The Eleventh Hour. Wendy Etherington

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