Burnin' For You: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 3)
Page 21
“What—?” She blinked, clearing her vision.
Rumble peered down at her, holding his jaw. “You have quite a right hook, honey.”
Oh. Boy. She made a face, but her forehead burned, and she pressed her hand against the heat of a rising bump. “Sorry. But—”
“My bad. But you need to get off the floor.”
Voices now, loud, punching through the tension in the room.
He hesitated a second, then held out his hand again.
She made a face, shook her head, and climbed to her feet. “I don’t need help, thanks.”
But she swayed, trying to find her feet on the wooden floor.
“Seriously, you look like you could go down.”
“I’m fine.” Only then did she realize the wetness down the front of her white T-shirt. And...oh no. The odor of beer from her soaked shirt rose to consume her. That would play well when she arrived home. She pulled the shirt away from her body and removed her hand from her head. Then, “Wait...that girl—”
“Jess has her.”
Jess? She looked around and found the girl being led to a table by a pretty blonde, one of the hikers.
Rumble seemed to be debating grabbing her am, but she gave him a look, and he simply led the way back to the counter. On the dance floor, the factions had separated, the musician was setting his mic back to rights. The hippies, angry, a few of them holding back their champion, congregated at their table. The cowboy stalked out of the bar, holding his hat, his posse shouting epithets as they trailed.
“The flood has everyone keyed up,” Rumble said.
A man walked by, wearing a two-day scraggle of whiskers, dressed in a tight black shirt, Gore-Tex pants. Another one of the hikers. “Thanks, Ian,” he said, clamping her not-needed rescuer on the shoulder.
Ian nodded after him. “Miles.”
Apparently, this guy knew everyone in the saloon. “Ian? That’s your name?”
He nodded while reaching for a napkin. He fished ice from his water and folded it into the napkin. “You’ve got a nasty bump there.” He made to hold the makeshift ice pack to her head, then simply handed it to her.
“Thank you.” Kind. She should have seen that earlier. “Sorry I hit you. It’s a...well, a reflex.”
“What, from your years cage fighting?” He raised an eyebrow, and she couldn’t help a smile.
“No. Just...nothing.”
He frowned a second, but it vanished.
She anchored the ice pack in place, too aware of the fact that she should be attracted to this man who seemed so clearly interested in her.
Or maybe she was simply so out of practice she didn’t know how to flirt, or what flirting even looked like. Maybe he was simply being nice.
And she looked like a fool. She knew better than to dive into the middle of a barroom brawl—resurrect all her nightmares in broad daylight, or at least under the dim lights of a bar. Her specialty was picking up the pieces, not preventing the disaster in the first place.
Or at least it had been.
“I should go,” she said, pulling the ice away, fingering the bruise, testing it. “I still have an hour of driving tonight.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You’re injured, and you’ve been drinking.”
Huh? “Hardly.” She picked up her glass. “This is root beer. Besides, I’ve been hurt worse than this and still managed to airlift eight marines out of a hot zone. Trust me, I can keep my Ford Escape between the lines from here to Whitefish.”
“You still can’t go.”
“Enough with the gallantry. Listen, I’m exhausted, I’ve just driven for two days without sleep and I have to report for my new job in the morning.” She turned to Gina just emerging from the kitchen with her ribs. “Can I get those to go?”
Gina nodded, turned back to the kitchen.
“You don’t understand—” Ian started.
“No, dude, you don’t understand. I’m simply not interested, and frankly, you don’t want to get messed up with me. Trust me on that one.”
He frowned then, but then reached out and cupped his hand over her key.
And that was just...it. So what if he had six inches on her, looked like he worked out regularly, and knew how to handle himself. She only appeared helpless.
She schooled her voice, kept it even but with enough edge for him to take her seriously. “Ian. I know you don’t know me, and right now, I sort of wish we’d never met, but trust me...You let go of my keys or that little altercation on the dance floor will look like a warm-up.”
And he actually, seriously, smiled?
“Huh. Okay.” She slid off the stood.
“Slow down, I’m not trying to start another fight.” He moved his hand. “You can’t go home because...you can’t. Highway 2 is washed out just north of Mercy Falls. Unless you want to drive three hours back to Great Falls, then two hundred miles to Missoula, then finally north on 93 for another one hundred or so miles and end up arriving home around dawn, you’re hunkering down here tonight.”
Here. In Mercy Falls. She sighed and found the fist she’d made loosening.
“I was just trying to save you hours of driving.”
Gina came back out, plunked the bag of ribs on the bar. “Okay, here you go. By the way, Dad says hi. And that dinner is on the house for your service to your country. I didn’t know you won a bronze star.”
Kacey glanced at Ian, who raised an eyebrow. She turned back to Gina. “Tell him thanks.” She didn’t follow up on the medal comment. Because, really, she had her doubts about the validity of giving someone who’d just barely kept it together a medal.
“Listen,” Ian said. “The hotels from here to Great Falls are full of National Guardsmen and volunteers trying to keep the river from flooding. Why don’t you come home with me? I have a ranch not far from here.”
She stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What—do I have the word desperate tattooed on my forehead? Or easy, perhaps?” She grabbed the bag, her keys. “This may be a shocker, but no, I won’t come home with you, thanks.” She slid off the table, bumped her way through the crowd.
“Kacey!”
She ignored him, skirting past his friend Miles, who turned at his voice. She pushed outside, gulped in the fresh air. Wow, did that go south fast.
Apparently, it still wasn’t over because Ian emerged through the doors right behind her. “Stop, Kacey.”
She rounded on him. “And now this is starting to get a little stalkery. What’s your deal?”
But the way he was looking at her, something like determination in his eyes...Now a little concern reached in, tugged at her. Her breath caught. “How do you know my name?”
“Take a breath. I’m not a stalker.” He held up his hands as if in surrender, his jaw tight. “But I’m right, aren’t I? You’re Kacey Fairing?”
She found herself stepping back, wishing she had a sidearm. She dropped her takeout bag onto a bench.
He noticed and softened his voice. “This is my fault. I should have explained myself better. I heard you mention PEAK and then figured it out when Gina mentioned the medal, which is, of course, exactly what Chet said when he told me about you.”
She took another step back. “Chet King told you...about me?”
Which would only stir up questions, she had no doubt. The last thing she needed was for her reputation to precede her.
“What did he say?”
“That you were exactly who we needed to take over flight ops for PEAK. Military hero...”
Oh. That. Still, that meant maybe she was safe from anyone grounding her based on false assumptions. Just because she was a little jumpy didn’t mean she couldn’t still handle a bird.
Ian lowered his hands but kept them out, away from his body, where she could see them. “You are the new pilot for PEAK Rescue, right? The one Chet hired to replace him and Ty?”
She nodded.
“Let’s start over. I should have introduced myself ear
lier.” He stuck out his hand, as if meeting her for the first time. “Ian Shaw. Local rancher and, well, founder of the PEAK Search and Rescue team.”
Founder.
She swallowed, wrapping her brain around his words, even while reaching out to take his hand.
He rubbed the other hand over his jaw, now red, even a smidgen swollen.
“In other words, I’m your new boss. Welcome home.”
****
Get Wild Montana Skies!
Montana Fire
Summer of Fire Trilogy
Book Three: Burnin’ for You
Published by SDG Publishing
Copyright © 2016 by Susan May Warren
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations are also taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc®. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.
For more information about Susan May Warren, please access the author’s website at the following address: www.susanmaywarren.com.
Published in the United States of America.