by Kathryn Shay
I hope you enjoyed this series as much as you did Hidden Cove. I know I enjoyed writing them.
Kathy
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Don’t miss the rest of the books in the ROCKFORD FIRE DEPARTMENT series.
FEEL THE HEAT
She saves him from a fire, then steals his heart without even trying. When white hot attraction kicks in, sparks fly!
RISKING IT ALL
She’s the only woman he can’t charm. He’s the only man she can never love.
CODE OF HONOR
He was the most upstanding lieutenant in the department, until he made a critical error in judgement that almost ended his career. And she’s a mistake just waiting to happen.
NEVER FAR AWAY
She’s a feisty counselor of troubled teens. He’s the fire department psychologist who’s trying to outrun his demons. They clash at every turn.
To browse Kathryn’s impressive list of titles go to http://www.kathrynshay.com/books/.
Copyright 2016 Kathryn Shay
Cover by Rogenna
http://sweettoheat.blogspot.com
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About the Author
A NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author, Kathryn Shay has been a lifelong writer and teacher. She has written dozens of self-published original romance titles, print books with the Berkley Publishing Group and Harlequin Enterprises and mainstream women’s fiction with Bold Strokes Books. She has won five RT Book Reviews awards, four Golden Quills, four Holt Medallions, the Bookseller’s Best Award, Foreword Magazine’s Book of the Year and several “Starred Reviews.” Her novels have been serialized in COSMOPOLITAN magazine and featured in USA TODAY, THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and PEOPLE magazine. There are over five million copies of her books in print, along with hundreds of thousands downloaded online. Reviewers have call her work “emotional and heart-wrenching.”
Excerpt: Risking it All
Dylan O'Roarke loved women—tall ones, slender ones, plump ones, smart ones, no matter how old, how plain, how naive. His Grandma Katie, who’d raised him from the time he was five, had taught him to cherish the female sex. This was her legacy, and he'd adhered to it for all his thirty-three years.
With one exception.
Beth Winters.
As he stepped onto the dock, she did the same. But she kept her gaze averted, fixed on the Caribbean Sea, sparkling like crystal under the bright Jamaican sun. Dylan figured if Grandma Katie had met the bridesmaid he'd been paired with for his best friend's wedding, she would have understood his inability to adhere to her dictum this time. He glared at Winters, willing her to look at him.
They had a history. She'd been his Emergency Medical System instructor at the fire academy eight years ago. All Rockford, New York, firefighters were EMT’s, which allowed them to perform basic first aid and medical care—and he and Winters had clashed big-time. She'd gone after him repeatedly, critical of what she called his brash, risk-taking personality.
He'd responded by needling her every chance he got and dubbing her Lizzie Borden, for what he saw as her heavy-handed tactics. He'd heard that subsequent classes had continued the name, behind her back, of course. And ever since his recruit days, when he took further EMS training at the academy and become a paramedic or was forced to deal with her on department issues, they'd been barely civil to each other. Rotten luck that they'd been matched up for the ceremony.
I didn't know, Dyl, I'm sorry, the bride, Francey Cordaro, had told him last night at the rehearsal dinner. Since you two chose lime green, the wedding planner put you together.
Because the nuptials were taking place in the Caribbean, Francey and her fiancé, Alex Templeton, had chosen sarongs in various bright colors for the women and, for the men, white trousers and gauzy shirts to match the dresses. Furthermore, the bride and groom had insisted they all go to Jamaica three days before the wedding. Chartering an aircraft—Dylan had teasingly called it the Love Plane—Alex had flown the wedding party and the rest of the couple's family members down to enjoy the tropical weather before the big day.
As Dylan watched her, Winters raised her head. The cool aura surrounding her put him off completely. She was the antithesis of everything he considered feminine. Her intense hazel eyes locked on him. The irritation that marred her brow and shadowed her face every time she dealt with him was right there, as always, but today it was accompanied by a wariness he'd never seen before.
She's not on her own turf, he thought with sudden insight. And not in her usual conservative clothes. So she's uncomfortable. He considered making some snide remark to add to her discomfort. She probably expected it.
But one of Grandma Katie's truisms, which she got from the many books she read or the sayings she heard, came back to him. He'd been a cocky ninth grader and made the competitive junior varsity high school basketball team. Dylan's arch rival did not. He'd been gloating, and his grandma had peered at him from under steel-gray hair that had once been as black as his own, her blue eyes snapping. A sharp tongue can cut your own throat.
So Dylan bit that tongue, but continued to stare at Winters. Truth be told, he was amazed at what the outfit did to her rather ordinary looks. Her slender shoulders, kissed gently by the sun to a golden hue, were bare. The sarong draped over full breasts, indented into a small waist and fell gracefully to just below her knees. He'd never realized she had those kind of curves, for he'd only ever seen her in the fire academy uniform. Her cropped auburn hair glinted in the sun, and when the wind blew a few strands in her face, she brushed them out of her eyes with long, graceful fingers.
In addition to her unease, Winters looked fragile today, too, so he simply moved up beside her and said nothing. The sprinkling of freckles on her nose added to the illusion of vulnerability. And it was an illusion, because Beth Winters was a shark, cold and ruthless as those that swam in the sea. She could take chunks out of a guy's self-esteem before he could blink and dismember every bit of self-confidence he had with well-placed caustic remarks.
Still, Dylan held out his arm for her. She glanced at it as if it were the tentacle of an octopus.
"I don't bite," he whispered irritably.
"Grow up, O'Roarke."
Damn her! Even now she had the ability to reduce him to feeling like a rookie eating his first smoke.
Following the last attendants down the thirty foot dock, she held herself ramrod straight, barely making contact with his arm. Obviously, she didn't want to touch him any more than she had to. The thought made him angry. It also conjured up the little devil that came out in him whenever he got within ten feet of the woman. Casually, he placed his other hand on top of hers, forcing her palm to curl around his bare forearm, where he'd rolled up the sleeve of the shirt. Her skin felt baby soft and smooth, which took him by surprise and made him subtly draw her closer. He sensed her whole body stiffen, and perversely he winked at her, then held on until they reached the end of the dock. She scowled at him, and they parted.
Purposely turning his attention to something more pleasant, he watched the bride's procession down the dock. Despite Winters' annoying presence, he smiled at Francey. He'd witnessed his friend in many situations—caked with smoke and grime and swearing like a trooper; pinned under a fallen timber and moaning in pain; adrenaline-fueled as they headed into a fire toge
ther; near tears with ecstasy when she saved a little boy. But he'd never, ever seen her like this.
Her wedding dress was a white sarong embossed with a design of tropical flowers, which highlighted her tan and accented her violet eyes. Eschewing a veil, she wore one white tiger lily tucked in her dark hair.
Dylan's gaze switched to her groom, a few feet away at the end of the dock. Casual in his white trousers and white gauzy shirt, he looked utterly happy, obviously besotted with his soon-to-be wife.
Dylan, too, was genuinely happy for them because Francey and Alex had had a long road getting to this point—mostly around Alex's coming to terms with the danger of her job as a firefighter.
The ceremony began, and soon the minister's voice boomed out over the water in the sultry air. "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Alex smiled at his bride, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. When they drew apart, he crossed to his groomsmen and Francey to her bridesmaids.
"Congratulations." Dylan grabbed Alex's extended hand and clapped him warmly on the back.
"Thanks for being here for her, Dylan," Alex said. "And for me."
Francey cut between them and threw herself into Dylan's arms. "Oh, Dyl, I'm so happy."
"Yeah, kiddo, I can tell." Dylan hugged her tightly.
After a few minutes the recessional began. He met with Lizzie Borden in the middle of the dock. Again she didn't look at him as he took her arm. Morbidly silent they made it down the dock, without coming to blows.
"Nice talkin’ to you, Winters," Dylan said when they reached the sandy shore.
"Do people really think you're clever, O'Roarke?" Without waiting for an answer, she pivoted and, hips swaying, wound her way through the small crowd.
Dylan scanned the area for his date, Missy. Jake Scarlatta, another groomsman, approached him.
"How's it going, buddy?" Jake asked.
"Great.”
"Everybody looks terrific, don't they?"
"Yeah." Dylan still searched the crowd.
"Even Beth Winters. Did you see her in that sarong?"
"No, I didn't notice."
"You must be blind, buddy," Jake said, shaking his head. "Oh, there's Jessica. I'll catch you later."
Jake hurried to his teenage daughter, who stood to one side, chatting with Francey's friend Chelsea Whitmore. In peacock blue, which matched Jake's shirt, Chelsea looked very feminine, like she always did, like a woman should, even though she was a highly touted body builder and a more than competent firefighter.
Unable to find his date, Dylan approached Ben and Diana Cordaro, Francey's father and mother, who were talking with Francey's grandparents, Gus and Grace.
"Hi, Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa," Dylan said affectionately when he reached them.
Gus and Grace greeted him warmly. They were old friends of his father's, as was Ben. The grandparents were called for pictures with the bride and groom.
Diana leaned over and kissed Dylan's cheek. "Hello, handsome. You look terrific today."
"Me? You two almost stole the show from the bride and groom."
It was true. When Diana Cordaro, who was matron of honor, had stepped onto the dock and glided gracefully down the pier in a violet sarong, Dylan's mouth had fallen open. The color of her outfit mirrored her eyes. Her bare shoulders were the perfect complement for her blond hair, which fell in waves around her face. Dylan thought he'd never seen a more radiant woman. Ben was a worthy escort. Decked out in white trousers and a deep purple shirt, he appeared considerably younger than his fifty-three years, despite his salt-and-pepper hair.
After being divorced for almost three decades, the Cordaros were newly remarried and had come to Jamaica a week ago to celebrate their honeymoon. No one had had a glimpse of them until the rehearsal last night. Dylan liked and admired Ben, and he was glad to see him happy again. Ben, the battalion chief in charge of training, was one of the reasons Dylan looked forward to working at the Rockford Fire Academy for the next few months. While Dylan waited for a lieutenant's spot to open up at a station, he'd taken a staff position to help teach the class of the new recruits this fall.
"Wasn't the wedding perfect for them?" Diana asked, beaming proudly at the happy couple.
"It was great. But I thought I saw a few tears there, when Ben brought Francey down the dock."
Diana snuggled into her husband. "It was moving." After a moment she said, "So, you'll be at the academy now."
"Yep, for a while."
"Are you happy about the move?"
"Yes, I am." He glanced over to where the bridesmaids were gathering. Except for working with Lizzie Borden. He didn't voice the thought, though, because he'd already had a run-in with Ben on the issue.
"Time for pictures of the wedding party," Francey called.
Dylan sauntered over and waited for the photographer to position him, along with the nine other attendants, in front of a garden of tropical flowers. His mind drifted to his first few days at the academy last week and the initial meeting of all the personnel…
Ben Cordaro, always the professional in the white shirt of a Rockford battalion chief with its epaulets, smiled at the staff.
“Good morning, everyone. I’d like to give you an overview of your tasks with the recruits.” The group would arrive the next Monday.
After that he smiled at Dylan and the other two instructors who were new to the academy. “It’s always good to have the expertise of line firefighters who are in the trenches. Welcome, guys.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan watched Beth Winters bristle at the last remark. When Ben asked if any of the academy staff wanted to comment, Eric Scanlon, a veteran captain, welcomed the three of them and joked that he hoped the line guys were in good shape, so they could keep up with the confidence walks—physical-fitness treks required of the recruits to build their stamina. Having been through the walks themselves, the new guys groaned good-naturedly.
Then Winters raised her hand. Dylan knew in his gut she was going to extinguish the camaraderie and good mood quicker than a foam blanket on a gasoline fire. She stood, angling her chin and leveling her chilly stare on all of them. Wearing the light blue shirt of the RFD—as starched and crisp as she was—and man-tailored pants, she'd addressed the group.
"I'd like to remind the inexperienced instructors what we expect for the tone of the academy. Granted, we'll be more formal at the beginning, and loosen up a bit as we go along, but I hope we all understand the seriousness of what we're doing." Her snooty gaze cut to Dylan. "And about the qualities we need to instill in these recruits—caution, discretion, clear thinking."
The room had grown so quiet that the secretaries' chatter filtered down the hall to them. Everyone present knew about Dylan's recent reprimand—for lack of following procedure. They also knew it had saved a rookie firefighter's life.
Ben Cordaro opened his mouth to break the charged silence when Dylan leaned forward in his chair. "I'd like to address that, Ben, since everybody knows her remark was directed at me. I understand the importance of instilling a sense of discipline in the recruits, Ms. Winters. I also know they have to follow orders unequivocally. I can assure you I'll adhere to academy guidelines."
Then Dylan had lazed back in his chair, linked his hands behind his head and propped his booted foot on his knee. "But I also believe in tellin’ them the truth. I think it's valuable to have the three of us who've been on the line recently let the recruits know some real-life situations they'll face that aren't in the rule book." The entire time he held Winters' frosty gaze with his smoldering one.
She said no more, so Ben Cordaro stood. "I'm sure we’ll find a happy medium there. I think you both have valid points." He was quiet for a moment, then added sternly, "And I expect you'll be able to reach some compromise on this issue…"
Dylan remembered thinking that at least they'd be working in different areas—Winters in EMS, he in fire suppression. He could probably avoid unnecessary contact with her a
nd get through this without losing too much of his hide in the process.
#
"Where's the yellow?" the photographer called after he drew Jake and Chelsea together in the middle. Alex's brother and best man, Richard, and Francey's stepsister, Elise, stepped forward. Her hair, a few shades lighter than her yellow sarong, sparkled in the afternoon sun.
Next the photographer placed Francey's brothers, sister-in-law and Diana. "All right, we need the green team."
Dylan edged into the group, right up to his partner. Her shoulder brushed his accidentally. She was about five inches shorter than he was, so he could see the sun glisten off the red highlights of her hair. For a long fifteen minutes they held their forced smiles for the camera.
At the end of the session, Alex faced the group. "Don't go yet." Seemingly from nowhere, waiters produced glasses of champagne for the wedding party. "I'd like to toast my bride." He tugged Francey close and lifted his glass. "Almost six months ago this gorgeous woman dragged me out of a fire and saved my life." He gazed at her, his eyes so full of love it made Dylan suck in his breath. "But today, by becoming my wife, she gave me an even greater gift." His voice hoarse with emotion, Alex finished, "I love you, Francesca."
Dylan felt choked up. He turned from the scene to look out to sea. As he did so, he noticed Beth Winters watching Francey and Alex blankly, as if she wasn't even seeing them.
Her body was painfully rigid. There was not even a spark of sentimentality on her face.
Jeez, Dylan thought, was the blasted woman made of stone?
