Authors: Taylor Lee
Mama D’s face clouded.
“Do you have to leave so soon, Nathan? I feel like we barely
got to visit.”
“I know. My schedule is crazy. I promise. You and I are
going to go out for lunch — just the two of us, real soon.”
He gave Mama D a big smack on her cheek and whispered in her
ear.
“Sorry Mama, for being a brat.”
“Yes, you are a brat, Nathan. But I’d be careful around that
little girl. She may look like all those women you order around, but from what
Connor tells me she’s a lot tougher than she looks. I hope so. It would be good
for someone to take you on, Nathan.”
With that she turned his shoulders, and shoved him out of
the room.
When Nate reached the porch, Erin was stuffing her sandals
in her canvas pouch and strapping it around her waist. She bent over to tie her
sneakers giving him a glimpse of her first class backside. She startled and
quickly stood when she saw him looking at her butt. A deep rosy pink flushed
her pale cheeks. Not surprisingly, his dick stood up and took notice. Nate grimaced,
annoyed that his jeans were as old and tight as they were. And damn, if she
chewed on that pouty bottom lip of hers one more time….
He gave her his best ‘I’m a cop and this is what we are
going to do’ look.
“I’m leaving now as well. I’ll drop you off at your house.”
She gave him a dismissive nod, apparently not impressed by
his assumptive command.
“Of course, absolutely. Obviously there’s nobody I’d rather
be bullied into sharing a ride with.”
Then, ignoring him, she treated Connor to a sweet smile.
“Thanks, Connor, and thank your parents again for me. I
loved meeting your mother and father and sisters. And most especially, your
beautiful wife.”
Without looking at Nate she headed for the door, slamming
the screen behind her.
Nate stood in the hall way and watched her jog down the
sidewalk, slowing to pull on the Twins cap, threading her long ponytail through
the opening in the back. Within moments she picked up her pace and rounded the
corner. The last thing he saw were her long legs pounding the pavement in an
accomplished runner’s stride.
At Marcus’s voice, Nate reluctantly turned back to see his
cousin and uncle watching him from the hallway.
“C’mon, Nate,” said Marcus. “Give in. You can stay for a
while longer. Make that wife of mine smile. Got some Sam Adams Utopias in the
cooler begging for your attention.”
With a backward glance at the empty sidewalk, Nate pasted a
sheepish grin on his face.
“Since my taxicab services aren’t required, I’d like to have
another beer, Marcus.”
Connor and Marcus both laughed, and the three of them headed
back to the patio. For a while they debated the Viking’s chances of screwing it
up for yet another year in a row — which they all agreed was a virtual
certainty. As the sky continued to darken, the rain finally fell, driving them
inside to the family room where the women were watching the final baseball game
in the playoffs. Nate tried to focus on the game and general banter but
couldn’t keep his attention off the weather. At the loud crack of thunder and a
flash of lightening streaking across the sky, Nate rose to his feet.
“Okay, that does it.”
Waving Connor back to his place next to Kaitlin on the
couch, Nate said, “Don’t bother, Connor. I’ll see that she gets home.”
Connor grinned and winked at his dad.
“I thought you might say that, Cuz. I’m pretty sure she
usually heads up Grant and then cuts through the park.”
“The park? Dammit, Con. That’s not a safe place for a—”
At the infuriated chorus from his female cousins, he held up
his hands in mock defeat.
Once they’d quieted, Nate met them all with a fierce glare.
Then he spoke, loudly, in his best tough-cop voice.
“Never mind if I’m a chauvinist pig. I’m just looking out
for your butts. Don’t let me catch any of you in that park alone after dark, or
I’ll put you in lock up overnight. You hear me?”
He strode from the room, hoots of girlish derisive laughter
at his back. He shook his head and muttered, “A prophet is not without honor
except in his own country…especially if most of them are girls.”
Nate drove the rain-soaked street, trying to ignore the
thunder and lightning streaking the sky. Driving back and forth in front of the
exits from the park, he finally spotted Erin coming along the path by the
reservoir. Rain was rolling off her in sheets.
He pulled up alongside her and honked. Winding down his
window, he called out, “Erin, get in. You’re soaking wet. C’mon. This storm is
dangerous.”
A huge clap of thunder broke at that moment. Erin startled
looking up at the threatening sky that was getting darker by the minute. She
hesitated glancing at his car. Nate reached across the console and opened the
door. His stern command didn’t brook a refusal.
“In. Now.”
Erin tossed her head, then climbed in and avoided looking at
him. She was shivering and her lips were blue. Her hair hung in damp clumps
around her face and down her back. Nate cranked up the heat and reached over
the seat hunting in the back for his jacket. When he handed it to her, she
shook her head refusing it. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared straight
ahead. Her knuckles were white with the cold.
Nate slammed on the brakes and turned off the engine.
Ignoring her startled gasp, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.
He kept his voice as calm as he could.
“Okay, Erin. Let’s start over. I’m sorry I made that crack
at the party. It was a lousy thing to say. I apologize.”
She jerked her head free and turned back to stare out the
front window.
“You already apologized.”
Nate persisted.
“Yeah, I know I did. Guess the question is: Do you accept my
apology?”
Her voice was so low given the rain pounding against the car
roof, he could barely hear her response.
“What does it matter if I do or not?”
He forced himself to be calm.
“It matters to me.”
She shrugged, making it clear that was his problem, not
hers.
He decided to try another tack.
“Look, sweetheart, you are soaking wet. Your lips are blue
and your teeth are chattering. Will you at least put this jacket over you, if
you don’t want to put it on? And maybe you should wring out your ponytail… or
something.”
He waited a moment. When she didn’t answer, he draped the
fleece-lined leather jacket over her. It was so much bigger than she was, it
served as a blanket. When she didn’t shove it away, he started the car and
pulled back onto the rain-drenched streets.
After a minute or two of ignoring him, she said, “My address
is 289 Wingate. It’s off of St. Peter in Charlotte Prairie.”
He was purposefully non-committal.
“I know where it is.”
They drove in silence for several moments. Nate’s chest
hardened, knowing that if he hadn’t insisted that she get in his car, she would
be running home in this dangerous thunderstorm. Glancing at her, seeing the
deep crease between her brows and the stern set of her jaw, he shook his head.
And he thought
he
was stubborn. Deciding to take a stab at conversation,
he broke the heavy silence.
“What were you trying to do, little spitfire? Get a
twenty-day sick leave for pneumonia?”
Her voice was sharp.
“Don’t call me that. Who do you think you are? My name is
Erin. No matter what you think of me, a ‘girl firefighter wannabe’ and all
that, I do not shirk my duty — nor do I take sick days or in any way slack off.
Not that it is any of your business, but I have a perfect attendance record….”
Her voice broke and she turned her head toward the passenger
window. Nate had a suspicion the gesture was meant to hide tears, not that he’d
be able to tell given the raindrops on her face.
“Look, little spitfire, I’m not your school principle and I
don’t take attendance at the firehouse. I’m just trying to figure out why the
hell you thought you could run over ten miles in a torrential downpour.”
He didn’t expect her to answer, and she didn’t. But to
underscore her disdain she shoved the jacket off of herself, dropping it to the
floor.
He observed her out of his periphery. As much as he disliked
women working in positions meant for men, he did like women! And tallying up
Erin’s assets, this was one hell of a woman. His dick agreed. Hell, he’d had a
hard-on since he first saw her at Mama D’s. Erin’s abbreviated white shorts
showed off shapely legs that didn’t quit. Even now, dimpled with goose bumps,
they were gorgeous. Now that he knew how much she ran, it wasn’t a surprise.
And all that firm muscle was balanced by some very soft, very feminine curves.
Her hips and ass beckoned to him, deserving more than a second look. But at the
moment, he was drawn to the swell of her breasts hovering under her wet tank
top. Now that she’d dispensed with his jacket, her perky nipples responded to
the cold, sticking out like tiny doorknobs waiting to be tweaked.
At his chuckle, she followed the direction of his eyes, then
glared at him.
Pressing her lips together in a firm line, she snapped,
“Eyes on the road, detective.”
He laughed.
“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want my jacket. Besides,
like a good driver I was keeping my eyes on the headlights.”
She huffed out a disgusted puff of air.
“That pitiful joke is as bad this time as the thousand other
times I’ve heard it from sexist assholes.”
He couldn’t hold back his grin.
“Again, my apologies. We sexist assholes are so busy
annoying beautiful women we don’t have time to refresh our pick-up lines.”
She gave a derisive snort.
“A pity. Makes you not only a contemptuous chauvinistic
jerk, but a boring one. You know, you should maybe move to Saudi Arabia,
someplace like that, where I understand your views on women and their role in
society would be very well received.”
He had to give it to her. She was a feisty one — not easily
put down. Interesting. At least his dick seemed to think so. He made an effort
to keep the amusement out of his voice.
“Hmm. Well, Miss Firefighter of the Year, I’ve been called a
lot of things. An asshole? Definitely. Sexist, chauvinistic? You bet. And proud
of it. But boring? Uh uh, sweetheart. That one doesn’t fit.”
“Stop!”
At her shout, he managed to keep from slamming the brakes
but even so the car skittered dangerously to the left. His seatbelt responded,
snapping him against the seatback.
“Jesus, Erin! What the hell—”
She unfastened her seatbelt and had the door open before he
could react.
“This is where I live.”
Her flashing eyes and raised chin dared him to comment on
the shabby street and shabbier house.
He looked at the ramshackle clapboard structure that hadn’t
seen a fresh coat of paint in thirty years, and probably never hosted a
handyman. He met her gaze.
“I see.”
She gave him a dismissive nod.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He opened his car door and jumped out, but before he could
cross to her side, she slammed her door and ran up the cracked sidewalk. On the
rickety porch, she fumbled for a minute, jimmying with the lock. To Nate, it
didn’t look like she used a key. Christ, why bother? By the look of that
doorframe, a swift kick would bring the whole damned door down.
Leaning against the side of his car, Nate wondered if Erin
carried a piece. Watching her tight little ass in the skintight shorts
disappear behind a slamming door, he scoffed. It would have been a challenge to
get his hands in those pants, much less a gun.
He stood for a moment, letting the rain pour down his back.
He was already drenched, so what the hell.
With a grimace he took in the neighborhood. If you could
call it that. Half the houses on the street appeared vacant. The ones that were
occupied were lit up, as if illuminating the shadows would scare away the
boogiemen. His hackles rose. It would take a dead man not to sense the danger
in those houses, and the vacant lots surrounding them. Empty lots littered with
trash and overgrown weeds were nearly as plentiful, and only a little less
pathetic than the houses.
The cars cluttering the streets ranged from tricked-up 70’s
pimpmobiles, to fifteen-to-twenty-year-old sedans so covered in rust it was a
wonder they didn’t fall apart each time the engine ginned up. Looking from one
depressing sight to another, Nate’s protective instincts kicked in. Christ,
what was Erin doing living in a dump like this? It was one thing for him to be
here. Half his “clients” lived in scrapheaps like this or worse. At least
Charlotte Prairie was relatively free of drug dealers. Hell, they even had a
neighborhood watch group. They’d invited him to speak once; seven “members”
showed up. Mothers and grandmothers, their faces lined with strain, asked
question after question about how to keep their kids safe. All he could tell
them was to move out as quickly as they could. They never invited him back.
He’d talk to Connor in the morning. Erin had no business
living in a place like this. Christ, what the hell were they paying rookie
firefighters these days? Surely she could afford a safer place to live. He’d
put Naomi, his desk sergeant, on it tomorrow. She’d understand. Naomi spent
half her days chasing after runaway kids. She’d know how to ask the right
questions, how not to embarrass Erin. To be sensitive and all that shit. Find
out what was going on.
Because something definitely was going on with the
Firefighters of America poster girl. He wasn’t a cop for nothing. And six years
spent crawling in steamy bug-infested jungles on missions the U.S. Government
would deny with their dying breath — or with
his
— had tuned up his
antennae. He could smell trouble a mile off. And this feisty young woman with
those damnable turquoise eyes was in trouble. He didn’t miss the way she jumped
when he took hold of her arm. How she tried to run by him. That flash in her
eyes was panic, pure and simple. And how many times did she look over her
shoulder running down the street before he got her in his car?