Bear The Blaze (Firebear Brides 3) (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Ragnar

After an animated and fun dinner, everyone seemed to wander off to do their own thing. Ragnar scooped up his notebook and stepped outside, finding a place farther off the grounds behind one of the old grain silos. Resting his back against the metal construction, he positioned himself so that he could see the sunset, enjoying the warmth of it on his cheeks.

It really was an odd Idaho summer in that sense. Though he’d been just a kid when his family left, he’d never remembered things being quite as hot as they were now. As a fire investigator, he kept a close eye on weather patterns to help explain some of the anomalies he found on burn sites. He was the last one that needed to be told that the weather was acting wonky lately and it really added to the fire danger in the woods.

Still, a part of him had to wonder if the temperature hadn’t been turned up when Abigail stepped out of that big old truck.

Smirking to himself, he flipped through his notes and thumbed to where he left off earlier in the day. He scribbled down a map of the area as he remembered it, noting possible entrance and exit sites that were close to the narrow woodland roads, but his heart wasn’t in it. Every few minutes, despite trying to concentrate on what he was doing, his mind kept wandering over to the sexy Latina that had waltzed into his life.

Don’t even start,
he warned himself, though he knew damn well that he was going to regardless.

Yes, she was blazing hot and yes his bear got all riled up as soon as he smelled her, let alone when he saw her, but that was no reason to get out of sorts about it, right? He was a professional! A firebear first, a werebear second, and a man third, in this instance. Or so he would like to believe. Despite his best intentions, that woman made him lick his lips and wonder how she tasted. He imagined honey and maybe a hint of cinnamon, probably because of her gorgeous skin.

Growling to himself, he turned another page and tried to wrap his head around what he was supposed to be doing again.

Soft footsteps wandered close to him and his ears pricked up. Inhaling, he could smell that heavenly scent of hers, sinking right into his core and claiming all of his attention. Spirits above, was there anything about her that wasn’t delicious?

You’ve spent one dinner around her. Get a grip!

But that wasn’t happening.

“You don’t have to sneak around, you know,” he called impassively, keeping his eyes down. “I know you’re there.”

Those shuffling steps came closer until Abigail was blocking out his light. He glanced up, giving her an expectant look.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“You tell me. You were the one calling for me,” she said with an amused twinkle in her big green eyes. “Mind if I take a seat?”

“It’s a free corn field,” he remarked idly, though his heart started beating faster and a burst of adrenaline flooded his veins when she sat down next to him so close that their legs were almost touching.

“I don’t think this has been a corn field for a real long time,” Abigail said, plucking a blade of grass that was decidedly un-corn-like and spinning it around between her fingers. “I can remember that much.”

“Remember? So you’re not a Los Angeles kind of girl?” Ragnar asked, the words getting away from him before he could do anything about it.

What happened to not engaging?
he chided himself, though obviously there was no real point to it. What was done was done and apparently he was too damn enthralled by little Miss Wrench to listen to his sane and rational mind. So be it.

“Nope. Kansas born and raised, if you can believe it,” she chirped, grinning.

Those lips of hers were lush and perfectly kissable, and even Ragnar couldn’t deny that. He swallowed thickly as he watched her run her tongue over her lower lip, glancing at the sunset.

“But your sunsets look the same. So at least there’s that.”

“I think they look the same everywhere,” he offered blandly, kicking himself the whole way for being a morose conversationalist.

Since when had that ever bothered him?

“You’d think so, but they look a whole lot shittier in Los Angeles,” Abigail noted, relaxing her body and letting her head fall against the same metal beam as Ragnar was sitting against.

“It’s the smog. Does the same in Phoenix.”

And now you’re discussing weather. Great. Good going, Ragnar.

“So, what brought you to your profession?” he asked, desperate to change the topic to anything that wouldn’t lead to a prolonged conversation about cloud patterns and wind cycles.

“My dad, no surprises there,” she laughed, her lovely voice soothing his fraying nerves better than any shot of whiskey ever had. “He wanted a boy, and he had four, and then there came me. And out of his five children I was the only one who cared about what he was doing for work.

“He played catch with my brothers and I’d get tackled in every flag football game, so I looked for other ways to spend time with him. So I started going to work with him in the shop, and that’s where I picked it up. Went to school when I grew up enough to know what I was doing. He passed away though. Few years ago.”

She sounded so at peace with the world. Ragnar couldn’t help but be intrigued. He looked at her and Abigail met his gaze steadily, smiling slightly.

“What?”

“You sound… okay with it,” he said, frowning.

“I am. He lived a good life. He taught me a lot of things and I knew him better than anyone else in the family, except Mom. It wasn’t his time yet but he said his goodbyes. Life’s to be celebrated, not mourned,” Abigail said, though her smile crumbled a little at the end of it. Before Ragnar could ask why, she’d shot him a question of her own. “What about you? Why a firefighter? Or fire investigator… researcher? I don’t know the jargon, I only work with the meatheads barging into the burning buildings. Not that I don’t appreciate them for what they are!”

Ragnar grinned, something he rarely did. “I used to be one of those meatheads. Changed over to the analytical side a few years ago, but I still help out.”

“What made you reconsider?”

“Well, same old. Boy is born. Boy grows up. Boy sees his father die in a wildfire.” Ragnar shrugged. “I think it took me a while to get to the understanding that not all jobs are created equal and that I could do more as an investigator than on the line. Give people peace, find out what really happened.”

His throat tightened. He wasn’t even sure why he was telling her all of that. No one knew that their father had died in a fire. The Hamilton brothers certainly didn’t talk about it amongst one another, even if it was entirely clear that it was an event that had shaped all of them. Their father had died trying to save them from a supposed freak accident, a wildfire that spread like a disease in the forest that had used to stand right where they were sitting now. It had been turned into farmland after the incident, but Ragnar still knew. Unlike his older brothers, Hamilton House had stayed firmly in his thoughts his whole life.

“That explains it. I’m sorry for your loss,” Abigail said, her voice small. She put a hand on his and the same fireball of desire and heat ran through Ragnar as it had when they shook hands that morning.

“I’m sorry for yours too,” he said, putting his own hand on hers.

For the faintest second, he traced the edge of one of her fingers with the pad of his thumb, until he realized what he was doing and pulled away like someone had poked him with a cattle prod. He slammed the notebook shut and jumped up, feeling a redness crawl up his neck. Looking at Abigail, she’d felt it too, her cheeks blazing with a blush that made her so damn kissable he was inches from saying “fuck it” to all of it and kissing her senseless.

“I have to go. It’s getting late and I, uh...” he stammered, looking for a feasible excuse.

Yeah, what
did
he have to do on a ranch with no animals and no farmland to tend after sunset?!

“Yeah, no problem. I need to go check on Old Bell anyway,” Abigail said, scrambling to her feet with the same hurried movements.

Prolonging the torture, they both started moving in the same direction, until they both stopped and then Abigail turned away, walking in the exact opposite direction of where she’d left the fire truck in the front yard. Pausing, Ragnar grinned, taking a deep breath. Okay, so if
she
was as started by their inexplicable connection as he was, then there was no reason to worry, right? Relaxing his shoulders, Ragnar eased himself into a leisurely stroll, walking back toward Hamilton House.

He’d come to Idaho to solve a probable arson, but he found himself far more interested in solving the mystery that was Abigail Ramirez. It wasn’t a bad deal, if he thought about it that way.
 

CHAPTER FOUR

Abigail

“
This
is what I have to work with? The garage service pit won’t even hold!” Abigail said, flabbergasted.

Redmond looked sheepish, shrugging his shoulders as they stood in front of the dilapidated shed that had once been the repair shop for the whole farmstead.

“It’s held for generations of Hamiltons. I’m sure it’ll hold for you,” Redmond announced with a grin that Abigail was sure was supposed to bolster confidence, but all it did was make her want to pick up a rock and chuck it at his hard head.

As lovable as Redmond Hamilton was, sometimes she felt like he needed a good ass-whooping to come to his senses. From her brief conversation with Rose, his fiancée did not seem to share her sentiments. Probably for the best.

“I’ll help you clean it out,” Ragnar said, standing there stoically in the near distance watching the exchange.

“What a knight! My little brother sure has the best manners,” Redmond grinned, tossing a wink at Abigail.

She fought hard to keep from blushing like a teenager again.

“Thanks,” she said sullenly, turning back to the shed.

Redmond removed himself from the picture, citing immediate fire department business—which smelled like bullshit to Abigail—leaving her and Ragnar alone. He stepped nearer and she could
feel
it as much as she could hear it. His presence was so strong that it seemed to warp space and time around it, at least in Abigail’s personal universe. Strong, silent and entirely masculine, he’d been heating up her dreams last night, and the night before that.

By some miracle, she’d managed to avoid Ragnar and thus hide her girlish awkwardness around him by getting dragged into town by Tiana and Rose the previous day, while Ragnar had been looking into some leads on the fires happening in the area. He’d come home late at night, after dinner, and Abigail had only heard him come in because they shared a bathroom and she heard the water being turned on.

What followed was an entirely unplanned and completely scorching hot masturbation session as Abigail imagined the water running off Ragnar’s firm body, then running over the length of his wide back, down the slope of his fine buttocks…

Snap out of it!

She’d been staring at Ragnar again and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Smirking slyly, Ragnar pulled off his shirt and tossed it on a bench next to the door to the shed.

The shirt looked so hot on him that her knees were about to buckle underneath her. If she’d been struggling with her capability for speech before, this took whatever was left of it away quickly as hell.

“Shall we?” he offered, still wearing that devilish grin that made Abigail’s lower lip quiver.

“Sure,” she croaked, following him into the shed.

If watching him sit around during breakfast had been difficult to bear, this was simply impossible. Ragnar had a body carved from hard work and solid muscle. He had that werebear thickness to him, although bigger and wider than his leaner brothers, with a power to him that suggested both speed and strength. The way his biceps flexed as he scooped up old boxes from the dusty floors and the way the sun played off his back muscles as he tossed them into a pile outside made Abigail lose herself in her wetness.

This has to be some special form of hell,
she thought to herself, yanking a bucket of discarded engine parts off a shelf and dumping it outside.