Ignite: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Kim Loraine

  It’s been three days since I saw her on her run and I still itch to text her, to call her even. I went running this morning and hoped I’d find her on the trail again. No luck. I haven’t been this consumed with a woman since I was in high school. Shit. Maybe Declan was right, I need to get out of my house and back into the dating pool.

  Grabbing my hat off the hook on the wall, I put it on and snag my keys from the table next to the door. Maybe a ride and some clean air will help distract me from the woman I want to hear from.

  But Lark consumes my thoughts, along with how I could’ve handled my last encounter with her better, for the entire drive to the ranch. I play our conversation over and over in my head, cringing at the memory of taking that damn phone call from Gina. Fucking Gina. Even thought she left me, she’s still trying to keep her hooks in my heart.

  No wonder Lark didn’t want to go have coffee. I‘m sure she thinks I’m just another asshole with a new woman every week. Before I can talk myself out of it, I text her. If I’m going to pursue anyone, it’s going to be the woman who makes my heart race the way she does.

  What are you up to?

  My fucking hands are clammy, and the way my blood hums with nervous energy makes me feel like a teenager again.

  Reading poolside. You?

  Just the mental image of her in a bathing suit, those curves of hers on full display, dark hair spilling down her back, makes my cock half hard. Fuck. It’s not going to make my afternoon any easier with that fantasy in my mind. I’ve ridden a horse with an erection before, especially when I was a hormonal teen, but it wasn’t the best experience.

  About to go for a ride.

  On your horse?

  No. On my dragon. Of course, my horse.

  I can’t stop my laugh. Back home it went without saying that the only thing going for a ride meant was on a horse. Things are different here. I need to remember that.

  Well, you never know. Maybe you found a wayward bull to ride.

  No, my bull riding days are long behind me.

  You really rode bulls?

  Yeah. Got the scars and aching back to prove it.

  I wonder if she’s impressed. There are plenty of girls who follow pro-bull riders with the hope of bagging one and getting all the money that comes with it. My cousin Sam is one of the best in the country and he’s got so many admirers, he has a fan club. That’s not who I am. It’s a choice I made well before I ended up seriously injured.

  Were you any good?

  Yup.

  You’re really humble, you know that?

  That’s what they tell me.

  A smile spreads across my lips. She doesn’t pull her punches.

  I’m glad you really are a cowboy. You’re not just in it for the tight jeans and fancy boots.

  I laugh out loud.

  Is that what you thought?

  I wasn’t sure. I mean, you see a guy who wears that stuff as well as you do, you wonder if he does it because he knows he looks hot, or because it’s really who he is. You know?

  So, does that mean you’re impressed or turned off?

  Definitely NOT turned off. I kinda have a thing for cowboys.

  Do you?

  And my cock responds to that with just as much interest as I do. She’s flirting. So maybe I didn’t make as big of a mess of this as I thought.

  At least…I do now.

  That’s good to know.

  Look, I’m sorry I kinda freaked out on you the other day.

  You mean, when you shot me down and drove off?

  I can’t resist teasing her. But this is the opening I need. I have to see her again.

  Yeah.

  It’s all right. I shouldn’t have made you listen to a one-sided phone call.

  You said it was important.

  It was, but that doesn’t make me any less of a jackass for taking it.

  It’s okay.

  My heart is a jackhammer in my chest. Shit, I haven’t asked a girl out since…high school, and a rejected coffee date is a far cry from what I’m about to do. Hands shaking, I take a deep breath and type another message.

  Let me make it up to you?

  How?

  Dinner. Somewhere private.

  When?

  Tonight.

  I wait, pulse pounding, stomach churning as those stupid little bubbles bounce on the text thread. Those things are the answer. She’s thinking, writing and deleting. Rewriting. Reconsidering.

  I can’t.

  My heart sinks and like a reflex, it starts to close off again. Taking risks like this isn’t worth it, and now I remember why. But I have to know.

  Why not?

  I’m busy tonight. Raincheck?

  So it’s not a flat out no. I can wait.

  Sure. Name the time and I’m there.

  She sends back an emoji of a pair of red lips, and I grin like a lovesick idiot.

  Those bubbles start moving on the screen again and I wait to see what else she has to say.

  Have a good ride.

  All I send her is a wink. Getting out of my pickup, I slide my phone into my back pocket and head to Ben’s stall in a much better mood than I was when I left the house. As I get Ben ready for a ride, I force myself not to check my phone and set it on the shelf in the attached tack room.

  “All right, Ben, let’s go explore a little, huh?”

  He snorts and nudges me, and I respond by resting my forehead on his. “I know, it’s been a few days. I’ve been working double shifts.”

  “He’s fine,” Kelsey says from her place at the stall door. “I’ve been taking care of him.” She grins and bats her eyelashes at me. “I’ll take care of you if you want me to, you know.”

  “ Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I cinch the girth and give Ben a poke to get him to let out the air he’s holding to keep me from being able to tighten the saddle. Then, when I’m sure it’s as tight as I can get it, I lead him out of his paddock. In no time, the two of us are heading down the trail and my mind is on something other than Lark. At least for a little while.

  Lark

  “You can do this,” I tell myself. But my limbs are frozen, my heart racing fast enough I’m lightheaded. I grip the steering wheel and stare at the sprawling campus of Silver Lake Community College. Sprawling isn’t the right word. It’s small. Really small. But that doesn’t make it any less threatening.

  Closing my eyes against the fear holding me hostage, I take measured breaths, force myself to remember I’m safe. I’m alive. I made it.

  But the pop-pop of gunfire fills my ears, and my gut instinct is to crouch in my seat, hiding from the threat, praying it isn’t happening all over again. A cold sweat prickles across the back of my neck. I can’t be here again. I won’t survive. Not this time. Limbs shaking, I grip my knees and tune in to the sounds around me. No screams. No gun shots. No carnage.

  My phone chirps, a text alert, breaking the silence in the car. Blinking a few times, I move my fingers, then my arm, before reaching into my bag and pulling out the slim sparkly phone.

  “Whoever you are, thank you,” I mutter, grateful for something as simple as a text because it brings me back to the moment, rescues me from a nightmare I can’t control. Body still trembling, I take long, slow breaths. I hate how I feel after flashbacks. No. Not that wasn’t a flashback. It was a panic attack.

  My stomach churns as the adrenaline finally begins to die down. My heart flutters at the name on the screen. Travis.

  Tomorrow 11 AM. Be ready to get dirty.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  What?

  You’re coming riding with me, sweetness.

  I smile through the trembling of my limbs.

  Is that so?

  Yes. Text me your address and I’ll come get you.

  Sending him my address, I sigh and lean my head back against my seat. Nothing else flashes on the screen, but that little distraction was exactly what I needed.

  He saved me—again�
��and didn’t even realize it. I stare at the college grounds, and that familiar tightness clutches at my throat. I’m not ready for this. Not yet. It’s been two years since I’ve stepped foot on a campus, but I’m not going to be able to handle it now. Even after all the work I’ve done in therapy.

  I dial my dad’s number, and he answers on the first ring. “I can’t,” I say before he speaks.

  He lets out a soft sigh. “It’s okay, Birdie. You can try again tomorrow.”

  Tears clog my throat at the sound of his deep, gravel-laced voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. Trauma doesn’t discriminate.”

  Anger burns in my belly. “I’ve been working on this for years.”

  “And I’m so proud of you, honey. Baby steps, remember? It’s not a race.”

  I nod, knowing he can’t see me, but unable to speak through the lump in my throat. “Are you coming home tonight?” I ask when I finally gain control over my words.

  “No. I’m covering for Baker. Double shift.”

  Relief floods me but is immediately replaced by guilt. I haven’t always lived in Silver Lake, but my dad has done his best to make me comfortable. I lived with my mom…until she died. Then Dad stepped up after a lifetime of being a holiday parent. We’ve been through a lot since then. Now our relationship is strained but good. His overcompensating and overprotectiveness is stifling at times.

  “Okay, I’ll see you whenever you get home.”

  “Come have supper with me at the house.”

  I clear my throat and agree to meet him.

  “Gotta go, hon. There’s a call.”

  He hangs up before I can respond, and I start my car. I have a whole day to myself, and all I want to do is sleep. My body’s reaction to stress is to hide under my covers until the threat’s gone. Unfortunately, I’m sure the threat is never going to be gone.

  I drive home in a daze, my pulse still thrumming and fatigue making my muscles ache. I need a hot bath, a good book, and a way to deal with the fear I can’t run from.

  Hours later, after soaking in the tub, losing myself in a western romance, and binge watching episodes of Saddle Up in hopes of seeing even a tiny glimpse of Travis, I whip up a peach pie and pack the still hot dessert in a box lined with dish towels. Fancy? Nope. But I know the treat will be appreciated after dinner.

  It takes ten minutes to drive to the station, and I give myself a pep talk the entire way. Dad is going to want to hash it all out once I sit down with him. He’ll need me to explain what happened, come up with some coping strategies, remind me that the likelihood I’ll be in another mass shooting is extremely low, and I’ll nod and smile.

  I park in the visitor parking area and ring the bell of the station’s main entry. My heart plummets into my stomach at the sight that greets me. Travis. Dressed in a firefighter uniform with his last name across the left breast pocket. This can’t be happening.

  “Hey, sweetness. What do you have there?” He smiles, looking at me like he’d rather eat me than the dessert I have in my hands.

  “I…uh…you work here?”

  He frowns. “Yeah. I…I guess we never talked about my job. How did you know how to find me?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Suspicion flashes in his eyes. “Shit. Are you here to see another one of the guys? Fuck, I know we aren’t exclusive but—“

  “Birdie!” My dad’s voice booms behind him, like a sledgehammer coming down between us. “You made pie?”

  Travis pales, his eyes widening. “Birdie?”

  “Ryker, this is my daughter. She’s joining us for supper tonight. You’re lucky. Once you taste her pie you’ll never want another.”

  Oh, Jesus.

  Travis

  All the air leaves my lungs when Chief Long introduces me to…his daughter. The woman I’ve been inside of, wrapped up in, desperate to taste and touch and…fuck, what is happening?

  “Nice to meet you,” she says, her eyes flashing with warning.

  “I…yeah.” I’m speechless. That’s the only explanation. I can’t look at her without remembering what she tastes like, what her breasts feel like in my hands, and what she feels like coming around my cock. Shit.

  I snatch the box out of her hands and grumble, “I’ll take this to the kitchen.” Then I turn away because I can’t keep looking at her.

  “Come on, Birdie, you haven’t seen the station since the remodel. I’ll give you a tour while Ryker works on his manners.” The chief’s voice is laced with annoyance for the way I’m treating his daughter, but if he knew how I treated her just a few days ago, he’d have decked me by now.

  I grit my teeth and walk away from them, the pull to look back at her strong enough I almost give in. Fuck.

  The chief’s daughter. She might as well be wearing a chastity belt, because the way he talks about her, there’s nothing that will make this okay. He worships the ground his little girl walks on, and I can’t wait to get her under me again. Dammit. No. That’s not going to happen. I might not be as close to my crew as I was in Sunrise, but these guys are my family now. Which means their families are mine too. Lark just officially became off-limits.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket as I place the box of pie on the kitchen counter. It’s still hot and smells amazing. In another situation, I’d have been excited to try it, happy to have her join us for supper. Instead, I’m praying for a call so I don’t have to sit across from her at the table and try not to remember what she looks like naked and writhing under me.

  “You look like shit, Ryker.” Franklin cocks a brow at me as he strides into the kitchen and fills a mug with fresh coffee. He drinks the stuff morning, noon, and night. I don’t know how he gets any sleep with all the caffeine running through his system.

  I shrug. “Got some news I didn’t like a few minutes ago.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Nope. Not by a long shot.” I take the pie out of the box and place it on the counter to cool before we eat. “I’ll figure it out, though.”

  He gives me an awkward pat on the back and leans in closer to the dessert. “Birdie made pie?”

  Birdie. Fucking hell, her name isn’t Birdie. It’s Lark, and if these assholes ever actually called her by her name I wouldn’t have fucked my boss’ daughter.

  I grunt, because I think if I say a word, I’ll snap. The chief’s low rumble catches my ear a few seconds before he and Birdie walk into the kitchen. He’s got his arm around her, holding her like she’s his pride and joy. Because she is. I’ve heard him talk about her. About how brave she is. How much she’s been through. How she took a fucking bullet in the shoulder to protect a friend during the attack on her school. Jesus Christ. The scar. Her anxiety, her fear. No wonder she doesn’t like crowds.

  Franklin pulls her in for a hug. “Good to see you, Bird. We’ve missed you around here.”

  She smiles softly. “Thanks. I’ve been…”

  “You don’t have to explain. We’re always here for you.”

  These guys all know her. Of course. They probably see her like she’s their little sister. Except for me. I see her in a very different way.

  “Did you meet our new lieutenant? Ryker here is a transplant from Montana. A real cowboy. He fought the Australia fires with Malone.”

  Her eyes flash with interest, and something in them says, we’re having a conversation about this soon. “We met.”

  “You know he teaches horseback riding? Maybe if you ask him real nice, he’ll teach you how to ride.”

  Her cheeks turn red, and she averts her gaze as I clear my throat and say, “My schedule’s full.”

  The chief smiles. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ve heard horses can be really therapeutic. It might be good for you, Birdie. Didn’t you say your horse is part of a therapy program, Travis?”

  Motherfucker. “Yep. Until I moved here, he was part of an equine therapy group for veterans with PTSD. Lone Star is trying to get one off the ground here. We’r
e certified now.”

  He looks at his daughter, who pretends she doesn’t already know this. “It might help.”

  “Dad, I don’t think Travis—“

  “He knows what you’re dealing with.”

  “If she’s not comfortable talking about this with me…”

  “It’s fine,” Lark says. “The guys here know my story. Most of them lived it with me while I recovered. I wouldn’t expect them to keep it secret from the new guy.”

  “So, what do you think, Ryker? Can you fit her in? Give her some sessions with your horse and see if it helps?”

  This is the last thing I should agree to. Time alone with Lark. But I’ve seen what even one session of equine therapy can do to help veterans. If I can do that for her, I will. “I’ll check my schedule.”