cradled
against his chest. Behind him, he heard the unmistakable whoosh as
the gasoline ignited. The boys kept right on spraying foam. The
white shit was everywhere like some kind of early Christmas.
“You’re going to be just fine,” he promised
hoarsely, meaning every word because he’d do whatever it took.
There was never any doubt.
“I’ll buy you a drink.” She slurred the
words. “For getting me out.”
He wanted far more than that from her. He
always had and that was the problem, right there. Even covered with
fire foam and soot, her honey-colored hair pulled back in a severe
braid, she was gorgeous—and doing her best to pull away from
him.
After that last, glorious night of high
school, when she’d chosen him by the bonfire, she’d moved on. He’d
called, she’d let him go to voicemail, and then she’d been off to
college and basic training. Their roads had split. Like the Robert
Frost poem, they’d hit a crossroads in life—and she’d picked the
road to the right. He’d gone left, knowing the odds of their
hooking up again were slim no matter how badly he wanted to ask her
to stay. With him. For him. Her feet had been itching to hit the
road, and he couldn’t take the chance of her saying no ,
putting a definitive end to all his wishing and hoping.
So she’d gone right and become a pilot.
He’d gone left and joined Crash, Fire and
Rescue.
Their paths had crossed on base from time to
time, but he’d never imagined she’d wind up back in his arms like
this.
Her lashes drifted shut, the EMTs reached for
her, and she was gone again.
~~~~
“You’re a hard man to catch alone.” The
feminine voice shot through the crash hangar and straight to Dane’s
groin.
Laura Jo .
He hadn’t seen her since the crash three
months ago, but he’d heard through the military grapevine that
she’d been doing okay. He would have preferred to see for himself
that the medics had done their job patching her up, but the base
hospital was off-limits to all but family and he’d never been that.
Hell, he’d never progressed beyond one night stand.
And now she’d popped into his hangar, was
twenty feet away and closing.
She wore a flightsuit, the front unzipped and
pushed down to her waist to expose a military-issue white ribbed
tank and the dog tags sliding between her breasts. The day was hot,
the temperature already pushing a hundred out there on the tarmac
as the flush on her cheekbones attested.
“Second Lieutenant Dawson. You’re looking
better.”
Her tank top didn’t cover much, but there was
no visible sign of serious injury. A few shiny, fresh scars, but
she moved easily. When she shrugged, like her health had never been
a real concern despite that spectacular crash-landing, he saw no
signs of pain. That was good. Some of the worry eased from him.
Laura Jo truly was okay.
“I am. I’m back on the flight schedule
starting tomorrow.”
He raised a brow. “That’s fast.”
Of course, Laura Jo had always had a need for
speed. There’d been no slowing her down ten years ago, and she’d
given him no reason to believe she’d changed. Not that way. She’d
probably still be going zero to one hundred when she was ninety,
hell on wheels with a walker. He only wished he’d be the one by her
side to see it.
She hesitated. “I wanted to thank you.”
Now it was his turn to shrug. “No
problem.”
She held up two long-necks. “I promised to
buy you a beer.”
~~~~
“Fraternizing with the enemy?” Dane was a big
man and the USMC T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders made
him seem even larger. He topped out a couple inches over six feet.
His face was all hard lines and cheekbones, strong like the man
himself and without an inch of give. He looked like a big, tough
bastard—and he was, in a firefight. With his hair buzzed regulation
short now, with no hint of the curl she’d known those dark strands
held, he was formidable away from the fire as well.
Around her,
against his chest. Behind him, he heard the unmistakable whoosh as
the gasoline ignited. The boys kept right on spraying foam. The
white shit was everywhere like some kind of early Christmas.
“You’re going to be just fine,” he promised
hoarsely, meaning every word because he’d do whatever it took.
There was never any doubt.
“I’ll buy you a drink.” She slurred the
words. “For getting me out.”
He wanted far more than that from her. He
always had and that was the problem, right there. Even covered with
fire foam and soot, her honey-colored hair pulled back in a severe
braid, she was gorgeous—and doing her best to pull away from
him.
After that last, glorious night of high
school, when she’d chosen him by the bonfire, she’d moved on. He’d
called, she’d let him go to voicemail, and then she’d been off to
college and basic training. Their roads had split. Like the Robert
Frost poem, they’d hit a crossroads in life—and she’d picked the
road to the right. He’d gone left, knowing the odds of their
hooking up again were slim no matter how badly he wanted to ask her
to stay. With him. For him. Her feet had been itching to hit the
road, and he couldn’t take the chance of her saying no ,
putting a definitive end to all his wishing and hoping.
So she’d gone right and become a pilot.
He’d gone left and joined Crash, Fire and
Rescue.
Their paths had crossed on base from time to
time, but he’d never imagined she’d wind up back in his arms like
this.
Her lashes drifted shut, the EMTs reached for
her, and she was gone again.
~~~~
“You’re a hard man to catch alone.” The
feminine voice shot through the crash hangar and straight to Dane’s
groin.
Laura Jo .
He hadn’t seen her since the crash three
months ago, but he’d heard through the military grapevine that
she’d been doing okay. He would have preferred to see for himself
that the medics had done their job patching her up, but the base
hospital was off-limits to all but family and he’d never been that.
Hell, he’d never progressed beyond one night stand.
And now she’d popped into his hangar, was
twenty feet away and closing.
She wore a flightsuit, the front unzipped and
pushed down to her waist to expose a military-issue white ribbed
tank and the dog tags sliding between her breasts. The day was hot,
the temperature already pushing a hundred out there on the tarmac
as the flush on her cheekbones attested.
“Second Lieutenant Dawson. You’re looking
better.”
Her tank top didn’t cover much, but there was
no visible sign of serious injury. A few shiny, fresh scars, but
she moved easily. When she shrugged, like her health had never been
a real concern despite that spectacular crash-landing, he saw no
signs of pain. That was good. Some of the worry eased from him.
Laura Jo truly was okay.
“I am. I’m back on the flight schedule
starting tomorrow.”
He raised a brow. “That’s fast.”
Of course, Laura Jo had always had a need for
speed. There’d been no slowing her down ten years ago, and she’d
given him no reason to believe she’d changed. Not that way. She’d
probably still be going zero to one hundred when she was ninety,
hell on wheels with a walker. He only wished he’d be the one by her
side to see it.
She hesitated. “I wanted to thank you.”
Now it was his turn to shrug. “No
problem.”
She held up two long-necks. “I promised to
buy you a beer.”
~~~~
“Fraternizing with the enemy?” Dane was a big
man and the USMC T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders made
him seem even larger. He topped out a couple inches over six feet.
His face was all hard lines and cheekbones, strong like the man
himself and without an inch of give. He looked like a big, tough
bastard—and he was, in a firefight. With his hair buzzed regulation
short now, with no hint of the curl she’d known those dark strands
held, he was formidable away from the fire as well.
Around her,
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