Light Up The Night (Firehouse Three Book 2) Read online

  Before he could get the words out, the branch beneath her foot snapped, and a brief cry of surprise escaped her as she plummeted earthward. He surged forward, but she grabbed a thicker limb and halted her quick descent. Her midsection connected with a branch beneath her, her breath exiting in an audible huff.

  “Goddamn,” Drake breathed as the adrenaline surged through his system, giving him the full-body tingles. His hands were still in the air as if his body wasn’t completely convinced that she wasn’t about to eat the pavement. Gritting his teeth, he planted a palm on the trunk of the tree just beneath her, watching as she stilled.

  “Jesus,” she said, her voice shaky and thin.

  “Sorry,” said the kid at Drake’s side. “I couldn’t get him to come down, and I’m scared of heights.”

  “Why don’t you climb down and let me give it a shot?” Drake said to the woman. Her feet, clad in scuffed white and gray sneakers, were scraping against the trunk and finding zero purchase.

  “Um, I might have a problem,” she said, her face red as she twisted. One hand rested on the branch against her belly, and the other gripped a higher limb. Her knuckles were turning white with effort. “I think I might be stuck.”

  Drake moved around the trunk, shielding his eyes as he looked up. Well, fuck. A broken limb had caught the back of her shirt, revealing the straps of her lacy, black bra. There were no branches beneath her to give her the option of pushing up for long enough to get herself free.

  And she was still too high up in the tree for Drake to climb up and get her down. Those flimsy branches were barely strong enough to hold her, and she was a smallish woman. They’d snap under his weight in a heartbeat.

  “I’ve got a buddy who might be able to help. Can you hang on up there for a few minutes?”

  She shot him an exasperated look. “What choice do I have?”

  “None, really,” he said with a wry grin as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Her grunts of exertion as she kicked fruitlessly were nice background noise as the call connected.

  “Hunter? You’re pulling a double shift, right? Can you come over? I’ve got a Code Pussycat at 816 Ashland Lane. Oh, and there’s a cat in the tree, too.”

  The glare she shot him was so delicious, and when he winked at her, the murder in her eyes made him laugh.

  Oh, she was a live one, all right.

  2.

  Shame heated Everly’s face, her ears, hell, even her hair had to be glowing bright red. She’d never been so embarrassed in her life. Not even during sixth grade graduation, when her mom had insisted on taking her picture in the front of the classroom. The boys in the front row had laughed at her non-stop, and she’d only figured out later that it was because there was lipstick on her cheek from where her mom had kissed her in congratulations. Even that wasn’t this bad, and that was saying something.

  A noise from down below broke through the haze of mortification, and she looked down. The hottie who’d shown up at just the wrong time, a.k.a., the meathead jerk, was laughing. Those brawny arms were folded over his muscled chest, and his too-handsome face was wreathed in a smile as his shoulders shook.

  She was still red everywhere, but her humiliation had burnt to a crisp in the flames of white-hot anger. Oh, now she was pissed. How dare he laugh at her? Her teeth ground together so hard they hurt.

  Distraction. She had to think of something else, other than the male chuckles floating their way up to her, otherwise she might just commit homicide.

  The young cat she’d been trying to rescue had calmed down some, and was just chilling in the higher branches, keeping a wary and disdainful eye on her. Everly puffed air straight upward in an attempt to get her bangs out of her eyes. It didn’t work. The cat yawned.

  “This is your fault,” she said with no heat. After all, it really wasn’t the cat’s doing. When she’d greeted the teenager at the front counter and he’d explained that the kitty had escaped the cardboard box when he’d gotten out of his car, of course she’d come out to help him catch it. Poor thing had been dumped on the side of the road and if not for this kid’s kindness, it would have become another case of roadkill.

  She shouldn’t have climbed up here after the damn thing, though. But he had been on a low branch, just out of her reach, so she’d climbed up. The cat had gone higher, and now here she was with her clothing snarled up in shards of broken wood and two curious males keeping their eyes on her from the ground below.

  Mor. Ti. Fying.

  Breathe, cupcake, just breathe. The inner mantra helped a little, and she closed her eyes to focus on drawing clean air into her lungs.

  “So, is it your cat?”

  “No, I found it. Was just trying to help out, but the box came open.”

  Everly looked down just in time to catch the teenager’s shrug. Meathead was standing there opposite the kid, his muscled arms still folded, looking for all the world like he was prepared to shoot the shit for the rest of the afternoon.

  “When is your friend coming?” As much as she hated to draw any attention to herself in this situation, she couldn’t stand waiting much longer. The branch was digging into her palm, most of her bodyweight was on her stomach, and her shirt was caught on something. “Not that I’m super ready to get down from here or anything.”

  “Don’t worry,” said the jerk. The twinkle in his eye was obvious even at a distance. “You’ll be down in just a second.”

  He nodded toward the parking lot entrance. The rumble of a massive fire engine met her ears. It was rolling into the parking lot—her parking lot—lights flashing, but no siren, thankfully. The rotten liar. He hadn’t called his friend. He’d called the damn fire department.

  “Fuck.” As the word left her mouth, she realized she’d spoken out loud.

  “Something wrong, Miss Tarzan?”

  If she ever got down out of this tree, and didn’t die of mortification in the process, she would cheerfully murder this jackoff. It didn’t matter if he was as handsome as that guy with a puppy that Allison had snapped pictures of. Any jury in the nation would acquit her for this.

  “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.

  Kill me now.

  Drake took the ladder back to the engine. As he began strapping it back into position, Hunter drew alongside.

  “I thought something was wrong when you didn’t answer my text. Now I see you were too busy chasing a pussycat with claws to worry about it.”

  Drake looked over his shoulder. “I was just in the neighborhood and the kid over there caught my eye. Wanted to see what was up, and it was her.” He straightened as he finished snapping the ladder into place. “She’s cute.”

  That might have been the biggest understatement he’d ever uttered. Cute. Yeah. Puppies were cute. Miniature cupcakes were cute. Bunny rabbits and ducklings were cute. This girl? She was exactly his flavor of ice cream, and he wanted nothing more than to lick her up.

  “Hey, isn’t this that Paws something or other place? The rescue fundraiser thing we got roped into doing at the art festival this weekend. Hold on.” Hunter stared at his phone a moment. “Yup. Look, there you are, right on the front page. No wonder you were getting acquainted.”

  A grin spread across Drake’s face. “Really? I was so distracted by the razzing you guys were giving me that I didn’t really catch who the fundraiser was for. So, what’s the deal? We just hanging out at the booth, asking for donations?”

  “Fuck, you never pay attention to anything that isn’t work, do you?” Hunter leaned against the engine and hooked his thumbs in his belt, his grin exasperated. “We’re gonna hand out fliers, take pictures, work at some booth and then cap it all off with a bachelor auction.”

  “Hang on, what did you say?”

  Before he could interrogate Hunter for more info, the woman cleared her throat behind him. He turned.

  Her ponytail was askew; there were leaves in it. Marks of dirt marred her blue collared shirt, the embroidered paw prints under the Hopeful Paws logo bearing one of them. A few pink scratches lined her pale legs, the sight making him wince inwardly. That was weird. Why should he care?

  “Thank you for stopping,” she said, looking somewhere past his left ear. Her cheeks were getting redder by the second. “I’m not sure how I would have gotten down if you hadn’t.”

  “You look smart. I bet you would have figured it out.”

  Hunter shot Drake a look, but the bastard should know better than to say anything else. He busied himself getting ready to depart, leaving the two of them alone.

  She snorted. “Yeah, real smart, getting stuck up in a tree.”

  Silence fell between them. Gravel crunched under her toes as she scuffed her sneaker’s toe across a broken piece of blacktop.

  He said nothing, just watched her. She was pretty, even embarrassed and awkward as she was now instead of spitting fire at him. He’d probably been too hard on her earlier, but damn, something about the way she’d gotten angry at him had definitely piqued his interest. But now? She seemed ill-at-ease, and he wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her, and let her hide her embarrassed face in his chest.

  What the fuck was wrong with him?

  “I didn’t catch your name earlier,” he said, threading his thumbs through his belt loops.

  She blinked as if he’d interrupted her train of thought. “What? Oh, I don’t think I said it. I’m sorry, I’m just… Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Excuse me?” The skinny teenager stepped forward, holding the cardboard box in front of him. “Can I leave him here now? I’ve really got to get to work, my shift starts in ten minutes.”

  “Of course,” she said, reaching for the box. But just as she took it, she gasped, her right hand jerking backward. Drake stepped forward and snagged the box, which was meowing in protest now, before it could hit the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” Drake looked down at her. She was cradling her left palm in her hand.

  “I didn’t realized I’d cut myself on that jagged branch,” she frowned down at the small red gash across her palm. It was crusted with dirt, and the edge was oozing a bit of blood.

  “Wait here,” Drake said, tucking the cardboard box underneath one arm and striding over to his pickup. He yanked open the door and reached behind the driver’s seat for the first aid kit he always kept there. Never knew when it would come in handy, and obviously, that was today. With his toolkit in hand, and Hunter, the rest of the crew, and the teenager on their way out of the lot, he made his way back to her side. “Let’s go inside and get that cleaned up, ma’am.”

  “It’s not that bad,” she said, fingers curling closed over the wound. When she looked up at him, her green eyes were wary. Not unlike that cat’
s when he’d pulled him from the top of that tree.

  “It’s dirty, and could turn into an ugly infection if we don’t get that debris cleared. Come on, I’m trained in first aid, ma’am.”

  A little bit of the fire came back into her green eyes. “Can you stop calling me ma’am?”

  “As soon as you tell me your name, I’ll be happy to, ma’am.” He leaned on it that time, pleased when she glared at him.

  “Everly. Everly Pitts. Follow me.”

  She turned on her heel and marched toward the front door of the pet adoption center, her crooked ponytail swinging with every step.

  With the box beneath his arm yowling, Drake fell into step behind her.

  Damn, this was a great view.

  Belinda Pearce flipped her perfectly straight, blonde hair forward over her shoulder as she stared into the salon’s floor to ceiling mirror.

  “What do you think?” the stylist asked as she stepped aside, smiling nervously in the reflection behind Belinda’s left shoulder. “You look spectacular to me.”

  “It’s not the honey-tone we talked about. It’s really more of a butterscotch.” Belinda frowned at her reflection. This was not going to do it. Perfection. She needed perfection if she was going to convince him to come back.

  “We can add some more toner,” the stylist frowned as she began mussing the back of Belinda’s long blonde tresses. “Lighten it up a little.”

  Belinda blew an exasperated breath as she swiped to unlock the screen on her cell phone. Six hours she’d been here. And it still wasn’t done.

  But six hours wasn’t anything when it came to investing the time to get what she needed. What she deserved. He’d packed up and moved out of Tucson, for God’s sake. This meant she had to get drastic, and fast. The gala was tonight, and she was going all-in.

  Drake Hammerfell wasn’t putting down a single root unless it was right beside her, fuck-you-very-much. She’d spent too much time chasing him. Grooming him. Fitting herself perfectly into his life, making sure they were the ideal couple. She’d picked him in her senior year of high school and had never looked back. And it had worked, for a while. But then something had gone wrong. She didn’t know what.