Men of Courage: Trapped! / Buried! / Stranded!. Jill Shalvis

ago, quickly showered, then changed into cutoffs and a T-shirt. She’d barely finished before they’d arrived.

      All of them.

      She sneaked a peek at Ethan and felt her heart patter in excitement. He sat at her small round dinner table, behaving like a surly badger, but at least he’d shown up.

      He hadn’t wanted to. He’d even refused—until Riley suggested to Rosie that they could do a little more practice after they’d eaten. Ethan had immediately changed his mind about dinner, and Rosie was starting to hope that jealousy motivated him.

      Just as she finished serving the stew, the bread machine dinged and she carefully removed the hot loaf to a cutting board. The men were all sniffing the air impatiently. Harris even smacked his lips together, making her laugh.

      “Ethan, will you pour everyone something to drink? And get the butter out of the refrigerator.”

      He grumbled an incoherent reply, then fetched a tea pitcher and began filling glasses.

      Riley took a long drink and said, “Did you know that Red is a reporter? She was there last night to do a story on Ethan.”

      Ethan froze with the pitcher poised over Buck’s glass. “Oh, shit.”

      Rosie dropped the large carving knife, almost removing her big toe.

      “Hey, be careful there.” Riley frowned at her.

      She snatched up the knife and rinsed it in the sink. “A reporter? You’ve got to be kidding.”

      “Nah, but she’s different from a lot of them. She’s real sweet. She said she realized Ethan was drunk, so she’s going to contact him for another interview.”

      Buck nudged Ethan to get him to pour the tea, then peered at Riley. “You like her?”

      “Yeah, sure. She’s a jumpy little thing, and her imagination is a bit much.”

      Rosie hated the idea of the woman being alone with Ethan. She wouldn’t tolerate it, not since she already knew Ethan found her attractive. When she interviewed Ethan, it would have to be with Rosie present to protect his virtue. “What’s wrong with her imagination?”

      “She has some goofy notion that people are out to get her. She’s a little paranoid, if you ask me.”

      Harris began buttering a thick slab of bread. “What’s her real name?”

      Grinning, Riley said, “Get this. It’s Regina Foxworth.” He laughed. “And she is foxy, but ‘Red’ suits her better than Regina.”

      Harris and Buck stared at Riley in complete and total bafflement. It was the very first time they’d ever heard him make such a comment concerning a woman.

      Rosie couldn’t help but grin. Well, well, well. It would gratify her immensely if Riley staked a claim. More than anything else, that would ensure that Ethan stayed free of the woman’s clutches.

      Ethan reseated himself at the table. “Hell, I don’t want to be interviewed. Not by her, not by anyone. I had enough of that crap back when the fire first happened.”

      “It’s good for the department.” Harris pointed a spoon at him. “Captain is hoping you’ll get us new funding.”

      “The captain can damn well—”

      “If you don’t willingly meet with her,” Riley interjected, “she said she’d be forced to use what information she got at the ceremony last night.”

      Rosie made a disgusted face. “And that would be what? That Ethan can’t hold his liquor?”

      “Probably something like that.”

      Ethan ignored them to dig into his stew. “Mmm. Terrific, Rosie. Thanks.”

      The others followed suit, showering her with compliments. She thanked them, took a breath, then forged on manfully. “You know, you could all eat home-cooked meals more often if you’d just settle down.”

      Harris had his mouth full but he still managed to sputter. “I’m plenty settled.”

      Buck had the good grace to first swallow. Loudly. “No time. The lumberyard is a demanding mistress.”

      Harris laughed and thwacked him on the back for that quip.

      Riley shrugged. “Maybe someday. But not yet.”

      Ethan remained conspicuously silent.

      “You could all start with a nice house. I see terrific deals all the time.” She tried not to stare at Ethan. “There’s a nice tight ranch not far from where you already live, Riley. One hundred percent financing. New windows, new furnace.”

      Ethan stood. “Mind if I get some more stew?”

      Deflated, Rosie waved at him. “Go ahead. Help yourself.”

      For fear of not getting seconds, the other guys jumped up and got in line for the Crock-Pot. Rosie tapped her fingertips on the tabletop. They were all so stubborn.

      “I’d waive my fee, you know.”

      Riley patted her head on his way back to his seat, his bowl almost overflowing. “Course you would, hon. It’s not that. I just don’t think any of us are anxious to get into the home-and-hearth routine.”

      Squaring her shoulders, Rosie twisted in her seat and faced Ethan. “You used to be. Don’t you remember when you were wanting kids and a dog and a house with a picket fence?”

      A heavy silence fell around them. Other than a quick look in her direction, Ethan paid her little mind. “It’d be hard to forget, but that was a long time ago.”

      “Nineteen months. Not all that long.”

      He pierced her with a lethal look. “Long enough.”

      Riley cleared his throat and attempted to help Rosie by changing the subject. “So, Ethan, you gonna meet up with Red? You know how reporters are. It’s easier not to fight them.”

      “Yeah, what the hell. I’ll talk with her.”

      “She’s probably left a message on your machine by now. Let us know how it goes.”

      “You know,” Ethan said, gesturing with a piece of bread, “a good reporter would be covering something more important, like the damn fireworks. The Fourth is next weekend and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m dreading it already.”

      Harris lifted his glass of tea in a toast. “Count me in on that. Every year someone sets a fire or gets burned. Why is it the majority of people who want to play with the damn things are idiots?”

      “Are you expecting trouble?” Rosie asked.

      “Every year.” Arms folded on the table, Ethan glared down at his half-empty bowl. “And with the new bill just passed, a lot of the pyrotechnics we hate most are now legal for adults to use. Only adults aren’t the only ones getting their hands on them.”

      “Firecrackers, Roman candles, bottle rockets.” Harris leaned back in his seat. “Did you know about twelve thousand people get sent to emergency rooms every Fourth of July? Over fifty percent of them are kids, and ten percent are permanently injured. It sickens me.”

      “And,” Ethan added, “we have a fireworks dealer in town who’s known to be a little less than reputable. I’d love to shut him down, but for now, all we can do is keep an eye on him.”

      Since Rosie had never heard Harris speak so…passionately on a topic, she was enthralled—and unaccountably worried. By the nature of their work as firefighters, Ethan and Harris faced various levels of danger daily. She’d tried to get used to that, especially since Ethan always seemed determined to be the first man in, the last man out, and the quickest to volunteer. He might not want to admit it, but he had hero tendencies that were as plain as his hair and eye color, there for all the world to see.

      But