Rescue Me: Park City Firefighter Romance

by Hart, Taylor

  The rest of the food was delivered as they all watched whatever fight was on the big screens and fell into a comfortable half-talking, half-eating combo. When they were winding it down, he noticed a couple come into Pineapple’s. He did a double take when he realized it was her.

  Sam.

  She was dressed all official in a pantsuit with her hair perfectly straight. She carried a briefcase kind of bag, or a bag with a laptop.

  She was with a man in a suit who wasn’t quite as tall as Sam with her heels. Maybe right about the same height. Jealousy wove through his gut, and it took him by surprise.

  Damon tried to see who the man was, but he didn’t recognize him. Of course, he instantly didn’t like him.

  The man gestured to one of the tables, and they sat in a corner booth. He watched as Sam laughed at something the man said. Damon could see the man scoot closer to her.

  She pulled out a file and took some documents out.

  A server came, and they ordered.

  Sam seemed to be wanting to get to business, but he watched the guy put his hand over the paperwork and stare at Sam in … that way. The way that signaled he was interested in more than business.

  Damon found himself holding back.

  The server took waters to the table.

  He watched Sam pull away from the guy, shuffling the papers over to get space between them.

  The man scooted back closer.

  Sam shook her head, putting up her hand, and Damon could see a determined “don’t mess with me” look on her face.

  It made him happy she was such a firecracker when she needed to be.

  The man held steady and leaned back to his side, picking up one of the papers.

  Jake nudged him, seeing where he was looking. “What’s that about?”

  “Nothing,” Damon said quickly. He did not want her to be something he was teased about because, frankly, he couldn’t take the jokes he knew would ensue about her.

  Jake grunted. “Right. Because you didn’t just tense up or anything when you saw her.”

  It slightly annoyed Damon that Jake was right, and it annoyed Damon further that she hadn’t noticed him yet. He didn’t know if he should interrupt or what.

  Luckily, he didn’t have much time to think about it because Nick came out of the gym and set his stuff down by Damon’s table. “Best training session yet, bro.” He did a couple air jabs. “Going down.”

  One of Nick’s friends joined them too, and then they were all engrossed in the conversation.

  Damon was careful not to stare or draw any attention to her.

  At one point, Nick tapped his arm and drew his eyes to her spot. “Did you see one of Luke’s attorneys is just leaving?”

  Damon acted like it was no big thing, but he averted his glance to watch. “Yeah.”

  Nick laughed. He stole a fry from Jake’s plate and stuffed it into his face. “Dibs, man. Total dibs.”

  Damon didn’t say anything because now he was watching. He saw the guy pause by her car and open her door for her then grab her wrist and pull her back.

  He stood, poised to go save her.

  She pushed the man back, giving him a disgusted look, before slipping into her car.

  Unable to stop himself, Damon was out the door before he could think better of it.

  His brother called out to him. “Damon, you left all your crap.”

  Damon didn’t pause. He watched the guy start his car and pull out of the parking lot. There was something not right about the guy, but Damon couldn’t put his finger on it. He memorized the plate number then went back into the sports bar.

  He sat back down and Nick gave him a curious look. “What was that about?”

  Damon leaned over, not wanting all the others in their group to hear him. “I need you to run a plate for me.”

  Nick shook his head. “No, that’s unethical, to say the least.”

  Damon had dealt with crime scenes and cops before. “Bro, come on. I know you can do this. You do it all the time.”

  Nick shook his head and let out his breath. He poured more ketchup onto his plate in a splattering, messy heap. “No. Way.”

  Damon sighed and looked at the other cops at the table. He didn’t know them that well yet. He couldn’t ask them.

  Then he had an idea. “If you run it, I’ll go to pizza tomorrow night.”

  “Really?” Nick took another fry and slathered it with ketchup before sticking it in his mouth.

  Damon frowned at him. “Pig.”

  Nick grinned, picking up more fries and stuffing them in. He chomped for a minute then sipped some water. “You’ll really go?”

  Damon nodded. “Yep.”

  Nick shrugged. “Okay.”

  Suddenly, Damon knew, from the smug look on Nick’s face, that this was the outcome he’d wanted the whole time. He had been waiting to blackmail him. “You jerk.”

  Nick laughed, slapping his leg. “You may be the oldest, but you have to remember you’re not the smartest anymore.”

  10

  When Sam pulled into her cabin at six o’clock and turned off the car, she leaned back into the seat, closing her eyes. It’d been one of those days. The kind that started the moment she hit the office with meetings and a list a mile long of stuff Luke needed her to do. Projects he needed her to run. She sucked in a breath and then let it out slowly, longing for the yoga class she’d gone to in Denver. She needed to find a new class here; she just hadn’t had time yet.

  Pushing open the door, she grabbed her laptop case and then another bag full of files. She needed to look through all the files for the projects tomorrow.

  It was amazing to think she was working at a small firm, she thought. She hadn’t expected to be working fifty or sixty hours a week, but she could tell that it could easily turn into that if she let it.

  She went up the steps, and the first one gave a bit at the edge, making her trip slightly. She barely caught herself before she fell.

  Pausing, she shook her head. “Where’s my landlord when I need him?” She flashed to Damon’s face and knew she wanted to razz him about the step.

  She moved forward, unlocking the door, happy she’d put Italian sausage and spaghetti sauce in the crockpot for dinner. She hadn’t really eaten the lunch she’d ordered today.

  There was no avoiding that creep developer Don Johnson from Midway. She shook her head and put her bags on the small desk in the kitchen, then went to her room to change. She would go for a three-mile run, come home and eat dinner, take a bath, then spend an hour looking over all the files.

  Then, she might have some time to paint.

  Yes, this made her happy. She thought of the outline she’d nearly completed of his face. She couldn’t wait to get the paint, fill in the lines, and add life to the drawing.

  Truth be told, if she would have been from one of those rich families who sent their daughters to college just so they could say they went to Vassar or Stanford or Harvard, she would have majored in art history, with an emphasis on the art. She loved it and had taken a couple of classes when she’d gotten her bachelor’s degree. Zoey always told her to give up law and paint. She’d even told her last night she should finish something and put it into one of those “ritzy rich people galleries.”

  Changing into her running clothes, Sam thought about Zoey. She tried not to think too hard about people she was connected to or had the weird sync thing with. She definitely tried not to sync to them.

  As soon as she thought about her, she knew Zoey was at the coffee shop she worked at. Well, at least she was at work, she thought. Then she laced up her shoes and put on her watch.

  She grabbed a light jacket, knowing she might not need it and would end up wrapping it around her waist, but the sun was beginning to set, and she knew the mountains cooled down the second the sun was gone.

  She felt lucky the trail was right next to her home. Hitting the trail at a run, she relished the sun on her face and the fresh mountain air.

 
“Hey.”

  Jolted a bit, she suddenly noticed Damon next to her. Almost like he’d been waiting for her. He had on running shoes, T-shirt, shorts, and his own running watch which he was setting.

  “Were you waiting for me or something?” Her heart rate picked up, and the butterflies from last night returned. It’d taken her most of the day to keep refocusing her thoughts away from him. Admittedly, her day was too busy to really think about him, but somehow, she still had.

  “No.” He looked guilty. “I run in the morning and at night. That’s just what I do.”

  That didn’t really surprise her, because he looked amazing, but suddenly she felt intimidated. “Well, I can tell you I’m not going to keep pace with you.” Even as she said it, she kicked it up a notch.

  He grinned. “I’ll keep pace with you.”

  It put her off her game to be running with him. She’d been looking forward to being by herself and having some down time. Now he was here, and she didn’t know what to say.

  “Unless you want to be alone?”

  “Uh …” She learned a long time ago that except in court, she wasn’t good at faking her emotions.

  He shook his head. “No worries. I’ll be off. What if I came over in a little bit and fix that step?”

  For a minute, she thought she saw vulnerability in his eyes. If it was there, he covered it with another great smile. She thought this was the most smiles she’d seen from him since their date last night. Of course, she thought about kissing him and, impossibly, her heart sped up even more. But she was also worried he would think it was that. When it couldn’t be that for her. She had a plan for her life, and it didn’t include him.

  “Sure,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret it and mentally reorganizing her night. Cutting the run shorter, taking the shower, eating, then work. “If you want spaghetti, you can share with me.” She felt like an idiot because he’d denied her the other day, and she didn’t want to be overeager, but he’d asked to come over, right? So she couldn’t be the overeager one.

  He nodded. “Sounds good.”

  He took off, and it reminded her of one of those National Geographic documentaries that Zoey liked to watch at one in the morning. She could almost hear the announcer’s voice: ‘Now the cheetah takes off into the wild, sprinting and looking for his next prey.’ The British accent in her head was pretty much spot on.

  Sam shook her head and giggled to herself, thinking that Zoey would find that really funny. She was definitely going loopy.

  An hour later, she had finished showering and washing her hair; it was so much easier to take care of in the morning if she washed and combed it out at night. A little flat ironing in the morning and she was good.

  She stirred the sauce and noticed her noodles were almost done. She went to the fridge and pulled out stuff for a simple salad.

  Then she synched her iPhone to the little speaker and put on what Zoey affectionately, and very annoyingly, called her elevator music. It was light classical.

  Just as she was thinking of Zoey, her phone rang. She didn’t have to check the caller ID to know who it was.

  “Hey.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “What are you doing?” Now she was trying to focus on where Zoey was, but couldn’t get a clear picture. Driving?

  “Just got off work. Tim and I are fighting.”

  Sam didn’t want to think of the scruffy, homeless-man-bearded druggie. “Shocker.”

  “I know.” She sighed.

  Of course, Sam used this as an opportunity. “Come out here. Just move out here with me. I’ll help you find a job.”

  Zoey sighed. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  She sighed again. “You don’t get that I love him. And …” Her voice started to shake.

  “Zoey.” Sam felt bad. “Hey, are you okay?”

  Zoey sucked in a loud breath. “Yeah. I am. I just … he hurts me.”

  Sam wanted to knock her upside the head and then shake sense into her. But, like most abused women, she wouldn’t listen to sense. “I’m sorry.”

  Her breath calmed. “It’s okay. I have to go. He’s here.”

  “Bye. Love you.”

  “Love you.” She hung up.

  Sam inhaled a long breath and wondered again if she should just move back to Denver.

  Then she noticed her painting. She was running to grab a sheet to cover the canvas when there was a light knock.

  Torn, she opted for getting the canvas covered before letting Damon in. It would not suit for him to see the outline of his face on their … could this be considered a second date? Nervous butterflies drilled her gut. “Coming. Just a sec.”

  She ran to her linen closet and pulled out a sheet, going to the canvas and putting it lightly over it.

  Satisfied, she went to the door and pulled it open.

  Again, there was the fresh rain scent. His piercing blue eyes. The perfect facial hair. And his height. Was it too stupid or superficial to like the fact that he was tall, so tall he made her feel short? She knew all the tall girl jokes, had lived with them her whole life. She had constantly been asked if she played basketball.

  She’d typically dated guys about her height, maybe a smidge taller.

  But he was a good four inches taller, and when he stepped up beside her, warm chills flushed hot and cold all down her arms.

  He looked like he was in a trance. He held a toolbox, but she saw him staring at her lips.

  She stepped back because she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea if he was here for that. “Come in.”

  Pulling his hand from behind his back, she saw a bouquet of wildflowers. They were newly budded Indian paintbrush in half a dozen different shades, and she realized he must have gotten them on his run. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner.”

  Smiling, she took them, immediately pulling them in and inhaling. She was reminded of her childhood in Boulder, when her father taught at the University and her mother stayed at home with them. Her mother would always have them pick flowers on the path they took when they went for walks on summer mornings.

  Shaking her head, she was surprised at the fierceness of the memory. It’d been a long time since one had taken her with such force.

  Then his hands were on her biceps, holding her, steadying her. “Are you okay?” He searched her face.

  She pulled back, shaking her head and feeling utterly ridiculous. “Yeah. I am. I just …” She didn’t know why she was telling him. “I just remembered picking flowers with my mother on this path in Boulder, Colorado.” She pulled away from him and moved into the kitchen, quickly finding a glass and putting them in, then going to the sink and filling the glass with water. “Thank you.” Her emotions gathered quickly, and she was grateful for that.

  “What can I do to help?” Damon was already next to her, rinsing his hands with soap and water. “I can make a mean salad.”

  “Sounds good.” She went to the fridge and got a few more vegetables out for them, then stirred the noodles.

  “It smells heavenly.” Damon took the knife and went to work.

  She turned and watched as he cut up vegetables in chef-like fashion, lining them up and then obliterating them.

  She grinned. “You take your vegetable cutting seriously I see.”

  He grinned at her and threw some veggies into the bowl. “I pretty much take anything I’m focused on seriously.” His brows went up. “Don’t you?”

  Feeling like they were somehow talking about something else, she tried to just relax. She got a strainer out. “Yep. I heard one time that how someone does one thing is the way they do everything. Like successful attorneys, they are competent and organized.” She was getting lost in her little speech and didn’t realize he was right behind her until his breath was on her neck.

  “Hungry.” He whispered. “Aren’t ambitious people hungry, too?”

  Chills went through her again, and then her knees weakened.
r />   He kissed her lightly on the neck, and she stayed frozen to the spot.

  Without making any more moves, he went back to dicing vegetables. Her brain had been erased and reset. “Yeah.”

  “So how was your day?”

  Knowing she was blushing, she went to the sink and drained the noodles, letting a little laugh escape her. “You …”

  He laughed.

  She looked him over.

  He was blushing too. “Sorry, I just … I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.”

  It was funny and felt very teenage-ish to talk about it, to be giving each other funny, embarrassed looks, but she liked it. Even though she knew she needed to make what this night, and what her expectations about their relationship were, clear. “I’m sorry, I just …” She rinsed the noodles then put them down on the edge of the sink. The water flooded onto the counter. She picked them up and held them over the sink and took a towel to clean up the dripping water. She was so flustered. “I’m not sleeping with you,” she blurted, instantly regretting she’d said it.

  He stopped cutting and watched her.

  In her mind the British guy was back: ‘The lion circles his mate, his eyes intent, his gaze penetrating.’ She shoved the noodles back into the pan and then dropped the colander into the sink. There was no way she could even look at him at the moment. She rushed to get plates out of the cupboard and the cutting started up again. Her hand was shaking, which was ridiculous because she didn’t even know him, and she didn’t want to be like this. There had always been so many things in her life, and Zoey was always there, so she didn’t have to worry about it. But … She put the little plates on the table.

  He gently put a hand on her wrist. “I don’t want that.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m …” He floundered.

  She laughed.

  He leaned down, and she found herself reaching up and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His hands were on her hips, and she let herself kiss him. Loving the fact that his breath tasted minty clean like a Listerine commercial, she let herself reach up and run her fingers through his hair.

  She heard him moan, and every part of her was on fire.

  His lips were on her neck briefly before he pulled back, gently pushing her away.