Triple Dare by Regina Kyle Read Free Book Online Page B

without burning it? Smells like it’s too late for that.”
    “Lay off.” Cappy pushed his chair back and stood, slapping a palm on the table. “Let the man work.”
    They disappeared, leaving Cade to mince and dice in peace. About half an hour later, just as he was pouring the sauce over the pasta, the alarm blared.
    “Figures,” he muttered, shoving an uncovered bowl of salad into the fridge. “I knew we’d never get to eat it hot. It smelled too damn good.”
    He dropped the now-empty pan into the sink, double-checked the burners to make sure they were off and raced to the lockers, where the rest of the crew was already jumping into their turnout gear.
    “What’s the deal?” O’Brien asked as he pulled on his boots.
    “Ten twenty-six,” Cappy answered, clapping his helmet on his head. “Kitchen fire at 195 Leffert’s Pond Road.”
    Cade froze, one leg in his bunkers and one out. “What was that address?”
    “195 Leffert’s Pond Road.” Cappy slammed his locker shut and sprinted toward the engine bay.
    “What’s wrong, man?” Hansen shrugged on his jacket. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”
    “I’m good.” Cade jerked on his pants, pulled up his suspenders and stepped into his boots.
    “You don’t look good,” O’Brien chimed in. “You look like shit.”
    “I said I’m good.” Cade grabbed his coat and helmet. “Let’s roll.”
    He spun on his heel and ran after Cappy, not wanting his fellow firefighters to see what a goddamn liar he was. Because he wasn’t good. He was just about the furthest thing you could be from good.
    195 Leffert’s Pond Road was the old Pagano place. The place Nick had bought for Holly when they’d gotten engaged. The place where Ivy was staying while she was in town.
    If there was a time to pull his head out of his ass, it was now.
    * * *
    I VY DIDN ’ T KNOW whether to be relieved or mortified when she heard the sirens.
    Relieved because it meant help would get there before the pot of pasta on the stove went up in flames and burned the whole house down. Mortified because she was stuck halfway through the doggy door, her spandex-clad ass hanging out for the whole darned world to see.
    Okay, it was her own stupid fault for locking herself out of the house with dinner cooking. She’d just gone to grab the mail, and the evening had barreled downhill from there. It was like a comedy of errors—the door locking behind her, her cell sitting useless on the kitchen counter, the only neighbor in spitting distance not at home and, finally, her fateful decision to squeeze through the doggy door.
    The acrid smell of smoldering spaghetti filled her nostrils.
Fudge bucket.
With all the water gone, the pasta was burning to the bottom of the pot, about to burst into flames.
    Good thing Nick had sprung for a fancy alarm system that called 9-1-1 when the smoke detector went off. But where was the fire department?
    The sirens grew closer. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of staring at the Clean Up After Yourself, House Elves Don’t Work Here needlepoint hanging over the washer/dryer in the mudroom, the crunch of gravel in the driveway, followed by shouts and door slams, told Ivy the firefighters had arrived.
    She took a deep breath to steady her jangling nerves, but only succeeded in irritating herself thanks to the stinging smell. Coughing, she blinked her watery eyes, opening them in time to see a pair of black-and-yellow boots on the tile floor directly in front of her.
    “Uh, hey, Ivy.”
    Her gaze traveled up long legs, past a trim waist to a familiar, broad chest, all protected by turnout gear.
    “Going in or out?” Cade quipped with a smirk.
    “Very funny.” Ivy blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “How about taking care of the conflagration about to erupt on my stove? That’s your job, right?”
    “O’Brien’s on it.” He kneeled down so they were more at eye level. “Do you think I’d be here calmly making small talk if you were