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  Despite Captain Westin’s polite professionalism when they’d met earlier in the chief’s office, Savannah had known better than to think everyone at Station Eight would be doing back handsprings at the idea of welcoming a female candidate to engine. She had been one of only three women in her class of over fifty recruits, one of whom had washed out at the nine-week mark, and Captain Westin had admitted she’d be the first one ever at Eight. All three of Savannah’s older brothers had warned her she’d likely have a hell of a row to hoe, no matter where she ended up.

  She’d been quick to remind them that their Texas-tough father, Battalion Chief Duke Nelson, had taught her every single thing he’d taught them when they trained to be firefighters, the same way his daddy had taught him a generation before that. Every single branch on the Nelson family tree was occupied by a firefighter, to the point that calling the job a legacy was the world’s most massive understatement. True, she was the only female blood-born Nelson in a sea of uncles, cousins, and brothers. But that had never bothered Savannah a whit.

  No chance in hell was she going to do anything other than make her family proud by fulfilling the legacy she’d always wanted, no matter how much this Everett guy tried to stare her down.

  Nerves of steel. Nerves of steel. Nerves of . . .

  “So how come Lieutenant Crews isn’t training me?”

  Savannah trapped her tongue between her teeth two seconds too late. She hadn’t meant to be so brash right out of the gate, but when it came to fight or flight, her default setting was firmly stuck on duking its way out of sticky situations.

  Even if that meant getting her into even hotter water.

  “I’m sorry?” Everett asked, his eyes narrowing although his expression didn’t budge. But she couldn’t un-ask the question, and backing down now would only make her look weak.

  Savannah lifted one shoulder in a brief shrug. “That is the way training works, isn’t it? Commanding officer is in charge of the candidate.”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes.”

  Even though Everett’s tone was completely neutral, her jitters formed an indignant tangle in her belly. “So my circumstances are unusual?”

  One light brown brow arched upward. “Clearly.”

  Savannah stared, unable to rein in her shock or her irritation. “Because I have breasts?”

  “Because you’re not Station Eight’s only candidate.”

  The reply tagged her in the sternum like a sucker punch, but she managed to work up a soft oh in response. “Captain Westin didn’t mention anybody else from my class being placed here at Eight.”

  “That’s because our current candidate came up six months ago, in the class before yours. Lieutenant Crews is going to finish his training while I handle yours for the next six weeks,” Everett said, lowering his chin to meet her gaze head-on. “Which brings us to our first lesson.”

  “And that is . . . ?”

  “Assumptions are as dangerous as guesswork around here. If you want to know something, ask. And after you ask, make it a point to remember what you learned.”

  Savannah’s cheeks flamed. “I just graduated from the academy at the top of my class. I promise I’m not an idiot.”

  She’d meant the words as a reassurance, but the muscle twitching in the strong angle of Everett’s jaw signaled that she’d missed her mark.

  He said, “I’ll lead by example, since it seems you’re still not sure how this works. How did you know that?”

  Her confusion beat out the unease in her chest, but only by a millimeter. “How did I know what?”

  “That the lieutenant usually trains a candidate. That’s one of those things you usually learn through experience. Most rookies don’t know it before they start. So I’m curious as to how you did,” he said, his arms unfolding from their bulletproof knot over the front of his chest. He hooked his thumbs beneath the thick line of his suspenders, and Jesus, Mary, and all the saints, how was she just noticing the way his T-shirt hugged both his shoulders and his biceps?

  “Uh,” she grunted, and between the unexpected streak of heat sparking between her thighs and the new-job jitters free-flowing through her veins, the truth toppled past her lips without thought. “My older brothers were all trained as firefighters, two back in Texas and one here in Fairview, so they gave me the inside track on what to expect.”

  “You have a brother in the FFD?”

  Everett’s brows winged upward at the same time Savannah’s gut took a southerly slide, but she’d spilled the intel. Now she had no choice but to back it up.

  No matter how much she wanted to button her lip.

  “Not anymore. He moved from Station Nineteen to the arson investigation unit about six months ago.” Savannah squared her shoulders, ignoring Everett’s biceps in favor of looking him in the eye. She had a boyfriend, for Pete’s sake! So what if things had been more ho-hum than hot and heavy between them lately. Ogling Everett—no matter how sexy the bulk-to-definition ratio of his upper arms looked—was still unacceptable. He was in charge of her training. Her job. Her everything. Plus, if the look on his face right now was any indication, he still hadn’t gotten over his obvious disdain for her.

  And if she didn’t want to be treated differently just because she had lady bits, then she damn well needed to keep those parts of her anatomy in check.

  “Brad Nelson is your brother.”

  The recognition lighting Everett’s features made Savannah’s belly clench. Damn it, she’d thought she’d be safe now that Brad wasn’t technically in-house at Nineteen anymore. She should’ve known that after the five years he’d spent in the FFD, firefighters from other houses would probably at least recognize his name.

  “Yes sir.” She straightened into the words without elaborating. The edges of Everett’s mouth twitched with the suggestion of a smile, and how about that. He had settings other than serious and completely serious.

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said, although the hint of amusement that had just played on his lips was already gone. “But I’m not your boss, and I definitely don’t outrank you. Everett is fine.”

  Savannah’s slow nod accompanied the steady beat of well duh running through her brain. Talk about a rookie mistake. She’d been raised on the pecking order in a firehouse, having watched her father earn his way up the ranks, step by step. Not that she was about to give that little nugget any airtime, but still. “Copy that.”

  “And there’s lesson number two. Your brother’s a good firefighter, but your pedigree and your history at the academy don’t mean a thing now that you’re over the threshold here at Eight. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll think twice about trotting them out.”

  Savannah knew—she knew—that she should make her mouth form the words “copy that” again so they could drop the subject and move the hell on. After all, she’d meant to swerve around the topic of her family history for this very reason. But come on. Her pedigree?

  Nope. No way was she leaving that alone.

  “I’m not a show puppy,” she said, her spine snapping up to its full height.

  But Everett’s expression simply idled in neutral, his dark green stare cool enough to irritate her even further. “And I didn’t call you one. All I’m saying is that if you want the firefighters who work here to respect you, the only way you’re going to make that happen is to earn it.”

  Wait . . . “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

  “Not at all. But I’m here to train your ass, not kiss it.” He stepped toward her, close enough for her to see the faint smudge of soot on his cheek and feel the warmth of his exhale as he added, “So let me make this perfectly clear. If you want to become a good firefighter, I promise I’ll get you there. But you’re going to have to work for it, and I do mean every step of the way. If you’re not willing to do that, don’t even walk through the door on Monday. Are we straight?”

  Savannah didn’t even hesitate to counter his forward motion with one of her own, cutting the al
ready slight space between them in half. “As an arrow, Everett. But as long as we’re making things clear, let me say this. I don’t mind hard work, but by the time our six weeks are up, I plan to be a hell of a lot better than just good. In fact, I fully intend to blow your damn mind. So you’d better make sure that’s in your plans, too.”

  * * *

  Savannah curled her car keys into her palm, tight enough to feel the bite of metal on skin. After her standoff with Everett had ended with Captain Westin’s return to his office, the rest of her walk-through at Station Eight had been uneventful, at least on the surface. But despite the captain’s professional introductions and the polite tour of Station Eight that Everett, Donovan, and Lieutenant Crews had taken turns leading, Savannah could feel the shock and unease that accompanied her presence like thick gray storm clouds, heavy with impending rain.

  The darkest and most impenetrable of which had come from Everett.

  Savannah shrugged to herself, the weight of her duffel shifting over her shoulder as her Tony Lamas kept time with the sidewalk leading up to her apartment complex. Brad had warned her that her orientation would be full of prove-this and do-that, and Savannah had no beef with either. She was signing on to fight fires and save lives—it wasn’t as if she’d been expecting a walkover, and what’s more, she fully planned to make good on fulfilling the expectations that went with the job. A little support from the guy responsible for training her might be nice, but she’d gritted her way through the academy on her own. She could do this solo, too.

  Even if her nerves had gotten a jump on her mouth about her family’s track record on the job for the first and only time since she’d moved from Texas. God, she was never going to look at Everett’s biceps again.

  No matter how ridiculously lickable they’d looked peeking out of those snug blue T-shirt sleeves.

  Blowing out a hard exhale, Savannah singled out the key to her apartment and slid it into the lock. Her boyfriend Roger wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours—hell, she wasn’t even supposed to have gotten out of the firehouse so early. But she had to admit, a bit of solitude, along with a cold beer and whatever action movie was next in her Netflix queue, sounded like a little slice of oh hell yes after the uber-tense house intro she’d just had.

  Stupid perfectly sculpted biceps.

  The first sign that Savannah’s private life was about to turn as shitastic as her workday were the four-inch heels and the crimson lace push-up bra strewn across her living room carpet. She’d never met a pair of stilettos she’d gotten along with, and the lingerie in question looked two times too frilly and two sizes too big for her modest bust.

  The second sign came by way of an ultra-feminine giggle floating in from down the hall, followed by a husky moan that sounded highly intimate and sickeningly familiar.

  No way. No way. Things with Roger might not have exactly been all hearts and flowers lately—or okay, ever, because all that sappy stuff pretty much made Savannah want to blow her grits. But come on. Insult and injury couldn’t possibly have it out for her this bad.

  With her heartbeat kicking into a sprint against her ribs, Savannah slid her keys into the duffel bag on her hip with a quiet clink. She lowered her belongings to the floor, balling up both her fists and her courage as she tiptoed toward her bedroom.

  Savannah paused, an icy chill running the length of her spine. Actually, it was Roger’s bedroom, which she’d thought was simply a technicality they’d take care of at some point after she moved in with him. But the lease on her apartment had been up, and she’d spent as much time here as he’d spent at her place. Moving in with Roger had seemed logical at the time.

  That had been three months ago. God, how had she managed to get herself into yet another going-nowhere-fast relationship?

  Check that. Her relationship with Roger was about to go somewhere. But she was pretty sure hell didn’t count as a luxury destination.

  “Ahem.” Savannah stood in the open door frame, averting her stare after the first eyeful of the leggy blonde wrapped around her boyfriend. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

  “Savannah!” Roger jackknifed up from the mattress, causing the blonde to scramble beneath the bedsheets with a squeak. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here, you jackass.” Or at least, she used to. Humiliation and anger collided in her veins, but neither emotion stopped her from putting her sweat-slicked hands to good use on the dresser drawers.

  “I, uh. I know.” Roger’s face turned the same shade as the tacky unmentionables he’d likely just stripped off his new friend. “I meant . . . I thought you were going to be at the academy until five.”

  Savannah’s snort vibrated up from her chest as she started yanking her belongings from their neatly folded piles. “And I thought I had a boyfriend who wasn’t a conniving bastard. Surprise! We were both wrong.”

  “You never mentioned having a girlfriend. You don’t even have a picture of her at the office.” The blonde pouted, drawing the tousled bedsheets over her boob job. Damn it, Savannah should’ve known something was up when Roger had started “working late” a few weeks ago. He was an accountant, for God’s sake. Which would be fine if it was April instead of August and the man had an ambitious bone in his body.

  None of the above.

  “I can explain,” Roger said, at the same time Savannah popped off a “no.”

  “He doesn’t have a girlfriend anymore, sweetheart. Believe me. He’s all yours.”

  She shoveled handfuls of tank tops and underwear into the messenger bag she’d snapped up from the floor in the closet, biting back the absolute irony of which drawer she’d randomly yanked open. Oh screw it. She could come back later for the rest of her things. Right now she just needed to get the hell out of there.

  Savannah yanked the top flap of the bag into place and turned on her heel, locking her eyes on the door. Roger fumbled awkwardly for the pants he’d discarded in a sloppy heap at the side of the bed, following her out into the living room with a halfhearted apology.

  “Savannah, wait.”

  “Why?” she asked, and the question was more genuine than bitter. But even though she’d spent the better part of six months with Roger, her opposite-sex relationships always fell into the burn bright, then burn out category. She liked him—or at least, she had—well enough.

  But if there was one thing she’d learned as the only woman in a family brimming over with work-hardened men, it was that she was tough enough to make it on her own.

  Even when being on her own stung like a sonofabitch.

  Roger cleared his throat, suddenly enraptured by the plush carpet beneath his bare feet. “Look, I know I should’ve said something.” He paused while she glared out a nonverbal you got that right, because, hey, as out the door as she was, a girl had her pride. “But you and I haven’t really had much of a spark lately, you know? You’ve been practically married to that sweaty bunker gear, and all you ever talk about are training exercises and firehouse placements. It’s kind of tough to be with a woman who has so many rough edges, you know? So things with Tiffani just kind of, ah, happened.”

  “They just happened,” she repeated, resisting the sudden ridiculous urge to smooth a hand over her unkempt ponytail. Yeah, she preferred jeans and boots to skirts and stilettos, and yeah again, her favorite way to unwind was with a beer and a Bruce Lee movie. But that didn’t make her worth cheating on.

  Wait a second . . . “Have you been with her more than once?”

  Guilt flashed through Roger’s eyes like a highway road sign signaling a nine-car pileup ahead. “Maybe.”

  “It’s pretty cut-and-dried as far as questions go,” Savannah said, her jaw going tight enough to make her molars beg for leniency.

  “Then I guess . . . yes.”

  Her fight-or-flight instinct begged to let him have it, but her wounded pride told her it was past time to cut her losses and just get airborne. “I don’t have a shift until Monday morning, so I’ll be by tomorrow a
t ten to pick up the rest of my things. If you’re in any way smart, you won’t be here.”

  “You, um, have a place to go?” Roger asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his dress pants with a guilty shrug.

  Oh hell. She’d been so eager to blaze out the door, she hadn’t stopped to think about where she’d blaze to. Her brother was pretty much her only local option. While Brad would certainly give her a buttload of (mostly) good-natured grief over this latest crash and burn, he’d never turn her away. Her brother’s place was the size of a paperback novel, and his couch felt like a pile of bricks masquerading as furniture, but Savannah wasn’t about to complain. While she’d never admit it out loud, she’d missed her father and brothers pretty deeply in the year and a half she’d lived in Fairview. She’d moved for damn good reasons—also something she’d rather be flayed alive than cop to. But despite the ribbing, spending a little time with Brad while she bounced back wouldn’t be the worst thing going.

  Plus, she needed a landing spot, and she needed it five minutes ago.

  Savannah stood as tall as her frame would allow. “How very noble of you to worry about my well-being. Don’t worry, I’m sure Brad will be happy to put me up.”

  Roger stepped into her path at the same time she made a move for the door. “Hold on,” he said, his pretty-boy face taking on a noticeable pallor. Savannah answered by way of a withering glare, and Roger stutter-stepped back to give her a wider circle of personal space. “You’re not going to tell your brother about, uh . . . this, are you?”

  Finally, something that made her lips twitch with a smile. “Which are you more concerned about, Roger? That my older brother and I are extremely close, or that he’s an arson investigator on a specialized team that deals in major crimes and dead bodies on a weekly basis?”