Can a summer fling turn into love that lasts a lifetime?

Former underwear model turned entrepreneur Clay Stryker has loved, tragically lost and vowed that he’ll never risk his heart again. After making his fortune, the youngest of the rugged Stryker brothers returns to Fool’s Gold, California, to put down roots on a ranch of his own. But he’s frustrated to discover that even in his hometown, people see him only for his world-famous...assets.

Firefighter Chantal (Charlie) Dixon grew up an ugly duckling beside her delicately beautiful mother, a feeling reinforced long ago by a man who left soul-deep scars. Now she has good friends, a solid job and the itch to start a family—yet she can’t move toward the future while she’s haunted by painful memories.

Clay finds an unexpected ally, and unexpected temptation, in tomboyish Charlie, the only person who sees beyond his dazzling good looks to the real man beneath. But when Charlie comes to him with an indecent proposal, will they be able to overcome their pasts and find a love that lasts beyond one incredible summer?

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery

“If you want a story that will both tug on

your heartstrings and tickle your funny bone, Mallery is the author for you!”

—RT Book Reviews on Only His

“When it comes to heartfelt contemporary romance, Mallery is in a class by herself.”

—RT Book Reviews on Only Yours

“An adorable, outspoken heroine and an intense hero...set the sparks flying in Mallery’s latest lively, comic and touching family-centered story.”

—Library Journal on Only Yours

“Mallery...excels at creating varied, well-developed characters and an emotion-packed story

gently infused with her trademark wit and humor.” One of the Top 10 Romances of 2011!

—Booklist on Only Mine

“Mallery’s prose is luscious and provocative.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Susan Mallery’s gift for writing humor and tenderness make all her books true gems.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Romance novels don’t get much better than Mallery’s expert blend of emotional nuance,

humor and superb storytelling.”

—Booklist

All Summer Long

Susan Mallery

To the one who makes every writing day wonderful. You keep me company, tell me every page is brilliant and remind me

it’s always a good idea to stop every now

and then and take a well-deserved nap.

To my own little princess. My sweet Nikki.

Also, a special thank-you to Bill Buchanan for all the technical help on the volunteer firefighters. He was brilliant, and any mistakes in this story are mine. (Yes, Bill, you really do have to share the dedication page

with my poodle.)

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 FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

“DON’T TAKE THIS wrong, but seriously, a cat of your size needs to keep all four paws firmly on the ground.”

Charlie Dixon continued up the ladder, aware that Daytona was watching her with serious contempt in his large, green eyes. The black-and-white cat was about twenty-six pounds of attitude. His climbing skills might be excellent, but his ability to get down a tree left much to be desired. At least once a month he got his big furry butt to the top of Mrs. Coverson’s sycamore and yowled to be rescued. About an hour later, the old lady would panic and call the fire department. Daytona, named for Mrs. Coverson’s love of all things NASCAR, glared and hissed and threatened, but in the end, he submitted to being safely carried to the ground.

“Come on, you,” Charlie said, climbing the last two rungs of the ladder. “You know you’re getting hungry and I’m your ride down to your food bowl.”

On cue, the cat flattened his ears and gave an impressive growl.

“Cheap talk, big guy,” Charlie said, then reached for the cat. Daytona took a swipe at the back of her hand, but the movement was halfhearted at best. He was already inching toward her, then allowed himself to be picked up and held against her.

“Don’t worry,” someone called from the sidewalk. “I’ve got your ladder.”

Charlie sighed heavily. “Civilians,” she muttered. “How do they always find me?”

Daytona didn’t offer a response.

Charlie looked down and saw some guy hovering by the base of her ladder. “I’m fine,” she yelled. “Step back.”

“Someone needs to hold the ladder,” the dark-haired man insisted.

“Not really.”

Charlie tucked Daytona securely under one arm and started her descent. She went quickly, aware that Daytona’s attention span was often shorter than the trip to safety. When he started squirming, they were both in danger of tumbling. This time she cut it a little too close.

Daytona pushed all four paws against her, then twisted in an attempt to climb down the rest of the way by himself. Charlie hung on. Not only didn’t she want to fall herself, there was no way she was going to face old lady Coverson with a less-than-perfect Daytona beside her.

“Stop it!” she told the cat.

“Need me to come up?” the guy asked.

Charlie briefly wondered how much trouble she would be in for kicking him with her steel-toed boots and if it would be worth it. Some of her best friends were civilians, but honest to God, there were people who totally lacked common sense.

“Stay back,” she yelled. “Step away from the ladder and don’t interfere.”

“I’m not interfering. I’m helping.”

Before Charlie could respond, several things happened at once. Daytona gave one final push for freedom. Charlie leaned over to make sure she kept a grip on the squirming cat. The ladder lurched, the idiot below started up and everyone had a moment to rediscover the power of gravity.

Daytona fared the best. He used his claws to dig in to the side of the tree, then scurry down. Charlie came in second. She was maybe six or seven feet from the ground. It came up fast, but instead of hitting the sidewalk or even the grass at the base of the tree, she slammed into the guy who’d been trying to “help.”

As she lay on top of the idiot and sucked in air, Charlie watched Daytona stroll over and give a last annoyed hiss. The cat stalked away, his tail high. Charlie rolled off the guy, aware that at five-ten and well-muscled, she weighed a whole lot more than was considered fashionable. No doubt he’d had the wind knocked out of him. With luck, only his pride was hurt and then she could lecture him on why it was never good to be stupid. At worst, she was about to have to call for an ambulance.

“You okay?” she asked, shifting into a kneeling position and glancing at the man for the first time. “Did you hit your head and—”

Crap and double crap. This wasn’t some random stupid person, she thought, taking in the perfectly shaped jaw, the firm full mouth and, when his lids slowly opened, the dark eyes fringed by long lashes. This was possibly the best-looking man on the planet.

Clay Stryker, model, movie butt double. His ass had been flashed in magazine ads, calendars and on the big screen. He had a killer body and his face was even better. He was the kind of man for whom, on the promise of a smile, the earth would change its rotation.

She’d met him a couple of times. At her friend Heidi’s recent wedding to Clay’s brother, for starters. Plus, Clay lived at the ranch where she boarded her horse. They’d nodded at each other over stalls and hay bales. But she’d never seen him up close before. Not in the flesh, at least. Had never been so near to a flawless human.

Reluctantly, she had to admit, it was a little unnerving.

One corner of that perfect mouth turned up. “Hey,” he said. “I saved you.”

Charlie snorted. “Not likely. Did you hit your head? Because if you did, I’m hoping it knocked some sense into you.”

The slight curve became a smile. “You’re welcome.” He sat up.

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. “Hold on there, hotshot. Are you injured? You were at the bottom of our pileup. Make sure nothing’s broken.”

“My ego’s a little bruised that you don’t appreciate what I did for you.”

“You knocked me off the ladder and nearly killed us both. No, you don’t get a cookie.” She stood, then held out her hand to help him up. “Can you stand?”

The smile turned into a grin. Damn, the man was pretty, she thought absently. Despite the fact that it had literally been a decade since she’d found any man attractive, there was something about his near godlike perfection that was appealing.

He ignored her hand and stood in one easy movement. “I’m good.”

“Charlie, are you all right?”

“Fine, Mrs. Coverson,” Charlie said, trying not to clench her teeth. Her dentist had warned her that she needed to stop grinding her jaw when she was annoyed. Which was much of the time.

Mrs. Coverson stood on the front porch, Daytona in her arms. Behind her, Michelle Banfield, who worked with Charlie, stood with a half-eaten brownie and a look of guilt in her eyes.

“I was coming back out to help,” Michelle mumbled. “Um, but there were these brownies.”

“That’s okay,” Clay told her. “I was here.”

It was all Charlie could do not to smack him upside the head.

“Here is the one place you shouldn’t be. It’s illegal to interfere with a firefighter at work. You do it again and I’ll have you arrested.”

Instead of being appropriately intimidated, Clay grinned. “You’re tough.”

“You have no idea.”

He stuck out his hand. “Glad I could help.”

“You didn’t—” She shook her head. “Whatever. Fine. Thank you. Now go away.”

She shook hands with him, conscious of his fingers engulfing hers. And he was taller, by at least four inches. Interesting facts, but of no earthly use.

First of all, she had yet to conquer her manphobia and if she decided she wanted to, it wouldn’t be with anyone like him. She would look for safe. Nice. Normal. Second, even if she was silly enough to be attracted to him, which she wasn’t, there was no way in a million billion years that a guy like him would be interested in a woman like her. Men like him fell for supermodels and...and...women like her mother. Well, back when her mother had been younger.

Charlie knew what she was. Strong and capable. She could wear the fifty pounds of gear her job required without breaking a sweat. She could haul hoses up ten stories of stairs, no problem. She was self-sufficient. She knew how to change a tire and fix a leaky faucet. She didn’t need a man. Except maybe for one teeny, tiny thing.

“Ah, Charlie?”

“What?” she snapped.

Clay glanced at their still-joined hands. “Did you want me to leave? Because if you do, I’m going to need that back.”

Damn. She released him instantly. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” He flashed a smile that would send a lesser woman to her knees. “I’ll see you at the ranch.”

The ranch, she thought blankly. Oh, right. He lived there; she boarded her horse there. They would run into each other. “Sure.”

He waved at the two women on the porch. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

They both nodded without speaking. As he strolled away, Charlie saw Michelle and Mrs. Coverson drop their gazes to his butt. Charlie allowed herself a quick look before heading toward the house and a freshly baked brownie.

Sugar was easy, she thought. Deliciousness followed by a blood-sugar spike. But men—not so much. And Clay was worse than most. Because for a split second, when he’d tossed her that last smile, she would have sworn she felt something deep down in her belly.

Not attraction. That was too strong a word. But a flicker. The faintest whisper. The good news was that part of her wasn’t as dead as she’d thought. The bad news was she’d discovered that fact by being in the presence of a butt model with the face of an angel. A man who could have any woman he wanted, simply by asking. Or maybe hinting.

His world was ruled by those who were flawless. She was broken. Maybe not where anyone could see and she’d sure learned how to fake normal. But she knew the truth.

Still, progress had been made. A flicker today, a tingle tomorrow. Give her a millennium or two and she might find her way to being just like everyone else.

* * *

CLAY SECURED THE large screen that was the focal point of his presentation. He’d worked hours on synthesizing the information down to a few easily understood graphs and charts. He had stacks of research to back up every number.

Now, in the living room of the old farmhouse where he’d spent the first few years of his life, he prepared to share his proposal with his two brothers and his mother.

Given the choice, he would prefer to face a thousand restless stockholders. Sure, family was supposed to be supportive, but Rafe and Shane were both successful businessmen. They wouldn’t be swayed by emotional connections. If anything, Rafe would be tougher on him.

Clay didn’t remember much about his father. The man had died before Clay had turned five. But Rafe, his oldest brother, had tried to step into the void their father’s death had left behind. He’d felt responsible for his siblings and had sacrificed for all of them. He’d wanted Clay to follow a more traditional path—college, then a safe, secure job. Having his baby brother run off to be a male model had grated on Rafe and he’d made it clear he thought Clay was wasting his life.

Now, over a decade later, Clay was ready to take his older brother’s advice and settle down. Only he wanted to start his own business, and it involved the whole family.

Clay hadn’t made this decision lightly. He’d spent over a year playing with different business ideas before settling on the one that made the most sense to him. He knew what he wanted—to be close to those he loved, to do something with his hands and to get involved with a community. This idea offered the opportunity for all three, and a healthy profit margin. He hadn’t seen a downside. Of course, if there was one, Rafe would be happy to point it out.

Rafe, Shane and their mother, May, walked into the living room. Clay had positioned the sofa in front of the screen. He pushed a couple of keys on the laptop keyboard to load the presentation.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the couch. When nerves threatened, he reminded himself he’d done his research and he had a damned good idea. If his brothers weren’t smart enough to see that, he would go somewhere else with it.

He pushed a key and the first slide flashed onto the screen. It showed a family on a picnic. “As our daily lives revolve more around technology, many people are looking for a way to reconnect with simpler pleasures. Over the past few years, there has been a growing trend in a new kind of vacation travel. ‘Haycations’ offer a way for families to spend time together in a comfortable environment, while rediscovering how life used to be. They work on a farm, get back to nature and unwind.”

He clicked the second slide, which showed a husband and wife riding a tractor. “The average family wants value for their money, comfortable accommodations and a place where parents and kids can explore without having to worry about deadlines, crime or the latest tragedy on the news.”

He went through several graphs showing how much families spent on vacation each year, then moved into the main part of the presentation. He proposed buying two hundred acres on the other side of the Castle Ranch. There he would grow hay and alfalfa for the horses and other animals on their ranch and Shane’s. In addition, he would grow organic fruits and vegetables. The operation would be overseen by a farm manager, with much of the labor being provided by the “Haycationers.”

Rafe was already building vacation homes, where the Haycationers could stay. There was plenty to do in town, when the visiting families wanted a taste of modern life. With horseback riding, a community pool and the perfect Fool’s Gold summers, they would become a destination vacation.

“There are the obvious advantages to the local economy,” he continued. “In addition, I’ve spoken with the middle- and high-school science teachers. They would all very much like to have small gardens for their students. It would give them a chance to have class projects involving agriculture.”

He finished with projections on costs and the income stream. He figured they would break even the second year and be profitable by the third.

When he was finished, he turned off the computer and faced his family. May, his mother, jumped to her feet and embraced him.

“That was wonderful,” she said. “I’m so proud. You did all that work. We should do it.” She turned to her other sons. “Don’t you boys agree?”

Shane and Rafe exchanged a look Clay couldn’t read. He kissed his mom on the cheek. “Thanks for the support.”

May sighed. “Yes, I know. I’m your mother. I love everything you do. All right. You boys work it out.” She turned to the older two. “No fighting.”

“Us?” Shane asked earnestly. “Mom, never.”

“Ha.”

She walked out of the living room. Clay settled in the chair by the screen and waited for his brothers to speak first.

Rafe nodded slowly. “Impressive. Who helped you put together the presentation?”

“I did it myself.”

Rafe’s eyebrows rose.

Clay relaxed into the chair, knowing he was going to enjoy this. “I have a degree in business with an emphasis on marketing. From New York University. I also completed an apprenticeship in farm management in Vermont a couple of years ago.” He shrugged. “There’s a lot of downtime in modeling. I didn’t waste mine.”

Diane, his late wife, had encouraged him to get his degree. The apprenticeship idea had come later, after she’d died. He’d needed to get away and hard physical labor had provided a way to heal.

Rafe blinked. “Seriously?” He turned to Shane. “Did you know about this?”

“Sure.”

Rafe returned his attention to Clay. “You didn’t want to tell me?”

“I tried a couple of times.”

Rafe shook his head. “Let me guess. I didn’t listen.”

Clay shrugged. “Growing a successful company takes a lot of time.”

He could have said more but in the past few months, Rafe had done some serious changing. The once-strident, meddling bottom-line-only mogul had become a person. Thanks to his new wife, Heidi. Love had a way of shifting a man’s priorities. Clay had learned that lesson a long time ago, and in the best way possible.

With Rafe, Shane and their mother all settling in Fool’s Gold, Clay had wanted to move close, as well. It was the perfect location for his Haycation. The strong sense of community was an added bonus. While his business was important to him, it wouldn’t take all his time. Leaving him with the opportunity to get involved with the town. He had a few ideas about that—one he would discuss with a certain firefighter the next time he saw her.

Rafe flipped through the hard copy of the presentation that Clay had printed out for both of them. “You have a lot of information here.”

“I did a lot of research.”

Shane looked over the crops list. “I like the idea of having a say in what’s grown.”

Shane bred and raised racehorses. After years of breeding Thoroughbreds, Shane had bought his first Arabian stallion.

“You think people on vacation will really do work?” Rafe asked.

“Who doesn’t want to ride a tractor?” Clay grinned. “If they don’t do enough, we can hire local teenagers and college students. There’s also a community of agricultural workers in the area. I spoke to them about hiring on if we need them.”

Shane looked at him. “Mom will come at you with a list of what she wants.”

May had been thrilled to be part owner of the ranch and she had immediately started collecting old and strange animals no one else bothered with. There were elderly sheep, a few llamas, and Priscilla, an aging Indian elephant.

“I’ve already done research on what Priscilla would most enjoy,” Clay said easily.

They talked numbers for a while longer, with Rafe digging into the details on what the vacation bungalows would rent for and what it would cost for the extras, like a swimming pool. They debated providing lunch as part of the deal—barbecued hamburgers and hot dogs or sandwiches. Finally Rafe rose.

“You did good, kid,” he told Clay. “I think we should go for it.”

Clay stood. Satisfaction and victory had been a long time coming. There was hard work ahead, but he was looking forward to all the sweat required.

“I’m in,” Shane said, joining them.

The three brothers shook hands.

“Everybody comfortable with Dante drawing up the paperwork?” Rafe asked. Dante was his business partner and a lawyer.

Clay put his hand on his oldest brother’s shoulder. “No problem. As long as you don’t mind me having my lawyer review every word.”

“You don’t trust me?” Rafe asked with a grin.

“Sure, but my mama didn’t raise no fool.”

CHAPTER TWO

CHARLIE CHECKED THE saddle one last time, then patted Mason’s side. “Ready?” she asked her horse.

He snorted, which she took to mean yes, then led him out of the barn.

The morning still had a touch of coolness, although it would climb to nearly ninety later in the afternoon. The sky was blue and she was going on a ride. It was already shaping up to be a good day in a pretty good life. She had a job she liked, friends she could depend on and a place where she belonged.

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement and turned. Clay Stryker strolled toward her.

“Heading out?” he asked with an easy smile. “Want company?”

The word that came to mind was no. She didn’t want company. She wanted to ride alone because she preferred it that way. But he was new in town and what with one of her best friends marrying one of his brothers, not to mention her other best friend getting engaged to another Stryker brother, she was going to be seeing a lot of him. It was simply the nature of living in Fool’s Gold.

She eyed his body-hugging jeans and idly wondered if they cost less or more than her monthly house payment. “You know how to ride?”

The smile turned into a grin. The flash of amusement in his dark eyes gave her the answer before he spoke. “I think I can figure out how to hang on. Give me five minutes.”

He turned toward the barn. She found herself staring at his butt, which was as spectacular as it had been the last time she’d seen him. Being physically perfect must be interesting, she thought, leaning against Mason and scratching behind his ears. Clay managed to get her attention, which was something of a trick. Maybe if she spent the afternoon with him, she would feel that flicker again. As her goal was to solve her “man” problem, having a source for flickers and maybe even tingles was a good thing. If he could get her fired up for normal guys, all the better. She would be healed and able to get on with her life.

He returned within the five minutes, a saddled horse walking behind him. She took in the long legs and perfect face. He sure was easy on the eyes.

“I recognize speculation in that look,” he said as he approached. “Should I be worried?”

“Not about me.”

She stuck her foot in the stirrup and swung up and over, landing lightly in the saddle. Clay slipped on sunglasses, then did the same. His graceful movements told her this wasn’t his first rodeo.

“Nice day,” he said as the horses fell into step with each other.

She settled her hat more firmly on her head. “You’re not going to talk the whole time, are you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes.”

“You say what you think.”

“Not as often as I should. Like the other day. You weren’t helping.”

“I broke your fall.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t gotten in my way in the first place.”

“You’re welcome.”

She held in a groan. It had been three minutes and the man was already making her crazy. She told herself to ignore him and instead focus on the beauty around her. The Castle Ranch was west of town and south of the new casino–hotel being built. Maybe a thousand undeveloped acres with plenty of trees and shrubs. Years ago, old man Castle had run cattle on the land, but when he’d died, the place had been abandoned.

She and Mason had a route they usually followed. It skirted the fence line and took them past the property Clay’s brother Shane had bought for the racehorses he bred, around the back of the ranch and down by the main road.

As soon as they cleared the corrals, Mason picked up the pace. She touched him lightly with her heels and he started to trot. They moved together, familiar with each other’s expectations. He broke into a canter and then galloped full out for a quarter mile or so. She let him set the pace, waiting until he eased back into a steady walk.

Clay had kept up through it all and now moved his horse next to hers. “You two have been doing this for a while.”

“We have an understanding.” She took in his comfortable seat and the way he held the reins. “You’ve obviously spent some serious time on a horse. Be careful. Shane will put you to work exercising his.”

“There are worse ways to spend a day.” He turned his attention to the horizon. “I grew up here. We moved when I was still a kid, but I remember liking everything about this place.”

Charlie knew the story of the Stryker family. May, Clay’s mother, had worked as old man Castle’s housekeeper. The miserly bastard had paid her practically nothing, all the while promising he would leave her the ranch when he died. When he finally passed, May had discovered the ranch had gone to relatives back East. She’d taken her children and left.

A few months ago, unusual circumstances had brought May and her oldest son, Rafe, back to the ranch.

“Are those memories why you’re here now?” she asked.

“Some. I wanted to be close to family.” He glanced at her. “I’m starting a business. Haycations.”

She’d heard the term. “Families spend a week on a working farm. Living like it was 1899.”

He grinned. “I plan to offer indoor plumbing and internet access.”

“That will make their kids love you.” She thought about the vacation rentals Rafe was building and the riding horses Shane had recently bought. “Fool’s Gold is a tourist destination as it is. This is going to bring even more visitors. That will make you a popular guy with the city council.”

“I hope so. I meet with them Friday.”

“Haycations aren’t an intuitive leap for a male model.”

He shrugged. “I had to do something with my life. I’m thirty. Being a butt double is a young man’s game.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “I honest to God don’t know what to say to that.”

Clay chuckled. “Trust me. No one wants to see some old guy in his underwear.”

Charlie was sure that was true, but Clay was light-years from anyone calling him “an old guy.”

“You’re quitting before they ask you to leave?” she asked.

“Something like that.” He pointed to the stream that cut through the north end of the property. “Want to have a seat?”

“Sure.” She drew Mason to a stop, then slid to the ground.

They left the horses in the shade and walked to the bank of the stream. She was aware of Clay beside her. Taller, which was nice. Broader through the shoulders. They settled on the grass, next to each other, but not too close. He pulled a pack of gum out of his shirt pocket and offered her a piece.

She took it and slowly unfastened the wrapper. “You lived in New York before?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fool’s Gold is going to be an adjustment.”

“I’m ready for the change.”

She glanced at his profile. He looked a lot like his brothers, but with the added patina of perfection. She knew almost nothing about his personal life, but would guess he didn’t lack for female attention. Too pretty for her tastes, she thought absently, sticking the gum in her mouth. A man that flawless would scare the hell out of her.

To be honest, nearly any man would scare the hell out of her if she thought he was interested in sex, but no one had to know that. Still, she was determined to conquer her lone, lingering weakness. Just as soon as she found the right guy.

“How long have you been a firefighter?” he asked.

“Nearly nine years.”

“All of them here?”

“No. I started out in Portland.” She smiled. “Oregon, not Maine. Stayed there about three years. I was on vacation when I found Fool’s Gold. I went by one of the stations while I was here and introduced myself. Three days later, they made me an offer.”

“The town seems to have more female firefighters than most places.”

“The town has more women in traditional male jobs than most places,” she said. “Until recently, there was something of a man shortage.”

The slow, sexy grin returned. “I hadn’t heard.”

“Yes, you had and I doubt you care.”

He leaned back on his elbows. “You’re assuming I always get the girl.”

“Don’t bother trying to convince me I’m wrong.”

“I wouldn’t try to convince you of anything.”

“How did you become a model?”

He moved his sunglasses up on top of his head. His dark gaze looked past her to the horizon. “I was discovered at a mall.” He glanced at her. “Swear to God.”

“I thought that only happened in the movies.”

“Me, too. There was a fashion show. I went because hey, pretty girls parading around in what I’d hoped were short dresses. One of the male models hadn’t shown up. They were frantic. I was his size. They shoved me in his clothes and told me to walk. I did. After the show, an agent came up to me and talked to me about becoming a model. I moved to New York a week later.”

“Lucky break.”

“That’s what I thought. I’d just graduated from high school and didn’t have any idea what I wanted to be or do. I started working right away. Within a few months, I had landed a couple of campaigns.”

Ah, a man with a charmed life. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. “Fame and fortune followed?”

“I’m not so sure about the fame, but, yes, I did well. During an underwear shoot, there are a lot of changes. No one bothers going behind a curtain. Somebody saw my ass. A few days later my agent got a call asking if I wanted to be a butt double in a movie. At the time it was a little embarrassing, but they were willing to pay, so I said yes.”

“Is it true you had your butt insured?”

He chuckled. “Not anymore, but, yes, I had insurance on several parts of my body. Along with limitations. No sports that can disfigure. I had to maintain a certain weight and build, no tan lines. No tattoos.”

A lifestyle she couldn’t imagine. “What happens now? You gain fifty pounds and get ‘Mom’ tattooed on your butt?”

“I doubt I’ll do either. I’m ready to settle down.”

“Won’t you miss the groupies or whatever they’re called?”

“Nope. I gave them up years ago.”

“After the first couple of hundred, it gets boring?”

“Something like that.”

Casual sex. She’d heard about it, of course. Didn’t understand it, which was part of the problem.

“I’m not sure you’re going to be comfortable here,” she said. “We’re pretty traditional. Family friendly, lots of festivals.”

“I like festivals. Besides, I’ve seen the rest of the world already. This is what I want.”

He looked at her as he spoke. There was an intensity to his voice and his gaze. For a second, she felt that tingle again. An awareness of his long legs and the muscles in his chest and arms.

She reminded herself that being attracted to Clay hardly made her a special snowflake. She would be one of a million and expected to take a number.

“Good luck with settling in,” she said and rose. “I need to get back.”

She walked toward Mason.

“Charlie?”

She turned back to Clay and waited.

“I want to talk to you about the volunteer firefighters. I hear there’s a class starting soon.”

He stood there, bathed in sunlight. The pose was powerful, his body well-defined. He looked like a model in a shoot. Probably not a stretch for him. He’d spent the past decade looking good. No doubt his idea of a hard day was having to get spray-on tan and a haircut. Pretty but useless, she thought.

“I don’t think so,” she told him. “It’s a rigorous process.”

One eyebrow rose. “You’re saying I can’t handle it?”

“I’m saying no.”

The humor faded and his expression became unreadable. “We don’t want your kind?”

“Something like that.”

She didn’t want to be rude to her best friend’s brother-in-law, but this was different. Life-and-death different. Charlie took firefighting very seriously—mostly because if she didn’t, someone would end up dead. If Clay couldn’t handle that, well, that wasn’t her problem.

She swung into the saddle and rode away.

* * *

THE FOOL’S GOLD firefighters worked a nine-day cycle. In that period of time, they worked three twenty-four hour shifts. She did her cardio in the exercise room at the station, but she preferred the gym for strength training. Nearly every morning she was off, she started her day with a grueling workout.

By eight, the business people were long gone and the moms had yet to arrive. There was a lull and she enjoyed the quiet. She left the weight machines for others, preferring to use free weights. Her goal was always to challenge herself, to stay strong. Not just for her job, but for herself. Being strong meant being safe. Dependence was weakness, she reminded herself as she used a towel to wipe sweat from her face.

But today she wasn’t able to find her usual centered place. Her movements were off, her concentration shot. She knew the cause, too. Clay.

She’d been mean the other day, dismissing him the way she had. She wasn’t usually like that and couldn’t help wondering if her reaction had something to do with her awareness of him. Being attracted to a man frightened her and when she got scared, she got defensive. Maybe not her best quality, but one she couldn’t shake.

The crazy part was she knew she had to deal with her problem so she could move on emotionally. So feeling something close to sexual attraction should be a good thing. But her intellect was unable to convince her gut that all was well.

Knowing she had to figure out a way to have sex with a man was one thing. Actually doing it was going to be another. Gritting her teeth and thinking of England had been her original plan. Based on how she’d snapped at Clay, she might need to rethink her strategy.

She glanced toward the punching bag in the corner and wondered if she should try to take out her indecision on something less human. Before she could decide, the man in question walked into her gym and threatened to ruin her entire day.

She felt the subtle ripple go through the building before she saw Clay. A group of women leaving the aerobics room stopped as one and turned to watch him. He walked by the free-weight alcove on his way to the cardio equipment and everyone else in the gym turned to watch. Charlie found herself just as mesmerized by the long, muscled legs and strong arms.

He wore exactly what every other guy wore. Shorts and an old T-shirt. Yet he stood out. Maybe it was the way he walked or the power in his shoulders. Maybe it was that indefinable something that had made him so successful. Whatever, she would swear she heard every woman within two hundred feet sigh.

Clay walked to one of the treadmills. He put in earbuds and flicked on his iPod, then started the machine. Within a minute, he was jogging. Five minutes later, he set a pace that would have challenged her on her best day.

Charlie returned to the rest of her workout. As she finished up with triceps work, she was aware of him just out of view. The loud music in the gym meant she couldn’t hear the pounding of his feet on the treadmill, but she imagined the steady beat and felt herself drawn to both it and the man.

She set the weight back on the rack and faced the truth. When it came to Clay, she’d made assumptions. People had done that to her all her life. They’d taken one look at her too-tall self, at her big feet and strength and thought they knew who she was. Especially after the rape.

She’d always prided herself on being better than that, on getting to know a person, but somehow she’d forgotten. Or she’d been blinded by his appearance. Presumed he couldn’t do the hard work of becoming a firefighter because of what he was rather than who. In her world, those were fighting words.

Aware that there was only one solution, she wiped her face again and walked toward the treadmills. She circled around so she came at Clay straight on, her gaze meeting his.

He didn’t look away. He also didn’t smile. He kept running, his long legs moving with practiced ease, chewing up the miles. When she stopped in front of the machine, he straddled it and hit the stop button. Then he pulled free the earbuds and waited.

She cleared her throat. “I was, ah, thinking. About what you said before.”

His dark eyes were like his brothers’ but without the friendly welcome she usually got from Rafe or Shane. Guilt made her shift in place.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear? I judged you unfairly. I don’t usually but you’re not like other people.”

“Is that your idea of an apology?”

“Yes, and you should accept it because it doesn’t happen often.”

“I can tell. You need practice.”

“Bite me,” she growled, then winced when she realized he might take that wrong. “We are starting a class for volunteers,” she added quickly, before he could speak. “It will cover CPAT preparedness. Oh, CPAT stands for—”

“Candidate Physical Ability Test. I’ve done my research.”

“Good. Then you know you’ll need to pass it before you can start training. I run the classes.”

“Lucky me.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not but decided not to ask. “If you’re interested in applying, you should. I’ll tell you that the volunteers are well prepared and we have high expectations. If you’re willing to do the work and be dedicated, then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Do I get a break because you owe me?”

“No. I don’t owe you and no one gets a break.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Just checking.”

“I can’t be bought.”

“Neither can I.”

She huffed out a breath. “The applications are online. The class starts next week.”

“Think you’ll enjoy kicking my ass?”

She grinned. “Oh, yeah. I run a tough class. But over ninety percent of the candidates who complete my training pass the test.” Her smile faded. “People probably assume a lot of things about you, don’t they?”

“All the time.”

“I’ll do my best not to let it happen again.”

“Taking me on as a project?”

“Hardly.” He wouldn’t need her help for anything. “I believe in being fair. Plus, I don’t like it when people judge me. Like I said, you’re welcome to apply.”

“Thanks,” he said and smiled.

The flash of thousand-watt attention caused a distinct clenching low in her belly. She mumbled something that she hoped sounded like “Goodbye” and made her escape.

Once safely in the women’s locker room, she sank onto a bench and held her head in her hands. Even she knew that a clench was much, much worse than a flicker. She could only hope that Clay was a busy guy and totally forgot about applying. Otherwise, she was going to have to face him twice a week for the next eight weeks.

And not just in a “Hi, how are you” kind of way. They would be spending serious time together, working out together. There might even be touching.

Aware that anyone could walk into the locker room at any second, she refrained from banging her head against the wall, even though it seemed like the best plan on the table. Attracted to Clay? Talk about a stupid move.

She straightened and squared her shoulders. No, she told herself. Being attracted to Clay wasn’t a problem. The clench was a sign that she should get started on finding the man who would take her all the way to normal. Or at least seminormal. She would take a lover, do the deed, then get on with the rest of her life. Easy.

When she got home, she would start a list of potential instructional partners, then figure out how to tell some guy that she would very much appreciate it if he would teach her the finer points of the whole sex thing. Oh, and on her way to her place, she should probably stop by the liquor store because that conversation was going to require her to be more than a little drunk.

* * *

CLAY HAD PREPARED for his presentation to the city council. He’d never had to deal with a local government before, but his Haycation idea was going to change that. He wanted the business to be welcome and would use his time to show how tourists would bring plenty of dollars to the area. In return he was hoping for a few minor zoning changes and a little less trouble over permits.

Rafe had told him that Fool’s Gold was business friendly, with Mayor Marsha Tilson taking a personal interest in what was happening in her town. Still, Clay wanted to be prepared. He was the new guy and more than willing to work harder than established businesses. It would be worth it. By this time next year, his Haycations would be going strong.

After setting up his laptop, he tested the spreadsheet program on the large screen in the room. Then he waited for the meeting to start.

By five to eleven, the seats around the long conference table were filled. Charlie had mentioned that women filled most of the jobs traditionally held by men and he saw that was true in city government, as well. Not one city council member was a man. The women who had filed into the room ranged from their early thirties to those “of a certain age.” The mayor had to be close to seventy.

Clay sat in the back of the room. The mayor’s assistant had told him that while he was the star of the morning, the council would need to do a little business first. In a town as dynamic as Fool’s Gold, there was always something going on.

As he glanced around, he found himself thinking it would be nice if Charlie were here. She’d surprised the hell out of him the other day, when she’d admitted she was wrong and apologized. He grinned as he remembered her practically biting the words as she said them. She was tough, both physically and mentally. And fair. Qualities he could admire. He found himself thinking she would have liked Diane, which was surprising. On a physical plane, they were nothing alike. Yet inside, where it mattered, they had the same strength of character.

The mayor called the meeting to order.

“While we’re all here to listen to Clay Stryker’s presentation, first we have an issue with parking behind the library.”

Mayor Marsha picked up a sheet of paper and slipped on reading glasses. She wore her white hair in an upswept kind of bun. Despite the fact that much of the town subscribed to what Clay’s fashion friends would call “California casual,” she dressed in a tailored suit.

“As most of you know, there is a lower parking lot. It’s used for overflow parking and backs up on several warehouses,” the mayor began. “A few years ago we decided to plant trees to provide a visual separation from the more industrial area.” She paused.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” one of the older ladies announced. “You should know that, Marsha. We put in trees to make it pretty and now they’re being used against us.”

The mayor sighed. “While I don’t agree with your theory about good deeds, Gladys, we seem to have inadvertently created something of a problem. The trees have given the parking lot a somewhat secluded feel. Local teenagers have decided to use the lower parking lot as a—” she paused and coughed delicately “—make-out spot.”

An old lady in a bright yellow tracksuit leaned toward Gladys. “Think we could go there and get lucky?”

Mayor Marsha looked at the two women. “Eddie, if you interrupt, I won’t let you sit next to Gladys anymore. I don’t want to have to separate the two of you, but I will.”

Eddie straightened and muttered something Clay couldn’t hear.

“I’ve spoken with Chief Barns,” Mayor Marsha continued. “She’s going to make sure the evening patrols get down there more regularly. That should help.”

“They have to do the wild thing somewhere,” Gladys announced. “Give ’em a break.”

Clay felt his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile. He’d always assumed watching government at work would be boring, but he was wrong. This was fun.

“Call me old-fashioned,” Marsha told her, “but I would prefer to make things a little more difficult for them.”

“Winter will help,” another council member said. “As soon as it gets cold, they won’t be able to stay in their cars for too long.”

“Lucky us,” the mayor murmured.

“Play music.” Eddie shrugged. “I read online somewhere that teenagers can be driven off by playing certain kinds of music. The library has an outside sound system. We could turn on the speakers at the back of the building and use them to play music kids can’t stand.”

“Disco, perhaps?” Mayor Marsha said with a slight smile.

There was more discussion about the kind of music that turned off teenagers. Eddie volunteered to find the article and report back directly to the mayor.

Mayor Marsha glanced back at her sheet. “Under old business, we still have the issue of Ford Hendrix.” She stared at them over her glasses. “I don’t have to remind you that this is a sensitive topic, not to be discussed outside of this room.”

Gladys shook her finger at Clay. “That goes double for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The name was familiar. There had been several Hendrix brothers back when he’d been a kid, he thought. Sisters, too, but when he’d been five or six, girls had been less interesting to him.

“Ford has been gone nearly a decade,” the mayor continued. “From what I’ve learned, his latest tour of duty ends next year. It’s time for him to come home.”

“I’m not sure we should get involved in this,” one of the younger women said. “Isn’t Ford’s decision to reenlist or not up to him and maybe his family?”

Eddie sniffed. “You young people spend a lot of time with your heads up your asses, if you ask me.”

Mayor Marsha’s expression turned pained. “I don’t believe anyone did ask you.” She turned to the younger woman. “Charity, you’re right. It’s not our place to meddle. Normally I wouldn’t, but Ford needs to come back to where people love him. Being in Special Forces takes a toll on a man. He needs to heal. And Fool’s Gold is the best place for that.”

There was a brief discussion on how to get the mysterious Ford back in the fold, so to speak. At the end of that conversation, the mayor invited Clay to make his presentation.

“Good morning,” he said as he walked to the front of the room. “Thanks for inviting me to speak.”

“We enjoy looking at an attractive man,” Eddie told him with a grin. “We’re shallow that way.”

The mayor sighed, but Gladys gave her a high five. Those two must have been hell on wheels when they were younger, he thought.

He passed out the printed version of his business plan and then connected his laptop to the cord for the screen.

He clicked on the first slide and began to talk about Haycations. He showed pictures of the land he’d bought, a diagram of what would be planted where and a few stock photos of people driving tractors for general interest. He outlined the number of families he hoped to attract, extrapolating about how much they would bring to the local economy. He had a rough idea of what kind of advertising he would do, along with about how many local people he would be employing.

Twenty minutes later, he finished with a request for the three small zoning permits.

“Impressive,” Mayor Marsha told him. She smiled warmly. “We all appreciate how you’ve taken the town’s needs into account as you’ve written your business plan. I believe there are several local business owners who would like to hear about this. They might have some helpful ideas for you.”

“That would be great.”

“You’ll be settling here permanently?” she asked, her blue gaze steady.

“That’s the plan.”

“We’re not exactly New York.”

Something Charlie had mentioned. “I’m ready for a change.”

“You know,” Gladys said, her wrinkled face bright with amusement, “if you really want to help the town, I know a way.”

“Don’t,” Mayor Marsha said, her tone warning.

Gladys ignored her. “You could loan your butt to a campaign we’re planning.”

“Stop it right now,” the mayor said forcefully. “That’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

“He’s got a famous butt. I’ve seen it in the movies. We all have. Work with your strengths, I say.”

Clay was used to faking any expression a client wanted. It was why he’d become so successful. Now he made sure he looked amused rather than angry and uncomfortable.

Gladys slapped a tabloid magazine on the table. The headline was clearly visible. Famous Model Insures Butt for Five Million Dollars.

“Why waste money on something like a Haycation when you only have to flash the real deal to make a mint?” she asked.

The mayor winced. “Clay, I’m so sorry. There was some discussion about asking you to be in our campaign.” She glared at Gladys. “We were going to use your face, however.”

“A waste of resources if you ask me,” Gladys mumbled. “Everybody would rather see his ass.”

CHAPTER THREE

CLAY TOSSED HIS computer case into the passenger seat of the truck, then started the engine. But instead of driving away, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and told himself not to take it personally. He’d been a model for a lot of years. He understood being talked about like an object rather than a person. He’d had his appearance dissected a thousand times before. He’d been told he was too tall, too short, too big, too small, too young, too old, too handsome, not handsome enough. When a client wanted a “look,” he either had it or he didn’t.

He’d made millions, he’d gotten an education, he’d invested well and he’d moved on. Now he was ready for act two. The problem seemed to be escaping what he’d been in act one. He hadn’t expected to be blindsided by a bunch of old ladies.

“Hell,” he grumbled under his breath, not sure what to do with the frustration boiling inside of him. He didn’t want to go back to the ranch. Putting his fist through a wall would create other problems. Finally he put the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot.

Five minutes later he pulled into Fool’s Gold Fire Station number one. He could see into the engine bay. The aid car and engine were gone, out on a call. As he watched the Quint—an all-purpose vehicle with a pump, a water tank and various ladders—started up. Seconds later, it pulled out, sirens blaring.

Clay followed, staying back far enough not to get in the way. He stopped at a light and watched the Quint turn into what he remembered as one of the older residential areas. When the signal turned green, he went north, and then east. Two blocks later, he could see smoke rising. As he approached the scene, he pulled over and parked.

A crowd had already collected. Clay joined them, watching several firefighters finishing up what looked like a garage fire. Hoses lay across the driveway. White smoke and steam escaped through the open garage door.

He studied the various firefighters. They wore turnout pants and jackets, and helmets. He was able to pick out Charlie right away. She was one of the tallest firefighters, but he also recognized her confident stride and the way she took charge.

On the other side of the driveway, a mother stood with two boys. They were watching anxiously and Clay figured they owned the house. He wondered if one of the kids had started the fire. If so, someone was going to be in big trouble.

Charlie and her captain approached the family. The woman listened intently. Suddenly her body relaxed and she smiled, nodding. Good news, he thought. A sedan pulled up at the curb and a man jumped out. He rushed to the woman and kids and drew them against him.

The cleanup went faster than he would have expected. Hoses were rolled and stowed, equipment picked up. Charlie continued to talk to the family. Finally she shook hands with everyone, had a word with one of the kids and started toward the engine.

Clay stayed back with the dwindling crowd as he considered what he’d seen. The idea of doing this—helping where it was really needed—appealed to him. He wanted to come in, make a difference, then disappear. Let the folks get on with their lives and forget he was ever there. He wasn’t interested in being a hero. He wanted to get the job done.

Charlie and her captain walked toward the engine. The captain spotted him, said something to Charlie, then approached.

“You must be Clay Stryker,” she said, holding out her right hand. She held her red helmet in her left. “I’m Olivia Fargo. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They shook hands.

Olivia was probably pushing forty, with short red hair and blue eyes. She was tall, nearly as tall as Charlie, and had a no-nonsense air about her.

“I hear you’re thinking about becoming a volunteer firefighter,” Olivia said.

“I’m going to be putting in my application later today.”

“There’s a class starting soon.”

“I heard.”

She looked him over. “It’s a lot of work. You might find the training too time consuming.”

“I’m committed to doing what it takes.”

“You really want to help out?” she asked.

He had a feeling he didn’t like where the conversation was going to go, but nodded anyway.

“We’re always short on money,” she said. “We do a big fund-raiser for new equipment. The extras the town can’t afford to provide.” Olivia smiled. “We were thinking of a calendar this year. You could be in it. That would help a whole lot more. A lot of people can volunteer. Not that many have your...” She paused. “Natural talents.”

* * *

CHARLIE STOOD BY the engine, waiting on Olivia. She could hear everything being said. Nothing about Clay’s expression changed, but she would swear he wasn’t happy. Not about Olivia’s comments or the request he do the calendar. From their brief conversation the other day, she knew he was ready to put his old life behind him...so to speak. But there was a long road from being a model to wanting to put his life, and perfect ass, on the line fighting fires. Why would a guy like him want to take the risk?

There was only one way to find out, she reminded herself. That was to ask the question.

She walked over to the two of them. Olivia glanced at her. “I was telling Clay about the calendar. I don’t think he’s convinced.”

Clay’s dark eyes gave nothing away, but she felt the tension in his body.

Olivia pointed at the Quint. “You left a nozzle,” she said. She turned back to Charlie. “Give me five?”

“Sure.” Charlie waited until she was out of earshot. “I take it the calendar isn’t your dream job.”

“Not exactly.”

“I’m covering a partial shift for a friend until noon.” She glanced at her watch. It was twelve-thirty. “Once we get back to the station, I need to take a quick shower. I’ll meet you at the Fox and Hound in an hour and you can tell me all about it.”

* * *

CHARLIE LIKED TO go to Jo’s Bar for lunch. They cooked her burgers the way she liked and the place catered to women without being too girlie. But she knew that showing up with Clay would lead to more questions than she wanted to answer. Which made the Fox and Hound more neutral ground and therefore safer for her.

She arrived right on time and stepped into the cool interior. It was late enough that there was only one person waiting.

Clay stood when he saw her, uncoiling his long, honed body. He wore gray trousers and a button-down shirt. Sex god does business, she thought, aware that after her shower, her total nod to fussing with her appearance had been to make sure her T-shirt was clean. At least she had on jeans instead of her usual baggy cargo pants. In honor of Heidi’s recent wedding, she’d gotten a pedicure. She couldn’t remember ever wearing polish before, but kind of liked the way the deep pink color looked. Yesterday she’d scrounged up a pair of sandals to show off her toes. She’d worn them to the station at the start of her shift, which meant she was wearing them now.

As testament to how screwed up she was when it came to men, she was actually torn between being pleased she at least had a decent pedicure to show off and being afraid Clay would think she was trying. Most likely the best solution would be years and years of therapy. However, she had neither the patience nor the bank account for that path. She would have to find another way to flirt with normal. A quest for after lunch, she told herself. She always problem solved better on a full stomach.

The hostess could barely keep her mouth from hanging open as she gazed at Clay. The college-aged woman batted her eyes at a rate that made Charlie wonder if she would need medical attention later for a muscle strain.

“Table for two?” the hostess asked breathlessly, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder.

“Please,” Clay said, then stepped back to let Charlie go first.

The polite gesture caught her off guard. Even more unsettling was the hand he put on the small of her back, as if helping guide her to the booth along the side of the restaurant.

She was aware of the touch, of his palm and every finger. Not in a oh-let’s-have-sex kind of way. But just because she honest to God couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her like that. Or, excluding shaking hands, anywhere.

They slid onto the seats and settled across from each other. The hostess leaned toward Clay, offering a flash from her low-cut blouse. She smiled.

“I could give you my number,” she whispered, although the words were still loud enough for Charlie to hear.

Clay didn’t even look at her. “Thanks, but, no.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

He picked up the menu, then put it down. “I thought I would be someone else when I got here,” he said when the hostess had given him one last lingering look before flouncing off.

Charlie leaned toward him. “What are we talking about?”

“Sorry. I was thinking about the captain inviting me to be in a calendar to raise money.”

“Not the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The hostess who practically stripped in front of you ten seconds ago?”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I didn’t notice.”

“She offered you her number.”

He shrugged.

The gesture was so casual, so dismissive, Charlie had to believe Clay honestly hadn’t been paying attention. Because it happened so much, she thought.

“Phone numbers are the new rose petals,” she said absently, picking up the menu and wondering if she should order the London chicken wrap or try something new.

“Phone numbers are what?”

She put down the menu and grinned. “Sorry. I was thinking out loud. Rose petals. You know, like in Roman times. Throwing petals before the emperor. Now you get phone numbers thrown at you. All Hail Caesar. Or Clay.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly the same ring to it. You might want to change your name to fit in a classic ‘all hail’ better.”

“I’ll suffer with people stumbling through it,” Clay muttered. “What’s good here?”

“Everything,” Wilma said. She’d appeared at the side of their table. Wilma was at least sixty, was a champion gum snapper and had worked at every incarnation of the restaurant since it had first opened its door decades ago. Now she stared at Clay, her penciled brows raised.

“So you’re the pretty one everyone’s been telling me about. Nice. I saw your ass in that movie a while back.” She looked at Charlie. “You with him?”

Charlie did her best not to flush or choke. “We’re friends.”

“Too bad. You make a cute couple. Not as cute as me and my Frank, but that’s a high bar.” Her friendly gaze sharpened. “You eat, right?” The question was addressed to Clay. “If you’re not going to eat, then don’t order.”

Charlie opened her mouth, then closed it. Apparently, Jo’s Bar would have been a safer choice.

Wilma turned back to Charlie. “Diet Coke?”

Charlie nodded.

Wilma faced Clay. “And you?”

“Iced tea.”

She scribbled on her pad. “Charlie usually gets the London chicken wrap. It’s more a Baja wrap but what with this place being called The Fox and Hound, that would look stupid on the menu. It’s good. Get that.”

Clay handed her the menu.

“Fries?” Wilma asked no one in particular.

“Yes,” Charlie told her, passing over her menu, as well.

The older woman patted Clay on the shoulder. “You’ll never be as good as my Frank, but you’re not half-bad, kid.” With that, she walked away.

“Sorry,” Charlie said when they were alone. “I’d forgotten how Wilma could be.”

“Bossy and outspoken?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

Clay surprised her by smiling. “I like her. She seems like she suffers no fool.”

“She’s an institution. This restaurant has gone through several changes and Wilma has been here for every one of them. She’s one of the first people I met when I moved to town.”

Wilma returned with their drinks, slapped them down on the table, then left.

Charlie pulled the paper off her straw. “You’re not happy about the calendar thing,” she began.

“No, but it’s how my day has been going. I met with the city council this morning. I told them all about my Haycation idea.”

“They must have been happy. It’s going to bring in money. Every town wants more of that.”

“The mayor seemed interested. Some of the others were more intrigued by the idea of me being in an advertising campaign for the town. Starring my ass.”

Charlie winced. “That sounds like Gladys.”

“Are she and Wilma sisters?”

“No, but they share some personality traits. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I expected this to happen in New York. Given what I do, it was inevitable. I thought it would be different here.”

Charlie studied him. “I guess I’m like everyone else. I would have assumed your life is perfect.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Right. Shut up, cash the check and be grateful. I’ve heard that before.” He leaned back in the booth. “Whatever. I can do the calendar.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m trying to fit in. I want to be a part of what’s going on in town. Get accepted into the volunteer program. Saying no isn’t going to help.”

“I agree, but the ultimate end is to have a successful fund-raiser. It’s not to make you uncomfortable. Don’t you have model friends? Couldn’t you get a couple of them to be in the calendar?”

He stared at her. She had to admit that all that intensity was a little unnerving. That stomach-clenching thing returned and with it the smallest hint of pressure between her thighs.

She shifted on her seat.

Uncomfortable with the silence and her physical reaction to Clay, she found herself entering dangerous territory. That of speaking without thinking.

“The thing is,” she told him, “if you want people to take you seriously, you have to take yourself seriously first. Agreeing to do the calendar yourself reinforces the stereotype. You’re more than what they think you are. It’s a cliché but you’re going to have to work harder to prove yourself. It’s a very strange kind of discrimination.”

One she’d seen with her mother. People reacted to Dominique first because of how she looked and later because of who she was. Charlie had also seen the dark side of being judged on physical appearance. Most strangers staring at her with a “Really? You’re her daughter?” look in their eyes.

Clay leaned back in the booth and swore softly. “You’re right.”

She blinked. “I am?”

“Yes. About all of it. I’ve had a manager taking care of the crap in my life for the past ten years. I’ve gotten lazy about taking responsibility for what I’m doing. Thank you for being honest.”

“It’s what I do best. Say what’s on my mind. Give me thirty years and I’ll turn into Wilma.”

He gave her a slow, sexy smile. One that nearly turned her tummy upside down. “There are worse fates.”

She grabbed her drink and gulped down some soda.

He leaned toward her again. “I’m going to call some guys I know about the calendar. I don’t know how to fix things with the city council, but I can solve that problem, too.”

“You might wait a little on the town issue. Mayor Marsha has a way of smoothing things out. I’m sure she’s pleased by your Haycation idea.”

He was staring at her again. As they hadn’t eaten yet, she was fairly confident she didn’t have anything in her teeth.

“What?” she asked after a couple of seconds.

“I just keep thinking that somebody I knew would have liked you.” His expression turned serious. Almost sad.

Charlie felt the stomach clench again, but this time for a totally different reason. “Your girlfriend?” The one he’d left behind in New York and missed desperately?

“My late wife.”

“You were married?”

The words burst out before she could stop them.

“Not a tabloid reader, huh?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so shocked. You just don’t seem like the marrying kind.”

She groaned and slapped her hand across her mouth.

He stretched out his arm and pulled her hand away. “It’s okay. You can say what you think. I won’t be offended.”

Wilma appeared with lunch. Charlie grabbed a French fry, thinking that maybe her blurting problem was because of low blood sugar. Perhaps in addition to food, the best solution would be not talking so much.

“Tell me about her,” she said, then reached for the first half of her wrap.

He picked up a French fry, then put it down. She could practically see the tension leaving his body as he relaxed. Something she wanted to call contentment softened the sadness in his eyes.

“She was brilliant and funny,” he began. “A photographer.” The smile returned. “She hated models, especially male models. She used to say we were all vapid and useless.” His smile broadened. “We met at a party and she was not into me.”

Charlie chewed and swallowed. “I would have liked her.”

He chuckled. “She would have liked you. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was twenty...she was thirty-four and when I asked her out, she laughed for a good two minutes straight. I got her number through a friend of mine and wouldn’t stop calling. She finally agreed to meet me for coffee, but only so she could tell me all the reasons it would never work.”

She heard the affection in his voice, saw the pleasure he took in the remembering. Lately her friends had been busy falling in love, so she recognized the symptoms.

“I convinced her to give me a chance at a real date. She surprised both of us by agreeing. At the end of that first night, I was completely in love with her. It hit me like lightning. It took her a lot longer to come around.”

“The fourteen-year age difference would be difficult for most women,” Charlie said. “It’s stupid, but it’s been pounded into us that the guy should be older.”

He nodded. “She had trouble with the age difference, with the fact that I was so young, my career. But I was determined to win her.” He paused. “I proposed six times before she said yes. We were married within a week. I didn’t want her to change her mind.”

Charlie laughed. “A man with a plan.”

“I wasn’t the only one. Diane talked to me about my future. She pointed out I couldn’t be a model forever. She’s the one who suggested I go to college. Think about my future.” His smile faded. “She was killed five years ago in a car accident. I was on a shoot when I got the call. She was a force of nature and then she was just...gone. I never got to say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” Charlie put down the second half of her wrap.

“Thanks. I still miss her. The pain is different now. Not so sharp. But it’s still there. She was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Charlie knew better than to offer some stupid promise that things would get better, or that he would be fine. Sometimes a person simply had to sit with the pain and deal. That was probably healthier than what she’d done, which was try to pretend it had never happened.

While loss and betrayal were different, they both left scars.

Clay picked up his wrap. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get into all that with you.”

“I’m happy to listen.”

Maybe it was an illustration of how twisted she’d become, but she almost envied Clay. At least he’d loved once. She never had and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Loving someone meant engaging in a level of trust she wasn’t comfortable with. But belonging like that sure sounded nice.

“Part of the reason I wanted to settle here when I retired was to be near my family,” Clay said. “In the past couple of years, I’ve wanted to be closer to them.”

Charlie couldn’t help grinning. “Retired? You’re what? Thirty?” She grabbed a fry then held it up in the air. “I know, I know. Being a butt model is a young man’s game. You told me.”

“Beauty fades.”

She took in the dark eyes, the firm set of his jaw, the broad shoulders. His was still in full force.

Conversation shifted to more neutral topics. They finished their lunch arguing if the Dodgers would ever make it to the World Series again and whether or not the L.A. Stallions had a chance at a winning season.

“Stallions not Raiders?” Clay asked. He took the last bite of his wrap and waited.

“I know Oakland is physically closer, but I’ve always been a Stallions fan. I can’t explain it.”

Wilma appeared with the bill. Clay grabbed it before Charlie could.

“I’ve got this,” he said.

“Make sure you leave a big tip,” Wilma told him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The old lady grinned, then ruffled his hair. “You’re not bad, kid. You can come back.”

When she left, Clay leaned toward Charlie. “Does she really get a say in that?”

“This is Fool’s Gold. There are very strange rules in play.”

He’d left a couple of twenties for what she knew to be a twenty-five-dollar tab, then stood. “Thanks for lunch,” he said.

“Thank you. With a tip like that, Wilma is going to be sending you personal invitations to return.”

“The food was good.”

She rose. “If you want, I’ll go over the application paperwork with you. To make sure everything is correct.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He pulled out his cell. “Want to give me your number?”

She nodded and rattled it off, knowing the hostess would be spitting nails if she knew. The difference was, Charlie wasn’t interested in dating Clay. But then maybe the hostess didn’t want to date, either.

They walked to the front of the restaurant, then out onto the sidewalk. Her truck was parked in front.

“That’s me,” she said, pointing.

“Okay. I’ll finish the application tonight and then call you.”

She started to say that was fine, but before she could form the words, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks,” he murmured and walked away.

She stood there, on the sidewalk, her cheek all tingly and her insides doing some kind of fertility dance. Even someone with her lack of experience got the message. She was attracted to Clay. Sexually attracted. Based on how quickly she was thawing, after a few more meetings she would be reduced to a screaming, sobbing groupie.

It was just her luck that after literally a decade of not having a single erotic thought, she found herself attracted to possibly the best-looking man on the planet.

* * *

A COUPLE OF days later, Annabelle Weiss slipped into the booth at Jo’s Bar and smiled at Charlie. “I invited Patience McGraw to join us. Do you know her?”

Charlie watched the pretty brunette walk through the door and pause for a second before heading to them.

“Sure,” Charlie told her friend. “Sometimes she cuts my hair.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Annabelle glance at her short hair. Charlie rolled her eyes. “Stop it. Yes, I do get my hair cut professionally.”

“And it looks adorable.”

Charlie knew that adorable wasn’t a word that could ever be applied to her, but she accepted the comment in the spirit in which her friend meant it.

Patience approached their table. “Hi, Charlie,” she said, sliding into the booth.

Patience had grown up in Fool’s Gold. She had a daughter, Lillie, and was divorced.

“Hi, yourself,” Charlie said. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Patience had big brown eyes and a sweet smile. “Were you waiting long?”

“I just got here,” Annabelle said. “Charlie is always hungry, so she was early.”

“I’m not always hungry,” Charlie muttered.

Patience laughed. “I was dawdling, I’m sorry to say. There’s this retail space I have my eye on.”

Annabelle drew in a breath. “You’re going to open your own salon? Does Julia know?”

Patience worked for Julia Gionni, one of the two feuding Gionni sisters. Neither woman was the kind to appreciate a valuable stylist breaking out on her own.

Patience laughed. “Don’t panic. I’m not thinking about opening my own place. Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just daydreaming.” She leaned forward. “I would love to open my own coffeehouse. Crazy, huh? I’ll be twenty-eight in December. At the rate I’m able to save money, I’ll be a hundred and seventeen by the time I have enough.”

“I think a coffeehouse is a great idea,” Annabelle told her. “Somewhere local to gather.”

“Exactly.” Patience smiled. “I have all these ideas. Do you know Trisha Wynn?”

“She helped me with a legal issue a couple of months ago,” Annabelle said.

“I dated her son,” Charlie announced.

Just then Jo came up and handed them menus. “We’re trying a new salad. It’s seasonal, with apples and fried chicken. You can get it with grilled chicken, but then I’ll pretty much think less of you. I’m just saying.”

“Can I get garlic bread on the side?” Charlie asked.

“My kind of girl. Of course you can.”

Annabelle sighed. “I want to be tall like Charlie. Then I could eat what I wanted.”

“I work out a lot, too,” Charlie reminded her.

“Yeah, I’m less interested in that part,” Annabelle admitted.

They placed their drink orders and Jo left.

Patience turned to Charlie. “I didn’t know Trisha had a son. Things didn’t work out?”

Charlie hadn’t meant to blurt out the information, but lately she seemed to be blabbing far too much personal stuff. “It was no big deal. We figured out we were better off as friends, but Trisha was bugging him about finding someone, so he took me to meet her. She and I got along great.” So much so that Trisha had been devastated when Charlie had finally come clean and admitted there wasn’t any spark.

What she hadn’t told Trisha was the lack of spark had come about because every time Evan had tried to “take things to the next level,” Charlie had frozen. Panicked would be a better word, but why go there? Unfortunately for Evan, the next level had included kissing.

Now he was married to someone Trisha didn’t like and Charlie always felt a little guilty. As if her and Trisha getting along so well was a problem for the

new wife.

“How is Trisha helping with your coffeehouse dream?” Charlie asked, thinking they should stop talking about her sad dating past.

“She taught a class at the adult education center. It was on how to open your own business. I took it and came up with my plan. All that stands between me and coffeehouse heaven is start-up money.”

“You’ll find it,” Annabelle told her.

Patience nodded. “I’m thinking positive thoughts and buying lottery tickets.”

“Hey, that can work,” Charlie said. “That’s how Heidi got the money for the down payment on the ranch.”

Jo returned with their drinks. Iced tea all around. Decaf for the pregnant Annabelle. She took their orders. Charlie passed on the new salad, preferring her usual burger and fries. Patience and Annabelle both ordered the special, with the chicken grilled and no garlic bread.

“You’re such girls,” she told them when Jo left.

“Yes, and the poorer for it.” Annabelle raised her glass of iced tea. “To Heidi, who flies to Paris in the morning. I’m both envious of her and delighted for her.” She smiled. “The Paris part. Not that Rafe isn’t great, but I prefer Shane.”

“A loyal fiancée,” Patience told her and clinked glasses with her. “To Heidi and Paris.”

“To Heidi and Paris,” Charlie said, joining them.

Like Annabelle, she wasn’t all that interested in Rafe. To be honest, the city wasn’t that thrilling, either. But being with someone, that had appeal. Because if she could do that—if she could be with a man, she would be healed. Or at least better. She was fine with scars—it was the open wounds she wanted gone.

Charlie looked at Patience. “Is Lillie excited about school starting soon or sad that summer is over?”

“Mostly excited. She’s been taking dance classes and loves it.” Patience wrinkled her nose. “I adore her. She’s a great kid and I would throw myself in front of a bus for her.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “But she’s a terrible dancer. She tries and just can’t seem to find the rhythm. Her teacher is really patient with her, so that helps.”

Charlie could relate to being a bad dancer. But in her case, she’d had to compare herself with her perfect, delicate, talented and famous prima-ballerina mother. Not a place she wanted to go again.

“In another couple of months, the girls will start learning their parts for The Dance of the Winter King,” Patience continued. “Lillie can’t wait.”

“I love The Dance of the Winter King,” Annabelle said. “It’s wonderful.”

Charlie nodded. “I like it, too.” It was a Fool’s Gold tradition and even with her mother-induced ballet trauma, she enjoyed the production.

Patience’s phone chirped. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Oh, no. One of the stylists had to go home sick and Julia needs me to come right in.”

Annabelle lightly touched her arm. “It’s okay. We’ll do lunch another time.”

“Sorry,” Patience said as she rose. “I’ll cancel my order with Jo on the way out.”

Charlie nodded. “What Annabelle said. Rain check.”

“I promise.” Patience walked toward the bar.

Annabelle waited until she was out of earshot and then leaned toward Charlie. “What is going on with you and Clay?”

Charlie had been drinking and nearly choked. “Nothing. What are you talking about?”

“He mentioned you about three times yesterday. You’re helping him get on the volunteer roster or whatever it’s called. You had lunch together.” Her green eyes sparkled with excitement. “Are you dating Clay?”

“No.” Charlie glared at her. “No. Stop it. We’re friends. Barely. I don’t really know him. Yes, I’m helping him because... I’m not sure why. Sometimes I can be nice. Just go with it.”

Annabelle leaned back in her chair. “Interesting.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You like him.”

“I think he’s pleasant.”

Annabelle laughed. “And hot.” Her mouth opened, then closed. “You’re attracted to him.”

Charlie groaned. “No. And keep your voice down.”

Annabelle waited expectantly.

“Fine,” Charlie whispered. “Maybe a little. But it’s all an intellectual exercise. I’m not stupid. A guy like Clay isn’t... I have issues I have to work through. So being attracted to Clay simply means I’m not as dead as I thought. That’s a good thing.”

“It’s a great thing.”

“Don’t make this more than it is.”

“You’d be a cute couple.”

Charlie looked at her friend. “Don’t think for a second I wouldn’t kill you.”

Annabelle grinned. “You love me too much and I’m not afraid of you. Clay’s a sweet guy. You should totally go for him.”

“Yeah. Because that’s going to happen.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“I THOUGHT THERE would be a pole,” Clay said, looking up at the ceiling of the firehouse.

“A challenge in a one-story building, although there is a two-story fire station in town.” Charlie led the way through the engine bay. “Honestly, they’ve done away with poles. Too many injuries.”

“People slipping down the pole too fast?”

“No. People falling through the floor. These days, if a station is two stories, we take the stairs.”

“Hard to be a superhero on stairs.”

She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Tell me about it. I had to turn in my cape last week.” She stepped through a doorway. “Administrative offices are that way.” She pointed to the left. “Our living quarters are this way.”

He followed her toward the living quarters. When he’d called Charlie to tell her he would be coming by to drop off his application, she’d offered to show him around.

She’d already explained the various pieces of equipment, including the difference between the engine and the Quint. Like most towns in America, the majority of the station’s calls were about something other than a fire. Many involved medical emergencies, including car accidents. Here in Fool’s Gold, more than a few were about things like Mrs. Coverson’s cat.

“Self-explanatory,” Charlie said, pointing at a large open area with several sofas and a huge flat-screen TV. Behind the sofas was a big dining-room table and behind that was the kitchen.

“The paid firefighters work twenty-four hours at a time so we take our meals here. As a group, we’re responsible for our own breakfast and lunch.” She walked into the kitchen and pulled open the door of a jumbo-size freezer. Inside, dozens of casserole dishes were neatly stacked and labeled.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Our glorious community at work. Thanks to the Casserole Brigade, there’s a steady supply of dinners provided to all the stations in town. Precooked and ready to just thaw and heat. A few times a month, we’ll get a call and someone will come by and cook us dinner. We also have a barbecue out back where we can grill hamburgers or steaks.”

“Nice setup.”

“It works.”

She returned to the engine bay and pointed to another door. “Sleeping quarters, bathrooms and showers are over there.” Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“What?”

“Some guys assume they’re communal showers and get excited at the thought.”

Clay pictured a brief flash of Charlie in the shower and found himself surprised by his own interest, not that he would tell her that. “I’m pretty sure I can control myself.”

She didn’t look convinced, but moved on anyway. “Come on,” she said, heading back to the engine bay. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

Five minutes later, they were seated at the kitchen table. They each had a mug of black coffee. Charlie’s blue eyes were thoughtful as she studied him.

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“Fool’s Gold is going to be my home for a long time. I want to be a part of things.” While he found the Haycations interesting and looked forward to the challenge of starting a business, he was going to have too much time on his hands. He was done with college and in a place where he wanted to put himself out there. “I’m used to people not taking me seriously.”

She nodded slowly. “I would have mocked you before. It must be difficult being so special.” She shrugged. “I’m starting to get that maybe there’s something to it. You’re going to have to work harder than everyone else.”

“I’m good with that.”

“You’re really staying? You’re not going to complain it’s too difficult and head back to New York?”

He grinned. “I already sold my apartment. Nothing to go back to.”

“You have friends there.”

“I have friends all over the world.”

He sensed she was asking about something else entirely, but he couldn’t figure out what. If she was a different kind of woman, he would wonder if she was coming on to him. He was used to invitations. Most of the time he ignored them. When that was impossible, he gently said no.

He was thirty years old and he was willing to admit his heart had died along with Diane. There had been women. A night here, a weekend there. But it wasn’t the same. The need for sex was biological. He didn’t want anymore. Didn’t need. Everything worked, but no one appealed.

He leaned back in his chair and reminded himself that this was Charlie. If she wanted him in her bed, she would ask. Or at least offer to arm wrestle him. She didn’t play girl games. He respected that and her. He also found the idea of Charlie in bed intriguing. More so than any other offer had been in a while. Not that she was offering. But if she did...

“I’ll do my best to make sure they give you a fair shot,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Thank you.”

He stood and took the hand she offered. They shook.

For a second he felt something. A flash of attraction. Potential, he thought, shocked that after all this time he could imagine anticipating being with a specific woman. Before he could decide if he wanted to pursue said attraction, she was escorting him outside and telling him he would hear from the Battalion Chief within a couple of weeks. Then he was standing on the sidewalk, staring at the fire station trying to figure out which was crazier. Him having to fight to put his life on the line for free or being interested in a woman who probably thought she could take him in a fight.

* * *

“I’M SORRY, I’m sorry,” Pia Moreno said as she grabbed her handbag and car keys. “Don’t hate me.”

Charlie laughed. “I would never hate you and you’re not imposing. Stop worrying.”

“You sure?” Pia paused and sucked in a breath. “I’m so late.”

“Go.”

“The twins are asleep and—”

Charlie physically pushed her toward the door. “Peter will be home in the next few minutes. I’ll explain what happened and stay here until you’re back. He gets a snack. There are freshly baked cookies on the cooling rack. He can have two. Get out before I’m forced to hurt you.”

Pia smiled gratefully. “You’re a goddess.”

“If I had a nickel.” Charlie pointed to the door. “Out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pia raced to the door. Seconds later Charlie heard her car engine start.

A little less than an hour ago, she’d received a call from a very frantic Pia. The town’s festival planner had forgotten about a meeting with several vendors. As the salespeople had all come in from out of town, rescheduling had been impossible. Charlie had agreed to emergency babysitting.

Now she walked quietly into the twins’ room and stared at the two sleeping girls.

They were on their backs in cribs. Wispy curls draped across foreheads. Rosebud mouths puckered slightly. Charlie studied them, allowing the longing to wash over her.

She’d always thought she was too grumpy a person to ever want children. While she liked the idea of family, she’d never thought she would have one of her own. But a few years ago, that had all started to change. She’d found herself watching mothers with their children. She’d volunteered to babysit a few times. She’d taken over the junior firefighter program at the station.

Earlier this year, she’d made the decision to have a child of her own. A husband didn’t seem possible, but a child... That was different.

She knew that being in Fool’s Gold had changed her. She’d been taken in and loved until she’d had no choice but to open her heart. With that action had come the realization she had a child-size hole that needed filling.

“I’m going to have to fix the broken parts first,” she whispered to the sleeping girls. A couple of months ago her friend Dakota had pointed out that until Charlie was healed, she shouldn’t take on a child. Charlie had wanted to be pissed, yet she’d known her friend was right. But after a decade of hiding, she wasn’t sure how to start healing. Or she hadn’t been until a few days ago.

Downstairs a door slammed. She left the babies’ room and found Peter Moreno dumping his backpack on a kitchen chair. He saw her and grinned.

“Hi, Charlie.” He crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her.

“Hey, kid. Your mom’s not here.” She hugged him back, then ruffled his hair.

“I guessed that when her car was gone.”

“She had a meeting she forgot about, so she called me. She won’t be long.”

Peter was getting taller by the day. Skinny, with bright red hair, he was smart and athletic. Two years ago, he’d been a scared kid, abused by his foster father. Raoul and Pia had adopted him, despite the fact that Pia had been pregnant with twins. Now they were a loud, happy family.

“She takes on too much,” Peter said in a tone that implied his father saying the same thing. “Women do today.”

Charlie laughed. “You’re a charming guy, aren’t you?”

Peter grinned. “Dad says I get that from him and it’s going to serve me well.”

“I’m sure it is. Come on, let’s eat cookies.”

Charlie poured them each a glass of milk. Peter washed his hands and then put cookies on a plate. They settled at the kitchen table.

“How was your day?” she asked.

Peter grinned. “You sound like my mom.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He told her about his second day of school. He was in seventh grade now, having to deal with going from class to class. They discussed optimal locker placement and how girls could get really pretty over a summer.

Charlie mostly listened. She liked how excited he was about math, how confident he was in his friends. She could feel his trust in Pia and Raoul and remembered the emotionally battered kid he’d been only a couple of years ago.

His birth parents had been killed in a horrible car accident. He’d been witness to the tragedy, trapped in the backseat. When Raoul and Pia had fallen in love, they’d never considered not adding Peter to their family. A lot for a newly engaged couple to take on. Especially considering the twins weren’t their biological children, either.

Charlie wasn’t sure she was as emotionally strong as Pia had been, but she liked to think she would have some of her friend’s grace. She knew she wanted a chance to give to a child, to be a constant in a changing world.

Fixing herself first made sense. She needed to be emotionally whole, or at least on the road to being whole, before she took on the responsibility of a child. From what she’d been able to figure out, the slower route was the most sensible. Find a good therapist and work through the issues of her past. Deal with the rape, the way she’d shut down, the lack of justice. Grow emotionally over time. Healthy, reasonable and so not her style.

The alternative was more radical—tackling the lingering effects head-on, so to speak. If she had a fear of flying, she was the type of person who would book a flight to Australia and get it over with in one hideous seventeen-hour plane ride. But she wasn’t afraid of flying, she was afraid of physical intimacy. More specifically, she was afraid to trust. Not men in general, but any man in an emotionally and physically intimate setting. Hardly something an online travel site could help her with.

The truth was, she could live with being broken. But being broken meant she was unlikely to raise a whole, healthy child. She didn’t want to raise a kid who was afraid because Mom was. Which meant getting better.

She needed a professional, she thought as she listened to Peter. Or the closest thing she could find.

* * *

CHARLIE’S HOUSE WAS a lot like her. Practical, well kept and not the least bit flashy. Clay took in the neatly cut lawn, the well-maintained hedges, the unexpected flashes of color by the walkway.

She’d called him a couple of hours ago and asked him to stop by. He hadn’t seen her since he’d gone by the station nearly a week ago. He wasn’t supposed to start on the volunteer firefighter program for a few days, so he wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk about. Still, Charlie was anything but boring, so he was sure he would be interested in whatever she had to say.

He climbed the three steps to the porch, then reached for the bell. The door opened before he could press it.

“Good. You’re here. Come in.”

She stepped back as she spoke, motioning him inside with her arm. As he passed her, he was aware of the tension in her body and the color on her cheeks. Not from makeup, he knew. Something else had her flushed.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine. I’m a little... Well, that doesn’t matter. Sit.”

It sounded like more of a command than a request.

He took in the comfortable oversize sofa, the extra chairs, all done in black leather. Color came from red and tan rugs over the hardwood floors and a few throw pillows. To the left was the arched entrance to a dining room and beyond that he would guess was the kitchen.

He walked to the sofa and sat down. Charlie settled across from him in one of the club chairs. She pressed her lips together, looked at him, then jumped up.

“Stay,” she said, holding out her hand, palm to him. Then she dropped her arm to her side. “Sorry. You don’t have to stay. What I meant is please don’t get up. I think I need to pace.”

Unease radiated from her. Something had happened—he’d guessed that much. “Are you hurt?”

She made a choking sound in the back of her throat. “Not in the way you mean. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Great, even. Sparkly.” She stopped talking and walked to the end of the room. When she returned, she positioned herself behind the second chair, as if wanting a physical barrier between them.

She was dressed as usual in jeans and a T-shirt. Instead of the steel-toed boots she wore at the fire station, she had on athletic shoes. Her arms were toned and muscled, her short hair slightly mussed. She was exactly as he remembered, yet he would swear that everything was different.

He wanted to go to her, to give her a hug and tell her that he would help her get through whatever was wrong. Only Charlie didn’t strike him as the hugging type. On a more practical level, who the hell was he to think he could solve any of her problems? Typical arrogant male response. That’s what Diane would say.

“I want to ask you something,” Charlie said, her hands gripping the back of the chair.

“Okay. What is it?”

“Background first,” she said. Her gaze locked with his, then slid away. “My freshman year of college I had a crush on one of the football players. Senior guy, good-looking. He smiled at me and I was hooked.”

“Lucky guy.”

Charlie blinked at him. “He didn’t see it that way. He invited me to a party.... I went. When he asked me up to his room, I said yes. I was young and stupid. I didn’t realize he expected to have sex. I thought we’d...” She shrugged and looked away. “I wasn’t thinking. Things went too far. I told him to stop and he didn’t.” She turned her attention back to him and pain filled her blue eyes. “I wasn’t strong then.”

Clay felt a rock hit the bottom of his stomach. “He raped you,” he said flatly.

She nodded. “I fought, but he was bigger and he knew what he wanted. After, when I was crying, he told me to grow up, then he walked away.” She drew in a breath. “You know, there really can be blood your first time. I grabbed the blanket and took it with me, then I went to the police. He was brought in and questioned. I could hear him in the next room. When they asked him what happened, he laughed. God, I remember that sound. He laughed and asked them if there was any way a guy like him would have sex with a girl like me unless she’d begged. And even then he’d had some trouble getting it up.”

Clay considered himself an even-tempered guy. But right then he wanted to find the man in question and break every bone in his face.

He consciously controlled his breathing, his anger. Charlie had been through enough. She didn’t need to deal with his reaction to her experience.

“I’m sorry.” Stupid, but all he could think to say.

“Thanks.”

“They believed him, right?”

She nodded. “Everyone did. Even my mother told me it was wrong to tease boys that way. I left college, ended up in Portland.”

“Oregon, not Maine.”

She managed a slight smile. “That’s the one. I got strong. Now I can take care of myself.”

More important to her, she was safe, he thought. No man would have the physical upper hand again.

“I want to tell you it’s behind me, but it isn’t,” she said, staring down at the chair. “I haven’t... I can’t imagine being with someone.”

He stared at her, digesting the meaning behind the words. Charlie had to be close to his age. Which meant she hadn’t been with a guy in over a decade.

“I want kids,” she said quickly, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure how yet. IVF, adoption, there are a lot of options. I want to have a family.”

“You’ll be a good mom.”

“You don’t know enough about me to be sure about that, but thank you for the support. The thing is I know I have to be emotionally strong as well as physically strong to be a parent. I don’t like it, but there we are. Until I can make peace with my past, I shouldn’t take on a kid.”

She paused, as if gathering her thoughts. “I’m afraid I’ll pass on my mistrust of men to any child I have. I don’t want that. If I have a son, I want him to be proud of who he is. I want him to have male role models in his life, which might be difficult if I don’t get over my problem. If I have a daughter, I want her to grow up with the idea that it’s good to be open to love. I don’t want to pass along my fear.”

“You’ve thought this through,” he said slowly, thinking that Charlie was brutally honest—even with herself. Something he admired and respected.

“I’ve thought about a lot of things. Including your problem.”

He frowned. “I have a problem?”

“Getting accepted into the volunteer program. No one is going to take you seriously. It doesn’t matter how well you do, they won’t get past who you are and how you look.”

A blunt assessment that was probably accurate.

Was she relating their situations? If so, what was she offering and what did she want in return? Sperm? A character reference?

“Deep breath,” she said softly.

“Are you telling me or yourself?”

“Both of us.” She swallowed. “I want you to help me get over my fear of being physically intimate. I want to be able to be with a guy without running screaming into the night.”

“Is that what happens?”

“I’ve only tried a couple of times, but, yes. I freeze up. I panic. I run. I can’t do that. I want to be over this. I want to be like everyone else.”

“Being like the rest of the herd isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“So speaks someone who’s perfect.”

“I’m not perfect,” he said automatically. Then the meaning of what she said slammed into him. Charlie wanted him to have sex with her. Not just sex for the night. She wanted him to help her heal.

Now it was his turn to stand, but once he was on his feet, he didn’t move. Not toward her or away. He stared at her, watching color flare more brightly on her cheeks. He saw her vulnerability, her fear that he would say no and her terror that he would say yes.

“I’m not looking for anything more than sex,” she whispered. “I don’t want to fall in love or have a relationship. I just want to be normal enough to get on with my life. Figure out the kid thing. Be in a family.” She drew in a shaky breath.

Clay knew Charlie well enough to understand that the one thing she would avoid at any cost was being in a weak position. Yet she’d laid herself bare to him, exposing not just her past pain, but her most secret hopes and dreams. He realized he respected her, so he respected her request, even as it confused him.

He was used to invitations, to numbers handed to him and suggestions made. But Charlie wasn’t interested in a good time. Nor did she want to be able to say she’d been with him for bragging rights. This was real and painful.

“I appreciate you not breaking into hysterical laughter,” she whispered.

“It’s not funny. What I want to do is find that guy and beat the shit out of him.”

One corner of her mouth turned up. “You’re such a guy.”

“Which makes me a decent candidate for the job.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “None of this is expected. I need to think about it.”

“Sure. Right. It’s a lot to ask.” Her grip on the back of the chair tightened.

He looked at her, at the shape of her face, the slight trembling of her mouth. She was nothing like Diane, yet she reminded him of his late wife. Diane had been blunt, as well. Tough, determined. She would have liked Charlie.

“I’ll get back to you,” he said at last.

“You know how to find me.”

He nodded once and left. When he was outside, he headed for his truck. Honest to God, he had no idea what he was going to decide. So he wouldn’t, not just now. Time had a way of making things more clear. Diane had taught him that, too. He’d learned all of life’s most important lessons from her. The most significant had been how to love. A skill he had little use for these days.

CHAPTER FIVE

A TYPICAL DAY in Clay’s New York life had included working out at the gym, getting a facial or maybe a manicure, a meeting with a client, a fitting for a future shoot or talking to his agent about upcoming projects. Despite the ongoing party scene, Clay had usually spent evenings with friends, and he’d often been in bed well before midnight.

Life on the ranch was different. Rafe and Heidi had left for Paris and their honeymoon, which meant someone else had to take care of her goats. Shane had agreed to take over the early morning milking, but when he was in town, staying at Annabelle’s, the work fell to Clay.

It was barely eight in the morning, but Clay had already milked the goats, fed the horses, the elephant, the pony, the pig, the llamas and the sheep. Next up, he would paint the porch railing in preparation for winter. There were blisters on his hands and his spray tan had long since faded, replaced by a farmer’s tan, earned through working outdoors.

This was better, he thought as he collected the sandpaper and scrapers. He draped a tarp over one shoulder. He liked getting up early and being able to point to what he’d done in a day. He was tired and sore when he fell into bed at night, but he’d done something with his time. As soon as escrow closed on the land he’d bought, he would start to work on preparing for his fall alfalfa crop. He had rented the equipment already and had interviews lined up for the farm manager. But for now, painting the railings at the Castle Ranch was going to be enough.

He spread out the tarp and went to work on the scraping. From inside came the sound of laughter. His mother and her new husband, Glen, were having a house built on the other side of the property. It would be finished by the end of the month and they would move into it. Until then, they stayed at the main house.

Shane was also building a house nearby. He and Annabelle would settle there while Heidi and Rafe stayed in this one. Everyone on the ark had paired up, Clay thought, except for him and his little sister, Evangeline. Which meant he was going to need his own place. While no one would kick him out, he wasn’t exactly the party favor most new couples were looking for.

He added “get a house in town” to his mental to-do list. He wouldn’t need much space. There was only him. For a second he allowed himself to wonder what Diane would think of Fool’s Gold. She would like it here, he decided. Not just for the physical beauty of the mountains, but she would enjoy the people.

She had been the best part of him. Loving her had been easy—a lightning bolt. He’d surrendered to his feelings because he hadn’t had a choice. Within a single date, he’d known she was the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

After she’d died, the world had lost its color. Time had healed him, but he would always miss her. Need her. He wasn’t interested in loving someone else.

He bent over the railing and scraped the peeling paint. As the bare wood was exposed he found himself thinking of Charlie and her unexpected request. Just as surprising was the fact he was considering what she wanted.

He liked being around her. He liked her toughness and competence. She wasn’t like everyone else. He supposed he wasn’t immune to being flattered by her request—her assumption that he could be the one to heal her. Which sounded great, but there was reality to deal with. Heal her? How? With his incredible magnificence?

He dropped the scraper and reached for a piece of sandpaper. The sun was warm, the sky blue. There were birds chirping and another burst of laughter from inside the house.

With Diane, he’d been unable to get enough. No matter how many times they made love, he wanted more. Wanted her. Since then, he’d gone through the motions but little else.

He tried to imagine touching Charlie and found the idea appealing. She wouldn’t make it easy, he thought with a grin. Knowing her, she would make it difficult and yet that was okay.

She thought she needed to get over her fear of having sex. He knew what she needed was to learn to trust. And he needed... He drew in a breath. He needed to care about someone again. Not love, obviously. But something. Right now attraction and compassion would be a step forward. Charlie wasn’t the only one who needed a good healing, he thought. Maybe they could figure out a way to fix each other.

* * *

“I’M INTRIGUED,” Dakota said as Charlie walked into her office. She smiled, amusement brightening her brown eyes. “As you requested, I’ve cleared my schedule for the whole hour. Now what is this about?”

Charlie had been friends with Dakota for years. She’d met all three of the Hendrix triplets within a week of moving to Fool’s Gold. They were bright, funny women who cared about other people and understood the value of loyalty. While Charlie believed in the latter, she liked having added security.

She handed over a check for a hundred dollars.

Dakota took the offered paper, studied it for a second, then raised her eyebrows. “Is this what I think it is?”

“I’m hiring you as my therapist for the next hour. It’s a onetime thing.”

While Dakota didn’t have a private practice, she was still a trained and licensed psychologist.

“If I’m your therapist, patient confidentiality applies,” Dakota said slowly, motioning to the chair on the far side of her desk. “This must be important.”

“It is.” Charlie studied her friend. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she began, aware that Dakota could take the whole check-writing thing wrong. They were friends. As such, Charlie should trust her. And she did. It was just...

Dakota leaned forward. “I understand,” she said gently. “No explanations are required. You need the added security to feel safe so you can talk about whatever’s bothering you. Of course I’ll be your therapist for this hour and I will keep everything you tell me confidential.”

Damn. While she appreciated the support, right now she was uncomfortably on edge. If she were anyone else, she might even admit to being emotional. But she wasn’t, so that wasn’t an option. Still, Dakota’s support made her eyes burn. Which wasn’t the same as crying. No way.

“Okay,” Charlie muttered. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now what’s this all about?”

“The baby thing.”

Dakota already knew about Charlie’s past and her desire to have a child. In fact, Dakota had been the one to point out that Charlie needed to consider curing herself first. Not advice she’d wanted to hear, but words that had made sense.

“You were right,” Charlie told her. “About me getting better before having a kid.”

Dakota leaned toward her. “I also told you I wasn’t the person to take you on that journey. I do have the names of several trauma specialists. They’re in Sacramento, so you wouldn’t be dealing with anyone local. It’s a drive, but more private.”

“I may have to do that,” Charlie said, then wished she was standing so she could shuffle her feet or pace. Sometimes, sitting still was difficult. “But first I’m going to try something else.”

“Okay, and what is that?”

Charlie swallowed, squared her shoulders, then looked her friend directly in the eye. “I talked to Clay Stryker about having sex with me. Getting me, you know, ready. So I can do it without freaking.”

Dakota’s mouth dropped open. Charlie was pretty sure there was a rule that therapists weren’t supposed to show emotion of any kind, let alone shock.

“Clay Stryker?”

“Yes.”

“The underwear-model guy?”

Charlie nodded. “I’ve met him a few times. He wants to be a volunteer firefighter. He’s more than a pretty face. We’ve talked a few times and we’re sort of friends. So I asked him.”

“Oh, my.” Dakota cleared her throat. “He’s an interesting choice.”

“I don’t care that he’s good-looking. Or famous. I know what you’re thinking. That I should have gone with somebody normal, right? It’s just, he’s nice. He was married before and when he talked about his late wife, there was something in his eyes.” She pushed to her feet and started pacing. “That’s why I’m here. Because I asked. Was it stupid? Am I an idiot?”

“You’re a lot of things,” Dakota said. “Stupid isn’t one of them. Your plan is unconventional, but when you decide to face a problem, you jump in. So this isn’t that surprising.” She paused, as if considering her words. “You know the actual problem isn’t about sex, right?”

Charlie sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s about trust. Trusting a man. Trusting myself with a man. Being able to have men in my life in a serious way so my child can be comfortable with a male role model.”

Dakota smiled. “You’ve been thinking about this. You’re aware of the problem and taking steps to fix it. That’s good.”

“I hope so. I keep thinking if I can just be with a guy without freaking, I’ll relax more and start letting men in my life,” Charlie admitted. “Clay was nice about it. He didn’t laugh or say no. He’s thinking about it. I’m just scared he’ll agree. And maybe scared he won’t.”

Normal seemed like such an easy goal—for everyone else. She’d always been on the fringes.

“You’re attracted to him?”

“Have you seen him?” Charlie asked with a grin. Then her smile faded. “Ignoring the obvious, there have been a few tingles. Nothing huge, but more than usual for me.”

She returned to the chair and sank down. “I’m not expecting anything like a relationship. I don’t want that. I just want to get through whatever it takes to be in a place where I’m comfortable having a kid. Whatever form that takes.”

“Understandable,” Dakota said. “Okay, you have a plan and you’ve taken the first step. Now what?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie admitted. “That’s what I want to talk about. What do I do if he says yes?”

“You let the man seduce you.”

Charlie could feel her face getting hot. “I can’t even think about that. It makes my stomach hurt. But assuming I can get through that, aren’t there girlie things I should be doing? I don’t know how to do this stuff. Is there a Dummies book?”

“No book required. Just be yourself.”

“Being myself is the problem. Do I have to buy lingerie? Get a bikini wax?”

Dakota laughed. “I would pay big money to be in the room next door when some poor person tries to give you a bikini wax.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry. Look, you’re understandably conflicted. Who wouldn’t be? If he says yes, then shower, shave in the usual places and let the man do his thing. If he says no, I have the name of the trauma specialists to give you. How’s that?”

“Good.” She drew in a breath. “I’m on birth control. I have period issues and the pill helps.”

“One problem solved. Oh, be safe and use a condom.”

Charlie winced. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I’m sure he’ll take care of buying them, but just make sure you have the conversation.”

“Because that will be so comfortable.”

“If you can’t talk about protecting yourself with the man, how do you expect to have sex with him?”

“I thought I’d just lie there and think of England.”

“He’ll be so flattered to hear that.”

Charlie told herself to keep breathing. After all, she didn’t have to do it that second. And Clay could say no. Although now that she’d asked, she found herself hoping he would agree. Or maybe not. Maybe therapy was a better choice.

Dakota’s expression softened. “Trust yourself. You have good instincts.”

“I picked the guy in college and look what happened there.”

“You didn’t pick him. You were young and impressed by who you thought he was. There’s a difference.”

“I hope so.”

“From what I know about the Stryker brothers, their mother raised them right. Keep breathing. Whatever happens, you’re strong and capable. You’ll get through this.”

Charlie could only hope she was right.

* * *

WHAT CHARLIE DISCOVERED was that waiting could be its own brand of hell. She worked the next day and that was a nice distraction. Paige McLean, the station’s former receptionist, had dropped by to talk about how happy she was with her new husband. The two of them had been in Australia and were heading to Thailand next. But once Paige left, Charlie had too much time to think. Worse, she was now off for twenty-four hours. She was jumpy and crabby and lots of other words ending in y. In desperation, she attacked her hedges, deciding to cut them back before winter.

She’d been at it for a couple of hours. She was sweaty and hot, her sticky skin dotted with bits of leaves and smudged with dirt. She had just finished with the last hedge and was about to take her tools to the garage for cleaning when Clay strolled up.

He looked cool and fresh, his cotton shirt all smooth. His jeans were worn, with interesting creases at the hips and thighs. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but there were tiny reflections of herself on the lenses. Sweat, grime and debris were not her best look.

“What do you want?” she demanded, before she remembered that perhaps she might want to be nicer to the man she’d asked to sleep with her.

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Not a morning person?” he asked.

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“I was giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

She sighed. “I don’t like yard work. I’m not good at it. Not the physical stuff—that’s easy. But knowing what to do. I think my plants make fun of me behind my back.”

“Because they respect you enough not to do it to your face?”

“Something like that.” She looked at him, then away. Confusion made her uneasy. Should she demand he tell her what he’d decided? Or just withdraw the request and accept a year or two of therapy?

“We should go inside,” he said, motioning to the front door.

As it was her house, she should do the inviting, but she decided to simply go with it. She put down her clippers and wiped her hands on the front of her tank top, wished her jeans were a little cleaner, then mentally shrugged. This was the real her. If Clay couldn’t handle it, then sex was out of the question.

But as she led the way into the house, she realized she was filled with a queasy combination of anticipation and dread. He could agree or tell her to go to hell. To be honest, she wasn’t comfortable with any of the possibilities.

She passed through the living room and walked into the spacious kitchen. The previous owner had updated it a decade or so ago, which had been more than enough for her. Appliances that worked, wood cabinets and a countertop where she could stack takeout was plenty. Annabelle had done a full five-minute lovefest on the six-burner stove she’d chosen for Shane’s new house and an even longer soliloquy on the countertops. Charlie had listened with seeming interest because she wanted to be a good friend, but dear God. It was a kitchen. She simply didn’t have it in herself to get excited.

The table and chairs by the window had been a garage-sale find. She’d stripped them herself and refinished them. Heidi had helped her pick out the cheerful red cushions. Now she pointed to the chairs.

“Sit.”

The word came out as more of a bark than she would have liked. Clay removed his sunglasses, gave her an amused single-eyebrow raise, then did as instructed.

She sighed. Fine. She would admit it. The boy-girl thing was a complete disaster for her. At least she understood her limitations. Besides, she wasn’t looking for a meaningful relationship. She simply wanted to get laid.

Sort of.

She pulled a pitcher out of the refrigerator. After filling two glasses with ice, she carried them over to the table, set the pitcher in the middle and then glared at Clay.

“Did you want something else?”

The amusement never faltered. “You get defensive when you’re nervous.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled. “Thank you for illustrating my point. Now you sit.”

She plopped down and poured them each a glass of lemonade. After passing his to him, she happened to glance at her hands.

Dirt covered every inch and collected under her nails. Crap. She probably should have washed her hands before getting them drinks. Which she would have done if he hadn’t been here. The man rattled her and not in a happy way.

“I’m not defensive,” she snapped.

He picked up his glass and took a sip. His unsettling gaze swung back to her. “This is lemonade.”

She rolled her eyes. “Most people would say the yellow color was a dead giveaway.”

He reached his free hand across the table and placed it on her forearm. “No claws required, Charlie. I’m not the enemy.”

His voice was gentle, as was the pressure on her arm. She was aware of the warmth of his fingers on her skin. It all seemed easy for him. Because for him, the touching thing was no big deal.

She could touch, too, she reminded herself. She could carry a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man out of a burning building, then give him CPR without blinking. But even she knew that was different.

She drew in a deep breath, ignored the warmth his fingers generated and then exhaled.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “It’s lemonade.”

“You used sugar.”

“Have you tried it without sugar? Do you know what a lemon is?”

His hold tightened slowly. She had a feeling if she were a stray cat or dog, he would be murmuring something like, “It’s okay, girl. No one is going to hurt you.”

“I was making conversation,” he told her, his tone still tinged with amusement. “Most people don’t use sugar. They use something without calories.”

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