A Beautiful Fire (Love at Lincolnfield Book 4)

by Colette Dixon

  Copyright © 2019 by Colette Dixon

  All rights reserved.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019915036

  Cover designed by Kerry Jesberger at Aero Gallerie

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, brands, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people is unintentional.

  Published by Crimson Fox Publishing

  TURNER, OR

  www.crimsonfoxpublishing.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Also by Colette Dixon

  Want more?

  Excerpt of A Beautiful Risk

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Crimson Fox Publishing

  Chapter One

  Would he be there or not today?

  Lawns dotted with fallen yellow maple leaves glowed with the white haze of frost as Harper’s Pumas pounded the cement, the frigid air pumping through her lungs.

  One more block. If she could make it to the halfway point of her run, the sight of the neglected Victorian farmhouse and the fire station next door would fuel her the rest of the way. Sometimes little tricks of the mind were necessary for motivation, especially after the October air turned cold and sharp.

  The old farmhouse was only a few houses away now. No sign of Hot Fireman beyond.

  A weight of disappointment settled over her shoulders.

  Seriously, Harper?

  He was only a carrot to dangle to motivate her run, a guilty little pleasure. But a glimpse of him would energize her and banish the ennui of the last leg of her route.

  How cliché was it to find a firefighter hot? But he was one of the most finely sculpted specimens of the male sex she’d ever seen.

  Biceps honed by physical labor or a whole lot of strength training, all wrapped tightly in glowing, healthy skin, tanned to a delicious golden brown, and an intriguing tattoo on one of them she’d never been close enough to decipher.

  Not that she ever intended on getting that close.

  She admired a stunning physique as much as the next woman, but physical prowess was not one of her requirements. There were more important things she needed in a partner. Necessary things. Too bad every man she’d dated who met the basic requirements had failed the rest of her criteria.

  No matter. She could occupy her mind with thoughts of the house today instead. A much better mental image than her dating failures.

  Nearly there now. She crossed the property line. Withering peony and hydrangea bushes ringed the grand wrap-around porch. At one time, the landscaping had been lovely, no doubt, but neglect and the chill of autumn had left their mark. The trim crumbled around the leaded glass windows. Paint peeled from the clapboard siding. She imagined the house freshly painted in a Scandinavian color combination of blue and yellow. No, maybe something more subtle—a soft gray against fresh white.

  Harper had no use for a five-bedroom house, but someone needed to buy and renovate the place that had stood for-sale as long as she could remember. Some days she liked to imagine that person could be her. If anyone could handle the sirens next door, it was a doctor used to chaos and emergencies.

  When she was feeling particularly optimistic, she would imagine herself with a husband and family tucked away inside. But for the moment—until she could find that rare species of kind, dependable man who happened to check all her other boxes—the family-in-a-grand-house scene was about as ridiculous a fantasy as Hot Fireman.

  Her toe jammed on a lip of uneven sidewalk. Before she knew what was happening, she was sailing torpedo-like through the air. The soiled sofa someone had dragged to the curb a week ago was her unwelcome target.

  The word roll flew into her brain. She tucked her head and somersaulted along the length of the couch cushions. The force of her speed flung her upright and slammed her legs over the couch’s arm.

  This would be okay. She’d land like a gold medalist, or at least a bronze. Oh, who cared, really, at this point? It wasn’t as if anyone was watching.

  As she was about to congratulate herself for the performance, she realized her momentum was too great. She hurtled off the arm of the couch and onto the cement driveway of the fire station, landing on one knee.

  All the weight of her body, the entire thrust of the fall, focused on that one little disc of bone.

  She heard the crack—felt the crack through her whole being as pain seared the joint and sent shock waves through her body. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She rolled to her side, tucking into a fetal position.

  When the stars began to fade, she opened her eyes. A sturdy camel-colored boot that hadn’t been afraid to get dirty was staring back at her.

  Her breath stopped. Clutching her knee, she roamed her gaze up the navy blue pant leg to a trim, belted waist. A waist she recognized, even from her distant surveys of his impressive form.

  She stole a quick glance at his face for verification.

  Wonderful. Hot Fireman had witnessed the most spectacular wipeout of her life.

  Keeping her gaze from wandering above his waist, she shot an arm up in the air to wave him away. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She’d just lie here a moment, then walk—or limp with wounded pride—the two miles home.

  “That was quite a spill. Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice was a smooth baritone, booming down from his spectacular height above her.

  He squatted to her level. She had no choice but to behold the concern etched on his handsome features. Blue eyes the color of the lake on a snowy day. Sun-bronzed complexion covered in a sprinkle of golden stubble that betrayed he was likely at the tail end of a long shift. A sweep of straw-colored hair threatened to fall over his forehead.

  Her breath caught again in her throat. A wave of heat rushed through her from head to toe before the panting resumed. “Yeah. I’ll be okay. Just need a minute.”

  “I’m not leaving until I see how you can walk on that leg.” His voice was authoritative but threaded with kindness.

  She lost her ability to protest. If he wanted to stay, that was fine by her. It was a reasonable plan, after all. She would have done the same in his position.

  He cocked his head and smiled warmly, such an inviting show of harmlessness it could disarm every woman in the greater Chicagoland area.

  A strong, warm hand closed around hers. In a steady voice, he asked, “Ready?”

  For a moment, she t
hought he was asking her to dance. Must be shock setting in.

  She closed her eyes for the length of one deep breath. No big deal. Just her fantasy fireman helping her up. “Okay. Ready.”

  With her free hand, she pushed off the ground and with his help managed to hop to a stand on her good leg. The injured leg was already swelling. She struggled to hold it in mid-air. “See. I’m fine.”

  When she attempted to straighten the leg, sharp rivers of pain shot through her knee. Blood drained from her face and darkness mottled her vision. She began to lose the ability to hold her head upright.

  “I just need a minute,” she heard herself mumble as if through cotton.

  Some still conscious part of her brain registered sturdy arms beneath her knees and back before she blacked out.

  She woke to find herself lying on a twin bed inside a cubicle, not unlike the little hovels the residents slept in at the hospital when on call. But this wasn’t a hospital. A man’s hoodie hung from the wall opposite the bed. The external wall to her right was cinderblock painted an institutional beige.

  She was inside the fire station.

  Her left knee throbbed. When she tried to sit up, the pain forced her back down. How long had she been out? And where was her phone? Her hands searched the sheets. The device wasn’t anywhere in the bed with her.

  “What time is it?” she said loud enough for anyone in the room to hear. “I have to go to work. I have a meeting at seven o’clock.” An ice pack slid off her knee as she craned her neck to search the room.

  The belted waist of Hot Fireman appeared at eye level. His uniform pants hugged his hips in a way that, for a brief moment, made her forget about her leg. She swiveled in his direction. A chair stood behind the head of the bed. He’d been sitting there waiting for her to wake.

  He crouched beside her, eyebrows rising above concerned blue eyes. “I don’t think you’re going to work today.”

  That was out of the question. “I have to go to work today. I’m giving the presentation at the meeting.” For months, she’d worked on this grant proposal to establish a phage therapy treatment center at Lincolnfield, which would be the second of its kind in the country if she were to be awarded the grant, all of which she was supposed to explain to the safety committee this morning. No need to bore him with the details.

  He nodded his head toward her leg. In a firm but quiet tone, he said, “Take a look at that knee.”

  She did as he commanded and noted the mountain range that had replaced the hinge joint. Fluid had collected beneath the kneecap and swelled the limb like an overstuffed sausage. She didn’t have much experience in orthopedics, but from what she’d seen in her trauma rotation, she suspected this was more than soft tissue injury.

  He pointed at the offending knee then returned his finger to tug at his chin. “I’m willing to bet you’ve got yourself a fracture.”

  “Hmph.” She crossed her arms. “Good thing I don’t gamble.”

  He laughed a hearty, throaty laugh as he thrust a hand out, offering her the phone she’d lost.

  She took the device with a resigned sigh. He was right. The morning’s priorities had to be rearranged, thanks to one uneven square of sidewalk. If she ever bought that house, the first thing she’d fix was the sidewalk.

  She found the number of the hospital risk manager in her contacts.

  “Hey, Doctor Peters, what’s up?” Magnus answered breezily as though he’d been awake for hours. The man was uncannily even-keeled for someone who held back the dam waters of hospital disasters daily.

  “Morning, Magnus. I’m sorry to bother you so early, but I’m not going to make the meeting this morning. Though I will be at the hospital—only in the ER.” She shot a glance to Hot Fireman, registered the name on his uniform—Wojcik—before he gave her a stern nod of approval. How fatherly. Not that her own father had been remotely so caring.

  Wojcik. The name sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it. With the largest Polish population outside Warsaw, there were probably hundreds of Wojciks in Chicago and she’d likely run across a few of them before.

  “What happened?” The risk manager’s voice on the phone cut through her thoughts.

  “Oh, just took a tumble on my morning jog, but there’s a good amount of swelling, and I can’t put any weight on my leg. I’d better get it imaged. I’m sorry, but it looks like I’ll have to reschedule my presentation.”

  “Of course. No worries. I hope it’s just a sprain.”

  “You and me both. Thanks, Magnus.”

  The man was a doll. Happily married now to that really lovely woman who used to be the HR director. Harper had once wondered if he might meet her own criteria. An inconvenient but normal human reaction to an undeniably good-looking man. Nothing she would have acted on.

  Same with Hot Fireman here. It had just been a long time since she’d slept with a man.

  Magnus’s voice on the phone scattered her thoughts. “Do you have someone to drive you to the hospital? Since you can’t walk?”

  She hoped Wojcik hadn’t overheard. “Oh, yes, of course,” she lied.

  Bev, her one “close” friend lived a good forty-five minutes away. Since Harper had moved from Madison, she hadn’t had a chance to make the kind of friends one could call in an emergency. At six in the morning.

  As she ended the call, Wojcik pulled the empty chair closer and sat. “Better call your husband—or boyfriend—to pick you up.”

  Normally she’d be annoyed by such an assumption a woman needed a man to help her. But she was intrigued. Because…was he fishing for information about her? “If you could just help me to the curb, I’ll call an Uber.”

  He laughed that throaty laugh again, bursting with confidence. “No way is that happening. You’re lucky I didn’t put you in the rescue truck and take you to the ER myself.”

  She wondered why he hadn’t. As a firefighter, he was at least an emergency medical technician if not a full-fledged paramedic. Obvious to both of them, the reason she’d passed out was shock from the fall and not cardiac arrest so she couldn’t blame his decision-making skills. It was just that…he didn’t have to bring her here to what seemed to be his own bunk.

  Curiosity won out. “Why didn’t you?”

  His eyes shifted to the floor and his smile fell. “We don’t usually do transport. And I wanted to see how you were when you woke before calling an ambulance.” When he met her gaze again, he winced a little. There was something hidden in his answer, it seemed.

  She decided to let it stay hidden. She tapped her phone screen to bring up the ride share app.

  A warm hand closed over her wrist. Her gaze traversed the length of his arm to his face.

  He was shaking his head in disapproval, a smile tugging at his lips. “My shift just ended. I’ll take you myself.”

  The warmth of his hand and that disarming smile stole some of the conviction from her voice. “The city should save its trucks for real fires.”

  “I meant in my own truck. Got a Dodge with a dual cab. You can stretch out your leg in the back seat.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” But the reality of her situation was beginning to settle in. No way could she walk on her own. She needed this man’s help and she did not like to need help, especially not from a man.

  When she slipped her hand away from his grasp, something sharp poked her in the back. She reached behind her and produced the offending object—a blond teddy bear with a hard, black nose and a bow of brown ribbon around its neck.

  Hot Fireman slept with a snuggly? A smile arose on her face that quickly yielded to slack jawed amusement. “Is this yours?”

  He seemed to fight down a guilty grin as he swiped and caught the stuffed animal. “No, it’s not mine. Asshole Ritchie must have put that there. Uh, I mean, Lieutenant Ritchie.”

  “Oh, really?” His abashed reaction was so fascinating, she didn’t even mind the cursing.

  “Yes, really.” He stood and crossed the small room. Leaning agai
nst the wall, still clutching the teddy in both hands, he continued, “We prank each other all the time. People constantly drop off stuffed animals to the station. They think firefighters have all these rescued children to give toys to. Really we mostly assist in cardiac arrests and people who’ve fallen and can’t get up.”

  The man she’d ogled from afar was not only incredibly hot, he was adorable. “Maybe you should give the stuffed animals to the cardiac victims.”

  “Or to the women who fall at my feet.” The smile he’d been trying to fight back reasserted itself.

  A wicked fire leapt to her face. “Because that happens all the time.”

  “All the time.” He spread his arms in a show of grandiosity, the bear dangling from one hand.

  He continued to stand there simply looking at her, and she couldn’t tear her own gaze away. The air between them became thicker as the silence deepened.

  He broke the stare first, his eyes sweeping the length of her body before returning to her face. “Except they don’t usually look like you.” His face flushing red, he tossed the bear to the foot of the bed. Suddenly, his expression and voice turned stoic. “Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  At the thought of him holding her with the intimacy necessary to set her into his truck, her mouth went dry. Apparently, her brainpower dried up too. Like someone who didn’t have an advanced degree and couldn’t figure out simple logistics, she said, “I’m not sure how I’m going to get into your truck.”