One Hot Summer

by Melissa Cutler

  Her legs fell from his shoulders, spreading. He pitched forward, locking their bodies together again and surging deeper into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and moved with him in a frenzied spiral to the end. She cried out with that first burst of release and clutched him tighter with her legs and arms as waves of pleasure rocked her body. He buried his face in her neck and his body jerked. His staccato breath cooled her perspiring skin as he joined her in rapture.

  It took her a while for the haze to clear, and when it did she was lying side by side with Micah in his bed, their arms and shoulders touching. His eyes were closed and his chest heaved with labored breaths.

  Holy shit. She’d slept with Ravel County’s slow-drawling, toothpick-chewing, gun-toting, diesel truck–driving, firefighting Alpha Bubba. And it had been great. Damn great. Wow. That was going to take some time to sink in.

  He rolled his head to the side. “What are you smiling about?”

  “I think I need a post-sex cheeseburger.”

  He let out a belly laugh that would have shaken the heavens. It was a wonderful sound, rich and warm. “I’ve created a monster.”

  “We should probably talk about our jobs.”

  “Do we have to?”

  Yes, they did. There was so much they needed to say, so many details to work out, because this couldn’t be their only time. She wanted endless summer nights like this one. She wanted to ride their affair until it crashed and burned. Or until she left for Los Angeles again. It was bound to be complicated given their careers, but their raw, wicked connection would make up for that in spades.

  She mustered her courage, then laid it out there for him. “Once wasn’t enough for me.”

  He rolled to his side and tucked his hand under his pillow. Even in the dim moonlight, she saw his eyes glimmered with sincerity. “You read my mind, but that’s about the only thing I know for sure right now. I keep circling back to what happened at Hog Heaven when your coworkers showed up. I keep thinking about how we need to keep this totally separate from our jobs.”

  She raked her fingers across his chest. “Our little secret.”

  “I like the way that sounds.”

  “To be clear, I’m not going to stop fighting to give my clients every last detail of their dream weddings just because you and I are…” She almost said romantically involved. But this wasn’t romance, and she sincerely doubted the two of them had much in common beyond their physical compatibility. Their worlds were too disparate. “Because we slept together.”

  “Understood. I’m not going to bend the law for you or for the resort, even knowing how crazy sexy you look in my bed.”

  Her neck flushed hot. That was one way of putting it. “You’re going to hate the weddings I have coming up this weekend.”

  She expected a groan or even a swearword, but he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to battling it out with you?”

  He bent his face toward hers, but as their lips brushed, a radio on the bedside table buzzed, then chirped to life. “Chief, it’s Dusty. We’ve got a Signal Two with a possible vehicle fire, in the southbound lane Route 275 just inside the Ravel County limits. Riverfield and San Angelo were also called in.”

  Micah cursed under his breath. “Speaking of my job.” He swiped the radio up. “Roger that, Dusty. I’m on my way. Call Chet?”

  “He’s en route,” Dusty said. “See you in a minute.”

  Micah stuffed his legs into a pair of slacks. “This is the part of the job I don’t like.”

  Remedy grabbed a T-shirt from his closet and pulled it over her head. “Why? What’s a Signal Two?”

  He yanked a navy blue polo shirt from a hanger. “Major vehicle accident with possible injuries. Which is also a part of the job I don’t like, but I was talking about having to run out on you like this. I’m really sorry.”

  How could she care about their night being cut short when somebody might be hurt in a car accident? “If someone’s hurt or there’s a fire, then that’s where you need to be. Nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Grab that radio please.” He wedged his feet into a pair of lace-up boots. “You’ll stay until morning?”

  Radio in hand, Remedy followed him out of the bedroom, toward the front door. “Can’t. Saturday’s my busy day. I’ve got to be at the resort early.”

  He rummaged through his discarded jeans for his wallet. “I’m driving my truck to the crash, but wait here and I’ll take you to your car when I’m back.”

  She picked up his keys from the entryway table. “The diner’s only a block away. An easy walk.”

  “Don’t go doing something dangerous like walking in the dark alone.”

  His protectiveness was sweet, even if she was already charting her midnight walk to the diner. But she didn’t plan to burn up any more of his response time debating it with him. She handed him his radio and keys. “Roger that, Chief.”

  He stuffed the radio in a pocket, angled in for a kiss that was awkward enough to remind Remedy that they were still strangers, even after all they’d done. “Lock the door behind me, okay?”

  “Don’t worry so much. I can take care of myself.”

  With a cringe, he glanced from her to his poor upside-down fern.

  She shoved him out the door. “Oh, shut up.”

  “Woman, I didn’t say nothin’!” he called as he jogged across the driveway to the firehouse and out of sight.

  Not more than a minute later, the paramedic truck roared out of the firehouse garage, its sirens wailing and lights flashing, with Micah following close behind in his truck. Remedy opened the window and propped a hip on the sill to listen to the siren and watch Micah’s taillights until they disappeared around a corner. What a noble and scary life, to be the one to run toward danger and injury no matter the hour, to be the one with the skills and mental fortitude to drop everything and save lives and restore order to the world’s chaos.

  When silence descended on the house again, she closed the window and turned to deal with the mess she’d made. She shook potting soil out of Micah’s jackets and righted the coat tree, then found a broom and dustpan in a kitchen closet. The poor fern’s pot was ruined, so she repotted it in a mixing bowl the best she could, pressing potting soil around the base and cooing and apologizing to the wounded plant for being so impossibly out of balance with her surroundings.

  It wasn’t until she’d tripped over Micah’s cowboy boots while donning her work clothes that the reality of her situation seized hold of her again. She was half-naked in an Alpha Bubba’s house after he’d seduced her with bar food at a sawdust-covered roadside joint called Hog Heaven. Growing up, she’d been cultured to be a champagne and caviar girl. Sports cars, not diesel trucks.

  “Suits, not boots,” she whispered on a groan. What a narrow-minded snob she’d been.

  She walked the boots to Micah’s bedroom and lined them up in front of the closet next to a half-dozen other pairs. Like the rest of his house, his bedroom was tidy and awash in blues and reds, from the paint on the walls to the plaid bed linens. Patriotic, masculine—perfectly Micah.

  She tugged the sheets flat, then flipped the quilt into place on the bed.

  “Ho-ly shit,” she said, drawing out the words in slo-mo before descending into laughter. Only the underside of the quilt was done in plaid. Spanning the entire top was a massive red fabric map of Texas.

  She smoothed her hand over the gold felt star that had been sewn over Dulcet’s approximate location. “Oh, Micah. You proud, proud redneck.” The teasing on this—it was going to be merciless. She couldn’t wait.

  Whistling and light of step, not only with the giddiness over the Texas quilt but also her top-rate Big O, she finished dressing. On the table nearest to the door sat the paper bag they’d tripped over on their way into the house. She grabbed it, curious. Before she had the bag open, she smelled cinnamon and sugar.

  “Score,” she said with a laugh. Inside she found two fat cinn
amon rolls, their tops thick with glossy white icing. Forget about a post-sex burger; she’d take a cinnamon roll after a roll in Micah’s bed any day of the week. What a wild and wonderful night all the way around. She wasn’t even going to try to guess why he’d had sweets sitting in an unmarked bag by his front door.

  A cinnamon roll in hand, she strode down the quiet street, feeling satisfied and full of joy. No one bothered her on her walk and the only sign of life she saw was a flock of homing pigeons roosting on her car roof.

  Chapter Eight

  The photographer was thirty minutes late to the chapel, and Remedy couldn’t get him on the phone. Her Big O afterglow had given way to sleep-deprived nerves that weren’t coping well with the task of wrangling seven bridesmaids and seven groomsmen, along with the bride’s and groom’s families and stepfamilies—all of whom had arrived at the chapel waiting for pre-wedding photographs at varying levels of intoxication. She was jumpy enough as it was anticipating a showdown with Emily and Alex over her hookup with Micah. There was no way Carina hadn’t told Emily that she’d seen them at Hog Heaven. Remedy had girlfriends; she knew how the gossip superhighway worked.

  Well, Emily and Alex were just going to have to deal, because Remedy had no plans to take sides in the ongoing war between the resort and the fire department. Actually, now that she was considering it, being caught in the middle made a kind of poetic sense, as it seemed to be her lot in life to forever be a floater between worlds.

  Remedy’s ringtone sounded. “Finally,” she muttered, slipping out of the chapel for privacy so the families didn’t have to hear her bitch out the photographer for his tardiness.

  When she saw the readout of who was calling, frustration flooded through her all over again. Not the photographer, but her mother. She really had to stop texting her mom in the morning before work, because nine times out of ten her mom returned her call at the worst possible moment. It was uncanny.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Got your text. What’s new?”

  Deep breath, nice and calm. No need to take her frustration about the photographer out on anyone else. “Missing you, as always.”

  “I’m missing you, too, sweetie. So much. But I bet that’s not why you called this morning. There’s something else going on with you. Something personal.”

  Though her mom had been pulling semi-clairvoyant stuff like that all Remedy’s life, Virginia retained the ability to amaze her. Her mom’s sensitive intuition probably had a lot to do with why she was such a flawless actress. What would it be like to be so innately talented? A shimmer of envy made itself known until Remedy beat it back, as she always did.

  Yes, she had called her mom to fill her in on the latest developments of her personal life. Not her first choice, but there was no one else to talk to about Micah. Any of the fledgling friendships she was forming in Texas were with her coworkers, and if she’d told her friends in Los Angeles they would’ve been horrified that she’d gone and done exactly what they’d warned her against. Maybe they’re not such great friends, after all.

  After a scan of her surroundings to make sure she couldn’t be overheard, she sat at the bench on the edge of the chapel’s hill. “I kissed someone last night.”

  She’d done a lot more than that, but, hello, boundaries.

  Mom gasped. “Remy, you’ve only been in Texas for a month. How is that possible?”

  Remedy started to answer, but her mom cut her off. “Wait! That was a horrible question. Of course the gentlemen in Texas are falling all over themselves to get your attention. You’re irresistible.”

  “Thanks, Mom. This man is pretty irresistible, too.” Her cheeks heated. God, had she really said something so corny? Even if it was true.

  “Tell me everything,” Mom said, sounding like an overeager celebrity news journalist. Remedy opened her mouth to answer, but her mom cut her off again. “No, wait! Let me pop a bottle of champagne. This calls for a celebration. Helen! We need champagne, please. And make it snappy.”

  Remedy drew a long, silent breath. Helen was there. Okay. Fine.

  Helen West had been Remedy’s mom’s hairstylist forever, on set and off, and the two had become the best of friends. Remedy had distinct childhood memories of playing with Helen’s daughter, Cambelle, who was Remedy’s age, and of their challenging each other to hoist her mom’s Oscar trophies over their heads. Cambelle and Remedy had managed to stay semi-close acquaintances over the years, even after Cambelle had decided she wanted to break into show business herself when they were in high school.

  Helen transformed herself into the quintessential stage mom, and not long after Remedy’s parents’ divorce, when Remedy’s mom had been lost and drifting, she’d followed Helen’s lead by attempting to convince Remedy to take up acting, too. When it became clear that no amount of cajoling or impassioned monologues on the subject would sway Remedy, her mom abandoned the cause and threw her support and influence behind Cambelle’s nonstarter of a showbiz career, much to Remedy’s relief at the time. Since then, Cambelle had landed unmemorable roles in several dour indie movies but was still looking for her big break, much to Helen’s and Remedy’s mom’s frustration.

  Judging by the sounds of glee over the phone, Helen was as happy with the news of Remedy’s love life as her mom was. Which meant it was only a matter of time before Cambelle—the author of the battle cry suits, not boots—heard the latest about Remedy’s love life. So much for keeping her friends at home in the dark.

  Cringing through a smile, Remedy looked heavenward, waiting patiently as Mom narrated Helen’s pouring of the champagne. “There. I’ve got my champagne. Tell me everything about this boy you kissed.”

  “Not a boy. A man, Mom.” A fine, strapping man with a slow Texas drawl and a way with his tongue.

  Mom turned predictably giddy at that correction. “Oh my, that sounds juicy. Tell me more about this man you kissed.”

  Remedy didn’t know where to start, which didn’t matter, because Mom wasn’t ready to cede the floor yet. “Wait! I have one more question first. He doesn’t chew tobacco, does he?”

  “Mom, please.”

  “You’re in Texas. It’s an honest question.”

  “Not all men in Texas chew tobacco.” Good thing, too, because that would’ve been a deal breaker.

  “Does he own a gun?” Helen called in the background.

  “Tell Helen yes, he owns a gun. Probably a lot of guns.” And he’d looked damn fine with one strapped to his hip that first day, if Remedy was being honest with herself.

  Mom gasped. “Is he a Republican?”

  Probably. No, definitely. “I have no idea.”

  “What did she say?” Helen asked.

  “She doesn’t know.” Mom tsked, unappeased. “You’re going to need to ask him that before you kiss him again. Or, for God’s sake, before you even think of sleeping with him. I can’t have my baby falling in love with a conservative.”

  “Mom. Come on. Would you stop lobbing Texas stereotypes at me? You grew up in Oklahoma, for crying out loud.”

  “Which is how I know what the men out there are like.”

  “You’re being ridiculous and prejudiced.”

  “No, I’m being a mom. My heart would break if you gave me a brood of gun-toting, tobacco-chewing Republican grandbabies.”

  The description conjured the image of a roomful of toddlers holding toy guns and dressed in Ronald Reagan onesies. Speaking of ridiculous. “Like Grandpa Hartley was?”

  The line was silent, then, “My dad was an exception to the rule, may he rest in peace. Was this man at least a gentleman to you?”

  As if being a Republican gun owner made him some kind of barbarian by default. Except for Grandpa Hartley, of course. “He was a perfect gentleman.” And by perfect gentlemen she meant the kind of man who fingered her to a near climax in his truck before hauling her over his shoulder to his bedroom and screwing her to a soul-altering orgasm. “Do you want to hear the story or do you and Helen have more que
stions?”

  “I’m shutting up now. Continue.”

  Remedy rolled her shoulders. “Thank you. He’s a firefighter. Actually, he’s the Ravel County fire chief.”

  “He’s a firefighter,” Mom whispered, presumably to Helen, before humming her approval. “You get your taste in men from me, you know. Rugged. The most interesting man in the world types. I bet your man looks like Tom Selleck.”

  There was nothing to do but chuckle at her mom. As her father was fond of reminding Remedy, Mom was a wild child at heart and she always would be. But unlike her dad, who saw that quality as a personality defect, Remedy embraced her mom’s eternal youthfulness.

  “He looks absolutely nothing like Tom Selleck.” Thank goodness.

  “No firefighter mustache?”

  “No, but he rocks a wicked five o’clock shadow.”

  Her mom sighed at that, weary. “These days, they all do, my dear. It’s the new ‘in’ look. Lumberjack Chic. Beard abrasion is the worst. Did I ever tell you about rash on my lips inflicted on me by Robert De Niro? He and I were in that political thriller a few years ago, and he was quite the kisser, but—”

  “Mom, can you never, ever again tell me about beard rashes you’ve gotten? Please?”

  “Fine. Back to your firefighter. How did this night of kissing come about?”

  How indeed. But that was a story for another time. “I have to get back to work. Big wedding tonight. But you and I will talk more tomorrow, okay?”

  “At least tell me his name.”

  “Micah.” As though summoned by the sound of his name, Micah’s truck came into view on the resort’s main entrance road. A thrill shot through Remedy and she couldn’t stop a goofy smile from spreading on her lips.

  “When are you going to see Micah the fire chief again?” Mom asked.

  “At work? In about two minutes. Outside of work, I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

  Micah’s words echoed in her mind. Like all worthwhile things in life, it’s complicated.

  Mom gave a dreamy sigh. “Complicated can be so much fun. All right, all right. I’ll let you go. Good luck tonight. You just keep putting on world-class weddings and you’ll be back to work in Los Angeles in no time.”