Can't Help Falling In Love. Wendy Etherington

Jack. “She has MVP.”

      “Oh, God!” A man broke from the crowd and threw himself across Skyler’s legs. “She’s going to die!”

      Jack grabbed the guy’s arm and lifted him off his patient. His size had always been effective with crowd control, so the small, almost delicate man was easy to remove.

      The man gaze up at him fearfully, blinking tears out of his brown eyes. “But, Skyler—”

      “Will be fine, Roland,” Ben said, looking exasperated as he pulled him away from the stretcher. “MVP is short for Mitral Valve Prolapse. It’s a condition where the heart doesn’t empty the chamber completely of blood. Stress can sometimes aggravate it.”

      Roland eyed Ben with a look that Jack could only describe as adoring. “Really? How fascinating.”

      Ben let go of the man’s arm as if he’d just realized he’d grabbed a hot poker.

      “Uh, Steve?” Jack said, his voice low.

      “Yeah?”

      “That guy, is he flirting with Ben?”

      “Yep. That’s Roland Patterson.” The pet store owner who’d made the 9-1-1 call, Jack realized. That explained the other guys’ eye-rolling when dispatch had announced their destination. “You should see him whenever Wes is around,” Steve continued. “He gets a bigger hard-on for cops than he does firemen.”

      “No kidding.”

      “You need to stand back and let the medics work,” Ben was saying to Roland as he gestured—as opposed to leading him—to the crowd.

      “What about Fluffy?”

      “The cat,” Jack said when Ben frowned.

      Stretching, Steve rose. “I’ll check.”

      He sauntered away just as an elderly woman approached, shaking her head. She handed Ben a business card. Over his shoulder, Jack read Clovis Crisis Counseling. “You should encourage her to make an appointment with my office as soon as possible, Captain. Climbing that tree was a blatant cry for help.”

      “Skyler’s not suicidal, ma’am,” Ben said, tunneling his hand through his hair. “Just impulsive.”

      The woman gave him a cagey glare. “Just give her my card.” She walked away.

      “Damn.” Ben braced his hands on the stretcher and stared down at his sister, who rolled her head to the side, obviously fighting her way back to consciousness. “How does she get herself into these things?”

      Personally, Jack thought the whole event was kinda fun, certainly the most exciting call since he’d arrived in town two weeks ago. He envisioned “ladder rescue experience” on his résumé, surely an asset when he applied to the bigger fire departments in Atlanta in the coming year. Baxter was going to be a great stepping stone. And he knew he’d learn a great deal from working for Ben. Though the guy could loosen up a bit. Especially when it came to his sister.

      Jack glanced at her again, checking her pulse at her wrist to have an excuse to touch her again. Damn, she was beautiful. And tiny. Even her bare feet—with toes painted a shocking orange—were small. She was funny, too, remembering her response of “not today” to her brother’s question of whether or not she was going to jump from the tree. Too bad she was off-limits. Of course, a protective family member or two hadn’t stopped him before….

      Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. Jack found himself practically nose-to-oxygen mask with her.

      “What the hell—” She jerked off the mask, glaring at him without recognition, then her eyes went soft, and she smiled. “Oh. It’s you.”

      “Jack Tesson.” His whole body rigid with desire, he fought the urge to apply his medical skills to a little mouth-to-mouth and pulled a penlight from his kit to check her pupils. They dilated normally and evenly. “How do you feel?”

      She flushed bright red, as if remembering she’d fainted into his arms. Was she as affected by him as he was by her? Or was she just embarrassed?

      Before she could answer him, Ben grabbed her hands. “You scared the hell out of me, Skyler. What were you doing in that tree? Risking your neck over a cat?”

      “I’m fine.” Her eyes darkening, she glanced at Jack. “I just, uh…the heat overwhelmed me for a minute.”

      Heat, huh? Jack leaned toward her.

      “You’re not taking your medication,” Ben said abruptly.

      Jack stepped back as Skyler sighed. What was he doing? Coming on to his captain’s sister right in front of him? Not even he was that crazy. He began packing his supplies.

      “The doctor says I don’t need medication,” Skyler said to her brother, shaking off his touch. “I haven’t fainted since last fall when you and Steve were called to that four-alarm fire in Monroe.”

      Ben tunneled his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you climbed that tree. You’re delicate and—”

      “Delicate?” Skyler rolled her eyes, then slid off the stretcher, straightening her sundress. “Please.”

      “Says the woman I just rescued from a fifty-foot tree branch.”

      Skyler stuck out her tongue at her brother. “You didn’t rescue me. Jack did.” She smiled brightly at him.

      While Ben scowled, Jack’s groin tightened. Mon Dieu, she was tempting…

      Steve strode toward them with an orange-colored cat tucked beneath one arm.

      …as long as no hotheaded siblings are hanging around.

      “Fluffy,” Steve said. “Safe and sound.”

      Ben sighed. “Return him to Roland, then let’s get this equipment loaded. Another Skyler emergency appears to be over.”

      Skyler glared at him, and Steve saluted, jostling Fluffy so she hissed. “Yes, sir, Captain, sir.”

      “Move it, Lieutenant,” Ben said to his brother, not looking at all amused.

      Sensing this was an old argument about responsibility—and one Jack had seen aimed in his direction by his grandparents more times than he’d like to recall—he turned his attention to Skyler.

      Just in time to see her strolling away.

      When the crowd of curious bystanders advanced on her, she swung around and headed toward the front of the ambulance. Jack followed, catching up to her as she reached the tree she’d climbed.

      “Where the hell are my shoes?”

      “What do they look like?” Jack asked.

      She whirled as if startled, then she swept out her hands, cocking one hip. “Do you see a big selection of shoes? I’ll bet if you spot a pair, they’re mine.” She turned around, muttering under her breath about men and their general lack of sense/usefulness/reason for living.

      Beautiful, tiny, funny, delicate—he had to agree with Ben there, at least in the looks department—independent and sassy. Laissez les bon temps rouler. Let the good times roll.

      He trailed behind her as she walked around the tree. When he spied a pair of bright orange heeled sandals, he scooped them up. “Yours, ’tite fille?” he asked, smiling as he held them out to her.

      “Thanks.” She took the shoes, then slid her feet into them. Straightening, she smiled. The anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by a light full of intelligence and charm. “Ben said you were Cajun. I’m afraid I don’t know much French. You’ll have to translate.”

      “Cajun French is a bit different than pure French, anyway.” He stepped closer to her. As her head dropped back to meet his gaze, he wondered about the differences in their heights. His size was usually a professional advantage, but women