For the Love of a Fireman. Vonnie Davis

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       CHAPTER TWO

      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, СКАЧАТЬ