Forever Buckhorn. Lori Foster

quickly backed up two steps.

       Rosemary plucked the seaweed from his hair and he grinned at her. “Thanks, sweetie. Ah, would you gals mind if I talk to…” He lifted a brow at Red.

       “Elizabeth Parks,” she answered stiffly. She clutched a notepad and pencil and had a huge purselike bag slung over one shoulder, stuffed to overflowing with papers.

       “Yeah, can I have a minute with Ms. Parks?” He had the sneaking suspicion Ms. Parks was another reporter, and he had no intention of chatting with her for more time than it took to say thanks but no thanks. “I won’t be long.”

       “All right, Gabe, but you owe us for rescuing your fish.”

       “That I do. And I promise to think up some appropriate compensation.”

       Giggling again, the women started away, dragging their feet every step, sashaying their sexy behinds. But then two boats pulled in and he knew that would keep them busy selling gas and bait and whatever other supplies the vacationers wanted. He turned to Red.

       “What can I do for you?”

       Now, without the sun in his eyes, Gabe could see she had about the bluest blue eyes he’d ever seen. They stood out like beacons among all that bright red hair and those abundant freckles.

       She flipped open her bag and dragged out a folded newspaper. Turning it toward him, she asked, still with a twinge of disbelief, “Is this you?”

       She sounded suspicious, but Gabe didn’t even have to glance at the paper. Buckhorn, Kentucky was a small town, and they looked for any excuse at all to celebrate. The town paper, Buckhorn Press, had used the changing of a traffic light for front-page news once, so it was no wonder they’d stuck him in there for a spell when he helped fish a few swimmers out of the path of an unmanned boat. It hadn’t been even close to an act of heroism, but if changing traffic lights was important, human endangerment was outright momentous.

       “Yeah, that’s me.” Gabe reached for his mirrored sunglasses and slipped them on, then dragged both hands, fingers spread, over his head to smooth his wet hair. He stuck his cap on backward then looked at the woman again. With the shades in place, he could check her over a little better without her knowing.

       But the clothing she wore made seeing much impossible. She had to be roasting in that thick denim and starched cotton.

       She cleared her throat. “Well, if it’s really true, then I’d like to interview you.”

       Gabe leaned around her, which made her blue eyes widen, and fetched a can of cola from the cooler sitting beside his empty chair. “You want one?”

       “Uh, no, thank you.” She hastily stepped back, avoiding getting too close to him. That nettled.

       After popping the tab on the can and downing half of it, Gabe asked, “What paper do you write for?”

       “Oh. No, I don’t—”

       “Because I’m not interested in being interviewed again. Every damn paper for a hundred miles around picked up on that stupid story, and they blew it all out of proportion. Folks around here are finally about done razzing me, my damn brothers included, and I’m not at all interested in resurrecting that ridiculous business again.”

       She frowned at him, then snapped the paper open to peruse it. “Did you or did you not dive into the water to pull three people, a woman and her two children, out of the lake when a drunken man fell out of his boat, leaving the boat unmanned?”

       Gabe made a face. “Yeah, but—”

       “No one else did anything, they just sort of stood there dumbfounded while the boat, without a driver, began circling the hapless swimmers.”

       “Hapless swimmers?” He grunted at her word usage. “Any one of my brothers would have done the exact same thing, and in fact—”

       “And did you or did you not then manage to get in the boat—” She glanced up. “I’d love for you to explain how you did that, by the way. How you took control and got inside a running boat without getting chewed to bits by the prop. Weren’t you at all scared?”

       Gabe stared at her. Even her lashes were reddish, sort of a deep auburn, and with the sun on them, the tips were turned to gold. She squinted against the glare of the sunshine, which made the freckles on her tipped-up nose more pronounced. Other than those sprinkled freckles, her skin was smooth and clear and…

       He shook himself. “Look, sugar, I said I didn’t want to do an interview.”

       She puckered up like someone had stuck a lemon between her lips. “My name is Ms. Parks, or Elizabeth, either will do, thank you.” After that reprimand, she had the audacity to say, “All the others wanted to be interviewed. Why don’t you?”

       She stood there, slim brows raised, her pencil poised over that damn notepad as if she expected to write down his every profound word.

       Gabe cursed. Profound words were not his forté. They took too much effort. “What others?”

       “The other heroes.”

       He could see her long hair curling in the humidity even as they spoke. It hung almost to the top of her behind, except for the front which was pulled back with a huge barrette. Little wispy curls, dark with perspiration, clung to her temples. The longer hair was slowly pulling into corkscrew curls. It fascinated him.

       The front of her white blouse was beginning to grow damp, too, and Gabe could detect a plain white bra beneath. Damn, it was too hot to be all trussed up like that. What the hell kind of rigid female wore so many clothes to a vacation lake during the most sweltering heat wave of the summer season?

       He didn’t care what kind of female. “All right, first things first. I’m not doing any interview, period. Two, I’ll admit I’m curious as to what the hell you’re talking about with this other heroes business. And three, would you be more comfortable in the shade? Your face is turning berry red.”

       If anything, her color intensified. It wasn’t exactly a pretty blush, more like someone had set a fire beneath her skin. She looked downright blotchy. Gabe almost laughed.

       “I, ah, I always turn red,” she explained, somewhat flustered. “Sorry. Redheads have fair skin.”

       “And you sure as certain have redder hair than most.”

       “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

       She looked stiff, as if he’d insulted her. It wasn’t like her red hair was a state secret! A body could see that hair from a mile away.

       He had to struggle to keep from grinning. “So whatdya say? You wanna go sit in the shade with me? There’s a nice big piss elm hanging over the water there and it’s cooler than standing here on the dock in the sun, but not much.”

       She blinked owlishly at him. “A what elm?”

       “Piss elm. Just sorta means a scraggly one. Come on.” She looked ready to expire on him, from flustered embarrassment, heat and exasperation. Without waiting for her agreement, he grabbed his cooler, took her arm in a firm grip and led her off the dock, over the rough rock retaining wall and through the grass. One large root of the elm stuck out smoothly from the ground and made a nice seat. Gabe practically shoved her onto it. He was afraid she might faint on him any minute. “Rest there a second while I get you a soda.”

       She scrambled to smooth her skirt over her legs, covering as much skin as possible, while trying to balance her notepad and adjust her heavy purse. “No, thank you. Really, I just—”

       He’d already opened a can. “Here, drink up.” He shoved the drink into her hand and then waited until she dutifully sipped. “Feel better?”

       “Uh, yes, thank you.”

       She acted so wary, he couldn’t help but be curious about her. She wasn’t his type—too pushy, too prim, too…red. But that didn’t mean he’d let her roast