Light up the Night (Firehouse Three #2)(5)

“Nothing a few quarts of tequila won’t make me forget,” she said in response as the fire engine pulled to a stop alongside the stranger’s red pickup truck.

A knot of wood dug into her palm, but she couldn’t let go or she’d risk falling again. There were still a good twelve feet between her and the ground—enough to put a hurt on her if gravity took hold. A trip to the ER would certainly put the cherry on this craptastic sundae.

“What’ve we got here?” One of the firefighters walked toward the tree, wearing his uniform pants held up by suspenders over a gray tank. It left his defined arms and tattoos exposed. He was handsome, in a badass, intimidating kind of way.

“As you can see, our rescuer needs rescuing,” Jerkoff replied, still standing there with his muscled arms crossed over his chest. “If you bring me the small ladder, I can get them.”

“No problem, Drake,” the firefighter smirked, and beckoned to his buddies who were unhooking a short ladder from the truck.

Everly wished she could cover her face, which was burning hot from shame, but both her hands were engaged in keeping her right where she was. She shifted again, wincing as her palm burned from the prolonged contact with the branch. Nope, there still wasn’t anything for her feet to find traction on. Nothing she could do but stay there and wait to be rescued.

The tree shook slightly as Jerkoff positioned the ladder against the trunk, and Everly took a deep breath. Just another minute or two, and she’d be down. She could thank them, grab the cat, and run into the shelter’s intake room to—

“Wait, what are you doing?”

Jerkoff had mounted the ladder, but instead of reaching for her, he’d climbed right past her to the upper branches.

“We’ve got to save the cat first. It’s fireman code.”

Everly bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood as he cooed to the cat. The furry little traitor purred as he stroked it and it snuggled against his chest. He took his sweet time descending the ladder, talking low to the kitten all the while.

Her knuckles were white, and her hands shaking, but damned if she would give him the satisfaction of asking for help. Her head swam for a moment, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on drawing fresh oxygen as deep into her lungs as her compressed abdomen would allow.

Hold on for just a second more, Everly. You’ll be down in a minute. And then you can melt into the ground and disappear. No. You can run into the shelter and crawl under your desk and die of embarrassment. Yes. That.

“You sleeping, or praying? Either way, this will be much quicker if you cooperate.”

Her eyes snapped open, and the stranger was up the ladder again, this time reaching out a hand for hers. Despite the teasing, he had a gentle smile, and kind, brown eyes. Maybe he wasn’t such a complete dick after all.

“I can’t let go,” she said, her voice sounding breathless to her own ears. “I’ll fall.”

He reached over and grabbed her arm by the wrist. “Let go on three, okay? One—”

“Wait, how are you going to—”

“Three.” He pulled, she squawked, and he hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Clutching his hot, hard bicep, she held her breath as he snaked his arm between her legs and began slowly descending the ladder.

Holy shit. He was strong. She wasn’t that big of a woman, but she was solid. He acted like she didn’t weigh a damn thing. There was no hint of strain in his muscles as he descended.

Distraction. Think of something—anything—else.

“I could have climbed down by myself, you know,” she said when she could speak again. The ladder bounced lightly under their weight as he stepped lower, rung-by-rung.

“Then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of carrying you down.”

Damn him. Why’d he have to be so strong? Why’d he have to smell so good, like sandalwood and cedar and sexiness, all in one? And why did he have to be the one to save her from her own stupid mistake?

Once they were on the ground, he leaned to the side and let her slip from his shoulders. Their contact broken, Everly wondered why her heart was still beating in quadruple time.

He straightened, and she busied herself brushing the bits of leaf and dirt that had ground themselves into her baby-blue polo and khaki shorts, courtesy of her quick descent into the lower branches. When she looked up again to thank her rescuer, her heart plummeted into her scuffed white Keds.

It was him. The one from the poster on her website.

“Who did you say you were?” Her voice was all breath, no sound.

“I didn’t. Drake Hammerfell,” he said, sticking his hand out to her to shake. “I’m new in town.”

She glanced over her shoulder. A big three was emblazoned on the door of the red engine. Waitaminute. Hadn’t Allison said Firehouse Three was participating in the bachelor auction?

“Are you a fireman? At station three?”

“Yeah,” he said, grasping the ladder and leaning it away from the tree. He looked upward as he carefully maneuvered it toward the truck, his arm muscles sharply, “Just started a few days ago.”

“Fuck,” she whispered beneath her breath as she watched the play of his muscles beneath his shirt.

Never seeing him again wasn’t an option. As fate would have it, she’d be in close proximity to him during the fundraiser this weekend.