Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I rolled my eyes. “So you did the Boy Scout thing and installed them for her.”
He shrugged. “It was either that or hold the ladder while I tried not to look up her housecoat. And believe me, I’d already determined she was going Scottish kilt-style under that thing.”
The laughter returned, only now it made me snort and howl. I doubled over and stomped my boot on the ground. “Stop, stop, I can’t breathe.”
He took the opportunity to pound me on the back so hard I nearly staggered to the side. “Take it easy, there, Firebug. It wasn’t that funny.”
When I finally caught my breath, I sniffed and eyed him. “Seriously, why are you out here? I told my sister I had a slight fire incident and stomped it out. I only needed her to bring me a jug of water to be sure it was all out before leaving.”
“She said there was a suspected arson in progress at—”
“Shut the fuck up! Are you serious?” I cried.
And then Judd fucking Kincaid grinned a wide grin that transformed his face from the gruff asshole, hell-bent on catching me in a code violation, into the world’s most stunning man.
“Of course I’m not serious. She called Javi to ask him to run out here and help, but he called me since it involved a person of interest in an ongoing fire investigation.”
“Are you kidding? Is he for real? What the fuck?” I didn’t appreciate the fact that I sounded like a dog’s squeaky toy since this asshole fire chief came to town, but apparently, I couldn’t stop it.
Javier Sujo was dead to me. No more two-dollar refills on his girlfriend’s favorite chardonnay.
“The man’s just doing his job, Alex. He knew if he came out here as a civilian and something happened, I’d fire his ass.”
I tried standing up a little straighter so he’d take me seriously. “Stop following me around. It’s harassment.”
He tilted his chin as he peered down at me, his body language relaxed enough to be in complete contrast with mine. “Stop lighting shit on fire. It’s illegal.”
I thought about continuing to fight with him, to try and win. But then my eyes caught sight of the skin on his forearm as he raised a hand to run fingers through his hair. His uniform sleeve was rolled up, and the way the odd light from the headlamps caught on his skin, making it look rough and scarred, grabbed my attention.
My experience in and around commercial kitchens was enough to have had plenty of exposure to minor burn scars. This was more than that. This was something awful.
I’d heard enough horrible fire stories from someone in the firefighting industry to know that most fire injuries came with stories of horrific pain and long, painful recoveries.
Kincaid’s damaged skin made me want to reach out, run my fingers along the artifact of whatever he’d gone through that day, if only to soothe him, to see him. But I quickly remembered this man wasn’t for me. He wasn’t mine in any way.
He was a stranger. An acquaintance. An enemy.
“Yes, sir,” I said, clearing my throat and throwing a jaunty salute at him. “No more fires. Sounds like a plan. Have a nice night.”
After scurrying to my car, I hopped in and peeled out, not bothering to stop in at the lodge on my way past my family’s large property. Instead, I headed straight home to my apartment over the restaurant and threw myself in bed.
Images of Kincaid’s large presence, his narrowed eyes, and the way his tight body looked in his uniform conspired to keep sleep at bay. Which meant the following day, I wanted to maim anyone who looked at me sideways.
I did a good job holding my tongue and playing happy host to our customers until Chief Fun-Killer walked through the door.
And announced my first “random” fire safety inspection.
4
KINCAID
DrunkenPoet: I was wondering if you ever want to meet IRL…
IndexEcho: Not if, Poet. But when.
_____________________
The last thing I wanted to do was see Alexander Marian again so soon. I was still irrationally angry at him for the little sparkler stunt he’d pulled the night before on his family’s land.
The man had a huge, filthy-rich family, and he dared to put their gorgeous Montana property at risk? How ignorant could he be?
I’d already heard about the Marian family from the sheriff and various members of my crew. I knew they were from California and had bought the historic Legacy Inn and all its surrounding property over twenty years ago, that they’d brought in enough money to help turn the town’s future around, and that Hazel Marian’s investment in a tech company here had brought in jobs, too. The influx of all that cash had apparently solidified Legacy’s reputation as a destination worth visiting. Restaurants, art galleries, and the single ski slope were enough to make tourism a significant portion of Legacy’s economy, and it was thanks in large part to the financial stability the Marians had brought.