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For the Love of a Fireman
Vonnie Davis
The heat is on…Book 3 in the ‘Wild Heat’ series – the hottest new firefighter series of the year!Molly Devon, a website designer, and her absent-minded father travel to Florida for two months of sun and sand. She wants to nurse a broken heart, and both need to scatter her mother’s ashes—if only her father can recall where he put them!Grey Barclay, fireman and diver for the Marine Rescue Unit, is slowly remodeling Barclay Beach Bungalows, five little rental cottages he inherited from his uncle. It’s just his luck the first cabin he rents is to a prickly female and her daffy dad! Still, the money looks good in his bank account… that is until Molly’s ex-fiancé turns up dead on Grey’s beach.The police are asking some hard questions but Molly’s providing plenty of soft excuses, and when one of Grey’s bungalows catches fire, Molly is trapped inside, adding fuel to the firestorm of guilt surrounding her.Grey’s not convinced though. He may be a sucker for a set of well-rounded hips and azure eyes, the color of the ocean, but in the short time he’s known Molly he can see behind the cold façade to a warmth and gentleness that’s hard to resist.This fireman’s hell-bent on proving her innocence – and keeping her by his side.



For the Love of a Fireman
Book Two in the Wild Heat Series
VONNIE DAVIS


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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Vonnie Davis 2015
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Cover layout design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover design by HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd
Vonnie Davis asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © December 2014 ISBN: 9780007594528
Version 2015-02-12
To Ron and Debbie who have loaned us their condo in Indian Rocks Beach so we could fall in love with the small Gulf side community in Florida, where much of this book takes place.
Contents
Cover (#u05170a98-2f66-5a95-98df-57d86c5554f6)
Title Page (#uafa73c32-82b5-5c7b-b3be-dce71fa1e3af)
Copyright (#u46e484cb-5d7b-5e5d-9087-706653f6ff1e)
Dedication (#u0f9d7e51-5108-54bf-bcbc-77e0d8819e51)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubcba1498-6241-54e3-a7b8-1497a732cc39)
CHAPTER TWO (#u0430e51f-4962-5bac-b83d-1ca427068200)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub4409862-702d-5810-9c70-47d86b5a0d56)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u22ea1d58-1310-5fa1-8f3c-75c638a9ffdd)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u4be0462c-9da8-587d-bee0-2d3a4449bef4)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Coming Soon from Vonnie Davis… (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Vonnie Davis… (#litres_trial_promo)

Vonnie Davis (#litres_trial_promo)

About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ucfaa5b41-3c8e-5ca4-8949-05adda905419)
“Quick! What aisle are the douches in? I’ve got three bitches at the beach cottage and they all stink to high heaven.” The broad shoulders of the harried man appeared solid under his faded t-shirt, worn inside out and backward. His pale whiskered stubble was pulled tight by his clenched jaw and tensed lips. The customer practically vibrated with frustration.
“I can’t let them in bed with me smelling like that.” His fingertips tapped a beat of annoyance on the check-out counter. “What is it with females, anyway? Ain’t got the good sense God gave them.”
Behind the counter, Molly Devon’s temper flared. Oh, yeah, as if you men are the sharpest knives on humanity’s chopping block.
He brushed his neck, his fingers tangling in the worn tag of his t-shirt. He looked down, plucked at the material and muttered a curse. “Sorry, I grabbed the first top I could find and just yanked it on.” He reached back with one hand and jerked it off, trying to set it to rights.
Molly’s Colorado born-and-bred gaze took a skiing trip over the mountains of his hardened pecs and skied down the ridges of his abs. Along his downhill masculine slope, she noticed other things. Skin tanned dark. On his left side, a wide tribal rib tattoo ran from below his armpit to beneath his pants to who knew where. A light tan treasure trail of chest hair thinned at his navel. The waistband of his raggedy jeans barely hung onto the V indent at his hipline created by well-toned internal obliques.
Sweet Lord, what a girl couldn’t do with…
For Pete’s sake, stop gawking! Haven’t I learned my lesson? Men are bad news. Not to be believed and never to be trusted.
Firm biceps flexed as the customer slipped the faded t-shirt, advertising boogie boards, over his torso, tugging it down and shifting his wide shoulders. “Sorry, about that. But, believe me, I’d sooner be home, hammering away, than in here.”
His obviously crass remark jerked her admiring attention to his overconfident square jaw.
Yeah, just give me a hammer, buddy. I’ll pound some sense into your arrogant over-sexed brain.
He leaned toward her. “Well? Where are they?”
The stranger’s bark startled her. With her nerves on edge from her mother’s recent passing, her father’s increasing signs of dementia and Wade’s violent reaction after she broke off their engagement, any perceived threat—no matter how minor or brief—set her insides to trembling. Paranoia had her in its grip for she was sure she’d seen Wade’s battered, dark blue SUV cruising Gulf Boulevard in Indian Rocks Beach. Both times she hid, her nerves having slipped into fear mode.
Molly tussled with her anxieties, scrambling for internal control.
“Ah…” She lifted her index finger to indicate she needed a second or two as she scanned the overhead signs, listing the items stocked in each aisle. Where had she seen the feminine products during her brief new-hire orientation two days ago? Another deep breath and calmness returned, her mind finally chugging into gear.
The customer lifted his blue ball cap with some kind of marine rescue emblem on it, forked his long fingers through straight hair—bleached nearly pale blond by the sun—and resettled the hat. “You do carry Massengill, don’t you? That’s the best brand, according to my research.”
“Ah…” What kind of man researches douches?A man who goes to bed with three women, Molly. Now concentrate.
Two broad hands clasped the edge of the counter. His index finger had a nasty red-rimmed cut on its side. An appealing mixture of sawdust, lime and ginger snagged her attention and, when the man cleared his throat, her gaze snapped upward to lock on a pair of surf green eyes flecked with blue. “Is my question too difficult for you to answer…” he glanced at her nametag, “Molly?”
Oh, this guy has a good tongue lashing coming. Molly sucked in a breath, pulled together a string of insults to hurl at him and then changed her mind. Better to smile while she enjoyed her private opinions of this man-whore, especially since she needed this job badly. She’d put a big dent in her credit card balance to substitute the laptop her dad had misplaced, along with his wallet and her carryon of her clothes. Not to mention the money she needed for groceries and her father’s medication.
Finally the product’s location slipped into place. “You’ll find them in aisle six, on the right.”
The knuckles of his fisted hand rapped once on the counter before he sauntered off.
Big-headed, demanding jerk.
Frazzled nerves got the best of her and her gaze settled on the box of chocolate bars calling her name, taunting her. Why did everything she ate have to settle on her ass? Two women strolled in the store wearing shorts that showcased slender, toned thighs and itty-bitty butts. Her thighs were toned, but thick by society’s standards. Unfortunately, the only things slender on her body were her earlobes and toes. Life just wasn’t fair.
Molly was shoving packs of cigarettes into racks behind the register when someone thunked items onto the check-out counter. She pasted on a smile, did a quick pivot and sighed as the grin slid off. Douche-man was back with twelve double packs of Massengill disposables.
“You only had two boxes of the mixable kind.” He read the printing on the box he held, never once sparing her a glance. He tapped the second carton resting on the counter with his cut finger. “Would you mind checking your inventory in the back? I’ll need more.”
“I’m not allowed to leave the register, but I’ll be happy to page our stock boy.”
Douche-man grunted and flipped the package around. “It’s gonna take at least two boxes for Lola. She’s big. Got wide hips. Skinny legs, though. Kinda like a twenty-gallon tank on toothpicks.”
What an ass, talking about his girlfriend like that! Molly sneered and depressed the button on the store’s intercom. “Cruz, could you check our supply of mixable douche powder? I have a man who needs three or four boxes.”
“Make it five or six. And they have to be Massengill, don’t forget. God, I don’t know which girl smells the worst.”
Well, quit putting your nose in their hootchies. Molly cleared her throat and rolled her eyes before depressing the button on the intercom. “Could you make that six boxes of douche powder? Massengill, please, Cruz.” A few snickers floated over from aisle two.
“I can see I’m gonna have a rough night ahead. Maggie Mae hates when I give her a good scrubbing, especially if I get soap in her beady eyes or get too rough with her.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and sighed like a man greatly imposed upon. “God, I hate a whiny bitch.”
Oh, I am so going to belt you.
“Caroline handles her bath pretty well. She likes it rough, especially when I hold her head under the faucet.” He had the audacity to chuckle. “She tries to drink the water, but then she’ll drink most anything.”
She’d have to be drunk to put up with you, buster. You need some serious help.
Cruz hurried to the register, his arms full of boxes. “Here you go, Molly.” He shot the customer a curious glance.
“Thanks. Would you do me one more favor, please?”
The pimply-faced teen’s head bobbed. “Sure.”
“Our customer needs a bottle of peroxide and Neosporin for the cut on his finger. It’s showing signs of infection.” Cruz nodded and hurried back to aisle four.
Douche-man glimpsed at his hand. “Thanks. I do have a first aid kit, but I’ve been too preoccupied with work to take care of it. Ain’t nothing but an infected splinter. Can’t seem to dig deep enough to get to it.”
Oh, just give me a machete. I’ll show you how deep a good woman can cut.
He slid his fingertips into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling them a little lower on his hips, until he finally tugged out folded bills secured with a silver fire truck money clip. “What’s the damage?”
To your wallet or the self-esteem of those poor women?
After totaling his purchases, Molly handed him his change and six plastic bags. “Hope you get them cleaned up.”
He grunted again. “Sure as hell hope so. Don’t know if I can sleep without the girls laying all over me.”
Oh, puh-lease.
He headed for the exit, high-top sneakers clunking the tile floor.
Molly glared at his retreating form. What a piece of macho jerk.
He snapped his fingers and returned. “Where’s the dog toys? They’ll be expecting a treat after I scrub the skunk smell off.”
“Dogs? Dogs!” Had he been talking about dogs all this time?
Douche-man nodded, his blond five o’clock shadow more an eight o’clock sexy scruff. “Yeah. An overweight Black Lab, a beady-eyed Chihuahua and a Collie mix. I’m kinda partial to my girls, but not when they chase skunks and get a good spraying.”
“Skunks? Spraying?” God, I sound like an echo.
“Used to wash them down with tomato juice after being sprayed, but Caroline would lap at the juice and get terrible gas.” He shook his head once. “Couldn’t stand to be around her for days.” He grinned and dimples slashed his cheeks. “So, I researched online and found out about bathing animals in Massengill after encounters with skunks.”
Boy, talk about a miscommunication.
He studied the bags in his hands for a beat and then raised his gaze. “I’m sorry for storming in here earlier and ranting about my dogs, calling them bitches, but they had me so damn mad.” He winced. “Sorry. After a long day of tearing out decrepit kitchen cabinets and replacing them with new ones, moving walls and installing appliances, the last thing I want to do tonight is to scrub down three dogs.”
His gaze flicked over her hand before his green-eyed perusal once more settled on her face. Had he just checked for a ring? “Could I interest you in a cup of coffee after work?” He peeked at his watch. “Store closes in fifteen minutes.”
Not expecting his boldness, she stepped back. “Sorry, I don’t meet strange men for coffee.”
A wide smile spread, exposing straight white teeth with a chip broken off the corner of his left front one. Those deep dimples and chipped tooth added a boyish charm to his male persona, a charismatic contrast to the arrogant sternness he’d exhibited earlier. He set his bags in front of her on the checkout counter before tilting a hip against it and crossing his arms, obviously settling in for a chat neither she nor her boss wanted. She was on the clock, after all.
The door swished open and she jumped. God, she had to get beyond thinking she’d seen Wade’s vehicle twice. Sure, he’d been royally pissed when she threw the engagement ring in his face, but no woman wanted to marry a man who cheated on her…and then became violent when she called him on it. But he wouldn’t come all this way to find her. Would he?
The strange man’s eyebrows were furrowed as if he’d been studying her and he cleared his throat. “You know, I really do owe you an apology for my ranting when I came in the store.” He managed to make his grin almost unsure, as if he’d suddenly lost his confidence. How many times had he practiced this technique—and how often had a woman fallen for it? “A coffee and a piece of pie couldn’t hurt, could it?”
“I repeat, I don’t know you.” She motioned him aside so she could ring-up another customer’s purchases.
She hoped Douche-man would take the hint but, no, he patiently hovered nearby while she waited on two customers, his male aura slowly swirling around her like a testosterone fog. Turning to him, she scowled. “What part of I don’t spend time with strange men don’t you get?”
He extended his hand, his charming smile increased another dangerous notch. “Barclay Gray. Fireman, marine rescue diver, dog lover and pie connoisseur.”
The man certainly knew how to pour on the charm, she’d give him that. But she couldn’t forget that men had a potential for violence she’d never known before…
Molly shook Barclay’s hand. The warmth from his callouses sending shocks of awareness through her system. When she tried pulling back, his hold tightened and a jolt of panic twisted her stomach.
As if he could read her mood, his shifted to one of reassurance. “Calm down, Molly. I don’t intend to hurt you in any way. White Sands Diner is three blocks up the street and usually has good pies.” His thumb slowly rubbed her knuckles and she jerked her hand away.
His gaze narrowed on her as if he were some kind of therapist, evaluating her every move. Gone, too, was his cocky smile. “What have I done to frighten you?”
“Tell me, do all the women fall for this macho lure you’ve got goin’ on?”
One shoulder lifted in an arrogant shrug. “Yeah. Usually. Sometimes.” His sea green gaze quickly swept over her face. “It’s not working with you, though, is it?”
She folded her arms. “Hell, no.”
He smiled again; this time as if to soothe her. “You’re a cold-hearted woman, Molly. How will you sleep tonight, knowing I’m having pie and coffee all by my lonesome?”
Molly glanced at her fingernails. “I’m sure I won’t give it a second thought.” Oh, but she would. Who could forget his animated eyes or those cute dimples when he smiled? Or the way his deep voice triggered a need she’d be better off denying.
“Tell you what, I’ll order two cups of coffee and two slices of pie. If you don’t join me, it’ll be your fault I’ll be up all night with a sugar-induced, caffeine high.” His deep voice poured over her like honey on biscuits.
“Right. You don’t even know if there are any pies left at this time of night.”
Barclay whipped out his cell and thumbed a number. “Sarah, is that you? This is Barclay. Hey, you got any pie left?” His gaze locked on Molly’s and the corners of his mouth twitched in a damnable overconfident way. “What kind?” He nodded, no doubt listening to Sarah rattle off flavors. “Hold on.” He pressed the cell to his worn t-shirt. “They’ve got cherry, lemon meringue and double chocolate sin.”
Was he daft? She fisted a hand at her waist. “I told you I’m not meeting you for pie. I don’t care what damned flavor it is.” The last thing she needed was to get involved with another guy, even if she and her dad would only be in Florida for a few more weeks.
The man had the audacity to wink at her and then lifted his cell. “Save me a slice of each. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Put on a fresh pot of coffee too.” He slipped the cell back into the front pocket of his jeans.
“How are you going to keep that washboard stomach, eating three pieces of pie by yourself?” She was not joining him.
Humor twinkled in Barclay’s eyes, setting her system all wonky again. “You been looking at my abs, Sugar? Won’t you give a poor guy fifteen minutes to apologize for his moodiness?” He splayed a wide hand over his heart as if he were making a grand plea.
“Why don’t you do like every other man. Mumble ‘sorry’ and then slither away?”
A flicker of something passed over his face, erasing his jovial demeanor. “Is that how you’ve been treated? As if you don’t matter? Or that you’re not damned precious?”
He was hitting too close to her past experiences with men and she didn’t like it. “Look, we close soon. If you want toys for your dogs, you’d better hurry.”
“True that. Quitting time waits for no man.” Barclay sauntered off in the direction she’d indicated for pet products, shooting the lowest of blows over his shoulder. “Double Chocolate Sin pie, Miss Molly. How much you wanna bet it’s sinfully rich?”
“I hate chocolate, bucko.” Liar.
His laughter, rich and deep, bounced off the walls. “The name’s Barclay. Don’t forget it.”
As much as she wanted to fire back a volley of putdowns, she didn’t want to give this arrogant fireman the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to her.No doubt he flirted with every cashier and waitress he came across.
Which was why she didn’t want to tell him she worked the early morning shift at White Sands as a waitress. No need to give him any encouragement. So what if he made her feminine parts sit up and beg for buttermilk, as her dad was known to say? Really, she had no right to enjoy their banter, even for one brief interlude, especially with her life so unstable. Besides, she needed to get back to the condo her dad hated and see how he was doing.
Still, how many men would come out this time of night to get something for their dogs? She sniggered and shook her head. Douches of all things. When she thought about it, his devotion to his pets was kind of sexy. She slapped a hand over her eyes. Enough. Men could be heartless creatures beneath the jovial, often gentle, façade.
She’d be better off praying for immunity from handsome men, like the one who charged into the drug store minutes earlier with vibrant sea green eyes, hair the color of corn silk and deep dimples when he smiled. Or wide calloused hands that could do wicked things to a woman’s body while she inhaled his lime and ginger cologne. Erotic visions steamed a sensual path through her mind, and she shook her head to clear the thoughts.
After her shift was over, Molly hurried up the street toward the tiny condo in an older building on a side street across the road from the beach. Normally she and her dad stayed at Verne’s Cabins on the beach side of Gulf Boulevard, but the place was closed for renovations this year. Last February, when her little family made their annual trek here, the cabin they rented had been nearly uninhabitable. Still, her mother loved those little beach bungalows. It almost seemed fitting their first trip without Mom would be to a different section of the gulf side community she so loved.
A dagger of lightning ripped through the night sky before thunder bumped the ragged edges together again. Drops of rain the size of grapes pelted her head and shoulders, and she yanked up the hood of her jacket as she started a slow jog from the small strip mall along the main drag. Three more blocks and she’d be at their temporary home.
If only she could convince her dad to sell the house in Colorado and move here to the year-round warmth. The change in weather would help his arthritis and with her job back home, a web design business, she could work anywhere. She loved this little community.
Every winter, her heart yearned to return here where she could listen to the waves and relax. Unfortunately this trip, with her dad’s mental confusion coming and going, there was little relaxation to be had. She had to find quick work in order to provide for groceries, personal necessities and her dad’s medicines. Buying a new computer strong enough to handle all the graphics she used in her business had slapped her credit card balance pretty hard. Luckily, restaurants and some stores were always hiring, or so it seemed.
What remained on her credit card balance, she had to keep to cover parking at the airport, gas, food and lodging for their return trip home. Only, home was the last place she wanted to go. She did not want to return to Breckenridge and the cold empty house without her mother to warm it with her laughter and love—or to Wade.
As the thought came into her head, she noticed a dark SUV, the model of her ex-fiancé’s, was parked along the street, setting her heart to beat double-time. She squinted in the rain, trying to read the state on the mud-covered license plate. Although this area of the charming beach town was somewhat dark, a convenience store and the White Sands Diner illuminated the end of the street. Was Barclay there, eating his pie? Not that she planned on joining him, but there was a level of curiosity as to whether he’d really intended to spend time with her.
One more block before she made the turn to the narrow street that housed the condo building. Another clap of lightning brightened the sky. Her eyes struggled to adapt to the change in luminosity before darkness blanketed her vision.
A car door slammed and footsteps pounded the pavement behind her, and she looked over her shoulder. Dear Lord, it was Wade! He ran for her. Her pace picked up in time with her alarmed heart rate.
Because she was distracted, her toe caught on the uneven pavement, and she wheeled through the air. Cement smacked her face, and she bit her tongue. Stars exploded inside her head and something warm ran over her lips. Pain throbbed all over.
Suddenly, Wade jerked her arms behind her and wrapped rope around her wrists as if she were a calf in a rodeo. He kicked her twice in the side before his hands roughly snatched her to her feet. A hard jerk on the rope yanked her to his chest. “Didn’t think I’d find ya, did ya, Bitch? No one walks away from me.”
She stomped on his foot with the heel of her sandal. His fist made contact with her face. Pain and stars exploded once more. She collapsed onto the sidewalk again, darkness creeping over her vision like the blanket of night being pulled over her head.
“How about you get your fat ass back to Breckenridge where you belong, Molly? I told you screwing Katlynn was just one last fling before the wedding. I don’t see why that got you so all fired mad.”

CHAPTER TWO (#ucfaa5b41-3c8e-5ca4-8949-05adda905419)
Barclay smirked at the three pieces of pie gracing the table before him at a booth in the nearly deserted diner. He hoped the sweet treats would be enough incentive to draw Molly in for coffee and conversation. By now, he should be home, bathing three dogs reeking with skunk spray. Since none of his canine girls could tell time, surely he could take fifteen or twenty minutes for himself to chit-chat with Molly—and maybe ask her on a date.
He stared out the window at the end of the table, his mind snagged on the sexy-as-hell beauty spot above the corner of her mouth. What he wouldn’t give to touch it with the tip of his tongue just before he captured her lips with his. Especially her desirable, full bottom lip that for some inane reason kept drawing his eye. Adding to her sensual allure was the fact she was a shade plump all over, just the way he liked his women—softness to his hardness. Her ponytail, the color of raven’s wings, made his fingers itch to remove the band holding it in place and run his fingers through those silky-looking tresses. It had been a long time since a woman attracted him like Molly. Even so, desire had to take a backseat to finding answers.
Something was off about her.
For one thing, she seemed jumpy. For another, she exhibited emotional and physical signs of abuse or an attack of some kind. Her neck bore faint traces of bruising as if she’d been choked. Her left bicep, peeking out of a red and white striped top, had yellow marks of a fading contusion.
By his estimation, she’d been beaten. Not spanked like he occasionally preferred during scene play, but a cruel pounding. She wore no ring and didn’t have the tan mark of one recently removed, so he doubted she’d been married. Had she been accosted by some stranger or worked over by someone she knew? Because she definitely wore her fear like a plate of armor. Some bastard had traumatized her.
He added sweetener to his coffee and stirred. Although he’d had the presence of mind to check for a wedding band, the possibility of a live-in or other type of relationship might exist. Yet with the prickly walls she kept throwing up, he sensed a troubled soul. Something about her called to him, which was a rarity since Bella Marie.
Damn him, he’d always been a sucker for a mystery…and a frightened stray. His three canine girls were testament to that particular weakness.
If only Molly’s furtive eyes hadn’t pulled at him so. Barclay rubbed his fingers across his brow. Her blue-violet gaze, wary with distrust and anxiety, seemed ultra-observant as it darted toward the door every time it swept open, as if she were expecting someone to come charging in at any moment. There was no mistaking the mistrust and torment in her eyes.
From time to time, he’d seen tormented eyes resembling hers staring back at him from his own mirror in the dark, soul-searching hours of night. No doubt, she was in an emotionally persecuted place. Damn, if he didn’t know the look, himself.
Molly needed help.
Not his, of course. He had enough damn problems of his own. Still, something about her worried him. She was an attractive and spirited puzzle that had surprisingly captured his curiosity. Thus the invitation for coffee and pie, which she’d shot down without a minute’s hesitation. He snorted and shook his head. His typical flirtatious charm hadn’t gotten him anywhere with the cashier, that was for sure. Which was a damn shame since just about everything about her attracted him.
He blew across the top of his mug before he sipped. Maybe he was losing his touch. Fighting fires and pulling dead bodies from buildings and the Gulf of Mexico were definitely taking their toll. That’s why he’d decided to use three weeks of his accumulated vacation time to give himself a mental and emotional break from catastrophes. To indulge in the beauty of the beach for a while, let the sounds of the surf relax his soul. To work off some of his pent-up stress by remodeling the bungalows he planned on leasing out.
A shard of bright lightning beyond the window seized Barclay’s concentration from things best forgotten. Street lights showcased Molly running through the rain toward the diner, the hood of her white hoodie pulled over her hair. His face split into a grin. She’d come after all.
His smile froze and he leaned toward the glass to get a better visual. Was someone in pursuit? His gaze bounced from the man sprinting behind her to Molly glancing over her shoulder. About thirty-feet from the diner, she fell and the man jumped her, tying a rope around her wrists before jerking her up and then knocking her down again with a punch.
Oh no! Oh, hell no!
“Be right back, Sarah.” Barclay bolted out the door.
Sounds of a struggle and curses bounced between the raindrops. Molly was definitely in trouble. Some lowlife tried to drag her into a dark blue SUV. Damn, if she wasn’t putting up a fight, kicking and jerking on the rope the man held. Words of their argument drifted through the air. Clearly the thug was bent on intimidating her and insulting her about her weight.
Barclay sprinted toward them. The rain increased, its cold drops stinging his arms and face and drenching the back of his t-shirt. “Hey! What the fucking hell’s going on?”
Molly glanced over her shoulder amid her struggle. “Barclay! Help me!” Her voice was laced with terror.
“This is a private affair, motherfucker. Stay out of it.” The man dressed in cargo pants and a tan t-shirt kept yanking her toward his vehicle. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she definitely didn’t want to go with him. The kidnapper jerked her face inches from his. “Where’s your damn car keys?” He spun toward Barclay as he got closer and pointed. “I’m warning you, butt the hell out!”
Taking orders from asshat tyrants never came easy for Barclay. He’d had enough of that shit growing up. “Duck, Molly!” She leaned and he leaped, clotheslined the potential abductor and knocked him into the street. “Roll away!” As soon as she was clear of the bastard’s grasp, Barclay punched him a few times. He stood, dragging the bloody mouthed man to his feet.
A sudden protectiveness surged though Barclay for this woman with the lovely eyes and plush curves. “Get in that heap of yours, mister, and hit the road. Don’t you dare come near her again.” Barclay opened the driver’s door and tossed her assailant inside.
“This ain’t over, asshole.” The stranger pointed to Molly. “That woman belongs to me. You’d best stop sniffin’ around her.”
Barclay grabbed the mouthy dude’s t-shirt and punched his nose, breaking cartilage. Blood flew. The wild-eyed man started his SUV and sped off, slamming the door as he spun around the corner, the wheels screeching.
Barclay squatted next to Molly. “Sugar, are you all right?”
She flinched away when he reached to touch her. “Don’t touch me!”
“I’ve never beat a woman in my life. The danger is over, Molly. Take a deep breath and repeat after me. The danger is over.” Once she did as he told her, he scooted behind her to remove the ropes. “You know who I am, right? Barclay, the guy with the dogs.”
“Dogs? Yes.” She was slowly easing back into reality. He’d seen fire victims lose touch with the genuine world for a brief time or an extended period, depending on the level of their post-traumatic stress.
“Do you remember my dogs got sprayed by skunks?” She nodded. “Molly, I’m going to untie these ropes now and rub your wrists. I won’t hurt you. Your danger is over.”
Once he removed the rope and manipulated her wrists, he slipped the cell from his pocket and moved in front of her. He thumbed the flashlight app and slowly ran the beam over her battered face. Her lower lip was bleeding and a knot had risen on her cheek. One side of her face was scraped. “Did you know who that sombitch was?”
She nodded. “My…my ex-fiancé, Wade. He followed me here from Colorado.” She rose on shaky legs and he steadied her. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be all right now.” There was a pronounced limp when she walked. “Ouch! Damn, I must have twisted my ankle when I fell. My side hurts where he kicked me.”
“You need to get cleaned up and put ice on your injuries.” He scooped her into his arms as if she was as light as a feather and strode to the diner. She tensed against him. “Relax. We’re only going inside, out of the rain. Sarah will have towels to help us dry off.”
Her muscles relaxed a fraction. “Okay. Straight to the diner. N…no-where else.”
“Yes. I need to tend to your injuries and you need something warm to drink. This Wade fellow, was he the one who put those old bruises on you? What the fuck kind of man hits a woman? Holy hell, I could never figure that one out.” Which was why he hadn’t spoken to his dad in years.
“He’s pissed because I broke off our engagement.” She jerked the hood of her jacket over her head, using the edge to blot her eyes. “You see, I took offense to Wade screwing my maid of honor and he took offense when I told him I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man to walk on God’s green earth.” She fiddled with the string on her hoodie. “Aren’t I too heavy for you? To lug around like this, I mean.”
“Seems to me you’re about perfect.” The crass remark the woman beater had uttered about her size no doubt made her self-conscious about her weight. Hell, what did that guy know about the beauty of a woman’s curves?
Barclay carried her into the diner and gently set her in his booth. “Sarah, need another cup of coffee.” He glanced at Molly. “Or would you rather have something cold? Whatever you want, just tell me.”
With a swipe of his forearm, he wiped rain water off his face and fought the urge to shake like his dogs when they came in from the rain.
“Ice water and blueberry herbal tea. Hot.” She shakily reached for paper napkins from the chrome holder to blot at her bleeding lips. He helped her out of her wet hoodie.
Barclay changed his order and grabbed some clean rags from Sarah to dry Molly off.
“I already dialed 9-1-1.” Sarah stood on her tiptoes to glance down the street. “After you charged out of here, I watched to see what had you so upset. I couldn’t believe that man was trying to drag you to his SUV. Think he was some kind of human trafficker? Picking up women for the sex trade in another country?” Sarah set a fresh cup of coffee and one of tea on their table while she prattled on. “Need some more dry towels? Give me a sec, hon. Barclay, you want one?”
“No thanks, I’ve got another shirt in my truck.” He turned to Molly and helped dry her long hair. “Stay put while I run out to my pickup to get the first aid kit and a dry shirt.”
“Okay. Thanks. Sorry to be so much trouble.” She cast her dejected gaze on him, sadness evident in those nearly violet eyes…and he was a goner.
“Trouble? Hell, this ain’t nothing.”
When he carried in a two by four foot yellow plastic container, her eyes widened. “What do you have in there? A portable operating room?”
Flipping the black closures open, he raised the lid, wiping the water off the case’s exterior. “As a certified EMT, I’m qualified to help in any emergency.” He shrugged, both proud of his job and embarrassed he’d bragged a little. Sarah waved a dry towel in front of him and he grabbed it to rub the rain off his face and hair. He peeled off his wet t-shirt and dried off before slipping into a t-shirt that proclaimed firemen had longer hoses.
Sarah ogled his bare chest, read his shirt and laughed as she gathered up the wet rags. “I still say Yvette was a damn fool.”
“Ancient history, Sarah.” He stooped and fingered through the neatly arranged emergency supplies.
“So, you really are a fireman and…what was it you said?”
“A diver with a marine rescue unit out of the best damn fire station in Clearwater.”
Molly was starting to tremble, no doubt coming down from an adrenaline rush. He removed a blanket from his box to drape around her shoulders. “Take a piece of pie and eat. You need something to bring your glucose levels up.” He glanced in Molly’s eyes. Her pupils were dilated. “Look at me. Double chocolate sin pie okay with you?” She nodded and he slid the dessert in front of her. “Sarah, bring us two more slices in case she needs them.”
He tore open some sanitary wet wipes to wash off her face. “Let me make sure you don’t need stitches.” Cleaning her banged up cheeks and lips, he tried being gentle, but every time he glanced at her eyes to gauge her pain level, a sensual pull warmed him. A faint floral scent penetrated his nose and beguiled. How long had it been since a woman caught his emotions like this and quickly tied them into knots? He wanted to protect her in the worst kind of way.
He snapped an ice pack to make it active and told her to hold it to the side of her face where the bastard had struck her.
“Who…who’s Yvette?” She laid her cheek against the ice pack.
“Ex-wife for over a year. In a small community like this, even though the tourists make it seem bigger, some people know all about your life. Isn’t that right, Sarah?” Few people could beat the café worker in the gossip department.
The middle-aged waitress leaned her elbows on the counter. “What we call neighborly concern, you call nosy.” She sniffed and went about filling salt and pepper shakers. “It only means we care. I remember a time when you worried about everyone too. We’re all waiting for the old you to come back.”
“Scoot around so I can examine where he kicked you. Has the pain lessened any? Pull up your shirt so I can make sure your ribs aren’t broken.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m not showing any strange man my midriff.”
“Now here’s something novel. A woman with morals. Hon, I’ll stand right here and watch his every move. He gets out of line, ol’ Sarah will box his ears.”
Molly slowly pulled up her blouse and he examined her side. “Any pain when I do this?” He pressed in with two fingers.
“No more than a bad bruise.” Her contusions were bright red and would soon color to deep bruises. He lowered her top. “Now for your foot.” After squatting in front of her, he examined with sure fingers the leg she’d hurt when she’d fallen. Her calf was muscular, but nicely rounded. The kind that would feel good wrapped around his hips, which probably wasn’t the best visual to have while she was hurting. Few women got to him like that without trying. “Any pain?”
“No. So far so good.”
Yeah, my freakin’ thoughts exactly. Christ she had some pretty, shapely legs. Curvy. So curvy he’d probably dream about them tonight. “I’m going to remove your sandal so I can see if your ankle’s broken or sprained.” He carefully slipped it off.
She winced and nearly scooted backward in the booth when his fingers tested the ligaments leading to and holding her ankle joint. “Ouch! That’s a tender spot.”
“Sorry. I’m thinking it’s a bad sprain, which will require RICE, that’s rest, ice, compression and elevation.” He slung an arm over his thigh. “And I’d say your big toe is broken. I can take you to the ER for x-rays or an MRI, if you like, but there’s nothing they can do for a broken toe. It’ll swell, bruise and hurt like hell for a week.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “Great! How am I going to work? Do you think I could wear flip-flops?”
“You’ll be lucky to walk with crutches. Besides, this foot needs elevation for a couple days at least.” He peeled the cellophane off a rolled ace bandage and began wrapping her foot. “You know, most people come here to relax, enjoy the white sands of our beaches and absorb the sun.”
“Yeah, well.” She covered her eyes with her fingertips. “Life hasn’t exactly been simple lately. Not one thing has gone right since November twelfth.”
“Why November twelfth?” The jut of her chin and the tears pooling in her eyes all but shouted she had no freakin’ plan to answer that question. He activated another ice pack and taped it to her ankle and foot. “Scoot over and rest your heel on my seat to elevate it while we have our pie and drinks. He pulled out a pack of aspirin. “Need something for the pain, Sugar?”
She opened her hand for the pills while she pierced him with tear-filled eyes. “Don’t call me Sugar.” She palmed the aspirins into her mouth and washed them down.
“Is that what that abusive son of a bitch called you?” His stomach had cramped with temper, banked since childhood yet permanently on simmer beneath the surface to protect anyone bullied or pushed around.
She shook her head. “No, but it implies that we have a connection, which we don’t.”
“Has this jerk, your ex-fiancé, always been abusive?”
“No. Never. Wade’s abuse back in Breckenridge—that’s in Colorado—came as a complete shock. Of course, so did his cheating on me. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect him to come here, although I thought I saw his dark blue SUV cruising on Gulf Boulevard. The faded paint on the hood makes it distinctive. That and the gun rack.
“My parents and I have come to this section of Indian Rocks Beach every February for my entire life, so Wade knew where I’d be. I just never expected him to follow me. Guess it was a good thing the little bungalows we always rented were closed, after all. At least he doesn’t know where we’re staying.” She sighed and stirred her tea. “We have a rental car I got at the airport. Thank goodness he doesn’t know what it looks like.”
“Why did the goon ask for your car keys?”
“Did he? I was so scared, I don’t remember.” Her forehead crinkled. “Once he attacked me, I went into fright mode. Wait. I did yell for you to help me, didn’t I?”
He slid his hand across the table until their fingertips touched. He’d have taken her hand in his but sensed, at this moment, she wasn’t ready for that much personal contact. “Yes, you did. You must have seen me running toward you two, yelling for him to stop.”
Had Wade demanded the keys to her car at home or for her rental? None of it made any sense. “If you have a vehicle, why did you walk to work?”
“To save on gas money and listen to the waves kissing the shoreline. I took ten minutes to walk out on the beach. Slipped off my shoes to bury my toes in the sand for a spell to watch the sun start to set and witness the oranges and purples. Sunsets here are phenomenal, aren’t they?” There was such sadness in her voice.
“Beyond that, Molly. Way beyond that. I don’t think anyone could get me to leave here.”
A squad car pulled into the parking area in front of the diner, drawing his attention from their conversation. Officer George Pauley eased from behind the steering wheel and ambled toward the door. Since his wife had passed away a few years ago, the policeman had put on a lot of weight. Barclay stood so the officer could sit. “George, ol’ buddy, how’s life treating you?”
“Got the gout,” he puffed on a wheeze. “My feet hurt like a sumbitch.” He squeezed into the booth across from Molly and tugged his notebook out of his pocket. “Sarah, darlin’, get me a piece of pie and a sweet tea.”
“I’ll get you a salad and a glass of water.”
Barclay shot Molly a smirk at Sarah’s retort as he sat on his plastic first aid box. Molly rolled her eyes in response. And something inside him shifted. Not that he was looking for a relationship, but if she was only going to be here a few weeks, what could it hurt to enjoy some female companionship?
“Damn bossy woman,” George mumbled in Sarah’s direction and began his questioning of the incident. When he was through, he jammed his book back into his shirt pocket. “Can you come down to the station tomorrow to sign a complaint? A man grabbing a woman on our streets don’t sit well with me. This is a fairly safe community.”
“Since it looks like I won’t be able to work, sure. I could come by in the morning.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see the paperwork’s ready.” He huffed and puffed as he maneuvered his girth from the booth. “Barclay, how soon you gonna have those cabins open for business? I saw the new sign you put up, changing the name to Grey’s Cottages. Sounds classier than Verne’s Cabins. Putting a new grey roof on each one was a nice touch. You gonna paint all the cabins the same color or keep the multi-colored tradition?”
Barclay’s gaze slid to hers and he winced at her narrowed eyes. “I’ve got one just about ready to rent out. Still need to paint it, inside and out. I’ll paint them a fresher version of their original colors. I’m working on renovating the second one now. I redid mine first so the dogs and I could move in. It feels good staying there again.”
George clasped his shoulder. “I’m glad your uncle willed you those places. Verne knew how you loved staying there with him as a kid. Having those old style cottages keeps up the charm of the town. We’ve got too many condos, you ask me.” He touched two fingers to his cap. “See you tomorrow, Miss Devon.”
“If I’m able to walk there, yes.”
“I’ll drive you, Molly. Remember, I told you to keep the ankle elevated and rest it?” I bet you dollars to donuts, she’s not going to listen to a damn word I’m telling her.
“Barclay, show me the spot the attempted abduction occurred.” He stood and followed the officer outside. The rain had stopped and the humidity hovered over the area like a cloud of steam. George slipped his flashlight from his belt. “How long have you known Miss Devon?”
“Just met her tonight at Walgreens. We got to talking and I asked her out for coffee.”
“Damn, son, you don’t waste any time.”
“Well, seems my charm didn’t do anything for her. She turned me down in a damn big hurry. I noticed the old bruises on her neck and arm, her jumpiness whenever someone came in the store and the way she glared at me like I was scum. Just figured she was skittish around men. I mean, I poured on the charm and she shook it off like a duck shakes off water.”
The officer chuckled. “Smart girl, you old horn toad.”
Barclay stopped at the rise in the sidewalk. “Here’s where she tripped when she was running. Between the downpour and the dark, she couldn’t see the uneven cement.” He retraced her steps until he found the red rope. “Here’s the rope he had tied around her wrists. So his old Blazer was parked in this spot. I pounded on him pretty good after he got behind the wheel and threatened her again. I’m pretty sure I broke his nose.”
“You always were the hot head. You got a temper in you that can’t be tamed, yet you also got a soft spot for stray dogs, kids in trouble and damsels in distress. See why folks label you a complex conundrum.” George flashed the beam of his flashlight around the area and slipped a plastic bag from his pocket. “Roll that rope up, son, and shove it in this bag.”
Evidence bag in hand, George ambled back to the squad car. “Have you asked yourself what would make a man drive all the way from Colorado to our little town in Florida just to bring back an old girlfriend?” The officer grunted. “Hell, there’s plenty other fishes in the sea. I got a feeling there’s more to this story than we know. Better head back to the station. By the time I fill out the paperwork on this incident, my shift will be over.” George opened the door to the squad car. “You be careful. Don’t let your pecker rule your head.”
The officer drove off, Barclay stepped back into the diner and stilled. Molly had pulled the rubber band from her hair and was running her fingers through the wet strands that came to her elbows. God, what would it feel like to wrap it around his wrists and hold her head in place while he kissed those soft lips?
Good thing she would only be in Indian Rocks Beach for a few weeks. With his attraction to her growing stronger by the minute, he’d be in big trouble. Since he and Yvette split up, he tended to keep his relationships short and shallow. He’d seen firsthand the damage the so-called emotion, love, could do to a person’s life.
He slipped back into his seat. “I’ll drive you to the police station tomorrow. I’m on vacation for another day. Some of the guys from the fire station are coming to paint the cabins. I can sneak away while they work.” He smiled and reached to rub his thumb over her knuckles. Then in a self-preservation move, he pulled his hand back and wrapped it around his coffee mug. “The place you’d mentioned your family always stayed. That was my uncle Vern’s five cottages, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “My parents stayed there on their honeymoon back in eighty-two and came back every February for their anniversary. I was conceived there twenty-five years ago, or so my mother claimed. It was a second marriage for both of them and I was what old wives called a change of life baby.” She swiped at a falling tear. “Mom was killed in a car crash nearly three months ago on November twelfth.”
An old pain of loss and devastation charged into Barclay’s body and sprinted toward his heart. His mother had died just as suddenly two years ago, although bits of her emotions had been killed with every beating his bastard father had given her. Yet his abusive parent had bawled at her funeral, blubbering over and over about how much he’d loved his Carol. Drunk, abusive bastard.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Molly. You have my sympathies. My mother’s gone too. It leaves a big gap, especially when your siblings live in other states. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head and woeful eyes rose to meet his. “Life changes in an instant, doesn’t it? A tractor trailer hit a patch of black ice and lost control. He rammed right into her little compact. Neither my father nor I have been the same since. Dad’s grieving so badly, I don’t know how much longer he’ll last. I can barely get him to eat a proper meal. He’s been living on junk food. He’s under medication for early signs of dementia.”
Damn, she had her problems.
“Somehow, from picking up our rental car at the airport, Dad lost his wallet with most of our money and credit cards, my briefcase holding my laptop and my carryon of clothes. I’m a website designer back home, so I need a computer to keep my business afloat.”
“So that’s why you’re working instead of vacationing?”
She nodded again, the fall of her dark hair hiding part of her face. “I work the morning shift here and a few evenings at the drug store. I bought a new laptop on my credit card, but I don’t want to max it out. We’ll need it in case of emergencies and for our travel expenses from the airport in Denver to home in Breckenridge.”
“I’ve got what used to be the apricot cottage just about finished inside. It needs both interior and exterior painting and furniture moved in. Would your dad be more comfortable there? It has a new deck that backs onto the beach.”
A wistful expression kissed her battered face. “That’s the one we always stayed in, but until I get some customers to pay their bills and the replacements for dad’s credit cards, we can’t afford the security deposit or the rent.”
God, he wanted her to have the place for the time she had remaining here. The why of it escaped him; he just had this innate need to help, which hadn’t been a part of him since he lost little Bella Marie. How the hell was she going to work with her ankle and foot all banged up? No one ever claimed he was going to make a good businessman, besides he had the income from his job at the station. “If you want the place, it’s yours. No security deposit. No rent. Just clean it good before you leave.”
“You can’t do that. Isn’t the object of fixing them up to have rental income?”
He nodded and tucked into the piece of pie in front of him. “To a degree. I’m living in the cottage next to it. The aqua one.” He shook the fork at her. “You know, I’m also going to need a website under the new name. We could trade services.” He grinned at her and hoped she’d take him up on his offer.
“Now that’s a deal I could handle. I wasn’t raised to take charity, but if I can work part of our obligation off that would be great. Dad’s a retired carpenter. He might be able to help you a couple hours a day, but you’d have to keep a close eye on him. One minute, he’s on track and, the next, he can’t recall what he was about to do. Do you have a webpage reserved in your name?”
“It’s in Grey’s Cottages’ name. Not much to it, Sugar, I did it myself so it’s pretty lame.”
“I’ll get started on it tomorrow. You’ll have the best website I can create. One thing though…”
His fork stilled halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Don’t call me Sugar.”

CHAPTER THREE (#ucfaa5b41-3c8e-5ca4-8949-05adda905419)
The door to the diner flew open and a dark-haired beauty squealed as she barreled in. “Ice Man, my hero!” The woman’s hands cupped Barclay’s cheeks and she kissed him full on the lips.
Molly sipped at her lukewarm tea, taking note of the affectionate exchange. One of his many conquests, no doubt.
“Angel, you’re going to make me beat his worthless ass.” The tall, dark and incredibly handsome man accompanying the beauty looped his arm around her waist, pulling her away from Barclay and back to him. He kissed her neck. “You know how I get.”
Barclay grinned and shook his head. “Molly, meet one of the most possessive son of a bitches to ever get married, Quinn Matisse, and his wife, Cassie.” He extended an open hand to her. “This is Molly. We just met tonight and, as you can see, she’s had a rough evening.”
“Nice to meet you.” Quinn’s eyebrows dipped when he looked at her. He slid onto the seat next to Barclay, who gently wrapped his hand around her bandaged ankle and lifted it onto his thigh, evidently to make room for his friend. Once Quinn sat, their broad shoulders met, creating quite a wall of macho muscles.
Cassie sat next to her and reached for her husband’s hand before turning a warm smile on Molly. “I’m happy to meet you.” She peeled the ice pack away from Molly’s cheek and winced. “Looks like Ice Man’s been busy doing some first aid work.”
“Yes. The man carries around a portable operating room.”
“So does my Quinn. It comes with the job.”
Sarah came over to get their orders, so conversation stopped.
The heat from Barclay’s thigh warmed Molly’s ankle, ice pack or no ice pack. If she slid her foot over just a couple of inches, it would touch his manhood. Her gaze rose to lock on Barclay’s and a slow, sexy smile spread as if he read her thoughts. The heat of a flush spread just as slowly across her cheeks.
Quinn aimed a raised eyebrow to Barclay or, Ice Man, as the two apparent newlyweds called him. In response to Quinn’s silent question, Barclay never mentioned the cause of her battered face. Quinn turned his gaze to Molly. “You’re looking at a very happy man.”
“Really?”
“I’ve started a whole new life, recently. New last name, new wife, new rancher.”
“Now all we need are babies to fill it.” Cassie flashed Quinn a wide grin.
Her husband shook his head. “We agreed to wait three years, Angel. Just because you held baby Andy Jace from the moment we stepped into Jace and Wendy Anne’s house, don’t go getting any maternal ideas. I want you to myself for a few years.”
“That little kid is quite the charmer, isn’t he?” Something in the tone of Barclay’s voice—pain, longing, devastation—nearly tore Molly’s breath away.
Cassie’s hand slid across the table to touch fingertips against his rigid fist. “Ice Man,” she whispered, her face sorrowful. “I know this is hard for you.”
His hand moved to his lap and then rubbed Molly’s bandaged leg, so both of his hands were on her—one at her instep and the other on her calf, gently and slowly massaging. Her nipples were all but crying, “Me next! Me next!” Molly crossed her arms to muffle their sensual plea.
“I took him a toy last week. Seeing him was only half as difficult as I’d expected. I actually held him for a few minutes.” Barclay’s voice was strained as he stared out of the diner window. “I’d put it off for months. I mean, I went to see the kid in the hospital after he was born, gave them a baby present, but I just couldn’t bring myself to see him up close and personal.” He shook his head. “Chicken shit, huh?”
Why would it be so hard for him to see a baby?
Quinn tapped Cassie’s hand once and she pulled it back to her lap. Her husband slouched in the seat. “We just came from a family picnic and noticed your heap of a truck in the parking lot.”
His friend’s insult seemed to snap Barclay out of his deep thoughts. “Hey, buddy, watch it. That’s a valuable antique sitting out there.”
Quinn laughed. “Yeah? How many times has it been worked on this week?”
“Kiss my ass, Quinn.” Barclay sipped his coffee and winked at Molly.
“Thought we’d stop by and chat a bit. How’s vacation going?”
Barclay’s head leaned side-to-side once, the joints in his neck popping. “Good. Haven’t gotten as much work done as I’d hoped. The cabins were pretty decrepit. Plus the beach keeps calling to me. The girls and I have played a lot of Frisbee on the sand. Thank goodness some of the guys from the station have helped me on their days off.”
He jerked a thumb toward his friend and spoke to Molly. “Quinn is on the same fire squad I am and he also drives the boat for our marine rescue team. Cassie is a beautician who chased him for three years until he wised up and let her catch him.”
Cassie squirmed in her seat, a bundle of nervous energy, and grinned. “Men can be so dense, you know? Why, I even had to seduce him the first time.” She winked at Molly, who didn’t know if she should believe the sparkling woman or not. “We’ve been married for almost eight months.” She grinned at Quinn and sighed. “It was a very good seduction.”
Molly finished her piece of pie, her previous shakes nearly gone. “Why did you refer to Barclay as your hero?”
Cassie’s eyes widened. “Ice Man? Oh, you wouldn’t know the story. I was abducted by this weird guy who was working for…” she glanced at Quinn. “Well, it doesn’t matter who he worked for. Not really. But my man, here, plus my brothers, Wolf and Jace, Barclay and a couple other friends formed an unsanctioned SWAT team and rescued me. Blew up the building I was held captive in. I’ll never forget that night. Neither will the two guys who have to sit down to pee the rest of their lives because of what Quinn and my big brother did to them.”
Quinn snickered and lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “Neither will I. She and I broke up on the way to the hospital from her rescue. Was one hell of a gawd-awful evening.”
Molly’s gaze ricocheted from Cassie to Quinn to Barclay. Abduction, blowing up a building, castrating men… What the hell? I’ve fallen down the nutso rabbit hole. All three of them looked normal, but what was normal anymore? “How long were you two apart after you broke up?”
Quinn held up four fingers. “Four hellacious hours. I got knocked unconscious after I got home and she took pity on me once I was found.”
“Some men need a good woman more than others. Quinn just needed me. I couldn’t let him go.”
“Would you just listen to her brag? All full of feminine power.” Quinn looked at Molly
Cassie mumbled, “Here we go. Just pay him no mind.”
Quinn pointed to her engagement ring. “I had to handcuff her to the headboard to slip that diamond on her finger.”
Cassie extended her ring hand and rolled her eyes. “You just have to tell everyone that story, don’t you?” Her husband laughed softly when she stuck her tongue out at him. “And I think you might be mistaken. I’m sure we said we’d wait one year to start making a baby.”
Quinn blew on his cup of coffee. “Nope. Three years.” He winked at Barclay who smirked in return.
“Gee, and I was going to pole dance for you tonight.”
Her husband choked and sputtered coffee on his shirt. “Dammit, Cassie!” He swiped java off his chin and t-shirt. “You never did fight fair.”
Cassie laughed. “No, and you love me that way.”
Over coffee, shared French fries and more pie, Molly told them about Wade.
With the ice pack against her cheek, she recanted her harrowing experience of less than an hour ago. She also shared her and her dad’s bittersweet journey to Indian Rocks where they intended to spread her mother’s ashes on the beach in front of the cabin they’d always stayed in.
Her gaze locked on Barclay’s. “Though I’m not sure the new owner will allow that.”
His gaze hadn’t moved from her face since she’d started talking. The man treated her as if she were the only person in the diner. His dimpled smile—she could only describe as dangerous and damned sexy—made her toes curl, even the painful broken one. As if he could read her reaction, his fingers caressed her unbound toes. “I don’t see that as being a problem.”
She couldn’t help herself; she smiled for the first time in months. “Thank you.”
Barclay stared at her for several minutes before Quinn’s elbow bumped his—twice. As if to erase some kind of mental vision, Barclay shook his blond head a few times, cleared his throat and looked at her again. “Sorry, did you say something?”
“I said thank you, Barclay. You don’t know what your kindness means to us, to me. Your offer to let us stay in the little cottage we have so many great memories of and allowing us to spread Mom’s ashes there.” She smiled again and he looked as if he’d stopped breathing for a minute. “If Dad can spend some time at the cabin he and Mom loved, maybe it’ll help calm him down. His dementia not only makes him forgetful, but he agitates easily too.”
Cassie rubbed Molly’s arm with sympathy. “You poor dear. One of my customers has a husband with dementia. He puts things where he can’t recall. She found the TV remote in the ice maker of their freezer. He put his razor in the linen closet behind the towels. Then he tears the house apart hunting for the items he’s misplaced.
“When she comes in my shop, I give her extra pampering because I know she has to be exhausted from caring for her husband. I massage her arms and fingers, her neck and shoulders. Little things, you know. It’s rough to see your loved one deteriorate mentally and emotionally.”
“Tell me about it. Some days, dad is coherent. Other days, he’s all befuddled. He was fine on the flight down. I was so pleased with how well he did.” Molly rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Then there was a bit of a mix-up with our car reservations. He got flustered and impatient. Started pacing and mumbling. Then he swore we left Mom on the plane and went into a panic that she’d been flown to Iraq or Afghanistan.” She shook her head and sighed. “Two places you don’t want to be yelling in an airport. Calming him down took a lot of effort. When I told him she was dead, his eyes went wild and he started crying and screaming.” She twisted her napkin in her hands. “Security came running and told me I’d have to get him out of there. Like that wasn’t what I’d been trying to do all along.”
Quinn pounded on the bottom of a ketchup bottle. “Give a man a badge and his common sense shrivels.”
Molly nodded in agreement. “We always got a sedan and this trip we ended up with a compact. Dad started whining as soon as he saw it. Claimed his long legs would never fit in it.” She shot a glance at Cassie. “He’s only five-eight and to hear him talk, you’d think five feet of him are legs.
“Anyway, somehow, between the emotional fiasco at the car rental desk and our arrival at the condo, his wallet, my briefcase and carry-on had disappeared. My fault, I guess. When I asked Dad where everything was, he narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin, claiming he had it all and to stop treating him like a child. I was just too frazzled to push the issue and check behind him.”
Barclay’s pressure as he massaged her toes and calf increased. She nearly purred, even if it was just an act of pity on his part. What else could it be?
“I called the police, the Tampa International Airport and the car rental agency but, so far, no one’s seen a thing. So now I’m working at two jobs, trying to keep us financially flush. Dad’s medicine is pretty expensive. He’s lost it twice since we’ve been here. I found the bottle inside his pillow case the first time, but could never locate it the second time he misplaced it. So I had to call his doctor back in Breckenridge to send a prescription to the Walgreens here where I work.”
Tears pooled and she blinked to clear them. The stress of living in a continual scavenger hunt with her dad was getting to her. Then to have Wade show up and knock her around. “It’s…ah…been a little rough.” Two traitorous tears overflowed.
Cassie’s arms instantly went around her. “Oh, honey. I know some of what you’re going through. I lost both of my parents in a fire. You just cry when you need to. Get it out.” She kept patting Molly’s back. “Besides, you’ve got friends here now. There’s no one sweeter than Ice Man. I’ve known him since I was a teenager. ʼCourse he was known to everyone as Barclay back then. He and my brother Jace were good buddies. Let him help you. My own personal hero and I are here for you too.” She pulled out of the embrace and slipped a business card from her tiny purse. “Here’s my cell number.” She jotted a number on the back and handed it to Molly. “Just wait until you meet the whole gang. Firemen, their wives and girlfriends. You’re not alone anymore.” Cassie cast her gaze on Barclay. “Is she, Ice Man?”
“No. I’ll keep an eye on her and her dad. Which bedroom did he and your mom use? I’ll see most of the same furniture goes back in there so he feels a sense of familiarity. I’ve ordered new mattresses and living room furniture for each unit, though.”
“Oh, Barclay, that’s so kind of you. Or would you rather I call you Ice Man?” He was such a caring individual, what had prompted such a nickname?
“Barclay’s fine.”
“They had the room that overlooked the beach. It was always painted blue and there were oars crisscrossed over the headboard, fish net wrapped around the oar handles with star fish and pretty shells tucked in the net. When I was a kid, I thought that arrangement was the neatest thing. I had the bedroom toward the driveway in front.” He nodded, no doubt making a mental note. “Cassie and Quinn, it’s been great meeting you, but I have to get home to Dad. He’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.” Her gaze swept to Barclay. “Thanks for chasing off Wade and tending to my sprained ankle and bruised face. Good luck bathing your dogs tonight.”
She went to slide her heel off his thigh and his hold on her tightened. “I’ll drive you to your condo. You’re in no condition to walk anywhere. Besides your foot’s probably swollen so bad you won’t be able to get your sandal back on. Stay where you’re at. I’ll come for you as soon as I carry my first aid kit out to the truck.” Quinn stood and Barclay slid out, grabbing his case and lugging it outside.
Well, really, she could walk. She didn’t need to listen to him. “Would you let me out, please, Cassie?”
“And have Ice Man give me the stink eye? No way. A smart woman knows when to listen to her man.”
Her man? Cassie must be delusional. “Barclay is most definitely not my man. He’s not even my type.”
“Type? If he was any more your type, he’d have you sitting on his lap. I sense a definite attraction. You’ve never been around a group of men like the ones at Fire Station Thirty-two.” Cassie snorted. “If you try to go off on your own, he’ll just catch up with you, toss you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and—if you’re lucky—smack your behind.” The woman actually winked at her.
He smacks my behind and I’ll pop him in the eye. Although the more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea seemed—having a man take control. She could use a break from all the problems and pressures.
Barclay sauntered back into the diner and Cassie obediently slid out of the seat. He reached in, slipped his hands under Molly and lifted her as if she weighed no more than the role of Ace bandage he’d wrapped around her foot earlier.
Quinn stood and extended his hand for Cassie. “I’ll be at the cabins to help paint tomorrow, Ice Man. You’ll be back on the job the day after, right?”
“Yeah, can’t say I’ve missed those forty-eight hour shifts. By the time you get rested during your days off and do a few things, it’s time to start another round.”
Quinn wrapped his arm around Cassie’s waist, drawing her close. “See you in the morning. Just not real early. I do believe my wife promised me a pole dance tonight.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on her neck.
Oh, yeah, I’ve dropped into some strange kinky lifestyle hole. Women handcuffed to beds and dancing on poles—seemingly on command. With a gentle strength, Barclay pressed Molly to the firmness of his pecs and carried her from the diner. She clutched her wet hoodie to her side.
“You seem upset. You okay, Sugar?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to call me Sugar?”
He tilted his head to the side and, for a few seconds, she could have sworn his jaw clenched. Would he hit her too? Choke her? Knock her around?
Oh, he’d call her Sugar, all right. And before he was through with her, she’d damn well know how a man should treat a woman, because he bet she’d never been shown tenderness and protectiveness before. He gave a mental shrug. Okay, maybe from her father, but certainly not from any guy she’d dated. She had no clue she was about to start school—Seduction 101 and maybe, if she was into it, light BDSM 102.
He’d left the passenger door open on his reconditioned antique truck when he returned to the diner to get her. With great care, he placed her on the wide bench seat, pushing his bags of shopping products over. Slipping his hand beneath the silky fall of her long hair, he cupped the back of her neck to hold her head in place. With slow, deliberate movements, he leaned in and, using the barest of touches, dragged his lips across her cheek until they scarcely made contact with the corner of her mouth. Good God, he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist that beauty spot of hers and, against his better judgment, he swept the tip of his tongue over it—ever so lightly.
Her breathing hitched and his all but seized in his lungs for the want of her, the taste of her, the feel of her under his hands. His lips whispered against the curve of hers, where her cheek ended and her very sexy mouth began. “Then what shall I call you?”
She swallowed and the sound echoing in his old Chevrolet was something he’d never forget. He couldn’t recall anything so damn enticing. “My…my name is Molly. You know that.”
He tilted his head toward her a fraction as he reached for the seatbelt and stretched it across her stomach that quivered at his brief touch. “No nicknames?” His eyes focused on hers in the dim interior lighting. Beautiful, magnetizing were the only terms he could think of to describe them. He’d been resisting their pull from the first time he’d seen her.
She cleared her throat. “N…no.” She jutted her chin. “Well, one, but I refuse to divulge it.” Her gaze centered on the windshield and she wiped her palms on her capris. Was she nervous over his closeness or turned on?
Either way, she obviously had his attention. Fuckin’A. Both his and his cock’s.
“Then, with you being so sweet, I’d say Sugar fits. At least between you and me. And I can tell you I have never abused a woman. Argued with, yes. Hit or called names, no. Never. A real man provides and protects.” His lips lightly brushed hers as their breaths mingled and his words stroked her mouth. “Do you know you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen? It makes your indigo eyes go almost violet. A man could virtually fall into them and never want to climb back out.”
She jerked back as if he’d struck her. “Your normal seduction techniques won’t work with me. I’m not that easy.” Her eyes narrowed. “How long has it been since you’ve been with a woman?”
His fingers slipped into her midnight silky tresses, rubbing their rich softness. “That’s one of those trick questions you women like to ask, isn’t it? If I tell you I had a date last night, then you’ll classify me as a player. If I say I haven’t gone out in two or three months, then you’ll just call me a horny bastard. Either answer puts me in a bad light when all I’m trying to do is be honest.”
There, let her stew on that.
He closed the door and rounded the front of the brown pick-up, a picture of an aqua-colored cabin by the sea and Gray’s Cottages painted in an arch over the dwelling. A website address was below it. He settled behind the steering wheel, clicked his seatbelt and aimed a smile her way. “Now that we’ve got that settled, where to, Sugar?”

CHAPTER FOUR (#ucfaa5b41-3c8e-5ca4-8949-05adda905419)
Molly crossed her arms and gave him the directions, although the way her jaw clenched it was a wonder she could force out one syllable much less a complete sentence. She was so damn pissed she could spit fireballs. This man, this stranger, this hunk of muscle with his sexy-as-hell smile had practically kissed her.
They’d met mere hours ago and this rascal was coming on to her. He must have mistakenly thought she was desperate for a man, any man. Still, he had saved her from Wade and taken care of her injuries. But even those kindnesses didn’t warrant his frisky nature.
Ice Man, his friends had called him. She’d give him a different nickname, like Sex on a Stick or Horny Toad.
What ticked her off, if she were honest, was her body’s reaction to his very male appearance and his gentle, yet almost assertive touch. Thank goodness her mind still contained some wits. For although her body had all but melted into a pile of feminine goo over his toying, her brain and all the common sense it contained resented his subtle flirting, if she could classify it as subtle.
The blond man with more muscles than those hunks in movies was mounting an offensive as if he were a war general. She shifted her shoulders in annoyance. Okay, so maybe mounting was the wrong terminology here. Her gaze drifted over his t-shirt stretched taut across hardened pecs and the clichéd washboard abs. Just what would it feel like to have him mount…oh hell, I must have a concussion to even think about him like this.
What kind of woman did he think she was? Just because she carried more than a few extra pounds than other girls, did he think she was desperate for a man’s attention, especially when society only saw beauty in being thin? No doubt, he was playing her because he thought she’d be someone who’d spread her legs for a compliment and a smile. She rolled her eyes. Sugar, he wanted to call her. Huh, I’d like to sugar his balls and plant his manly parts in an anthill.
When he eased his ancient pickup in front of the old motel converted into condominiums, he jumped out and came around to lift her from the vehicle. “I was thinking I’d talk to your dad a bit. Tell him about the changes I’m making at the cottages so he won’t be upset things aren’t the same as he remembers.”
She was surprised at his proposed consideration toward her father. Why should this Romeo care about an old man with early dementia? Or care enough about her to carry her to the door of the condo? He set her down and placed his hands at her waist to hold her up as she teetered on one foot while unlocking the door. Although his body wasn’t blatantly touching hers, the heat from him all but singed the back of her shirt. His nearness flustered her so badly, she could barely hit the lock with the key.
After several failed tries, his warm hand engulfed hers and inserted the key. Damn, if it didn’t feel so good, she almost turned the lock again so he’d have to help her one more time. What in the world was wrong with her? Her hormonal reactions were all over the place. One time, he’d touch her and she’d prickle with annoyance and the next she’d get all hot and bothered. It had to be the head injury. Wade’s punch must have left some lasting effects.
She opened the door. “Dad, are you still awake?” Barclay lifted her and carried her inside.
Her dad sat on an old rocker, a bag of Cheetos on his lap and the TV blaring. “Sure am. Been waiting on you. What time does that store close anyway?” His paternal gaze zeroed in on her face and slid to her bandaged foot. He bolted from his chair, a few orange curls falling out of the bag when it hit the floor. “What in the hell happened? Why can’t you walk?” His fingers curled into fists as he narrowed his eyes on Barclay. “You hurt my little girl?”
“No sir.” Barclay carried her to the plastic covered sofa and laid her so her head was on the armrest. He shifted and extended his hand. “I’m Barclay Gray, sir.”
Her dad shook his hand, a quizzical expression played across his features as his scrutiny slipped from Barclay to her. “Name’s Sam Devon.” He jerked his head toward the empty end of the sofa. “Suppose you have a seat while my daughter explains why she’s all battered and bruised again.” He reached for the remote and turned off the television.
Barclay lifted her feet and sat so they were elevated on his thick thighs while she shifted to her side to face her dad and told him what happened.
He ran his wide palm over his mouth, his whiskered stubble rasping in the silence of the room. “Wade followed us here?” His voice was incredulous as if he couldn’t grasp the reality of the situation. “The bastard tried to tie you up and take you away from me?” He glanced around the living area, his gaze turning wild. “Tammy, come here and listen to this! You won’t believe what’s happened to our little girl.”
His confusion was back. “Daddy, Momma’s not here.” It was no use to tell him she was dead; he’d only start crying again.
“Did she go to the store for milk and bread? I hope she remembers the ice cream.”
“Sam?” Barclay leaned forward, his forearms over his spread thighs, sliding her feet against his firm abdomen. “Do you recall a place called Verne’s Cabins?”
A smile broke through her dad’s muddled mind. “Yup, sure do. Me and Tammy spent our honeymoon there and every February since. ʼTwas always a slow month for carpentry work, so I’d bring the wife and daughter here. Place is closed up now. That’s how we ended up in this dump.” He scowled as if he’d tasted Aunt Willa’s prune cake. “Walls are paper thin. Hell, you can hear couples screwing, moanin’ and a groanin’.”
“Well, sir, Verne was my uncle.”
Her dad settled back in the rocking chair. “You don’t say?”
“A massive heart attack took him a year ago. He willed the property to me and I’m trying to remodel the place. You wouldn’t feel up to swinging a hammer a couple hours a day, would you? I could use the help and some advice from an experienced man like you. There’re lots of things about carpentry I just don’t know. I could use an advisor.”
Molly stared at Barclay. His invitation for her dad to be both a helper and a carpentry mentor was totally unexpected. The man’s personality had many facets. She wasn’t sure what her opinion of him was, but there was no doubting she appreciated his kindness toward her father.
Her dad’s chest puffed out. “Hell’s bells, ain’t been a hammer made that didn’t fit this old hand.” He waved his arthritic right arm.
“Your daughter was telling me what a fine worker you were.” Her dad smiled in response to Barclay’s compliment. “Sam, if you think the two of you can stay here another night, I’ll help move you into the apricot unit I’m almost through fixing up. Still needs painting and furniture moved in. You could work off your rent by helping me a few hours in the morning before it gets so hot.”
He glanced at her and then her dad. “I’ve installed a security gate. I think you’ll be pretty safe there. Wade would need the code to get in.”
“I’m worried about her, son. This is the second time the sombitch put marks on her. She’s a good girl. Spirited, like her momma, but never been in any trouble. She’s got a heart of gold under all the attitude she’s had of late.”
Barclay stared at her for a minute, his gaze sweeping over her face almost like a warm caress. What was up with that?
“I won’t let him hurt her again. Not as long as the two of you are here in Indian Rocks Beach.” He placed her feet on the sofa before he stood and bent to the floor to pick up the spilled snack and return the bag to her dad. The Cheetos he’d plucked from the carpet, he tossed into the wastepaper can by her dad’s chair.
He clasped his hand on her dad’s shoulder, stopping his rocking. “Meanwhile, Sam, I think you’re gonna have a pretty hard job on your hands. Molly needs to rest and keep her ankle elevated. That means no more working for her while you’re on vacation, except for her website design business. She can prop her ankle up while she does whatever she does on her computer.”
Barclay placed a throw pillow where he’d been sitting earlier and shifted her down so her feet lay on it. Raising her head, he sat, placing it on his lap and sifting his fingers through her hair, making her relax all over. “Getting her to listen might be a job in itself. She hasn’t complained, but both her head and her ankle have to hurt like hell. Bastard kicked her in the side, too, but I don’t think he broke any ribs. Still, she’s going to be in a world of hurt for a day or two.”
Her dad narrowed his eyes on her. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Barclay. I’ll keep her in line.”
“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.
“Sugar.” Barclay’s deep and sensual whisper made her female parts stand up and do the hula.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude for rescuing her from Wade and fixing her up the way you did. Strangers helping strangers just don’t happen like it used to. I thank you, Barclay.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” He shifted and slipped his cell from his pocket. “Molly, how about you give me your cell phone number so I can call tomorrow before I come over to pack up your stuff and move you out? Don’t give me that mule-headed glare. You know you’re going to need some help. Besides we need to stop at the police station so you can sign the complaint.”
He thumbed in her number when she rattled it off and showed it to her, asking if he’d gotten it correct. She noted in place of her name, he’d put Sugar. If it wouldn’t have hurt her sprained ankle so much she’d have kicked his fine ass to the door.
Her dad grinned and rubbed his hands together. “We’ll be in our little beach cottage tomorrow night, Molly, with the sounds of the waves lulling us to sleep. You won’t have to work at two jobs. I won’t have to be alone so much, plus I’ll have a part-time job. Things are looking up.” He turned to Barclay. “You promise you’ll protect her from Wade?”
“Or die trying.”
Her dad stared at him for several minutes. “You a married man?”
She bolted to a sitting position. “Dad!”
His bald head barely turned in her direction. “It’s an honest question.” He rocked slowly. “I’m widowed, myself.”
“I’m divorced.”
“Another woman?” Her dad stopped rocking, his chair leaning forward.
Barclay stared at him for a few seconds. “My wife and I lost a baby to sudden infant death and we could never get beyond it. We both grieved in our own way, growing further and further apart instead of closer in our mourning. So, we ended up with a double loss. Sweet little Bella Marie and our marriage.” Mournful eyes hinged on her dad’s and it was as if invisible links launched between them. Bonds of loss, agony and soul-deep pain.
Tears blurred her vision. She understood and felt those emotions herself, just in a different manner.
“Well, now. I think we understand each other.” Her dad started rocking again. “I thank you again for taking care of my daughter. She’s all I’ve got left.”
“I’m a fireman and marine rescue diver. It’s my job to take care of others. Besides, there’s something special about Molly.” He lifted her onto his lap. “Do you want me to carry you into bed and tuck you in?” Barclay smiled with that shy, yet sexy smile he seemed able to call forth on command. Her dad laughed as if the two had been best buds for years. She was none too happy with either of them, treating her as if she were a child and a helpless one at that.
“No. Thank you, I’ll be fine on my own.” She was damned tired of his constant charm. No man could be this appealing all the time—dimples or no dimples—and she was sick of it. Her head gonged like St. John’s church bells on Sunday morning, her side hurt when she breathed and her leg throbbed. Her face and knees were scrapped raw. Was it any wonder she was cranky? God, I ache all over.
Two of his fingers tucked under her chin, raising her head so they gazed into each other’s eyes. “You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you? Where’s your aspirins?”
How did he know? “The medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Top shelf.”
He cupped her unbruised cheek. “Be right back.” His voice had softened and, for just an instant, she wanted to lean into him for support, but cursed her weakness instead. If Wade had taught her one thing, it was men were never what they seemed. She sat up while Barclay went for the medicine. Her dad kept rocking…both of them…no, wait, there were three dads in a trio of rocking chairs. She blinked to bring her father into focus.
Barclay held a tiny paper cup with the pills in it and another filled with water. She had to make two tries to wrap her fingers around the one with the pills and who knew how many to grasp the cup of water to wash them down.
“That’s it. I don’t give a damn how mad you get.” Barclay lifted her off the sofa. “Sam, would you mind showing me to her bedroom. She’s in no fit condition to walk or stay up any longer. I want her to sleep. Christ, she’s been battered to hell and back.”
Her dad, who’d always been her hero, stood and waddled to her room. “He messed her up pretty bad, didn’t he?”
“Yes. A man has no business hurting a woman. Bet you were the type of husband to protect your wife, weren’t you?”
“Did the best by Tammy I could, son.”
Barclay sat Molly on the edge of the bed, kneeled in front of her and removed the remaining sandal she still wore. “Sam, I’m going to pull these muddy capris off her so she’ll rest better. You’re not going to tar and feather me for it, are you?”
Her dad chuffed a laugh. “I’m not the scrapper you need to worry about.”
Darn if Mr. I’m-Going-To-Charm-Your-Dad didn’t lean in, lime and ginger filling her nose, his lips against her ear and ask if she was wearing underwear under her red capris. The nerve! She hurt from her hair to her toenails and he wanted to be damn ballsy? Her hand fisted and rose.
His fingers coiled around her wrist, breath feathered her hair and his cheek touched hers. “I’m sorry, Sugar. That was out of line. You’re not up to my teasing, are you, baby? I’m sorry. I was only checking. I guess it’s we guys who are more prone to go commando.”
“Do you?” Crap, this is the last question I need to be asking him.
“Often, yes.”
Oh God, I do not need that visual.
His eyes locked on hers as he unbuttoned and unzipped the capris before sliding them off her hips and legs. Pulling the sheet and blanket up to her shoulders, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “See you tomorrow. Sleep well. Use aspirins as you need them. I’ll come by in the morning to rewrap your ankle after you shower. Will eight o’clock be fine? I’ll bring donuts.”
“I don’t want any of your damn donuts. Not even the ones with chocolate icing and sprinkles.” Her eyelids were already getting heavy. “Dad likes the glazed kind.” She yawned.
“I’ll bring half a dozen glazed for your dad and half a dozen with chocolate icing and sprinkles for me then. Guess you’ll just have to watch us eat them. I’ll bring you a bagel. How’s that?” The corners of his mouth spread enough the creases of his dimples deepened.
“You eat the damn bagel and leave my chocolate donuts alone.”
Easy, deep male laughter floated over her and somehow comforted. “I’ll get you whatever you want, Sugar. Dream good dreams tonight. No nightmares.” He traced the backs of his fingers down her face. “Do you know poets for centuries have written poetry about skin as fair and soft as yours? Alabaster skin, like pearls.” He stood, walked out of her bedroom behind her dad and turned out the light.
Her eyes drifted shut. What the hell was all his kindness about?

CHAPTER FIVE (#ucfaa5b41-3c8e-5ca4-8949-05adda905419)
Barclay jammed the key into the truck’s ignition and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. How could one man’s life get turned upside down in a few hours? All he’d wanted was some damn freakin’ douche powder and what did he get? A pair of indigo eyes, a smile that practically numbed his mind and a body that sent his cock on high alert.
Oh, and her gutsy attitude, he couldn’t forget that. He’d never been one for women who were pushovers, not that he wanted a life of verbal sparring and arguing. God, he’d had enough of that growing up…at least from his dad. His mother? She’d caved every time to “keep peace” and save herself from another beating. There were times when even that tactic didn’t work. The old man just wanted, needed, to hit something and it was either her or Barclay.
Still, he held no ill-feelings for Mom. She did her best to fill the house with love. Her goal was always to bring happiness to a house covered by the dark pall of abusive sickness from his dad. If only she’d left him, but she swore she loved the man. Why, Barclay could never figure out.
He’d always protected his younger sisters so Dad couldn’t get to them. Until the night he played in an away high school football game. The old man had put bruises on Jasmine, the youngest, because she’d been fussy with a sore throat. When Kayla, the middle child, had stood up for her younger sister, their father had whipped her across her back with his belt. The next day, Barclay had marched into the coach’s office and, with a heavy heart, quit the team.
Protecting his sisters was his responsibility. One he took damn seriously.
Now, there was another woman being battered, and he wasn’t going to allow her abuse either. Why did life have to be one fucking problem after another? Why did he have to meet Molly? Hell, she wasn’t interested in him. That much was damned obvious.
But I sure as hell am interested in her. Damned interested.
He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Life was catching up to him; that was all. He’d been alone too long. The occasional visit to the club wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe he needed someone more regular in his life. Not someone to love. Hell, love always brought loss. Just a woman he could rely on seeing once or twice a week.
Maybe he needed to spend more time at Dark Desires, even though the club scene was never his thing. Not really. A friend from another fire station had taken him there after he and Yvette separated. A night out to blow off steam and watch the sights of the BDSM lifestyle. What play turned him on the most—spanking and sex toys—were what scared him more than anything, given how he’d grown up.
Thank goodness an intuitive Dom invited him to the bar for a drink and a long talk. Barclay was so shocked and ashamed by what had aroused him, he could barely get the glass from the bar to his lips. How could he feel arousal for what he’d grown to hate all of his life? The silver-haired Dom listened while Barclay told this stranger about his family and his abusive father.
“My friend, there is a great difference between the open hand of a controlled slap or spank and the closed fist of abuse.” He clasped Barclay’s shoulder. “A huge difference. In our lifestyle, it is a power exchange. Some people need or enjoy a spanking to become highly aroused. They give the Dom the power to provide that stimulus, which heightens our sexual pleasure. A good Dominant wants to please and protect their sub. Never hurt. Never downgrade or belittle.”
He extended his hand. “My name is Aaron Karl. I’m one of the training Doms here, if you care to be considered for the proper teaching of our lifestyle. You’ll have to go through background checks and a vetting process, of course, but it might help you work through some issues of your own.”
Barclay took another sip and chuckled. “What? Kink counseling?”
The training encompassed some of his lonely free time and helped him come to grips with the reasons behind his dark desires. He never regretted all he learned; he just never had the urge to use it all in his playtime. He was a Dom with simple tastes. In fact, Aaron had told him he doubted he’d make a true Dom, but was a man turned on by kink. Barclay had insisted he was wrong.
Mainly, he was a private man who disliked sharing or having other men seeing what was his. Would a friend with benefits be so bad? One he didn’t have to love, just respect and take care of. Love was just too soul-shattering.
Losing little Bella Marie in the space between two fragile heartbeats had dragged him through an emotional hell the likes of which he never thought possible. Yvette mourned her deep loss by drinking and getting high. Barclay had done his fair share of drinking, too, but never went the drug route or did the party scene the way she had. Then his heart-adopted father Uncle Verne’s sudden heart attack, followed by another in the hospital, became another unbearable loss. Barclay distanced himself from emotion. A good time, sure. Caring, no problem. Love, never again.
Knowing Yvette was going through men and drugs like water through a drain didn’t ease his soul any. Although the love was gone between them, a part of him would always care. And therein lay his biggest liability—he cared too much for people. Wasn’t that why he went into the occupation he had? Christ, what a sap I can be at times.
He shuddered another sigh and lifted his gaze to the lights in the old condo. Now he had two more people to worry about. When would he ever learn? He straightened and turned the key. The old truck growled to life and he headed for home. Thank goodness he had three dogs to bathe, because it would be a few hours before his libido calmed down enough so he could sleep. A traffic light turned red and he braked.
Getting Molly out of his mind was going to be an all-night chore. Her hair was like black satin a man dreamed of having draped over his chest. Her full breasts made his hands ache to hold. He banged his head once on the steering wheel before the light changed and he peeled onto Gulf Boulevard. What man didn’t want to wrap his hands around those perfect fruits and kiss their pink tips? Man, shifting gears with a raging hard-on could be a bitch.
Wade, the woman beater, came to mind and Barclay ground his back molars. If he caught the sonofabitch coming near her, he’d strangle him with his bare hands.
Anger and possession—two emotions he had no business feeling where she was concerned—surfaced and anchored in his soul. He had to get home to his dogs and all the work ahead of him…anything to occupy his mind for he was fuckin’ losing it over a woman he’d just met. Two weeks, three tops and she’d be gone. He’d help her all he could, but he wouldn’t allow himself to get emotionally involved. He needed to hold back more, to care less and make his solitary life a priority for a change instead of thinking he could fix everyone else’s problems.
Armed with a strong dose of determination to keep his emotional distance, Barclay knocked at Molly’s at eight-fifteen the next morning. Her dad’s face brightened when he opened the door. “Did you bring the donuts?”
He held out a box. “Half a dozen glazed and half a dozen chocolate covered with sprinkles. Sorry I’m late. I stopped at Home Depot for paint. How’s the patient doing this morning?”

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