As far as Sam could tell, Clark was a bit of a wiseass who seemed the most resentful of Sam’s presence at the station. The guy didn’t appear to take too many things seriously, especially the few assignments Sam had doled out since arriving. The fact that he chose to ignore the mini-boot camp this afternoon spoke volumes to Sam about Clark’s commitment. Or lack thereof.
Kingston seemed to sense his reticence. “Don’t be so quick to judge. The kid has had a pretty hard life. But he’s more capable than he appears. He’s one of the first guys I’d pick to have my back in a fire.”
Sam studied Clark, who seemed to be good-naturedly heckling his coworkers as they navigated the course. His gut usually never let him down, but he couldn’t get a good read on the young firefighter.
“Trust is a two-way street, captain,” Kingston said from beside him. “You may need to give a little to get some back in return. You asked for my opinion and that—along with Clark being a solid asset—is my two cents.”
The sun dipped lower, warming Sam’s face as the men and women below laughingly made their way toward the station, presumably to shower and head home. He was responsible for the lives of all of the people below him—along with a couple of dozen arriving next month. It was against his nature to leave anything to luck, much less trust. But if he was going to count on Vincent Kingston to jump into a fire, Sam needed to trust Kingston’s judgment, too. All he could do was pray they both weren’t making a mistake.
“All right,” he said with a nod. “We’ll give Clark a chance. I’ll jump with his team the first time out and see how it goes.”
“Looks like everyone survived field day without killing each other. I think that calls for some nachos and a cold one,” Kingston said as he got to his feet. “I’m just gonna jump in the shower before heading over to The Drop Zone. Care to join me for a beer? I’m buying.”
“That depends. It isn’t karaoke night, is it?”
Kingston shook his head. “Even better; it’s half-price burger night.”
“In that case, count me in.”
“I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” Kingston climbed down the metal ladder. The sound of Muttley’s barking grew more excited as he got closer to the ground.
Sam glanced over toward the forest service station where some of the crew members were already making their way home. As dusk began to settle over the area, Sam’s new home away from home was bathed in pink sunlight that reflected off the many windows circling the second floor of the massive log cabin. A flock of geese landed on the lake with a loud flurry of wings and excited honking.
This day had been Sam’s best so far since arriving in Montana. Kingston was right; while the morale within the staff hadn’t improved, it hadn’t gotten any worse and that was a win in Sam’s book. Easing his mind even more, Tabitha was safely ensconced at the Whispering Breeze Ranch.
Sam fixed his gaze across the horizon. Squinting against the sun’s glare on the lake, he could just make out the stone barn where the mare was likely enjoying her dinner. Muttley barked excitedly, making Sam wonder about the little dog, Oreo, and the boy who’d been in the stable this morning. His mind immediately made a beeline to the young boy’s insufferable mother. Wayne Keenan’s daughter might be a world champion rider, but she was a callous, spoiled little rich girl, too.
She was also sexy as hell.
Sam hadn’t been able to get the image of her sassy mouth out of his head all day. It was one of the reasons he’d insisted on some unplanned, outdoor calisthenics. He’d hoped the cool air would chill the parts of him that kept thinking about the arrogant woman’s long legs wrapped around more than just a horse.
He couldn’t understand why he was attracted to her at all. She was nothing like Becky. His wife had been demure and genteel with sun-kissed blonde hair and eyes that were as blue as Texas bluebells. Laurel Keenan walked around as though she owned the world, her pert little nose up in the air, her green eyes glowing with attitude, while she tossed her long brown hair around like a pulaski. His mind drifted back to her mouth again, and what he wanted her to do with it made his jeans grow unbearably tight.
Sam quickly jumped up. He needed that beer more than he thought. Guilt nipped at him at the carnal images that had been wracking his body all day. It was just lust. He’d been celibate so long he’d feel this way about any attractive woman who crossed his path—even one with a young child and who was likely happily married.
He needed something to occupy his body and his thoughts that was all. But fire season was still nearly two months off. Right now, even karaoke night with women tossing their thong underwear at Liam Ferguson sounded like a good idea. As long as it distracted Sam’s mind from the woman caring for his horse.
*
“I’m sorry. Did you just say Bryce is getting married?” Miranda Ferguson’s shocked voice rose above the din coming from the crowd within The Drop Zone. The sound of pool balls ricocheting off one another warred with the noise from random sporting events blaring from the televisions mounted on the walls.
The Drop Zone was a landmark in Glacier Creek. The long, narrow room featured a smattering of twenty round dining tables, a fifty-foot carved oak bar rescued from an old brothel in the mining town of Taft, and tin ceilings with scenes of the gold rush imprinted on the tiles. Two pool tables occupied the back of the bar where a vintage jukebox wailed next to a small dance floor. Laurel’s uncle, Hugh Ferguson, and two of his hotshot cronies had bought The Drop Zone nearly fifteen years ago, saving it from demolition and turning it into a favorite dining spot for locals.
“Shhh!” Laurel pleaded with her cousin as she glanced at the tables around them to see if the other patrons had overheard. “I’d rather word didn’t get out just yet.”
“Are you worried this will blow your cover story that Bryce is gay and that’s why he hasn’t married you?” their waitress asked as she placed a trio of drinks on the table. “Because really, anyone with access to TMZ has known for years that was a lie.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Laurel leaned back in her chair and glared at Tori Kingston. Tori responded with a cheeky grin before strutting off in her cute boots and tight jeans to flirt with a table of suits from the local insurance company.
“Ignore her,” Ivy Harris said from beside Laurel. “Seriously, the best thing Vin Kingston did was come to his senses and divorce that woman.”
Miranda fiddled with the bottle of beer in front of her. “Ivy’s right, Tori has always been jealous of you. But she does have a point. Bryce Johnson getting married is going to be big news, even if his bride-to-be wasn’t a Dutch model. It’s going to be hard to keep something like this quiet.”
Laurel gave her friends a resigned nod. Tyson’s father was an internationally famous snowboarder with the reputation of being a daredevil who played as hard off the slopes as he did on them. His feats were fodder not only for the record books, but the tabloids as well.
“Bryce and Audrianna aren’t planning to announce their engagement until they tell Tyson.” Laurel swallowed painfully as she slumped down in her chair. “Bryce wants to tell him in person during their trip to Disneyland next week.”
Reaching for her glass of chardonnay with a less than steady hand, she took a fortifying sip. She could barely afford to take her son to Chuck-E-Cheese, much less Disneyland. It was killing her to miss her son’s first meet and greet with Mickey Mouse.
Bryce was extremely generous with his child support, but Laurel was careful to spend it only on the essentials for their son. The rest she invested cautiously, not wanting to take the chance that Tyson’s father wouldn’t blow his fortune. Or break his neck. One of them had to be the sensible grown-up and look out for Tyson’s future. Laurel was just as surprised as the next person that she’d turned out to be the responsible one.
Ivy patted her on the shoulder. “How do you think Tyson will take the news?”
“Probably better than he would if the kid heard you were getting married.” Miranda j
oked.
Laurel bit back her first real grin of the day. Ivy was Tyson’s kindergarten teacher. Her son had always had a crush on his mother’s childhood friend, but once he’d landed in Ivy’s classroom, his crush had morphed into worshipful adulation.
“Well, Tyson needn’t worry. There’s no chance of that happening anytime soon.” Ivy took a healthy swallow from her appletini while her eyes drifted across the room to where Liam Ferguson sat joking with several of the smokejumpers from the forest service station. Tyson wasn’t the only one in Laurel’s orbit with an unrequited love.
Laurel exchanged a look with her cousin. Miranda rolled her eyes in exasperation, evidently unable to understand what any sane woman would see in her twin brother. Tori returned with their spinach dip and tortilla chips.
“The word is you’re going to be back on the circuit again, Laurel,” the waitress said. “Has it really been ten years since you stood in this very bar, fresh off being crowned the AQHA world champion in reining horses, and declared you’d never put on a pair of spurs again? I guess all those dreams of making it big somewhere outside of Montana never really came true, huh? Well, they do say it’s best to stick with what you know. Especially when everything else fails.”
Laurel did her best to tamp down on the anger and humiliation brought on by Tori’s words. Beside her, Ivy choked on her drink. Uncle Hugh, still quick on his feet, was pressing his daughter back down into her chair before Laurel realized Miranda had stood to defend her.
“Tori,” her uncle barked. “You’ve got orders up. Don’t keep the customers waiting.”
The waitress sashayed away without so much as an apology. Not that she needed to apologize. Everything she’d said had been the truth. Laurel sighed. She’d had big plans once. Plans that took her away from Glacier Creek to some place exciting and different. Any place. Truth be told, she was once as reckless and daring as Bryce Johnson, craving excitement and a life that was dramatically different than the one she was now living.
But then reality hit in the form of an unplanned pregnancy and a sick mother. Laurel left school, returning home to the ranch and her old life with barely a thought of what might have been. The impulsive dreamer inside her had been snuffed out by the pragmatic realist circumstances had created. Growing up quickly had been painful, but Laurel had survived it and she had the bonus of a lovable young son to ease the transition. She wouldn’t trade Tyson—or these past years with her ailing mother—for any adventure in the world.
“Don’t mind her. Tori’s been a bit ornery since the divorce,” Uncle Hugh was saying. “Most of the customers love her and she does a good job. Still, I’ll have a talk with her.”
Laurel waved her uncle off. “It’s okay, Uncle Hugh. She’s just saying what everyone in town is thinking.”
Her uncle’s blue eyes sparkled with compassion and a hint of pity as he headed back to the bar.
“Nobody’s mind works like Tori’s,” Miranda said, her voice laced with loathing.
“Yeah. And no one thinks you’re a failure, either,” Ivy insisted. “Just wait until you pass your CPA exam and Rusty gives you the job as chief accountant. Besides, I thought you were just training the captain’s horse, not actually competing on it?”
“Wait, what?” Miranda paused with her chip mid-scoop to glance between Ivy and Laurel. “You’re riding again? And what captain are you talking about?”
“Your captain,” Ivy said before digging into the dip herself. “You missed some important gossip today while you were flying mint over to Billings.”
Miranda worked as a commercial pilot. When she wasn’t shuttling smokejumpers to and from fires or conducting search and rescue operations for the forest service, she was hauling cargo from the farms and small manufacturing plants within the region. Today her shipment had been mint from one of the state’s last remaining mint farms. The same farm where Laurel worked as a bookkeeper.
“At least her plane smells a lot better today than it does during fire season.” Uncle Hugh winked at his daughter as he placed their burgers on the table.
“Will somebody catch me up here,” Miranda said. “I didn’t know the captain had a horse.”
“Technically it’s his wife’s horse.” Laurel groaned as she remembered her ugly faux pas from earlier in the day. “His late wife’s horse.”
“He brought a horse with him? A horse that isn’t even his?” Miranda asked.
Ivy dragged a French fry through the ketchup on her plate. “He couldn’t bear to part with it. It’s so romantic.”
“Kind of creepy if you ask me,” Miranda said. “So, I take it he’s boarding it at your place. And you’re competing on it?”
“Not competing on it. Just training her.” Laurel hadn’t given her father a definitive answer yet, but it looked like she was well and truly stuck with the task now that the gossip had reached The Drop Zone. “It was apparently his late wife’s wish that the horse compete nationally. The least I can do is to get the mare ready for that. The guy did serve his country—three times,” she said, parroting her father’s argument from the morning. “Besides, romantic or not, who could say no with those eyes of his piercing through you. And it’s partially your fault I got into this anyway, Miranda. You might have mentioned that a woman should have at least two cups of coffee before catching a glimpse of the guy’s sexy ass.”
Laurel looked up from her burger to see both her friends staring at her. “What?”
“Interesting,” was all Miranda said. Ivy grinned mischievously.
Laurel scoffed at her friends. “It’s not what you think. Besides, I was pretty rude to him this morning. I’m sure he thinks I’m an idiot.”
“Hmm, that is interesting.” Ivy’s smile grew wider. “You rarely lose your cool anymore. In fact, you keep your emotions on a pretty tight leash. I wonder what could have set you off this morning?” She rested her chin in her palm. “Pheromones would be my guess. You did say something about him being sexy.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Laurel demanded. “I was rude to the man because I was stressed out by Bryce’s text, not because I was flustered or attracted to him.” The flush she felt burning her cheeks was likely calling her out as a liar. “It’s a wonder he even left his horse at the ranch, given the way I spoke to him.”
“You should probably go over to his table and apologize then.”
Laurel’s breath left her body in a whoosh. “He’s here?”
Miranda smirked at her. “‘Sexy ass’ and all. And he can’t take his eyes off you. They’ve been burning a hole into the back of your head for the last five minutes. I’m surprised my dad hasn’t pulled out the fire extinguisher by now.”
Before she could tell her body not to, Laurel glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was Captain Cowboy seated at a table in the far corner of the bar, nonchalantly leaning the back of his chair against a section of wall featuring a poster that read—Forget the truck, ride a firefighter. He paused in the act of taking a sip from his longneck bottle of beer to lock eyes with her. The look he gave her was hot and hard. She spun back around to see Ivy fanning herself with her napkin while Miranda laughed out loud.
Laurel took a gulp of her wine, but it did nothing to cool the heat rising within her. “You’re being ridiculous.” The words were meant for her friends as much as herself. The man was arrogant and bold beyond words. He was probably as used to women throwing themselves at him as her cousin Liam was.
“Oh, mercy. My panties are wet and I wasn’t even the target of that ‘do me’ look,” Ivy said.
“That was not a ‘do me’ look,” Laurel hissed. “That was a ‘turn around and stop stalking me’ glare. I told you, he thinks I’m a nut case.” She dropped her head into her hands. “Hell, I think I’m a nut case.”
“Why? Because you’re attracted to a hot, rugged guy?” Miranda asked. “It’s about time. You’ve been behaving like a nun for the past five years. There’s no crime in talking to the guy to see where things go. I me
an, I would if he wasn’t practically my boss. Even Ivy here would if she wasn’t so hung up on my goofy brother.”
“Definitely,” Ivy conceded as she bobbed her blonde head solemnly.
Laurel stared at her two friends. “I haven’t been acting like a nun” she protested.
“Sex toys don’t count,” Miranda interjected.
“I have been protecting my son’s reputation. And I don’t want to give people in this town more to gossip about.”
“The only thing they’re gossiping about is whether or not you’re still waiting around for Bryce to come to his senses,” Miranda said softly. “And now he’s getting married. You need to move on, too.”
Laurel felt as if she might shatter with her next breath. Had everyone been thinking she was pining for Bryce? Well, she hadn’t been. Theirs was a short-lived affair during a summer she’d spent waitressing at a resort in Lake Tahoe. She liked and even respected him, but all she’d ever felt for him was infatuation. Certainly not like the love she felt for their son. Laurel hadn’t moved on because she hadn’t met anyone worth moving on to.
Her friends were right, though; she hadn’t really been looking for that guy. Not that Captain Cowboy was that guy. He was a bit too insufferable—not to mention way too sexy. But she did owe him an apology for her inelegant words that morning. After all, if she’d be training his horse—his wife’s horse—it would be nice if they could be friends.
“I’m going over there to mend a professional relationship that got off on the wrong foot, nothing more,” she said as she stood up, not giving her friends the time to challenge her words. But when she turned around, he was gone. She swung forward just in time to see his sexy ass retreating out The Drop Zone’s front door.
Chapter Three
The quiet of the barn was soothing following the rowdy atmosphere of the bar. Sam stood outside Tabitha’s stall listening to the hushed sounds of the horses dozing on their feet, punctuated occasionally by a snort and the rustle of shavings when one of them shifted position. The night air smelled clean and brisk, portending another chilly morning ahead, but the barn was snug and warm, just as Sam knew it would be. He should have just gone back to the small A-frame cabin he’d rented and unpacked the last few boxes—one of which likely contained his pair of gloves. Instead, he’d steered his truck toward the Whispering Breeze Ranch. He told himself he was only doing so to check on the mare.
Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) Page 3
