How to Tame a Wild Fireman by Jennifer Bernard Read Free Book Online

his gear and set up his tent.
    “Brody said you just got recertified in heli-­rappelling.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “But you’re out of San Gabriel, right?” Meaning he made his living fighting structure fires rather than on a hotshot crew.
    “I worked on rappel crews before I decided to try staying in one place. But I’ve thought about joining a hotshot team.”
    “Thrill junkie?”
    Under that slow, shrewd gaze, Patrick couldn’t lie. “That’s a fair statement.”
    Deitch nodded, seemingly unworried. It went with the territory, after all. “One of my rappellers got himself injured during a landing. Busted his ankle. Can you go up today?”
    “Why not?”
    Patrick shifted his shoulders under his rucksack, from which his boots dangled. These were different from his regular fire boots. Known as “whites,” they were big black logger heel boots with heavy Vibram soles, and uppers that went halfway up his calves. They added about six pounds to his backpack, but they were worth every ounce.
    “Go stash your stuff and get geared up. We’ve got a R.A.W.S. station the feds are all hyped up about. Need you to do the prep on it. Thousands of dollars at stake, yadda yadda.”
    “Got it.” Remote Automated Weather Stations contained critical weather monitoring equipment that generally cost a bundle.
    “You’ve been hydrating?”
    “I’m kissing cousin to a water balloon right about now.”
    Deitch chuckled, and turned back to the array of laptops and laminated maps laid out on a folding table. “Don’t forget to take a whiz before you go topside.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And grab some chocolate chip cookies. The towns­people are knocking themselves out for us.”
    Towns­people. That would be the town of Loveless. The town inhabited by Callahans. He couldn’t get in that chopper fast enough; the last thing he wanted to do was run into someone who knew him.
    “We even have some ladies offering up free massages.” Deitch gestured toward the Med Unit tent. Just outside of it sat two massage chairs occupied by firefighters, their faces buried in a kind of doughnut brace, while two women kneaded their backs. The masseuses were both attractive, but for some reason he looked right past them to another woman inside the med tent. She knelt on the ground, bandaging some poor sap’s foot with quick, efficient movements.
    Something about her looked familiar. Her blond hair, which was fastened on top of her head in a careless knot, shone like a sunflower in the smoky air. Lush but compact, she wore knee-­length cutoff denims that revealed pale, shapely calves. Her bare arms were equally firm, causing a man to wonder what the rest of her looked like. And there, on the back of her shoulder, wasn’t that a little tattoo?
    Then the woman turned her head sideways, calling out for more gauze.
    And that voice, smoky, intelligent, often mocking (when addressing him), nearly knocked him off his feet.
    Lara Nelson ?
    He started in her direction, but the equipment manager arrived and began steering him toward the supply cache.
    He twisted around for one more look. It couldn’t possibly be Lara. Lara dyed her hair and wore nothing but black. She wasn’t overtly sexy like this woman. Lara had never wanted to be sexy; she’d always said so—­in that throaty voice that made him want to roll her onto the nearest flat surface.
    Lara—­or the woman who sounded just like her—­had turned back to her task and was now speaking earnestly to the firefighter with the injured foot. Patrick noticed a flush of pink across the nape of her neck. She was getting sunburned. He should warn her. Liam would want him to say something. It was exactly the sort of thing that bothered Liam . . .
    The stab of sheer pain that always accompanied thoughts of Liam nearly made him stagger. No time for this now. Forget Liam. Forget Lara. It probably isn’t even her.
    He didn’t have a spare second to investigate further. After a quick stop at the supply