Saddles and Soot
by Cynthia D’Alba
Veterinarian Georgina Greyson will only be in Whispering Springs for three months covering for the town veterinarian while he is on a research trip. She isn’t looking for love or roots, just maybe a good time before she moves on.
When his parents leave on their dream fantasy RV trip, Tanner Marshall is left in charge of his family’s cattle ranch, as well as his two younger brothers and sister. When he isn’t ranching, he’s doing duty on the volunteer fire department, a job he loves more than ranching. At thirty-four, he’s ready to put down some roots, including marriage, children and white picket fence.
When Georgina accidentally sets her yard on fire during a burn ban, the volunteer fire department responds and she gets quite the fire lecture from one very cute firefighter. If there’s one thing Tanner hates, it’s carelessness with fire, but there’s something about his latest firebug that he can’t get out of his mind.
Can an uptight firefighter looking to settle down convince a cute firebug to give up the road for a house and roots?
READ AN EXCERPT
©2015 Cynthia D’Alba/Riante, Inc.
The scent of smoke filtered around the side of the house. “I guess I’d better check on my fire.”
“Your what?” Magda shouted. “Fire? Your house is on fire?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I was burning trash, and a few things that needed to be permanently disposed of.”
“There’s a burn ban on right now. County’s as dry as I’ve ever seen it. You might want to go put that fire out pronto.”
“Burn ban? Seriously? I didn’t know. I’ll–”
The sound of a siren interrupted her. “I hear a siren close by. Guess you’re probably right about putting out the fire. Holler at you later.”
The smoke rolling around from the back of the house was heavier and darker now. Probably those darn running shoes smoldering. Maybe she should have thrown those into a Salvation Army bin. Too late now.
She screwed the hose nozzle onto the faucet at the side of the house and dragged the hose around to douse the fire. The unexpected heat from the growing blaze pushed her back. Somehow the fire had jumped its rock boundary and was eating its way toward the house.
Crap, crap, crap.
She’d begun frantically spraying the hose when a large, red firetruck braked to a stop in front of her house. Three men in tan turnout coats and pants jumped from the truck and scrambled for equipment. Behind the fire engine, five trucks skidded to a stop, red strobe lights on the dashes flashing through the windshields.
“Grab the hose and let’s get it around back,” the tall man from the first pick-up truck shouted. “Buddy, be sure to get the fitting tight this time. We need all the water we can get.” He shoved past Georgie with a gruff, “Move, lady.”
Two firemen raced past her dragging a large hose toward her fire. Good grief. It wasn’t even that big of a fire. Sure, it’d gotten out of its assigned location but she could have handled it with a simple garden hose. What an overreaction. Typical small volunteer fire department.
As that thought crossed her mind, the pine tree close to her bedroom window crackled as fire leapt up into its branches.
The animals! She needed to make sure they were okay.
Whirling around, she raced around the front of the house and approached the shared pasture from the other side of the house. Surprisingly, she found three more firemen there putting out small fires that’d started in the dead grass in the yard.
Running past them, she got to the fence and saw all three animals watching the firemen with a mixture of curiosity and fear. None of the burn paths had led to the pasture, so none of the animals she’d been trusted to protect were at risk. Even the smoke wasn’t as thick over here.
The volume of water the firemen’s hose sprayed was much greater than anything she could have generated with her garden hose. Within fifteen minutes, the fire was out and the men were rolling up their hose to leave.
A pain in the patoot for sure, but no real harm done.
The tall man who’d rudely shoved her out of the way stalked toward her with long strides and heavy footsteps.
“Lady,” he said, his face red with either heat exposure or anger.
Georgie crossed her fingers for heat exposure. She was wrong.
“Are you nuts or stupid?” the man shouted. “You don’t look crazy, so I’m going with stupid. There’s a fire ban right now. That means no fires. At all. For any reason.” He jerked the helmet off his head. Dark wavy hair fell over his forehead. “Well?” he demanded. A pair of chocolate brown eyes glared at her.
“Well, what?”
“Are you crazy or stupid?”
Georgie cocked her fists on her hips and widened her stance, hoping she looked intimidating. Sometimes that worked with her patients. Not with this guy.
“I’m neither, thankyouverymuch. I just got into town. I didn’t know about the burn ban. Sorry. It wasn’t part of the orientation to my house.” She waved her hand toward the white clapperboard house, as if he wouldn’t know which house she was talking about. “Besides, no real harm done. I’m sure I could have put it out with a garden hose.”
The man was a good six inches taller than she, and he took advantage of that stature to lean over her. “You know how a big fire gets started? With a small one. Yours would have spread fast if someone hadn’t seen the smoke rising and contacted us. And ignorance of the ban is no excuse. Any person with a modicum of intelligence would have noticed the parched grass and dying trees around them. Get some glasses, lady, if you can’t see that.”
Ire rumbled in her gut. Standing on her tiptoes, she poked her finger into his chest, which was akin to poking the butcher block countertop in the kitchen. Dadgum near broke her finger. “I’m not stupid. And I’m not blind. And I’m sorry.” She dropped down off her toes. “Thank you for showing up. Am I going to get a fine?”
The corners of his mouth twitched as though he might smile, but the movement went no further. “That’ll be up to Sheriff Singer, but he’s a good guy. He might go easy on you if you explain.” His sexy chestnut eyes squinted into a serious expression. “No matter where you live, always check with the fire department before you burn.”
She stepped back and saluted. “Yes, sir.”
That did produce a tiny smile. The man turned on his boot heel and headed back to the truck. With engines growling, all six vehicles roared back down her drive to the highway. There, they went in separate directions.
She’d never experienced a volunteer fire department response. Interesting would be one word to describe it.
And the head of the response? He’d be best described as intriguing.
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About Cynthia D’Alba
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Cynthia D’Alba started writing on a challenge from her husband in 2006 and discovered having imaginary sex with lots of hunky men was fun. She was born and raised in a small Arkansas town. After being gone for a number of years, she’s thrilled to be making her home back in Arkansas living in a vine-covered cottage on the banks of an eight-thousand acre lake. When she’s not reading or writing or plotting, she’s doorman for her two dogs, cook, housekeeper and chief bottle washer for her husband and slave to a noisy, messy parrot. She loves to chat online with friends and fans.
You can find her most days at one of the following online homes:
Website: cynthiadalba.com
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Or drop her a line at cynthia@cynthiadalba.com
Or send snail mail to: Cynthia D’Alba PO Box 2116 Hot Springs, AR 71914