Page 13 of Smoke and Roses

Travis makes a husky sound and his arms come around me, careful, like I’m one of the snapdragons. That lasts for less than two seconds. Then he’s not careful at all. He pulls me into his lap.

I fit. We fit together like a puzzle piece finding its home.

His heart thuds under my cheek. His hand is in my hair, and I knot both fists in his filthy shirt.

“I’m right here, I’ve got you,” he rasps against my hair.

I don’t cry, but shake for a long time. A million thoughts run around in my head.

“I’m better,” I finally say.

“I got soot on you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re going to care when you see your face.”

I manage a watery laugh.

“You fixed my bell,” I say into his chest and his thumb stops on the back of my neck where it was rubbing in calming circles.

Quietly, I add, “You also oiled the back door.”

I lift my head and look at him. His face is inches away, streaked black, and his stoic gray eyes search mine then lock onto my mouth, and he isn’t pretending not to stare.

Wow, I think. He’s going to kiss me.

The thick column of his neck works when he swallows. We look at each other until he sets me back on the floor across from him. Travis, the giant Army Ranger turned firefighter, is incredibly gentle with me.

He picks up his coffee like it might save his life.

“Fair warning,” he says after taking a long drink. “I’ve been thinking about that sexy mouth of yours since this morning. Now’s not the time for me to act on that. But be warned, I’ve got bad timing, Lindsey. Always have.”

I stand up and reach down for his hand. “This is good timing for food. I’m hungry.”

Of course I’m not just hungry for dinner. But he’s right. My head is a mess.

We sit at the work table and eat. Neither of us talks. I feel as tired as he looks.

When we’re done, he cleans up, throws away the bag and closes down the shop, one light at a time. He holds out his hand when he’s finished. “I’ll walk you home.”

I fit my hand in his. His is warm, strong, and fits all the way around mine.

Travis is silent as he walks me out the back door and across the dark gravel lot to my little house. Like a perfect gentleman, he waits at the bottom of the porch steps until my light is on.

At two in the morning I’m still awake. I look out my bedroom window at the apartment over the shop.

His light is on. He isn’t pacing.

He’s sitting in the window, keeping watch over my house.

Chapter Five

Lindsey is standing in the middle of Main Street in her rubber boots with her phone pressed to her ear. She isn’t moving.

I pick up my pace, my soaked-through shirt plastered to my chest.

A truck stops at the four-way and the driver leans out. “You alright?”