Hearts on Fire

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  HEARTS ON FIRE

  by Bree Roberts

  Author Contact

  website: http://breeroberts.com

  Email: authorbreeroberts@yahoo.com

  Twitter: @Roberts_Bree

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Bree Roberts

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com. Thank you for your support.

  Cover Art by Melody Simmons

  About the author: Bree Roberts is a member of Romance Writers of America and lives in Ohio with her husband, her two toddlers, and their Black Labrador, Jasmine.

  Chapter One

  “Jess, you’re the only one left inside. Get the hell out of there now!”

  The crackle of the radio was a relief to Jess; a lifeline that kept her connected to the outside, to safety. To life.

  Keying up the radio attached to her jacket, she replied “I think I heard a baby cry, Chief.”

  Battalion Chief James Clay cursed under his breath. “Jess, structural integrity is rapidly deteriorating. Get out now, unless you want to be brought out. In a body bag.”

  Jessica O’Malley ignored the command. Sweat beaded on her forehead underneath her mask and she closed her eyes, listening. The roar of fire filled her ears to compete with the heavy breaths she sucked through her self-contained breathing apparatus. Creaking wood groaned and cracked with the stress of the heat and fire. Hearing a baby cry through that had to be the stress of the moment playing tricks on her. The smoke rolled dark and gray through the room, down the hall and up through a hole vented into the roof by the ladder guys.

  She carefully inspected the room through the wall of smoke, her eyes roaming from one quadrant to the next. Against one wall sat a brown vinyl sofa, its surface ripped and saggy with use, smoke rising from its surface as it began melting in the heat. On the floor next to it sat a stack of magazines and a baby bouncer.

  Empty.

  “Chief, nobody brought out a baby?”

  “Negative. We rescued one adult female. Get out of there. That’s an order. You’re out of time.”

  “There’s a baby here. I know it.”

  “Damn it, Jess. Get out now.”

  No can do. I’m not leaving a baby. Not today. Her mind was moving fast but her body stood perfectly still. There was no baby here. She’d already been in the bedrooms. The crib was empty. What had she missed?

  Running into the burning kitchen, she glanced around quickly. Flames licked at the walls, at the ceiling. The soot of melted vinyl shades and plastic appliance knobs mingled with the cinders of everything else digested by the fire, sticking to walls, ceiling, counters. What was left of them anyway. No baby.

  “Damn. I know what I heard.” Frustration clawed at her belly, fear squeezed at her heart. Not fear for herself, but for the baby she knew was here. Fear that she’d not find it in time.

  Down the hall she peered once more into bedrooms. The crash of the collapsing ceiling back in the kitchen shook the floor and vibrated through her body, and she forced her feet to move faster. The place was starting to fall apart, and the need for a quick exit made her more antsy.

  Bedroom. Bedroom. Closet. Bathroom.

  She stopped short by the bathroom door. It was dark in there and she’d given it no more than a cursory glance before. Jess reached for the flashlight strapped to her chest gear and snapped it on, playing its strong beam into the interior of the small room.

  The vanity was crowded with hair accessories, makeup, and an assortment of lotions. A pile of dirty towels littered the warped linoleum floor. Perched atop the toilet tank was baby powder, a box of tissues and a bottle of Lysol.

  She traveled the light along further, past the toilet to the shower curtain covered with giant green polka dots. There, in the bathtub, was a white plastic infant tub. A naked, slippery little baby lay lifeless within, its little arms slack, its eyes closed as if it were sleeping. Water covered the lower half of its body but its head was not submerged.

  Jessica’s heart leapt into her throat. Quickly grabbing a towel from the rack, she used it to lift the baby and wrap it in one deft motion. Then she began the slow run that nightmares are made of, her legs maddeningly mired in panic and heat and disbelief, baby clutched to her breast with the protection of a mother’s instinct she’d never before encountered, never known herself capable of. Fifty pounds of turn-out gear conspired to slow her down and the handle of the axe strapped around her waist slapped against her hip with the tick-tick-tick of a clock that was running out of time.

  “I found the baby,” she shouted into her radio. Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. “It’s unconscious. Be ready.”

  The crash of a collapsing ceiling joist whooshed behind her, missing her helmet by three inches but snagging the air tank strapped to her back. Surprise clouded her face as she found herself falling backwards onto the burning pile of rubble. A tingle of pain skittered through her back, but she ignored it; the thought of her oxygen tank sitting on a pile of burning debris was the bigger concern. Panicked thoughts swam through her head but years of training took over and her body twitched instinctively into action. She tried to scramble to her feet but the tank was caught on something.

  With one hand grasping the baby, the other unhooked the strap that secured the tank to her back and she slid out of it, but in the process her mask, still attached to the tank, was ripped from her face, dislodging her helmet. Jess gasped in surprise, drawing in a breath of the acrid black smoke. Immediately her lungs screamed for fresh air as intense heat slapped her in the face. Struggling to hold her breath and cling to the baby, her eyes, now blind by the sting of smoke, squeezed themselves shut in protest and involuntary tears leaked down her face.

  Jess felt along the hallway toward what she hoped was the front door. The smoke was so thick, visibility had degraded to a mere half a foot. Ahead she could see the door through squinted eyes, Chief Clay standing there like a lighthouse beacon, his arms outstretched, waving her urgently on. She couldn’t tell through his mask if the look in his eyes was concern or anger. Likely both.

  Chief Clay grabbed the bundle from her arms and sprinted from the burning building. Jess’s gear slowed her up but she managed to stumble away too, other arms pulling her along in her blindness just moments before a flashover blew through.

  Hands of other firefighters were slapping her back in triumph as another was holding an oxygen mask to her face. She looked around for the baby, but it was already being loaded into a waiting ambulance to be whisked away to the hospital.

  “Was the baby alive?” was all Jess could croak out as she stripped off her baclava and wiped sweat from her b
row. A long, honey-blond braid curled around her head like a turban, stray wisps sticking to her damp skin around the edges of her concerned face. Grabbing a bottle of water someone offered her, she took a long, cool drink.

  The Chief shook his head. “I handed it off immediately, so I don’t know.” He turned to face Jess, placing his hands on her shoulders, his disapproving stare boring into her eyes. “Next time I give you an order, you follow it. Understood?”

  Jess grinned wickedly. “Hell no.”

  Jess washed away the last of the smoke and smudge, tugging on a blue V-neck sweater and jeans. She combed her fingers through her wet hair, gave it a quick tousle, and slammed her locker door shut. As she exited the locker room, she stopped short and all color leached out of her face.

  He was standing there in Chief Clay’s office like a bronzed god, wearing a T-shirt bearing the word “Hotshots” that stretched tight over the expanse of his chest and hugged the rippling muscles of his arms. Except that his body was more chiseled, he looked exactly as he had one year ago. The surprise on her face was quickly replaced with ire as she hissed in a breath, her eyes narrowing, the glowering ice-blue of her irises shooting daggers toward the man who had not yet seen her.

  A memory flashed through her mind of the last time she’d seen him, nearly one year before. At six-two, he’d towered over her five-four frame, his chestnut brown hair perpetually mussed, five o’clock shadow forever present. It had been Valentine’s Day, and he was standing right there outside that same office, telling her goodbye, that he’d gotten an opportunity to train as a smokejumper out in Idaho. An opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

  And he hadn’t asked her to come with him.

  Surprise, shock, anger — pretty much all the things she was feeling now — had eventually been replaced with disbelief. She’d thought, on Valentine’s Day of all days, that he’d been on the verge of asking her to marry him. Was certain of it.

  Instead, he’d said goodbye. On Valentine’s Day. And just like that, the man she’d dated for two years was gone.

  She blinked away the image, but the memory still stung, and moisture filled her eyes unbidden. She quickly blinked them away too, but the burning on her cheeks was not so easily dismissed. In two days it would be Valentine’s Day again, and she’d managed to quell the hurt she still felt after all this time. Only now, the hurt was standing a few feet away and was looking sexier than ever.

  “Looks like your boyfriend’s back.”

  Jess wheeled around to level her sharp, icy stare at Danny, and the smirk on his face quickly faded.

  “Uh, kidding. I think I … oh, look at the time.” He nervously backed away from the hot-tempered Jess. “See you at Mo’s I guess.” He sauntered off under that gaze that would have withered the sturdiest of men.

  Jess quickly followed, not wanting to encounter Cort Cavanaugh here where he’d ended it. She needed to think, to calm herself, to prepare for the eventual confrontation. To erect a facade of disinterest. Inside, her blood pressure had spiked, blood raging through her veins, on the verge of popping a vessel at the slightest provocation. Her heart had flip-flopped, torn between anger and sorrow for what had been lost just one short year ago. A trail of unease snaked through her gut, gripping it in humiliation.

  What was he doing back here? Why hadn’t anyone warned her? Not that she would have called in sick to avoid him, but to ready herself emotionally. She wondered if he had come back alone; wondered what kind of friends he’d made in Idaho; what kind of women he’d dated, and if any of them were here now, too.

  Dismay wracked her insides with the knowledge that she’d have to see him every workday if he was back to stay. She yanked open the exit door of the fire department’s brick building, fumbling in her backpack for her keys as she bolted for her pickup. Being around him was going to tear open the old wounds in her heart and in her pride that she’d so carefully stitched up.

  Perhaps she’d talk to Chief Clay about a shift change. Leaning her forehead against the cool metal frame of her truck, small relief washed over her with the simple solution. Different shifts meant they’d only see each other during joint training exercises. Or funerals.

  If ever a woman needed a drink, this was the time. The team, now off duty for two glorious days, was heading to Mo’s Bar & Grill on 5th, and Jess hopped into her pickup to join them. She brightened with the realization that she had two days to get her act together.

  Two days before she’d have to see Cort Cavanaugh again.

  Chapter Two

  Music and laughter spilled out into the street as Jess stepped through the heavy wooden door of Mo’s Bar and Grill, and jingling bells clanged against the door as it closed behind her. The air smelled of beer and whiskey and fried food. The room was dominated by a large oak bar on the right with ceiling-high shelves of bottled merriment and escapism towering over the bartender as he wiped down the already spotless surface of the bar. A smattering of patrons occupied the barstools and dining tables, chasing away the chills of winter with the fire of booze.

  Before her eyes could adjust to the low light of the interior, she heard Danny call out from the left side of the bar and immediately headed over to join him and the other guys from her shift.

  “Here’s the hero of the hour,” Tommy called out, and a group of four beer mugs sloshed together in a toast, spilling over the sides and dripping all over the pitcher-laden table.

  “You pigs don’t take long to leave your mark,” Jess chuckled as she shrugged out of her jacket. Little puddles of beer dotted the smooth surface of the table. She was at home here, with these men she risked life and limb for on a regular basis, and they treated her as one of the guys. Just the way she wanted it.

  Danny, Kyle, Tommy, and Mark — two firefighters, the driver or “chauffeur” as they affectionately called him, and the lieutenant, along with Jessica, made up the team for Station Two’s “A” shift. They worked hard — one twenty-four hour 7pm to 7pm shift — and played hard during the forty-eight hours they had off afterward. They were tough guys with big hearts, all gorgeous and oozing sex appeal, especially in uniform.

  But Jessica didn’t see it. To her, they were the family she never had, the brothers that would kick the ass of any man foolish enough to mess with her. Not that she needed any help. With her temper, hot as any fire they could ever encounter, and her muscle, required for dragging hoses up stairways and bodies back down, she could definitely hold her own.

  Danny poured her a frothy mug and slid it over to her as she sat next to him, and she gulped down a long, thirst-quenching drink. The cold beer soothed her throat, still a bit rough from the smoke she’d inhaled earlier.

  Her gaze fell upon an elderly couple dancing on the bar’s excuse for a dance floor, barely big enough to swing a dead cat. They held each other tight, still in love after so many years together, as they slowly swayed back and forth to the jukebox playing “Neon Moon.” She wished desperately for a future like that, and a pang of envy flitted across her face for the briefest of moments, but the ever-watchful Danny saw it.

  “Got some quarters here. Any special song requests?” Danny looked around the table.

  “‘Freebird!’” Kyle mockingly yelled.

  Mark punched him in the arm. “Dipshit.”

  “Oh! Oh! ‘Crazier’ please! I love that song,” Jessica requested, ignoring the two morons across the table from her, and Danny hopped up to add his choices to the old couple’s queue.

  “‘Crazier’ for the craziest one here. How fitting.” Kyle smirked at Jess.

  “Lost another helmet, too. How many does that make? Three in the last year?” Mark teased, tossing her a wink from his jade green eyes.

  “Four,” Jess muttered. “Not that I’m counting or anything.”

  The group erupted into laughter.

  Kyle’s face grew serious as he added, “You’ve got to stop the show-dogging in there. If you go down, we have to come in after you. That puts us all in danger.”

 
Jess scowled. “What are you, my wet-nurse? Get off my back. I get enough of that from Chief Clay. And I get the job done. You’re just jealous of my elite search and rescue skills.”

  More laughter and more beer flowed from the table. Danny returned with another pitcher and a basket of popcorn, and the insults flew as they only can with such a tight-knit camaraderie.

  The jangle of bells slapping against the door had Jess looking up to see none other than Cort Cavanaugh walk in followed closely by Battalion Chief Clay. Cort’s hair was unruly and windblown, his body lean and muscled. And oh, what a body it was! The quick little catch in her throat was drowned out by the jukebox’s opening guitar chords of “Crazier” and at that moment, Jess realized just how much she was as hopelessly in love with him as the day he left. Her stomach bunched up in knots as her brain screamed “Do something!”

  She was not ready for this. Quickly, she grabbed Danny by the hand and pretended not to have seen Cort walk in. “It’s my song, Danny. Dance with me.”

  Knowing he would not refuse, only a very small part of her felt guilty for using him. Truth was, she wanted Cort to think she was with Danny now, that she’d moved on, just as he had, and secretly hoped he’d be jealous.

  Dragging him out to the tiny dance floor, she turned her back to the door and folded one arm around Danny’s neck, the other grasping firm to her beer mug, and smiled beguilingly into his blue eyes with a pleasure that belied her true feelings.

  Danny Wilson had burned a secret flame for her for the last two years, only it wasn’t so secret to Jess. She could see they way he looked at her, the way he watched out for her on the job, even though she had always made it clear that her feelings for him were brotherly and nothing more.

  His arms wrapped around her and he sighed. She knew that sigh, had exhaled it many times this last year. It was the sigh of unrequited love. A stab of guilt poked at her conscience but she swatted it away to worry about later.