A Firefighter in the Family

Trish Milburn

“Trying to figure out how to bust me?”

She turned to look at him. “No.”

The simple answer alleviated some of the tension knotted in Zac’s shoulders. Randi looked like just another bar customer, though normally such a beautiful woman wouldn’t be sitting alone.

“So you’re not staking me out?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So you are?”

“I didn’t say that, either.” She raised her eyebrows, and the barest hint of a suppressed smile curved her lips.

Very nice, intensely kissable lips.

Snap out of it, Parker. You destroyed that path a long time ago.

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to be making my Harlequin Books debut with A Firefighter in the Family. It has so many things I love woven together within its pages—a gorgeous and honorable hero, a strong heroine, a devoted dog and the incredibly beautiful shore of the Gulf of Mexico. I also like to throw a dash of mystery into my stories, and you’ll see that in the pages that follow.

Miranda “Randi” Cooke followed in the footsteps of her grandfather, father and brothers when she became a firefighter. But a tragic mistake led to estrangement from her family, the end of a romantic relationship that was just beginning, and her leaving her hometown behind. Now she’s back—in her professional capacity as a state arson investigator. And in addition to chasing down leads, she also has to face her family and Zac Parker, the man she once loved.

Who can resist a story in which a former love is rekindled? In which the hero and heroine have to work hard to trust each other again and find their happily ever after? Certainly not me.

I hope you enjoy Randi and Zac’s story. I’d love to hear what you think. You can e-mail me through my Web site at www.trishmilburn.com.

Happy reading!

Trish Milburn

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Trish Milburn wrote her first book in the fifth grade and has the cardboard-and-fabric-bound, handwritten and colored-pencil-illustrated copy to prove it. That “book” was called Land of the Misty Gems, and not surprisingly it was a romance. She’s always loved stories with happy endings, whether those stories come in the form of books, movies, TV programs or marriage to her own hero.

A former newspaper and magazine journalist, she took the leap into freelancing so she’d have more time to devote to writing fiction and chasing her dream of being a published novelist. While working toward her first sale, she was an eight-time finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart contest sponsored by Romance Writers of America, winning twice. Other than reading, Trish enjoys traveling (by car or train—she’s a terra firma girl!), hiking, nature photography and visiting national parks.

You can visit Trish online at www.trishmilburn.com. Readers also can write to her at P.O. Box 140875, Nashville, TN 37214-0875.

What makes a man a real-life hero? When he tells you every day that he loves you, believes in you even when you don’t believe in yourself, and gives his unfailing support even when you want to quit your job to pursue your dream. Shane, I love you bunches. I’ve dreamed for years of being able to dedicate my first book to you.

My gratitude also goes to the incredible ladies who have been my critique partners throughout the years—Beth Pattillo, Annie Solomon, GayNelle Doll, Michelle Butler and Martha Edinger. I know I wasn’t in love with all those red marks on my manuscript pages at the time, but they helped get me to this point.

And to Mary Fechter—thanks for the fast reads, the daily e-mails, the squees over the latest episodes of Supernatural, and convincing me to get a TiVo.

Finally, huge thanks to my fabulous agent, Michelle Grajkowski, for being my champion all these years, and to my wonderful editor, Johanna Raisanen, and Kathleen Scheibling for helping my long-held dream come true.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

The familiar scent of wet ash invaded Randi’s nostrils. Even though the flames had been extinguished and no visible smoke drifted into the bright blue sky, the acrid smell clung to the air, refusing to relinquish its grip. Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t the first time fire had blazed in her hometown, but thankfully no one was hurt this time.

From the spot on Sea Oat Road where she now stood, she’d once only been able to see blue-green waves, sugar-white sand and a line of beach homes painted cotton-candy pink, daffodil-yellow and robin’s-egg blue. Now she stared at the charred remains of a high-rise condo complex, the soot, crumbling timbers and twisted metal more out of place here in this idyllic spot than at any fire scene she’d ever been sent to investigate.

She glanced toward a side parking lot and spotted a familiar shock of white hair. Smiling, she headed in that direction. When she got within earshot, she called out. “Hey, old man.”

Jack Young looked up from where he was stowing equipment in the Number 1 engine. His eyes brightened when he saw her. “Well, I’ll be. I haven’t seen you in ages.” The man she’d always called Uncle Jack came toward her and wrapped her in a bear hug that remained strong for a man closing in on seventy.

“What are you doing still working fires? You should be taking it easy.” She phrased her words as teasing, but part of her did worry about him still undertaking the hard labor of firefighting.

“Hon, I’ve been working so long I don’t know how to relax. Besides, this department would fall apart without me.” He gestured to a couple of young firefighters at the front of the engine. “These nimwits wouldn’t know one end of the hose from the other.”

The younger guys snorted.

“So, Steve sent you home to handle this one, huh?” Jack asked as he wiped sweat from his forehead.

Randi ignored the reference to “home.” She couldn’t think of Horizon Beach like that anymore. It hurt too much. “Yeah. Looks like you had your hands full with this one.”

“You can say that again. This baby burned like burning was going out of style. It was amazing to see.”

That was saying a lot coming from a guy who’d seen every kind of fire known to man—everything from a lightning-sparked brush fire to a frightening oil-tanker blaze in the Gulf.

She glanced at Jack’s profile, saw how he looked into the distance with the familiar expression he got after taking on a big fire. Like he’d stared into the eyes of the beast but lived to tell about it. Jack, more than anyone else she’d ever met, knew fire wasn’t just a thing. It was a living, breathing soul bent on destruction. He gave fire the respect it deserved. She just wanted to send it all back to hell.

“So, what’s the story?” she asked.

Jack scratched his gray stubble. “Better talk to Will. He was first on the scene. I was bringing up the rear on this one.”

“Okay.” She’d rather eat sawdust than talk to her brother. “I’ll catch you later.” Randi walked toward the engine closer to the burned building.

She stepped off the sidewalk where several current Horizon Beach residents and visitors stood speculating about the midnight blaze that had consumed the building.

“Come on, Thor.” Her giant black Labrador retriever—one part fire dog, one part best friend—fell into step beside her as she headed for the burned-out shell of the once nearly completed Horizon Vista Resort.

A young fireman stepped out from where he’d been talking to a man in street clothes. “Ma’am, you can’t come in here.”

She slipped her ID from her pocket. “I’m Randi Cooke with the state fire marshal’s office.”

He examined the identification card. “You must be—”

“Yeah. Sister to half your department.” And daughter of the former chief, and granddaughter to the chief before that.

“Eric and Will are still here.” He pointed toward a fire engine, and she saw Will retrieving a tangle of hoses.

She inhaled deeply, but instead of fortifying her for a meeting with her oldest brother, it only filled her nostrils with the scent of ashes. She exhaled through her nose, trying to banish the heavy, choking smell. “Thank you.”

Randi headed for the engine. Her nerves jangled, and the muscles in her shoulders tightened despite her internal monologue to stay calm and professional, as she always was at a fire scene. Will looked her way. Though he should have been expecting her, the widening of his eyes indicated he was surprised to see her.

He’d shucked most of his turnout gear, but the boots, flame-retardant bunker pants and suspenders remained. His blond hair poked out in half a dozen directions from sweat and his helmet.

“Hey, Will.”

“Randi. When did you get here?”

She tried to ignore the coolness in his voice, but knowing the reason behind it made that task impossible. “A few minutes ago. Looks like you had a busy night.”

“Yeah. Had to call in help from Fort Walton. Place was fully engulfed when we arrived. Went up like it was made of paper.” His words came out mechanically, as if he were writing a report—or talking to a stranger.

“Any clue what happened?”

“No. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s arson.”

“What makes you say that?”

He pointed toward the rubble. “The only people happy about this place were the tourism bureau, the tax assessor and the builder.”

“Jack didn’t mention arson.”

Will glanced toward the older man. “Hell, the old coot probably slept through half the fire. He wasn’t on duty, so the guys from Fort Walton got here before he did.”

“He should retire.”

Will sighed. Obviously this topic had been broached many times. “Too stubborn, even though he’s not as fast or strong as he used to be.”

She hoped Jack would change his mind about retirement before he or someone else got hurt. But that thought brought back memories she’d rather not explore.

“So, who’s the owner?”

He exhaled. “Guy named Bud Oldham from Tampa.” Will frowned, and his fair complexion grew pinker than when he’d spotted her.

They’d already spoken more this morning than they had in the past two years combined. Of course, not all of that was Will’s fault. Still, her job required digging for information. “Oldham around during the fire?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” He pitched his gloves into the truck. “I was too busy to canvass the crowd.” He stalked alongside the engine and slammed two equipment doors.

Randi’s jaw clenched, but she forced her muscles to relax. Forced herself to remember that she’d driven this wedge herself and she had to live with it. “I’m just doing my job, Will.”

She tugged gently on Thor’s leash, needing to immerse herself in work so she’d forget why the oldest of the Cooke siblings would never forgive her. Why being the baby of the family and a girl had sent her fleeing from her once-loving home. How one mistake could change so many lives.

As she sloshed through the mucky sand caused by the rush of water from the hoses the night before, she spotted Eric headed toward her. Soot darkened his pale skin, and he sported a hairstyle like his older brother’s. She remembered that sweaty, itchy feeling and resisted the urge to scratch her scalp. In contrast to Will, the youngest of her four older brothers smiled at her.

“Hey, sis. I wondered if they’d send you to work this one.” Eric reached down and rubbed Thor’s head between his ears, earning a yip of greeting in response.

“Yeah, Steve’s daughter is getting married today.” Her boss had been in a tizzy all week, alternating between telling everyone how beautiful a bride his daughter was going to be and cursing how much the wedding was costing him.

“And you’re missing it?”

“I’m never glad for a fire, but I can’t say I’m heartbroken to miss La Prima Donna’s nuptials.”

Eric laughed, but his expression changed when he glanced over her shoulder. “Will looks like he’s ready to bite the head off an alligator.”

“Yeah, well, some things never change.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice but wasn’t successful.

“You two at it already?”

“No, I walked away.”

“It’s been nearly three years. Are you guys ever going to talk about what happened?”

Randi sighed. “I tried. Besides, he’s right.” As much as it made her heart ache to admit it.

“It was an accident. It wasn’t—”

She stopped Eric with a quick, cutting hand gesture. “Let’s focus on figuring out what happened here. Any ideas?”

Randi retreated into her job, quizzing her brother about the fire and the building’s owner.

“Eric, come on, we got work to do.” Will’s voice wasn’t that of an older brother, but rather a superior officer.

“Coming.” Eric looked back at her. “You’ll be around?”

“Yeah.” She scanned the rubble. “Looks like this might take a while.”

“You staying at Mom and Dad’s?” He always asked the question, even though the answer never changed.

“No. I’ll get a room.” She ignored the sad look in Eric’s blue eyes.

“I’ll call you on your cell then. We’ll grab a bite.”

“Eric!” Will sounded more irritated.

“Go on before he really gets his drawers in a wad.” She smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

Taking a chance at angering their older brother, Eric leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’d hug you but I’m pretty rank at the moment.”

“Thanks for keeping your sweat to yourself.”

He smiled again, his white teeth standing out against his blackened face. “Catch ya later.” He slogged through the mud in his splattered boots, and she remembered when they’d been kids, running through puddles after a fast-moving coastal rain.

“Let’s get to it,” she said to Thor as she stirred the ash. He began sniffing the remains of the building, searching for accelerant.

When the breeze shifted and replaced the scent of char with the freshness of the ocean, Randi breathed deeply and closed her eyes, remembering how she used to crawl up onto her parents’ roof to soak in the sun and watch the waves roll in. When she wrapped this case, she’d take some vacation time to relax. Every firebug in Florida had picked this spring to torch all available combustibles, and the worst drought in a decade wasn’t helping. She and Thor were more in demand than ever.

“You going to catch the bastard who did this?”

At the edge of the burned-out area stood a tall man with gray hair and a tan that would rival George Hamilton’s. This guy must spend every daylight hour outside without a drop of sunscreen.

Randi raised from her crouched position. “Mr. Oldham?”

“Yeah.”

Randy carefully picked her way across the building’s innards toward its owner. “Any idea what might have started this fire?”

“I have no doubt someone torched the place,” he said.

Randi crossed her arms and watched Oldham for the slightest change of expression. She kept her voice even and nonaccusatory as she asked, “What makes you say that?”

“Locals have an aversion to progress.”

“So there was opposition to the construction?” She’d once known every piece of gossip in town, but not much Horizon Beach news made it to her present home in Pensacola.

“You could say that.”

“From whom?”

He gestured inland. “Damn neighbors, a park ranger, some of those freak greenies. Hell, might even be that stupid bar guy,” Oldham said. “Don’t think I’m his favorite person, either.”

She asked about each potential suspect and took thorough notes on them.

“You mentioned a ‘bar guy.’ Can you be more specific?”

“Parker. Owns a little shack of a bar on the beach.”

Her heart beat wildly for a moment at the mention of the name Parker, until her mind caught up and struck the possibility of it being Zac Parker. Zac was a firefighter, not a bartender.

Oldham pointed to the southeast. “I tried to buy him out, wanted to put a pool where he’s at, but he wouldn’t budge.”

Randi cloaked herself in her professional persona instead of memories. “Sounds as though your condos weren’t too popular. Why build them here?”

He directed his “watch your smart mouth, girlie” gaze at her, but she didn’t look away. She’d interviewed too many people who’d torched their own homes and businesses for the insurance money to let this guy bother her.

“Have you seen the rest of the Florida coast?” he asked. “High-rise condos are a dime a dozen, hard to make them stand out among the hordes. Here, it’d be the only one.”

“For now.”

“That’s what matters.” Oldham looked at the heap that used to be his investment. “You really think you can find out how this happened?”

Thor barked, deep and throaty, the distinctive bark that meant he’d completed a mission. She and Oldham looked to where Thor stood at a spot close to what had been the southwest corner of the building.

Randi nodded toward Thor. “That’s a step in the right direction.”

ZAC PARKER CURSED under his breath when the breeze shifted, bringing the smoky smell of the burned building into his open-air bar. Once, he’d considered that smell a part of everyday life. Now, it just brought back bad memories.

“Guess he ticked off one too many people, huh?”

Zac looked up from where he was pulling a cold Budweiser from the bottle cooler beneath the bar. Adam Canfield, his friend and regular bar patron, stared at the remains of Bud Oldham’s controversial venture into Gulf Coast realty.

“Maybe,” Zac said. “Could have been wiring or someone forgot to turn off a torch.”

Adam looked back at Zac and accepted the beer. “You don’t really believe that.”

Zac shrugged. “Don’t know. Not my problem.” He would not admit to any instinctive curiosity about the fire. Or the sliver of satisfaction he’d experienced thinking about that pompous jackass Oldham getting a little payback. He didn’t like the feeling. He’d spent nearly a decade of his life fighting fires, first in Tallahassee, then in Horizon Beach, before he’d walked away.

And the Beach Bum, with its thatch roof and position next to the condos, could have been destroyed if the wind had blown the opposite way and carried embers in that direction. Fire had destroyed his life once. He was damn lucky it hadn’t performed an encore.

“Well, it’s gonna be somebody’s. Hell, maybe Oldham got tired of all the opposition and burned it himself.”

Wanting to steer the conversation away from Bud Oldham and fires, Zac pointed at the fishing pier jutting into the Gulf of Mexico. “They catching much?”

Adam glanced toward the pier, which was already lined with people and their fishing poles. “Mainly pompano and channel bass,” he said as he gave Zac a look that showed he knew he was deliberately changing the subject.

That was Adam—Mr. Observant. He was also the closest Zac had to a best friend. After a dozen years of the army telling him how to dress and sending him to one hot, dusty location after another, Adam had said “screw it” and returned to Florida where the sand actually had some water next to it. He’d plopped down in the Beach Bum after his first day as a Horizon Beach resident and announced, “Sand, surf, fishing, cold beer and bikinis as far as the eye can see. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Zac had laughed and given him a beer on the house.

The two of them had a similar take on life—the less stress and responsibility, the better. For Zac, the Beach Bum was a bar where he could listen to the ocean all day and call the shots. For Adam, the fishing pier concession paid the bills and afforded him the opportunity to watch said bikinis all day and fish to his heart’s content.

“Now what is wrong with this picture?” Adam asked.

Zac looked up the beach. A woman with a blond ponytail and one heck of a big black Lab walked toward the bar. “You mean that there’s a woman on the beach who isn’t wearing a bikini or the fact that the dog looks like he might be part horse?”

“There’s a dog?”

“Jeez, you’re incurable.”

“Thor, stay,” she said from the edge of the bar.

“Thor, huh?” Adam evidently thought noticing the dog would win him points with its owner. “That seems appropriate.”

Zac was about to make a smart-ass comment about Adam’s flirting when he realized he recognized her voice. He looked up as she stepped into the bar and shoved her sunglasses onto the top of her head. His hand tightened around the edge of the bar.

Randi Cooke.

She ignored Adam and turned her attention toward Zac. Her forehead scrunched, and he could nearly hear the gears turning behind those gorgeous blue eyes of hers. She had that out-of-place expression on her face—like when you go on vacation and bump into someone from back home.

“Zac?”

“Randi,” he said with as little emotion as possible. Not as easy as it sounded.

“You two know each other?” Adam asked from his scoping-the-hotties perch.

“We’re acquainted,” Zac said. He turned his back and straightened bottles of liquor that didn’t need straightening. He ignored the awkward silence behind him. What he wouldn’t have given for some warning of her arrival.

“Well, I’m not,” Adam said.

“Randi Cooke with the state fire marshal’s office,” she said, her formal introduction and tone quashing any hope that she’d just happened by for a drink.

A Cooke investigating a fire. Not to mention a Cooke he’d wronged and who had fled town partly because of him. Just what he needed. Time to nip this in the ol’ bud and send her on her way.

He turned toward her and leaned back against the metal sink. “Before you ask, I wasn’t around when the fire started,” he said as he nodded toward what remained of the condos.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re here to ask if I saw anything suspicious, not to ask for a martini,” he said. “The bar closes at one. The fire started after that.”

“The call came in at one-seventeen, to be exact.”

Zac stiffened. He scanned the few patrons at the outer edge of the bar. They apparently hadn’t heard her. “You’d better not be accusing me of anything.” Been down that road with her family, didn’t want to revisit.

Surprise widened her eyes for a moment. “I don’t recall doing so. Is there a reason I should?” she asked, a coolness seeping into her words.

“Runs in the family,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Well, gotta go,” Adam said as he grabbed his beer and fled.

Zac barely noticed Adam leaving. Instead, he stared at Randi. Damn her for standing so close while being so distant, as if they’d never met, while he wanted to crush something with his bare hand at the thought that suspicion might touch him again. What irked him even more was that in the midst of the chilly reunion, he couldn’t help noticing she was even prettier now than when he’d seen her last. Her bright eyes seemed wiser, her body more toned, her hair even more blond and silky. Every aspect of her physical appearance made it more difficult to deal with her.

He broke eye contact. “Listen, Oldham tried to buy me out. I said no. He was ticked. End of story.”

“Just how bad was this disagreement?”

There she was doing it again, acting as if he were a stranger, as if they hadn’t once worked side by side. As if they hadn’t once been more than co-workers. Still a Cooke through and through—despite everything that had happened.