Feisty Firefighters Bundle

by Jill Shalvis; Alison Roberts

  The current pushed against her knees as she waded along. She tried not to think about the dark, rushing water turning her feet to ice. She focused instead on Cade’s strong back, relying on him to guide her.

  Cade stopped a few yards later and waited for her to catch up. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” But she knew they’d freeze unless they picked up the pace. “I’d better put the dog down, though.” She reluctantly set him in the water and tugged on the line, relieved when he paddled beside her. “Good boy!”

  They started walking again. It was easier moving without the dog in her arms, but the frigid water now crept up her thighs. She waded faster, forcing herself to breathe deeply despite the chills ravaging her body.

  But God, it was cold. And the river was wider than she’d thought. For an eternity, she trudged behind Cade, slipping and splashing over the rocks, her teeth chattering nonstop. Then the water lapped her waist, and she gasped.

  Cade stopped. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She locked her jaw to stop the clacking and shook her head.

  He still looked at her. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m f-f-fine. Just c-c-cold.”

  “Hell.” He looked ahead at the bank. “We don’t have too far to go.”

  But she knew she was slowing him down. He was already injured—badly, she suspected. He couldn’t afford to get chilled.

  But the river kept getting deeper. She glanced at the bags dangling from his muscled shoulder. The bags with all their dry clothes. “Are you sure I can’t—”

  “I’ve got them,” he said, his voice hard. “Now get moving before you freeze.”

  He let go of the rope and hoisted the bags higher on his shoulder with his good hand. “You’ll have to lead,” he added. “I need to hold up the bags.”

  Too cold to argue, she plodded past him, then instantly slowed her pace. “Th-this is hard.” With no one to guide her, she had to work to find the best footing, especially since a mistake could jeopardize Cade.

  She stumbled, then quickly righted herself. It was definitely easier to rely on Cade, and not just to get through the river. She’d depended on him for so many things during their marriage. Companionship, friendship, love…Maybe she’d relied on him too much?

  Jolted by that thought, she stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “N-n-nothing.”

  “Do you want to wear my hard hat?”

  “I can s-s-see.” She forced herself to continue walking. This wasn’t the time to mull over their marriage. She needed to get them out of this river before they froze.

  And God, it was cold. Shivers coursed through her body. Her teeth chattered so hard she couldn’t think. She could only imagine how miserable Cade felt with his injuries.

  She slipped and slid over a jumble of rocks, struggling to maintain her balance. The current pushed relentlessly against her, and she had to fight not to float downstream. But at least the dog had stayed with her. She tightened her grip on the makeshift leash.

  Yards later, the rocks leveled out, making it easier to walk. But just as she started to relax, the rope ran out. She stopped.

  “Forget the rope,” Cade said from behind her. “We don’t need it anymore.”

  She looked up in surprise. He was right. They’d almost crossed the river. And the water had dropped to her waist.

  “You go ahead,” she said. “I n-n-need to un-t-t-tie the dog.”

  “Forget it. We stay together.”

  “B-b-but—”

  “Just hurry up.”

  Shaking, she pulled the dog into her arms, then struggled to untie the rope. Her stiff fingers couldn’t work the wet knot.

  “Take off his collar,” Cade suggested.

  She switched her attention to the buckle, but even that proved too much for her frozen hands. “I c-c-can’t.” Her desperation rose.

  “There’s a knife on my belt,” he said. “In the sheath. Pull it out and cut the rope.”

  Shivering, she released the dog, and he treaded water beside her. Cade turned to give her access to his belt. Still shaking, she stuck her numb hand into the sheath and grasped the knife. Then she pulled it out.

  And promptly dropped it.

  Oh, God. She stared at the water in horror. It was too dark to see to the bottom. She lifted her stunned gaze to Cade.

  “I’ll get it,” he said. “Here. Hold the bags for a minute.”

  She reached for the bags, then stopped. What was she doing? Cade was hurt. He shouldn’t be getting wet. And what if he bumped his injured shoulder? She could search for the knife better than he could. Before he could stop her, she took a deep breath and plunged.

  Completely submerged now, she groped blindly along the bottom with her hands. She felt rocks and silt, but not the knife. The current must have pushed it downstream. She rose, sucked in another breath of air, and sank back down.

  This time, she swept the area a few feet away. She crawled along the rocks, running her hands over the bottom. Suddenly, the back of her hand brushed the knife. Relieved, she lunged forward and grabbed it, then stood.

  Water sluiced over her face as she triumphantly brandished her prize. Cade took it from her shaking hand.

  “Hold the rope so I can cut it,” he said, sounding angry.

  She clutched the dog’s rope, and he sawed it off. “All right, let’s go.” He stuck the knife in his sheath and grabbed her arm.

  Blinking back the water from her eyes, she started moving. But she could hardly feel her feet anymore, let alone keep pace with Cade. She stumbled, and he jerked her upright.

  “The d-d-dog—”

  “He’s coming. Now hurry up.” Cade picked up the pace and she couldn’t turn back to check. Dazed, her body convulsing with shivers, she fought to keep up.

  Seconds later, the water fell to her knees. Then suddenly, it was gone. Her teeth clacking hard now, she staggered across the dry rocks. Water squished through her shoes. The wind whipped her wet hair across her face, lashing her frozen skin.

  The dog trotted beside her, then paused to shake. Relief swept through her. He’d survived.

  She stopped, but Cade nudged her forward. “Keep moving. Over to those trees.” He bumped her again, and she stumbled up the grassy bank to a cluster of pines.

  “Stop,” he said. “Now start taking off those wet clothes.”

  “The d-d-dog…”

  “I’ll get him.” He dropped the bags to the ground, pulled out his radio and turned away.

  Too numb to move, she watched him stride toward the river. A huge swell of emotion overcame her, cramping her chest. His shoulder had to ache unbearably. And he was wet, too; he had to feel terribly cold.

  And yet, he’d carried their bags. He’d helped her to shore. And he still continued to work.

  Not for her sake, at least not anymore. No, not because of her. In spite of her.

  Because he was that kind of man.

  The lump in her throat grew thicker, and feelings she couldn’t name wadded her chest. “C-C-Cade,” she stammered. He paused and looked back. “Thank you.”

  His gaze stayed on hers for an endless moment. The night stilled, and even her heart seemed to cease beating. Then he nodded and turned away.

  Chapter 5

  T he cool wind tunneled through the narrow valley as Cade tramped back toward the stand of pines, the wet dog at his heels. He’d radioed dispatch to give them his position and get an update on the fire. Unfortunately, their news hadn’t reassured him. The wind had increased and could switch directions at any time.

  The wind gusted just then, creaking the pines overhead, and unease spread through his gut. Crossing the river had bought them some time, but they couldn’t afford to linger. If the fire spread their way, sparks could blow across the river and torch the dry trees.

  The dog stopped and shook, then trotted ahead of him to the cluster of pines. Jordan huddled in the windbreak, shivering in her wet clothes. Her drippin
g hair clung to her pale cheeks, and her lips trembled with cold.

  He scowled. “Why didn’t you change out of those clothes?”

  She moved her mouth, then shook her head. Hell. She was colder than he’d thought. And no wonder. His gut still tensed at the thought of her diving into that river to get the knife.

  Still swearing, he picked up their bags and dropped them at her feet. Unless he warmed her up, she’d never outrun that fire. But to do that, he had to get her into dry clothes.

  Resigned to the delay, he dropped to one knee beside her bag. Using his good hand, he unzipped it, then pulled out a blanket and towel. Then he rummaged back through it again, this time netting a pair of socks, a T-shirt and jeans. And underwear. His hand clenched the strips of white lace, and he felt the blow to his gut.

  So, she still wore that damn sexy underwear. Satin and lace, his biggest weakness. He dragged in an unsteady breath.

  And forced his mind to focus on the problem at hand—getting her warmed up so they could escape the fire. Since she was too cold to move, he scooted over and lifted her foot to his lap. Still using one hand, he loosened the wet laces and pulled off her soaked shoe and sock. He did the same to the other.

  He rose. “Now stand up so I can help take off those clothes.”

  “I c-c-can d-d-do…”

  “No, you can’t. Now stand up.” Trying not to think of this sexually, he pulled her to her feet. He kept his mind carefully blank as he grabbed the hem of her wet shirt and pulled up. She crossed her arms to stop him.

  “I could use some help here,” he said.

  “C-c-cold.”

  “Come on. It’ll only be cold for a minute.”

  “K-k-kay.” She straightened her arms, and he yanked the shirt over her head.

  Despite his intentions, his gaze dropped to her full breasts straining against the wet bra. The moonlight shimmered on her delicate skin, darkening the valley between the soft swells.

  “Turn around,” he said, his voice hard. She pulled her wet hair from her shoulder and turned. But now her smooth, bare back gleamed before him, and without warning, memories crowded in, of undressing before the woodstove. Of sliding kisses down that delicate neck. Of cupping her soft, full breasts in his hands and making her moan….

  He flicked open the clasp on her bra. She shrugged it off and crossed her arms, but not before the sight of her breasts seared his brain—the smooth curves shadowed in moonlight, the nipples tight with cold. The water beading on the firm flesh then trickling to her flat belly.

  His pulse drumming, he grabbed the towel and draped it over her head. “Wipe your hair. It’s dripping.”

  The blood surged hard in his brain as he picked up her dry clothes and faced her again. She dropped the towel and he slung the T-shirt over her head, struggling to get her arms in the sleeves.

  He tried not to look at her swaying breasts, to focus instead on the pain in his shoulder and the searing ache in his ribs. But hell, he was only human.

  And she did have beautiful breasts. Full and lush, with creamy, pebbled nipples. Generous enough to fill his big hands.

  And the memory of how those breasts felt in his palms came rushing back. Soft and slick. Arousing. Fighting the urge to touch her, he clenched his hand into a fist.

  “We forgot the bra,” he croaked.

  “L…l…later.” She pulled down her T-shirt, but the fabric clinging to her naked breasts did nothing to diminish his hunger. His mind banked down. His pulse ran ragged through his brain.

  And he still had to take off her jeans.

  Forcing air into his lungs, he moved closer and reached for the waistband. His hand shaking, he popped the snap and pulled down the zipper, and the electric sound tore through the night. Then he inched the wet pants down her legs.

  He dropped to one knee, and she clutched his shoulder for balance. He welcomed the jolt of pain, especially since he was now eye-level with a scrap of soaked satin. Hardly breathing, he jerked the jeans off her legs.

  He rose to his feet, her wet jeans balled in his hand. And God help him, but he couldn’t pull off that underwear. Because if he reached for her, he wouldn’t stop.

  Knowing what she’d see if he met her gaze, he kept his eyes averted. “Can you manage?” he ground out.

  “Yes.”

  Still not daring to look at her, he turned around, but his ears stayed attuned to every movement. Every rustle brought visions to his mind, of memories he’d struggled to banish. His tension mounting, he picked up the dry lace and waited.

  “Ok-kay.” She stopped moving, and he dragged himself around. He tried not to look; he really did. But his gaze still fell to the thatch of dark hair between her thighs, down her long, slender legs and back up.

  And it was his bad luck that his nerves leaped at the sight, and his body grew instantly hard.

  She reached for the underwear, her hand shaking. He handed it over and turned away. He forced himself to look at the dog nosing around the trees. The moon rising through the thrashing pines. The river winding low on its banks.

  “I’m d-done.” He turned back, but the damn lace wasn’t much better. His face rigid, he knelt and held open her jeans, but getting her inside them took forever. She balanced herself by holding on to his good shoulder, practically pulling his face in her lap. A sweat broke out on his brow.

  He stood, and together they pulled up the jeans. He tried not to think about how close she was standing, about how with one short tug, he could haul her into his arms.

  He jerked up the zipper and reached for the snap. His knuckles brushed her soft stomach and she gasped. Her gaze locked on his.

  The air stalled in his lungs. She stood just inches away, her dark, sultry eyes hot on his. He smelled the velvet of her skin, the dampness of her hair, and felt the old urgency rise between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, and memories roared through his brain of staggering heat and pleasure.

  The sound of the snap closing exploded like a bomb in the silence. He sucked in his breath and stepped back. Almost blindly, he bent and pulled his sweatshirt from his bag, then yanked it over her head. It reached her thighs, covering her like a sack. It didn’t help.

  He handed her the dry socks. “Can you put these on?” She nodded and lowered herself to the ground.

  Struggling to control his libido, he again turned his back. So his desire for her hadn’t faded. It didn’t mean a damn thing, except that he was alive. Nothing had changed between them, or ever would. She couldn’t live with a smokejumper. And he wouldn’t change his identity for anyone, no matter how great their sex life had been.

  His resolve hardening, he shoved the past where it belonged and turned his mind to what mattered—getting them out of the forest.

  But the truth was that they couldn’t continue in this condition. She needed to warm up. And although he hated to admit it, his head ached like hell. His shoulder felt wrenched from its socket, and his ribs burned whenever he breathed.

  He picked up the blanket and draped it awkwardly over her shoulders. She gave him a grateful smile.

  Keeping a safe distance between them, he sat down beside her and pulled off his hard hat. He took his canteen from his bag and rummaged for his bottle of ibuprofen, hoping to take the edge off his pain. When he found it, he thumbed off the plastic lid, tapped a few into his mouth, and swallowed them down with water.

  He glanced at Jordan. “Are you hungry?”

  Snuggled deep in the blanket now, she shook her head. His stomach rumbled, but food could wait. He needed to change out of his wet pants before he got chilled. Jordan wasn’t in any condition to help him, and he doubted he could stand her soft hands on him if she were.

  “We’ll rest here for a while,” he said. He began unlacing his boots.

  “B-b-but the f-f-fire…”

  “We’re safe enough for now. We’ve got the river behind us and the wind’s still pushing west. We can rest for an hour and then start hiking again.”

  “Your arm…”


  “Later, when you’ve warmed up. You can help lace my boots up, too.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, as if she wanted to argue, then finally slanted her head. He tugged off his wet boots and socks.

  He grabbed some dry clothes from his bag, then rose again. “I’m going to change.” He turned his back to her and stepped away.

  Using one hand, he stripped off his wet pants and briefs, and tossed them aside. The movement jostled his shoulder, but he ignored the deepening pain.

  Then he picked up his dry briefs and paused. How was he going to manage this?

  “You n-n-need help?” Jordan asked.

  He froze. No way in hell was he was letting her help, especially after seeing her naked. He’d barely controlled his reaction to her then. “I can do it.” Hoping she wasn’t watching, he awkwardly inched the briefs into place.

  His pants always hung loose during the season, thanks to the weight he dropped fighting fire, so he pulled them on without problems. He secured the zipper and button, and turned around. He’d have to go without the belt.

  He sat back down and grabbed a pair of dry socks from his bag. “Any chance you can help with these?”

  “Sure.” Still wrapped in the blanket, she rose to her knees. Her hands trembled as she picked up his socks and unrolled them. He noticed her gaze didn’t quite meet his.

  He dusted the pine needles from the soles of his feet. “Are you any warmer?”

  “A l-l-little.” Her dark head bent over as she pulled the first sock over his foot.

  He flinched. “Your hands are still cold.”

  “S-s-sorry.” Still not meeting his gaze, she adjusted the sock.

  “You can wear my gloves,” he said. “They’re dirty, but they might keep your hands warm.”

  “Okay.” Her wet hair swung forward as she started on the other foot. He frowned. Aside from his hard hat, he didn’t have anything to warm her head. And they couldn’t risk building a campfire.

  She finished pulling up his sock and sat back.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll put my boots on later.” Maybe she’d be warm enough by then to help him lace them.