Fire at Dusk: The Firefighters of Darling Bay
Read Fire at Dusk: The Firefighters of Darling Bay Online
Authors: Lila Ashe
Tags: #Romance, #love, #hot, #sexy, #firefighter, #fireman, #Bella Andre, #Kristan Higgins, #Barbara Freethy, #darling bay, #island, #tropical, #vacation, #Pacific, #musician, #singer, #guitarist, #hazmat, #acupuncture, #holistic, #explosion, #safety, #danger
FIRE AT DUSK
THE FIREFIGHTERS OF DARLING BAY
LILA ASHE
Copyright © 2013 by Lila Ashe.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Fire at Dawn / Lila Ashe. -- 1st ed.
ISBN 978-1-940785-11
CHAPTER ONE
THE MAN CAME at her fast from the side, out of the shadows. His fist swung toward her jaw but Samantha ducked and caught the blow on her forearm. “No!” she yelled. “Stop!”
The man wheeled, coming back at her again. He roared, driving his fists against her shoulders, slamming her back into the brick wall, knocking the wind out of her.
Samantha took almost a full second to think, to dig inside herself for what she needed. The man was taller, broader, and outweighed her by sixty pounds. He had her pinned against the wall, and she could move nothing but her right leg.
That would be enough.
She kicked her foot left, driving her heel into her assailant’s shin. His response was muffled but clearly displeased.
“No!” she managed to shout again. “No!” Her foot connected again, this time higher. She might have hit his kneecap.
One last time she yelled “Stop! Someone call 911!” The man pulled back his head, as if her voice had hurt his ears. Samantha used the moment to shove her shoulder forward, freeing her right arm from his grip. Without a pause, she raised her fist and pummeled his ear, or where his ear would have been. She propped her foot against the wall and used it to push off from. The man lurched backward, struggling to keep his grip on her upper arms.
With a jerk of her neck, Samantha head-butted him, earning a muffled, “
Ooof
.”
Both her hands finally free, Samantha flew into motion. She jabbed, punched, kicked and clawed. She was a piston, each pump a blow. She didn’t stop until the man was on the ground, curled onto his side, his arms protecting his head.
She’d done it. She’d won. Samantha's heart beat heavy and fast in her ears. No matter how many times it happened, she was always frightened. That was the point. Fighting past the fear. She turned to face the group behind her.
“This is when you run. Don’t waste your breath calling for help at this point—right now you’re using all your energy to put as much space between you and him. Get to a well-lit space or behind a locked door. Find a phone. Find a safe group of people and ask them to call 911. I call it
Down and Out.
He goes down, you get out.”
A light laugh rippled around the room, but mostly Samantha heard rapid breathing as women took in quick sips of air. The first scene was always the second-worst part of the class. The worst part, of course, was the first fight each woman took part in.
The
best
part was the first scene each woman won, but they were still quite a way from learning how to do that.
“I know. This is intense. Take a deep breath.”
The participants, to a woman, looked as if they might fall right over, especially Linda McCracken, a woman who had been considering taking the class ever since her husband died a few months before, and was observing today. She’d looked nervous just walking in the door, but now she had a sheen of perspiration at her hairline and her hands were clenched at her sides.
Samantha said, “I mean
all
of you. Each one of you. You, too, Linda. Breathe. Right now. In…” A collective inhaled breath was followed by the out-breath. “Good.”
Their eyes were all on Jim Hinds. Of course. Samantha had just beaten the tar out of him and he was still lying on the ground behind her.
“Jim’s an old hand at this,” she reassured them. “And he’s trained for years to take this kind of beating. I’ve only been punching him for two months, but he worked down the coast for one of my trainers for a long time. He can take a lickin’, for sure. Come on, Jim, stand up and strip out of the suit. Let them see who I was actually protecting myself from.”
It was always a nice moment when Jim Hinds took off the padded gear and the women saw that the terrifying assailant, the stuff of nightmares, was actually the well-built librarian without his glasses on.
“Come on, Jim.” Samantha turned. He was still lying exactly where he’d fallen. “Show them what you look like under all that padding.”
But in the big white suit, Jim remained still.
There was another collected gasp. Linda McCracken started to weep.
“Jim?” Samantha leaned over him. “You all right, buddy?”
A strange wheeze was the only answer she got. Samantha dropped to her knees and pulled off Jim's helmet as gently as she could. His skin was pale and sweaty. His eyes met hers and telegraphed what he needed.
Samantha said clearly to Martina Miller, standing in the front row, “Use the pay phone by the front door. Call 911.”
Martina’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“This isn’t part of the training. 911.
Now
.”
CHAPTER TWO
HANK COULDN’T BELIEVE it.
Samantha Rowe. Again. How many times was he going to have to be thrown together with her? Not that he didn’t want to be—no, wait. That was right. He
didn’t
want to be.
Even Coin noticed it. “Doesn’t it seem like you run into her everywhere you go, dude? What’s it been, at least five times? You gonna ask her out or something?”
“No way.” The truth was that he’d seen or talked to her
six
times since she’d gotten back to town. The first time had been when she’d had the car accident at the pier—he’d been so shocked to see her he’d dropped the jaws of life on his toe. Since then, he’d made up excuses to go call or text her, asking her silly questions like how long she was going to be in town, and what she thought of the acupuncture her sister practiced.
Thin excuses, all of them.
Then he’d heard she was seeing John Selzer, the used-car salesman who liked his women loud and accomplished in the flirting department, and Hank had realized that he’d fallen right back into his old pattern of crushing on Samantha Rowe, setting himself up for nothing but failure.
Yeah, he’d already spent years doing exactly that, before Samantha left town with a guy on a motorcycle, taking Hank’s heart with her.
He wasn’t doing
that
again.
But inside the community center, with her eyes on him, it had been all he could do not to pump Jim Hinds for information when they’d hooked him up to the 12-lead. Jim was awake by the time they got there, though his gray color made it clear he wasn’t doing well. His rhythm had been far enough off that they’d packaged him for the ambulance, which had rumbled off code two, leaving Hank and Coin and Tox standing on the sidewalk in front of the center where Samantha Rowe was apparently teaching women to defend themselves.
“Yo! We’re going to get pizza to take back to the station.” Tox banged the engine door shut.
“No,” started Hank. “I know what you’re trying to—”
“Back soon,” said Coin with a grin.
“You both suck,” Hank growled. “Hurry it up.”
Because Tox and Coin were both going in to Junior’s Pizzeria, Hank was the one who, by default, had drawn the short straw and had to stay behind with the engine.
Normally it didn’t bother him. He was, after all, the most junior of the crew, and it happened to him a couple of times a week. He got to put the radio on the channel he liked (country, which had the added benefit of seriously irritating Tox when he got back in the rig). He didn’t mind talking to citizens as they walked by—and everyone had something to say when they passed a fire engine—even when they were actively criticizing the department.
I can’t believe you’re just sitting here, waiting for someone to have a fire. Hard day, son? Are my tax dollars paying you to look at your phone?
Hank would just shrug and say, “Someone’s gotta do it, sir.” Because those same citizens were the ones who would expect them to arrive at their homes twenty seconds after they dialed 911, and on those days, they were nothing but grateful to see the fire engine turning down their street. Some of the guys hated taking the flak, but Hank didn’t mind. His shoulders were broad enough.
But right now? Sitting in front of Samantha Rowe’s self-defense class while his partners got pizza? Tox and Coin were jerks, plain and simple. It never paid to admit a weakness to anyone in the fire department, never.
And Samantha was a weakness, all right.
That moment, what was it, eight months or so ago now? When they’d pulled up in the engine, when they’d seen that car perched on the edge of the pier, smashed halfway through the railing, teetering and swaying—Hank had known that whoever was inside had to get out, and fast. If the car hit the water, it would be bad. Really bad.
But then Hank had gotten to the side window and looked inside the vehicle to see Samantha Rowe in the passenger seat—completely unconscious.
The girl who had broken his heart. The woman he’d compared all other girlfriends to—it hadn’t been fair to them, of course. He knew that. But he couldn’t help it. When he was dating Joanne, he’d compared her plain brown eyes to Samantha’s brilliant green ones. When he and Nicole had been an item, he’d remembered Samantha’s enormous, almost startling laugh, placing it next to Nicole’s timid one.
He’d learned about Platonic ideals in a college class (had she been in that class too? No, probably not. If she had been, he wouldn’t remember a darn thing about the subject). Samantha was his Platonic ideal of the perfect woman—confident, beautiful, smart, and funny.
And there, on that pier, she’d been an inch away from death, and he was one of the men working to save her.
In a movie, he would have been the one to cut open the door, to pull her to safety just before the car plunged to the water so far below.
In reality, he was one of a team of guys who worked fast and accurately. Tox pulled her out and Coin was the one who helped the medics lift her onto the backboard.
In a movie, her lashes would have fluttered just as she was being wheeled away. They would have locked eyes and exchanged pieces of their souls as she was loaded into the ambulance.
In reality, she didn’t wake up for hours. Not until she was at the hospital, and when he went to check on her, he’d been rewarded by a super-friendly greeting. The kind one gave an old acquaintance from college, in fact. Which was exactly what he was to her. They should catch up! Have coffee sometime!