A Cowboy Firefighter for Christmas (Smokin’ Hot Cowboys #1)
Kim Redford
Chapter 1
On Wildcat Road, a half-naked man burst out of a pasture and ran onto the two-lane highway. He stopped on the white centerline and waved a bright red shirt back and forth high over his head.
Misty Reynolds slammed on the brakes of her SUV, caught searching for a radio station that wasn’t playing Christmas music.
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands as she screeched to a stop, managing to narrowly avoid hitting the guy. She felt her heart thump hard with the burst of adrenaline and slumped against her seat in relief, grateful she’d been able to stop in time. She forced her breath to a slower, calmer pace.
As the adrenaline rush drained away, and she was able to focus, she got a better look at the stranger and licked her lower lip. This guy was all ripped jeans, cowboy boots, and big belt buckle over buff, bronze, sweaty body. His broad, muscular shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and his long legs looked as if they belonged straddling a horse. He reminded her of her all-time favorite candy, Texas Millionaires.
It’d been a long time since a man had set her senses on spin cycle. And she’d nearly run him over. She wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or frightened. She felt a little shaky. Here and now was not a good time or place. Life was shaking her up enough already. She didn’t need this problem.
She was headed toward a wide place in the road called Wildcat Bluff. The Dallas and Fort Worth Metroplex—as in big-city civilization—sprawled a couple of hours south. She had gladly left it and all the Christmas hubbub behind her. She was far away from everything now, except cattle, grass, trees. And the tantalizing stranger. But what was going on here?
Everything about the guy looked like trouble. In the 1880s, Wildcat Bluff had been notorious as a Wild West town that catered to cowboys and outlaws. Cowboys drove cattle herds north with dust in their eyes and returned with gold in their pockets. Desperadoes crossed the Red River from Indian Territory to get liquor by the drink and love by the night. Could this be the modern equivalent of a Texas horse thief? A carjacker? She glanced around as the hair on the backs of her arms prickled in alarm. Fortunately, the stranger appeared to be alone.
Still, she wouldn’t take a chance. She hit the buttons on her door and heard the satisfying click of engaged locks and closed windows. She picked up her phone from the center console and checked for coverage. No bars. She couldn’t call for help. She flipped open her glove box and looked for something big enough to use as a weapon. Nothing but a small flashlight. She wasn’t completely without defense. She unclipped the small pepper spray canister off the metal link on her oversized aqua purse. She’d never used the spray before, but how hard could it be? She hoped that, if necessary, all she’d have to do was point and shoot. Still, it looked small and inadequate.
She mostly worked in the city and hadn’t thought she needed to carry anything more than pepper spray. Now she wasn’t so sure. Her BFF Cindi Lou had completed the training and paperwork for a carry permit and toted around at least a small .22 handgun, if not something with more stopping power. Cindi Lou, with her big hair and perfect makeup, was fond of reminding Misty that folks in Texas had a proud heritage of relying on personal self-defense in case of trouble since the days of the Republic of Texas when there was no other option. She’d been alarmed to hear that Misty was going into the countryside without a sidearm. Misty shook her head and felt herself tensing up. If worse came to worst, she would simply put her SUV in reverse or outmaneuver the stranger.
He ran the last few steps to her car, pulled on the door handle, and then hit the window with the flat of his hand.
She jerked back, gripping the pepper spray, as she kept him in sight. His belt was embossed with prancing reindeer, and the big buckle sported a Santa Claus face. If she included the holiday-happy red shirt in his hand, she’d assume Christmas, not carjacking, was on his mind. But he could also mean to disarm her with his fashion statement.
This close, he appeared wild. Hazel eyes flicked back and forth, resting on nothing or on everything. Dust peppered his tousled dark brown hair. His broad bare chest was coated with dirt and sweat. He looked good in the rough and rugged kind of way that set a gal’s thermostat on “too hot to handle.” She quickly flicked her AC to a higher setting and relished the burst of cold air.
“Help me!” he said in a deep voice muted by the closed windows.
“Do you have a medical emergency?” She held up her phone. “No coverage.”
“Look over there!” He pointed toward the pasture.
All she saw was a little dust in the air. No telling what was going on. She’d play it safe. Once she put distance between them and could use her cell, she’d call to get him help.