Heat singed Santos’s face as he ran toward the crackling flames that had almost reached the other side of the large pond. About sixty yards to the right, a tree burst into flames. Stinging sparks carried on the wind, settling on everything and igniting small fires. Every nerve in his body rebelled at taking the man who was fast becoming his amorzinho, his little love, toward danger.
Santos hit the cold water with a splash that immediately soaked through his jeans and filled his boots. Stopping, he set Tristen down before struggling to get the now heavy boots and jeans off. At the last second, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket.
Clad only in a T-shirt and boxer-briefs, Santos lifted Tristen, who was fighting to get his cowboy boot off his foot. Pinning him against his body, Santos began pushing through the water, holding the blanket, phone, and Tristen. All the while he ignored Tristen’s complaints about his own wet clothes and boots, and demands to let him swim.
Santos didn’t stop until the water was up to his neck. “Put your arms and legs around me,” he ordered. His entire focus had become survival.
Glancing around, Santos saw they weren’t far enough away from the edges of the pond. After handing the blanket to Tristen, Santos began swimming toward the center of the pond with Tristen wrapped around him like a monkey.
By the time Santos was treading water in the middle, Tristen had the lightweight silver blanket covering their heads.
“I’m too heavy.” Tristen’s lips brushed against his ear. “I need to take off the boots and jeans.”
“We need to call Roman.” Santos continued to tread water. Smoke seeped under the blanket, making it hard to breathe.
Tristen leaned sideways while reaching down under the water. When his head went below the surface, Santos knew he was okay, but it bothered him.
Tristen lifted his head with a sputter. Water plastered his hair against his head. “Okay, I got my cowboy boot off. Now give me the phone.”
Santos could hear sparks and debris hitting the blanket. And the heat was increasing. Sweat joined the moisture in his hair and trickled down his neck. Tristen took the phone out of his hand.
Tristen opened the cover of the specialized all-terrain phone Morgan had provided the team with. “Holy crap, it’s working,” Tristen exclaimed. “I didn’t think it would after it got all wet.”
“Hurry, querido,” Santos urged, his voice becoming intense. He tried to sound calm but wasn’t succeeded. “Things are going to get tough soon.”
Tristen paused while pushing some buttons. Their eyes met. Santos saw the moment understanding dawned in Tristen’s wide-eyed gaze. Tristen nodded, and soon Santos heard the phone ringing. The beautiful man put the phone to his ear.
“Hello.” Roman answered the phone.
“Captain, I’ve got trouble,” Santos said, feeling relieved. “We had a lot of lightning here last night, and now we are in the middle of a fire. Tristen and I are in the lake under a fire blanket.”
“How close is it?” Roman’s voice had gone into professional mode.
“It’s almost on us, and it’s burning on all sides.” The space under the blanket was becoming stifling. “We’re running out of time. I need to get off the phone. We’re going to have to get under the water.”
“We’ll be there as quick as we can. Expect the helicopter,” Roman said before there was only silence.
Santos looked at Tristen. “Are you ready to do this? We have to stay together, so I want you to keep holding on to me, just like when we were in the pool.”
A tree exploding into flames drowned out Tristen’s answer. Drops that sounded like rain plopped onto the blanket. But Santos knew it wasn’t rain. It was fire. His skin started to sting from the intense heat.
Santos let go of the phone and held on to his precious amorzinho before taking them both below the surface. At the last second, he reached up and grabbed onto the material of the blanket.
The water was cool against his skin. Santos opened his eyes to see Tristen looking at him through the clear water. He ignored his need for air by watching Tristen’s long hair float around his head in a halo of gold.
Tristen began to struggle and point up. Santos took them to the surface, aiming for the floating blanket. Tristen’s gasp for air could be heard under the blanket. Santos wasn’t so lucky. As he pulled acidic, burning, smoky air into his lungs, sizzling clumps of ashes fell onto his exposed skin and wet T-shirt. He had missed the blanket’s protection. Keeping a firm hold on Tristen, Santos took them under again.
Santos lost track of time. His efforts at keeping them alive were exhausting. Tristen no longer indicated when he needed air. Somewhere during their fight for life, Tristen had lost his medical boot and jeans. Now, when they needed to go to the surface, he helped their ascent by kicking his feet. Otherwise, Tristen held on to Santos, kept his eyes closed, and leaned his head on Santo’s shoulder.
After what seemed like forever, above them the water began churning. A muted but unmistakable whop, whop, whop reached Santos’s ears, and ripples raced across the water. Kicking hard, he got them to the surface. The blessed view of the Rescue for Hire West helicopter circling high above them had happiness soothing some of the fatigue weighing down his limbs.
“Amorzinho, we’re getting out of here.” Santos shook Tristen hard, trying to rouse him. The small man only opened his eyes halfway, but he did manage a smile. The gray tinge of his skin and blue lips sent a shard of icy fear down Santos’s spine. Santos needed the team to get Tristen out of the water now.
The time he’d spent in the water was taking its toll. Santos struggled against the pounding waves and wind pressure caused by the helicopter’s blades. The helicopter now hovered above them, and he saw one of his teammates preparing to descend. Santos couldn’t hold out anymore and slipped beneath the surface.
Willpower and his growing feelings for Tristen were the only things that had him fighting back to the surface. The muscles of Santos’s legs and shoulders burned from the battle he was asking them to maintain. With Tristen’s help, they broke through the water.
An arm clasp Santos around his shoulders, pulling him back against a wide chest and giving his weary body some much-needed relief.
“The basket is almost here,” Isaiah yelled above the noise of the helicopter’s engine and blades. “Do you have enough left to help me get Tristen into it?”
Santos nodded. Nothing else mattered than getting Tristen in the wire life-saving device and safely to the helicopter.
The basket landed a few feet away from them. Santos grabbed the side, letting the flotation devices attached to the wire cage hold him up. Isaiah swam next to Santos.
Isaiah pulled a life preserver out of the cage and, in seconds, had Tristen in it. “Okay, let’s get him in,” he shouted to Santos.
Santos knew what he had to do. The team had been training for months on the correct procedures. In his mind he followed the steps that were required to get Tristen from the water into the cage. Isaiah might have had to do most of the work, but his anjinho ended up secured on the wire basket. Just before Isaiah gave the signal for it to ascend, he pulled out a rescue ring for Santos to hold on to.
With Isaiah’s help, using a guiding rope, Tristen made it to the helicopter. As he disappeared through the copter’s door, the wind shifted, fanning the fires surrounding them, and the helicopter lurched sideways. Isaiah was thrust through the water before he managed to drop the rope.
The wave caused by the helicopter shifting flipped the life preserver Santos was clinging to, and he went under.
* * * *
Cold and tired didn’t begin to describe how Tristen felt. Maybe half-drowned and frozen. The water had heated as the fire intensified. But he had little body fat, and they must have been sinking under the water for at least an hour, only to resurface and breathe in heavy scorching smoke.
He tried to help as much as he could, but for the most part, all Tristen could do was hold on to his lover. If it hadn’t been for Santos
’s strength and determination, Tristen would have drowned.
The wire basket he was strapped to prevent him from seeing Santos. Part of Tristen thought that, if he could see the big Brazilian, then Santos would be okay.
Hands pulled the basket into the overwhelmingly loud flying machine. Just as the basket settled onto the floor, the helicopter jerked sideways. Over the whirling blades and roaring motor, Tristen heard the men yell out. He had to blink a couple of times when he saw most were smiling. Tristen stared in disbelief. These guys were enjoying the adrenaline rush.
One second there were smiles, and the next, the men’s faces became cold masks of no emotion. Roman barked into his mic that Tristen assumed was connected to all the headsets the men wore.
Tristen decided he might be in a twisted tale of Alice in Wonderland when everyone but Parker stepped out of the helicopter, into thin air.
* * * *
It took time, but Santos’s world slowly became more than puking up bitter mud-tasting water, coughing with a blazing throat and lungs, and burning up with blistering skin.
He was lying on the ground with Reese kneeling next to him, holding a small canister of oxygen to his face. Looking through sore, watery eyes, Santos saw that his grim-faced, dripping-wet team members had surrounded him.
Confused, he wondered what was going on. Before he could ask, Rhys and Roman separated, and Parker came toward him, holding up Tristen.
Santos struggled to sit up, alarmed at Tristen’s condition. Through the soot, Tristen’s face was stark white with patches of red. Some were seeping burns, but the red on each cheek was something else. Tristen’s red-rimmed eyes had a wild look in them, and his lips were crusted and blistered.
Tristen said something to Parker in a low, hoarse whisper, and they stopped a few feet away from Santos. With shaking hands, Tristen pushed Parker away before looking at Santos.
His amorzinho, his little love, stood there, swaying as shivers coursed through his body. Tristen stumbled one step forward before he caught himself. Nobody went to help him, which pissed Santos off. Santos went to try and get up but stopped when Tristen lifted a trembling finger.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he said in a hoarse, ragged whisper.
“Amorzinho—”
“Don’t. Don’t talk,” Tristen interrupted and began to snap that powerful finger back and forth. “You may never disappear, and not move, and not breathe ever again.” Tears carved a path through the soot. “I…I cannot…lose you.”
Tristen’s shoulders shook as great sobs overtook him, and he stumbled forward into Santos’s waiting arms. Holding the little man close, Santos rested his cheek against Tristen’s wet hair. Tears might have trailed down his face as he whispered, “Meu amor, my love, meu amor.”
Chapter Nine
“No. Not that one. Nope, keep going,” Tristen instructed. “Try the next pile.”
Jimmy’s sigh was long and drawn out. What a diva. “Come on, Tristen, what’s wrong with brown on brown?”
“Sure, if you want your man to look like a big tall turd,” Tristen said, proud of his sarcasm. Usually he couldn’t compete with his brother’s mouth or temper, but today he was doing Jimmy a favor, so the man had to keep halfway civil.
“Come on, Tristen,” Jimmy whined.
Tristen’s brother moved the pair of dress slacks they had agreed would look good on Roman next to another pile of shirts. One by one he laid a shirt partly on top of the pants. When Jimmy laid a pale lavender shirt with thin brown stripes on top of the slacks, Tristen stopped him.
“That’s it. That’s the one,” Tristen said, clapping his hands. “Nice.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Now let’s pick a tie so we can go find the next part of Roman’s birthday present.” Jimmy raised and lowered his eyebrows a few times.
Tristen couldn’t help but laugh at his brother’s shenanigans. He’d bet his life savings an adult store filled with fun toys was their next stop.
“Can I help you find something?” An older tall, thin man wearing a plain black suit stood on the other side of the pile of shirts. The man’s tie was askew and he seemed a little out of breath.
“I think we’re fine,” Tristen answered. He wondered why anyone would wear black when there were so many gorgeous colors at their fingertips.
“I have to say the colors you have chosen are quite attractive,” the man said.
“Of course they are. My brother knows his stuff when it comes to picking out clothes,” Jimmy boasted. “Everyone around at our home in Texas would come to Tristen if they needed to find something to impress for an event.”
“So you live in Texas?” the man asked.
“No,” Tristen answered wondering why he was asking all the questions. “We live at a hacienda about fifteen minutes away.”
The man nodded as if he had come to a decision. “My name is Sabastian Caesar. I am the owner of this store.”
“I’m Jimmy Earl,” Mr. Mouth said before jerking his thumb in his direction. “And this is my brother, Tristen.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tristen said. “I like the different types of selections you have here.” He looked around at the high-end business suits on one end of the store to the shorts and tank tops on the other. Everything was presented in a stylish manner.
“Thank you.” Sabastian’s smile made him look less of a mortician. “It’s a lot of work, but I enjoy it. Unfortunately my assistant decided to try his hand at a boutique in Las Vegas and didn’t show up for work this morning. That’s why I was unable to help you sooner. I was in the back accepting a new shipment of swimwear.”
“Hey, Tristen,” Jimmy teased, “here’s your chance. You can’t keep hanging around the hacienda doing nothing. Get a job here.”
At first Tristen was insulted. It had been a month since the fire, and it wasn’t as if he had been lying around. After they’d recovered from near drowning and smoke inhalation, Santos insisted he be near at all times. Tristen’s only alone times were when Santos was fulfilling his responsibilities with the team. Tristen hadn’t objected. He found he needed to be with his lover, needed to touch him and make sure he was okay.
The one good thing that happened was his foot had healed. Santos drove him to the clinic, and the doctor had taken the stiches out. After, they had gone out to eat on an official date. For Tristen, it had been heaven.
Today the team was working on missing-persons exercises in the nearby mountains. Jimmy somehow had convinced him to take off into town and help him pick out birthday gifts for Roman.
Before Tristen could respond to Jimmy with sarcasm, Sabastian asked, “If you were going to select something to wear for a nice, but not too much of a high-end restaurant with friends, what would you pick?”
Tristen knew a test when he saw one. He didn’t mind. Life on a ranch, birthing and branding cows was not for him. He would love to work in retail with clothes. And as Jimmy had an associate’s degree in administration, Tristen’s degree was in accounting. He’d figured this would help in the monetary part if he ever had the chance of doing something other than herding cows. Now, maybe that might happen.
Walking over to a display of designer jeans, Tristen picked out a pair with a modest design on the back pocket. The dinner Sabastian described was not a “I want to fuck” event. No need to have elaborated stitching on the pockets.
Next he went over to a rack of casual white shirts that buttoned down the front and the inside of the collar was a delicious dark-brown color. He topped off the outfit with a dark-brown fitted, short leather jacket.
When he finished, he looked up to see what Sabastian thought. The tall man was smiling.
“I like that,” Sabastian said. “Would you like to fill out a job application? I have an opening.”
Tristen laughed in delight. “Sure, that sounds perfect,” he answered.
Jimmy’s elbow jammed into his ribs. “Before we leave, find my size in that outfit you picked out. I want to dazzle Roman the nex
t time he takes me out.”
Forty-five minutes later, Tristen and Jimmy were waiting for their food to arrive at a Perkins Restaurant. Jimmy took a sip of his Coke before saying, “Can you believe it? You have a job.”
Tristen frowned while stirring the ice in his Coke with his straw. “Maybe I should have asked Santos before I accepted the position.”
“Why?” Lines formed on Jimmy’s forehead in his confusion.
“Would you have asked Roman?” Tristen asked.
“Of course, but we’re married,” Jimmy answered and pulled up the long sleeve of his T-shirt, revealing his tattoo.
Tristen studied the thick chain links encircling his brother’s left arm, tattooed about three inches above his wrist. On the top amongst the links were a capital R and J. Tristen found it quite beautiful.
“Do you know how many times you’ve showed that to me?” Tristen complained to hide the twinge of jealousy he was feeling.
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” Jimmy replied.
Tristen knew the story of the tattoo rings all of the team had at Rescue for Hire in the Midwest. Jimmy had happily described how Roman hoped to make the arm tattoos a tradition for the members of Rescue for Hire West when they found their one and only.
When Tristen didn’t have a quick comeback, Jimmy asked, “Are you going to stay with Santos, or are you getting bored with him?”
Tristen blinked in surprise. He had never been bored for even one minute since meeting the big Brazilian.
“I’m in love with Santos,” he confessed then held his breath waiting for Jimmy’s reaction.
“Are you sure?” Jimmy asked.
Tristen hated the skepticism that laced every word of the question. He wanted to punch Jimmy for not squealing in happiness for him. Or at least smiling and congratulating him.
“I called Mom and told her last week.” There, that should convince his irritating little brother.
Jimmy’s eyebrow rose. After a few seconds too long, he finally looked as though he believed Tristen’s claim. “Really? So when did you fall in love with Santos?”
The Tracker Claims the Cutie [Rescue for Hire West 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 7