Cowboy Firefighter Heat

by Kim Redford

  He looked at her, standing there so stiff and straight with her long, ash-blond hair in disarray and her green eyes spitting fire. She was spoiling for a fight, but she was smart enough to know she couldn’t win. It had all been over for her before it started. Still, she held the winning hand. How many nights had he lain in this very bed imagining her coming to him like she had tonight? Too many to count. It was why, at first, he couldn’t believe she was actually sliding into his bed, snuggling under the covers, making those little satisfied sighs in the back of her throat that set him on fire. And now he was burning up just gazing at her.

  He didn’t know if he’d lucked out with her return or if her being here would be the final explosion that blasted apart what little was left between them. If he wasn’t so obsessed with her, it’d be easier. He’d be able to think straighter. He’d be able to do what needed to be done without worrying about her. But that state of mind was never going to happen, so he might as well work with what he had right now and call it a blessing.

  He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t even want to think. He wanted to draw her close and hold her, stroke her, smell her. She had silky skin and sleek muscles wrapped up in a package of long legs, curvy hips, and full breasts. She used to smell like oranges and lavender, a sweet-tart scent that made him want to nurture her and ravage her at the same time. But that was another world. He exhaled a sigh, lusting after what he’d lost.

  As a rancher, he managed thousand-pound-plus beasts. As a firefighter, he contained out-of-control fires. As an entertainer, he sang for audiences till his voice gave out. If he couldn’t get one woman to love him like he loved her, then he was a sorry excuse for a man. Come hell or high water, he was making a play for her. And this time, he’d do it right.

  “I need to get this sorted out with my sister,” Fern said.

  “Nothing to sort out.” He wanted to get out of bed, go to her, and wrap her in his arms, but he was stark naked—aroused, too—so it didn’t seem like a good idea. Besides, he was already big to her petite, hulking over her, so he’d be setting off alarm bells that he wanted to keep quiet. Small women were particularly conscious of the physical power of men. If he wasn’t careful, she might run.

  “Ivy has some explaining to do at the least.”

  “Tomorrow ought to be soon enough.” He patted the bed again, holding out little hope she’d actually join him.

  “Are the other cabins empty? I need a place to sleep tonight.”

  “Full up.” And he’d never been gladder for that fact. “It’s too late to go anywhere else. You can stay here.”

  She glanced behind her, then back at him. “I guess I could take the sofa.”

  “Lumpy.” He stroked the palm of his hand across the smooth sheet. “New bed here.”

  “I thought it felt new.”

  “Slade bought it for Ivy. They left it when they moved into his house.”

  “I kept thinking I’d get around to replacing the bed when I lived here, but I just never did get the time.”

  “It’s comfy.”

  “No doubt. Still, I’ll take the sofa, then find another place tomorrow.” She turned and left the room.

  He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, feeling it brush the top of his shoulders. What had he expected? He needed a head check if he really thought she’d just crawl right back into bed with him, even for a single night, but that was where he wanted her.

  He threw off the covers and stalked over to the chair where he’d tossed his gray sweatpants. He pulled them up and tied the drawstring, but the pants still hung low on his narrow hips. He padded out to the living room on bare feet.

  First thing he saw was her battered guitar case leaning against the back of the chair. If her vintage acoustic guitar was here, then she was well and truly back. He smiled, feeling a surge of pleasure at the remembered music that had brought them together. Maybe it could again.

  “Still playing that sorry old Fender,” he teased as he’d done so many times in the past, because they preferred different brands.

  She placed a protective hand on the case, then glanced up at him with mischief in her green eyes. “I suppose you’re still lugging around that battered old Martin.”

  He grinned, enjoying the fact that they’d fallen so easily back into their old sparring ways. “You don’t walk out on Lady Luck, not when you’re on a winning streak.”

  “Ever think how much better your luck onstage would be if you played something really fine with nice timbre?”

  “You know good and well I’ve got that going for me,” he said, chuckling. “Older is better ’cause there’s nothing like the rich, warm tone of aged wood.”

  “Like my guitar?”

  “Mine. And yours.” He didn’t mention the fact—although she knew it—that he played several guitars. He particularly liked his electric Fender when he played with his band. With the two of them, he preferred the sound of their favorite acoustic guitars.

  “But I never share.” She teased him back as she stroked her case up and down with long fingers. “Not when it comes to my instrument.”

  “But now you’re sharing Wildcat Hall with me.”

  “Under duress.” She looked away, smile fading, shoulders stiffening again.

  He could’ve kicked himself for spoiling the mood. Still, she had to get used to the idea of them as a team again. “We’ve been partners. This is just a bigger stage.”

  “I simply can’t wrap my mind around it.” She plopped down on the sofa, leaning back her head and shutting her eyes.

  “It’ll come to you.” He glanced down at the clothes she’d discarded in that sloppy way she had when she was really tired and down. He felt tenderness well up inside him like a big ball of sun rising in the morning.

  “Not tonight, I think.”

  He reached down and picked up her jeans. He folded them and placed them on the seat of a kitchen chair. He neatly folded her T-shirt with the glittery image of a guitar and set it on top of the jeans.

  “Leave it be,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll get my stuff together in the morning.”

  “You know I don’t like messy.” He picked up her bra and panties. White lace and smooth silk. Hot memories of their sweaty bodies twined together seared his mind at the sight. He couldn’t resist stroking the fabric, feeling the softness catch under the roughness of his fingertips, calloused from long years of guitar work.

  “Craig, don’t play with my underwear.” She sounded halfway between irritated and amused.

  He’d take amused over irritated any day. He knew her voice. She was trying to resist teasing him but was losing the battle. “If you won’t let me play with you, I’ll just have to accept second best.”

  “That’s more like third, four, or fifth best.”

  “A guy me like me can’t be choosy.”

  She shook her head as the humor left her face. “A guy like you can have whatever he wants whenever he wants. And you know it.”

  “Not true.” He crushed her underwear in his hand. Groupies were a fact of life for a musician, but it didn’t mean he was available to them.

  “Why don’t we get some sleep?”

  He let her change the subject. “I’d prefer you didn’t sleep out here.”

  “I’m going to do it, so you might as well get used to the idea.”

  “I’ll sleep in the chair.”

  “My guitar is sleeping in the chair.”

  “I don’t want you alone out here.”

  “I’ve been alone a long time. Where I’m alone doesn’t matter.”

  He felt her words strike him hard and deep. “I want you safe. If you’re out here alone, I’ll worry.”

  “Out there, I managed to stay safe.”

  “I worried about you every single day.”

  She lowered her head until her chin touched her ches
t, as if his words were a weight too heavy to bear. “I’m not your responsibility.”

  “I’m making it so.”

  She raised her face, looking at him with big green eyes. “I don’t know how we’re going to work together if you get possessive.”

  “I’ve always been possessive of you.” He sat down beside her, resisting the impulse to take her hands in his own so they could be joined by more than words. “I’ve always worried about you.” He put one hand on the back of the sofa, behind her head, and leaned toward her. He caught her unique scent—sweet and tart—and it went straight to his gut. “How could I do anything else?”

  She sighed, shaking her head. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s not going to work.”

  “I’m not. I’m simply stating facts.” He stood up and walked away, unable to be so close without touching her. He carefully set her lingerie on top of her clothes, lingering a moment with his fingers on her panties, wanting so much more than that slight touch.

  “Your facts. Not mine.”

  He turned back at her words, wanting to make them evaporate into thin air. “Okay. My facts.”

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees. “We might be able to do this if we keep it strictly professional. I don’t want to fight.”

  “There’s a lot of work to do if we’re to meet your original goals.” He backed way off the personal stuff. She wasn’t ready for commitment. Not now. Not then. He’d known better than to give her an ultimatum before she’d left, but he hadn’t been able to stifle his emotions, even though he knew she had commitment issues. He’d pushed too hard because he couldn’t stand even the thought of being separated from her for a single moment. He wouldn’t make that mistake again…not when he was on the edge of a second chance.

  “I know it’s a lot to accomplish.”

  “True. We added to the Hall’s menu, and it’s been a big success.”

  “That’s great. Do you think we can do more in that area?”

  “We can talk with Slade about it. We could possibly offer more items from the Chuckwagon Café or more of his famous pies.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “If we’re going to come even close to the success of Greune Hall, we need to attract more musicians to our venue.”

  “We’ve already made inroads into it, but I admit we can do a lot better. Plus, we need more marketing and promotion to get the word out about Wildcat Hall.”

  “We can focus on its historic legacy and its current relevance. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She leaned her head back against the sofa again. “I’m too tired for this right now. I can hardly think straight.”

  “Fern, you know I’d never hurt you, don’t you?”

  She raised her head, gave him a considering look, and then nodded in agreement.

  He walked over, clasped her hands, and helped her stand. “We’re going to bed. You hug your side, and I’ll do the same on my side. We won’t touch. We’ll just share the bed.”

  She stared at him a long moment, as if considering all the pros and cons of his suggestion. Finally, she gave him a rueful smile. “I put the last of my energy into getting home…and getting into my very own bed.”

  “You’ve come a long way. You’re tired. You need sleep. Everything will look different in the morning.” He tugged her away from the sofa.

  “You muddy my thinking, but…”

  “Come on. I’m going to tuck you into bed.”

  He felt a vast sense of relief when she let him lead her into the bedroom. He fluffed the pillows, then watched as she lay down on her side and tucked her hands under her cheek, blond hair fanning across the pillow. He slowly pulled up the sheet, regretting his action every inch of the way.

  She smiled tiredly at him, eyelids already droopy.

  “You’re home now.” He covered her with the comforter. “Don’t worry about anything. You’re safe.”

  She exhaled softly as she closed her eyes, then she snapped them open and gave him a sharp stare. “Just so you know. I’m only indulging in a moment of weakness here. Tomorrow I’ll be up to my usual strength.”

  “I don’t doubt it a bit.” He leaned over, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and turned out the light.

  Chapter 3

  Fern awoke abruptly to the fast beat of her heart. Something wasn’t right. It was too quiet. She glanced around, but the room was dark except for a faint strip of light coming through slightly parted drapes on a single window. Not the ship. And then it hit her. She was back at Wildcat Hall Park. That was good. Yet something was bad. But what?

  Reality returned full force, like a hard blow to her head and heart. Craig. He was now the majority owner of the Park. Unbelievable. Still, she’d have to believe it if her sister confirmed the sale. And she had a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach that Ivy would do that very thing.

  But where was Craig? Had she really slept in the same bed with him, even though she’d vowed never to go there again? He was less than the best for her state of everything—mind, heart, body, you name it. Well, maybe not music, but that was it. She reached out a hand and felt the empty side of the bed, affirming she was alone in the bedroom. Was he already up and around, at work? She hoped so. She didn’t want to face him so soon after the shocking revelations of the previous night.

  She was already vulnerable to him in so many ways, and the Park sale just upped that feeling. And that came on top of an overzealous fan who’d sent her white roses after every performance, whether he was on that cruise or not. It’d been just a little too much and left her feeling uneasy. She needed to increase her sense of control to feel safe and secure. Work and being back in Wildcat Bluff County would surely do that for her.

  On the tail end of that thought came the scent of freshly brewed coffee from the kitchen. She heard something that had to be a cup or plate clatter against the tile countertop. Oh yeah, Craig was still with her. She knew he just had to have his coffee first thing in the morning. And he knew she did as well. She sat up, snapped on the lamp, jerked down her T-shirt, pulled the covers up to her waist, and prepared for Craig’s next move.

  She took a deep breath when she heard a soft knock on the closed door. As she watched the door slowly open, she caught her breath in anticipation. Soon enough, Craig stood in the open doorway with a loaded tray in one hand. He smiled a little tentatively, as if not sure what to expect from her. No wonder. She realized she was holding her breath and slowly let it out.

  “Morning.” She decided to stake out her position as a calm, professional woman in control. It lasted about a split second…until he gave her a warm, loving look that tilted her world sideways. She took another deep breath to shore up her defenses.

  “Thought you might need a little fortified sludge to help you wake up.”

  She closed her eyes against the sight and sound of him. He looked so good, with his tousled hair and sleepy bedroom eyes and his faded blue T-shirt stretched across his chiseled chest. It couldn’t help but remind her of their other mornings together.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She checked to see what state she was in since he’d entered the room—somewhere between guilty and ecstatic. She needed to take charge of herself or she’d be skating on thin ice with him.

  “That bad?” He set the small tray on the nightstand.

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “I feel good.” And he gave her a long, slow perusal with half-closed eyes, as if contemplating joining her.

  She reached for the coffee, grasped the mug handle, took a sip, and nodded in satisfaction. “Thanks. Texas pecan?”

  “You know it.”

  “I missed this flavor.”

  “Is that why you came home?”

  “Yeah. Coffee is the only lure in Wildcat Bluff County.”

&nb
sp; “Thought so.” He smiled again. “I’ll make it a point to stock the pantry with plenty of it.”

  “Good idea.” She realized they were back to their easy, teasing banter in the bedroom.

  “How do you want to go forward from here?” He turned serious, all humor gone from his gaze. “Do you want to talk with Ivy first?”

  “I think that’d be a good idea.”

  “And then?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I wasn’t prepared to share the Park with you.”

  “That’s your new reality.”

  She stared into the dark depths of her mug, holding it with both hands, since she suddenly needed the warmth. She had to get a grasp on not just her emotions but her life as well. She’d worked hard to get to this point. If it included Craig, then so be it. She’d handled worse…or maybe it could be better, depending on how she approached her situation. She should be positive. He was doing everything possible to ease her into their new world. All she needed to do was help him…and maybe ease up on her need to control everyone and everything.

  “I’m willing to share.” He picked up his mug from the tray, then gestured around the room with his other hand.

  “It’s too small here.”

  “Bill and Ida shared this cabin.”

  “They were married.”

  He grinned, hot light shimmering in his eyes. “I’m not averse to marriage.”

  “Craig, be serious. There’s a lot to figure out. Plus, there’s a lot to do.”

  “Agreed.” He took a sip of coffee. “And I’m damn serious.”

  She just shook her head, wondering how she was going to resist him and keep her mind on business. “I better get dressed.”

  “Not on my account.”

  She chuckled as she rolled her eyes at him. “You have a one-track mind.”

  “Only when you’re around.”