Dallas Fire & Rescue: Undamaged (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Odd that Ginny would open up to Captain Stewart like that. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “I took the liberty of booking you into a retreat.”

  “This is an intervention, isn’t it?”

  “Sort of. Both your sister and I feel you need to take some time to resolve this in your heart and mind. I’m sending you to a place I know. A place a friend of a friend recommends.”

  “All right.”

  “On San Juan Island.”

  “You’re sending me to an island? Like in the Caribbean?” Rum cocktails on the beach were a great way to distract a drunk.

  Captain Stewart chuckled briefly. “Not the Caribbean. Washington State up by the Canadian border. It’s a great place to recover and reconnect with yourself.” He folded his hands on his desk. “Your stay begins April first.”

  Royce started. In two days? “You’re joking.”

  A fatherly gleam flashed in Captain Stewart’s gray eyes. “No fooling, son. We all just want you to get better.”

  Chapter Two

  Samantha Vickers jolted awake, disoriented, frantically searching the darkness for a clue as to where the hell she was.

  Eyes wide, she let the wood plank ceiling and the large double pane windows of her bedroom slowly come into focus in the silvery moonlight.

  Right. Home. She was where she should be.

  The nightmare had disconcerted her, had confused her into thinking she was back there. She hadn’t had a bad dream like that in a long time. A very long time.

  But she was safe now. Safe in her cozy bedroom, in her small house on five acres nestled in a valley. The bucolic setting of San Juan Island was a haven from the nightmares city life had engendered.

  The alarm clock glowed red at her bedside. Five a.m. April fourth. Tourist season was just around the corner, which meant busy days at the National Historical Park. Busy was good especially if the nightmares were starting up again. Mental exhaustion would smother stress.

  But right now stress had reared its ugly head. It was going to be hell trying to get back to sleep.

  Sam got up to go to the bathroom, her movements the only disruption in the stark silence of her house. Back in the bedroom she paused at the window with its moonlit panorama of the valley. A clump of Douglas fir shadowed the view on the left. In the distance, a perpetual light shone at the neighbor’s farm. The night was still, quiet, serene.

  Safe.

  She climbed back into bed, wasting a good five minutes trying to convince herself she would “naturally” fall back asleep. She was far too agitated, but, damn it, she needed—no, wanted those two hours of blissful slumber before getting up for work.

  One thing always helped her relax: solo pleasure and a fantasy that grew more outrageous and, well, more kinky every time she gave into it. Urban anxiety had seemingly stifled her true libidinous desires. Once settled on the island, peace of mind had freed her inhibitions, letting her imagination go wild. The first time had freaked her out so much, she had made sure no one was watching, which was the silliest thing since none of her neighbors could even see her house.

  But with the help of a brand new vibrator she learned to explore the sexual scenarios her unfettered mind conjured. Eventually, she got enough courage to try out some of her fantasies with real, live men. Turned out a couple of the guys she dated were kinkier than they had initially let on.

  Sam reached over to the bedside table and grabbed her vibrator, clicking it on. The gentle whir instantly lulled her, inviting her to submit to the pleasures that lay before her in her mind’s eye…

  A Dom, a bevy of buffed men, and her, bound into submission.

  Chapter Three

  Ensconced in a wicker rocker in the sun room Royce stared out the window to the fire pit outside, embers glowing and flames dancing behind shadowed figures in the night. Beyond them, evergreen trees like majestic sentinels separated the property from the road. Only seven days at San Juan Island’s recovery center and he was sober.

  And so goddamn bored he could really use a drink.

  He’d discovered he was a binge drinker. He never drank on the job. A firefighter had few opportunities to do so in the wildlands. Besides, in the blasting heat of flames, one just craved ice-cold water. But he and his crews had always had a bender after a fire had been put out. It was a destructive way of trying to forget the devastation left behind.

  He had learned that lesson with a few group counseling sessions and one-on-ones with Victor Robinson—Vic—the recovery center’s man in charge. So week one was over. He was cured. He wanted to go back to Dallas and apologize to Ginny and Charlee.

  Or, at the very least, he needed to get the hell out of the recovery center, take a walk, go to the movies. Jesus, anything.

  Beyond the window panes his fellow patients laughed and told stories around the fire, a nightly event that created more of a bond so they could all open up to each other in group sessions.

  A week of doing exactly that had been as exhausting as a month on the fire lines in California. He had realized far too much about himself. He was getting old, although at forty-two, he was on the younger side of the recovery center’s patient population. But a life of hard physical labor was taking its toll. He was slowing, his reaction time faltering, muscles aching every damn day. It was a hard lesson to learn.

  Light spilled briefly into the morning room from the hallway before it was blocked by a hulk of a man.

  “Not feeling sociable tonight?” Vic’s deep bass reverberated in the quiet sun porch. He sat on the window seat across from Royce.

  “Nah. Just returning a book and poking through the library to see what else you had.”

  “In the dark.” Somehow Vic’s sarcastic remark conveyed understanding without judgment.

  Vic leaned back against the wall and stretched his legs along the pillows of the window seat. “Bonfires always remind me of hanging out in the alleyways of St. Louis.”

  “That’s where you’re from?”

  “Born and raised. North side.”

  “I don’t know the city.”

  “Bad part of town.” Vic drew in a breath. “Where it was too easy to fall in with the wrong crowd. Young kids like me were recruited by drug dealers ’cause it wouldn’t go on our records.” He slowly drummed his nails on the window sill. “Eventually we became customers as well as runners. We weren’t supposed to party with the ‘product’—” Vic curled his fingers in air quotes “—but we did, and we got hooked. Managing my addiction became my other job: finding creative ways of hiding it at school and at home. I did okay until one day I got a bad batch and fried.”

  The rocker creaked as Royce shifted.

  Vic stared through the window at the bonfire. “In my crazed state, I tried to rob a guy. Turned out he was my high school math teacher.” He chuckled. “He was bigger than me. He tackled me to the ground.”

  Royce tried to imagine a man bigger than Vic.

  “Mr. Washington had two choices: he could take me to the police, or he could take me to the emergency room.” Vic turned to Royce, locking gazes in the shadows. “He took me to the emergency room.”

  A chill zipped up Royce’s spine.

  “My life changed that night because someone believed in me. Took a chance on me.”

  Royce swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Captain Stewart and Ginny believed in him. Most importantly, Charlee believed in him.

  “Look, there are people who care about us, even if we don’t acknowledge it, or can’t acknowledge it yet. We can’t let them down. We gotta do everything we can to beat this thing. Which means we gotta learn how to live without our crutches. Like partying.”

  “Or being alone with one’s torments.”

  “That’s the most difficult for some. I worry about you hiding in the dark like this.”

  “Yeah.” Royce worried about that, too.

  Vic glanced at the paperback of Return of the King on the side table. “Fantasy? I took you for a thriller ki
nd of guy.”

  Royce chuckled. “Charlee and I binged watched a lot of movies last year including all the Lord of the Rings and Hobbits. I figured I should read the books.”

  Vic laughed.

  “I was looking to see if you had the Harry Potter series next.”

  “Sounds like you’re a speed reader.”

  “It’s a skill I developed on the fire lines. Each crew member brought a paperback and we’d pass them around. You had to read what was put in front of you. That led to a lot of literary competition.”

  Vic grunted. “A cerebral way to endure downtime.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re bored.”

  Royce started. “Look, Vic, I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been here.”

  Vic raised a hand. “I know, I know. But a guy like you, you need to be outside in the fresh air, doing some physical activity. Distracting you from your torments.”

  Royce dragged his hand through his hair.

  “Tomorrow morning we’re going for a hike up at English Camp.”

  “Is that another recovery center?”

  Vic chuckled. “No. It’s part of the National Park. Did you know we had a National Park here on our island?”

  “Nope.” Royce offered a sardonic smile. “I don’t get out much.”

  Vic got up from the window seat. “You are free to go whenever and wherever you want, Royce.” He gave Royce’s shoulder a fatherly squeeze.

  “On a bicycle?”

  “A fit man like yourself should be able to manage. Lots of natural beauty on San Juan. We’re sort of famous for that. Helmets are in the bike shed and it’s recommended you wear one.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Just don’t come back drunk.”

  Royce shook his head. “No worries about that.” He wouldn’t let anyone down again.

  * * * * *

  Samantha breathed in the late morning air, the freshness of lingering dew mellowed by the burgeoning warmth of the sun. They’d had a respite from early spring rains the last few days which meant the park trails would be damp but not muddy for the tour she was about to lead.

  Over half a dozen men and women from the recovery center stood near the shoreline of Garrison Bay chatting, looking at the scenery, waiting for her. In their midst, a grinning six-foot-five middle-aged black man stood out prominently, although with his charisma alone Vic stood out everywhere on the island. He spotted her and waved. She waved back and walked to the group.

  “Hey, Sam.”

  “Hi, Vic.

  Vic motioned his people to gather around. “Everyone, this here is Ms. Samantha Vickers. She’s the park historian and will be leading our hike today.”

  Sam nodded to the group. “Good morning and welcome to English Camp. It’s such a beautiful day, I thought we’d hike up Young Hill. From there you can see Canada.”

  As usual, there were indistinct murmurs and chuckles. People were always surprised Canada was so close. But that was the whole point of English Camp, wasn’t it?

  “Back in 1859, there was a border dispute between Great Britain and the United States. Had we lost, you would be standing in Canada right now not hoping to get a view of it.” She smiled.

  The group began to pay a little more attention.

  “It’s a big hill, is everyone up for this?”

  A few people said “yeah”.

  Vic draped his arms around a couple of the guys. “I know some of you feel like you’ve been cooped up this last week—”

  The totally hot hunk being subjected to Vic’s powerful hug elbowed Vic in the ribs. Vic squeezed him harder.

  “Well, now here’s your chance for fresh air and getting your sweat on.”

  Sam stared a bit too long at Vic’s handsome captive. He was almost as tall and brawny as Vic. Short-cut brown hair framed a clean-shaven face with sharp features and a strong, Roman nose. He looked in her direction, revealing gray-blue eyes that held mystery, perhaps sorrow, in their depths. His gaze lingered. A sensual frisson shimmied down her spine, then bolted right back up to burn her cheeks.

  She had to look away. Lusting after anonymous tourists and summertime kayak instructors was one thing, but Vic’s people were off limits.

  They were damaged.

  Sam shook sense into herself. She had a job to do. Probably the best job in the world, so she’d hate to lose it because of an unprofessional attitude toward a recovery center patient.

  “All righty, follow me,” she said as cheerily as possible. “Through the parking lot.”

  She led the group, adjusting to their pace as they trod along the parking lot to meet the trailhead. Vic took up the rear, sauntering with some of the slower folk.

  The hunky brown-haired guy kept pace to her left with a few others keeping pace right behind them.

  Sam glanced at him surreptitiously. A jeans jacket flapped open enough to offer a view of the black t-shirt that hugged the contours of his pecs before clinging to his abs.

  My God. He was beyond hot. He was perfection. She wanted to get to know him, ask him everything. What his name was, did he have a significant other, what he did for a living, how he got so buffed, could she go down on him…

  She sucked in a breath to calm her thumping heart.

  You couldn’t ask Vic’s people stuff like that. Well, you couldn’t ask most people that last question. But anything could be a trigger for why they were in recovery in the first place. There was really only one question you could ask.

  “Where are you from?”

  Vic’s people weren’t from San Juan Island. People from the island went off island for recovery.

  He eyed her with an arc of his brow as his lips quirked upward. “Calif—I mean Dallas.”

  A story lurked behind his verbal falter. “I was born in California,” she said. “Lived most of my life there.”

  “Yeah. I’ve only been in Dallas for a year. I guess I still think of myself as a Californian.”

  “Sometimes I do, too, even though I’ve been on island over two years.”

  He sighed. “My sister lives in Dallas. She needed someone to look after her sick kid—my niece. I guess I never got around to thinking of it as my home.”

  Gorgeous and takes care of sick kids? Oh, Jesus.

  “Wow,” he said with a masculine grunt. “Looks like winter took its toll here.”

  Sam surveyed the devastation left by storms. High winds had strewn the trunks and branches of evergreens everywhere, literally. Only a couple of weeks ago had National Park volunteers sought to bring order to the chaos. The dedicated crew had sawed broken trunks into sections to move them off the paths, then had cleared debris and rebuilt split-rail fences.

  “The winds are pretty fierce here on the island.” She pointed to a downed Douglas fir about two feet in diameter.

  “Like a firestorm.”

  Only a survivor would know that. Or a fireman.

  Oh, geez. Gorgeous was a fireman?

  She just about creamed her panties.

  “I imagine a firestorm would be far more devastating.”

  “Yeah,” Gorgeous the Fireman agreed. “Nothing left to clean up, really.”

  Sam sucked in a breath. She really shouldn’t ask personal questions… “So, you’re a fireman?”

  He offered a twisted smile. “Firefighter.”

  “Ah, yes, of course.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “Like I’m a park ranger, not a rangeress.”

  He chuckled at that, a gentle baritone that could lull her to sleep after a night of hot sex—

  Sam stared up at the canopy of evergreens trying to still her pounding pulse. This man was doing things to her that she desperately needed, but, conscience reminded her, he was off limits.

  Thank God for her vibrator.

  They crossed the road that ran through the park and continued up the hill. Behind her came the labored breathing of a couple of the hikers. But not Gorgeous Firefighter Man. Oh, no. He was in tip-top shape, thick thighs flexing
under his jeans, brawny shoulders swinging muscled arms and large hands—

  His right hand accidentally brushed against her left. Sam swallowed a gasp as every pore in her body bristled with hopeful desire. She steadied her breath. She, too, was in tip-top shape. She shouldn’t be panting. Not on a hike at her damn job.

  Before them the shaded path opened onto a meadow. The trail split at that juncture. To the right was a narrow path through a field dotted with rare oaks. To the left continued the main sheltered trail.

  Sam stopped and gestured to the meadow. “This is our Garry oak habitat. The oaks are native to Washington and used to be far more plentiful.” A nervous tremor seeped into her voice. “The Park Service is making an effort to bring them back.” Her usual confidence was fracturing in Gorgeous’ presence. “The path splits here. Up on your left the route continues basically the same as how you got here: wide, shaded, but a bit more steep.” She gestured behind her. “The other way is single file and a little more treacherous with some crumbling rock.” She indicated Vic. “If anyone wants to take the road less traveled, as it were, follow me. Vic will lead the group up the hill on the main path.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Gorgeous’ baritone poured over her like hot fudge on a sundae. Sam tempered her smile so as to not appear too excited.

  “Awesome. Anyone else?” Please say no.

  No one said yes.

  Just her and Gorgeous alone on an ill-used path. A test of her ability to concentrate.

  * * * * *

  Samantha Vickers was the cutest damn park ranger Royce had ever seen. Probably the cutest woman he’d ever seen, full stop.

  She must have been his age or near enough to forty. Yet, under her wide-brimmed hat, she defiantly wore her light brown hair in two pigtail braids tied off with ribbons, bright red to match her probably non-regulation bandana, an effect that could only be described as adding a jaunty finesse to her otherwise drab green and gray attire. Her perpetual smile—with a quirky playfulness almost bordering on mischievousness—brightened a face bare of any makeup. Her uniform fit her well, showing off an athletic form and the swells of two scrumptious breasts. Royce jumped at the chance of being led by her on an ill-used path with the prospect of getting a view of her perfect ass.