Read Online The Perfect Match by Susan May Warren - Free Book Online Page B

wouldn’t seriously try and derail her job here, would he?
    She shouldn’t let the preacher frighten her. Twice she’d caught him looking at her, grimacing. It didn’t help that he looked like a hero fresh off the pages of some sweet romance novel, with his dark hair raked by the wind and a slight stubble of whiskers on his chin. It nearly rocked her from her stoic emotional footing. She could admit that for a second, against the backdrop of adrenaline and fear, Pastor Dan had chipped a piece outof her heart. She’d be better off to forget him. It wasn’t like they’d be taking strolls in the sunset. In fact, such strolls might unravel all her hard work. She could just imagine the ribbing they’d get from the firemen . . . ribbing she couldn’t afford in the heat of a fire. She’d have to maintain a professional distance if she hoped to etch respect in the eyes of her fire crew.
    She finished her sandwich, glaring triumphantly at the seagulls, then wrapped her arms around her bent legs, staring into the waves. The wind played with her hair, now down and tangling. In track pants and a U of MN-Duluth sweatshirt, she felt nearly normal, free of the tightly strung fire-chief persona. Briefly she wondered why she worked so hard for a job she dreaded.
    The sound of crunching rocks made her look up. She scowled as the man of her most recent thoughts tromped his way toward her. And wouldn’t you know it, he wore a U of MN hockey jersey over his sweatshirt, dredging up a spray of bittersweet memories.
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I thought you and I should have a talk.” Dan sat down beside her, obviously not at all ruffled by the lack of invitation. “You skipped out on me at the hospital.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. Weren’t you finished threatening me and telling me what a fool I am? I guess you rallied your pals. I had a regular fan club down at the firehouse today. Thanks.”
    “Wow.” Dan’s eyes widened. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t ‘rally’ anyone. Mitch and Ernie have a genetic predisposition toward apelike behavior. It takes very little to whip them into a frenzy. And as for the other night, I was tired and most likely under the influence ofheavy painkillers. I didn’t mean what I said.” His voice turned dangerously soft. “I’m sorry.”
    She looked away, afraid that her emotions might be written in her expression. How dare he make her feel like the villain. Her throat threatened to close. “You’re not forgiven.”
    He drew in a long breath, then picked up a stick and began to draw in the rocks. The wind reaped his freshly showered scent and sent it back to her, picking at her sour mood.
    She felt like a heel. “Okay. Fine. I forgive you.”
    “Can we be friends?” He held out his hand, and that, along with his smile, demolished her last barriers of annoyance.
    “Just friends, okay? No more dream girl declarations or he-man threats.”
    Was it her imagination, or did he color slightly? It looked devastatingly cute with his tough hockey shirt and wind-whipped hair. “You got it.” His grip felt soft, wide, and strong. She let go almost immediately.
    “So what do you want to talk about—besides my abhorrent profession?” She looked away before those way-too-piercing eyes drilled into her soul.
    He laughed, and the sound of it, full and sweet, tugged a smile out of her.
    “How’s your shoulder?” She gestured to the sling. “I guess you won’t be swinging a stick anytime soon, huh?”
    He blinked at her, his gaze clouding.
    “The hockey jersey. I just assumed—”
    “Oh, right.” He looked at himself, as if stunned by his attire. “I’m a wing. Deep Haven Hotshots.” He shrugged, but his eyes lit up. “And I’ll be fine for practice.”
    “Hotshots? As in forest firefighters?” She sunk her head into her hands. “I should have guessed. I’ll bet half my fire crew is on the hockey team, right?”
    He shrugged. “We do have snow and ice for eight long months. Not a