All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)

One corner of that perfect mouth turned up. “Hey,” he said. “I saved you.”


Charlie snorted. “Not likely. Did you hit your head? Because if you did, I’m hoping it knocked some sense into you.”

The slight curve became a smile. “You’re welcome.” He sat up.

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. “Hold on there, hotshot. Are you injured? You were at the bottom of our pileup. Make sure nothing’s broken.”

“My ego’s a little bruised that you don’t appreciate what I did for you.”

“You knocked me off the ladder and nearly killed us both. No, you don’t get a cookie.” She stood, then held out her hand to help him up. “Can you stand?”

The smile turned into a grin. Damn, the man was pretty, she thought absently. Despite the fact that it had literally been a decade since she’d found any man attractive, there was something about his near godlike perfection that was appealing.

He ignored her hand and stood in one easy movement. “I’m good.”

“Charlie, are you all right?”

“Fine, Mrs. Coverson,” Charlie said, trying not to clench her teeth. Her dentist had warned her that she needed to stop grinding her jaw when she was annoyed. Which was much of the time.

Mrs. Coverson stood on the front porch, Daytona in her arms. Behind her, Michelle Banfield, who worked with Charlie, stood with a half-eaten brownie and a look of guilt in her eyes.

“I was coming back out to help,” Michelle mumbled. “Um, but there were these brownies.”

“That’s okay,” Clay told her. “I was here.”

It was all Charlie could do not to smack him upside the head.

“Here is the one place you shouldn’t be. It’s illegal to interfere with a firefighter at work. You do it again and I’ll have you arrested.”

Instead of being appropriately intimidated, Clay grinned. “You’re tough.”

“You have no idea.”

He stuck out his hand. “Glad I could help.”

“You didn’t—” She shook her head. “Whatever. Fine. Thank you. Now go away.”

She shook hands with him, conscious of his fingers engulfing hers. And he was taller, by at least four inches. Interesting facts, but of no earthly use.

First of all, she had yet to conquer her manphobia and if she decided she wanted to, it wouldn’t be with anyone like him. She would look for safe. Nice. Normal. Second, even if she was silly enough to be attracted to him, which she wasn’t, there was no way in a million billion years that a guy like him would be interested in a woman like her. Men like him fell for supermodels and...and...women like her mother. Well, back when her mother had been younger.

Charlie knew what she was. Strong and capable. She could wear the fifty pounds of gear her job required without breaking a sweat. She could haul hoses up ten stories of stairs, no problem. She was self-sufficient. She knew how to change a tire and fix a leaky faucet. She didn’t need a man. Except maybe for one teeny, tiny thing.

“Ah, Charlie?”

“What?” she snapped.

Clay glanced at their still-joined hands. “Did you want me to leave? Because if you do, I’m going to need that back.”

Damn. She released him instantly. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” He flashed a smile that would send a lesser woman to her knees. “I’ll see you at the ranch.”

The ranch, she thought blankly. Oh, right. He lived there; she boarded her horse there. They would run into each other. “Sure.”

He waved at the two women on the porch. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

They both nodded without speaking. As he strolled away, Charlie saw Michelle and Mrs. Coverson drop their gazes to his butt. Charlie allowed herself a quick look before heading toward the house and a freshly baked brownie.

Sugar was easy, she thought. Deliciousness followed by a blood-sugar spike. But men—not so much. And Clay was worse than most. Because for a split second, when he’d tossed her that last smile, she would have sworn she felt something deep down in her belly.

Not attraction. That was too strong a word. But a flicker. The faintest whisper. The good news was that part of her wasn’t as dead as she’d thought. The bad news was she’d discovered that fact by being in the presence of a butt model with the face of an angel. A man who could have any woman he wanted, simply by asking. Or maybe hinting.

His world was ruled by those who were flawless. She was broken. Maybe not where anyone could see and she’d sure learned how to fake normal. But she knew the truth.

Still, progress had been made. A flicker today, a tingle tomorrow. Give her a millennium or two and she might find her way to being just like everyone else.

* * *

CLAY SECURED THE large screen that was the focal point of his presentation. He’d worked hours on synthesizing the information down to a few easily understood graphs and charts. He had stacks of research to back up every number.