“I’m Mandy, and this is my husband, David McCoy. We heard all about what happened today from our son, Kennedy.” Mandy continued to coo over Saxon.
“Kennedy?” Saxon looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“Kennedy is a member of the Gloucester Police Department,” David offered.
“You have sons who are cops, paramedics, and firemen?” Saxon sat down hard on his stool.
“We’ve also got one who’s a former member of the Coast Guard and a Life-Flight chopper pilot.” David smiled proudly.
“Damn,” Saxon muttered under his breath.
“Why are the two of you sitting here eating while my poor boy has nothing?” Mandy swatted Dallas’s arm. “You weren’t raised by wolves.” Mandy was on the move, grabbing a bowl and filling it with soup. She placed it in front of Saxon. “You eat. David and I will fix up your bunk.”
“Fix up my bunk?” Saxon asked, but Mandy and David had disappeared through the door to the bunkhouse.
“Told you she was a hurricane.” I grinned at Ozzy.
“Sorry about not offering you any food.” Ozzy shrugged. He didn’t look sorry at all.
“I’m not really hungry. My stomach isn’t quite sure eating is a good idea.” As if to emphasize the point, Saxon’s stomach rumbled.
“Try one bite and see what happens.” I burst out laughing. Mom used to say that to us all the time. She still did.
Ozzy laughed along with me.
“I’m guessing that’s an inside joke?” Saxon sipped a spoonful of broth.
I nodded. “Everything around here is an inside joke. You’ll catch on.”
Saxon grinned. “I suppose I will.”
His smile nearly took my breath away. Cocky Saxon wasn’t a man I was interested in knowing. Calm, concussed Saxon, well, that was another matter entirely. My dick agreed.
Just my fucking luck.
6
Saxon
The screech of the fire bell woke me from a sound sleep. I sat up quickly, momentarily forgetting about my concussion. A bolt of pain shot through my head, followed closely by nausea. I was a wreck, but duty called.
Taking a deep breath, I got out of bed and into my uniform before running to the pole and sliding down.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, sick boy?” Dallas asked. His hands were on his hips, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
I was beginning to wonder who had the head injury. “That loud sound is the alarm.” I pointed to the clanging bell. “It means someone is in trouble and needs our help.”
“I know what it means, smartass. The last thing I need on a call is some wonky-headed medic fucking up.” Dallas was not backing down.
“I’m not wonky-headed.” Whatever the fuck that meant.
Dallas folded his arms over his chest. “What’s your middle name?”
Fuck, what was my middle name? It was on the tip of my tongue as confusion and pain roiled through my body.
“Go back to bed, Sleeping Beauty.” Dallas climbed into the ambulance and hit the lights and sirens.
“Go hug a landmine, you son of a…” Damn, what the hell was the next word? Shit, my brain was so scrambled, I couldn’t even hurl a good insult.
“Go hug a landmine, you son of a bitch?” an unfamiliar voice asked softly from behind me.
Turning around slowly, I saw a strange man. He wasn’t a member of the firehouse. At least not one that I’d met. Or had I? Whoever he was, he was gorgeous, well over six feet tall with dark eyes and collar-length hair, which was most definitely too long to be regulation.
“Quentin Harding.” He strode forward holding his hand out. “We’ve never met. I’m Dallas and Ozzy’s baby brother.”
I snorted at the god-like man and shook his offered hand. “You’re the baby?”
Quentin nodded. “Mom always said they broke the mold when they made me.” He grinned, making him even more devastatingly handsome.
They sure as fuck did. “Saxon James,” I said, remembering my manners at last. And my name.
“I came by this morning to relieve Mom. How about breakfast? I make a mean Denver omelet.” His eyes glittered in the morning light.