by S. M. Butler
He wanted to make it last forever, but Caitlyn was too beautiful, too close to ecstasy herself. She arched her back, bit her lip, and writhed beneath him until she came with a series of cries that carried him over the edge, too. As his release overwhelmed all his senses, he knew he’d never let Caitlyn go.
Caitlyn woke with a gasp, knowing something was very different from her usual mornings. For one thing, the angle of the sunlight streaming in her bedroom window told her she’d slept far later than Lottie usually let her.
Speaking of Lottie—
Caitlyn surged upright, ready to scramble out of bed, and remembered only then that Lottie had spent the night with Ellie. As scenes from the dance played through her mind, she took in her clothes scattered across the bedroom floor.
Mixed with a man’s jeans and cotton shirt.
And boxers.
She turned slowly to take in Ben lying next to her, his grin as wide as a Montana sky.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Morning,” she echoed, memories of their night cascading into her thoughts. They’d made love not once, but twice, the first time fast and explosive, the second time slow but oh-so-satisfying.
“Come here.”
She didn’t hesitate, already aching to feel Ben inside her again and she wasn’t disappointed by their third round of lovemaking. Ben fulfilled her every wish, making her feel sensual and womanly and—
A knock at the front door stopped them when they were well on their way to a fourth attempt.
“Shoot!” Caitlyn glanced at the clock and scrambled from the bed. “It’s Ellie. She’s bringing Lottie home. Don’t make a sound!”
“Don’t make a sound?” Ben shot her a puzzled look as she threw his clothing at him, but she raced from the room, donning a bathrobe as she went and shut the door before he could say anything else. She wasn’t ready for Ellie to know she’d spent a wild, passionate night with Ben.
She took a moment to get herself together before answering the door. “Sorry—I was… sleeping.”
“No problem. You deserve the rest,” Ellie said. “I can keep Lottie longer if you like.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m up and I have nothing else to do besides spend the day with my girl.” She held out her arms and Ellie delivered Lottie into them. Guilt stabbed through Caitlyn’s heart when she realized she’d hardly given her daughter a thought in the past twelve hours. She shouldn’t allow a man to cloud her vision that way. Distracted, she said good-bye to Ellie.
“Hold up; you’ll need this.” Ellie passed her the diaper bag Caitlyn had packed the night before. “Probably sooner than you’d like. I think Lottie might need a change.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” Caitlyn caught a whiff of Lottie and winced, but she paused when a funny look came over her aunt’s face. “What’s wrong? Don’t worry; I’ll change her.” But when Ellie continued to stare, she turned around to find Ben had come up behind her. He’d pulled on his jeans, thank goodness, but he was still shirtless. He reached out to lift Lottie and the diaper bag from Caitlyn’s arms.
“I’ll take care of that. Hi, Ellie.”
“Hi, Ben,” Ellie said. “Good to see you again.”
“Good to see you too. Be back in a minute.”
Both women watched in wonder as he carried Lottie away down the hall, looking into rooms until he found the nursery.
“Does he know how to change a diaper?” Ellie asked.
“I have no idea.”
“You’d better go see.”
Chapter Ten
‡
“I can do that.”
Ben looked up from the changing table to see Caitlyn hovering anxiously nearby.
“I’ve got it.” At least he thought he did. He’d never changed a diaper before, and he hoped there wasn’t some trick to it he hadn’t anticipated.
He undid the plastic tabs and opened the diaper, frowning a little at the smell. Lottie smiled and cooed at him as he carefully extricated her from the mess.
Caitlyn passed him a container of wipes and he knew she wanted to take over, but he pressed on stubbornly. A few wipes and a shake or two of powder and the baby girl was as good as new. Caitlyn handed him a clean diaper and bit back anything she might have wanted to say while he fastened it on. His hands felt clumsy around the tiny girl, but in the end he felt he’d done a creditable job.
“That went way above and beyond the call of duty,” Caitlyn said as she took Lottie from him.
“I figure I better know how if I’m going to spend a lot of time with you two.”
“Do you plan to spend a lot of time with us?”
“You better believe it.” He kissed her on the nose. “Think you can stand it?”
“I think so.”
As they kissed again, with Lottie squashed between them, Ben knew that no injury could keep him from being with the woman he loved.
Epilogue
‡
Six months later
“Aren’t you glad I forced you to get a date for the Harvest Dance?” Mason asked Ben as they stood at the altar of the Chance Creek Reformed Church.
“You got that right. It was worth it to get that revolver. Hey!” Ben grinned when Mason elbowed him.
“You barely looked at that revolver when I gave it to you. You were too wrapped up in your new girlfriend.”
“Can you blame me?” Ben craned his neck when the music started and Mia began to walk down the aisle in a pale blue bridesmaid dress. Behind her came the woman he wanted to see—the woman he looked forward to spending his life with. Caitlyn was radiant in a classic gown as she walked by her father’s side, Lottie in her arms. The toddler wore a pretty gown of her own, and stared at the gathered crowd, her eyes round with surprise. When Caitlyn reached Ben’s side, Lottie reached up her arms to him. He took her and settled her in the crook of his elbow as he and Caitlyn turned to face Reverend Halpern.
“Dearly Beloved,” the reverend began, but Ben lost track of his words as he gazed at his bride. He’d never expected that his injury could have brought something so wonderful into his life. He’d fallen for Caitlyn almost at first sight but over the months he’d grown to cherish her—and Lottie. More than ever he thought that Lottie’s father had made a huge mistake when he’d left Caitlyn behind, but his loss was Ben’s gain and he meant to make the most of it.
“Repeat after me, Ben,” the reverend said. Ben took a deep breath.
“I, Benjamin Warren, take you, Caitlyn Cross, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
“Caitlyn?” The reverend turned to her. When she raised her gaze to his, Ben wanted to sweep her into his arms, but he wasn’t home free yet. He waited for her to speak the words that would bind her to him forever.
“I, Caitlyn Cross take you, Ben Warren, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Montana, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Caitlyn tilted her chin up to meet his kiss and Ben pulled her into an embrace he never wanted to end, but when Lottie clapped and squealed they broke apart laughing.
“I think she’s as happy as we are,” Caitlyn said.
“I can’t imagine being happier.”
“Are you sure? Because Lottie and I have news for you.”
As their guests clapped and cheered, Ben leaned close to hear her. “What’s that?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Ben whooped and kissed Caitlyn, then Lottie, then Caitlyn again. “Hey everyone,” he shouted to the congregation. “I’m going to be a father—again!” he swept Caitlyn up the aisle, receiving congratulations every step of the way. When they reached the top of the aisle he stopped just long enough to give Caitlyn another kiss. “I love
you, Caitlyn Warren.”
“I love you too.”
The End
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Other Works by Cora Seton
The Cowboys of Chance Creek Series
The Cowboy’s E-Mail Order Bride
The Cowboy Wins a Bride
The Cowboy Imports a Bride
The Cowgirl Ropes a Billionaire
The Sheriff Catches a Bride
The Cowboy Lassos a Bride
The Cowboy Rescues a Bride
The Cowboy Earns a Bride
The Heroes of Chance Creek Series
The Navy SEAL’s E-Mail Order Bride
The Soldier’s E-Mail Order Bride
The Marine’s E-Mail Order Bride
The Navy SEAL’s Christmas Bride
The Airman’s E-Mail Order Bride
The SEALs of Chance Creek Series
A SEAL’s Oath
A SEAL’s Vow
A SEAL’s Pledge
A SEAL’s Consent
One Hot SEAL
Anne Marsh
Website | Newsletter
About This Book
Ex-SEAL Luke Dawson’s new mission in life is fighting fires. When he rescues local bad girl Deelie Olsen from a summer blaze, lust isn’t supposed to be part of the equation. Nor is love—but something about the frank, tough-as-nails woman has him throwing caution to the wind. Getting her in bed may be easy, but getting to know her will be a whole lot harder… and the battle for Deelie’s heart is one fight he has every intention of winning.
Chapter One
‡
Luke Dawson loved his job. Fire roared on the other side of the hill. Although the flames weren’t visible yet, the rain shower of embers dropping everywhere and the choking smoke were Mother Nature’s heads-up that a shitstorm of destruction was barreling toward the Black Mountain hotshots. Usually, Luke would have dug his heels and his Pulaski in, literally drawing the line in the forest floor between what burned and what escaped the flames. It was the best kind of firefight and a welcome change of pace after two tours of duty as a US Navy SEAL. He’d loved that job too, but it had been time to come home. Time to put down a different kind of roots and get on with living his life.
But today had gone to shit, and it wasn’t Mother Nature’s fault. The campsite was supposed to be clear—and all the official sites were. The Black Mountain crew had rousted the last occupants over an hour ago and sent them with a police escort to a safer area. The problem was there had been nine cars at those campsites—and ten cars had checked in with the park ranger earlier that day. Unless a car had grown wings and flown away, Luke Dawson had a rogue camper who’d copped an illegal spot somewhere.
A flambéed camper if Luke didn’t find him or her.
He was unfortunately reminded of his last mission as a SEAL, storming a Somali pirate ship to rescue the hostage crew. Not only had the pirates decided to split up their captives, making a rescue effort more challenging, but some of the crew members had successfully hidden from the pirates, putting friendlies in unknown locations. They’d taken out the pirates, but clearing the vessel had taken hours of painstakingly sweeping each level.
Luke and Pick Harris were supposed to be confirming that the campground was empty. Pick ran with a local motorcycle club in the off-season. Luke had asked him once about the name and gotten a terse Pickax in reply. Someday Luke planned on getting the story behind the name from him, but that wouldn’t be tonight.
“So we’re definitely missing a camper. Highway patrol is running the plates to get an ID on the owner and reach out in case the driver somehow managed to leave the park without checking out with the rangers.”
Double-checking was the smart move, but they didn’t have the time to wait. The fire would crest the hill within the hour, probably sooner, and since the Northern California campground occupied fairly rugged terrain, that didn’t leave them any time to search.
“Roger that. I’ll check this road.” Luke pointed to a gravel access road.
Pick nodded, looking thoughtful. “How long until we can get the tankers in the air?”
“Two hours until sunrise. Our boys can’t fly until they’ve got daylight, but they’re gassed and ready to go. They’ll be airborne by six.”
Which would be about an hour and a half too late for Mystery Camper.
Pick cursed again. “Make your road check quick. We’re burning time.”
And ten thousand acres. Although the most common cause of wildland fires was the goddamned people who flicked a Bic, failed to put out a campfire, or did other dumbass, highly illegal shit, today’s blaze was likely courtesy of a lightning strike from a thunderstorm last week. One good hit to a dead tree could simmer for days and then explode into flames, which was probably what had happened here.
He was good to go, so he swung up into his truck and hit the access road. The deeper he headed into the campground, the more obvious this Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot became. He’d driven a Humvee through a firefight in Afghanistan once, hostile rounds landing left and right. Now blazing embers hit his truck, thudding relentlessly against his hood when the wind shifted briefly. Good thing he hadn’t been attached to his paint job.
He guided his truck down the access road, flooring the gas as much as he dared. It should be fairly easy to spot a car. He had the make, model, and license plate number, and it was better than beating the bushes looking for a solo hiker on foot. Leaving anyone out here wasn’t an option, particularly a civilian who wouldn’t know how to take cover and maximize his chances of survival. As soon as the fire hopped the hill, the entire hotshot team would be flat-out sprinting for safety. There simply weren’t too many good spots here to hole up and hope for the best.
The road split. “You voting left or right?” Luke asked the bobblehead stuck to his dash. The cheerleader doll sported the Incident Commander’s face, cut out from a newspaper article and glued on. The guys on his team loved practical jokes, and that one had been fun. The doll’s blond hair and supersized tits shimmied as he steered the truck left.
There were undoubtedly all sorts of valid and compelling reasons why Rogue Camper wouldn’t have evacuated voluntarily. Car troubles. Sleeping pill. Heart attack. Wannabe photographer who thought scoring an up-close-and-personal video of the firestorm would guarantee YouTube stardom and a thousand bucks from the local news station. None of these, however, were reasons worth dying for. After two tours in Afghanistan, Luke had seen all sorts of reasons for dying. Some he’d been on board with. Others had been flat-out stupid. Fire fell into the second category.
There.
He caught a flash of metal through the trees. Someone had parked a beat-up, powder-blue Cadillac by the stream. Another foot and the car would have been in the water, although the six inches of mountain water didn’t pose much of a danger. It was the principle of the thing. Someone had converted the old Cadillac into a truck, the low boat of a car now sporting a bona fide truck bed. He couldn’t see a tent in the clearing, but there was definitely a blanket-covered mound in the back of the Caddy.
Shit. If the camper was already dead, the return trip would suck.
Pulling over, he radioed in his position. “I’ve got our missing vehicle. I’m making contact now.”
“Roger that.” Pick’s voice crackled over the headset. “Load him up quick because the fire’s gonna crest soon and I left my fucking crystal ball at home. Maybe the flames jump the road, maybe they don’t, but I wouldn’t be hanging around to admire the scenery.”
“Ten-four.” He left the truck ready because a speedy getaway was clearly the order of the day. When he got out, the air was smoky but still breathable.
“Black Mountain hotshot crew.” He announced his presence as he strode toward the Caddy. If the guy was still okay, scar
ing the camper into a heart attack would only make the situation more challenging. “The campground’s under a mandatory evacuation.”
He shone his flashlight into the truck bed, expecting to see movement. And… got nothing. A small white head popped up from beneath the blanket mound. The dog was small and squat, its sides wider than it was high. It panted happily, the crystals in its pink collar flashing in Luke’s light. Okay. If the dog was breathing fine, the camper should be too. He’d roust the sleeper, get him or her back into the Caddy and onto the road. Reaching into the truck bed, he grabbed the closest piece of Blanket Mountain and shook.
“Fire department. There’s a mandatory evacuation.”
Sleeping Beauty sat up, and Luke had a whole different problem on his hands. Or, rather, in his palm, because he was cupping a stranger’s breast. Granted, it was a mighty fine breast that was completely free-range beneath a worn T-shirt. Mystery camper had huge tits.
“If you’re not buying me a beer, that boob’s off-limits. I’ve got a guard dog, and Vicious will kick your ass.” Maybe the exhaustion and grogginess in her voice explained how she’d slept through a forest fire creeping up on her. The earplugs she yanked out had to have been a contributing factor as well. Who the hell wore earplugs way out here in the forest where the only night noises were a few crickets and marauding raccoons?
They both examined the dog, who was panting happily. The same dog who couldn’t be bothered to bark when he’d pulled into her clearing—and that was now licking the back of his hand. Yeah. So vicious. Then she looked down, a playful smile tugging at her pretty mouth. Even underneath all the crazy, every-which-way curls, he could see she had what his older brother had called One of Those Mouths. Pouty and kiss-shaped, her mouth made a man fantasize about the Victoria’s Secret catalog—or guiding those lips down his dick. He needed to work on his dating life. He needed to not get a hard-on for the damsel in distress.
