Sweet Surprise (2 page)

Chapter 1

L
ightning never strikes twice.

Bullpucky.

On a stormy, sleet-driven afternoon, Fiona Wilder sat pinned between the steering wheel and the driver’s seat of her once-pretty-cool little Ford Focus.

If anything had to happen to her more than once, she’d prefer something fabulous like winning the lottery, trips to Hawaii, or even free groceries at the Touch and Go Market. At the very least, she’d appreciate a double-dip victory from the Bubble Buster Car Wash.

But nooooooo.

Thanks to someone else’s road rage, she got to be the
un
lucky recipient of a car accident on San Antonio’s busiest highway.

For the second time.

From the moment she’d merged from the on-ramp, she’d watched the van and pickup truck play a dangerous, aggressive game. She’d even changed lanes to get out of their way. Instead, she’d lucked out. Judging by the van attached to the hood of her car and the SUV tucked into her rear bumper, she’d become the cheese in a three-car collision road-rage sandwich.

Last time she’d escaped with minor bruises. This time, the pain charging through her head and left leg signaled the fate factor had flipped her a fully extended middle finger.

Though her current situation had her packed in like a sardine, she thanked God Izzy hadn’t been in the car. Nothing in the world meant more to her than her little girl. And that little girl would start to worry when her mommy didn’t show up on time.

Fiona sighed. With her car currently jam-packed between two heavyweights, the likelihood of going anywhere for a while seemed slim.

A wave of dizziness spun her head while she blindly reached for her purse to grab her cell phone. When her searching fingers came up empty she realized the impact must have flung her bag to the floor. Anxiety twisted through her stomach. Someone else could dial 911;
she
needed to get a call to her babysitter.

Through the sleeting mist, she heard the oh-too-familiar wail of emergency vehicles and tried to remember if Jackson was on duty. Ironically, her first accident was what had brought them together. He’d been the hunky fireman to rescue her. And she’d found love.

Sort of.

Now, as the sirens grew closer and louder, and the familiar flash of red lights cut through the storm-filled sky, Fiona tried to take a deep breath to stifle the pain. Just more of her good fortune that her lungs weren’t willing to cooperate without making it feel like her chest was caving in. She shoved panic aside and settled for the quick shallow breathing pattern she’d used giving birth to Izzy. In the meantime she waited for San Antonio’s finest to show up and pry her out.

“Ma’am?” A big fist rapped on the driver side window. “Are you okay?”

With another
hee-hee-who,
Fiona lifted her groggy gaze up past the big khaki coat with yellow and reflective stripes, to the handsome face and intense dark eyes staring back at her from behind the rain-streaked glass.

Her heart played a quick game of hopscotch.

Apparently, even pressed in the car like a ravioli, she could appreciate a handsome face.

A wicked bolt of lightning struck not far beyond the massive fire engine. From beneath the yellow helmet, the most perfect masculine mouth she’d ever seen lifted in a reassuring smile, even as the slash of brows over those dark eyes pulled together. The fireman said something she couldn’t hear over the drumming of rain, the shriek of sirens, and the ringing in her ears.

Squinting, she tried to identify him, but the aftermath of the collision had other ideas and sent another wave of vertigo tilting through her head. This time, everything went black.

“S
he’s pinned, hyperventilating, and . . .”
Shit.
“Unconscious.” Mike Halsey peered through the window at his best friend’s ex-wife while panic dropped like a boulder on his chest. Blood dripped from her forehead down into her silky blond hair. And as her head slumped to the side, her coloring registered somewhere between marshmallow and Casper the Friendly Ghost white.

Not good.

Not good at all.

The air bag had deployed, but that hadn’t stopped the front end of her little car from folding like an accordion and crushing her between the seat and steering wheel. A mountain of boxes stuffed in the backseat added a wall of weight that kept her trapped. In a funny-if-it-wasn’t-so-serious contrast to the accident scene, the passenger seat held a smiling white teddy bear, strapped in and unharmed. No doubt the stuffed animal belonged to Fiona and Jackson’s adorable daughter, Isabella.

Mike did another quick visual of the backseat to make sure the little girl wasn’t trapped beneath the boxes, but there was no child seat. Fiona wasn’t the type of mother to put her precious cargo in a car without one, so that meant Fiona was the only one in the car.

Heavy raindrops beat a cadence on Mike’s helmet while he made an assessment of the overall situation. During his time as a firefighter, he’d responded to thousands of emergency calls, but he’d never come across anyone he personally knew. Especially not one he’d danced with just a few months ago. And especially not one he was wildly attracted to. Though unless held at gunpoint, he’d never admit that little morsel of misfortune to anyone.

Guy code stipulated you never went after a buddy’s girlfriend, wife, or ex-wife.

Never.

Not even if there was dissension.

In Jackson and his former wife’s case, they were not only friendly, they were as sympatico as bees and honey. Which was only one of the million reasons Mike had to keep his distance.

Still, there was no denying that the woman intrigued the hell out of him in every way possible. A not-so-minor little detail that set off all kinds of warning bells. The last woman who’d pushed all his buttons had ended up his wife. And then she became his ex-wife. But unlike Jackson and Fiona, his relationship with Heather was the polar opposite of laid-back.

While emergency vehicles continued to roll up, and the rain continued to pour down, Mike grabbed the car handle and got the door ajar enough to put his weight behind it and force it open. Wasting no more time he leaned in and laid two fingers on the soft skin over Fiona’s carotid artery. Relief slipped from his lungs when he found her pulse beating weak but steady.

“Hey, Hooch.” From beside the truck, Scott Smiley, nozzleman for engine 11, called out Mike’s nickname. “Do we need Bruce?”

Though the comical reference to the moniker the guys at the station had given the Jaws of Life, nothing about any situation in which the tool was needed was funny.

Mike glanced over the headrest to the wall of boxes. When he’d danced with Fiona at Reno Wilder’s wedding, she mentioned she’d be moving to Sweet. Apparently that had been today’s mission.
His
mission during that dance had been to keep his cool and keep it classy. Which wasn’t easy when she’d looked up at him with those big blue eyes and lifted that luscious mouth into a smile.

“Not sure yet,” he told Scott, unable to take his eyes off Fiona. “Grab Martinez to help stabilize the car. Then get these boxes out of the way. Let’s see if that will free things up.” He could have moved them himself, but no way would he let go of her. Not until the EMTs were on scene and administering aid.

Within seconds, Captain John Steele stood beside him, assessing the situation much as Mike had just done seconds ago.

“We’ve got a triple-shot pileup,” Cap said. “Driver of the van looks bad, and the passenger in the SUV has obvious head trauma. What’s the status here?”

“Pretty sure one of the boxes hit her in the head. Possible concussion, possible internal bleeding, and . . .” Mike leaned down and peered through the darkness below the steering wheel. “Her legs are pinned. I see blood. So possible leg and spinal injuries.”

“Damn.” Captain looked up as more sirens rolled onto the scene. “Medical’s here now.”

While the rest of the team moved into action, Mike looked up at his commander. “Cap?”

“Yeah?”

“Best put a call in to Jackson.”

“Why?” The captain pushed his helmet up, and sharp gray eyes cut through the sleet. “He’s taking a few extra days off to finish building his house.”

“Because this”—Mike’s gaze floated back to the beautiful woman whose hand he held—“is Fiona, his ex-wife.”

“What?” Cap bent down, peered into the car, and bit off an expletive. “I’m on it.” He pulled a cell phone from his coat pocket, turned, and walked away.

“Wheels are locked,” Smiley shouted from where he was positioned near the right rear tire.

Minutes later, Eric Martinez popped out of the back with the last carton in his hands. “Boxes are cleared.”

Stabilized, the little Ford had less of a chance to shift or roll, which could put Fiona at a bigger risk. Mike puffed out an anxious breath. He reached down by her legs and lifted the manual lever to ease the seat back and hopefully dislodge her from the precarious position. When the seat wouldn’t budge, he cursed under his breath.

Fiona’s long, dark lashes fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened. The flashing red lights reflected in her deep blue irises, but she clearly didn’t recognize him. When he expected panic, she surprised him with a lazy smile.

“Are you my knight in shining armor?”

Her words were sluggish, and he forced a smile past his distress. He didn’t know what it was about her that drew him in with such intensity. He only knew that no matter how captivated he might be, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

He’d failed too many times to ever be considered anyone’s hero.

But damned if he didn’t want to be hers.

F
rom behind a wall of murky awareness, Fiona tried to identify the sounds that pushed past the ringing in her ears. Rhythmic beeps. Low murmurs. And an occasional whine. One sound of alarm in particular pushed her through the fog and forced her eyes open.

“Mommy?”

At the pitiful whimper, Fiona blinked. Sluggishly, her surroundings came into focus. Sanitary white walls. Obnoxious machines. Curtain divider. All evidence she could only be in one place. The hospital.

Yikes.

On one side of the bedrails stood Jackson’s mom, Jana, who held her hand with a worried frown. Fiona gave her a brief smile before she shifted her gaze to the other side, where Jackson held Izzy in his arms. The fear etched in her daughter’s little forehead and the tears clinging to the lashes of her big blue eyes crumpled Fiona’s heart.

“Mommy?”

“Come here, baby.” Fiona held out her arms, not caring that her body ached like she’d been hit by a bullet train. Or that an IV and plastic tubing were stuck in her vein. Or that her head pounded like stomping feet at a Rangers’ playoff game. Or that for whatever reason she probably didn’t want to know, her left ankle was freezing.

“Are you sure?” Concern narrowed the space between Jackson’s eyes.

Was she sure?

If her head wouldn’t split in two, she’d laugh.

Nothing mattered more at that moment than holding her daughter in her arms. Earlier, Fiona had been angry about the stupidity of the preventable accident. Now she was just thankful she’d survived.

She nodded, and Jackson eased their daughter onto the bed beside her. Fiona kissed the top of Izzy’s blond curls, breathed in her sweet little-girl scent, and let the familiarity calm her soul.

“Hey there, sugarplum.” Jana gently smoothed her fingers over the top of Fiona’s hair. “How do you feel?”

“A little woozy. Kind of nauseous. Very happy to be out of the sardine can.” She slid her gaze to Jackson, not only for his professional opinion because of his EMT background but because together as friends they shared a level of trust others found hard to achieve. “What’s the damage?”

“To the car?” His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s headed for the junkyard. To you? Let’s just say you’ve got a hard head, so the concussion isn’t too bad. The stitches in your forehead look reasonably fashionable. And I figure you can tattoo over the scar on your leg later on.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Are you kidding? Compared to what it could have been?”

“So you’re saying I’m lucky?”

“Yeah, honey.” He gave her a solemn nod. “You were lucky.”

She managed a smile for Izzy’s benefit.

“Your doctor will be in here shortly to explain everything,” he said. “But for now, I’ll tell you that you’ve got a compression bandage on the ankle and a hefty pack of ice over it. So no high heels for a while.”

“You gave us a good scare.” Jana squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry. Two guys were road raging. I tried to get out of their way, but I guess I got caught up in the middle.”

“We’re just really glad you’re okay.” Jana said. “The police said everyone involved in the crash sustained injuries, but none were life-threatening.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“And thanks to some really good witnesses, they identified the guy who caused the accident,” Jackson said as he brushed back a stray curl over Izzy’s eyes. “But because you lost consciousness several times, the doctor said they’re going to keep you here overnight.”

“I just think I passed out because I was hyperventilating.”

“Maybe. But let’s play it safe just in case. Okay?” Jackson lifted an eyebrow in his typical
end-of-discussion
fashion. “And while we’re on the subject of unpleasant things, I need to raise the question about calling your—”

“No.” She cringed. “Please don’t ask.”

“Honey, putting the past aside, they’re your parents.” Jackson’s brows now collided. “Don’t you want me to call them about the accident and let them know you’re okay?”

“No.”

“You sure?” Jana asked.

Fiona nodded gently so as not to reignite the hammering behind her eyeballs. Both Jackson and his mother knew the reason she didn’t want to call. And they’d understand. The question came merely as a courtesy. The same kind of courtesy Jackson had extended when they got married and on the day Izzy had been born.

Fiona loved her parents. Well, she tried to love them. They didn’t make it easy. And then there was that whole betrayal thing they did that propelled her into her not-so-elegant fall from grace. “No need to worry them. I just need a couple of days to get back on my feet.”