The Cowboy's Saving Grace, an erotic western novella (Taming the Cowboy) (13 page)

She’d heard the tales of women who’d gotten their red cards to meet firefighters. She was here for a lot of reasons, but that wasn’t one. Even if she was, Jason, the sawyer, who was easy-going and flirty, was more her type. Not big alpha Cal. She needed someone that would make her laugh, not someone who would make her question herself.

The wind picked up and the other hot shots started moving fast, drawing on reserves of energy she wasn’t sure she had, putting out hot spots as sparks drifted over the line and ignited the dry grass on the other side. But she did her part, refusing to allow Sinclair to have one iota of an excuse to yell at her.

“Fall back!” he shouted. “Fall back to the safe zone!”

She looked up to see a wall of fire taller than Sinclair advancing and she froze, mesmerized by the colors shimmering—oranges, reds and yellows, yes, but also blues and greens. Incredible.

“Goddamnit!” 

A strong arm coiled around her waist, a smoke-ravaged voice swore in her ear, and she was lifted off her feet and spun around, away from the fire. Sinclair carried her a few steps, then set her down and shoved her ahead of him, toward the safe zone, keeping himself between her and the fire.

Her aching legs carried her to the burned-out area that suddenly seemed too small to protect them from the fire, whose heat bore down on them.

“Shake and bake!” Sinclair ordered the crew, pulling his envelope with the shelter from his belt.

With shaking fingers, Jaci pulled her own shelter free. She’d trained to do this, hoping she’d never have to. The temperatures even inside the fire-resistant shelter would be unbearable, but it would keep her alive.

She shook out the shelter the way she’d been taught and stared at it. A giant rip appeared, right along the crease. A chill ran through her, so alien in this hell. She looked up and met Sinclair’s gaze.

He glanced toward the forest, then took two steps toward her, shaking out his own shelter. He closed his hand around her wrist and pulled her back to his chest. When she didn’t react, didn’t step inside his sleeping bag-shaped shelter, he kicked her ankle to prompt her. She couldn’t register everything—his hard body against her back, the rustle of the fire shelter that he pulled around them, the terrible roar of the approaching fire. She felt like a puppet as he maneuvered her where he wanted her. Once she was snug against his chest, with the flames leaping toward them, he dropped to the ground, taking both their weight on his left side so he didn’t crush her. Ash from the burned-out area kicked up and made her cough. Her hardhat went tumbling, but he ignored it as quickly he sealed the rustling shelter shut around them.

***

Good thing she was tiny, since these shelters were made for one person.  She wasn’t shy about wrapping her arms around him, making herself smaller, her face pressed to his chest as coughs wracked her body. Cal crooked his leg around hers, drawing her as close as possible, and found himself crooning noises he never made to soothe her, noises soon drowned out by the fire around them, angry and ravenous. He pressed his hand on the small of her back and ducked his head over hers to protect her from the flames that barreled past the shelter. He smoothed his other hand over her hair, golden brown beneath the grime of the fire line, cut about to her collar.

He hadn’t expected the trembling, not from this tough little thing who saw to her own blisters and burns with stoicism. It made her feel human in his arms, and that wasn’t good, not if he wanted to keep his distance.

He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t had an eye on her the past month. Of course, he could say he was watching her because she was a rookie, not because she was cute and curvy and seemed determined to prove something. He got that. He did. But this was only his first year as crew chief, and he’d made an effort to keep his distance from male and female crew member alike. He’d seen favoritism, and familiarity, ruin many a good crew. He was young for the job, and the incident commander, Jim Richards, had trusted him with this crew. He wasn’t going to ruin that trust by getting too close to one of the members.

Especially the cute and curvy ones with something to prove, the ones who kept him awake at night wondering what she’d be like in bed.

Then he heard another roar over the fire, a welcome sound of a P-3 Orion followed by the splat as the fire retardant hit the ground around them. Almost instantly, the air cooled and quieted.

“What happened?” she asked, raising her face to look at him.

In the reddish light filtering through the shelter, he saw her face was streaked with tears. Despite his better judgment, he stroked his finger across the crest of her cheek and grinned.

“Our asses were just saved by a load of mud,” he told her, using the firefighter slang for the pink retardant.

They couldn’t leave the shelter immediately—firefighters had died breathing the super-heated air—so he held on a little longer. Despite the thick clothing firefighters wore, his body recognized the curves of hers, her perfect firm breasts, the way her hips nestled against his, and started to react. He’d wondered, more than once, how the two of them would measure up. He was six three and she was maybe five five, but their hips lined up just fine right now. Any minute now, she’d become aware of his hard-on against her. Just what he needed, the distraction of an attraction. He looked into her face, pretty beneath the grime, big brown eyes, soft lips, and the way she was looking at him...Something in her eyes that he couldn’t name. Triumph maybe? Whatever it was lit up those pretty eyes, and heated something low in his gut.

He did something he never thought he’d do.

He kissed one of his crew.

His fingers wound in the soft hair at the back of her neck, his lips slanted over hers, his tongue sweeping over her lower lip before dipping inside to taste her, salty and smoky, yet somehow female, sweet. He stroked his thumb beneath her ear as he deepened the kiss, and she wriggled closer, one arm circling his back.

And then the shelter moved. Cal broke the kiss just as the material parted and Jason, his sawyer, stuck his head inside.

“Everything okay in here, Chief?”

Surprise flickered on Jason’s face when he realized Jaci was inside with him. Cal shoved her toward the opening and hoped his crew didn’t see his obvious hard-on as he followed.

As he got to his feet, he inspected the area to see his crew standing around, all safe in the newly-pinkened landscape, while he’d been in the shelter kissing Jaci. And if he’d hoped no one would notice his arousal, he’d hoped in vain, judging by the smirks.

“Everyone okay?” he asked.

The radio on his hip squawked, jolting him. “Report, Sinclair!” the incident commander, Jim Richards, ordered, snapping.

“All safe, IC,” he responded. Through the dissipating smoke, he met the brown gaze of Jaci Nichols as she held her melted hardhat, an expression on her face he didn’t want to decipher. Curiosity, maybe. Awareness, definitely. Damn it, what had he started here? He didn’t know her well enough to know how she was going to deal with that kiss.  “Heading back now.”

***

Cal took a long pull from his beer, his back against the rough-wooded wall of the bar and grill, blocking out the wailing of one of the locals at the karaoke machine at the front of the room. The place had probably been built in the 1970s and hadn’t been updated, keeping its low exposed-beam ceilings and tin signs from old gas stations, but that didn’t lessen its appeal, apparently. The place was packed, probably because it was the only watering hole for miles. He was not looking forward to the debrief tomorrow, not after the way Richards had greeted him at fire camp, wound as tight as the fishing line he liked to cast. But the incident commander, the man who Cal looked up to like a father, had taken one look at the exhausted crew and dismissed them, promising to get the details in the morning.

So Cal’s crew had gotten into a couple of Fire Service trucks and headed to town to unwind.

Jaci fit right in with his crew, laughing and drinking, seeming to be more a part of the group than she’d been before today, as if surviving a blow-up had been her initiation.

She’d cleaned up, too, more than was usually possible in those portable showers at the fire camp. Her hair was shiny and framed her heart-shaped face, and she’d changed into snug jeans and a t-shirt that hugged her perfect breasts. He could imagine the weight of them in his hands.

Dangling two beer bottles in one hand, she crossed the room and sat beside him, pushing one bottle in front of him. “You’re drinking on me tonight.”

The image that brought to his traitorous mind had heat snapping through his body, worse than any damned fire, of her naked on her back, him taking shots from her skin.

“What for?” he asked gruffly.

“What for? For saving my ass up there today.”

“Just looking out for my crew,” he muttered, but pulled the beer close. “Don’t be going all hero-worshipy with me.”

She laughed, a gorgeous ringing sound. “Oh, don’t worry. I just wanted to say thank you for paying attention. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t seen me.”

Everyone else had been in their shelters, the smoke had swirled around her—it was a legitimate fear. “We wouldn’t be having this beer.”

Smiling brightly, she sat back. “Exactly.”

She lifted the beer to her lips and drank. Cal was pretty sure the inventor of the beer bottle was a guy who wanted to imagine a girl doing dirty things to him, because that’s just where Cal’s thoughts headed, the way her lips touched the tip, the way her throat worked.

Jesus, he’d lost his mind. He took a draw from his own bottle, hoping it would cool off his libido. A few months had passed since he took a woman to bed, sure, but he was used to going through the summer months without sex. Not his favorite part of the job, but it usually kept him out of trouble.

And now trouble was sitting right beside him. He had an easier time not picturing her naked when she wore all her gear, but right now, all that bare skin and figure-hugging clothes, he had no trouble at all.

The rest of his crew cast sidelong looks in their direction, but no one dared ask him about finding Jaci in his fire shelter with him, and he’d be damned if he’d explain.

“Have you ever had to deploy a shelter before?”

Nodding, he took a drink and set the beer on the table. “Never had to order it before, though.” He thought he’d be more aware of the situation, would be able to get his crews out in time. He refused to think of this as a failure, though he’d be damn sure he didn’t put his crew at risk again.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Seven years.”

“What made you decide to become a hot shot?”

He leaned forward, arms on the table and narrowed his eyes. “Is this an interview?”

She smiled, undeterred. “I was told you weren’t all that friendly, so I’m searching for topics of conversation.”

“Just because I’m not pals with my crew doesn’t mean I’m not friendly.”

“Yet you brought us all to a bar.”

“Like I said, I take care of my crew.” Curiosity got the better of him, when he wouldn’t usually encourage further conversation. He always wondered about women who chose this backbreaking job, especially women who hadn’t grown up in the beauty of the mountains. “What are you doing out here? I mean, you’re from Texas, right? Most of the girls on my crew are locals.”

“I like a challenge,” she said, and took another pull from her bottle.

Jason bounded over then—Jason always reminded him of a damned puppy, so happy all the time—and reached out a hand to Jaci. “Dance with me.”

She glanced at Cal, who motioned for her to feel free, even though something boiled inside of him when Jason put his hand low on her hip to guide her to the dance floor.

Cal should have looked away, should have thought about asking some other girl to dance, someone he didn’t work with. Instead, he watched Jaci shimmy and shake, laughing, edging closer to Jason and backing away teasingly. She turned her back to him and they moved together, his legs around hers as they swayed lower to the beat of the music. She threaded her fingers through her hair, holding it back so she could look at him, her dark eyes bright with laughter.

Yeah, Jason was getting laid tonight, and the idea had Cal’s stomach clenching.

Jaci turned in Jason’s arms and placed her hands on his shoulders to dance him backwards. He compensated by putting his hands on her ass, and she didn’t protest.

Cal scowled and slammed the bottle down on the table, drawing the attention of nearby crew members. He pushed his chair back, circled the table and walked the dance floor.

Outside, he could smell the smoke that hung in the air, though the fire was miles away. Still, the breeze coming from the forest was cool, though it did nothing to ease the heat rolling in him. He leaned against a post and looked at the smoke-wreathed full moon. The sounds from the bar grew loud, and faded again as people walked in and out. He should just go find someone, work out the frustrations that had been building since that damned woman had joined his crew and stolen his focus. The post vibrated when someone leaned on the other side.

“I didn’t mean to abandon you in there,” Jaci said from the other side.

He twisted his head to look around the post. “Shouldn’t be out here. You’re going to get cold.”

She shoved her hands in her front pockets. “I’m fine,” she replied, the words belied by her nipples jutting against the thin knit of her t-shirt.

For Christ’s sake
.

“Jason will be looking for you.”

“He knows where I am.”

“Go inside. It’s cold.”

“How old are you? Thirty?”

He stiffened. “Twenty eight.”

“So not old enough to be my father.” She circled the post and stood in front of him, swinging slightly, her head tilted. “I was thinking we should maybe talk about what happened on the mountain.”

Talk. Naturally. Kiss a woman in a fit of
what the hell
and she just had to talk about it. “Fire blew up, your shelter was compromised. Nothing to talk about.”