Page 3 of Smokin’ Situation (Masked Men of Sage Springs #3)

“Are you new around here?” I asked, unsure why I was trying to get him to have a conversation when he clearly did not want to talk. The question was, did he not want to talk in general, or did he not want to talk with me ?

“Not exactly,” he responded, and I waited for him to elaborate, but he never did.

“You look a bit familiar. Have we met before?” I couldn’t shake the feeling that I somehow knew him.

“Not that I know of, ma’am.”

“I work at the only bar in Sage Springs. Have you ever been there? Sometimes we get guys coming off a long shift from the firehouse.”

“I haven’t been there in a long time. Not really a big drinker.”

“So, you are from around here?” I rephrased my earlier question, focusing my gaze on the side of his face.

There was a layer of darker pink skin behind his ear that trailed down the side of his neck and disappeared beneath the high collar of his shirt. He noticed me looking and his eyes darkened, his jaw twitching before he returned his gaze forward.

“Not exactly. Was born here, but I moved away when I was eighteen and haven’t been back for more than a day or so in about a decade.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” I mused, but he didn’t take the bait. It also gave me the idea that he was probably around my age, but the faint lines at the sides of his eyes indicated he might be further into his thirties than I was.

Glancing down the street as we crossed an intersection that’d been closed and barricaded off for the festival, I noticed that the cases of whiskey had been neatly stacked at the back of the marked off space where I needed to go.

The beer tent next door had already been set up, but Reid and Hazel were missing. Since his bike was in the lot we’d just come from, I didn’t think they’d be off doing naughty things, but I also wouldn’t go looking for them to find out. Been there, walked in on that.

The other volunteer firefighters were nowhere to be seen, so it seemed the man of few words to my side was stuck with me for a little while. At least I hoped he’d take pity on me to help get the pop-up shelter in place.

“Where’s your shelter?” he asked, parking the wagon off to the side of the marked off space.

“Not interested in spilling your traumatic backstory to a stranger?” I teased, but he still didn’t crack. He slipped past me, still not making eye contact, and unzipped the bag with the shelter inside.

I helped him pull it out of the bag, following his brief cues to stretch it out. I watched while he silently clipped the roof onto the frame. He was about a foot taller than me, so I just stepped back to stay out of his way, since he clearly had things handled.

The independent part of me wanted to insist I could handle it, but his size had me clearly at a disadvantage.

“Grab that corner and I’ll pull it out,” he instructed. “I’m hoping you brought some weights for the poles. Winds are supposed to pick up this afternoon. This thing will be a hazard if it’s not weighted.”

That was the most words this man had said to me all morning, and he was talking about the weather and pop-up shelter weights.

“Yeah, they’re at the bottom of a few of the crates. Let me get the tables set up and I’ll dig them out.”

He nodded, and I worked on putting up the two folding tables the festival provided for each booth.

Going into autopilot, I covered them with tablecloths, carefully smoothing the new table runners across the top before I hoisted the first crate of whiskey onto one and started unpacking.

The shelter overhead only seemed to exaggerate the cool morning air, goosebumps cropping up on my skin while I worked. Sensing eyes on me, I glanced up, noticing him watching me .

It was a little unnerving to have him standing a few feet away, arms crossed on his barrel-like chest and those dark blue eyes tracking my every move.

Biting my tongue, since he obviously didn’t want to engage in small talk, I emptied the crate and held out the weight. Unsuccessfully, I tried not to react as he bent over to secure it around the first pole, showcasing the snug fit of his tactical pants.

The silence between us felt charged as I continued unpacking, my eyes flitting up to meet his occasionally before they returned to what I was working on. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and I had to stifle a laugh when my brain thought that maybe he’d like to put them out with his big hose.

Clearly, my nerves were bringing out my inner teenage boy. I should not be objectifying a virtual stranger who was not interested.

Not that I should be interested, either.

Technically, I was involved, although that was a flimsy excuse at best. Jay and I were the furthest thing from exclusive.

Just because I’d never strayed from our arrangement didn’t mean that was true for him.

Although he’d never said anything, even I could acknowledge that Jay was an attractive man and would likely garner some attention from other women.

Neither of us mentioned other partners, but that wasn’t what our no-strings-attached relationship was about.

We provided each other with companionship, whether that meant sex or just sharing a meal together, we both knew the score.

For all I knew, he could be with someone else on his business trip this week, and the thought of that didn’t spark jealousy from me in the least. Maybe that was the sign I needed to finally stop messing around with him.

While it’d been a way for me to escape from having to invest emotions in a relationship when I needed it most, now it was just delaying the inevitable.

If I truly wanted to have a relationship like my parents had shared when I was a kid, I needed to put myself back out there. But how did you tell the universe you were finally ready to meet your other half when you’d been hiding from it for so long?

“You okay over there?” an amused voice asked, my eyes widening before I glanced up at my grumpy firefighter. Wait, no. He was most definitely not my grumpy anything. I’d only just met him and…

“Yeah, I’m good,” I squeaked, the heat in my cheeks doing the heavy lifting in dispelling the morning breeze that’d been making me shiver. Now, under his intense, but suddenly filled with mirth, stare, I was anything but chilled.

“You got another one of those weights for me?”

Redirecting my attention, I dug out the last few weights, trying—and failing—not to watch him bend over to fasten them to the legs of the shelter. I was suddenly craving cake.

My fingers fidgeted with a shot glass in my hand as he turned and aimed the full force of those penetrating eyes at me, the corner of his lip quirking into something that was decidedly not grumpy.

I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever had such a visceral reaction to any man, much less one I didn’t even know.

He glanced around the booth, seeing the space take shape, and I was at a loss for words, afraid I’d start babbling again and scare him off, not that he’d be staying here with me.

He was here to help with the event, not here to help me.

Even if I was suddenly having visions of him pushing up the dark sleeves of his tech shirt and shouldering me to the side as he started pouring tasting shots to pass out to the hum of festival goers looking for a little buzz.

“I think you’re set here,” he said, voice even because he probably never got nervous like I felt right now. “Unless you need me for something else, I’m going to head back to the welcome tent and see where they need me next.”

Nodding absently, I watched as his head tipped to the side, his fingers reaching up to scratch the side of his neck.

A flinch barely flitted across his features before it was gone, and he stared down at his hand with something that looked like irritation.

I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but swallowed the words as he returned his expectant gaze to me.

“I’m good, I can take it from here.”

“I’ll see you around then…” he trailed off, lifting his hand toward his neck awkwardly, then blinking hard and returning it to his side.

“Rhey,” I blurted, my eyes widening slightly as my grandmother’s nickname for me slipped from my mouth instead of what people had called me for over a decade. Everyone around here knew me as Annie, not Rheyanne.

He nodded, the smirk reappearing as he turned to go, catching sight of my sister’s arch nemesis, Baker, headed in our direction.

“You done, Tripp?” he asked, but Baker was looking at me, shooting me a secret wink and an eyebrow wiggle.

Shaking my head, I tried to get my act together, because despite his complicated relationship with my sister, Baker would tease the shit out of me if he’d seen how awkward I had been around his coworker.

Annie, the bartender, wasn’t awkward. She was sarcastic with a quick wit and a no-nonsense attitude.

A bar full of unruly drunks never got my feathers ruffled in the way a single man I didn’t even know had during the last ten minutes. And I needed to get my act together if I was going to make it through the next eight hours with my mask in place.