Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
When Jamie Andrews moves in with a house full of firefighters, things start heating up fast. Battling the wilderness of rural Montana, these guys are always charging into danger—for a living, for duty, for the rush—and since Jamie is a psychiatric nurse, they fascinate her analytic mind. She can’t help but fixate on Calvin, a grumpy, enigmatic smoke jumper ten years her senior. She makes playfully tormenting him her pet project, trying to get him to open up. It turns out he gives as good as he gets.
When something smoldering between them sparks, they’ll have to keep it quiet, which makes Jamie start to wonder about Calvin’s secret, the one he won’t explain. She’ll learn more after life pulls them apart. But as she follows the truth like a trail of flame into the dark, will it lead her to hearth and home with Calvin…or will it all go up in a blaze?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
JAYMES
“You should get a gun and a vibrator.” Melissa crosses her arms, rocking back and forth on her flip-flop-clad feet. She’s angry that I’m leaving her. We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. And, according to her, best friends never leave. She’s a total Cancerian.
With a laugh, I inspect the three things in the back of my Jeep—a suitcase, my skateboard, and a box.
That stupid box. For the record, I don’t want to know if I’m dying. Preparation is overrated, along with dying wishes. My mom had six months to live—six months to prepare for her death. She died in three.
Three months to rethink her life.
Three months to sort through her belongings and specify which boxes I should keep “forever.” She was a hoarder; I am a minimalist. Out of fifteen keep-forever boxes, I only lug around the one containing the contents of her fire safe—some jewelry, her passport, miscellaneous certificates, photos, and a dozen or so manila envelopes. I believe they are tax returns. The rest of the boxes reside in Melissa’s parents’ storage unit. They’re confident I’ll want everything when I’m old enough to appreciate the sentimentality of it.
Mom lived up to her zodiac sign—she was a Cancerian like Melissa, who also keeps everything.
On point with minimalism, I am a Virgo.
“A gun and a vibrator? Interesting combination. There’s a high probability of a self-inflicted injury with either one.” I close the back of my Jeep and turn toward Melissa and her pouty rosebud lips and piercing hazel eyes beneath her perfectly arched brows.
“Everyone in Montana owns a gun,” she says, flipping out her hip while the thick Miami humidity wreaks havoc on her long chocolate-cherry hair, curling her recently chopped bangs. A regrettable decision.
“And a vibrator?” I raise an eyebrow that’s less than perfectly arched.
“You’re not a people person.” She smirks, smoothing her hands down my shoulder-length black hair like a mother fussing over a child before taking family photos.
Suppressing my eye roll, I lift onto my toes and hug her. “You’re a person, and I like you. And I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ve heard Montana’s cold in January. Have you ever seen snow? Have you driven in it?” She changes the subject while wiping the corners of her eyes.
I take a step back, adjusting the waistband of my Lululemon leggings and tugging my white crew neck tee away from my sweaty chest. “I’m leaving Miami. I think it’s safe to say every place north of us is colder in January. Winter won’t last forever. And I have seen snow—once. I’m sure Fiona is great in the snow.” I give the side of my Jeep two confident slaps.
“Fiona is only as good as her driver.” Melissa sniffles while checking her reflection in the back window. She scowls and corrals her frizzy hair with one hand while her other keeps the wind from blowing up her cotton skirt for a peep show.
I can’t look at her red-rimmed eyes. If she makes me cry, I swear I will strangle her.
“Also”—she continues her futile case—“your mom would not be okay with you having a male roommate you’ve never met. Stranger danger.”
“Good thing she’s—”
Melissa gasps, releasing her hair and pressing her fingers to my lips. “Jaymes Lanette Andrews! Don’t you dare say it.”
I crank my neck and bat away her hand. “Stop. It’s been two years. I love her. I will always love her. But I will not live like she’s looking over my shoulder.”
Melissa deflates with a sigh.
“Listen, Mel, one of the other nurses knows Will. She said he’s as good as they get. She’s the one who gave me this rental listing. I’m not worried. You need not worry either. And my mom is”—I quickly inspect the alleyway behind our three-story apartment building, littered with bikes, trash bins, and a handful of cars, before lowering my voice—“dead. So she’s no longer worrying about me.”
“I’m serious about the gun, Jamie.”
I open the driver’s side door. “I don’t know how to use a gun. I’d only shoot myself in the foot or accidentally kill someone. Love you! I’ll call you when I make it to my first stop.”
It takes six days, multiple near fender benders, and white-knuckle driving in the snow, but Fiona and I arrive in Missoula—thankfully, in one piece. Icicles hang from the gutters of my temporary home, a simple gray two-story with a steeply pitched roof, white shutters, a dilapidated porch, and a tiny balcony on the second floor. It’s perfect.
The driveway’s been cleared of snow, so I pull behind an old red Bronco cloaked in dirt and salt residue.
When I open my car door, a gust of frigid air bites my face, a sure sign this Miami girl will freeze her tits off.
I hop down. “Shit!” My boots find no traction, and I nearly do the splits, saving myself by planting my hands on the slippery driveway.