by Lori Foster
“You went out on a call? I thought you were still supposed to wait another—”
“No, I didn’t go out on a call. I got a call. From a friend of mine. He runs one of the schools that help develop and train SAR dogs. It’s one of the few in the country and he’s really brought it a long way in a few short years. It’s where I went—still go, in fact—to work with Recon.”
“Is he the one that got you into SAR work?”
She saw the answer on his face even before he answered. “This is what you wanted to talk about before. About the career decision you had to make. He wants you to come work for him, doesn’t he?”
Brett nodded. “We discussed it earlier this summer, but he hadn’t made up his mind yet. And… well, it’s more complicated than just changing jobs.”
“Because of the time you’ve put in with the fire department, your retirement, the—”
He held up his hand. “I’ve thought all about that. Endlessly. But that’s not it. Not really.”
“Search and Rescue is what you really love.” She didn’t make it a question. She’d come to know him so well in such a short time. Better than anyone ever had.
“I love both things, but yes, if I had to specialize, this is definitely what I want to do. With the world being a changing place, and manmade disasters piling up alongside the natural ones… we don’t have enough trained teams out there. I know we need to change that. Now I have an opportunity to do it.”
“So… how far away is this place?”
“A couple hours from here. Up in the Sacramento Valley.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s a hell of a commute.”
He reached out and covered her hand. “That’s the complicated part I mentioned. Hank doesn’t want me to come work for him. He wants to retire. Or, semi-retire anyway. He’ll always be involved with SAR. His wife finally retired from her government job and they want to travel, spend time with their grandkids. But he doesn’t want to leave the operation—”
“With someone who doesn’t love it as much as he does,” she finished softly.
“Yeah, well…”
“So, what? You buy him out, move the operation here, or—”
“You have to understand, this isn’t the kind of place you drive to, to work. In addition to all the training facilities, there are dogs he finds, usually from humane societies and other breeders, that he personally brings in to train before placing with handlers. It’s a full-time operation. Twenty-four seven.”
“So he has kennels.”
“Not exactly.”
Her eyes widened. “He lives with all his training dogs?”
“Basically, yes. You have to socialize them properly as pups, and they don’t stay for long before either going to a handler or being placed as a pet if they can’t make the grade.” Brett stopped in mid-babble when the grin split her face.
“You’ve already decided, haven’t you?” She squeezed his hand. “You want to move out there, take over the place.”
Brett just looked at her, feeling like he was standing on the edge of his own giant precipice. “I want to, but—”
“You’re perfect for this job, you know. He couldn’t have found anyone better.”
“Funny,” he said quietly. “I look at you and think the same thing.” He slid from his chair and tugged her from hers, until they were both standing and she was in his arms. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but will you come out there with me today? See the place with me? I want your input.”
“My input?”
Brett wasted a second wondering if he wasn’t ruining everything by pushing this on her so swiftly. Patience, he’d schooled himself a hundred times—a thousand—was the key to making their relationship work. It had started so abruptly, putting her under his roof, into his bed, literally overnight. And yet he felt as though she’d always been there, already couldn’t imagine a roof without her under it.
“Yeah. You.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “I know you’ve been looking for a place here. And I’ve been trying really hard not to say anything.”
She gave him a look.
“Key word being ‘trying,’” he added with a sheepish grin.
She nodded, but looped her arms around his waist.
“I know rebuilding your life, your business, means a great deal to you,” he said. “As it should. And I know my spare bedroom leaves a lot to be desired as a work studio. I also know how important your independence is to you and I understand that completely.”
“Brett—”
“Wait,” he said, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by how important this was, and how badly he was probably going to screw it up. “Let me say this. I shouldn’t probably, should be more patient, but—”
“When you have to be, you’re the most patient man I know. I’ve watched you work with Recon. And I know how you are with me. You’re kind, loving and generous to a fault. You’re also the sexiest, most fun, most trustworthy man I’ve ever known.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, completely unprepared for her heartfelt words.
“I’ve been falling more deeply in love with you every second of every day,” she said. “I tell myself it’s nuts. I tell myself it’s insane. And yet I look at you and my heart swells.”
“But the house-hunting—”
“I wasn’t house-hunting. I just wanted you to think I was, because I didn’t want you to think that just because you brought a stray home, I was going to stick around until you were forced to throw me out when the time came to end this thing.”
He panicked. “But I don’t want to end—”
“I know,” she said, then grinned suddenly. “Isn’t it incredibly amazing?”
His heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear. In all his planned speeches, this was never how it went. He was going to be so careful, careful not to pressure her, not to be too overwhelming in revealing how deep his emotions ran, promise her he’d go as slow as she wanted. Only—
“I was searching for a storefront,” she explained. “Along with all the other revelations I’ve had in my life, I’ve come to realize that maybe instead of hiding in my little studio and sending my pieces all over the country for someone else to sell… it was time for me to sell them myself. In my own place. It’s what I’ve always wanted… but after things went so bad, I guess I crawled more deeply into an emotional cave than I thought.” She leaned in, hugged him tightly. “You make me want to come out of that cave. Back into the sunlight, back into the world. But it’s a world I really don’t want to be in without you.” She grinned. “Or Recon, or all of Hank’s dogs, and all the ones to come along after them.”
He hugged her hard, pressing her tightly against him, his eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears. The ferocity of his emotions almost left him speechless. “What did I do to deserve you?” he choked.
She leaned back, looked up into his eyes.
“Funny, that’s what I think every time I look at you.” She kissed him again. And this time it was a kiss full of promise, full of hope. “So, let’s go see this new menagerie of yours. And, who knows, maybe afterward we can check out the local storefront properties out there.”
“Haley—” He didn’t know what to say. His heart was full to almost bursting.
She laughed. “My God, I’ve done it. I’ve actually managed to leave you speechless.”
He laughed, too, then tugged her back tightly into his arms. “Almost, but not quite,” he said. With her eyes still sparkling with laughter, he realized the right moment to speak his heart was any moment he wanted to. “I love you, Haley Brubaker.”
She caught her breath, and now it was her eyes that had a suspicious sheen of moisture. “I didn’t know how wonderful that was going to sound.”
“I’ll be more than happy to say it again. Every day. For years.” He kissed her, intending soft and sweet, but somehow it turned primal and demanding. His emotions were running so swift and strong, he thought he could explode with it. “I do love you,”
he murmured against the soft skin of her neck. “It awes me how much you’ve come to mean to me.” He lifted his head. “We both have a lot of changes, and I swear I want to take them one at a time—”
She was already grinning.
He couldn’t help it, he shrugged. “I can try to take them one at a time.”
“We’ll leap together.”
He sighed in amazement. “The lottery of love.”
“What?”
“It’s a goober thing.”
“Ah.” She smoothed a hand down his face. “As it happens, I love goobers.”
His smile faded. “Do you?”
She nodded.
His heart stopped.
“I love you, Brett Gannon.”
“Did you feel that,” he whispered.
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure the earth just moved.” He swung her around, making her squeal in surprise. “Or maybe it was just my heart rocking.”
“No,” she told him. “You’ve been rocking my world since the moment you stepped back into it.”
He grinned. “Now those are the kind of aftershocks I’ll never get tired of.” He put her down just as the dogs raced, barking wildly, through the kitchen and back around into the living room. Digger in the lead, dragging the bedsheet behind him.
“How many dogs did you say we’d be living with again?” Haley asked.
He opened his mouth, shut it again, then finally judiciously asked, “How many is my limit?”
She burst out laughing. “As many as you can con me into.”
“I love you, Haley.”
“I love you, too, Brett.” She grabbed his hand and headed up the stairs. “Come on, we have a drive to make.”
He scooted in behind her and flipped her neatly around and over his shoulder.
“You really have to stop hauling me around.”
“Fireman drills. Consider it keeping me trained and ready.”
“Oh. Well, then. Trained and ready is good.”
He slid her to her feet on the first landing, and backed her up against the wall. “Wanna play damsel in distress?” he teased, dropping kisses here and there.
“Fire, fire,” she deadpanned, grinning. “Help.”
He pushed her T-shirt up. She shoved his shorts down.
“Officer fireman, sir,” she panted against his neck. “I think I’m going to burn alive.”
He lifted her up against the wall. “Hold on tight. I’ll save you.”
She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he slid deep inside her with one long thrust. “Yes,” she groaned, holding him tight. “You can. Only you.”
And the earth moved. Again.
Look for Sean Gannon’s story,
part of the
AMERICAN HEROES
Temptation miniseries
SEAN,
Temptation #934, coming in July 2003.
STRANDED!
Jill Shalvis
CHAPTER ONE
It was a rare day all around. First, there was the storm, which with its raging winds and slashing rain made working on the house a definite challenge.
Then there was the reason Matt Walker was able to work on the house in the first place—he actually had the day off.
That in itself was so unusual, he almost hadn’t known what to do with himself, but he’d figured it out pretty quick. Being an emergency room doctor had taught him nothing if not how to prioritize.
He stood in the middle of what he could loosely call his heritage, a falling-down-on-its-axis, three-story house on the gulf coast of Texas, left to him by his grandfather.
He’d been given the place, while his brother Luke had been left the big, fat bank account, when the truth was neither of them, both doctors and well-established, needed anything. Still, the money seemed a hell of a lot easier on a guy than this house.
Good thing he loved his brother, the lucky jerk.
So why had the house and the neglected, overgrown one hundred and fifty acres surrounding it, come to him? He didn’t need it, he didn’t need anything. Or anyone, for that matter.
And what was he, a man without a spare moment to call his own, supposed to do with it? His job was all-consuming, and he liked it that way. He put in a minimum of eighty hours a week at the hospital where he headed the emergency department, saving people twenty-four seven. If he wasn’t treating others, he was planning the treatment of others.
Or, during the rare few hours in a row he had to himself, sleeping.
True enough, he worked with his hands, but this renovation project was so far beyond his abilities it was laughable. And yet here he stood in jeans, a T-shirt and work boots, music blaring out of his portable radio, contemplating the mess around him as though he knew what he was doing.
The foyer stretched out, opening into a living room bigger than his entire apartment. But his apartment didn’t have rotting carpet, drywall nails coming through the walls and a ceiling turning yellow from leaks.
He was going to have to do something about all of it, but hell if he knew what exactly.
The music stopped abruptly and a deejay cut in. “Sorry, folks, but we’ve got something more important than vintage Van Halen at the moment. We’re talking about that storm out there, the one that’s wasting your spring veggies.”
Matt craned his head and looked out the window. What had started out as a pretty pathetic offering of a few sprinkles had upgraded itself with a vengeance. He could hardly see for the slashing rain and incredible wind.
“It’s upgraded itself from pesky to downright dangerous,” the deejay continued. “Coming in off the Gulf, and basically, if you’re anywhere near the coast of Texas or Louisiana, you’re in for it.”
Well that solved the problem of what to do with himself today. If the storm was that bad, he’d be back in Houston, in scrubs soon enough, treating injuries and worse.
The house would be on its own.
It was a hundred years old, it could handle it; if it held through that storm, that is. Matt didn’t care either way, his parents had seen to it he didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. They’d traveled extensively, and exclusively.
Exclusively meaning no children invited.
Which meant that more often than not, he and his brother had landed here. Grandfather had pretty much let them run wild and, Matt had to admit, they’d spent some impressionable months here, he and Luke, racing through the fields, swimming in the creek behind the house, dodging grandfather’s ire over their antics…
Funny how he’d forgotten that when he’d learned the house was his. All he’d felt was resentment at having to care for something other than his patients.
But now as he stepped past the living room, the formal dining room, the den, the kitchen, all fading from their former glory, memories slammed into him like a two-fisted punch.
From outside came the sound of the howling wind. The rain drummed the walls, the roof. Matt had seen lots of storms in his thirty-two years, and this was going to be a whopper. Overgrown bushes outside the windows scraped against the glass, hitting with such force he winced.
“Yes, sirree,” he heard the radio announcer say from the radio in the foyer. “Batten down the hatches and get the heck out of Dodge, everyone. Don’t be a hero.”
From where Matt stood in the lanai, an enclosed porch he’d camped out on too many times to count, he could hear creaking and groaning above him. The supports and rafters were straining.
Not good.
The house had been built in 1902. It’d been in the family all these years, passed down from generation to generation, skipping his father of course, a man far too busy for such things.
Only a few moments ago Matt would have said the same thing, which left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He didn’t want to think like his father.
This house was the only thing he had in the way of a past worth remembering, and suddenly he didn’t want to see it destroyed.
“Get out those flashl
ights, folks.” This from the radio announcer. “Be careful, be smart, and be safe—”
The radio died as the power went out.
With a sigh, Matt moved toward the scant daylight the clouds hadn’t choked out. He wasn’t a hero, not today. He knew enough to leave. But first he turned in a slow circle to take a good long look around him.
He could almost hear himself as a kid, chasing Luke down the hallways, frogs in their pockets, running like hell from their enraged grandfather.
Oh, yeah, those had been good times. He felt bad that Luke, older by two years and working himself into an early grave as head surgeon in Los Angeles, wouldn’t get to see this place one last time.
No matter really, Luke was even less sentimental than Matt.
“Hold on,” he said out loud to the empty rooms. “You’ve made it this long, you can stand strong against a silly little storm.”
Around him the creaks and groans increased. The drumming of the downpour against the windowpanes was so loud he could hardly hear himself think. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant run for his car, but he needed to get out now before the long dirt driveway washed away.
He’d go straight to the hospital, he figured, because he could only imagine the injuries piling up.
As he turned and caught a glance out the window, he tensed. The creek that ran through the east and west fields was about to overflow its banks.
Not good.
Twice in the past hundred years it had flooded the house; it might yet again if the storm didn’t let up.
But that’s not what made Matt step closer to the window. He’d seen a flash of blue in all that wild, stormy gray. There, on the shore of the swollen creek…
Unbelievable.
The field had once been farmed, but not in the past twenty years. It was now just an open, overgrown space dotted with bush and trees and divided by the creek. Valuable, given the offers he’d been sent since his grandfather’s death, but neglected just the same.
There was another flash of blue, but with the rain and wind distorting his view he couldn’t tell what it was. A blanket? A truck? Even a person? And then he watched. It moved again. Matt’s stomach fell. Whatever was out there, it was alive.
