The lace-up boots on her feet were a surprise. Her ruffled bathing suit and sequined flip-flops had led him to believe she was a heels kind of girl...even without pedicured toenails, which his sisters considered a necessity of life.

  June hadn’t been the least bit self-conscious playing tour guide in a bikini, but then, she shouldn’t be, with her compact, fit figure. He hadn’t seen any fat on her, just curves. Oh yeah, she had those. In all the right places. And slipping her number into the food basket she wouldn’t let him refuse... He shook his head. He had to hand it to her. She wasn’t shy. But then, women weren’t these days—especially around a military base. Sometimes that was convenient. Now wasn’t one of those times.

  Roth must have put her up to it. His buddy probably thought Sam needed the distraction. Why else park him next to a beauty? Thanks to the surgeries and the end of his career, Sam hadn’t been up for any drama of the female variety in months. It had been one hell of a long five months. But his life was a three-ring goat screw at the moment. He had no direction, and he wasn’t dragging anyone else into that mess—even temporarily.

  June disappeared into the barn. His neighbor was nothing more than another meddling female, albeit an attractive one with her bright green eyes and blond hair that dusted her shoulders, but the last thing he needed was another nosy woman trying to manage his life. He grimaced at the reminder that he hadn’t informed his family of his status change or relocation. He should, but if he made that call, his parents, three older sisters, their husbands and their entourage of noisy teenage daughters would convoy down from Crossville to offer love, support and advice he didn’t want or need.

  Translation: they’d smother him, try to baby him and tell him what to do.

  After watching the way his mother and half sisters had worried each time his dad was deployed, Sam had learned to keep his trap shut regarding his location. The less they knew, the less they worried. His family had his and Roth’s cell numbers, in the event of an emergency. That was all they needed. And Roth had his momma’s.

  The whole lot of them resided in Tennessee, eight hours from Quincey, the same distance it had been from Quantico. Yet the long drive hadn’t kept his family from ambushing him. After a surgery a few years back, some shavetail Louie had called Sam’s mother instead of Roth, Sam’s primary contact, and the whole extended clan had descended on him like ants on a picnic. While he’d been laid up in the hospital, his sisters had rearranged his tiny apartment, thrown out food and possessions and replaced them with crap he’d never touched except to put it in the Dumpster. They’d grilled all his apartment neighbors to find out who he was dating and how long he’d been seeing them. He’d learned his lesson, and he wasn’t setting himself up for that kind of “help” again.

  Sam would show up at his parents’ place when he was ready for company and the females’ tag-team analysis torture. That wouldn’t be anytime soon.

  Separation from the corps still ached like a recent amputation. Until he was past the rawness and had an idea of what he was going to do with his future or how he’d get reassigned to a base, he didn’t need a bunch of hens clucking around him and telling him how to live his life. That included his temporary neighbor.

  His phone vibrated. The screen indicated a text message from Roth.

  Settled in yet?

  Affirmative. In my hide, Sam tapped back. Streets rolled up at dusk. Grocery store closed before I could stock up.

  Yep. At six on Saturday. Welcome to Quincey. Backwoods, USA. Need anything?

  Ca
lling would have been easier than texting, but Roth had insisted no one, not even his wife, know the real reason Sam was here until he reported for duty. Conversations could be overheard, and info was on a need-to-know basis.

  Negative. I have rations. Did you send her?

  Who?

  The blonde.

  There was a pause before the next text came through.

  June?

  Yeah.

  No. Why?

  She brought food.

  Eat whatever she cooks—especially her brownies. She’s famous for those.

  Except for extracting the lease, Sam had left the basket untouched on the coffee table. For dinner he’d planned to eat one of the MREs in his bag. Brownies sounded better. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one. He headed for the living room/kitchen combo.

  The cottage wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was clean, comfortable and a hell of a lot nicer than most of the places he’d slept since enlisting. He kept a rat rack in Q-Town. It was more like a hotel room than an apartment, but it came furnished and made dealing with his stuff during deployments uncomplicated.

  Had kept, that is. Everything he owned was packed into his Charger. Turning in the key this morning after keeping the place so long had been...an adjustment.

  Did she ask about your job? Roth wrote.

  Tried. I didn’t crack.

  Good. Word spreads faster than flu in Q, and it’s imperative that no one know you’re investigating my squad.

  Affirmative.

  What do you think of her?

  What did he think? Words tripped through his head. Attractive. Annoying. Aggressive. Available. But he settled for typing, Nosy.

  Everyone here is. See you Tuesday 6 a.m. Acclimatize till then.

  Roger.

  Sam deleted the texts, pocketed his phone, then filled a glass with tap water and returned to the basket. Beneath the red-and-white-checked cloth napkin he discovered neatly stacked resealable plastic containers. He located one neatly labeled Brownies with Walnuts, grabbed it and headed for the front porch with his makeshift dinner. The minute he opened his door a mouthwatering aroma assaulted his taste buds. His stomach grumbled. Trying to ID the scent, he parked his tail in a rocking chair.

  A rocking chair, for pity’s sake. Like a geriatric retiree. He pushed that U-G-L-Y visual aside.

  Chicken. Someone was grilling chicken. One from the henhouse? His lips twitched when he recalled June’s remark. Blondie had a sense of humor. Blocking out the memory of her sparkling green eyes and the tantalizing smell, he bit into a brownie. The rich chocolaty taste of the moist treat almost made him groan. He shoved the remainder of the square into his mouth and reached for another.

  “Do you always eat dessert first?”

  He jumped. His neighbor had snuck up on him. Nobody ever got the drop on him. In his line of work—former line of work—that meant death or torture. Preferably the former. He swallowed.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” June stood on the ground beside his porch watching him through the pickets.

  “You didn’t.”

  Her megawatt smile revealed she knew he’d lied. “If you say so, Rivers. I heard the store closed before you got there.”

  Had she spoken to Roth? “How?”

  “Lesson one about Quincey. People here know what you’re doing before you do. And they talk about it. Gossip is our local sport and we have the championship team.”

  He’d known he was being watched when he’d hiked back to get his car, but he’d hoped to blend in with the weekend antiques hunters wandering the streets. He’d have to work harder at moving under the radar if he was going to do his job well.

  She lifted another plastic container the shrubbery had hidden from view. “Here’s half a beer-can chicken, a couple of ears of grilled corn—locally grown—and some garlic-cheddar biscuits.”

  His taste buds snapped to attention, but the rest of him balked. He wasn’t stupid. There was only one reason a woman baked and cooked for a man, slipped him her number and offered to show him hiking trails while wearing a bikini that displayed the smorgasbord on offer. The phrase she’d said when they first met echoed in his head. I’ve been waiting for you, she’d said in that throaty voice of hers.

  Sam did not need any local honey sticking to his feet and making extraction difficult. The best thing he could do was head her off at the pass. It would save them both a lot of embarrassment later.

  “June, I appreciate your generosity, but I’m a no-strings kind of guy. I am not looking for a relationship.”

  Her spine snapped as straight as a new recruit’s. Then crimson flagged her cheekbones. “Zip it, Rivers. I’m not trying to get into your britches. I’m only being neighborly and looking out for you the way Madison asked me to. I brought food to get you through until you can get to the store tomorrow afternoon. They don’t open until twelve-thirty on Sundays—after the owner gets out of church. Ditto the diner.”

  She shoved the container under the porch rail. “It’s not like I lit candles, slipped into something sexy and invited you over. Eat this or don’t. I could not care less if you starve. But don’t leave my dishes outside. The nocturnal critters will destroy them.

  “You’re on your own for breakfast, though. Like I said, there will be eggs in the coop. Get ’em yourself. If you dare. Brittany has a sharp beak and a mean streak. I’ll let you figure out which hen she is.”

  Then she pivoted and stalked across the grass toward her rear patio. Chagrinned, Sam mentally smacked his forehead and silently cursed as he watched the angry swing of her departing hips. Infiltrating meant making nice with the locals and blending in—something he’d done hundreds, no, thousands, of times. But he’d struck out on both counts with his new neighbor. Her observations also made him realize that if he wanted to keep his privacy, he’d better shop outside of town.

  As for donning something sexy...if June could see the way those jeans hugged her butt, she’d realize she was far off target on that comment.

  Worse, he’d forgotten to give her the signed lease. He’d have to face her again tonight...unless he could figure out a way to circumnavigate that land mine.

  Copyright © 2014 by Emilie Rose Cunningham

  ISBN-13: 9781460344057

  Charming the Firefighter

  Copyright © 2014 by Beth Burgoon

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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