I blink.
I don’t know why I feel so oddly deflated.
Maybe because for a few seconds I’d built up a schoolgirl fantasy around that coaxing, growling voice, the feelies it gave me, wondering how it might feel to have that voice purring against my ear, sweet and dark and jagged.
Meh.
Gruff Jerk: 1.
Lonely Girl: 0.
You win this round, Blake.
My name may be Peace, but I don’t go down without a fight.
If Mr. Snarly-saurus doesn’t want to play, it’s his loss.
I’m less thinking about fighting and more about sleep by the time I dig my stuff out of my van.
I keep a lot of supplies in there since I often use my van to travel to clients, instead of them coming to me. Justin, Rich, and Blake help, though. It’s a pretty weird look with my folding tables and gear and crates of massage oils stacked on the back of the fire truck by the ladders, but it works.
No obvious smoke damage to my stuff, thank gawd.
The whole time Rich and Justin gab at each other and me, warm and friendly and joking, and it’s not hard to tell they’re trying to make sure I stay calm.
Blake, on the other hand, is completely silent.
It feels almost like he’s trying to disappear.
But I can’t help watching him.
Except for the one time he catches my eye, I linger on the way his limp grows deeper while he hauls my stuff, and a pang of guilt builds inside me when it’s my fault he’s out here hauling my junk.
Another dark flash goes through his gaze again, as if I’d done something wrong by seeing his weakness, and I look away quickly.
It’s not hard to see he’s one of those men who builds walls out of pride.
It’s only my own pride that keeps me awake, though, as the three men bundle me into the front cab of the fire truck. Good thing I’m small, or it’d be a snug fit with all of us.
Rich has me sandwiched up against the door, and it’s hard for me not to fall asleep against his warmth while the cab’s heater melts the icicles under my skin. He kind of reminds me of my dad, especially when he talks about getting home to read his kids a bedtime story, words traded in murmurs with Justin while they leave me to drowse.
It’s like they’re a sandwich of good company, caught between the silence of me against one door and Blake behind the wheel.
But it’s kind of endearing.
Honestly, it’s the first time I feel like I’m close to a group like family, ever since I cast myself into the wind.
I’m nice and toasty, almost asleep, by the time the fire truck pulls up outside the Charming Inn—this quaint touristy spot I really love—with its white-columned plantation house for the main hotel and a field full of cottages leading off to the gorgeous cliff-front views.
I perk up as the fire truck eases to a halt, the engine still running, all three men looking at me in silent question.
“That way,” I say, pointing to a side lane that runs along the fence enclosing one side of the property. “I’m staying in one of the cottages back there. I don’t want to wake anybody up at the main house. I think the owners have a kid.”
“Warren and Haley,” Blake grunts softly. “They’ll have just put their kids down.”
Oh.
Oh, no.
I don’t know how I developed a crush this hard, this fast.
Maybe it’s damsel in distress syndrome.
But there’s that tick of warm, husky affection in his voice when he says Warren and Haley.
That hint tells me the owners of the inn are important to him. Friends. Maybe family.
Lucky them, when I just want to hear him say Peace in soothing baritone again, with that same gentle heat.
But he doesn’t say anything else as he cruises the fire truck forward to take that little turn-off and head down the lane, the dirt and twigs cracking under the wheels.
The first flakes of a snowstorm, thick and fat and heavy, are just beginning to streak down from the clouds by the time I get out, adding to the small, half-melted dunes that cling here and there around the property. I’m sure the deeper, burying snows won’t be far behind this dusting.
I’m lucky I didn’t get stranded in a blizzard.
It’s quiet as everyone helps me offload things from the fire truck. We carry them into the wooden slat cabin with its tall floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors.
As the last crate rattles down on the coffee table, though, I turn to Blake, offering my hand. “Thanks again for—”
I’m looking at his back.
His back, and the tight clench of his left fist, pressed against his thigh. Clearly trying to knuckle out the pain and walk straighter, his spine stiff.
Yeah.
I know that habit.
There’s a clear wound, maybe something he got as a firefighter, maybe something else. He’s got that kind of dense corded muscle that says ex-military.
Maybe he’s been in physical therapy, maybe he’s recovered, but it’s never going to fully heal.
And he looks like the kind of man who doesn’t really listen when people try to talk to him about pain management.
“Hey,” Justin says with an easy smile, just as the door slams shut behind Blake. “Don’t mind him. He’s just...not good with attention. Too many people staring at him already around town, so add one more pretty stranger and he’s going to clam up.”
I frown. “Why are people staring at him?”
Justin laughs and sucks in a deep breath.
Rich snorts, rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t get him started. It’s his favorite story. The—”
“Heroes of Heart’s Edge!” Justin finishes. His eyes are bright.
I lift a brow.
He can’t be more than a few years older than me, maybe close to thirty, but there’s definitely a case of fanboy hero worship in his boyish smile. “That’s what they call ’em in the papers. They just keep making all the headlines. Making some folks believe in heroes again.”
“Headlines about what?” I blink, leaning around Justin to peer past Blake’s silhouette, slowly melting away into the falling snow and the shadows of night, barely visible through the glass.
“Um, let’s see...” Justin ticks off his fingers, tilting his head, screwing his mouth up thoughtfully. “Got rid of a big-time drug runner, stopped an evil research company from killing the whole town, stopped them again from burning us down...”
I stare, my heart skipping just a little faster. “Okay, wow. The tourist guidebooks did not warn me about any of that. I thought this place was just a sleepy, peaceful little place?”
Justin grins, clapping me on the shoulder. “Aw, don’t worry. We’re back to being a sleepy small-town nothing again since autumn. Nothing’s gonna happen to you here.”
“Except a terminal case of boredom,” Rich adds. “The only big shindig for the next few months is the winter carnival. Besides that, it’s just socialites wanting to play at being rustic for a month or two, until they get sick of the crappy Wi-Fi connection.”
I laugh. “I’m not really worried as long as Netflix works.”
“Might cut out a little with everything else when the first big snow hits,” Rich says. “For some reason, the underground internet cables get weird this time of year. But it’s usually fine after a day or two.” He nudges Justin’s arm. “C’mon. Little lady’s had a rough night. Let her get some rest.”