Page 3 of The Mountain Man’s Heat (Blue Mountain Burn: The Firefighters of Hartley Ridge #1)

Chapter Three

Hudson

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I eye the ceiling lights. Are they staying on this time?

The storm is hammering Hartley Ridge and the mountains, but so far, there have been no reports of lightning-strike fires or property damage.

A couple of flickering power failures, no doubt some downed trees, and maybe flash flooding down in the valley where Blue Mountain Creek cuts through the terrain, but no fires.

Wild wind and sheets of rain batter the house. Thunder and lightning fight for dominance of the night. I’m tempted to grab a beer, toe off my boots, flick the lights off, and settle back to watch nature’s temper tantrum through my living room window.

Instead, I grab a water, leave my boots on, and stand at the window.

As much as I’d like to relax, I need to be ready in case?—

Something black darts across the small patch of cleared area I call a front yard. An animal of some sort, spooked by the storm, no doubt. Too big to be a possum or wombat, but not bounding like a kangaroo.

Someone’s pet? A dog?

Lightning cuts the sky, illuminating Mrs. Andrews’s bullmastiff running across my yard, tail tucked, ears flat.

Ah, crap.

“ Archie! ” a voice screams, a split second before thunder detonates above, and the lights die again.

Crap!

Lightning peroxides the night outside, and my gut knots.

A young woman sprints through the rain after the dog, her face etched in fear, her wet hair and clothes plastered to her body.

For a heartbeat, the base male part of me notices lush curves and full breasts under the drenched fabric of a white T-shirt and an arse made for squeezing wrapped in wet denim shorts, and then I get a grip on my lust and bolt for my door.

“Hey!” I launch myself from my front verandah, attempting to shield my face from the stinging rain with a hand. “Hey!”

“ Archie! ” she yells, ignoring me. Whoever she is, she’s steady on her feet. Scared, yes—terror laces her shout—but agile. She’s not stumbling or staggering about in the lashing weather. “ Archie! Come! ”

I catch up to her at the edge of my yard, where my property becomes dense scrub, trees, and vegetation. “Hey?” I grab her elbow. God, her skin is so cold. She’s shivering. How long?—

She yelps, spins around, whacks my chest with a balled fist, and yelps again, eyes wide as she stares up at me, shaking her hand. The top of her head barely reaches my chin. “What are you made of? Brick?”

I blink.

And then she turns and heads for the bush again. “My aunt’s dog is scared of the storm,” she yells over her shoulder. “He got out of the house, and I need to find?—”

Lightning strikes the ancient gum tree towering over all the others to the left of my house. Exactly the direction she is facing.

Splintering wood flings out from the struck trunk. Sparks arc through the air.

The woman squeals, throwing up her arm, and I grab her, pulling her into my body. Protecting her.

At least, trying to.

She bucks and shoves free, glaring up at me.

“Let me go, you idiot,” she shouts. The night almost hides her face, but fierce fury, not fear, burns in her eyes.

And, oh shit, my body is already aching for hers.

God, she felt so right in my arms, pressed against my body.

She waves an arm at the bush and smoldering tree. “I’ve got to find my aunt’s?—”

A large black shape streaks out of the bush and launches itself at the woman’s back and slams into her.

She falls into me, her face mashing into my chest, her hands grabbing at my biceps.

Archie propels off her, a barking black missile of chaos, and before I can think, I fling the woman to the side by one arm and grab Archie’s collar—one of those thick, studded leather types—with my other hand.

“Gotcha,” I burst out as his weight almost wrenches my shoulder out of its joint.

Lightning illuminates the relief flooding the young woman’s face, and then we’re plunged back into darkness. She scrambles past me, reaching for Archie. She scoops him up and hugs him to her amazing breasts, kissing the top of his head.

In an unsettling second of sheer clarity, I realize I’ve never been more jealous of a dog.

Ever.