by Erin Wright
Inferno of Love – A Western Fireman Romance Novel
Firefighters of Long Valley – Book 2
Erin Wright
Wright’s Reads
Copyright © 2018 by Erin Wright
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
To Handsome Hubby:
Thanks for being willing to walk through fire to save me, even if it’s just my attempt to cook dinner that set the kitchen ablaze.
Chapter 1
Georgia
Quick Note: If you enjoy Inferno of Love, be sure to check out my offer of a FREE Long Valley novella at the end.
With that, enjoy!
* * *
April 2018
Tripp popped his head around her office door even as he gave a light rap on it. “Hey Georgia, there’s a handsome cowboy here to see you.”
“Thanks,” she said lightly, trying to ignore the warning bells going off in her head. If it was Levi, this was going to become real awkward, real quick. Not that Levi exactly came strolling into her office every day, but it was possible that he—
And then Moose came striding in instead. Georgia’s stomach did the amazing trick of both dropping to somewhere around her knee caps, while also rising up in her throat. She was going to be the first human on record with a bifurcated stomach. Awesome.
Moose. Of course it was Moose. Someone she’d known since they were in diapers, someone she’d graduated with from high school, and…the one guy she’d always wanted but could never have.
He was here to torture her with his cologne and muscular chest and mmhmmm thighs and…
“How are you?” she asked, planting a bright smile on her lips. She came around her desk to do the awkward hug/handshake combo that always left her feeling like she needed to bust out with, “And that’s what it’s all about!” when she was done.
Except she was the youngest branch manager in the history of the Goldfork Credit Union, and a female to boot. Busting out with the lyrics from the Hokey Pokey in her office (or anywhere, really) was not going to happen any time soon.
It was easy enough to stay professional and distant from older, crusty farmers who’d been tilling up the land since Moses came down from Mt. Sinai with his arms full of stone tablets. It was slightly harder to keep that demeanor up around Moose.
He flashed his mouth full of gorgeous, straight white teeth at her and said, “Good, good, but if the farmers don’t quit bitching about the water year that’s in the cards, I think I just might lose my ever-lovin’ mind.”
“I’ve been hearing that around town,” Georgia murmured. She wasn’t about to get into the politics of lending to farmers in what was projected to be a low-water year, not even with Moose.
“Well anyway, I don’t know if you’ve heard that the spaghetti feed and donkey basketball fundraiser is coming up quick, but the fire department is sending all of us out into the community to ask for donations to auction off. Do you have anything to add to the pile?”
“Oh. Hmmm…” She tapped her finger against her teeth as she thought. As the branch manager for the only credit union in Sawyer, she got asked quite often about donations and prizes for local fundraisers, so they had their stack of branded t-shirts, pens, and notepads that they gave to anyone who asked. But with Moose giving her the “I’d love you forever if you gave me something great” look, it was hard to just brush him off with a pile of Goldfork t-shirts.
All right, so maybe he wasn’t actually giving her that look, and she was just projecting her own feelings onto him. That was totally a possibility…
One she was going to ignore, of course.
“Oh hey!” she exclaimed excitedly when inspiration struck, “what if we match a $50 deposit into a savings account – new or previously established – for anyone under the age of 18? Help a kid get started on saving for something important. Grandparents would love to give a gift like that to a grandchild.”
He sent her a huge smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners with happiness. Her stomach dropped further, hitting right around her shin bones.
This was starting to get ridiculous, really.
“I love it! Do you need to pass it by headquarters?”
“Nah, they give us some money every year to do community-minded stuff like this. If we end the year with money in that account, we get a talkin’ to about not donating enough to the local groups. Of course, that’s a pretty rare thing – usually we’re asked for more than we have the money for.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, Dad has the same thing happen, but he usually just gives away John Deere toys to auction off when he’s asked for donations.”
“‘Just’?” she echoed, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve seen the price tags on those toys. They don’t come cheap!”
“Nothing John Deere does comes cheap,” Moose agreed with a grin. “Quality all the way.” He flexed his muscles like a bodybuilder for a moment, and Georgia burst out laughing.
“I forget sometimes that your actual name is Deere,” she said dryly. “Your father is one dedicated John Deere dealership owner, you know that?”
“I’m pretty sure I know that better than anyone else alive,” he said, and there was something in his eyes for just a moment and then it was gone, his grin firmly planted on his face again. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve wondered what I’ll name my oldest son. John, Deere the Second, or Green are pretty much my only choices.”
“‘Green’?” she repeated, laughing. “You’d name a child ‘Green’?”
“Hell, my father named me Deere. I’m pretty sure all naming conventions are thrown out the window at this point.”
“True enough.” They grinned at each other for a moment, and Georgia felt her stomach begin to do flips. Okay, this was really getting out of control.
Her brain knew, even if her stomach didn’t, that Moose Garrett was off-limits. He was so far off-limits, he might as well have a “No Trespassing” sign stapled to his forehead. In fact, she might just donate one to the cause, to help her stomach remember this information. Someday, when Moose was ready to settle down and pop out boys named Green, he was going to be doing it with Tennessee, Georgia’s cousin.
And nice human beings just didn’t daydream about stealing their cousin’s future fiancé, that was for damn sure.
“Well, I better get a move on,” Moose said, shifting from one foot to the other. He was constantly on the move, even when he was standing still. Georgia figured that must be how he stayed in such good shape, even as their former high school classmates were starting to develop spare tires around the middle. “I just stopped by to do a deposit and thought I’d check in with you on the prize thing while I was here. Would you mind getting the info over to Jaxson? This is his first fundraiser for the fire department, and he’s more nervous than a chicken in a henhouse full of coyotes. I don’t think trying to take care of Sugar after the Muffin Man fire has helped anything, either.”
“Yeah, I can see that. I keep meaning to bring a casserole by and see how Sugar’s doing. I heard she’s mostly got her voice back?”
“Jaxson’s been telling me that it’s come back just in time for her to start harping on him about how she isn’t an inval
id, and that he needs to go back to work and leave her the hell alone.”
Georgia let out a snort of laughter at that. She didn’t know the new fire chief all that well – he’d only started in January – but she did know Sugar, and that sounded just like her. She was a pretty independent person, and if Jaxson was prone to hovering…well, Sugar probably wouldn’t take that real well.
“I’m glad that she’s at least feeling good enough to tell him to back off,” Georgia said with a grin. “I’m pretty sure that’s a good sign, and if he’s smart, he’ll listen to her.”
“Smart men listen to the women in their lives,” Moose agreed, “at least if they know what’s good for ‘em.”
He was looking at her a little too intently, and Georgia felt her cheeks flush under his gaze. It was…awkward. And weird. She coughed, then coughed again. Then cleared her throat. Because apparently a whole slew of frogs had taken up residence in it.
“I’m sure Tennessee would be happy to hear that,” she finally said weakly.
“Right. Tennessee.” And then he was walking towards the door. “Thanks for your help,” he tossed over his shoulder as he slipped through and her office door shut with a click behind him and she was left just staring at it.
“Yeah. Anytime,” she whispered into the quiet of her office.
Somehow, she’d messed that up and she didn’t even know how…but she did know she regretted it.
Even if she shouldn’t.
Chapter 2
Moose
Moose pushed his way to the bar at O’Malley’s and flagged down Steve, the owner and full-time bartender. “Guinness,” he shouted over the twang of country music. Steve jerked his head in response, pulled a dark brown bottle out from underneath the counter, and popped the top even as he was sliding it towards Moose.
A body didn’t own a bar for 25 years without getting some movements down into a smooth ballet, that was for damn sure.
Moose dropped two singles on the bar top and then turned around to lean up against it, sipping his beer while looking around the darkened bar. It was a Friday night, and it showed. Lots of people out on the town, ready to let their hair down and have some fun.
Levi was supposed to be there any minute now so they could hang out together. Moose would nurse his beer along; Levi would buy him a second one over Moose’s protestations; and they’d both ignore the fact that the heir to the richest guy in town was poorer than a church mouse.
So, you know, the usual.
Levi seemed to be taking his sweet-ass time about making his appearance this week, though, so Moose just settled into place against the polished bar top and slowly sipped at his beer. Several of the biggest customers of the Garrett Tractor & Implement Dealership were here tonight, which was both a blessing and a curse. Any face-time with customers outside of work, where they got to see him as more than just a salesman trying to upgrade them to the latest and greatest, was always a good thing.
Of course, his father letting him back onto the sales floor was only something Moose could wish for longingly at this point. He’d been stuck in the repair shop for a lot longer than he’d expected and was ready to move back to the showroom, where his natural talent for salesmanship could truly be a boon to the business.
He understood why his dad was having him work in every department at the dealership – as the future owner, having a deep knowledge of how everything worked together was key – but he was never going to truly love being a grease monkey. The sales floor was where he shined, and everyone knew it.
But tonight, here at the bar, he was the owner’s son, even if he was the son tucked away in the repair shop, and the dealership’s biggest, most important customers would expect him to buy a round or two for them, which…wasn’t necessarily doable. He did some mental calculations. If he bought a beer for three farmers, what would that mean for paying his cell phone bill next week? Could he squeak by until payday?
“Hey, brother,” Levi said, pretty much in his ear. Moose jumped, spilling a little of his Guinness on the scuffed wooden floor.
“Shit, Levi,” Moose yelped, laughing. “When’d you get here?”
“Just now, but you seemed off in your own little world. Trying to figure out who you can afford to buy rounds for?”
“Maybe.” He took another tiny sip of his beer. The smaller, the better. He’d taken nursing a beer to an Olympic level, really.
“You know I’d be happy to pay for the rounds,” Levi rumbled. His deep voice didn’t travel far, but Moose’d had 17 years of practice of listening to him, so he caught every word.
“It’ll be fine,” Moose said, waving the suggestion off. Customers expected the owner’s son to buy their drinks, not the dealership’s welder and repairman. “How was work today? I didn’t see you at closing time.”
“Your dad has me out doing repairs in fields right now. That damn wind today was colder than an ice slick in January, though. I’ll be glad when spring repairs are over with, and I can come back to working in the shop.”
Levi worked at the John Deere dealership, of course, although he made more money at it than Moose did. Everyone made more money than Moose did. In fact, he was pretty damn sure that the shop kid who pushed a broom around made more than he did.
He pushed the thought aside. “Are all of the farmers complaining to you about how dry it is this year? That’s all I’m hearing about right now at the dealership.”
“Yup. This past winter…I mean, sure, we had a few nice snowstorms but half the time, we were getting nothing but wind blowing the same damn snow around in circles. The snowpack up in the Goldfork Mountains just isn’t where it should be…I don’t know. I guess we’ll see. If we get a few late season storms in, we might be fine, but right now, all we’re getting is wind, wind, and more wind. Like living in a damn air tunnel. Drying out the fields like this ain’t exactly making the farmers happy.”
Moose took another metered sip of his beer. “Nope, it really isn’t. And if the farmers ain’t happy…”
“Ain’t nobody happy,” Levi finished, and they laughed. They lapsed together into a silence that felt as natural and comfortable as slipping on an old pair of jeans. Levi was his oldest and truest friend; the one who’d always had his back no matter what.
Moose may have a dick for a father, but Levi almost helped make up for that.
Almost.
Of course, Levi’s dad was no one to write home about either, although he was a dirtbag in a completely different way. While Moose’s dad was the richest guy in town and someone no one dared stand up to, Levi’s dad was the town drunk who didn’t care one bit about who or what he hurt, as long as he got alcohol in the end.
They may not appear similar on the surface, but underneath…
“What did your dad say when you told him you wouldn’t be bringing brown paper bags by anymore?” Moose asked, taking another tiny sip of his Guinness. Despite his best efforts, his beer was almost gone. Maybe he could pretend to drink out of an empty bottle; extend the illusion a little longer.
He was good at pretending.
Levi shrugged, looking out at the dance floor where a few rowdy cowboys were staggering to the beat of their own drum, since it obviously wasn’t to the beat of the country music thumping through the speakers. “Eh. He questioned my parentage. Told me not to come back. You know, the usual.”
Moose nodded. It was the usual. That didn’t mean it hurt any less, though.
“You think he’s ready to go to some meetings yet?”
“Nope.” Levi popped the “p” for extra emphasis, and then gave Moose a wry smile. “I reckon he’ll be ready for that about the same time I’m ready to strip down to my boxers and run down Main Street.”
Moose nodded again. Levi was right, of course. His dad was nowhere near ready to give up the bottle. Maybe someday he would be.
Today was not that day.
Hours later, Moose let himself into the basement entrance to his parent’s house and down to his bedroom, whe
re he unlaced his boots and settled back on the bed with a huge sigh. He’d gotten away with only having to buy two beers for customers tonight, which he figured was some sort of win. People probably wondered why he still lived at home; why he drove a beat-up pickup truck; why he nursed the same beer for hours at a time down at the bar. He imagined the guesses ranged from he was a tightwad through to him being a lightweight with alcohol.
He didn’t imagine that the guesses were ever on the money, though (all puns intended) – that his father was hellbent on “toughening up his son” by paying him pauper’s wages down at the dealership. When Moose finally got to take over the business, he’d be rolling in the dough, but until then, he was the poorest rich kid this side of the Mississippi. It was something he’d told only Levi, and only because it was Levi.
Moose just had to make it through five more years of hell, and then it would all be his. He could totally do it.
Totally.
Chapter 3
Georgia
The silverware clinked in the awkward silence that was the Rowland Sunday Dinner.
Just because it happened every single week didn’t make it any less awkward. Unfortunately.
This week was at Uncle Robert and Aunt Roberta’s house, which meant they were eating on matching china plates and real silver and sipping $300-a-bottle wine out of delicate goblets.
It was exactly the kind of thing that made Georgia grateful that she was the daughter to the younger of the Rowland brothers – the one who’d inherited nothing at all and was now a high school biology teacher – because if she had to eat off real china using real silver every day, she’d probably be stark-raving mad by now.
Uncle Robert cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Tennessee. “What did your piano teacher assign to you this week?” he asked. “I haven’t heard you practice lately.”
