All Summer Long
Page 25

“Next up,” she yelled. “Get ready.”
Clay waited by the start line. He wore shorts and a cropped T-shirt—one that exposed his sculptured abs. Charlie knew exactly how that part of his body would feel against her fingers. She also knew the sensation of him filling her with every deep, passionate stroke of his—
“Charlie?”
“Huh? Oh. Right.” She blew the whistle and Clay took off. Damn.
She managed to start the stopwatch and then glanced at his progress. Before she could decide if she should watch him or not, her cell rang. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen.
Her mother.
Dominique had been calling every day. Charlie had been avoiding the calls. This time was no different as she pushed the ignore button and started to slide her cell back into her pocket. It rang again.
“Give me a break,” she muttered, looking down at the screen. Only it wasn’t her mother’s New York number. Instead it was the 911 dispatch operator.
“What?” Charlie barked, knowing she wouldn’t be contacted unless there was a problem.
“Brushfire by the campgrounds at the north end of town.” She detailed the location. “Equipment is in place. Can you get there?”
Charlie thought about how long it would take her to get to the station for her gear and then to head to the campgrounds. “Twenty-five minutes,” she said, waving her volunteers in.
“There’s a fire,” she said. “I have to go. If you want to come, you may, but only if you abide by my rules. Number one, stay the hell out of the way.” She listed the rest of them quickly, heading to her truck as she spoke. “If anyone breaks a single rule, you’ll be out.”
She got into her truck and had already left the parking lot before any of the others even had their keys out. As she drove, she thought about calling Clay. Telling him this was a time to stay in the background. But her promise to help had only extended to giving him a fair shot at proving himself. She wasn’t going to do more than that. Not unless she was willing to do the same for everyone else.
* * *
WHAT SURPRISED CLAY most about the fire was the sound. He’d expected the heat and smoke, but not the volume. There was the crack of trees heating, the roar of the flames themselves. The rush and hiss of water, the calls of the firefighters. Pumps rumbled, nozzles clinked. Controlled chaos reigned in a hell storm of noise.
He and the other trainees gathered together behind the three engines. As ordered, they observed without getting in the way. Clay had been doing his homework and was able to place each firefighter with his or her station by the numbers. Despite the gear they wore, he recognized a few of them. Charlie was easy to spot. She was tall and commanding as she barked out orders.
He returned his attention to the fire, aware of how the smoke had changed from black to gray, indicating the firefighters were gaining control. When the front line shifted, the volunteers moved, as well, careful to stay out of the way.
Captain Fargo yelled for a two-inch hose. Clay was by the rig. He quickly grabbed it and handed it to the woman who came running to take it, then he stepped back.
The afternoon was clear and warm, the sky blue around the billowing smoke. To the left, a tree exploded sending sparks flying. Grass by a picnic table ignited.
“Shovels,” Clay yelled, grabbing two in each hand and passing them out. “This way.”
He hurried toward the burning grass and started piling dirt on the flames. The others followed, doing the same. In less than a minute, the fire was out.
“Look around,” he told them. “Check for other hot spots, but stay out of the way.”
The other two guys glanced at each other, then shrugged. The rest of them simply did as he instructed. They checked in a widening circle and put out a pile of smoldering leaves. When they were sure the rest of the area was secure he collected all the shovels and returned them to the rig.
Captain Fargo came up to him and grabbed his arm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“There was a grass fire.” He pointed to the shattered trunk of the once-tall tree and explained what had happened. “We went out twenty yards and checked for hot spots. We found smoldering leaves and covered them with dirt. Now I’m putting the shovels back so they’ll be ready when you need them.”
The captain stared at him, her eyes boring into his. “Good work,” she said at last. “Now stay out of the way.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The captain’s eyebrows rose, then she shook her head and she walked away.
* * *
AT THE STATION, Charlie walked around the engine and confirmed that everything was back in place. Michelle Banfield walked up.
“You know this isn’t your shift.”
“It’s still my rig.”
“Not when you aren’t working.”
“Details.”
Olivia Fargo strolled up. “That was exciting. The preliminary investigation suggests idiots caused the fire.”
Michelle groaned. “Let me guess. They walked away from their fire without making sure it was out.”
Olivia shrugged. “It looks like it. We’ll know more in a few days. Thanks for coming in. We needed the help.” She turned to Charlie. “You brought the volunteers.”
“I was working with them. I thought it would be a good chance for them to observe. I was clear on the rules.”
She braced herself for what was to follow. She’d already heard about Clay organizing the others to fight a small grass fire. Although accounts said he’d done exactly the right thing and then had returned the equipment, she wasn’t sure the captain would see it the same way. Everyone knew the most important rule was to stay out of danger. A case could be made that Clay hadn’t.
“You know about the grass fire?” the captain asked.
Charlie nodded.
“I already told Clay he did a good job. He stayed calm.... He took control of the situation. He made sure his people were safe and then he put the equipment back where it belongs.” She smiled. “I was wrong, Charlie. You said to give him a chance and that was the right thing to do.”
“Thank you.” Charlie was careful to keep her expression neutral. No one needed to know that on the inside, she was doing quite the dance.
“I expect him to be one of our best,” Olivia continued.
Michelle turned. “There it is. The high sign. Clay’s heading to the showers. I want to enjoy the show.”
Charlie’s stomach twisted. But before she could react, the captain stepped in front of Michelle. She drew her eyebrows together and glowered.
“I must have misunderstood you, Michelle. Because I know how you would cause a stink to high heaven if a man wanted to spy on you in the shower. Clay Stryker is one of us now. You will show him the same respect you’d show anyone you worked with. Or anyone in the community, for that matter. Do I make myself clear?”
Michelle flushed and ducked her head. “Yes, ma’am.”
Olivia sighed. “I’m going to make sure no one else has your bright idea.”
Charlie exhaled slowly.
Michelle waited until the captain had left to put her hands on her hips. “I just wanted to look,” she grumbled.
“I believe that’s illegal in all fifty states.”
“But he’s perfect.”
Charlie thought about him touching her, kissing her, then taking her to the stars. “He really is.”
* * *
CLAY FOUND THE drive back to the ranch anticlimactic. Okay, maybe he didn’t qualify for superhero status and a cape that made him fly, but he deserved something pretty damned close.
It had been a great day. Watching the firefighters work the line had been a rush and a half. Actually being able to do something was even better. But the best part had been the captain saying he’d done a good job.
He was used to being complimented. But all the accolades were about how he looked—something he had very little control over. Sure he worked out, but he knew that his appearance was simply the luck of the draw. He’d been gifted when it came to certain genes, nothing else. But putting out that grass fire, taking charge and getting it right was about who he was inside.
He drove onto the ranch and parked. As he climbed out of the cab, he saw Nate slipping into the barn. While there was nothing unusual in that, he didn’t like the way the other man glanced over his shoulder, as if hiding something.
Clay walked into the barn. It took his eyes a second to adjust. When they did, he wished they hadn’t.
Nate stood by a girl, his hand at her waist, her arms around his neck. Clay didn’t care if his farm manager was making friends. What he did object to was the age of the friend. His use of the word girl had not been idle. She didn’t look old enough to drive.
“Afternoon,” he said into the silence.
The couple jumped apart. Nate turned and swallowed. “Boss. You’re back.”
“I am.” He crossed to them. “I’m Clay Stryker.”
The girl—a pretty blonde with big blue eyes, smiled shyly. “Hi. I’m Candee.” She held up two fingers. “With two e’s.”
“Nice to meet you, Candee. I need to talk to Nate for a minute. If you’ll excuse us?”
Candee giggled her agreement. Clay grabbed Nate by the arm and dragged him to the other side of the barn.
“I won’t even get into the fact that you’re supposed to be working,” he growled. “What the hell are you doing with a girl her age?”
Nate bristled. “She’s over eighteen.”
“You sure?”
“She swore she was.”
“Did you bother to confirm that?”
Nate shook free of Clay’s grasp. “This is my personal life we’re talking about. I run your farm. Whom I date is my business.”
“Not when it’s on my time.” He paused to remind himself that getting pissed wouldn’t help the situation. “This is a small town, Nate. You’re new here. If you expect to avoid getting attacked by a crowd of angry mothers with pitchforks or worse, you need to be sensible. Find someone closer to your age. Or at least out of high school.”
Clay glanced back at the girl. “If she’s under eighteen, you’re fired.”
Nate went pale. “No, boss. Don’t say that. She’s not. I know she’s not. I really need this job.”
“Maybe you should act like it.”
Nate nodded. “You’re right. I won’t see her again.”
“Fair enough.” Clay returned to Candee’s side. “I need to see your driver’s license.”
Candee blinked at him. “Why? I’m not trying to get a drink.”
“Humor me, please.”
She opened her small handbag and held out her wallet. He leaned in to check the date.
God was smiling at him, for sure. Candee had turned eighteen the previous month. He straightened.
“It was nice to meet you, Candee.”
“You, too.” She rocked forward and back on her feet. “Are you who they say? That model?”
“Not anymore.”
She glanced at Nate, then back at him and lowered her voice. “You want my number?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
“Is she prettier than me?”
The easiest question of the day. He thought of Charlie in her gear, shouting instructions and taking on a fire, then nodded. “She’s spectacular.”
“If you change your mind, I work part-time at the bakery.”
“Good to know.”
Then, feeling decades older than his thirty-one years, he walked away. When he was outside, he turned back to the barn and wondered if the decision to hire Nate was going to come back and bite him in the ass. Or maybe if was the wrong word entirely.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DOMINIQUE WRESTLED THE empty suitcases onto the bed. Justice, her bodyguard, had left for a few weeks. In truth, she’d let him go because they both knew there was nothing for him to do here. He would return after his assignment and then she would be forced to face the truth about her career. That she was no longer famous. There were no fans and anyone who remembered her was probably an octogenarian and not really much of a threat.
Tears filled her eyes. She brushed them away angrily. She’d cried more in the past few months than she had in the past decade and it was time for the unseemly display of weakness to end. She had survived cancer and she would survive being rejected by her daughter. People might think that ballet dancers were delicate creatures, but Dominique knew the truth. There was steel behind successful dancers and she had been the best.
She would return to her life and find a way to make it less lonely. Maybe she could volunteer or read to orphans. Take a lover. Although in truth, she didn’t really want any man. Dan had been her one true love and when he’d died her heart had died, too.
Friends then, she told herself as she carried the contents of the drawers to her suitcases. Even a monkey had friends. Somehow she would learn how to have one, too. She had to. Otherwise she would truly die alone.
Someone knocked on the suite door.
Dominique crossed the living room and opened the door only to find the mayor and another woman standing in the hallway.
“Hello,” Marsha Tilson said, stepping into the suite. “Dominique, this is Denise Hendrix. She lives here in Fool’s Gold.”
“Nice to meet you,” Denise said with a warm smile.
Dominique nodded. Denise was in her fifties. Pretty enough, in a natural way. Her clothing was casual—jeans and a long-sleeved blouse—but the simple styling suited her.
“How can I help you?” she asked, wondering why they’d stopped by and how long they would be staying. She had packing to get to and then a long limo ride to the Sacramento airport. From there she would fly to New York and lick her wounds.