“Do you have a blanket? Water?”
She felt his voice weave a spell around her like the finest of Texas male singers, an unmistakable quality of deep and sultry with a hot chili back-burn that left you wanting more. Classic singers like Willie Nelson, Roy Orbison, and George Strait came to mind.
She shook her head, breaking his spell. “Are you hungry?” Maybe he was homeless. “I have energy bars.”
He frowned, drawing his dark, straight eyebrows together, as he shook his shirt at her. “There’s a grass fire!”
Too late, she realized his red shirt was blackened and burned in spots. If she hadn’t been so busy ogling his glistening sooty body and comparing him to outlaws, she might have noticed sooner. He’d obviously been using his shirt to beat out a fire.
“Only minutes to stop it.” He glanced at her backseat, and his face lit up with happiness. “You’ve got towels!” He dropped his tattered shirt.
“Always. Just in case.” Even as the words left her mouth, panic started to seize control. Breath caught in her throat. Chills turned her cold. And she felt pressure on her chest as if from a great weight.
She was terrified of fires.
They ranked as even more nightmarish than Christmas, ever since that early morning when she was twelve. She stopped that thought in its tracks. No good ever came from reliving the past. Right now, she had to get out of there before a panic attack overwhelmed her.
She threw her car in reverse.
“Stop! I’m Fire-Rescue.” He hit her window with the flat of his hand again.
She was startled out of backing up and transfixed by his intense gaze, pinning her in place.
“I’m deputizing you as a Wildcat Bluff volunteer firefighter. Open your doors and help me.”
Although his voice was muffled coming through the glass, she heard every word he said in that crystal clarity that precedes a full-on, foot-stomping, heart-stopping crisis.
She tried to focus on the fact that he was one of the good guys. Unfortunately, the knowledge didn’t help her. She didn’t have panic attacks often, but when she did, they were as scary as whatever had set them off. She took a deep breath and worked to stay focused. Breathe and focus, breathe and focus. It wasn’t going to do anybody—least of all herself, and certainly not the stranger banging on her car window—any good for her to lose it now. She could get a grip. She had to get a grip.
She carefully set the pepper spray down beside her phone and wrapped her fingers around the solid surface of the steering wheel to ground her body while she fought her fear with a reassuring repetition of words in her mind. “Be here now. Safe and sound. Be here now.”
“If that fire gets loose, it’ll burn across these pastures and kill cattle, horses, and wild animals. Timber will go up fast and furious. Wildcat Bluff won’t stand a chance,” the stranger shouted, pounding his fist on the roof of her car. Obviously he was close to losing it, too.
She felt his words start to override her panic. She gripped the steering wheel harder. She needed to help him. She wanted to help him. She couldn’t let her weakness stop her from saving others. She was safe in the here and now. She swallowed down her response, took a deep breath, then released the locks and opened her door. The scent of burning grass hit her and she reeled back against the seat. She put one hand across her nose to reduce the smell of smoke and another across her chest as if in protection.
“Thank you!” He jerked open the back door. He grabbed three towels and slammed the door shut. “Name’s Trey.”
“Misty,” she mumbled, prepared to do—well, whatever this hot, strong guy thought she could do. He tossed a blue towel onto her lap, and flashed a quick but genuine smile that filled her with tingly energy from the tips of her hair right down to her toes. It was a good kind of warmth, like sunbathing in the summer without a care in the world.
“Well, come on then, Misty!” he called over his shoulder. He took off toward the smoke and a break in the fence line.
She immediately felt the loss of his radiant energy. The sight of him in all his muscular glory running like all get-out didn’t hurt her illogical desire to follow him, either. That thought made her smile and set back her panic a bit. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to start writing poetry to honor him. She felt her breath come a little easier. Something about this guy made her feel braver.