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Overview
Former Army captain Greg Tebo loves his new life in Woodland Park. In the two years since he joined the WPFD, he’s gained a reputation as a fearless firefighter, and after being stationed all around the country and overseas, he can’t wait to settle down with a wife and kids.
When a call comes in about a possible heart attack at the scene of a fire at the Garden Center, Greg assumes they’re going to be helping an elderly customer—not the beautiful, feisty proprietor in her late twenties. Kristen Werner has been determined to pretend everything is fine. She refuses to leave the company she’s carefully nurtured and move home to her loving but meddling family in Houston. Since her devastating diagnosis caused her fiancé to dump her, she’s given up on love and thrown herself into cultivating her blooming business instead—even if the hard work further weakens her heart.
Greg is drawn to Kristen’s vibrant, independent spirit and hopes romance will flower. But she’s had enough trouble with her heart to last a lifetime, and can’t trust Greg not to break it—especially if he finds out she can never give him the houseful of children he longs for....
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780593438107 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 08/22/2023 |
| Series: | A Woodland Park Firefighters Romance , #2 |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Sales rank: | 213,475 |
| Product dimensions: | 4.00(w) x 6.70(h) x 0.90(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Chapter 1
June
Greg pressed a hand against the cool metal wall of the fire engine as Chip veered right. Through the window, he saw two pickup trucks hastily pull over to the side of the road as Chip, the fire truck's engineer and driver, picked up speed. "Whoa, cowboy," he teased. "The goal is to make it to the fire in one piece, right?"
"Stop worrying, Tebo. I got this. I mean, I do, as long as all these folks stop sipping their morning coffee and get it through their heads that pulling over for us isn't going to make them late for work." Chip blared the horn at a stubborn driver, then gunned the gas. After a second's pause, the fire engine lurched forward like it was in a Formula 1 race.
When Chip blared the horn as he sped through another intersection, Greg took care not to look out for oncoming traffic. Every once in a while, all the lights and horns played with his head-a gift that kept giving from Afghanistan. This was one of those mornings.
He breathed deeply and attempted to center himself by silently counting backward from twenty-no small feat while traveling inside a speeding fire truck.
"Idiot," Chip muttered as he blared the horn again.
Feeling his vision swim, Greg started over again. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seven-
"Greg, what's up with you?"
"Huh?" With effort, he pushed aside his numbered lifeline and turned to the person in the jump seat next to him.
Samantha Carter, a firefighter about his age, grinned at him. "You okay, T? You're looking a little uptight. What's up?"
He wasn't surprised she'd noticed, but he did wish he'd been able to hide his discomfort better. "Nothing."
She arched a brow. "Want to try that again?"
Irritation surged forward as Chip weaved through more traffic. Just in time, Greg bit back an impatient reply. The truth was that it wasn't just the sirens that had been giving him fits today. He'd been a little short-tempered during the entire forty-eight-hour shift. He'd hoped it was because it had been slower than usual.
Too much time on his hands was dangerous for him. Too much time meant he spent hours staring into space instead of actually sleeping. Too much time to think about how he hadn't gone back home to West Virginia to see his mother in far too long. Time to feel guilty for not being around for his youngest brother, Copeland, when he was growing up. Time to wonder if he'd chosen the right profession after the army.
Of course, none of that could be shared-especially not while Chip was driving hell-for-leather through the streets of Woodland Park.
He shrugged. "Don't worry about me, Cat," he murmured, using his pet name for her. "I'm good. Just glad this shift is almost over."
Sympathy filled her gaze just as Chip slammed on the brakes-before gunning the accelerator again. "I'm with you. I hate boring shifts."
"Four minutes," the captain said through their radios. "Fire looks to be contained, but be ready for anything. This is a garden center. Lots of flammable substances on the premises."
"Roger that, Cap," Greg said as he started fastening the buckles on his turnout coat.
Next to him, Samantha did the same. "Does that ever catch you off guard, Greg?"
He glanced her way. "What?"
"You know, calling another person captain when you were one?"
It took him a second to figure out what she was talking about. His former life. For a dozen years, he'd been an officer in the army; the last six, a captain. Back then, he'd had an answer for everything and was comfortable barking orders, certain that he was always right, too.
All that changed when one of his orders had cost a private his life. Though his actions and orders had been deemed necessary by his superiors, the boy's death lay heavy on his heart.
A couple of months after, plagued by a mixture of insomnia and nightmares, he knew it was time to get out.
Realizing Sam was still waiting for an answer, Greg shook his head. "To be honest, I never even think about how I used to be an officer." He grinned, just in case he sounded a little melancholy. "Heck, most days I'm positive that I don't want to be in charge ever again. Too much paperwork and red tape, you know."
Samantha looked confused but nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."
Obviously, she thought his reply was pretty worthless. If she did, that made two of them.
Chip screeched to a stop. Just in the nick of time.
Glad to end the heart-to-heart, Greg stepped out of the truck, Samantha on his heels. In front of them, a pretty good fire was burning, but as the captain had reported, it didn't look to be out of control. Apparently, lightning had struck an old scrub oak that should've been cut down years ago. Though the fire had reached the surrounding area, the spread was slow, mainly due to the storm that had just passed through-and the fact that next to the pasture was a field of plants and shrubs that the nursery owner was growing.
As he alighted and began pulling out the hoses to hook up to the hydrant, Greg spared a glance toward Anderson and Dave Oringer, who were in full gear but had unloaded a stretcher. Belatedly, he remembered that the dispatcher had said the nursery owner had a heart condition and might need help.
When he heard a loud pop followed by a curse, followed immediately with an intense string of orders from the captain, Greg focused on the fire that had just found more fuel. It was a blessing that it was too early for the shop to be open-or for any other employees to be on-site.
"Here we go," Sam muttered as she headed toward the flames.
At the captain's direction, Greg took a position about four feet from her and braced himself as the water surged forward from his hose. But still the fire blazed.
Within five minutes, another truck arrived, along with the big Mack tanker truck. Sirens filled the air as more orders rang out and more firefighters joined him and Samantha.
Spying a new band, he moved farther to his left and attacked the new flames. The noise from the fire was deafening, and even through his helmet, face shield, and turnout gear, he could feel the intense heat.
He was glad of his earpiece. Greg widened his stance and emptied his awareness but for the only thing that mattered: doing his job.
Thirty minutes later, the last of the flames were extinguished. Only smoke remained.
Greg breathed a sigh of relief and couldn't help but reflect on how intense the moment had been-and how it had been quickly replaced by a feeling of satisfaction.
It was always like that. An adrenaline rush in the midst of extreme focus, the slight edge of panic without which he wouldn't perform to the best of his ability, followed by the sense of satisfaction that came from seeing only smoking embers.
And the all-encompassing relief that his PTSD hadn't kicked in and made things worse instead of better.
He stayed in position, waiting for directions.
"Sam, you stay on-site. Tebo, go assist Doc with the owner," Captain DeWitt ordered.
"On it." He dragged the hose to the truck, where Chip would unfasten it from the valve and secure it back into place. Less than a minute later, he strode through the open door of the garden center and up a short flight of stairs to assist their paramedic Anderson Kelly, known to most everyone as Doc. Doc had ridden to the scene in an SUV outfitted to act as an ambulance.
But instead of treating a gray-haired old woman on a stretcher, Greg found Anderson crouched next to a young woman with bright-blue eyes and a mass of strawberry-blonde hair. She was a little thing, though not skin and bones, her shoulders were lightly tanned, she had full cheeks . . . Pretty much everything about her screamed girl next door.
Except for the fact that she was agitated and holding an oxygen mask to her face with one hand. Anderson was checking her other wrist for her pulse.
When the woman appeared to tense the moment she saw him approach, Greg lifted his breathing apparatus from his face. Some victims were so shook up that being surrounded by firefighters with their faces covered up was difficult.
Of course, he was as sweaty as all get-out, so she was probably going to wish he'd kept his mask on. At least he'd just buzzed all his hair off. Otherwise it would be sticking to his forehead like gnats on a screen door.
"How can I help, Doc?" he asked.
Their usually calm and collected paramedic looked annoyed. "Glad you're here, T. Stay put, if you would." Anderson stood and held up a phone that must have been resting by his side. "I'm on the line with the hospital and the new guy in receiving is acting like I've got nothing better to do than hang on hold."
Greg chuckled. "No prob."
"Keep an eye on her vitals, yeah?"
"Yeah, sure." Looking down at the woman, he made sure to project ease and calm. Chances were good that she was scared and shaken. Lowering to a crouch, he said, "Hey. My name's Greg. I'm going to sit with you for a bit. All right?"
When she nodded, he smiled, just like they were at a bar or in line at the grocery or something. "What's your name?"
"Kristen."
"It's real nice to meet you, Kristen. Sorry it's under these circumstances, though."
"Me, too." When she attempted a small smile under the mask, he relaxed slightly. Kristen appeared to be coherent.
"So, how are you doing?" Some victims needed a gentler hand than others. To a lot of his coworkers' surprise, he always seemed to have patience to spare for their victims, even when they behaved erratically or angrily. It was only when things slowed down and he had too much time to think that he became terse and impatient.
"I've been better," she said in a weak voice. "Were you out fighting the fire?" A second later, she closed her eyes. "Sorry, that was a dumb question."
It wasn't exactly dumb, but the answer was pretty obvious, given that he was in his turnout gear and likely smelled like a chimney. What mattered, though, was that the question signaled that Kristen was more affected by the fire than she was letting on. "I did help out with the fire." Leaning forward a bit, he looked directly in her pretty blue eyes. "It's completely out, darlin'. You're not in any danger now."
She let out a deep breath. "I'm so grateful. If y'all hadn't arrived so quickly, I would've lost everything."
"I'm glad you didn't."
"Me, too."
Noticing that her pulse was starting to accelerate again, he reached for her wrist. "This plant shop is great. I've driven by here before but never came in. Is it your family's place?"
Some of the warmth in her eyes cooled. "No, it's my garden center. I own it."
"Sorry if calling it a plant shop was rude." He smiled at her. "Blame it on me being a small-town hick from West Virginia. I call everything by the wrong names."
"You're far from home, too. I'm from Houston."
"I heard that y'all." He allowed his accent to thicken a little bit. "It's real good to meet a fellow southerner. We're both a long way from home, aren't we?"
She nodded.
As he checked her pupils, he said, "When you're better, I'll have to stop by and get some gardening tips. I can't keep a thing growing out here. I swear, it's like even the flowers consider the air around here too thin."
"It is thin, but there's a whole lot more rain out east."
"That's a fact." Pulling out his best good ol' boy charm, he added, "And that, ma'am, is why I hope you'll be able to help me out some."
"I'll be glad to. Helping gardeners is my job."
He was about to ask her how a Texas city girl came to be living in the foothills of Pikes Peak when Anderson joined them again. Greg said, "Look, here's Doc. I bet he's gonna have some answers for you."
Her eyes darted to Anderson, but instead of looking pleased, she seemed stressed again. "Hey."
Anderson appeared just as serious. "I talked to your cardiologist, Kristen. You need to head to the hospital with us. We'll load you in the ambulance in no time."
She looked crestfallen. "Dr. Gonzales really said that?"
"He really did." When Chip and Sam approached with the stretcher, he said, "Here we go."
"I don't want y'all to have to lug me around." Kristen looked at Anderson like he'd just asked her to pick up a toad with her bare hands. "Can't I at least walk out of here?"
Anderson didn't give her question even a moment's consideration. "No, ma'am. It's medical protocol. There's still danger of fire, too." His tone turned even firmer. "It's better to be safe, right?"
But instead of agreeing, she frowned. "Listen, I know my heart and I know when I'm in trouble. I'm okay."
Greg realized Anderson was just about out of patience. What a surprise. Anderson didn't get flustered about much.
It was time to do an intervention before either Doc or Kristen started trading barbs. "How about you give Anderson a break, Kristen?" Greg interjected smoothly. "We're all just trying to do our jobs here, right?"
She turned to him, looking contrite. "I'm sorry. I'm really not trying to be difficult. It's just that I need to be here. My employees are going to arrive soon. They're going to wonder what's going on. Like I said, this is my business. Practically my whole world is in here."
"In that case, we need to get a move on, right?" Greg asked. "After all, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can come back."
When she still hesitated, Anderson spoke. "Please, ma'am. There really is no other option. Let me do my job."
"I'm sorry. All right. Fine."
"Thank you."
Then, like she was an accomplished liar, the fool woman surged to her feet, and immediately paled.
Anderson cursed. "Miss-"
Those pretty baby blues rolled back in her head. Greg reached for her just as she fainted. Picking her up in his arms, he took care to arrange her on the stretcher. "She's a pistol, huh?"
"She's stubborn, that's what she is," Anderson muttered as he started checking her vital signs again.
Greg couldn't deny his buddy's assessment, though there was a part of him that sympathized with the woman's wishes. She was obviously concerned about her business, and who could blame her?
