Men of courage

by Lori Foster

  “You,” she said, pointing at Ethan, “don’t know what you did.”

  He snared her gaze with his own and wouldn’t let her look away. “So tell me, Rosie. Did I kiss you?”

  Her cheeks turned pink and she shrugged. “Maybe I don’t remember, either.”

  Ethan slowly stood to approach her. “Oh, if I’d kissed you, Rosie, believe me, you’d remember.”

  She squared off, facing him like a prizefighter with her hands on her hips, legs braced. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

  He jutted his chin forward to match her stance. “Because I’m a damn good kisser.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s true.” He reached back to nudge Riley with a fist. “Ask Riley, he knows.”

  Riley almost fell off the bench. “What are you talking about?” His voice rose to a shout when Riley almost never shouted. “I sure as hell haven’t kissed you!”

  “Excuse me?”

  They all turned toward the front door, and there stood the redhead from the night before. Her glorious hair—Ethan did love the color— was piled on top of her head in loose, very feminine disarray. She wore a pale green, knee-length skirt with a crisp white blouse and very high heels. An enormous satchel was hooked over her arm.

  Great, Ethan thought, just great. He needed this like he needed a four-alarm fire.

  Much provoked, Riley stood and immediately shouted, “I have never kissed Ethan, swear to God.”

  Rosie moved with the speed of light to position herself in front of Ethan.

  Ethan started to laugh. He couldn’t help himself. He was still a little hungover, still very confused by Rosie’s recent offer, and horny as hell to boot. Could his life get more muddled?

  “It’s true,” he confirmed. “Riley is as macho as they come. Hell, he’s so macho he has hair on the soles of his feet.”

  “I do not.” Riley turned to glare at him. “And don’t help me, all right?”

  Biting back his smile, Ethan said, “By the way, Riley, I was talking about those twins who wanted to double date, remember? The one told you I was a great kisser and she wanted to test you out to see who was better?”

  Riley’s frown lifted, a smile started and he said, “Oh, yeah.”

  The redhead looked beyond confused, on the verge of bolting. Her apparent nervousness kept her shifting her feet and twisting her hands. “Are you open?”

  Obviously dismissing Ethan and his memories of the twins, Riley looked her over, crossed his arms and said, “I could be.”

  Clutching her satchel, Red said, “I need to learn some self-defense.”

  Riley cocked a brow at that, Rosie scowled and Ethan felt mired in guilt. “Good God, I didn’t assault you, did I?” He never should have gotten drunk. He never should have…

  “No, of course not.” Her green-eyed gaze darted to Rosie, to Ethan and back to Riley. Her slim brows puckered in a suspicious frown. “Am I interrupting?”

  “We were just about to leave.” Rosie took Ethan’s arm and tried to drag him behind her.

  He planted his feet and refused to budge. “If I bothered you last night, I am sorry. I don’t usually drink like that.”

  Red’s smile was distracted when she forced herself to look away from Riley. “You were fine,” she assured him. “Mostly you just talked about a woman.”

  Ethan groaned. He felt moronic enough already, but, God, if he’d been waxing poetic about Michelle, he’d have to leave town.

  Rosie elbowed him hard to show her displeasure. He grunted, caught her lethal pointy little elbow so she couldn’t inflict more damage to his ribs and said to Red, “Again, I’m very sorry. You should have shoved me under a table or something.”

  “I didn’t mind.” Red’s expression softened. A small smile teased her mouth. “Actually, I thought it was rather sweet that you’re so obviously in love with her.”

  Ethan stiffened, embarrassed and outraged. “I am not in love with Michelle.”

  “Michelle?” Red frowned and again looked around at each person in the room before settling back on Ethan. “But… I thought her name was Rosie?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rosie did her best to hide her grin as she turned off the Crock-Pot and dished up heaping bowls of thick stew. She’d gotten home half an hour ago, quickly showered, then changed into cutoffs and a T-shirt. She’d barely finished before they’d arrived.

  All of them.

  She sneaked a peek at Ethan and felt her heart patter in excitement. He sat at her small round dinner table, behaving like a surly badger, but at least he’d shown up.

  He hadn’t wanted to. He’d even refused—until Riley suggested to Rosie that they could do a little more practice after they’d eaten. Ethan had immediately changed his mind about dinner, and Rosie was starting to hope that jealousy motivated him.

  Just as she finished serving the stew, the bread machine dinged and she carefully removed the hot loaf to a cutting board. The men were all sniffing the air impatiently. Harris even smacked his lips together, making her laugh.

  “Ethan, will you pour everyone something to drink? And get the butter out of the refrigerator.”

  He grumbled an incoherent reply, then fetched a tea pitcher and began filling glasses.

  Riley took a long drink and said, “Did you know that Red is a reporter? She was there last night to do a story on Ethan.”

  Ethan froze with the pitcher poised over Buck’s glass. “Oh, shit.”

  Rosie dropped the large carving knife, almost removing her big toe.

  “Hey, be careful there.” Riley frowned at her.

  She snatched up the knife and rinsed it in the sink. “A reporter? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nah, but she’s different from a lot of them. She’s real sweet. She said she realized Ethan was drunk, so she’s going to contact him for another interview.”

  Buck nudged Ethan to get him to pour the tea, then peered at Riley. “You like her?”

  “Yeah, sure. She’s a jumpy little thing, and her imagination is a bit much.”

  Rosie hated the idea of the woman being alone with Ethan. She wouldn’t tolerate it, not since she already knew Ethan found her attractive. When she interviewed Ethan, it would have to be with Rosie present to protect his virtue. “What’s wrong with her imagination?”

  “She has some goofy notion that people are out to get her. She’s a little paranoid, if you ask me.”

  Harris began buttering a thick slab of bread. “What’s her real name?”

  Grinning, Riley said, “Get this. It’s Regina Foxworth.” He laughed. “And she is foxy, but ‘Red’ suits her better than Regina.”

  Harris and Buck stared at Riley in complete and total bafflement. It was the very first time they’d ever heard him make such a comment concerning a woman.

  Rosie couldn’t help but grin. Well, well, well. It would gratify her immensely if Riley staked a claim. More than anything else, that would ensure that Ethan stayed free of the woman’s clutches.

  Ethan reseated himself at the table. “Hell, I don’t want to be interviewed. Not by her, not by anyone. I had enough of that crap back when the fire first happened.”

  “It’s good for the department.” Harris pointed a spoon at him. “Captain is hoping you’ll get us new funding.”

  “The captain can damn well—”

  “If you don’t willingly meet with her,” Riley interjected, “she said she’d be forced to use what information she got at the ceremony last night.”

  Rosie made a disgusted face. “And that would be what? That Ethan can’t hold his liquor?”

  “Probably something like that.”

  Ethan ignored them to dig into his stew. “Mmm. Terrific, Rosie. Thanks.”

  The others followed suit, showering her with compliments. She thanked them, took a breath, then forged on manfully. “You know, you could all eat home-cooked meals more often if you’d just settle down.”

  Harris had his mouth full but he still managed to sputter.
“I’m plenty settled.”

  Buck had the good grace to first swallow. Loudly. “No time. The lumberyard is a demanding mistress.”

  Harris laughed and thwacked him on the back for that quip.

  Riley shrugged. “Maybe someday. But not yet.”

  Ethan remained conspicuously silent.

  “You could all start with a nice house. I see terrific deals all the time.” She tried not to stare at Ethan. “There’s a nice tight ranch not far from where you already live, Riley. One hundred percent financing. New windows, new furnace.”

  Ethan stood. “Mind if I get some more stew?”

  Deflated, Rosie waved at him. “Go ahead. Help yourself.”

  For fear of not getting seconds, the other guys jumped up and got in line for the Crock-Pot. Rosie tapped her fingertips on the tabletop. They were all so stubborn.

  “I’d waive my fee, you know.”

  Riley patted her head on his way back to his seat, his bowl almost overflowing. “Course you would, hon. It’s not that. I just don’t think any of us are anxious to get into the home-and-hearth routine.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Rosie twisted in her seat and faced Ethan. “You used to be. Don’t you remember when you were wanting kids and a dog and a house with a picket fence?”

  A heavy silence fell around them. Other than a quick look in her direction, Ethan paid her little mind. “It’d be hard to forget, but that was a long time ago.”

  “Nineteen months. Not all that long.”

  He pierced her with a lethal look. “Long enough.”

  Riley cleared his throat and attempted to help

  Rosie by changing the subject. “So, Ethan, you gonna meet up with Red? You know how reporters are. It’s easier not to fight them.”

  “Yeah, what the hell. I’ll talk with her.”

  “She’s probably left a message on your machine by now. Let us know how it goes.”

  “You know,” Ethan said, gesturing with a piece of bread, “a good reporter would be covering something more important, like the damn fireworks. The Fourth is next weekend and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m dreading it already.”

  Harris lifted his glass of tea in a toast. “Count me in on that. Every year someone sets a fire or gets burned. Why is it the majority of people who want to play with the damn things are idiots?”

  “Are you expecting trouble?” Rosie asked.

  “Every year.” Arms folded on the table, Ethan glared down at his half-empty bowl. “And with the new bill just passed, a lot of the pyrotechnics we hate most are now legal for adults to use. Only adults aren’t the only ones getting their hands on them.”

  “Firecrackers, Roman candles, bottle rockets.” Harris leaned back in his seat. “Did you know about twelve thousand people get sent to emergency rooms every Fourth of July? Over fifty percent of them are kids, and ten percent are permanently injured. It sickens me.”

  “And,” Ethan added, “we have a fireworks dealer in town who’s known to be a little less than reputable. I’d love to shut him down, but for now, all we can do is keep an eye on him.”

  Since Rosie had never heard Harris speak so… passionately on a topic, she was enthralled— and unaccountably worried. By the nature of their work as firefighters, Ethan and Harris faced various levels of danger daily. She’d tried to get used to that, especially since Ethan always seemed determined to be the first man in, the last man out, and the quickest to volunteer. He might not want to admit it, but he had hero tendencies that were as plain as his hair and eye color, there for all the world to see.

  But this sounded more lethal than the usual day-to-day stuff, and she couldn’t quite keep the worry from her tone. “Will it be dangerous for you two?”

  Ethan scowled over her concern, even as he shook his head. “No, but seeing a kid burned is about the most awful thing in the world.”

  “I know it’s something I’ll never get used to,” Harris conceded.

  Looking thoughtful, Riley said, “Maybe Red can help. She could at least get some of the facts in the paper, right?”

  Buck slanted him a look. “Just how well did you get to know her this afternoon?”

  Riley shrugged. “We talked about an hour. I told her what the lessons would cost, how often she should come in—stuff like that. She wanted a starter lesson today so we spent another hour on that.” He stretched. “I worked up quite an appetite, I can tell you.”

  “Hell,” Ethan muttered, “if you showed her the same stuff you were doing with Rosie, the two of you might be having kids soon.”

  Riley laughed out loud at that, and Rosie blushed.

  “We’ve seen.” Harris grinned at her, and his blue eyes were glittering with mischief. “Wanna wrestle, Rosie?”

  “No.” She stood and collected bowls, hoping no one noticed her heightened color. “Anyone want ice cream for dessert?”

  Buck and Harris both cackled at the way she tried to change the subject.

  Ethan wouldn’t let it go. “What do you mean, you’ve seen? You two have been down there watching?”

  Buck nodded. “Hell of a show.” He and Harris clicked glasses.

  Flustered, Rosie smacked them both in the back of the head. “Now you two just quit it. And you, Ethan. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. Why, Riley’s the one teaching me the moves and he doesn’t laugh about it.”

  She glanced up in time to see Riley wipe the grin off his face. “All right, that’s it. Forget dessert. You can all go home now.”

  Immediate apologies followed, along with a lot of schmoozing hugs and entreaties. Rosie could barely catch her breath, they were all talking so fast and squeezing her so much.

  “Enough already! All right, you can stay.” Her eyes narrowed. “But no more razzing on my lessons. Understood?”

  After they’d all dutifully nodded, Ethan stood. “I’ll get the ice cream. One of you lazy slugs get the bowls.”

  Together, the men managed to serve themselves since Rosie was still peeved and it showed in the way she crossed her arms tight and kept her mouth flat.

  The bowls were no sooner filled than the phone rang. Glad for something to do, Rosie answered it on her kitchen wall phone, but then excused herself from the guys to take the call in private. No one seemed to mind that except Ethan, who scowled and asked, “Who is it?”

  “A client, nosy.” She started to tell them not to wait for her, then saw that Buck already had his mouth full and Harris was soon to follow. “You’re all social misfits, do you know that?”

  They shrugged. Rosie shook her head and walked out.

  The interruption was timely, in her opinion. She needed a few minutes to form her next plan of attack. Bringing up home and hearth hadn’t worked, so she’d have to hit Ethan on a more basic level.

  Damn it all, she was going to have to seduce him.

  The second Rosie was out of hearing, Ethan said, “Finish up and get out of here. I want to talk to Rosie alone.”

  Riley bit his upper lip, but refrained from saying anything. Buck wasn’t so subtle. “You two hooked up now?”

  “No, we’re not ‘hooked up.’ What the hell’s wrong with you? Rosie is a friend and you know it.”

  Harris rolled his eyes. “A female friend, and that’s all the distinction she needs far as I’m concerned.”

  “That’s about it,” Buck agreed.

  Riley set his spoon aside. “Have any of you ever thought of Rosie in a… you know, sexual way?” He saluted the air with two fingers, giving the first admission, and Harris and Buck quickly lifted their hands, too.

  Ethan gawked at them. “You can damn well stop thinking of her that way right now!”

  “Impossible.”

  “No way.”

  “Sorry.”

  Ethan shoved his chair back. “You’re all…”

  “Normal? Healthy?” Riley laughed. “Gifted with perfect eyesight?”

  Buck added, “Male.”

  And Harris tacked on, “Single.�
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  “I don’t believe this.”

  Unconcerned with Ethan’s escalating temper, Riley took another bite of ice cream. “You know, Ethan, you’re thumping your chest over nothing. Rosie has always treated us as just pals.” He pointed his spoon at him. “‘Cept for you.”

  “Lucky bastard,” Harris mumbled with feigned but good-natured envy.

  Stone-faced, Ethan paced away. Damn it, he was losing his mind. Ever since he’d awakened with Rosie draped over him, he’d been unable to stop thinking about her. But for the most part he’d forcefully kept those thoughts chaste, not carnal. For the most part.

  But now, with his best friends putting thoughts in his head, well, how the hell was he supposed to not think about it? The woman was plain hot and that was all there was to it.

  Rosie didn’t help any, prancing around in those Daisy Duke cutoffs with her rounded ass and long legs on display. Oh, yeah, he’d noticed the other guys stealing a peek every few minutes. Course, they did that to all females. But still— This wasn’t just any female. This was Rosie.

  His Rosie, damn it.

  Riley dropped his spoon into his empty bowl with a resounding clink, catching Ethan’s notice. “She seems a little different since this morning, huh?”

  Emotions roiling, Ethan asked through his teeth, “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like she’s on the make or something. The way she’s watching you—her body language.”

  His throat constricting, his eyes burning, Ethan repeated, “Body language?”

  “Yeah.” Riley turned to his cohorts. “You two’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

  “Yep.” Buck gave a decisive nod. “She wants him.”

  “Bad.”

  “Stop it!” Ethan paced again, more furiously this time. But he couldn’t outrun his own thoughts. It was too late. Their words were already bouncing around in his brain, making him sweat, causing his muscles to cramp. Last night he’d done… something with her. This morning she’d been so warm and soft and his bed still smelled like her, sexy and female and utterly Rosie.

  He breathed hard, walking faster ‘round her kitchen, the three stooges looking on. He couldn’t banish the images of Rosie seducing him, touching him, kissing him…