The problem was, Logan hadn't had a woman in nearly six months. And damn, did this one look good when she'd banged on the door to his friend's restaurant. She'd demanded to come in and have a drink, but he would have let her in anyway, with her long dark hair, br**sts that were peaking from the cool breeze coming in off the lake, and an ass so round and sweet it could make a guy cry.
One fire after another had burned up his entire spring, summer, and most of the fall. Every fourteen days he'd gotten two days to sleep like the dead and refuel. And then it was back to the mountains—downing trees, lighting backfires, clearing fire lines, and hiking twenty miles with 150 pounds of water and chainsaws on his back.
Being a wildland firefighter was the best damn job in the world, whether he was protecting a thousand acres of old-growth forest or saving houses at the forest's edge when the owners had already given up hope that they'd have a home to return to.
Logan never forgot for one second how lucky he was to be a hotshot. Firefighting had saved his life, had given him a way to channel his innate wildness—and his teenage anger—for something good. Fifteen years later, sleeping on rocks under a cloud of black smoke was still as good as the Ritz, but six months of near celibacy sucked. Particularly if it was a dry year and people were stupid about cigarette butts and weed-whacking.
Or, in some cases, if an arsonist had an axe to grind.
Which was why he'd been happy to let this woman think he was a real bartender, especially since his friend Eddie Myers, who owned the place, wouldn't be back for at least an hour. Hell yes, she'd seemed like the perfect way to break this summer's dry spell.
After the way she'd demanded to get inside for a drink he should have known better than to touch her golden skin, should have kept his mouth and hands off of the sexy stranger. But she'd tasted so sweet. And he'd been stunned by the instant electricity between them. He hadn't wanted a woman this much in years.
As quickly as the woman's crying started, it stopped. Her arms went slack around his chest. After aiding frantic fire survivors his entire adult life, Logan knew to move slowly, carefully.
Her pupils were huge and for a minute he didn't think she actually saw him. Suddenly, her gaze focused.
“Oh God.”
He had to ask her the tough question first. “Did you want this?”
She blinked once, then twice. “No,” she said. “God no.”
Fuck. She was gong to turn him in for something he hadn't done. Not on his own anyway. But that didn't matter, not when the Forest Service honchos would have to pull him from his crew until they'd settled their investigation into the matter. All because of a few hot kisses.
She wasn't looking at him anymore as she jumped away. Shards of glass crunched beneath her shoes.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, almost to herself.
She was sorry? He hadn't been expecting an apology, that was for sure.
She flicked another glance at him. “I didn't mean for this to happen. For us to nearly …”
Her words fell away and he watched her carefully. She was skittish and unpredictable and he was long past wanting to get in her pants. Her tears put that fire out completely. Regardless, every instinct in him said she was in trouble. He put his life on the line year in and year out to protect people. Hell, when he was seventeen years old help had come his way when he most needed it. He couldn't walk away from trouble now, not even if it was the smart thing to do.
“Do you need help?”
She backed away even farther, knocking into the dark paneled wall with her shoulder. She shook her head.
“I'm sorry,” she said again. “I shouldn't have come here. It was wrong.”
She looked like she was going to crumple, and he took a step toward her, ready to catch her when she fell. Worrying that she thought he'd attacked her took a backseat to his concern for her health and safety. He needed to get her to a doctor to find out if there was something physically—or mentally—wrong with her that she was afraid to tell him.
But before he could put his arms back around her, she flew out of the bar, down the steps into the dining room, and was through the front door in a flash. Thirty seconds later, she disappeared behind a grove of thick trees.
CHAPTER TWO
Six months later …
LOGAN SWUNG his chainsaw steadily through dry brush and dead tree stumps while Sam McKenzie and Sam's younger brother, Connor, worked alongside him to clear a fire line a quarter mile from the wildfire. The three of them were working the southern edge of the fire, while other hotshots worked the east and west borders.
All morning and into the afternoon they set about clearing a four-foot path. No fuel meant no burn, so as long as sparks didn't jump the line, the wildfire would die here. Nothing fancy, just textbook wildland firefighting. Spread out, they worked in silence, their chainsaws, axes, and handsaws keeping pace to a mutually understood hard-rock beat.
Desolation Wilderness was rugged terrain, but this forest was the backyard playground for the Tahoe Pines Hotshot Crew. There was no need to call for assistance from the state's smoke jumpers or Lake Tahoe's urban crews. The hotshots easily had it covered.
In the past fifteen years, Logan had doused hundreds of blazes. Some fires scared the shit out of you. Others toyed with you a little before giving you the upper hand, like a woman playing hard to get. And some were rookie stuff. The rains had come late in the spring and it had been a slow fire season so far. This one was nothing more than a good training exercise, had only been burning for a couple of days. It was a sweet and easy burn to whet their appetites for some real action. They'd be back at the station by tonight with time for a shower and a beer.
And yet, Logan was worried. Because he had a bad feeling about this fire. About how it had started. And who had started it.