Mr. January

by Ann Roth

  “Yeah.” Adam parked in the deserted lot. “Let’s take a walk.”

  Scattered puddles and mud made for an interesting trek. In the sunlight, the water droplets on the trees glittered like diamonds.

  “I visited Pop this morning,” Adam said.

  “How was he today?”

  “The same, but I’m not. I didn’t let him put me down. I told him I’m proud of myself.”

  Samantha had never admired him more. “That’s pretty amazing.”

  “And about time. He is who he is, and nothing I do will ever change him. Thanks to you, I finally get that.”

  “All I did was point out the truth.”

  “Which I couldn’t see before.” He grasped her hand. “I’ve been doing lot of thinking. If you can forgive Jeff for all the crap he pulled, I can forgive my old man for treating me like dirt.”

  “Wow. You really have changed.”

  “And I feel damn good. Here we are.” He stopped near a big tree.

  Samantha noted the lofty branches, dripping and pale green with new life. “Isn’t this the ash tree everyone talks about?”

  “One and the same. Stand under it with me, so I can kiss you here. You know what that means, right?”

  Her heart full, she nodded. “True and lasting love.”

  Solemn, he searched her face. “You in?”

  “All the way.”

  Still holding hands, they moved under the tree. Adam pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and she knew they belonged to each other—now and forever.

  THE END

  Thank you for letting me share my stories with you!

  There are 12 sexy firefighter books planned for my Heroes of Rogue Valley: Calendar Guys series

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  Thanks, and until next time,

  Ann

  Please enjoy this excerpt from Mr. February, coming soon!

  Rafe Donato is a senior firefighter who knows that loving a woman can destroy a man. He will never trust any female with his heart. Jillian Metzger is a talented potter whose biological clock is ticking. Ready to fall in love, get married and start a family, Jillian wants what Rafe cannot give.

  “Come back here, Pooh!” Jillian Metzger shouted as she sprinted across the uneven field adjacent to the cottage.

  The border collie had the gall to bark joyfully and skip over rocks and tree roots at a clip Jillian couldn’t begin to keep up with.

  To make matters worse, it was starting to rain. She hadn’t taken the time to grab an umbrella, let alone a jacket, had simply darted out of the studio in hot pursuit. Not wise, considering temperatures in early March in the Rogue Valley tended to be on the south side of chilly.

  If and when she managed to catch Pooh, she was going to let her freeloading brother have it. Why couldn’t JR keep an eye on his own dog? Because he’d gone out with Chelsea, frittering his day away when he should looking for a job.

  Pooh was a good fifty yards ahead now, and Jillian was losing steam. Just as she was on the verge of collapsing in exhaustion, the dog suddenly skidded to a stop. Tail wagging, she changed course, trotting toward a man and woman standing slightly uphill, under a big umbrella.

  What a striking couple, out here in the boonies on a rainy Wednesday morning. Jillian lurched to a halt to catch her breath and pull herself together before they noticed her. A futile effort, given how wet she was. Leaning against the trunk of a lofty tree heavy with leaf buds, she tucked her dripping hair behind her ears with icy fingers.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze from them. The dark-haired man, muscled and at least six feet tall, wore jeans, a light-blue sports shirt, and a black windbreaker that hugged his broad shoulders. His companion, with her shiny, stylish haircut and designer suit, stood close beside him under the umbrella.

  Something about the guy seemed vaguely familiar, but before Jillian could place him, Pooh did the unthinkable—raced to him, jumped up, and planted her muddy paws on his powerful thigh.

  “Get down, Pooh!” Jillian cried, pushing away from the trees and running again.

  The big male didn’t seem all that upset. He patted the dog and then brushed the mud off his jeans, which were neatly pressed, as was his shirt. Clutching the umbrella in both hands, his horrified companion quickly stepped out of reach.

  The second his dark gaze met Jillian’s, she recognized him. What red-blooded woman could forget those mesmerizing eyes, the strong jaw, and the slight hollows of his cheeks? She was about come face-to-face with Rafe Donato, aka Mr. February in the Guff’s Lake Fire Department calendar.

  The calendar, part of the ongoing fund-raising drive for the department’s benefit fund, had been released just before Christmas and featured twelve of the most gorgeous firefighters….

  Drop-dead, movie-star-handsome Rafe looked even better in person than his photo—if that was even possible. Jillian’s heart lifted in an appreciative sigh.

  The calendar included certain important facts about each firefighter, stats any woman with a pulse would want to know. According to the details, Jillian recalled—and with a calendar hanging on the wall in her studio, she was quite familiar with them—Rafe was single. At least he had been when the calendar was printed. By the intimate look from his lady friend, his status had changed.

  “I’m sorry about Pooh,” she apologized. “She was supposed to stay in the yard. Instead the little scamp dug under the fence and lit out.”

  When Pooh had made her escape, Jillian had been in her pottery studio, creating pieces for one of her retail customers in the area and for the Arts Festival in April. If she hadn’t decided to stretch her back and wander to the window facing the fenced area and the cottage, she wouldn’t have noticed until the dog was long gone.

  “My dog used to do the same thing.”

  Rafe flashed a smile, revealing dimples—holy cow, dimples—and extended his arm.

  “Rafe Donato.”

  Wishing she wasn’t wearing raggedy work clothes, Jillian wiped her wet palms on her threadbare, damp jeans before she shook his huge hand. His firm, warm grip engulfed her cold fingers, and his chocolate-brown eyes fixed intently on her.

  Her knees wobbled, and she glanced away. As attractive as Rafe was, she was not going to go all weak and fluttery. He was already taken.

  Even if he hadn’t been, the ramrod straight posture, military-short hair, meticulously pressed shirt and jeans, and polished black boots screamed order and control. This was the kind of man who made life miserable for everyone around him. At eighteen, she’d left home to get away from that. She would never go back.

  Pooh licked Jillian’s hand. “Bad girl,” she said, but the dog’s innocent expression was hard to resist.

  Rafe’s girlfriend cleared her throat. “I’m Sonia Kaye, Rafe’s architect.” She started to extend her hand, but, after giving Jillian a quick once-over, offered her card and a perfunctory smile instead. “I should go, Rafe. I’ve seen enough for now, and I took plenty of photos. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Let me walk you to your car.” He held up a finger, signaling Jillian to wait.

  Pooh started to follow the couple, but Jillian caught hold of her collar. “You’re not going anywhere.” The dog put “wet dog smell” on a whole new level, and Jillian grimaced. “You need a bath.”

  With JR and Chelsea out, who knew where—they certainly hadn’t said good-bye or left a note, but then, they never did—she would likely be the one doing the honors.

  Rafe and his architect girlfriend moved in tandem up a gently sloping hill, toward th
e two expensive sedans parked on a dirt patch some distance away. One, a silver Mercedes, the other a gleaming navy convertible BMW.

  Which was his? The sleek BMW, Jillian assumed. It looked cleaner and somehow suited him.

  She’d guessed correctly. Rafe held the umbrella over Sonia’s head while she climbed into a silver Mercedes. After flashing a flirty smile, she drove away, her tires churning up mud.

  Rafe tromped back to her. “Where do you and Pooh live?”

  “Not far. Just on the other side of the field.”

  He nodded. “Cy Jackson’s property.”

  “How do you know the name of my landlord?”

  “I just bought the two-acre plot you’re standing on, and I know everything about this area. Your cottage isn’t more than a third of a mile away, an easy walk, but this driving rain can make even a short distance seem like a long way. How about a lift?”

  The offer surprised her. “We couldn’t possibly. We’re both wet and muddy, and Pooh stinks something terrible.” She held her nose.

  Rafe didn’t argue with her. “You don’t even have an umbrella. I do. I also happen to have a spare leash in the trunk of my car. Let me grab it, and I’ll walk you and Pooh home.”