The Eleventh Hour. Wendy Etherington

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      “I’ll manage. Why do you think he’s always surrounded?”

      “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, Laine. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

      “I was just hoping it was me. He’s aged, after all.”

      “He has?”

      He had. And somehow looked even better. Men!

      “He might be worth the risk—heartbreakwise,” Denise added. “I’d go for the direct approach. Invite him to your place, see where things go.”

      “Invite him—” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. My place is Aunt Jen’s.”

      “So go to his place.”

      “The only place I’m going with him is professionally related.”

      “Speaking of your job…how are you going to cover this fire and not actually, you know, be there?”

      “Remember how I told you I’d hoped to convince my editor this was a human-interest piece?”

      “Yeah.”

      “He’s interested in humans all right. As long as a big, raging wildfire is in the background.”

      “Yikes.”

      Laine sighed. “Tell me about it.” Recording action on film was great, but participating wasn’t her strong point. Up until a few months ago, her biggest challenge had been figuring out the difference between a hybrid tea rose and a floribunda.

      Now, no matter how terrified she was, she had to face the fire. Literally. How Steve did so on a daily basis—in the forest or in his hometown—she’d never understand. So, it was time to earn her precious paycheck, stop talking and start snapping. “I’m going to take some aerial shots in the morning.”

      “If you say so…”

      She rolled her shoulders. “Okay. I’m going.”

      “Aerial shots now? It’s dark.”

      “Not now. I’ve got to get my camera out of hock first.”

      Her stomach fluttered like crazy, no matter how many times she told herself to calm down. Thanks to Denise, images of Steve in various states of nakedness kept dancing across her mind. Memories she’d long forgotten. Or so she thought.

      Distracted, she didn’t notice a different woman stood by Steve until she was a few feet away. She had shoulder-length dark hair and striking turquoise eyes and a shoulder holster peaking from beneath her jacket. She looked extremely annoyed.

      “Come on, lover boy,” she was saying to Steve. “We were supposed to meet an hour ago, and I don’t have much time.”

      Laine cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. These chicks are amazing. She glanced at Steve. “You need a better appointment calendar.”

      “No, she’s not—She’s my sister-in-law.”

      Laine widened her eyes.

      Rising, Steve rubbed his temples. “Cara, would you please explain what you’re doing here?”

      “We had a consult on the arson aspect of the wildfire,” she said in a clipped, no-nonsense tone Laine admired. “I’ve worked on several suspiciously started forest fires over the years, and my boss, the governor of Georgia, went to school with your commanding officer, so he sent me. I talked to the guys at the site when Steve didn’t show up. They said to try here.” Her gaze slid over Laine, as well as the half-finished drinks on the bar. “Where you don’t seem to be thinking about the fire. Sorry about that.”

      “No, I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I forgot you came in yesterday. Laine, this is Cara Kimball. Cara, Laine Sheehan.”

      Laine shook the other woman’s hand, finally realizing what her presence meant. “So, which brother did you marry?”

      “Wes.”

      Mmm. That made sense. Though she’d only met Wes once when he’d visited Steve, she remembered him being tough and temperamental. Not a man for a meek woman. “Congratulations,” she said to Cara.

      “Cara is a captain in the arson division,” Steve put in. “She and Wes met during a case last fall.”

      “So arson or careless campers with this wildfire?” Laine asked.

      “Careless campers started it, but there’s a possibility arsonists are egging the blaze on,” Cara said.

      Laine shook her head. “That doesn’t exactly restore your faith in humanity.”

      “Hang out with me for a few days and my cases would completely destroy your faith in humanity.”

      Steve frowned, and Laine wondered whether he was disturbed by the content of their conversation or the chumminess between her and Cara. As Steve pulled out the stool on the other side of him, Laine waggled her finger, indicating that he should move down so she and Cara could sit next to one another.

      “Join us,” she said to her new friend.

      Dropping onto the stool, Cara shrugged. “For a few minutes. I have to get back to work.” She leaned forward and directed her attention to Steve. “And so does he.”

      “How could I forget?” He raised his hand to the bartender, then asked Cara what she wanted.

      “Diet Coke,” she said.

      “One for me, too,” Laine added, pushing her martini glass aside.

      “Ben got married recently, too,” Cara said.

      “Really?” Ever since the death of Steve’s father, Ben had been the leader of the Kimball clan. Laine had never met him, but she’d gotten the impression that Ben was both reserved and revered. A longtime role model for Steve.

      “Steve’s the last bachelor in the family,” Cara said, cutting her gaze toward her brother-in-law. “And likely to stay that way.”

      “Certainly not from a lack of available candidates.”

      “None of them seem to hold his interest for more than a couple of months, though.”

      Laine nodded. “Been there.”

      “No kidding? You and Steve?”

      “Yep. About seven years ago. For a couple of months during the summer.”

      Cara shook her head. “The story of his life.”

      “I’m right here, you know,” Steve said, sounding annoyed.

      Without looking at him, Laine patted his hand. “And we’re glad to have you.”

      “Why do you think he never hangs around very long?” she asked Cara.

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