The Firefighter. Susan Lyons

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      My gingery lashes cry out for mascara and my eyes, the same Wedgewood blue as Nana’s, look like they’ve had a rough night. Thank God I at least have great bone structure.

      I give my reflection a tired smile, then use the face cloth to give myself a sponge bath.

      Okay, now I’m ready to tackle my future.

      No purse, wallet, credit cards, passport or other ID. No clothes except the revealing hospital gown and silly slippers.

      The logical thing would be to wait until offices open and phone the lawyer who’s handling Auntie Bet’s estate.

      Pride overrules logic. I can’t let this be his first impression of me. I’m here in my professional capacity as a lawyer, to handle Nana’s affairs. I want to meet the Aussie solicitor looking like a businesswoman, not a waif.

      That leaves Nana’s friends in Clifton Beach.

      But she’d hoped to surprise Trev. She hadn’t told her “mates” when we were coming, wanting a day to rest up from travel and get herself prettied up. I don’t want to spoil her fun. The woman’s going to be in a cast for the next few weeks; she deserves every moment of fun she can wring out of life.

      So, I’ll have to phone home and ask my family to wire money to a bank.

      Nana and I had called them yesterday to say we’d arrived safely. Now I’ll have to confess that I, the person they’d entrusted with her well-being, almost let her burn to death.

      I step into the bustling corridor and head in search of a phone. Just which family member will I select? Doesn’t matter, the news will spread like wildfire.

      Fire. The very thought makes me shiver.

      “Hey, Tash McKendrick. ’Ow ya goin’?” a male voice calls from behind me.

      Behind? Quickly I spin around, grabbing the back of my gown with my free hand and pulling the edges together. Too little, too late, I fear.

      And how did he recognize me anyway? Not to mention, know my name?

      I’d have recognized him anywhere. God knows how, since all I’d seen was a few inches of face, but I know this is my firefighter.

      His eyes are blue. Brighter and more vivid than mine. Summer sky blue, against tanned skin. And his hair’s glossy black, damp, a little longer than I’d guess is typical for a firefighter.

      The man is even better looking than I’d first thought. He’s the kind of guy who looks equally good in a tux and in casual clothes such as he’s wearing now: jeans, a blue T-shirt worn un-tucked, some kind of rucksack slung over his shoulder. Tooled cowboy boots.

      Hmm. Interesting. Cowboy by day, firefighter by night?

      “You feelin’ all right?” he asks, and on him that Aussie drawl sounds incredibly sexy.

      His question makes me realize I’ve again gone off into a trance, just looking at him. I flush, from head to toe, as I gaze into those eyes and, yes, it happens again.

      Another moment, like last night. A spark leaping back and forth, ready to ignite.

      Wow, is this what they call chemistry?

      I absolutely will not say, “I want you.” At least not in words. So I clear my throat and find neutral ones. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks. They’re discharging me.” Swallowing smoke has made me hoarse, but the effect’s not bad. I’ve got that Dietrich thing going on.

      I glance away from the intensity of his eyes and come back to reality. We’re in the middle of a busy hospital corridor. A couple of nurses forget their hurry, though, and dawdle by with their gazes fixed on my companion like he’s an oasis in a desert.

      Or a firefighter, in the middle of a blazing fire.

      Which reminds me…“You saved my life.” I stick out my hand. “Thank you.”

      He gives an easy smile. “No worries.” Takes my hand, holds it, then something’s flowing back and forth between our linked hands. Something fizzy as champagne that makes my entire body zing with awareness.

      Thank God the hospital gown is baggy because I know my nipples have beaded. Could use a pair of panties though, if he hangs onto my hand any longer. This man definitely makes me hot.

      He’s grinning a lazy, suggestive smile. “Can’t say it was too much hardship, carrying you out of that house.” His gaze flicks down, then up again. Nearly naked. That’s what he means.

      This man actually likes my body. He doesn’t even seem put off by my un-madeup face and unflattering gown.

      And there’s one thing I know for sure. This is a guy who can afford to be picky when it comes to women. I can just imagine the way they must throw themselves at him.

      Speaking of which, it’s probably time to disengage my hand from his. Which I do, reluctantly. “Not that it’s not, uh, nice to see you, but why are you here?”

      “C’mon, let’s get out of people’s way.” Clearly he knows his way around the hospital because he’s soon found us a curtained-off cubicle that’s empty. “I checked at the front desk and they say your grandmother’s coming along nicely.”

      “She is.” And how sweet of him to ask about her.

      “The house didn’t do so well, sorry to say.” He drops a shoulder to let the rucksack slide off, and I dart a glance to his left hand. No ring. He pulls something out of the bag.

      At first I haven’t a clue what it is, this blackened, twisted lump. Then…“My purse.”

      “Your ID didn’t make it through the fire. You’ll want to replace your credit cards, passport, driver’s license.”

      I don’t want to touch the purse. “The house is really bad?” No one at the hospital has been able to answer that question.

      His eyes soften with sympathy. “Looks like it’ll be a tossup, whether to restore it or tear it down and start over. Sorry, we did all we could.”

      I realize he must have just come off shift, after fighting to save Nana’s house. “Thank you.” But God, what a mess.

      “Neighbors said you and your grandmother just arrived last night?”

      “Yes. She inherited the place from her sister. We were going to…” Well, we hadn’t resolved what to do with it. Could we sell a burned-out wreck?

      “You got a solicitor here?” he asks.

      I draw myself up a little straighter. “I am a lawyer.”

      His eyes crinkle in a quick smile. “No offense. Just meant, if a solicitor was handling the estate, there’d be adequate insurance coverage.”

      “There is. I’ve seen the policy.”

      “So you shouldn’t suffer any financial loss.” He grimaces. “Just lots and lots of inconvenience.”

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