Hard to Resist

CHAPTER ONE



AT 3:00 A.M., MOST of the guys at Fire Station 59 were either asleep or watching a cheesy action movie. But for a few of them around the scarred Formica table, fortunes were being won and lost.

“Remind me—does a straight beat a flush, or is it the other way around?” The one woman at the poker table looked at her two opponents with “innocent” big blue eyes.

Ethan Basque suppressed a groan. Talk about beginner’s luck! He laid his crummy cards face down on the table. “Doesn’t matter, Priscilla. You win again.”

“Not so fast,” Tony objected. “Pris, sweetie, a flush beats a straight. Do you want to make a bet?”

Priscilla checked her cards and worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Okay.” And she pushed all her chips to the center of the table, about twenty bucks’ worth.

Tony groaned. “Forget it. You win.”

Priscilla smiled sweetly and raked the chips to her side of the table. “Maybe next time you’ll let me teach you how to play bridge, instead of insisting on poker.”

Ethan laughed at Priscilla’s sheer audacity. “Soon you’ll be wanting us to drink tea and paint our fingernails.” But the comment had no bite. Though not all of his coworkers would agree, he actually liked having a female around the fire station. He and Tony had made it known that anyone who messed with Pris was messing with them, which hadn’t made them the most popular guys in a place where rookies were already at a disadvantage.

Tony gathered the cards together and shuffled. “My deal. Seven-card stud, this time. I’m getting my money back.”

“If your luck changes.” Priscilla arranged her chips into neat, even stacks.

And then the jolting electronic buzz of an alarm filled the station and abruptly ended the game. Tony dropped the cards on the table and three chairs scraped back as the firefighters headed, without a word, to the pole hole.

Ethan’s gut tightened as it did every time the alarm sounded. So far, as the three newest members of this company, he and his buddies hadn’t faced anything more serious than a smoldering Dumpster, a small kitchen fire and a minor car accident. He’d never even had to stretch hose. But he knew the day they’d trained for was coming, and he anticipated it with both excitement and dread.

Most of the older, more experienced firefighters took the stairs, but the three rookies couldn’t resist using the slick brass pole. Station 59 was one of only three in Dallas that still had poles. Ethan landed with perfect control at the bottom, followed quickly by the other two. Each headed for a different vehicle.

Ethan was first to the ladder truck. He stepped into his pants, which were waiting for him by his assigned station. Then he grabbed his coat. Loaded down with forty-plus pounds of turnout gear, he vaulted into the backseat. The ambulance’s engine fired up first, and Ethan knew Tony—on paramedic duty—was about to roll out. Tony had been a paramedic for a couple of years before he’d applied to Dallas Fire-Rescue. Priscilla was on the engine. She would be their “nozzle man,” on the hose with Otis Granger.

The rest of Ethan’s unit boarded the truck, but none of the others acknowledged him. He, Tony and Priscilla were the “probies,” the rookies, the untried. At this point there was no trust, no camaraderie.

Not yet. Maybe never.

Lieutenant Murph McCrae rode shotgun in the officer’s seat. As a rookie, Ethan’s job was to stick close to McCrae, watch and learn. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except McCrae clearly didn’t want a rookie at his elbow. The rest of his unit consisted of Captain Eric Campeon, the driver, who would be in charge of their rig, and Bing Tate, a thoroughly obnoxious guy who liked to crack filthy jokes in front of Priscilla in a vain effort to embarrass her.

As the engine rolled, they got the word from dispatch. The second alarm had gone out—which meant their wagon was on its way to a fully involved fire. The truck sped through the streets of Dallas’s Oak Cliff section, and Ethan’s heart thundered inside his chest. This was it. He was off to meet the beast—fire.

Fifty-nine wasn’t the first company to arrive at the two-story apartment building, where smoke was pouring out of a lower window. The captain from Station 21, now Incident Commander, was already organizing resources and developing strategy. News traveled in shouts and nervous whispers: People were trapped inside.

“We’re going inside,” the IC bellowed. The firefighters’ assignments streaked through the chain of command.

Three hose units went in through the building’s front door—“stretching heavy.” As he waited in the staging area to get his orders, Ethan watched the hose units. He didn’t see Priscilla among them, and he tried not to worry about her.

“McCrae,” Captain Campeon ordered, “you and the rookie run a ladder up to the second floor, to that window.” He pointed to a dark window at the end of the building, two doors down from the burning unit. “Let the nozzle guys go in first, then follow and initiate a preliminary search-and-rescue.”

Ethan was going in.

As Ethan and McCrae pulled a wall ladder off the truck, McCrae was quiet, calm, focused on his task. His movements were swift but controlled. Ethan ordered himself to adopt the same attitude. No panic, no rushing. Mistakes were made when you rushed.

The hose went up first. Otis Granger, a large African-American man Priscilla was assigned to stick close to, climbed the ladder first, dragging another smaller ladder with him. Priscilla followed with the hose. Her pristine beige coat stood out from the others’, as did Ethan’s. He watched her disappear through the window and said a silent prayer she would be okay.

With his air mask in place, Ethan climbed his first ladder into his first real—post-training—burning building. His knees felt shaky, and every survival instinct he was born with screamed, No. Go back. Run! But the instant he climbed through the window, all those months of training took control. He slowed his breathing so he wouldn’t suck down thirty minutes of air in ten.

All he had to do was follow Murph McCrae. Murph was a cranky old guy, but everyone said he knew his stuff.

Ethan and McCrae did a preliminary search of the first apartment, following the walls counterclockwise as Otis and Priscilla hatcheted their way through the ceiling. Though smoke had already seeped in, Ethan’s flashlight penetrated and visibility was still pretty good. They found no one.

The next apartment was a different story. They chopped a hole through a wall—easier than breaching the locked solid-core door—and stepped in. Smoke met them, pouring through the opening in an opaque cloud. In moments, they were walking into black soup.

“Get down,” McCrae ordered, but Ethan was already dropping to his hands and knees, trying not to think about whether the apartment below was involved; whether the floor beneath him was burning. He proceeded around the room, again counterclockwise, feeling along the walls, keeping the reflective stripes of McCrae’s pants in view at all times.

“I’ve got a victim,” McCrae reported, his voice sounding way too calm in the radio earpiece, and Ethan’s heart pounded inside his chest. His first major fire, and someone’s life might depend on the actions he took in the next few seconds.

“Two victims,” McCrae corrected himself. “Woman and child. And…a cat.” McCrae had made it clear he didn’t like cats.

Ethan quickly crawled forward, finding the victims by feel. “I’ve got the kid,” he said. The tiny girl had a wiggling kitten in her arms, and she wasn’t about to let go. Ethan grasped her by the elbows and started dragging, backing out the way he’d come. The child squirmed and cried, and Ethan recognized the pronounced wheezing of an asthmatic. She fought him every step of the way, but he couldn’t risk swinging her up into his arms. Even a few feet higher, the temperature could be hot enough to singe skin.

“It’s okay, I’m here to help you,” he said over and over.

From a few feet away, he could hear the woman coughing and then gasping out, “My baby… Save my baby…first.”

“I’ve got her,” Ethan yelled, hoping she could hear him through his oxygen mask and over the chaotic noise of rushing water and crackling fire. Hoping there wasn’t a second child somewhere.

“McCrae to Incident Command.” Ethan heard the call go out through his earpiece. “We’ve got two victims, taking them out the window. Requesting assistance.”

“Ten-four.”

Because the girl was so small, Ethan made quick progress with her, half crawling, half duck-walking as he dragged her along the carpet. She stopped struggling and grew frighteningly quiet.

Hold on. Oh, please, little girl, hold on.

Smoke now filled the apartment, though the open window provided some ventilation. Ethan heard shouting and banging above him—Priscilla and Otis battling the blaze, and others on the roof, opening ventilation holes.

When Ethan reached the window with the child, another firefighter was waiting at the top of the ladder. Ethan quickly stood and passed the frail child—who, amazingly, was still clutching the kitten—through the window. Her breathing was labored, but at least she was breathing. Almost as soon as she’d disappeared, another helmet ascended and a pair of gloved hands reached out for the second victim.

Ethan joined McCrae, and together they dragged the woman the rest of the way to the window. Ethan swung her up in his arms, only then getting a glimpse of her blackened face and the tumble of thick, dark hair. Her lids fluttered and she stared up at him, her dark eyes filled with primal fear.

“Samantha?” Her voice was weak.

“We got your little girl. Is she the only one?” Don’t let there be more.

“Yes. Please save her.”

And in those brief seconds, just before he handed her off to another firefighter, Ethan felt a current run between them. Maybe it was just the adrenaline pumping through his body, but it nearly knocked him off his feet.

McCrae punched him in the shoulder and brought him back to his senses. They had more work to do.

They continued their search-and-rescue but found no other victims, alive or dead.

An airhorn penetrated the sound of the fire and rushing water. That was the signal to clear the premises.

“Move!” McCrae boomed. “This building could go any second!”

Ethan retreated the way he’d come in, through the window, with McCrae right behind him. A loud whoosh and a spray of sparks from the roof indicated a collapse at the other end of the structure.

As Ethan hit the ground, he looked back and up, anxious until he saw Priscilla and Otis emerge.

He spotted a few of the building’s residents, in nightclothes or with sheets wrapped around them, staring at the remains of their home with dazed looks on their faces. But the dark-haired woman and her daughter were nowhere to be seen.

They’d probably already gone to the hospital—maybe in Tony’s wagon.

He couldn’t worry about that now. There was lots more work to be done here.

“Basque!” McCrae yelled. “Help me with the ladder.”

For a few seconds, Ethan had forgotten his primary directive—to stick to his senior officer like Velcro. Thankfully McCrae was only a few feet away, and Ethan rejoined him. The aftermath of this fire would consume the rest of his shift. But so would thoughts of a pair of dark, frightened eyes.

* * *

BACK AT THE STATION, Ethan jumped down from the engine and peeled off his grimy turnout gear. He was pleased to see that his coat and pants now looked as filthy as everyone else’s. He would no longer stand out as a rookie.

It was almost 6:00 a.m. Only an hour left in Ethan’s shift. As he hosed off his gear and laid it out to dry, McCrae touched him on the shoulder. “Basque.”

“Yes, sir?” Ethan wondered what he’d done wrong.

McCrae wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You did good out there. You didn’t lose your head.”

A warmth spread through Ethan’s chest. “Thank you, sir.” Later, he would share a private, rowdier celebration with Tony and Pris. But McCrae’s brief praise was a victory.

The rookies had been assigned to this station under conditions that were trying at best. A few months earlier, three men from Station 59 had died in a warehouse fire. The tragedy had sent shock waves through all of Dallas Fire-Rescue—through the entire city, in fact.

If Ethan had heard it once, he’d heard it a dozen times. No one could fill the boots of those three men. Yet that was exactly what the rookies were trying to do. They’d faced undercurrents of resentment, and sometimes outright hostility, since they’d been assigned to the company two weeks ago.

No one wanted them here.

But Ethan would trust Tony and Priscilla with his life any day. He’d trained alongside them. He’d seen how hard they worked every day. He’d watched Pris struggle with the strength training, working hours and hours on her own time climbing ropes, carrying dummies over walls and down ladders. And Tony—well, Ethan and Tony had been watching each other’s backs since they were ten, when a gang of older kids had picked a fight with Tony after school. Ethan hadn’t thought twice—he’d jumped in swinging. And though he and Tony had both gotten the snot beat out of them, they’d become instant best friends.

The three rookies trusted each other, and they would simply have to earn the trust of the others, an inch at a time. This shift, Ethan had moved forward the first inch. He was willing to bet Priscilla had, too.

After showering and changing into clean clothes, Ethan found his two friends in the kitchen. Tony was putting the coffee on so that A shift would have a fresh pot when they arrived.

“Hey, the conquering hero,” Tony said. “Wish I coulda been inside with you guys, instead of on paramedic duty.”

“I can’t believe you saved two people,” Pris said in a whisper.

The woman and the girl. Memories of them rushed back into Ethan’s mind, along with the crazy sensations he’d felt during the rescue—pride in doing his job, along with fear that he’d do something wrong. “McCrae was there, too, don’t forget,” he said. “Have you heard if they’re okay? I looked for them when I came out, but they were gone.”

He’d heard nothing about fatalities, however, so he was hopeful they’d both survived.

“I transported them to Methodist,” Tony said. “The mom was okay. The little girl was struggling a bit with her asthma, but I think she’ll be fine.”

Oh, good. Ethan wasn’t sure how he would have handled it, if his first rescue had ended badly.

“Which reminds me…” Tony said. “I have something to show you.”

Tony walked over to a gym bag that was sitting on the floor, picked it up gingerly and set it on the table, unzipping it in front of Ethan. Inside was the most pathetic-looking kitten Ethan had ever seen, its ears singed, its fur so black with soot that its true color was impossible to tell. Resting on a bed of clean socks, it mewed weakly.

“Can you save it, d’you think?” Tony asked.

Ethan quickly closed the bag. “Are you crazy? If McCrae sees this, he’ll pitch a fit.”

“I couldn’t leave it in the street. You, of all people, should appreciate that.” He turned to Priscilla. “When Ethan and I were kids, he was always dragging home half-dead animals, begging his mom to help save their lives.”

Ethan grinned. True, usually he was the softhearted one who took in strays—animals and people. Tony had been a stray, just one of seven skinny kids in a family with too many mouths to feed. After that first fight, Ethan had taken Tony home, where his mom fussed over both of them, treating their injuries. She insisted Tony stay for dinner—Gloria Basque was even more tenderhearted than Ethan.

Tony had made the Basque house his second home, crashing there whenever things got too intense in his less-than-stable home environment. Sometimes, he’d have a couple of little sisters in tow, and somehow Ethan’s mom stretched her dinner to feed them. She was still taking care of strays, and so was Ethan. He’d learned from the best.

The alarm sounded again. Not a fire this time, but a medical emergency. Tony looked at his watch as he headed out the door. “Another fifteen minutes, and I’d have been out of here.” With his paramedic background, he was much more sanguine about alarms than Ethan and Priscilla were.

Priscilla went to fold up her bedding and stow it in her locker. Ethan hadn’t even made up a bed for that night. Because of the strange environment, the lumpy mattress and a case of nerves, he had a hard time sleeping at the fire station. And frequently, when he did sleep, alarms woke him up—sending adrenaline coursing through his body, even when the call wasn’t for Station 59. He figured he’d get used to it eventually.

Ethan peeked into the gym bag. Clearly, the kitten was scared to death. He stroked its head and it immediately responded. “I’ll take care of you until we can return you to your mom,” he whispered in a voice he never would have used in front of another guy. He smiled, as he realized he now had the perfect excuse to track down the woman and child he’d rescued.

He just wanted to check on the little girl and see whether she’d recovered. That’s what he told himself, anyway. But it was the woman who really intrigued him. Her desperation to save her daughter, the plea in her brown eyes, had gotten under his skin.

* * *

“I’D LIKE TO KEEP Samantha under observation for a few more hours.”

Kathryn Holiday nodded at the resident who was treating her and her seven-year-old daughter for smoke inhalation and she tried to hold it together. Was something wrong with her baby? She seemed okay. Samantha had received two breathing treatments with a nebulizer, which had eased her asthma symptoms considerably. She’d also been treated for some cat scratches on her arms, but they weren’t serious. It was a testament to Samantha’s grit and determination that she hadn’t let go of the panicked kitten when he scratched her.

With a pang of remorse, she wondered where the kitten was now.

The resident, whose name tag identified her as Dr. Shinn, gave Kat a reassuring smile. She’d been good with Samantha. “Your daughter was slightly disoriented when they brought her in. I want to run a couple of tests and make sure she didn’t suffer any lasting ill effects.”

Kat nodded. “Whatever you think is best.” She had health insurance, but it wasn’t a great policy. The deductible was sky-high and she’d probably end up owing thousands, but she couldn’t worry about that. She and Samantha were alive, they weren’t seriously injured; that was what mattered.

A volunteer had scrounged some clothes for Kat—a T-shirt, ill-fitting jeans and a pair of loafers about ready for the trash bin.

Kat had nearly refused. Memories welled up, awful images of the church ladies who used to bring her cast-off clothes and tut-tut at her horrid apartment. But sanity had prevailed. She couldn’t remain barefoot and in a smoke-blackened nightgown.

“We can monitor Samantha in the E.R.,” Dr. Shinn continued. “No need to formally admit her.”

“Can I stay with her?”

“Of course. I’ll see if I can find a cot for you.”

Kat nodded her thanks. Everyone had been so kind—the doctors and nurses, the gorgeous Latino paramedic who could have charmed the stripes off a zebra… And the firemen who’d saved her and Samantha.

One fireman, in particular, who’d lifted her up as if she weighed nothing.

Her thoughts had turned to her personal hero, over and over, during the night’s ordeal. She and Samantha would have succumbed to the smoke in another couple of minutes, if they hadn’t been dragged to safety. She remembered how strong his arms had been as he’d swung her up; how deep and reassuring his voice had been as he’d told her Samantha was safe and everything would be okay. His face had been obscured by an oxygen mask, but he had the kindest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

She had no idea what his name was.

True to her word, the resident found a cot and an orderly dragged it into Samantha’s treatment room. Exhausted and aching from her deep coughing, Kat curled up under a thin blanket, but she didn’t sleep. She listened.

Earlier, Samantha had struggled for every breath. Now, however, she sounded normal and she’d fallen asleep.

Samantha had been so terrified when she’d woken Kat in the middle of the night. The smoke alarm was buzzing, and Kat, who slept like a stone, hadn’t heard it. By then, the apartment was filled with smoke and the sounds of approaching sirens. Every fire-safety tip Kat had ever heard flashed through her mind, but all she could think about was escape. Get to the door. Get out.

They would have gotten out in plenty of time, too, if Samantha hadn’t suddenly remembered Bashira, the stray kitten they’d taken in only a week earlier. Precious minutes had passed as they searched, finally locating the terrified animal under a bed.

By then, the smoke had grown thick and the air hot, and as she’d struggled for breath, Kat had become confused. She encountered walls in unexpected places, then tripped over a chair. She remembered collapsing, hearing Samantha’s terrified cries and groping for her daughter. As the flames danced in her peripheral vision, she remembered praying—not for salvation but that their deaths would be quick.

They’d been so amazingly lucky the firefighters had found them in time. She had to focus on that, rather than on the fact that she’d lost all her material possessions. Things could be replaced.

The door opened and Kat sat up suddenly, realizing she’d been dozing and reliving the fire. She expected to see another nurse or doctor, there to check vital signs. Instead, she saw a tall man with sandy blond hair and almost impossibly wide shoulders standing uncertainly in the doorway. He wore a charcoal gray T-shirt and faded Levi’s, and at first Kat thought he must have entered by mistake.

Then she saw the eyes and she realized this was one of her rescuers, the one she remembered most clearly. Her heart jumped as she got her first good look at him, freshly showered and out of his fireman gear.

“How’s she doing?” the man asked in a low voice, so as not to wake Samantha. She appreciated this courtesy. Samantha had been scared and fretful each time she woke up in this strange place.

“She’s going to be okay.” Kat rose from the cot and gestured toward the hallway. The man opened the door wider to let her exit, then followed. “The smoke triggered an asthma attack, but she responded well to treatment. They’re just keeping her a few more hours as a precaution.”

“And you?” His voice was deep and rich.

“I’m fine.” She would keep saying that until she could manage it without flinching. Though she was grateful that Samantha’s life and hers had been spared, she was anything but fine. Nothing in her life, so far, had prepared her for the disorientation she felt, the sense that she couldn’t look forward but could only live minute-to-minute.

She was homeless. She’d lost her purse, her money and checkbook—all her ID. She might still have a car, but she had no idea where the keys were.

The firefighter guided her to a bench across the hall from the treatment room. “I’m Ethan Basque.”

She shook his hand, which seemed ridiculous, given that he’d held her in his arms only a few hours earlier. She’d been wearing nothing but a thin nightgown. “Kathryn Holiday. Kat. I don’t know how to begin to thank you for saving our lives.”

“It was my job.” But then he grinned, and her heart did a little lurch. It took a special kind of person to do what this man had done, to risk his own life to save those of strangers.

“It’s good of you to check on us. Do you always take a personal interest in people you rescue?”

He shrugged one muscular shoulder. “So far, one hundred percent. You and your daughter are the first people I ever rescued.”

“Really?”

“Your apartment building was my first real fire.” He couldn’t suppress another grin over this admission, which made Kat’s heart give a couple of extra beats.

“You did great,” she said. “All of you did.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more to save your building. But we did save your cat.”

Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise. “Bashira! Oh, poor thing. I had no idea what happened to him.”

“I took him home with me. He’s a little worse for wear, but I think he’ll be okay. Anyway, he’s safe until you get settled some place. Do you have friends or family you can stay with?”

She deflated a bit. “I guess I won’t be going back to my apartment.”

“Not anytime soon. We know how the fire started, by the way. Your downstairs neighbor left a cigar burning.”

“Is he… Did he get out okay?”

Ethan nodded. “Everyone got out. But your apartment is a total loss. I’m sorry.”

She sighed and swallowed back tears. “I guess I knew that.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?” he asked again.

“Yes. They’ll be releasing Samantha soon, and I can stay with a friend until I find my own place.” Kat had already called Deb, her office manager, at work. Deb had offered her a sofa for as long as Kat needed it.

“How about something to eat, then?” Ethan asked.

Kat was tempted. She was beyond stressed out, could hardly think what to do next, and here was this gorgeous guy who was willing to risk his life for perfect strangers, then follow up with still more kindness.

But no, that wasn’t the way to handle her dilemma. Didn’t she constantly counsel her girls on this very subject? Learn to get yourself out of trouble. Don’t expect some guy to rescue you. She had a little money in the bank, and renters’ insurance would cover at least some of her losses. A locksmith could make her new car keys. Visa would send her a new credit card.

“It’s very kind of you to offer, but I have things under control.”

Rather than acknowledge her strength, he gave her a cajoling smile. “Give a guy a break. Let me buy you breakfast.”

She wavered. Her stomach was empty, and she didn’t even have change on her for a vending machine. But then she heard Samantha’s voice. “Mommy?” Then, louder. “Mommy?”

Kat jumped to her feet and lunged for the treatment room. “I’m right here, sweetheart.” She went to Samantha’s bed and ruffled her hair. Her daughter had been washed up pretty well, but she still had a bit of soot in one ear.

“I want to go home,” Samantha said, fighting tears.

“I know. It’s not very much fun here. But the doctors just want to make sure you’re okay, and I do, too.” She didn’t bother to remind Samantha that they didn’t have a home to go to.

Samantha’s face gradually relaxed as Kat rubbed her chest.

“Is she okay?” Ethan asked from the doorway.

Kat started to answer, but Samantha’s eyes widened when she saw him and she gasped in a deep breath. Her sharp scream split the air.

Panic rising in Kat’s throat, she whirled around, her hands locked into fists, and saw only Ethan. Confused, she turned back to Samantha, who was crying and still clearly terrified.

Kat gathered the child against her. “Sam, shhh, it’s okay. What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

Samantha clung to Kat and buried her face in her mother’s shirt. “That man. Make him leave!”