A note from the editor…

Well, this is it—the last month of Harlequin Temptation. We’ve had a good run, but everybody knows that all good things have to end sometime. And you have to admit, Temptation is very, very good.…

When we celebrated our twentieth anniversary last year, we personified the series as a twenty-year-old woman. She was young, legal (well, almost) and old enough to get into trouble. Well, now that she’s twenty-one and officially legal, she’s leaving home. And she’s going to be missed.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the countless number of authors who have given me, and other Harlequin Temptation editors past and present, so many hours of enjoyable reading. They made working at Harlequin an absolute pleasure.

I’d also like to thank our loyal readers for all their support over the past twenty-one years. Never forget—you are the reason we all do what we do. (Check out the back autograph section if you don’t believe me.)

But this doesn’t have to be the end….

Next month Harlequin Blaze increases to six books, and will be bringing the best of Harlequin Temptation along with it. Look for more books in THE WRONG BED, 24 HOURS and THE MIGHTY QUINNS miniseries. And don’t miss Blazing new stories by your favorite Temptation authors. Drop in at tryblaze.com for details.

It’s going to be a lot of fun. I hope you can join us.

Brenda Chin

Associate Senior

Editor Temptation/Blaze

“I’m tired of being cautious and shy.”

Laine looked at him. “I took this job with the magazine for the pay raise, but it’s also part of my journey to be more assertive and confident.”

The tension dispelled, Steve kissed her palm. “How assertive are we talking about?”

She lifted herself out of her seat, hiked her dress up, then swung her leg over his lap and straddled him.

“That’s pretty assertive.”

Laine grinned. “When you want something…” She traced his bottom lip with her finger. “Or someone…”

Eyes wide, he slid his hands up her sides. “I don’t want our first time to be in a car,” he said without much conviction.

Leaning down, she tongued his earlobe. “Sometimes assertiveness is all about the timing.” She pressed her hips against his. “And this isn’t our first time.”

The Eleventh Hour

Wendy Etherington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Things always seem to come full circle, don’t they?

I started these stories about the Kimball family with the concept of heroes and their importance in both life and fiction very much on my mind. I was writing the first one in September 2001 and now here we are years later with the definition of an “American Hero” changed and intensified forever.

In the lives of the Kimballs it’s finally “Baby” Steven’s turn. Hopefully he will measure up to your personal definition of a hero as he finds himself and the love of his life.

While my story comes full circle, so does Harlequin Temptation. After twenty years of love, drama and laughter, this month marks the end of the line in North America. I hope the books have been as pleasurable for you to read as they have been for us authors to write.

Drop me a line anytime via my Web site, www.wendyetherington.com, or by regular mail at P.O. Box 3016, Irmo, SC 29063.

Take care and happy reading!

Wendy Etherington

Books by Wendy Etherington

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

944—PRIVATE LIES

958—ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT?

998—SPARKING HIS INTEREST

HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE

29—IF THE STILETTO FITS…

This book is dedicated in memory of Robert “Scooter” Haines, a great American hero to both his country and his family.

The Temptation Years 1984–2005

Autographs

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Prologue

WITH A HOLLOW STOMACH, Laine Sheehan sank onto a bar stool. She rested her elbows on the glossy mahogany bar that had been in her family for so long, still stunned by the news.

“It’s over,” her sister, Cat, announced as she tossed ice into a cocktail shaker. “I knew those biddies from the historical society would reject us. The city wants a new road, so we’re out.”

Laine realized her sister’s bravado was a front; this was killing her.

Temptation would soon be no more.

As her and Cat’s two closest friends, Gracie and Tess, flanked her and launched commiserations at her sister, Laine clutched the envelope the leader of the historical society had given her as they’d walked out of the courtroom earlier.

She reread the enclosed letter, the knot of disappointment that had formed in her stomach tightening to anger.

Thank you for applying to the Kendall, Texas, Historical Society…your establishment, Temptation, while having been in your family for more than twenty years, unfortunately doesn’t qualify for registry in our society…send our best wishes…

“Blah, blah, blah,” she said under her breath.

Laine had never considered failure. She’d planned an attack and executed it. The city wouldn’t be asinine enough to throw out two thriving businesses—Temptation and Gracie’s bookstore next door—for a wider stretch of asphalt. It wasn’t right. Or fair.

Okay, maybe they hadn’t been thriving lately, but that was only because the city’s big road project had already caused lane closures, detours and had cut into the building’s parking. When the work was done, their customers would come back.

Gracie sighed. “Where am I going to store all those books if I can’t find a new place in thirty days?”

“I’ll never find another job as good as this one,” Tess said.

“How are we going to explain this to Mom?” Laine asked Cat.

Tess patted her hand. “Brenda will understand. She’ll be pissed, but she’ll deal with it.”

Laine could feel angry tears clogging her throat. She wrapped her hand around the stem of her martini glass and had to resist the urge to hurl it across the room. “I just can’t believe it.”

Cat raised an eyebrow. “Had faith in the system, Lainey dear?”

Glaring at her sister for both the hated nickname and her caustic attitude, Laine crushed the letter in her fist. Of all the times she’d pulled Cat—kicking and screaming—out of one fix or another, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t succeeded this time. “Yes, I did. This isn’t right. How can they just take away everything we’ve worked for?”

Looking miserable, Gracie sipped her drink. “Because they can.”

Laine dropped the crumpled letter and envelope onto the bar, then shoved back her stool and turned away. They’d failed. She’d failed.

Though the idea to approach the historical society had been Gracie’s, Laine had taken charge of the process—compiling Gracie’s research, filing the paperwork, calling frequently for updates. As always, she’d handled everything down to the tiniest detail and she was the one who’d convinced the others that with the right plan, the right argument, there was hope they could convince the city not to demolish their building.

And if she was feeling this lousy, she couldn’t imagine her sister’s emotional turmoil. The bar was her baby. Though Laine balanced the books, made the work schedules, booked local bands for the weekends, ordered supplies and occasionally played barmaid, Cat worked daily and nightly behind that long mahogany bar. Temptation was her job and her life.

While Laine kept herself, her family and everybody else on schedule and organized, Cat relied on little but her guts and wits.

Which was why now—more than ever—Laine had to take up the slack.

Unlike Cat, she had a career outside the bar, one that would hopefully save them financially. After years as a photographer for a lifestyle magazine, she’d been hired recently at Century, a national, hard-hitting news publication. The assignments were pushing her past the comfort zone she’d fallen into, but for the raise she was getting, she’d find a way to manage. Her paycheck had just become essential. She couldn’t imagine Cat surviving on her own, and Laine couldn’t let her sister down.

Gracie appeared next to her, putting her arm around Laine’s waist. “This isn’t your fault.”

Laine shared a strained smile with her friend. “Sure it is. If I’d talked to the right person, made the right argument…”

“The city would still be steamrolling over our businesses.”

“Maybe.” Avoiding the subject of the bar closing, Laine glanced at her longtime friend. Gracie had grown up with her and Cat, then Tess had come along a few years later looking for a short-term job and had never left. The four of them had been through a lot together and had always found time for weekly poker at table seven. “What are you going to do now?”

“Find a new place for the bookstore, I guess,” Gracie said with a shrug. “I owe it to Aunt Fran.”

“I’ve got money from my new job.” Which she really wasn’t in a position to offer, but the bookstore was also Gracie’s only means of income. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll be fine. You shouldn’t take on so much. There’s nothing more you can do here. Why don’t you go away for a few days. Take some time for yourself.”

Laine shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve only done a few assignments for the magazine. Not to mention Aunt Jen is making me crazy. Those wildfires in California are threatening—”

Well, damn. Aunt Jen was relying on her, too. Even in the path of a forest fire, Jen had vowed never to leave her precious, hundred-year-old home.

Laine felt as if she was being pulled in a dozen different directions.

Money. The bar. Her job. Aunt Jen. The wildfire.

And she suddenly realized the only way to make it all work was to combine everything. If she could convince her editor to let her do a pictorial on the wildfire, she could earn a living and make sure stubborn Aunt Jen evacuated when necessary.

Cat wouldn’t be happy if she left, but neither could she deny that the income was vital. Her sister would just have to prepare the bar for closing and hold down the fort until she got back.

She glanced over her shoulder at Cat, who was mumbling something to Tess and looking miserable.

Maybe the responsibility would be good for her sister. Maybe the time by herself would urge her to finally get her life together. “June thirtieth, right?” she asked Gracie.

“That’s D-day apparently. Less than three weeks.”

Would her editor go for her assignment suggestion? There was only one way to find out.

1

“SO, HOW ABOUT ME in California?” Laine asked, rocking forward on her toes as she stood in front of her boss’s imposingly disorganized desk.

Mac Solomon’s silver-and-black eyebrows drew together. “That’s a big assignment.”

“I’m ready.” Or in desperate financial straits—take your pick.

“Maybe. You know my philosophy, right? Bad news sells better than good.”

“I remember.” And she knew how the assignment game was played with her boss—the aggressive, pushy photographer always won. Even if, deep down, she was scared to death of getting within ten miles of a raging wildfire. “You’ll be pleased to hear they’ve called in an arson investigator.”

“I want something on this dead smoke jumper.”

Laine swallowed and avoided glancing at the Internet story and picture she’d laid on her boss’s desk. Tommy Robbins had died five days ago fighting the northern California wildfire. In what seemed like a lifetime ago, she’d known him. He’d been a close friend of a guy she’d dated the summer she’d lived with Aunt Jen after her college graduation.

Those carefree days seven years ago had ended in heartbreak, and now her trip back would begin there. Part of her dreaded going. The rest of her relished the challenge.

“I’ll get you all you want on smoke jumping,” she said.

Her former lover, Steve Kimball, might not be thrilled to see her, but his ego certainly wouldn’t deny her the opportunity to follow him around and take pictures of him doing heroic stuff. Of course, she’d have to fight off the gaggle of women surrounding him, but that shouldn’t feel like a kick in the teeth this time around.

Mac harrumphed. “I want some action shots. Destruction and flames.”

“This story is not just about the fire itself, you know. The reports are that the blaze could consume most of the town of Fairfax. There will be evacuations, acts of courage, a community pulling together. It could be a real uplifting piece.”

“Tears are always good sellers.”

“Ah, Mac, you’re all heart.”

“I’m all business, Laine. You know that. We have that in common.”

While she considered herself a professional, she certainly hoped she never reached the jaded bad-news-sells-better-than-good status that Mac had.

“You’ll get the best,” she said.

“I want daily updates. E-mail me what you’ve got. If you can come up with a real action shot, maybe we’ll talk about the cover.”

A big fat bonus came with the cover shot. That would come in handy. Maybe she could pull together enough funds to send Cat back to school, as she’d once dreamed of doing.

“Not too much sissified human-interest crap,” Mac went on.

Since feel-good, human-interest pictures had always been her specialty, Laine had to swallow that blow to her pride. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“I should be sending one of my guys to cover this, not the new girl.”

Nothing like the added pressure of having a sexist for an editor. “But they don’t have a connection with the smoke jumpers. Or an in with the chief in charge of the operation. I do.”

Thank you, Aunt Jen. Provided Laine cleared her shoots with him and supplied the forestry service with copies of her photos for training purposes, the chief had agreed to sign releases for the magazine and get her close to the fire.

“Hmmph.”

“I know the people in this town, remember? They’re a close-knit group. They’re not going to let just anybody wander around taking their picture.”

Of course, close to the people and close to the fire were two entirely different propositions, but Laine had little choice. She’d taken this job not just for money, but for new challenges. She’d decided she couldn’t bear photographing yet another rose show or “garden of the month,” such as the layouts she’d done for Texas Living. It was time she proved to Mac—and herself—that she was ready for a new test in her career.

“I’m the best person for this assignment,” she added.

“Yeah, sure.” Mac shuffled through the papers scattered across his desk. “Then what are ya standin’ here for?”

STEVE KIMBALL SHIFTED the heavy supply pack onto his shoulder as he climbed into the forestry service transport truck. He’d spent two exhausting days digging a fire line, cutting down trees and clearing brush, trying to deprive the raging flames of fuel. He was dirty, frustrated and exhausted. The men around him didn’t look much better. Faces black with soot, eyes downcast and solemn.

Though it had been a long time since he’d been part of a smoke jumper team, he knew they were usually energized by the flight, parachuting through the heat and smoke-choked sky, the feeling that they were making progress blocking the spread of a fire that couldn’t be fought in ordinary ways.

But the cockiness and exhilaration hadn’t come for Steve. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected it. He was in the last place he wanted to be, for the worst reason in the world.

He’d buried one of his closest friends a week ago. The crew he was now part of had lost one of their best.

“Well, this sucks,” Josh Burke commented as he slumped on the bench seat and laid his head back against the dark green canvas surrounding the truck bed.

Of course, he wasn’t just talking about the wildfire. Almost five thousand acres of beautiful northern California forestland had burned so far, with the flames creeping closer to civilization by the hour. If they didn’t get some rain soon, they would have to start evacuating the small community of Fairfax, the town where Josh grew up and Steve had lived during the three years he’d been a full-time smoke jumper. If the fire got beyond that, there was nothing standing between the blaze and the more densely populated city of Redding.

No one mentioned these dire details, or the late Tommy Robbins. They were men after all. Smoke jumpers. Firefighters. Heroes.

Yeah, right.

“Let’s send Kimball into town for women,” Cole Taylor said.

“You don’t buy them at the store,” Steve said, bracing himself as the truck bounced along the country highway. Besides, he didn’t want company. He just wanted the meal that awaited them at base camp, then to collapse on the guest bed in Josh’s apartment.

Josh raised his head long enough to glance at Steve. “We’d have to clean him up first. Not even Mr. Magic could get a woman looking like that.”

“Mr. Magic?” one of the younger guys asked.

Josh lay back again, casually folding his hands across his stomach. “Women love him. Go figure. Personally, I don’t see it.”

Steve forced himself to smile, relieved to have something to focus on besides death and flames. He could grieve and feel sorry for himself when he was alone later. Right now he had a role to fill—the fun guy, the one who couldn’t wait to charge the deadly fire again, then dance with the girls and hoist a beer to his comrades. “When you’ve got it…”

Cole leaned forward, his white teeth peeking from behind his sooty face. “So come out with us tonight. You bailed the other night, and we wanna see you in action.”

“I don’t—”

“Unless you’re afraid of some competition,” another guy shouted.

“I got twenty on Kimball,” Cole said.

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Josh advised the others. “Especially since it would be so easy for him to hook up with an old flame.”

Steve cocked his head. Who did he know—

“Laine Sheehan is in town.”

His heart stuttered. He and Laine had dated the summer after her college graduation. He, Josh and Tommy had been roommates, living in Fairfax, working for the forestry service as smoke jumpers. Cocky and wild, they’d cut a now-notorious path through the parties and clubs of Redding and one night had run into Laine and some other women from Fairfax.

The shy, reserved blonde had stopped Steve dead in his tracks.

Though Josh and Tommy had never really understood his single-minded interest in Laine, Steve had soaked up her gentleness, her golden-brown eyes, her complete adoration of him. At the end of the summer he’d asked her to move in with him, but she couldn’t deal with his dangerous job, and she’d gone back home to Texas.

At the time, he’d been resentful of her asking him to choose her or his job, but seven years later he supposed he understood her hesitation to get more involved with him. Especially in light of Tommy’s death.

He’d never completely gotten over her.

“How do you know she’s here?” he asked Josh, feeling the gazes of the other men on him.

“Saw her the other night at Suds.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “What was Laine doing at Suds?”

“Drinkin’.”

“Drink—” The truck jerked to a halt before Steve could finish. Since they had to consult with forestry service officials about the fire’s progress and get their schedule for the following day, he didn’t have a chance to question Josh further until dinner.

As he dug into baked chicken, macaroni and cheese and green beans, he was grateful for the delicious food. The churches in Fairfax had banded together to feed the dozens of teams fighting the fires, and they’d pulled out all the stops. He didn’t even want to think about any of those people losing their homes and businesses.

“So why was Laine Sheehan drinking at Suds?” he asked Josh quietly as they sat next to each other in the bustling food tent located in the base camp’s center.

He shrugged. “I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say.”

“Some help you are.”

“I don’t know why you’re still getting worked up about that woman. You’re complete opposites.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

“And, sorry to be critical here, but she’s not up to your usual physical standards.”

“Just because she doesn’t have a double-D chest—”

“Though, come to think of it, she looked pretty good the other night.”

Steve put down his fork. “She did? How good?”

“I don’t know, man. Just good.” He pushed his plate aside. “And if you’re so interested, I heard she’s staying out at her aunt’s and covering the fire for some big-time magazine.”

“Laine is covering the fire?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“This fire. Our fire.”

“Yes.”

“She dumped me because she thought my job was too dangerous—”

“And don’t forget she wasn’t wild about your popularity with women.”

“She never said that. I just got that feeling.”

“I told you at the time that I agreed with you. I still do. Women can get real possessive.”

“And men don’t?” Steve waved away the comment before Josh, who had gotten into countless fights over some guy looking at his date, could respond. “We basically broke up over my job, and now she’s covering the fire.”

“Kinda weird the way life turns out, huh?”

“Does she realize she’ll have to get reasonably close to the fire to take pictures of it?”

“I assume so. Laine was a quiet one, but no one could call her that naive.” Josh paused. “I guess this means you’re going out with us tonight.”

For a minute, Steve wondered if seeing Laine again was a good idea. He’d already spent a lot of time the last few days reflecting on the past. The path he’d taken. His regrets and mistakes.

His life had been one long adventure. As the youngest of four and the son of a firefighter tragically killed when Steve was only nine, he’d been indulged and encouraged to pursue the never-ending energy and curiosity that filled him. High school and a year at a university in Europe. Firefighter and paramedic training. Working in the Atlanta Fire Department. Then smoke jumper training and tackling one of the most challenging—and dangerous—aspects of firefighting.

Then one spring he and another firefighter had been trapped for several hours along a ridge during a wildfire. The experience spooked Steve. He’d never found the same level of commitment to smoke jumping or forest fires since. So, he’d gone back to his home in north Georgia. Though part of him felt as if he was running from fears and insecurities he didn’t want to face, and that he was betraying the memory of his heroic father, he’d been happy.

He’d discovered he didn’t need constant life-and-death struggles to fulfill himself. He could be satisfied keeping the women of Baxter occupied and playing cards in the firehouse in between saving cats from trees.

When adventure had tapped him on the shoulder a few days ago, offering another taste of exhilaration, he’d accepted reluctantly. He was only here to honor Tommy’s memory. To offer himself to Josh and the rest of the team one last time.

Maybe Laine could remind him why he belonged with these guys. “Oh, yeah, I’m coming.”

LAINE SQUINTED. Most of the bar was a vague blur.

Maybe she shouldn’t have ordered a cosmopolitan then downed half the contents in one swallow. Gulping was the only way she could get the thing down. Though her sister and friends had claimed the drink as their own—as a joke, since being cosmopolitan in tiny Kendall, Texas, was something of a challenge—she’d never gotten used to the taste.

She was going to need a designated driver at this rate. And still nothing would change the humiliating call she’d gotten that afternoon from her editor.

Mac, in his charming, sweet way, had torn into her pictures. Though at least by sending the digital images, she’d assumed that he couldn’t literally tear them.

“Do I need to send one of the boys out there to show you what pictures of a fire look like?” he’d asked.

She’d sent him pictures of evacuation preparations, people living in the shelters and firefighters getting into their gear. Though planning to develop a well-rounded piece—complete with uplifting shots as well as action ones—she was still working her way up to the actual fire.

“You don’t need to send the boys,” she’d said, not at all surprised by Mac’s impatience. “I’m going up in a helicopter tomorrow.”

Which was why she was drinking tonight.

Her assurances had warded off Mac’s threat of replacement and kept her paycheck coming—for the moment anyway.

She sipped her cosmo, winced, then promptly advised her scaredy-cat conscience that she wasn’t some insecure little girl who had nightmares about her boyfriend’s horrifying death. She’d conquered her fear of heights years ago. Her hands had barely shaken as she’d watched a truckload of tired-looking smoke jumpers climb out of a chopper yesterday.

Unfortunately, her plan to take care of Aunt Jen wasn’t going much better than her job. She’d tried to convince her aunt that her home was about to be consumed by fire. And wouldn’t it be a good idea to be prepared for that event?

Nope. Not according to Aunt Jen. And her prayer group was working overtime just to be sure.

“Can I buy you a drink, honey?”

Scowling, she glanced up at a smiling, dark-haired man. “No, thanks.”

Men were the last complication she needed. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen Steve or anyone on his team yesterday, as they were deep in the forest, digging fire lines. She’d met Chief Jeff Arnold, finding him professional, experienced and cooperative.

And much more interesting than the guy who was now sitting next to her, despite her refusal of his drink offer.

“I’m Mark,” he said.

Laine pushed to her feet. “I’m going.”

“Don’t go. Have a drink with me.” Mark pointed at her half-full martini glass. “Cosmo?”

“Yes, but—”

As Mark raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, she noticed something jaw-dropping. “You’re wearing a wedding ring.”

Mark shrugged. “I’m just looking for someone to talk to.”

No wonder she spent her days working and her nights and weekends balancing the books at Temptation. Alone. “Are you really?”

“My wife understands.”

“I’ll bet.”

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Nothing,” Laine said before Mark could respond. Shaking her head, she waved. “Bye, Mark.”

As Mark the Cheating Scumbag got up from his stool and strolled away, Laine glanced around Suds. With its ancient-looking tables, scuffed floor, ever-flowing tap and simple bar food, it reminded her of Temptation.

It was still hard to believe she was too far away to rush back to Kendall and see what problems had popped up at the bar.

She did, however, have to worry what bills might need paying. And she couldn’t push aside the compulsion to call her sister and remind her to call the auction house about selling the furniture.

She’d left a clearly outlined plan of action taped to the bar before she’d left on Thursday, and she’d bet her best zoom lens that Cat hadn’t so much as glanced at it.

Digging her cell phone from her purse, she called the bar. Though it was nearly nine on a Sunday night, she knew her sister wouldn’t be home with a cup of tea and a book.

“Cat?” she yelled into the phone over the blaring music.

“Lainey?”

Laine ground her teeth. “Have you called the auction house yet? We need to get some cash for the furniture to pay off the liquor supplier.”

“Hi, sister dear, how are you?” Cat answered back in a sarcastic tone. “How was your day? I’m sure it’s so difficult dealing with everything all on your own since I left you there without a thought at all for anybody but myself.”

Laine eyed the bar in front of her and tried to resist the urge to pound her head against it. They’d had this argument already. Her income was all they had at the end of the month. She had to make sure the money kept coming in. “Please don’t start, Cat,” she said calmly. “You’ll be fine. Just follow my list.”

“What list?”

“The one I taped to the bar that explained step by step what you needed to do this week.”

“Oh, I wondered what that was. Some guy spilled whiskey all over it Friday night. I threw it away.”

Laine rubbed her temples. Why had she called? Why did she continue to submit herself to the torture of communicating with her sister? “I’ll e-mail you another copy. And call the auction house first thing tomorrow.”

“I’m busy.”

“Please, Cat. We have to get moving on these things.”

“Yeah, sure we do.”

Was that a catch in her sister’s voice? Okay, maybe she was irresponsible and forgetful, but she was family. Her baby sister. This closing was hard on her. Maybe—

“Look, Laine, I’ve got to go,” she said and disconnected.

Their once-boisterous Irish father was no doubt rolling over in his grave at the tension between his two girls. Laine had always taken care of her sister, tried to get her to do the right thing, the responsible thing. But Cat never saw things the same way and inevitably dug in her heels whenever Laine tried to convince her otherwise.

Feeling both relief at having done her duty and overwhelming guilt at abandoning Cat to tasks she would never manage on her own, she closed her cell phone, then dropped it back in her purse.

She would just have to straighten it all out when she got back.

Rolling her shoulders, she thought about her shooting plan for the next day. Some aerials of the damage, some—

Without fanfare or a drumroll, Steve Kimball walked into the bar, his buddy Josh Burke flanking him.

Steve looked every bit as good as he had that summer. Wavy black hair, broad shoulders, confident, seductive smile. Caught up in her stunned, drooling stare, she even thought—from fifteen feet away—she could see the mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes.

Her body loosened. Sparked. Stood at attention.

Though confused at being awakened so suddenly, she was pretty sure her libido saluted.

What had she done? Why had she thought she could be within twenty miles of this man and not want him again?

Like the chicken she was trying to prove she wasn’t, she hid behind a menu. She wasn’t ready to face him.

By now she supposed he knew she was in town, since she’d spotted Josh the first night she’d arrived, when she’d met her friend Denise for drinks.

As she peeked past the menu, she saw him looking around the bar, as if searching for someone. Her? Not likely. He’d been angry and resentful when she’d asked him to choose between her and his job. In retrospect, she could hardly blame him.

An adventurer like him wouldn’t have stayed satisfied with her for long. Not when he had his pick of any woman he wanted. And she couldn’t imagine spending her life watching him jump out of airplanes, wondering when the day would come that he never made it home.

Deep down she’d known they’d never last. Asking him to choose, when she already knew the answer, was an easy way to bring everything to a neat end.

He and Josh obviously spotted their buddies in a back booth, already crowded with giggling women. She recalled many times when Steve, Josh and Tommy were surrounded by women. Josh, with his shaggy, curly dark hair and direct stare. Tommy with his clean-cut, blond California good looks. And Steve, rounding out the gorgeous and charming threesome.

She could hardly blame the women for their good taste. Still, Laine had been embarrassingly insecure and jealous.

In the years since, she’d grown up a lot, found some confidence and backbone. She wasn’t emotionally invested in Steve anymore. He and his dangerous job simply reminded her of an uncertain time in her life, and of her insecurity about his feelings for her. And while he might still affect her body, his job didn’t matter, except in relation to her photo assignment. She wasn’t falling for him again.

Especially since he wasn’t likely to give her a second glance.

Save Aunt Jen from a wildfire and her pride. Wow her editor with action, nongirlie photos. Resist Steve Kimball.

A workable plan. A reasonable plan.

Right?

2

SETTLED INTO A BOOTH and surrounded by Josh and Cole and the lovely ladies they’d invited, Steve glanced around the bar. He saw several colleagues, a few people he vaguely recalled from either his residency seven years ago or the recent work on the fires, plus a stranger or two.

Certainly no Laine Sheehan.

He wished he wasn’t so disappointed. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. It’s not as though she’d be holding up a welcome banner.

“So, did you put out the fire yet?” a buxom brunette sitting between Josh and Cole asked.

“No, silly,” her equally buxom blond companion said with a nudge. “Don’t you ever watch the news?”

“Not if I can help it…”

Steve let their voices fade into the background. Though he hesitated to admit it to himself, and certainly wouldn’t tell his friends, he was bored.

And he couldn’t explain why. Back home in Georgia he liked nothing better than to hang out with his buddies from the firehouse. If a woman or two wandered across his path, all the better.

Why was he restless? Why could he only manage a smile at Cole’s raunchy joke?

Simple. He couldn’t get Laine out of his mind.

“You all right?” Cole asked.

“Fine.” He sipped his beer. “It’s just been a helluva few days.”

“Tell me about it. This is a wild one.”

“You ever feel like you’re just barely hangin’ on?”

“All the time.” Cole reached for a handful of beer nuts. “It’s good to have you back, though. Tommy would have loved it.”

“Yeah. It’s not the same without him.” And Steve wondered if the knot in his stomach would ever loosen. “You think we can beat this thing?”

“Hell yeah. And it’ll sure be fun trying.”

Steve forced himself to smile, knowing the facade of enthusiasm he had to keep up. “Sure will.”

Josh pushed the pitcher of beer their way. “Thank God the workday’s done.”

Cole refilled their mugs. “And the night’s young.”

Steve clanged his mug against the others’, caught the gaze of the brunette who didn’t watch the news, then looked away. Hanging with his old buddies again helped him accept Tommy’s death, and even made him recall his exhilarating days as a smoke jumper without panicking. But part of him also realized he’d moved on. Running, but still on to something new.

As he sipped his beer, he caught a glimpse of a blonde at the far end of the bar, a black camera bag resting by her feet. “Laine?” he said aloud, though nobody likely heard him over the toasts.

He rose. “I’ll be back,” he said absently to Cole, leaving his beer on the table and keeping his gaze locked on the familiar woman across the room.

She looked nearly the same. Lovely. Delicate, but strong. Wearing jeans, a crewneck white shirt and navy blazer, she didn’t seem ordinary in the ordinary clothes. Instead of the ponytail he remembered, her hair fell to her shoulders and curved softly around her face. Her lips, which he always remembered her biting, were full and glossy pink.

He stopped next to her and felt a familiar desire slide into his stomach. “Hi, Laine.”

“Hi, Steve,” she said, her brown-eyed gaze meeting his dead on.

This close, something about her, the look in her eyes, or the strength of her posture, made her seem bolder, more confident. Though he’d been crazy about shy and sweet Laine, he found himself drawn to the change.

Oh, yeah, rekindling the heat between him and Laine could be just the thing to jolt him out of his depression and distract him from the duty he dreaded.

He loomed over her and liked the way her eyes widened at his proximity. “Can an old friend buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” Cool as a cucumber, she shrugged. “If you can fit me into your fan club. Maybe you should give everybody membership numbers. You know, to keep things fair.”

The old tension returned as though seven minutes had passed rather than seven years. He couldn’t help it if people felt comfortable approaching him. He was a firefighter and well known in Fairfax. His height communicated confidence. Hell, people liked him. Was that a crime?

“I don’t have a fan club,” he said.

She winked. “Right.”

He realized she was teasing. Of course she wouldn’t still be carrying around seven-year-old jealousy. “Hey, we’ve been in the woods for two days.”

“So I hear.” She patted the empty stool next to her, her smile dispelling the gloom that had settled over him that afternoon. “Have a seat.”

Steve swallowed. Why does she make me so weak?

He stepped toward her, stopping just short of his chest brushing her back as he settled onto the stool. A spicy, fruity scent washed over him, and his body hardened.

“You look really beautiful.” In fact, he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from stroking her shoulder.

“Thanks.” She grinned. “So do you.”

Ridiculously, he felt his face heat. “Thanks. Josh told me you’re covering the fire for some major magazine.”

“Yeah. I signed on with Century.”

He whistled. “I’m honored to think I was part of the test photos.”

“I do still have one of you in my portfolio.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah. One of you, Josh and Tommy stumbling out of a plane after you’d just come off a two-day wildfire on the California–Oregon border.”

His heart lurched.

“I heard about Tommy,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

Oddly enough, despite her aversion to his job, it felt right sharing his pain with her. “The fire. A sudden wind.”

She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, tears clung to her lashes. Her compassion reminded him why he’d fallen so hard. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t want to face his grief for Tommy now. He’d been wallowing in it for a week. He slid his hand around her waist. “I’m better now.”

She leaned back and gave him a wry look. “And still smooth as ever.”

Smiling, he gripped her side. “Why am I thinking that’s not a compliment?”

“But it is. And especially convenient for the available ladies of Fairfax.”

“And do you include yourself in that group?”

“Definitely not.”

Damn. “You’re married?”

“No. Just not available.”

“To me?”

“To anybody.” She polished off the pink contents of her martini glass. “Another cosmo, please,” she said to the smiling young bartender who appeared before her.

Steve ordered a beer. “Since when do you drink cosmos?”

“I have for years.”

Something was definitely up with a cosmo-drinking, sassy-mouthed, unavailable Laine. It’s been seven years, man. People change. Look at you.

He was challenged by her lack of interest in him. Because he was still interested in her? Or because she’d once been so dedicated to him?

Either way, it was probably a good idea to back off. At least for the moment. “How’s Aunt Jen?”

“Stubborn as ever. She doesn’t want to leave her house.”

“She may not have to.”

“Chief Arnold seemed to think differently when I was at base camp yesterday. You really believe she won’t need to leave?”

“We’re supposed to be thinking positively on the front line, but no. Evacuations will happen.” He accepted his beer from the bartender; Laine did the same with her cosmo. “If we don’t get some rain soon, the town is right in the fire’s path.”

She held up her glass. “Then a toast to rain. To Tommy.” Pausing, she met his gaze. “And to the rest of you staying safe.”

He tapped his mug against her glass. “To Tommy.” He wasn’t toasting himself. The reluctance he felt at every jump, every trip into the ravaged forest, made a mockery of the other teams’ bravery.

She sipped her drink, then puckered her lips and set the glass aside.

“Too strong?”

“No, it’s…fine. So, how’ve you been?”

He drank his beer, figuring at least they’d agree on the changes he’d made in his life. “I gave up smoke jumping and moved back home to Georgia a few years ago.”

Laine nearly fell off her stool. “You—What?”

“I went home, joined a regular firehouse, started saving cats from trees. I even bought a house.”

She couldn’t grasp it. “What about parachuting from planes into fire-choked forests? What about rappelling from helicopters? What about Italy and Greece? You had hiking, biking, scuba diving and who knows what else planned.”

“The farthest I’ve been from home in the last four years is Atlanta.”

Bad boy Steve had reformed? Settled down? Good grief.

“Did you get married?” she asked, still stunned enough to wonder what else she’d missed.

“No.”

“Have any kids?”

Leaning toward her, he grinned. “No. Are you volunteering?”

That brought back painful memories. When she’d been young and wide-eyed. When she’d thought she and Steve would get married someday, have a family together. Instead, he’d asked her to move in and made it clear he planned to be a smoke jumper until he was old and gray.

Going back there wouldn’t help, and she really didn’t want to go several rounds with him over the past. “But you are here working on the fires.”

“My old team called me when Tommy died. They asked me to fill in.”

He’d probably left home with skid marks. Settled down? No way. “And it’s great to be back.”

He drank his beer. “Oh, yeah.”

See, nothing had changed, her heart reminded her.

And even though her libido protested, she told herself that was a good thing. She didn’t want to want Steve. She had a job to do. A paycheck to maintain. An aunt to battle.

Still, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to sit next to him again. His wild, mischievous smile and confidence had thrown her for a loop from the beginning, but she’d soon learned there was much more beneath his beautiful face and body. He spoke three languages, had spent several years abroad, had a love of art and culture—and never passed up the opportunity to help little old ladies cross the street.

On top of her conflicting feelings, she was baffled by him flirting with her. Did he really want to pick up where they’d left off?

No way. Not a good idea. Her heart had taken too severe a beating the first time around.

“So you’re just back for the fire?”

“Yeah. My life is in Georgia now.”

“I thought your hometown was pretty small.”

“It is.”

“Not much action for an adventurous guy like yourself.”

“We get our share. Had a serial arsonist running loose last fall. That was pretty exciting.”

Action aplenty, even in rural Georgia. She’d been through wild, dangerous and adventurous with him before and hadn’t enjoyed the results. Now she needed those qualities in him for her assignment. How ironic was that?

“How about dinner tomorrow?” he asked suddenly, leaning close to her.

“Uh…no.”

“No?”

“Look, I’m sure we’ll run into each other over the next few days,” she said, leaning back. “And I’m sorry I kidded you with the fan-club crack earlier, but you have plenty of women lining up, so—”

“There’s no line.”

“Oh, they’ll come. Probably the ones at that table in the back that were glaring at me a few minutes ago.”

“Laine, nobody’s glaring at—”

“Hi, Steve.”

A curvy redhead stood next to him, her hand on her hip, her impressive chest thrown out.

Laine smirked at him before he turned to the other woman.

“Hi, Darla. Laine, do you know Darla?”

“No.” Laine waved and smiled. After all, her point had been made. “Hi.”

Darla smiled weakly in return, then focused on Steve. “Wasn’t dinner great the other night?”

“Yeah. Thanks for going to all that trouble. The guys on the team really appreciate the effort everyone in town has made for us.”

Steve’s neck had turned red. He looked uncomfortable at sharing a drink with one woman while talking to another.

Darla finally drifted away, and Steve turned back to her. “Sorry about that. She and some friends made dinner for our jump team a few nights ago and—”

“Hi, Steve.”

Laine bit her lip to keep from laughing.

This time the woman was a striking brunette with a sultry voice and, again, some impressive curves.

“Hi, Vivian. Do you know Laine?”

Vivian didn’t bother to do more than raise her eyebrows at Laine’s wave.

“We missed you Friday night,” she said to Steve.

“I was exhausted.”

Laine propped her chin on her fist and noticed a petite redhead waving at her from across the bar. Denise?

She had met fun, impulsive Denise the summer she’d lived in Fairfax. Her family lived next door to Aunt Jen. She and Denise had been together the night she’d met Steve in a Redding bar, had become great friends and stayed in touch ever since. Denise had come home to help her parents in case they needed to evacuate and, the night Laine arrived, caught her up on all the gossip over drinks.

She was the perfect escape from Steve.

“Excuse me,” Laine said. “I see somebody I need to speak to. Why don’t you two catch up.”

Steve stood, and Vivian’s eyes lit like sparklers. Clearly, she thought she’d scared Laine off.

As Laine’s feet hit the floor, Steve wrapped his hand around her wrist. “You’re coming back, right?”

Laine resisted the urge to fan herself at the intense, questioning look in his eyes. The man did know how to push her buttons. “I should go. I have to get up early…”

Steve scooped her camera bag off the floor and laid it on her empty stool. “I’ll just hang on to this till you get back.”

Holding her camera hostage? That was a new one. She really didn’t understand his insistence, especially with the likes of Vivian about, but she did want to talk to him about some shots of him and his jump team. Which she would do—briefly—before calling it a night.

“I’ll be back,” she said finally.

Vivian scowled. Steve smiled.

Crossing the bar, she stopped next to Denise, who hugged her tight. “I see the subject research is going well. Nobody else I’d rather see pictures of than Steve Kimball. Any chance of catching him naked?”

“No.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Please?”

Laine was having a hard time resisting the man’s charm when he was clothed. No way was she picturing him naked. “Definitely not. There’s nothing between us anymore.”

She frowned, her dark blue eyes narrowing. “Not even a spark?”

“Mmm…well, I wouldn’t say that. Did you know he’d moved?” She brought Denise up to date on Steve’s switch to hometown guy, who fought fires started by arsonists, rather than jumping from planes on a daily basis.

“All that danger and excitement sounds fun to me.”

“Not when you’re the one left at home wondering if you’ll ever see him again.”

“Good point.” She angled her head, her bright red curls brushing her cheek. “I hadn’t heard he left Fairfax, but then I’d left for graduate school, and I didn’t ask a lot of questions about him after you guys broke up.” She glanced across the bar at the man in question. “He certainly hasn’t lost his touch.”

Laine followed her friend’s stare and noted that Vivian was leaning close enough to the man to breast-feed him. A surprising pang of envy hit her.

“Vivian was always obvious,” Denise said, shaking her head. “In fact, at Honors Choir tryouts—”

“Let’s stay in this decade, please.”

“Yeah, sure. I still don’t see how you’re going to follow him around taking pictures and not be tempted.”

“I’ll manage. Why do you think he’s always surrounded?”

“He’s drop-dead gorgeous, Laine. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I was just hoping it was me. He’s aged, after all.”

“He has?”

He had. And somehow looked even better. Men!

“He might be worth the risk—heartbreakwise,” Denise added. “I’d go for the direct approach. Invite him to your place, see where things go.”

“Invite him—” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. My place is Aunt Jen’s.”

“So go to his place.”

“The only place I’m going with him is professionally related.”

“Speaking of your job…how are you going to cover this fire and not actually, you know, be there?”

“Remember how I told you I’d hoped to convince my editor this was a human-interest piece?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s interested in humans all right. As long as a big, raging wildfire is in the background.”

“Yikes.”

Laine sighed. “Tell me about it.” Recording action on film was great, but participating wasn’t her strong point. Up until a few months ago, her biggest challenge had been figuring out the difference between a hybrid tea rose and a floribunda.

Now, no matter how terrified she was, she had to face the fire. Literally. How Steve did so on a daily basis—in the forest or in his hometown—she’d never understand. So, it was time to earn her precious paycheck, stop talking and start snapping. “I’m going to take some aerial shots in the morning.”

“If you say so…”

She rolled her shoulders. “Okay. I’m going.”

“Aerial shots now? It’s dark.”

“Not now. I’ve got to get my camera out of hock first.”

Her stomach fluttered like crazy, no matter how many times she told herself to calm down. Thanks to Denise, images of Steve in various states of nakedness kept dancing across her mind. Memories she’d long forgotten. Or so she thought.

Distracted, she didn’t notice a different woman stood by Steve until she was a few feet away. She had shoulder-length dark hair and striking turquoise eyes and a shoulder holster peaking from beneath her jacket. She looked extremely annoyed.

“Come on, lover boy,” she was saying to Steve. “We were supposed to meet an hour ago, and I don’t have much time.”

Laine cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. These chicks are amazing. She glanced at Steve. “You need a better appointment calendar.”

“No, she’s not—She’s my sister-in-law.”

Laine widened her eyes.

Rising, Steve rubbed his temples. “Cara, would you please explain what you’re doing here?”

“We had a consult on the arson aspect of the wildfire,” she said in a clipped, no-nonsense tone Laine admired. “I’ve worked on several suspiciously started forest fires over the years, and my boss, the governor of Georgia, went to school with your commanding officer, so he sent me. I talked to the guys at the site when Steve didn’t show up. They said to try here.” Her gaze slid over Laine, as well as the half-finished drinks on the bar. “Where you don’t seem to be thinking about the fire. Sorry about that.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I forgot you came in yesterday. Laine, this is Cara Kimball. Cara, Laine Sheehan.”

Laine shook the other woman’s hand, finally realizing what her presence meant. “So, which brother did you marry?”

“Wes.”

Mmm. That made sense. Though she’d only met Wes once when he’d visited Steve, she remembered him being tough and temperamental. Not a man for a meek woman. “Congratulations,” she said to Cara.

“Cara is a captain in the arson division,” Steve put in. “She and Wes met during a case last fall.”

“So arson or careless campers with this wildfire?” Laine asked.

“Careless campers started it, but there’s a possibility arsonists are egging the blaze on,” Cara said.

Laine shook her head. “That doesn’t exactly restore your faith in humanity.”

“Hang out with me for a few days and my cases would completely destroy your faith in humanity.”

Steve frowned, and Laine wondered whether he was disturbed by the content of their conversation or the chumminess between her and Cara. As Steve pulled out the stool on the other side of him, Laine waggled her finger, indicating that he should move down so she and Cara could sit next to one another.

“Join us,” she said to her new friend.

Dropping onto the stool, Cara shrugged. “For a few minutes. I have to get back to work.” She leaned forward and directed her attention to Steve. “And so does he.”

“How could I forget?” He raised his hand to the bartender, then asked Cara what she wanted.

“Diet Coke,” she said.

“One for me, too,” Laine added, pushing her martini glass aside.

“Ben got married recently, too,” Cara said.

“Really?” Ever since the death of Steve’s father, Ben had been the leader of the Kimball clan. Laine had never met him, but she’d gotten the impression that Ben was both reserved and revered. A longtime role model for Steve.

“Steve’s the last bachelor in the family,” Cara said, cutting her gaze toward her brother-in-law. “And likely to stay that way.”

“Certainly not from a lack of available candidates.”

“None of them seem to hold his interest for more than a couple of months, though.”

Laine nodded. “Been there.”

“No kidding? You and Steve?”

“Yep. About seven years ago. For a couple of months during the summer.”

Cara shook her head. “The story of his life.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Steve said, sounding annoyed.

Without looking at him, Laine patted his hand. “And we’re glad to have you.”

“Why do you think he never hangs around very long?” she asked Cara.

“You know men. They can never turn down a buffet.” She glanced at Steve. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“Oh, right. Not mine either.” She slid off her stool and scooped her camera bag off the floor. Though she’d gotten caught up in her rapport with Cara, she didn’t have any interest in or right to Steve’s personal life. “I’d like to take some pictures of you both in action this week, if you don’t mind.”

“Laine is a photographer for Century magazine,” Steve said to Cara as he rose.

“I’d rather not have most of what I’m doing recorded,” Cara said, scowling. “Except by me. Sorry.”

Laine liked the idea of a female arson investigator in the middle of the disaster. And she thought Cara’s intense personality would come across dramatically in the pictures. “I’ll let you see any photos I’m considering for publication. You’ll have the opportunity to sign—or not sign—a release.”

“I’ll consider it,” Cara said.

“Great.” She looked up at Steve, ignoring the warmth flooding her body. “I’d like to shoot you and Josh and the others, too. When’s your next day on-site?”

“The day after tomorrow—Tuesday.”

Laine shook Steve’s hand. “I’ll see you then, I guess.”

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