All or Nothing

ALL OR NOTHING The Heroes of Silver Springs 4

Tonya Ramagos

EROTIC ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. ALL OR NOTHING The Heroes of Silver Springs 4 Copyright © 2008 by Tonya Ramagos E-book ISBN: 1-60601-192-8 First E-book Publication: September 2008 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

DEDICATION To Debby, critic partner, friend, mom. Thanks for always being there.

ALL OR NOTHING The Heroes of Silver Springs 4 Tonya Ramagos Copyright © 2008

Chapter 1 Bailey Lamont was trapped. She turned in a slow circle, her gaze searching through the face shield of her helmet, and saw only flames. The fire surrounded her on all sides, a blazing wall almost thigh high and climbing. How had it gotten out of control so fast? She tried to look over it, past it, but couldn't find an end. There should be an end. This was a secondary fire, a smaller product of the main fire several feet away, sparked by flying embers, but there had been space between the two, space that was gone now. She saw the flames lean against the wind and she knew. The wind had picked up, pushing the flames, merging them until all fell pray to their devastating destruction. "933 to 900," she said into the lip mic of the radio inside her helmet, using her identifying call number and that of the captain to make contact. "Copy 933." Silver Springs Fire Department B shift Captain Dean Wolcott's authoritative voice came almost instantly back. "I've got a problem here, sir," Bailey admitted, still turning in that slow circle, her gaze searching for a way out. Sweat beaded across her shoulder blades, sliding down her spine, chilling trickles amongst all the heat. A band tightened in her chest, squeezing at her heart, making it beat more rapidly out of control. No openings. Only flames.

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Closing in. Space getting smaller. No! She shook her head vehemently. Stop it. Don't think about that. "I don't think this swatter I'm holding is going to get me out of this one," she told the captain and the knowledge brought ice to her veins. The swatter—also known as a fire flap—in question was little more than a large rubber shovel, a 12 inch by 15 inch piece of reinforced rubber belt stock bolted to a bracket on a long handle. On a call such as this, where a sizeable area of brush burned with smaller fires sparking some distance from the main threat, fire flaps were often used to beat at and smother the flames of those smaller fires, containing and extinguish them, leaving the hose teams available for the main monster. Bailey's small fire, however, had morphed into a monster all its own and she was stuck smack dab in the middle. "What's your position?" the captain asked. Bailey focused on the job, on the question. Hmm. It was a good question. She supposed on her feet in the center of a ring of fire among who knew how many others in this area of the brush wasn't quite the answer her captain looked for. She doubted it was the answer that would save her tail either. On the other hand, she didn't exactly know for sure what more she could tell him. She knew she stood several yards from what had begun as the main threat, from the hose teams sent in to confront the blaze, from the street where the captain had stationed himself with the trucks in a position of command. She also knew her work prior to becoming cornered had taken her even farther away from her coworkers, deeper into this burning wood. But how far and in what direction? She pulled up the sleeve of her turnout coat, fumbled with the edge of her glove to peer at the wristwatch hidden inside. It was a sturdy watch probably more suitable for a man given its wide cloth band and large round face. It also had a built-in compass, the tiny pokey hand currently pointing almost dead on the tiny E. East. That was a start. She looked up, frowning at the halo of blue sky she could see through the ring of flames and smoke. There had to be something in this patch of wood she could use as a marker, something she could tell the captain and the others to use to find her.

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A bird flew over, way in the distance. Brave little guy given the amount of smoke drifting toward him. The smoke had begun to form a cloud resembling Elmer Fudd in his sporting attire as he proclaimed, "I'm hunting rabbits" and Bailey smiled. Elmer shifted with the next gust of wind and morphed into Elmer's head on top of the Flintstone mobile. No, Bailey decided, neither the cloud nor the long gone bird would be of any help to pinpoint her location. Then she spotted the cell phone tower—at least she thought it was a cell tower—through the haze. She'd always been good at estimating distances and figured that tower was a good two or three hundred yards east of her current location. Bailey radioed that information to the captain and waited. It was the waiting that proved to be the worst. It was as she waited that she had time to think, to speculate, to let the fear manifest once more. Trapped. No way out. Space getting smaller. Closing in. "Breathe," she whispered and forced her body to obey the word. "Slow, deep breaths. Stay calm. Don't focus on the fear, focus on the light." She repeated the words over and over in her head, a familiar mantra she'd developed to fight back against the claustrophobia that plagued her. "Lamont, do you see a way out?" the captain's voice was a welcome baritone in her ear, a new place to focus. "Negative." Her own voice sounded surprisingly strong and steady. "It's got me surrounded, sir. I would try to run through it, but I don't know how thick it is. I can't tell where it ends." If it were only a short distance, her bunker pants could withstand the heat of the flames, but it was a risk, one the captain obviously didn't want her to take. "No. Don't try it. This ground is too dry. It's sparking like a tender box. This damn wind…It's just too risky. Graham, can you pinpoint Lamont's location?" "Got her, sir," Jason Graham answered. "Hang tight, Lamont." Bailey turned in the increasingly shrinking circle, thinking it would help to have something to hang tight to, thinking of Tripp, holding onto Tripp. God, she wanted Tripp. Thinking of her parents—her real parents. Was this how they had felt, John and Annie Morris, just before they died? Was this

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how she'd felt as a two year old, huddled in the corner of the standup shower, the house ablaze around her? For just a moment, her vision blurred and she saw herself, the way she must have looked so many years ago, a terrified little girl curled in a ball, shrinking back from the flames that licked the air around her. She felt the fear, felt the tears as they slid down her cheeks, heating on her skin, felt her knees begin to buckle before she snapped back to reality. Not now. That wasn't happening now. She was an adult now, a firefighter herself instead of that helpless little girl waiting to be rescued by one. She was strong, able to defend herself, able to rescue herself. Okay, at least able to aid in her own rescue as the case was. Bailey hefted the fire flap, brought it down hard on a section of the flames in front of her, smothering them into the ground. She lifted it again, repeating the process all the while stilling her determination to remain strong, not to cower in the face of her fears, to do her job as she'd been trained to do. A particularly forceful gust of wind kicked up and burning embers glittered the smoky haze. Her wrist erupted in a fireball of pain and she shrieked, jerking her hand back, dropping the swatter to slap at her wrist with her other hand. "Lamont?" Alarm rang in the captain's voice. "What's happening? Are you all right?" "I'm fine." Bailey gasped even as she bit back a string of profanity the likes of which none of her fellow firefighters had ever heard her say. She had to bend her knees and sink to the ground to pick up the fallen swatter rather than bending over to get it. She stood that close to the flames now. She glanced at her wrist. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She hadn't properly covered her skin after checking her watch, hadn't even noticed she'd left it exposed. She noticed it now, though. The black and red welts of charred flesh made it impossible not to, as did the fiery daggers of pain. "I've got her, Cap." Jason Graham said again and this time he did have her. Water gushed over the flames, dousing a path out of her own personal hell. Bailey cradled her injured wrist close to her chest and dashed through it.

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**** Tripp Barrett put his foot on the gas pedal and floored it. He was ten minutes from the hospital, less if he ignored stop signs and traffic lights. The thought had him reaching for the toggle switch that powered the red and clear light bar on top of the cab of his truck. He didn't have a siren, but the horn would suffice as a substitution if needed. "She's okay," Benjamin Lamont said from the passenger’s seat. The elderly man seemed as though he were trying to reassure himself of that fact as much as Tripp. "She sounded okay over that radio of yours, calm, steady. I didn't hear any panic in her voice." No, but she'd shrieked. Painfully. And the EMTs on scene, Cory Nox and Terri Vega, had taken Bailey to the hospital. Tripp knew Cory and Terri. He worked with them for years, knew both were top EMTs, and if they thought Bailey needed to be looked at by a doctor, then she was injured. Bad. "She's learned to handle herself," Ben continued. "Learned to battle the fears, to cope with them, with the past. I have you to thank for that. Helping her, being there for her. It should have been her mother and me. Instead Marge and I…." He broke off, shook his head. "You did what you thought was right," Tripp told him. He didn't do more than glance at the man beside him. At the speed he drove, it was best to keep his eyes on the road. But he did dare a quick glance. Benjamin Lamont sat ramrod straight in the passenger’s seat, his gaze fixed on the road, his wrinkled hands balled into tight fists on his lap. "And Bailey doesn't blame you for it. Either of you." Benjamin nodded. "Yeah, I know. She's a great girl that way." "You raised an amazing woman," Tripp both corrected and consoled. "And yes, she's come a long way in dealing with the claustrophobia, with the nightmares, with the past. She's doing real well. She's a helluva firefighter. Good thing for me that she is too, or I might be dead right now." Less than four months ago, Tripp had been the one riding in the back of the rescue truck being rushed to the hospital after a metal shelving collapsed in a house fire, pinning him to the floor beneath it. Tripp had suffered severe back injury and nerve damage because of the accident, leaving him in rehab and taking him out of the action as B shift's Lieutenant on the Silver Spring's

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Fire Department. Bailey had been second on the hose team with him during that call. She was the one to hold off the flames while reinforcements could get in and get him out. And despite being suddenly alone in a dark, smoky place that had to have felt as though it were closing in on her, all things that triggered claustrophobia in a person, she hadn't freaked out. She kept her head, and saved his life. Tripp whipped the truck into the hospital parking lot, squealing to a stop in the fire lane. He cut the engine and rounded the front of the truck before Benjamin Lamont was out of the passenger’s seat. "Forgot your cane," the elderly man called after Tripp as he slammed the truck door. "I don't need it," Tripp shot over his shoulder, pausing in his stride for the briefest of seconds as the huge glass doors to the emergency room slid open. He needed to move faster than that blasted cane would allow. These days, it had become more of a hindrance to him, anyway. Tripp had made remarkable progress in his recovery since the accident. For a man whom the doctors had been concerned would never walk again without at least the aid of a cane, he thought he was doing dammed well. Oh, he wasn't back to full speed and yeah, it was possible he never would be again. But he could walk with minimal pain and muscle spasms and, as long as he was careful not to move too quickly, without the aid of that dammed cane. Of course right now, he wasn't being careful one little bit. Right now, he had to get to Bailey. "The captain figured you would be on your way," HAZMAT engineer Max Jasper greeted him just inside the emergency room doors. "You made good time." "Where is she?" Tripp demanded, in no mood for small talk or niceties. "This way, sir." Jasper turned and began leading Tripp to a set of double doors with a sign Emergency Personnel Only posted over two small windows, one in each door. He shot Benjamin Lamont a look, extended his hand. "You must be Bailey's father. I'm Max Jasper. Nice to meet you, sir." "How bad is she hurt?" Tripp asked as they pushed through the swinging doors. Captain Dean Wolcott sat in a chair along the wall at the far end of the long hall, but he stood when he spotted Tripp, no doubt bracing himself for the shit storm he sensed tearing down the hall toward him.

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Tripp tried to see himself through the other man's eyes and knew he probably looked like Rambo on a mission striding toward the captain right now. Not that Tripp looked anything like Rambo. No, with his Texas heritage, he more resembled the Marlboro Man than any Sylvester Stallone wannabe. "Not bad," Max Jasper answered, easily keeping stride beside him. Benjamin Lamont had fallen back but only a step or two. "At least I don't think it's bad. I honestly don't know. The captain sent me out there to wait for you." "She's okay," Dean Wolcott confirmed when Tripp was still several feet from reaching him. "The doctor is in with her now." He cocked his head at the closed door to the examining room behind him. "Her wrist is burned, second degree, I think. It's made worse by the fact that the watch she was wearing caught a fraction of the blaze. Part of the band melted to her skin." Tripp winced, his heart pounding double time in his chest as he forced himself to listen over the roar in his ears. Burned. Second degree. Ouch! It could've been worse. Far worse. He knew that and yet…. "How in the hell did she manage to get trapped out there?" he asked his captain and friend. Dean sighed and shook his head. "The wind picked up. We were unprepared for it. The fire got away from us for a time. The guys quickly got it back under control, but not before the main fire merged with the smaller one Lamont was fighting. Nobody saw it coming, Tripp. Least of all Bailey. She did great out there. They all did." "Can we see her?" Benjamin Lamont stepped around Tripp now. His need to see for himself that his daughter was indeed safe was almost palpable. "You said the doctor is with her now?" "Yes, sir. It's good to see you again, Mr. Lamont. I'm sorry it has to be under such circumstances." The captain shook the elder man's hand. "The doctor is with her, but seeing as you're her father, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined them." Benjamin shot Tripp a glance and Tripp nodded. "You go ahead. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. I'll come in, in a few minutes. I have some things to, uh, discuss with the captain."

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The elderly man nodded, knocked once on the closed door, then slowly pushed it open, a wide smile unfolding across his face as he disappeared inside. "Good call, Lieutenant," Dean said softly as Bailey's father closed the door to the examining room. "Take a couple of minutes to calm down, get your bearings before you face Lamont." Tripp stared at him. What did Dean think? That he would bust into the hospital room, snatch Bailey around the waist, throw her over his shoulder like a cave man, and march her out of the building? Take her home, perhaps, where she would forever be safe and never let her out again? Okay, so maybe the idea wasn't so far fetched. But, no. No matter how appealing the thought of shielding Bailey Lamont from all the dangers of the world, he knew better than to even try. Forget that she would never let him in the first place. She was far too strong, too hardheaded and self-motivated to ever let anyone shelter her. Though, try as he might not to, he still often caught himself attempting to protect her. "What's the latest on the brush fire?" Tripp chose to ignore the man's comment. "Is it out or have you had to call for reinforcements?"

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Chapter 2 Bailey's gaze was trained on the examining room door when it slowly crept open and her father stepped inside. His face lit up in an instant, worry morphing to relief and then joy on his heavily wrinkled but still handsome face. She felt her lips curve into a smile as she met his gaze. "Dad, how did you…?" Know, she was going to ask, but as the door slowly closed behind her father, she caught a brief glimpse of her answer. Tripp was outside in the hall. Something that felt a lot like the joy she saw on her father's face slid through her. Or maybe it was something more kin to comfort than joy. Either way, it felt remarkably good to know the two men she loved most in her life were there for her. "Tripp was at the house helping me sort through and clean out some more of the debris left from the storm. We've hauled most of it away already, but there's still several piles near the edge of the property to go." Her father gave the doctor a slight nod in greeting as he pulled a chair closer to the examining table and sat. "Not much longer and we should have the place looking good again." Her parents’ house, thanks to a tornado that had been the product of the category three hurricane that rocked Silver Springs and much of the Gulf Coast region mere months before, had been completely destroyed. Nearly everything her parents owned, all they'd accumulated and worked for in their thirty-plus years of marriage, gone. Just like that. It still amazed Bailey to think about it. Her own house, a cute little one-bedroom cottage positioned far back on the same property as her parents’ house, had survived the storm miraculously untouched. Yet another amazing occurrence. In a shift similar to a game of musical houses, Bailey vacated the cottage, moving in with Tripp Barrett, so that her parents could have her place until they had a new house of their own built. It worked out perfectly

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given that Tripp sustained a serious injury in the aftermath of the storm and really hadn't needed to be alone. It was an injury he was still recovering from even months later and… "Tripp has no business out there hauling heavy branches and boards and God knows what else. Dad, you know that." She didn't mean to sound quite so indignant, but she couldn't help it. A back injury could be so tricky. One wrong move and Tripp could be paralyzed. "He wasn't lifting anything he couldn't handle." He father shook his head, amusement lighting his face. "You two do worry about each other. I've been waiting your whole life for you to find someone to care about that much. I'm glad it's him." "Yikes!" Bailey's eyes brimmed with tears and she couldn't honestly say if they were a product of her father's heartfelt words or the pain in her wrist. She decided to go with the latter because addressing the physical pain was a lot easier than talking with her father about her relationship with Tripp. "My apologies," the doctor, a fellow by the name of M. Boyker, said as he released her wrist, gently letting it rest on the examining tray he'd pulled over the table. "I'm going to have my nurse come in here now and bandage this for you." "How bad is it, Doctor?" her father asked. Bailey didn't listen to the doctor's response, her attention caught instead by the faint conversation in the hall. Even at such a low decibel, she easily recognized the smooth baritone voice of Captain Dean Wolcott and Tripp's lazy Texas drawl. It was the words she heard, however, that made her stomach sink. "It will be good to have you back, light duty or not," the captain was saying. Tripp laughed softly. "You can count me in for the next rotation and rest assure the light duty won't last long." A slight tug on her arm drew Bailey's attention back to the doctor and her father. "—some slight scaring," the doctor said. "Most will fade in time." Bailey glanced down at her wrist, at the red blotchy area that had once been smooth, tanned flesh, and felt her stomach rise back up. It did a slow turn that had bile swimming into her throat and she quickly looked away, swallowing profusely.

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Her father chuckled and shook his head. "She walks through the fires of hell without batting an eye, her head held high, but the sight of a little blood makes her squeamish." Blood? Was her wrist really bleeding? She hadn't noticed that. And yes, now she was decidedly feeling less than peachy. She'd never been able to handle the sight of blood. Girl or not, she was as tough as the next guy and worked her ass off everyday to prove it when necessary, but when it came to blood, she simply couldn't hold her stomach. "The bandage will need to be changed often," the doctor said, obviously speaking to her now. "And I'm going to give you a salve that will need to be rubbed on the wound. Do you have someone at home who can do that for you? Someone with a slightly stronger stomach, perhaps?" Oh hardy har har. Now her doctor was auditioning for a place on Last Comic Standing and wouldn't you know he'd choose now to make a career change? "I can do it for her, and I assure you, it takes quite a lot to gross me out." Bailey whipped her head toward the door at the sound of Tripp's voice. She hadn't heard him come in. He let the door close by itself as he stepped farther into the room, his gaze slowly sliding over her, inspecting her. She knew he looked for scrapes, scratches, bruises, and any other injury she may have sustained in addition to the burn on her wrist. Still, that gaze, as business-like as it was, ignited a fire inside her hotter than the brush fire that had burned her. Oh, baby, she both loved and hated it when he looked at her that way. How dare he turn her on with a glance in a place where she had no choice but to sit there and boil rather than jump his bones like she wanted? And suddenly, despite the growing sense of impending doom that began moments ago when she'd overheard his conversation in the hall, all she could think of was getting out of this hospital and into bed. Tripp's bed. **** "How long do you think it's going to take?" Trip glanced at Bailey, his gaze immediately going to the bandage on her left wrist. Despite what he'd told the doctor about not grossing out easily, he felt sick every time he remembered how bad that wound looked

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beneath all that cotton and gauze. He looked back at the road in time to see the traffic light ahead change from green to yellow and took his foot off the gas. "The doctor said it would only take a few weeks, maybe a month before most of the healing is done," he told her. The light turned red and he pressed the brake, waited for the truck to come to a full stop before he turned to look at her again. "But you heard him, right? It will take longer than a month for it to heal completely and it could take a year or more before the scaring starts to fade." "Yeah, I know. I heard him." Bailey sighed and shook her head. "But that wasn't what I was talking about. I meant, how long do you think it's going to take for this block of tension to break between my parents and me? It's been months and I thought that by now, we would be getting back to normal, back to….But we aren't. God, I wish I had never found those files. I wish I had never told them that I found them." The files that revealed Bailey Lamont had been adopted at the age of two by Benjamin and Margaret Lamont. Files that were subsequently destroyed along with everything else Ben and Marge owned in the tornado spawned by Hurricane Emilio. Files Bailey had confronted Ben and Marge about only to discover her biological parents had burned alive in a house fire, leaving Bailey in the care of an orphanage until Ben and Marge Lamont adopted her some months later. "You did what you had to do," Tripp told her. He wanted to reach for her but the confines of the truck coupled with her injured wrist between them made it impossible, so he kept his hands on the wheel instead. He would hold her when they got home. Surely, he could wait that long. Couldn't he? The light changed and he punched the gas a bit harder than he intended, causing the truck to lurch before smoothing out to a steadily increasing speed. Yeah, he could wait, provided he got them home as quickly as possible. "You needed to know the truth," he continued and actually had to force himself to let off the gas a little. Getting stopped for speeding would only delay their arrival that much longer. "It has helped you to know. It helped you to pin down the cause of your claustrophobia, of the nightmares, and

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you can't deny that knowing the cause has also helped you to learn to cope with them and overcome them." "No, I can't." Bailey admitted with a sigh. "I guess I just wish that Mom and Dad didn't feel so guilty. I mean, they obviously do and they've apologized. We've talked about it, about why they hid the truth from me, why they thought it best I never know my real parents were murdered so horrifically." "And you've forgiven them." Tripp slowed the truck as he turned onto his street, careful not to make the turn too sharply and jostle Bailey's wrist. "They know you don't blame them or harbor any ill feelings toward them." "So if I have forgiven them and they understand that I understand and really did need to know, why are the three of us still walking on egg shells around each other? You saw Mom when she got to the hospital. Geezus, she acted almost like she was afraid to walk into the examining room, like I wouldn't want her there or something." Tripp didn't say anything. He pulled the truck into the drive, turned off the ignition, and got out, pocketing the keys as he walked around the front of the truck to help Bailey out. Bailey, of course, didn't need any help, though, and met him at the front fender already making her way to the house. "I think," he made an about face, shifting to get ahead of her, so he could open the front door, "that it's going to take some time. How long? I honestly don't know. Your parents, Ben and Marge, hid a secret, a huge secret from you for close to twenty-eight years. They had that long to bury the truth in their minds." "Then suddenly, I come along doing my detective girl Friday thing while they're out of town and dig up that twenty-eight year old truth they never wanted me to know," Bailey interjected. Tripp stepped aside, letting her enter the house first. "Yeah, well, that's my point. While they had twenty-eight years to get used to the idea of hiding the truth, they've had way less time to get used to the fact that now you know. I don't think you'll have to give them another twenty-eight years to come around to the new way of thinking, you know, to come to terms with the fact that now you know they aren't really your parents, but it's going to take a bit longer than a few months."

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Tripp moved inside behind her, closing and locking the door. "Spending more time with them would definitely help," he told her as they both kicked off their boots on the rug beside the door. Bailey had a bit more difficulty removing her tightly laced boots given she was essentially one handed now and he knelt to help her as he continued. "You haven't been able to see them much since you found out the truth, what with the hurricane and all. Then there is me." He finished untying her boots, helped her slip her feet free, and then slowly stood. "Whatever free time you've managed to squeeze has been spent with me." Bailey's uninjured hand drifted to his shoulder and she smiled up into his eyes. "I like that my free time is spent with you." "What? Did I sound like I was complaining because, trust me, I'm definitely not." His arms found their way around her waist and he pulled her to him, careful not to squeeze her injured wrist between their bodies and, God, yes, finally he could hold her. "Tripp." She half sighed, half whispered his name as the hand on his shoulder snaked around his neck, her fingers reaching to bury themselves in the back of his hair. Tripp lowered his head but only to rest his forehead on hers as he gazed into her eyes. Too close. He'd come way too close to losing her today. They needed to talk. There were things he needed to tell her, things they needed to discuss. He'd sworn he would never procrastinate about the important stuff, never keep anything from her any longer then he had to. She'd done it to him, keeping secret things about her claustrophobia, about her career, about her feelings for him, and he'd been both hurt and pissed when the truth came out. He didn't want to do the same to her. "Bailey," he began, but she lifted her chin, tilting her head back, her mouth up, her lips brushing his. He was hers, always would be. He loved her with all his heart and soul and he would do anything to keep her. Anything! He opened his mouth for her, inviting her inside, tingles of explosive pleasure rocketing through him when she accepted. Her tongue was like warm satin gliding between his lips, tangling with his own tongue in a dance as old as mankind and still oddly new for them. Every time he kissed this woman was like the first time, a sensory overload of emotions that made him want to devour her, made him want to step back and get his bearings, made him completely unable to decide which was right.

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Her hand was in his hair. God, he loved it when she played with his hair. His hands were doing things he knew she liked too, one slowly moving up and down her spine as the other slid lower to cup and caress her ass. She moaned, a soft, approving, heated sound, and she angled her head to kiss him harder. Geezus, was she trying to reach his tonsils with this one? Oh, he hoped so. She abandoned the playground of his hair to slide her hand between their bodies, find the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers fumbled with the button, and his cock, already painfully hard behind the zipper, began a happy dance of its own. She growled in frustration—apparently having trouble freeing the button one handed—and started to laugh even as he continued to kiss her, to explore the depths of her incredibly sweet tasting mouth, but then she winced and he immediately broke the kiss. "Are you okay? What happened? Oh, God, I hurt you." What the hell was he doing? She was injured and he attempted to nail her to the freaking wall! Well, okay, in his defense there were still several inches of space between her back and the foyer wall, but there wouldn't have been if that kiss had continued. Geezus, if he hadn't hurt her. What was he doing? "No, Tripp. It's my fault." Her words were breathy but rapid fire as she attempted to shift the blame. "I forgot for a second. You know, that my wrist is out of action. You make it hard for me to think straight." "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you. We shouldn't be doing this right now." Tripp tried to step back from her, but her fingers had moved inside the waistband of his pants and she latched onto the material, keeping him from moving away. One thing about it, the woman was strong. "I kissed you," she told him in that matter-of-fact tone she had that left no room for argument. "And if you think I'm going to wait weeks, or Christ, months for this wrist to heal before I kiss you again, you are so delusional, Mr. Barrett." Tripp had to laugh at that. How could he not? The woman's ferocity when it came to being with him, making love to him, filled him with so much happiness and light it was almost too much. Almost. But right now the sensible part of him, the brain in the head on his shoulders that was, knew they both needed to step back from this. "Are you hungry?" He quickly changed the subject in hopes it would serve as a proverbial cold shower for them both because, damn, even

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stopping to talk this way, he still felt the heat radiating from her. She was always fire in his arms and now was no exception. "Let's go into the kitchen. I'll fix you something to eat and then you should rest, lie down for a while." Her eyes sparkled with mischief, amusement, and something else, something he couldn't quite name as she gazed up at him. A small smile toyed with the corners of her lips when she said, "I am hungry, but there's nothing in the kitchen I want to eat. And as far as resting, lying down, well, unless your intention is to try out the kitchen table, you should probably revise your plan. Although, you know, I've heard of making love on a bed of rose pedals. I wonder if making love on a table of puzzles pieces would have the same effect. What do you think? Wanna give that one a try? It does have a bit of a kinky ring to it." Puzzle pieces. Yeah, the kitchen table was covered in pieces from their latest puzzle. Over five thousand of them to be exact. Bailey loved to put together puzzles. The walls of her little cottage were covered in ones she'd completed and glued to preserve over the years. Tripp had never cared for puzzles himself. Not until Bailey moved in. They'd spent quite a bit of time in the last months at the kitchen table putting together first one and then another, and surprisingly enough, he'd found himself having fun. Of course, any time he spent with Bailey was fun. But sex on a table of puzzle pieces….As oddly erotically alluring as the idea sounded, he figured they should pass on that one. At the very least, save it for a time when neither of them was injured. Bailey's hand moved to his cheek and all hint of a smile vanished. "I need you, Tripp. Right here, right now. I need to be with you, to make love to you. I need you to hold me. Please." And what could he say to that? Sorry, baby, but we have to talk first? Not hardly. He gazed into her eyes and he knew what that something else was that he'd seen behind the mischief and amusement. It was despair, fear. She'd been far more afraid by what happened to her on that brush fire today than she'd wanted him to know. He understood. He'd been there. Right now, what she needed was to feel alive. She needed to know that she wasn't alone, that she wasn't hurt—at least not in a permanent, debilitating way—that she was indeed still alive, safe and loved. As he realized all of this, another light dawned. This intense need to hold her that he'd been feeling since he walked into that hospital examining

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room wasn't the same need he'd grown accustomed to when it came to this woman. No, this was more. Way more. He too needed reassurance she was alive, safe, and here with him. Tripp smiled, nodded, and kissed her. The talking portion of the day would just have to wait.

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Chapter 3 Tripp kissed her and Bailey melted in his arms. Yes, this was what she wanted, what she needed. She let her fingers return to the waistband of his jeans, went back to fumbling with the button. Dammit! It shouldn't be so hard to unfasten. Finally, she gave up and simply slipped her hand inside his pants. She found his cock hard and ready and when she managed to wrap her fingers around his shaft, the sound he made was pure heaven. But his pants were too tight for her to explore the way she wanted to and she couldn't get to his cock, to stroke his shaft the way she wanted to in this position. "Help me," she all but growled the words as she wrenched her mouth from his. "I can't get it undone." He laughed. Laughed! Damn him. But instead of helping her, he caught her arm, pulling it from his pants. "I'll help but," he stopped and shook his head, "I'm trying to figure out how we're going to do this. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you. Your wrist…" "I'll put it above my head," she said quickly. He released her arm and she went for the button of her own jeans instead. Wouldn't you know it? That button all but fell off in her fingers. Why wouldn't his do that? "You can even tie my fingers to the headboard if you want." She yanked on the zipper and wiggled her jeans down over her hips, let them fall to her ankles and stepped out of them. "Bailey." He was laughing at her now. God, she loved the sound of his laughter. It was something else she needed right now, to keep this moment light, fun. "I understand that you don't want to hurt me." She glanced down at the pullover SSFD uniform t-shirt she wore. Okay, how would she manage this one? "I assure you that not touching me, not making love to me, not unfastening your freaking jeans for me, so I can really feel you, is killing

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me. And while you're at it, you can help me figure out how I'm going to get out of this dammed shirt, short of ripping it to shreds." Tripp reached for her again, this time taking her hand in his and pulling her toward the bedroom. His house was a one-bedroom loft, the bedroom at the top of a long hardwood staircase. He led her up those stairs, taking each step slowly, reminding her with each step of the injury to his back, of the brief conversation she'd heard between him and the captain back at the hospital. He moved well these days, with rarely a limp of any kind, with or without his cane. Had she heard him right? Was he planning to return to the fire department? The chilling sense of impending doom returned, threatening to kill the light, fun mood she'd attempted to put on this moment, but just as quickly, it fled as they reached the top of the stairs and Tripp walked her to the edge of his bed. He turned her to face him, his hands moving to her waist and inching their way up under her t-shirt, and she forgot all about conversations, about careers, about everything, except the amazing feel of his work-roughened hands on the smooth bare flesh of her sides, her rib cage, her breasts. God, yes! When his hands cupped her breasts, she felt so giddy from the pleasure that she actually laughed. Her laughter lasted only seconds, though, because he pushed her bra and shirt above her breasts, leaned in, sucked one already taut nipple between his lips and, sweet baby Jesus, her knees went weak. He caught her, his arm encircling her waist, but not before her legs buckled and she sat down on the edge of the bed. It caught him off balance, her going down, and he went down with her, on top of her as they fell back together on the mattress laughing. Tripp was instantly contrite. He lifted his upper body to rest on one hand beside her and gazed down at her, worry and fear swirling with the heat and desire in his grayish-blue eyes. "Oh, God, did I hurt you? You're arm….Are you okay?" "I'm fine," Bailey assured him, still laughing. "My arm is fine. We're okay. Better than okay. Do it again."

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"Do it again, huh?" His gaze turned the consistency of molten lava as he glanced down at her exposed breasts, licked his lips, and then met her eyes once more. "Don't look at me like that unless you intend to kiss me," she warned, completely unable to keep herself from squirming beneath him. In truth, she loved when he looked at her that way, like she were his princess, his heart, his smorgasbord of delightfully tasty treats just waiting to be devoured. "You mean like this?" His mouth lowered to hers, his lips brushing hers in a featherlike caress. "Or this?" He outlined her slightly parted lips with the tip of his tongue, then licked his way over her jaw, her chin, down her throat. "Or would you rather me kiss you like this?" He moved lower still, bending his head until, yes, once again his lips closed around her nipple. "Yes. Yes!" Bailey cried out as he gently nipped the tip of her engorged nipple with his teeth, then lightly soothed with a lick of his tongue. He alternated from a tender bite to a soothing lick, until she writhed beneath him, her back arched, the fingers of her uninjured hand digging into the sheets on the mattress at her side. "Tripp, please!" Flames erupted between her legs, her pussy burning to be touched, to be entered, dear God, to be fucked. She wanted him inside her, needed him inside her. And he still had on his freaking jeans! She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back, and lifting her heat to his crotch. Her panties were little more than a thin strip of satin, soaking wet satin thanks to the juice-flowing things he was doing to her breasts, and they did nothing to protect her sensitive folds from the roughness of his denim jeans. She rubbed herself against him, creating a friction that had her spiraling to the edge of release. "Tripp, I'm going to—" "No, you're not." He let her nipple fall from his mouth as he lifted his head to look at her. His eyes blazed with the same heat she felt coursing through her entire body. "Hold it back. Don't cum yet. Not until I'm inside you." "Then you better get inside me fast because I'm not sure how much longer I can wait before I explode." He moved off of her, shedding his shirt, his pants in record time. She didn't think she'd ever been so grateful that he preferred to go commando. It

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was fewer clothes for him to take off now. He reached in the bedside table drawer, removed a condom, and covered himself, protecting them both. But he didn't throw himself down on top of her and slam his cock inside her eagerly awaiting pussy as she hoped. No, instead he just stood there looking down at her, that heat in his eyes taking on more intensity than she'd ever witnessed in any fire. "Damn, you're beautiful," he whispered, almost in awe. Bailey pointedly let her gaze slide over his broad shoulders, his slightly hairy chest, down his washboard abs and flat stomach. When she reached his cock, large and long and standing at full attention against his body, she let her gaze linger for a long time before she slowly met his eyes again. "Damn," she whispered. "So are you." He laughed, a short burst of fiery sound, but still he didn't move. "You're killing me again," she told him in a singsong voice. But that was okay because she knew how to kill back. She lifted her hand, touched the inside of her knee, let one finger trickle down the inner side of her leg, her thigh, lower. He watched her, his expression riveted, his breath growing more rapid the closer her finger got to her pussy. When she traced the outside of her pussy lips with that finger, she heard him make a low sound in his throat suspiciously like a growl and she laughed. It got the response she was looking for. Thank you, Jesus. He climbed between her legs and then, oh baby, he was inside her. He needed no guidance or finesse. With one skilled, practiced move, he thrust inside her awaiting heat, ramming himself all the way to the hilt. Bailey cried out at the penetration of his cock, hard and thick, spreading her tight, slick hole. He filled her to the point of bursting and, holy mackerel, it felt so amazingly fantastic that dying from the sheer bliss of it seemed a real possibility. He knew she liked it fast and hard and he gave it to her, thrusting inside her so deeply, he reached the end of her womb, pulling out until only the head of his dick was still inside her opening before plunging in again. "Geezus, Bailey," he growled. His face was buried in her hair and he spoke in her ear, kissed her there, licked her there as he continued to pound his cock inside her, as he continued to fuck her just the way she liked. And she was almost there.

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She dug her heels in the mattress, lifting her hips to him with every inward plunge, driving his cock deeper still, grinding her clit against his body. Almost there. He reached between their bodies, finding her breast with his hand, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a measured squeeze that was just this side of pain and a rapture of electric sparks sizzled in a current straight to her pussy. Almost there. "Cum for me, Bailey," he grunted in her ear. "Let me hear you when you cum for me. I want to know how good it feels, how much you like it. I want to know that you’re alive, baby." That did it. Bailey exploded in a rush of light and screams and spasms that left her feeling delirious and on the edge of insanity. Somewhere amongst it all, she heard Tripp cry out with his own release, his scream nearly as loud as hers. Minutes that felt like hours passed, neither of them able to move, only to breathe as their hearts beat rapidly as one and finally began to slow. It was Tripp who managed to gain control of his limbs first, lifting his head to look down at her, his eyes heavy lidded, his lips titled in a goofy and all too satisfied grin. "We should probably talk to Dean about the employee life insurance policy." Bailey stared at him, his words incomprehensible at first. But then her brain slowly slipped into the correct gear and all the synapses were firing once again. "Because we're bound to kill each other if we keep this up?" she concluded on a half-laugh. Only half because it was all the strength she could muster at the moment. "Yeah, but what a way to go." He chuckled, too. "I should get cleaned up. Stay here. I'll bring you a washcloth." "Not to worry. I am officially incapable of moving a muscle let alone the combination of all it would take to get me off this bed and standing long enough to even contemplate walking." "Wow! Was it really that good for you?" His voice faded a bit as he disappeared into the master bathroom.

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"Eek! You aren't going to become one of those obnoxious guys now, are you?" She pitched her voice lower, imitating the deep baritone of a macho male. "Was it good for you, babe?" Tripp laughed, his voice getting louder as he returned to stand at the edge of the bed. "It's a male ego thing." He stepped between her legs and gently cleaned the sweat and juices from their lovemaking with a warm washcloth. "Sometimes we just have to know it was as good for our woman as we think it was. We're not really trying to be obnoxious, or at least I wasn't. I actually meant it as a joke because if it was even half as good for you as it was for me, then I know without a doubt it was off the charts." "Yeah, you definitely don't need an ego boost." Bailey laughed. Tripp straightened, a smile wide on his lips, but it slowly faded as he gazed at her. It alarmed her when he looked at her like that, with a slight frown marring his brow, the almost pained set to his jaw. "Tripp?" She made his name a question. He shook his head but then sighed, closed his eyes and opened them again. "You scared me to death today, Bailey." She knew. She remembered. She understood. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd been scared to death of losing him. Only when he got hurt, she'd been right there with him, working with him as second on the hose team battling the fire. She'd seen the spooked cat that leapt out at him, causing him to stumble back into the heavy metal shelving. She'd watched as the shelving fell, taking him down with it, under it. She'd listened in horror as, when he'd finally come around, he reported over their radio headsets that he couldn't feel his legs. He came so close to dying that day, even closer to becoming permanently paralyzed. Yeah, she definitely knew what he'd gone through today when he heard her over that fire department radio. "Come here." She held up her arm, her uninjured one, reaching for him and he climbed onto the bed beside her. He lay on his side, his head propped in his hand, upper body resting on one elbow so that he could look down at her. He touched her with his other hand, a light graze of the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "I'm okay," she told him, holding his gaze, all but imploring him with her eyes to believe her. "You can see that, right? I know you were scared. I was too," she admitted.

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Let me hear you when you cum for me. I want to know how good it feels, how much you like it. I want to know that you’re alive, baby. His words echoed in her memory. She hadn't fully understood their meaning at the time, but she did now and she almost wished she'd remained oblivious. God, what he must have gone through in those minutes listening over the radio as she announced to the whole department she was trapped, surrounded by flames with no hose, no water source of any kind and no way out, knowing about her claustrophobia. Oh, poor Tripp. "I didn't freak out, though." She was proud of herself too. Now that she could look back on the situation without the distracted burden of the gut wrenching fear, she saw just how well she'd handled herself, handled the moment. "Yeah, I was scared," she admitted again. "But I didn't let the fear win. I stayed calm. I did my job. I got out alive and safe. I know you wish you could have been there with me, but really there wasn't anything you could have done to prevent what happened. No one foresaw what happened." She stared into his eyes and easily read his thoughts. Most of the time, she found reading his mind to be a challenge. He was great at hiding his true feelings when he wanted to. The man could teach a master class in how to put on a poker face. But when he let his feelings show, like he was doing right now, she could almost read him with her eyes closed. She knew he was blaming himself for today, feeling guilty because he hadn't been there to protect her, so she said it again, "You couldn't have prevented what happened today. What matters is that no one got hurt. Graham and Jasper got me out of there and no one panicked. Everyone walked away." "You got burned," he said so softly, she almost couldn't hear him. As if to add proof to his words, he reached over and lightly touched her other arm just above the bandage. "Yes, I did, and okay, so maybe I didn't do everything right today because the reason I got burned was my own fault. No, Tripp. It was," she insisted when he started to shake his head in protest. "Every firefighter knows better than to leave any amount of skin exposed in the middle of flames like I was in today. They teach that in like firefighter elementary school. I was careless and I got burned for it. One thing's for certain though, bet you I won't do it again."

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He stared at her, at the bandage covering her wound, but he didn't speak. Apparently, he'd finally realized that arguing over whether or not his presence today would've made a difference was doing nothing but carrying the conversation in circles. Instead, he gave in, laying his head in the crook of her good arm the way she so often lay with him in this bed. "I'm just really glad you're safe," he whispered, obviously unable to let the subject die without saying it one more time. But that was all. He fell silent then, lying against her, his breathing steady, one arm draped over her waist. He would fall asleep this way if she let him. She was exhausted enough after the day she had and their recent bout of love making to slip right into dreamland herself. Except for that nagging in the back of her mind that simply wouldn't let her rest. They may have talked in circles around one subject, but there was another they needed to discuss. That impending doom feeling that was already starting to become way too familiar returned, but she couldn't fight it off this time. She had to know. "How did your visit to the doctor go today?" She lifted her hand and let her fingers twist in his hair. She liked to play with his hair, loved the feel of the short silky strands as they slipped through her fingers. Right now, the act also added to the nonchalant tone she'd tried for in her question. As if she were simply inquiring about his doctor appointment as she had all the others in the past months and not waiting for him to drop the anvil on her head with his answer. "It went good," he answered, but then he seemed to hesitate. Bailey felt her heart skip a beat only to pick up at an accelerated pace a mere second later as his hesitation dragged on. It was as if he were deciding what to tell her, or more likely, how to tell her. As if he were? More like that was exactly what he was doing, no doubt because he didn't want to fight. Neither did she. But they would. She could feel it in her bones, and apparently so could he. Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them back, glad he wasn't looking at her right now, not wanting him to see. He wouldn't understand. She'd already tried to make him understand once, attempted to offer what she truly believed was the closest thing to a perfect solution for them both that she could find, and succeeded only in pissing him off.

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Okay, so maybe she hadn't approached the situation exactly the way she should have. Keeping her idea a secret until she'd worked out the semantics definitely proved to be a bad choice. Still, greedy girl that she was, she'd been looking for a way to have it all—the man she loved and her career. She thought she found it, too. Tripp, however, had disagreed…adamantly. Fraternizing wasn't against the rules in the department, but it was against Bailey's personal set of rules. A set she'd made around the same day that she decided she wanted to become a firefighter. As a woman, Bailey had to work extra hard to achieve the same level of respect the guys on the department gave other men. It was a constant struggle day after day to be seen by the guys as an equal, to be accepted as a strong and capable coworker instead of a weak female, or God help her, a sex object. It was because of this that Bailey fought her attraction to Tripp for so long. She'd wanted him, oh how she wanted him, but he was her lieutenant and therefore untouchable. She'd been winning the fight, too. Right up until the night Tripp kissed her for the first time. After that, even her insistence that they could be nothing more than friends hadn't prevented her from falling ponytail over boots in love with him. That's when she decided she wanted it all and for a while now, she'd actually had it but… "He said I'm healing well," Tripp finally went on. "I think I've surprised him. You know, with how quickly I'm recovering. I'm hardly ever in pain anymore. It's been over a week since I've taken any of the pain meds and I rarely use the cane these days." Who was he trying to convince, himself or her? She didn't need to ask. She already knew. Her. He was saying all of this to ease her mind, to prove to her he was ready to return. But her concern for his well-being was only part of the problem with his returning to active Lieutenant status. She would have to leave. If he came back, when he came back because, yeah, although he hadn't yet come right out and said the words, he'd obviously made up his mind, she would have to revert to her original plan. It was the only way she could have him and her career. "I still have to be careful, of course," he went on. "I mean, I'm not operating at full speed yet, and yeah, I know I may never be again, but I'm close. Today, at your dad's place, I kind of proved it, if to no one but myself. Your dad is a riot, by the way. At times like today, he reminds me a lot of, well, of my own father. You know, before he died. I should say before he

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got sick really because that's when he started to checkout, so to speak. When he found out about the cancer." Bailey froze. Her hand stilled in his hair. She didn't speak, was almost afraid to breathe. Dear God, was he actually going to talk to her about his father? All the traces of the too familiar feeling of doom morphed into a blinding ray of hope as she lay there staring at the ceiling and holding Tripp. She could count on the fingers of one hand the things she knew about Tripp's father. His name had been Travis Richard Barrett. He'd died of cancer at the age of fifty-two in San Antonio, Texas where he'd been born, raised, and married his high school sweetheart, Elisa-Jane Masters. That was it. That was all she'd ever managed to drag out of Tripp about his father. He talked way more about his mother, Elisa-Jane. Enough for Bailey to know Elisa had died some fifteen years after her husband at the still somewhat young age of sixty-seven from a massive stroke. She knew that his mother had enjoyed baking, playing Scrabble, and watching The Price is Right. Elisa's favorite color was purple and her favorite flower was lavender. If Bailey thought long enough, she could probably remember the woman's favorite food and shoe size. But not Travis Barrett. Though Tripp had never said as much, she always suspected he found it too painful to talk about his father. "We used to hang out together like your father and I did today," Tripp told her now. He flattened a hand on her stomach and his fingers idly played there, tracing the rim of her belly button, gliding along the toned planes of her abs. "It really brought back memories, all the cleaning up from the storm that Ben and I have been doing. I remember once, I must have been about nine or ten, a tropical storm hit San Antonio. It was nothing like Emilio. Way less damage. But there were still a lot of down power lines, trees, and branches, debris from the wind. Especially on our street. Our neighborhood wasn't the best. It was just before Dad changed jobs, just before we moved more up town. Then, of course, we weren't up town long before he found out how sick he was and…" He let his sentence trail off, then started again. "Anyway, everyone on our street, all the men especially, rallied together to get the neighborhood back in shape." "And the women?" Bailey couldn't stop herself from asking. Tripp laughed, the sound making it clear he'd been waiting for her to ask. He knew the Stone Age concept that women belonged in the kitchen,

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barefoot and pregnant bothered her. "The women helped in the cleanup too. Though you have to understand, most of them were housewives, accustomed to their roles as wife and mother." "Of slave and maid." "They didn't see it that way," Tripp pointed out. "Taking care of their husband, their kids, the house, was their job and most did it proudly everyday. Some women still do." Bailey angled her head at him, raised one brow in warning. "Don't even begin to entertain the thought that I will ever be one of those women." "What? Do you think I'm nuts?" Tripp laughed his surprise. "You would sooner cut off my balls than allow me to turn you into a housewife." He had that right. Still, a housewife. For some kooky reason, Bailey found herself centering in on the second syllable of that word…‘wife.’ Tripp's wife. Cripes! She was the one who was nuts. Everything about their relationship hung in the balance again and she was suddenly daydreaming about being the man's wife. "Most of the wives took up residence in the kitchen that day," he told her, returning to the story. "You know, making sandwiches and stuff. The others played waitress, bringing out drinks, keeping the men hydrated in the heat. It was late August and hot as hell despite all the rain the storm had yielded. If anything, the rain only made the temperature worse. Still, the whole experience was oddly…fun. My father had a way of making almost anything fun." He settled his head back in the crook of Bailey's arm and fell silent, no doubt remembering. She let him, not wanting to ruin the peace she could feel radiating from him. So often lately, he was all stress but not right now. Between the sex and the story about his father, he'd managed to relax. Strangely enough, despite her off the wall thoughts of the happily ever after that seemed to be slipping through her grasp yet again, she found she was relaxed, too. And with that realization, she kept her mouth shut as they both drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter 4 Tripp awoke alone in his bed. It was funny. Waking alone had been standard operating procedure for him for nearly thirty-five years and it never bothered him before. Not beyond the obvious fact that an empty bed in the morning usually meant empty the night before as well, in turn meaning very irregular sex. But these days, in the few short months since Bailey moved in, his SOP changed. Amazing how quickly a man could grow accustomed to such a change and feel so lost and out of place when he found himself once again waking to a partnerless bed. A digital alarm clock sat on the bedside table, its big red numbers reading seven-sixteen. Geezus, it was barely seven o'clock and Bailey was already out of bed. Since moving in, another SOP had begun between them, sleep late days on her time off. They rarely rolled out of bed before eightthirty and sometimes even nine, or when they were feeling really lazy, ten on those days. Oh, they often woke up far earlier, but when that happened, it was other things that got up. Tripp found himself smiling at the thought as he rolled out of bed and slipped into the pair of cutoff jogging pants tossed in a heap in the chair by the closet. Maybe she'd needed to go to the bathroom and then decided, since she was up, she would make him breakfast in bed. That thought had him chuckling aloud as he carefully made his way down the stairs. Bailey making him breakfast in bed. Yeah, right. After the conversation they'd had last night about a woman's place being in the kitchen, somehow he seriously doubted it. No. The breakfast in bed thing was more like something he would do for her. As a matter of fact, he had done it for her what felt like a million years and a lifetime ago after a night when she'd cried herself to sleep in his arms on the sofa in her cottage. It was back when she'd been fighting everything in her life—her claustrophobia, the nightmares, her growing feelings for him.

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The unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee met him about halfway down the stairs. Bailey may not be one for making breakfast, but she could make a mean cup of coffee. His mouth watered in anticipation of that first hot sip as he let his nose guide him to the kitchen. She was there. Her legs bent and folded in the chair with her bottom at the kitchen table, a cup of steaming coffee at her elbow and a particularly odd-shaped piece from their latest puzzle in her hand. She looked up, met his gaze as he stepped into the kitchen and his heart nearly stopped. Oh man, he knew that haunted look in her eyes, that slight puffiness in her cheeks, that grim set to her jaw. He recognized it all from the days before she moved in with him, before she finally allowed herself to admit just how desperately she wanted him, back when fear was paramount in her life and the nightmares ruled her nights. "Hi," she said. The word sounded as forced as the smile she tried to give him. The all too short, pasted on smile, which vanished when she spoke again. "There's fresh coffee. Why don't you make yourself a cup and have a seat. We, uh, need to talk." ‘We need to talk.’ Four words no man ever liked hearing from a lover's lips. Four words that always signaled an approaching shit storm. Tripp swallowed, nodded, and walked to the counter. If she wanted him to get a cup of coffee first, he would gladly oblige. Although, he had a growing feeling before this was over, he was going to wish he had something a lot stronger than milk and sugar or one of those nutty flavored creamers she liked to add to his cup. He took a sip before turning to walk back to the table, letting the roasted taste burn all the way down. He needed both the sudden jolt of caffeine and the pain the scalding liquid brought to his throat. Better to ready himself for the likely ache to come, he supposed. Bailey had returned her attention to the puzzle, finding a spot for the odd-shaped piece and selecting another from the pile of others awaiting a home in the finished product. She only glanced at him as he took the seat across from her at the table, then picked up her own probably slightly cooler cup of coffee, took a sip, set the cup back down. Okay, so apparently they needed to talk, but she didn't want to be the one to start the conversation. No problem. Tripp had a couple of concerns he wanted to address first, anyway.

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"You're up and out of bed early." He kept his tone casual as he took another sip from his mug. He watched her over the rim of the cup. She didn't move, didn't so much as glance at him or shrug. She simply stared down at the table, the puzzle piece in her fingers, slowly turning it around and around. "Are you feeling all right? How's your wrist this morning? We should take a look at it, change the bandage, and apply some of that ointment the doctor prescribed." They should have done all of that before falling asleep last night. If Tripp had been standing, he would have kicked himself in the ass. Or at least tried to. How could he forget something like that? He assured the doctor and her parents he would take care of her, of her wrist. Instead, what had he done? He'd taken her to bed and fucked the hell out of her, kept her up half the night babbling about his childhood, then fell asleep in her arms. Geezus. It was possible that was why she had bags under her eyes this morning. "I didn't sleep well," she admitted, her voice small, quiet. She didn't look up as she went on. "But it isn't because of my wrist. It hurts a little, but it's not that bad. We'll change the bandage later." Tripp nodded. The fact she wasn't in pain made him feel only marginally better. "Did the nightmares come back?" he asked, still softly, still in a conversational tone. It was hard to sound so casual when he realized one of his biggest fears may have very well been manifested yesterday. That what happened to her, finding herself trapped, surrounded by blazing flames, had caused all of those old memories of being cornered in the shower stall as a child while the house burnt to the ground around her to return. She'd been doing so well at coming to terms with her past. Between the lessons and advice in dealing with her claustrophobia that FBI Agent Jackson Graham had given her some eight months ago, the therapist, Diane Moss, she begun seeing, and yeah, hopefully Tripp's always available set of ears and strong shoulders, she'd seemed to be building an almost fearless and stress free life. But now… Bailey shook her head. "No. It's nothing like that, either. It was, well…" She finally looked at him, her eyes imploring, her face grim. "Exactly what did the doctor say yesterday?"

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For the span of a couple of heartbeats, Tripp was confused. The doctor? She'd been in the room when the doctor explained everything to him, her, and her father. She'd heard the doctor tell them how long he expected it to take for her to heal, things she could do to speed up the process, how to properly change the bandage covering the wound, and how often to apply the prescribed ointment. She'd heard all of that and yet, was it possible maybe she'd forgotten? But no, he realized after several long moments. She wasn't talking about the doctor she'd seen at the hospital. She meant his doctor, the one he'd been visiting nearly every week since he'd come home from the hospital after hurting his back. "He said I'm doing well," Tripp told her now. Again, because hadn't he told her that last night? Yes, he had, he remembered, just before he changed the subject and talked about his father. Just before he purposely changed the subject because he hadn't wanted to tell her at that moment exactly what the doctor told him. Realization dawned as he set down his cup and stared at her. Exactly what did the doctor say yesterday? Somehow she knew he hadn't been completely forthcoming about everything with her last night. Somehow, she knew and that was why they needed to talk. "Did he say you could go back to work?" Bailey asked. It was one of the things he loved most about Bailey Lamont, her ability to be blunt, to get right to the point of a conversation when she wanted to. On the other hand, she was a master at dancing around a subject she didn't really want to discuss. Right now, Tripp would have preferred to tango, but apparently Bailey had neglected to put on her dancing shoes before coming downstairs. Tripp stared at her. So okay, they were about to have the conversation he should have had with her last night. The one he would have had if she hadn't been injured yesterday. Only, he didn't have any more of a clue how to handle this topic than he had yesterday when he all but sprinted out of the doctor's office, release papers for his return to the department securely folded in his back pocket and a wide smile on his face. Of course, there was only one way to answer her question, wasn't there? A single word said it all. "Yes."

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**** Pain exploded between Bailey's eyes as Tripp finally dropped the anvil square on her head. The fact she'd been waiting for it since last night, that she asked for it this morning, did nothing to dull the effect. Shit, it hurt! He sat across from her, elbows propped on the table, his large hands curled around the coffee mug held close to his tantalizing lips. Even through the steam rolling up from the scalding liquid in the cup, she could see the wariness in his eyes. He watched her expectantly, waiting for her reaction to his news. The doctor felt he'd recovered from his near paralyzing injury enough to return to work. "Tripp, that's…fantastic." She actually managed to add the right amount of forced joviality to her tone. But she couldn't hold his gaze when her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Christ! She must be PMSing today. Her emotions were all over the freaking place. Still, she knew why and as much as she would have preferred to blame it on an impending visit from Mother Nature—come to think of it, that glorified week of the month was right around the corner— she knew that wasn't really the case. No. Her current emotional train wreck had to do more with the fact she truly didn't know what to feel. Beneath the pounding in her head and the rollercoaster ride her mind had jumped on, was this sense of almost overwhelming…relief. The word didn't seem strong enough or adequate enough a description, but it was all that came to mind. It was relief she felt because yes, Tripp's almost full recovery from such a potentially life altering injury was fantastic. When he first come out of surgery, the doctors had actually been uncertain if he would ever walk again. Then as time went on, their prognosis changed but only slightly. Yes, he would walk again after many months of therapy and rehab, but even then, only with the aid of a cane. It was Tripp's steadfast determination that defied the doctor's beliefs. Oh, he’d been devastated at first, convinced as much by the doctor's prognosis as his own realistic nature that when the shelf landed on his back, it hurt more than his nerves, tendons, and spinal cord. It hurt his life and severed his career. Don't leave me, Bailey.

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Except, it wasn't long before that devastation morphed into determination. Bailey saw it happen, one part of her silently and sometimes even quietly cheering him on as he fought to hold on to the part of his life he loved most…his career. Still, another part of her felt the anvil being raised and positioned to pound even then. Don't leave me, Bailey. The words he'd spoken what seemed like almost a lifetime ago as he lay in the hospital bed began a new mantra in her head. Even then, she knew he meant a lot more by those words than simply asking her not to leave his hospital room. He'd meant don't leave him in the department, don't transfer from B shift. I'm not going anywhere, Tripp. Her own words joined the mantra now, a promise that changed her life as much as the falling shelf changed his. And she kept that promise. She hadn't gone anywhere. She stayed by his side through the therapy, the rehab, moved in to be with him constantly, gave herself over to the relationship with this man that she'd so wanted. She also stayed on B shift because, with him gone from the position as acting Lieutenant, her fraternizing issues no longer applied. But now… "Is it, Bailey?" Tripp dragged her from her thoughts. "Is it really so fantastic?" His question was asked so nonchalantly, as if her answer didn't mean a shit to him one way or another. They could have been talking about something as unimportant as the score of the Chargers game last night. Bailey, of course, knew better. The man could put on one hell of a poker face when he wanted to, make himself completely unreadable to her. This morning, however, he seemed to be slipping in his ability to hide his true thoughts and feelings. Oh, his expression was casual enough even with its steady glare and his tone was casual enough even when his words said otherwise. But it was the way he sat there gripping that cup so tightly that his knuckles were beginning to turn white, the square set to his shoulders, the muscle that jumped a time or two in his jaw, that gave him away. "Yes, it's fantastic. It's terrific. God, Tripp, it's amazing!" She let incredulity ring in her tone. She blinked her eyes dry, hoping no trace of their mistiness showed, and looked at him. How could he ask that? She didn't put voice to the question, but she didn't have to. Somehow, he knew it crossed her mind and he answered anyway.

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"Because I couldn't help but notice you seem less than thrilled." He set his cup down carefully on the table without looking. His gaze never left her. Bailey bristled at that but only slightly. "I'm sorry. Was I supposed to dance around the kitchen, maybe launch myself over the table and into your lap? What kind of reaction were you expecting, Tripp? God, you've overcome insurmountable odds when it comes to your recovery. How could you not think I would be happy, Christ, freaking elated about that?" "I know you are," he admitted with a sigh. "That's not the issue. It's the fire department, my coming back as acting Lieutenant. You don't want me to come back, do you?" Yikes! Bailey dropped her gaze, finding herself once again unable to meet his eyes. What could she say to that? No, I don't want you to come back as Lieutenant and Engine Company 1 firefighter? Except that wasn't true. A part of her did want him back. She knew being a firefighter meant everything to him. She knew because the career meant everything to her, too. Like her, he'd worked his ass off to get where he was. He'd had to earn the position of Lieutenant, starting from the bottom and moving his way up the ranks, and he was well respected for it. Not just by the men and two women of B shift but the firefighters on the A and C shifts as well and even those in other departments in the district. She'd also seen how not being a part of the department hurt him in the past months, how not having that part of his life left him with a great sense of loneliness and despair that no amount of sex or love she could give him could ever fill. On the other hand, his returning meant that she would have to go. It meant she would have to do exactly what she'd promised she wouldn't in the hospital. She would have to leave him. Okay, not leave him in the relationship sense, but she would definitely have to leave B shift, a fact that he was definitely not going to like. "That's it, isn't it?" he said when her silence obviously stretched on too long. "You don't want me to come back to work because you still don't want to work with me. That's why you stayed, isn't it? Not because I asked you too, but because you thought I wouldn't be coming back." He stood then, pushing his chair back so abruptly that it made a screeching sound on the tiled floor. He turned his back to her, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath, his head down and shaking from side to side. "How could I not have seen it? How could I not have known?"

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He turned back to her again and the look in his eyes nearly broke her heart. He wasn't trying to shield anything from her, not his anger, not his pain. She'd only seen that look in his eyes once in the two years she'd known him, only seen him mad and this upset once. The last and only time they'd had a very similar discussion was the night of the hurricane. Hell, discussion? That one had turned out to be a rip-roaring fight. Just like this one. "You were actually glad when I got hurt," he accused. Bailey's emotional train wreck took on a new crash of more catastrophic proportions as she stared at him. Disbelief made her jaw drop, something very near to fear had all the blood draining from her face, even as shock left her heart beating erratically in her chest. He couldn't believe that. Could he? "Tripp, that's…that's…" She sputtered to a stop, pushed her uninjured hand through her hair, glared at him. "I was glad when you got hurt? How could you even say that? That's ridiculous!" "Is it, Bailey?" He wasn't yelling. No, if anything his tone had dropped a full decibel and it was all the more effective because of it. His hurt, his anger were dammed near tangible presences in the small kitchen. They were that strong. "Now that I think about it, I really don't see how it's so ridiculous. Maybe ‘glad’ is the wrong word. I'll give you that, but—" "You're dammed right, glad is the wrong word," Bailey shrilled over him, her temper sparking now. Unlike him though, she found it difficult to keep her voice down. She got loud. "How dare you imply that I could, in any way, be happy that you were dammed near paralyzed? I love you, God dammit. How could you even think—" "But it did make it easier for you, didn't it?" He bulldozed over her, still quietly but no less forcefully. "I got hurt and had to leave B shift and everything neatly fell into place for you. That is why you stayed on B shift, isn't it? Because I was no longer acting Lieutenant?" Yes. The simple answer was yes. She'd had everything in place for her transfer to C shift. No, it hadn't necessarily been what she wanted. She loved the guys she worked with on B shift. However, she loved one of them just a little too much to continue working with him. So, she'd gotten the ball rolling on what she considered to be as close to perfect a plan as she could think of to have everything she wanted…her man and her career. Then the shelf came down.

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"You were ready to leave B shift, ready to transfer, so that we would no longer be working together." Tripp put voice to what was obviously going through both their minds. "I was." Bailey nodded, her voice quiet now. "Because I love you and my career, too." "But you have convinced yourself that you can't have us both on the same shift." She had and there was far more behind her reasoning than merely her hang-up on fraternizing in the workplace. She realized it last night, as she lay awake in the bed holding Tripp while he slept, dreading this very conversation that she knew would come with the morning sun. There was a much larger reason they could no longer work together and it had nothing to do with their romantic entanglement and everything to do with the safety of their very lives. "Yes," she admitted to him now because he had to know what she'd realized. He needed to know. "And, you know what, Tripp, you proved me right. You wouldn't have gotten hurt that day if it weren't for me, if I hadn't been in that house with you, if you hadn't been worried about me."

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Chapter 5 "Is she right?" Tripp fingered the label on the bottle of beer that sat in front of him. He'd barely taken three sips of the dammed thing. Not because he was concerned how the alcohol would mix with the meds he'd been on the last several months. It had been over a week since he took even a Tylenol much less any of the stronger prescribed pills. He couldn't even say why he'd come to the Paradise Lounge this afternoon. It wasn't as though he were a heavy drinker and he never turned to alcohol for an escape when times got tough. At least he never had in the past. Yet here he sat, on a barstool in the Paradise Lounge, at barely four o'clock in the afternoon, at quite possibly one of the toughest times in his life. Hell, all that was missing was that old country song about a tear in his beer playing on the jukebox. Then again, who needed the jukebox? He could remember the lyrics just fine on his own. He sang a few words of the chorus. Yeah, so Hank Jr. definitely did it better. And, okay, so maybe he wasn't crying in his beer for Bailey, but he was dammed close. "Do you think she's right?" Max Jasper, B shift's HAZMAT engineer and all around chemical genius, sat on the barstool beside him. When asked what the firefighter was doing at a bar alone so early in the afternoon on his day off, he'd simply shrugged and replied he needed to clear his head in order to figure out the missing component in his latest experiment. Tripp hadn't questioned the man any further, partly because he knew Max wasn't entirely joking, and because he knew he wouldn't understand any other explanation Silver Springs’ very own Victor Frankenstein offered, anyway. He did look at Max now, though, at his spiky brown hair, wise dark eyes framed by a set of lashes many women would die for, and long angular face. Mad scientist or not, the man's brains extended far beyond any laboratory or chemical induced fire.

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"I don't know." Tripp sighed. "You were there. You heard everything over the radio that day." "Yeah, I was outside sniffing the air." The fire had been located in the back of a large house belonging to a local artist. Tripp had wondered why the smoke of what was first perceived to be a simple house fire had been so thick and impossibly dark in the room where the fire seemed to originate. Max's nose and keen knowledge of all things liquid quickly informed him the cause of the almost black-out smoke came from various acrylics, lacquers, and thinners kept in what turned out to be the artist's workshop. "But I wasn't inside with you and Lamont," Jasper reminded him. "At least not until the shit hit the fan. Or rather, until you decided to play ‘How low can I go' with the shelf?" He shot Tripp a goofy, sideways smirk that almost made Tripp laugh. Almost. "And yeah, I heard you asking if she was okay. You know, because it was so dark and all. I figured you were worried about her freaking out or something. Especially knowing about her claustrophobic tendencies." He had been. The smoke had been thick, making everything around them so black despite the brightness of the red, yellow, and orange flames they fought to extinguish. Bailey had been behind him, the second hand on the hose as they battled those flames, pushing the fire back even as they put it out. She was good, a capable and strong firefighter who knew how to do the job and do it well. Still, he could remember, even now months later, the concern he felt for her at that moment when the darkness seemed to be closing in, even to him. If he'd felt like he was being shut inside a gloomy box of doom, he was only able to imagine how Bailey felt. "What I couldn't tell from outside the house was just how worried you were," Jasper went on. "Were you concerned that you let it impair your own ability to do your job?" It was a good question. One in which Tripp wasn't sure he knew the answer. He didn't think so. He certainly hadn't thought so at the time and yet… "I don't know," he answered honestly. Max Jasper popped a few peanuts into his mouth from the bowl that sat on the bar between them and studied Tripp. "Mind if I tell you what I do know, LT?" He used Tripp's nickname of sorts. It was what most of the guys on B shift called him. Either LT or Lieutenant and occasionally Barrett.

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Rarely did anyone aside from his good friend and the shift Captain, Dean Wolcott, call him by his first name. Hell, even Bailey didn't call him Tripp at work. Or at least, she hadn't when they actually worked together. "You've busted your ass to come back from your injury," Jasper said around the peanuts. "We all knew you could do it, all the guys on the shift, I mean. We've been waiting for you to come back and well, Lamont is great, LT. Really, she is. She's beautiful and smart. She's got one hell of a body." Tripp shot the man a look at that one and Jasper laughed. "She's also a dammed good firefighter, but…" Jasper hesitated. He popped another handful of peanuts into his mouth, crunched on them for a second, and took a sip of his beer. "Is she really worth it, sir? Your career, I mean. Is she worth giving up your career for?" "She told me once that she's greedy," Tripp said, remembering. He stared at the now peeling label on his bottle, but it was Bailey's face he really saw. The heat in her incredible green eyes the first time she admitted he was what she wanted. The determination he read in her expression when she professed her greediness to indeed have it all. It had been the night of the hurricane, the night he found out by eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the captain that she'd been seeing a therapist for her claustrophobia and nightmare issues. It was the night she told him about her discovery that she'd been adopted. It was also the night he found out about her plans to transfer. He'd been doing paperwork in the captain's office later that evening, waiting out the storm, waiting for Bailey to come to him with the truth about her plans when she did just that. I discovered something about myself this afternoon, she'd told him. I'm greedy. I want it all. When he'd asked her to define all, her answer had nearly stopped his heart. My career, my parents, the family life I've always known and…and you. I want you, Tripp. Jasper laughed. "Yeah, I can see how she could say that about herself. And would it really be so bad, LT, letting her have what she wants? Would it be so bad having her on a different shift? I know it would cut into your time together, but you know what they say about absences and fonder hearts. Besides, you have to know that time is in danger of completely disappearing if the two of you don't come to some sort of compromise."

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Yeah, he knew and okay, so before the accident, his accident—more like the hours between the moment he walked out of the captain's office where he and Bailey had fought about her changing shifts and the fire when he got hurt—he had begun to consider the possibility. Maybe her idea was the best compromise. Except for one problem. "What would you say if I told you I'm greedy, as well?" he asked Max only half in jest. Dammit, he wanted it all, too. Surely, there was a way he and Bailey could both have what they wanted. "I would say that despite the mutual hardheadedness and all or nothing attitudes you both seem to have, you and Lamont make the perfect couple," Jasper said with an amused chuckle. "If the two of you will stop butting heads about this career issue, you're going to make each other very happy for many years to come." Geezus, Tripp hoped so. "Although, I've got to tell you, LT, I really hope it's Lamont that caves here because we can't stand to lose you on B shift. Lamont is an invaluable firefighter, yes, but as a lieutenant, you are the shit, sir." Tripp had to laugh. At any other time, from any other person, being called 'the shit' certainly wouldn't have sounded like a compliment, but from the whip smart, mad scientist, Max Jasper, it was a compliment that held as much weight as the man's Ivy League degree. "Word is going around the station grapevine that we might be losing the captain soon. You know me, sir. I'm the last one to jump on the gossip mill, but this time it sounds pretty serious. You know, like a real possibility." It was. The district Battalion Chief, Chip Wrigley, would be retiring in a month's time and Dean Wolcott had been slated by the city council to step into the battalion chief's shoes. If Dean wanted the job. Tripp knew Dean had been seriously considering the position since word came down that it would be offered to the captain. As far as moving up the ranks in the fire department went, Battalion Chief was the next step for Wolcott. The position, however, meant that Wolcott would be forced to leave B shift, an event that no one who worked under the captain wanted to see happen. "Losing the captain is going to be bad enough. If it happens, I mean. But losing both of you…" Jasper shook his head and picked up his beer. "That would really suck. So why don't you do us all a favor and let the woman

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have her way. Be the man, LT." He grinned around the rim of the bottle before taking a sip. "It's been a long time since I was in a relationship, but not so long that I don't remember how it works. Trust me, the old adage that the man is happier when the woman is happy is one of the truest statements I've ever heard." Tripp nodded. Yeah, he knew that much was true, too. All he wanted was for Bailey to be happy. Be the man. It was good advice. Let the woman have what she wants. Why couldn't he compromise? After all, even in giving her what she wanted, he would still have it all, wouldn't he? Okay, so maybe not on the same shift, but he would have his woman and his position as Lieutenant. The two loves of his life. If that were his choice in having his all or nothing, he would take it all. **** "I'm sorry, sir." Bailey followed the captain through the sliding glass doors of his modest condo onto the back deck. It was funny in a way. She'd expected the captain and his wife to move to a new neighborhood by now. Not that the neighborhood in which they lived was bad. On the contrary, the condominium complex was part of the Green Leaf area, a suburb of Silver Springs. It overlooked the back nine of the Green Leaf Golf Course and was surrounded by lush green grounds and gorgeous oak, elm, and magnolia trees. Many of the trees had been damaged in the recent hurricane, some of them even uprooted and crashed onto unlucky nearby houses and cars. Winds topping at one hundred plus miles an hour tended to do that to objects in its path. Still, much of the surrounding area was recovering nicely, the residents of the condominiums and the lavish homes stepping in to do their part. Bailey would have expected the captain to move into one of those lavish homes. He'd married into the Abbott family, one of the well to do names in Silver Springs. His wife, Veronica, even owned her own store in town. The thought of that store always brought a smile to Bailey's lips. Romantic Illusions had caused quite the controversy among the town residents when its doors first opened. A gem catering to the sexy side of life, featuring a stock abundantly filling the shelves with sex toys, creams and lotions, games and costumes, and the very best in revealing lingerie….Yes, Veronica

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Abbott had drawn quite a bit of attention to herself with that one. Including the attention of Silver Springs B shift Captain, Dean Wolcott. "I really shouldn't have bothered you at home," Bailey continued as Dean slid the sliders closed, silencing the conversation still going on inside the condo. "It never occurred to me that you might have company. Stupid, huh?" The company in question, fellow firefighter Ryan Magee and his soon to be wife, Tina Walker, and future stepson Timmy, sat around the living room with Veronica playing a game of Deal or No Deal, the DVD version. It surprised her at first to find Ryan at the captain's house until she remembered the captain was actually responsible in a way for Magee's meeting Tina. Dean Wolcott acted as a big brother of sorts to young Timmy for several years before Tina's hooking up with Ryan and apparently the two families, Dean and Veronica and Magee, Tina and Timmy, had all become rather close in recent months. And wasn't that an amusing picture? Before Tina Walker sank her fingernails into Ryan Magee, he'd been the playboy of B shift. Hell, of the whole department! A former Navy SEAL who resigned his commission due to a knee injury he sustained on an op, Magee thought himself God's gift to women despite the slight limp in his walk that stayed with him for several years after. For a long time, he'd also been a pain in Bailey's backside and the main firefighter on B shift to continually prove her point that as a female, she could never let her guard down and would never be able to stop her relentless pursuit to be seen as an equal. Magee had looked at her and seen tits and an ass, a woman who naturally would want to go to bed with him, right? Wrong! No doubt about it, Ryan Magee was the last man in the department she would have ever expected to settle into a readymade family. Maybe it had been his own brush with death when he'd gone up against a band of dangerous men, employees of the notorious Cambodian drug lord, Veng Kim Phey, the very day after hurricane Emilio that brought the man's life into perspective. Heaven knew, tragedy and injury could do that to a person. "It's not a problem," Dean Wolcott assured her. He gestured with an arm to a folding deck chair. "Want to sit?" "Actually, I would rather stand, sir."

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He nodded, shrugged, moved to the wooden rail that lined the rectangular deck, and leaned against the post. He crossed his feet at the ankles, resting his hands on either side of his narrow hips on the rail. It reminded her of the way Tripp often stood when they talked. "If you want to know the truth, I've actually been half expecting a visit from one of you today. I, uh, more than half expected it to be you." Bailey was unable to hide her surprise. "You were?" Dean nodded again. "I take it you and Tripp talked last night." This time Bailey laughed, but there was no humor in the tone. Talk? Not a chance. Actually, what transpired between her and Tripp last night had been far better than any conversation of mouths. And then yeah, okay, they had talked afterward. Or rather, Tripp had talked and she listened. But neither the earth shaking sex or the pour-his-heart-out story about Tripp's childhood was the kind of talk the captain referred to. "I think heated discussion would probably be a much more apt description," Bailey told him. "And it was this morning over coffee." Something she was still surprised neither of them had ended up adding to their morning wardrobe as angry as they'd both been at each other by the time she left the kitchen. The kitchen? More like the house. The combination of shock and pain she'd seen on Tripp's face when she accused him of causing his own injury had been too much to bear. She'd had to get away, out of the house, some place where she could think. She needed her woods, a path behind her cottage that led down to an often-deserted part of the Silver Springs beach. It was a path she used a lot when she simply wanted to get away for a while, to be alone with her thoughts and the soothing sounds of nature. She'd taken only a few steps out the front door of Tripp's house before she realized her path wasn't a solitary place she could go anymore. Not with her parents living in her cottage. She'd opted instead for a different secluded area of the beach, spending the remainder of the morning with the sounds of waves crashing against the shore, seagulls flying overhead, and the sand between her toes. It was there she let herself cry her frustration, at Tripp, at the whole situation, at herself. Then she came here. "Yeah, I figured the two of you would end up butting heads over this again." Dean sighed.

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"And you knew when we did, I would come to you," Bailey concluded. "Can you reactivate my request for the transfer? Get the ball rolling for me again?" Dean shook his head and Bailey's heart sank. "There aren't any openings now. The position on C shift has been filled. If we try to transfer you now, they will be over manned and B shift will be one man short." Dammit! She should have never stopped the transfer in the first place. She had known in the back of her mind there was a big chance Tripp would find a way to come back. She hadn't believed it, letting herself listen to the doctors instead of her heart, but she'd known. Everything about Lieutenant Tripp Barrett screamed determination. The man was not a quitter. Yet she'd made him a promise and acted on that promise before fully thinking it through. Now she was stuck. Or was she? "What about the other stations in the district?" She thought aloud. There were two other stations in the Silver Springs district, each smaller stations with less ground to cover. Neither would have been her first choice as a Plan B solution but maybe as a temporary fix, just until something came available on the C shift again, or even A shift, it was something to consider. Dean eyed her, one dark brow raised on his chiseled face. He was a very handsome man. Bailey could easily see Veronica's attraction to him with his dark hair, muscular bod, and long, lean frame. "You're kidding, right?" he asked her and his tone clearly said he hoped she was truly joking. She wasn't and she shook her head, effectively telling him as much. "Bailey, can I talk to you as a friend and not your captain for a minute?" He moved to one of the folding deck chairs and lowered himself into the seat, motioning for her to sit in the other chair opposite him. It wasn't an offer to sit this time but more a request, maybe even an order despite his desire to talk as friends, so she sat. He hesitated, watching her for a long moment before he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tripp loves you." Bailey blinked at him, surprised he would bring that kind of emotion into this conversation. "I've known him for years. I probably know him better than anyone. We've moved our way up the ladder in department ranks together. In all that time, I have never seen him as happy or as lost as he's been since the accident."

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"Lost because he hasn't had the department," Bailey whispered. She knew. She'd seen that in Tripp, too. "And happy because he has you," Dean said softly. "Give it a little while. Can you do that, Bailey? For me? I'm asking as your captain now. I don't want you transferring. I want you on my shift. Tripp is coming back tomorrow, but he'll be on light duty for a while. Magee is still recovering from his injury. I need you right now. Every man on the shift needs you. Try it for a few weeks. See what happens." Bailey shook her head, but he didn't give her the chance to speak. "I read this study on the Web the other day about fraternizing in the workplace." He leaned back in his chair now, as if they were falling into a companionable conversation. "It's not as taboo as it used to be. A lot of people meet their significant others on the job and they manage to make the relationship work even as they continue to work together. I guess what I'm trying to say here, Bailey, is well, you and Tripp have worked together this long. You met at the department, you became friends, and now you're, well, more. Does anything really have to change?" "Yes," Bailey said without hesitation. It had to change because they changed. She and Tripp may have met and become friends in the department, but that friendship wasn't the same as the one she shared with Max Jasper, or David Karlston, or Jason Graham, or any of the other men on B shift. Emotions were involved now as well as her standing and view as a firefighter. No doubt about it, things had to change and the biggest reason of all had taken their lieutenant out of the action almost permanently. "I'm scared, Captain," she admitted. She looked at her lap, suddenly finding it hard to meet Dean's gaze. She heard more than saw him lean forward in his chair again. "The claustrophobia?" he asked quietly, his voice full of compassion. "No. It has nothing to do with that," she said quickly. Except, maybe it did in a way. If she weren't constantly battling her own fears, then Tripp wouldn't always be so worried about her. "It's, well, I'm scared he's going to get hurt again. Maybe even get himself killed next time." "What we do is dangerous, Bailey. Few people are truly cut out for the job we do. Every one of us puts our life on the line every time the tones go off. Still, it's what we live for. We all get scared even though we don't always show it and we take risks. We know the risks we're taking." He shot

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a pointed look at her bandaged wrist. "And sometimes, we walk away with a scar or two to prove it." "But those risks are multiplied when our mind isn't fully on the job," she argued. "Not only that, but if we lose focus, we put the whole crew in danger." Dean studied her for a full ten seconds before he spoke. "You said this has nothing to do with your claustrophobia. So are you telling me that you're scared Tripp will lose focus on the job? That he did?" Bailey sighed. "I don't know. He says that isn't what happened that day, but I can't help but think that maybe he could've gotten out of the way faster if a part of him hadn't been preoccupied with his concern about whether or not I was going to flip out." "I wasn't there that day, but the way I hear it, the cat was the one who got spooked. Tripp was simply trying to avoid the cat when he slammed into the shelf, causing it to fall. Anyone could've had the same reaction, Bailey. Distracted or not. And you did your job that day. You didn't panic or crumble. You continued to fight that fire as you've been trained, so that the others could get in there and get Tripp out." "It's not like I had a choice, sir. If I'd dropped the hose, Tripp would have burned to death." "Maybe. Maybe not. The fact is even though the man you loved was in trouble, you continued to do your job. You have to trust that Tripp can and will do the same." But how could she trust that when she wasn't sure she believed he could? Despite his can't-keep-me-down attitude, Tripp Barrett was only human and she feared his all too human instinct to protect her would be his downfall.

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Chapter 6 Bailey found herself in many uncomfortable situations in her life but none that ever felt quite as uncomfortable as walking into Tripp's house later that evening. The tension that greeted her as she entered through the front door was like walking into an invisible wall. She squared her shoulders as she closed the door behind her, kicking off her tennis shoes and tossing her keys in the bowl on the small table reserved for such items. It had become routine, coming home—into Tripp's home—this way in the past months. It felt familiar, good, comforting. This evening, however, the comfort level dropped into the negative numbers. An artic breeze drifted to her as she moved into the living room, found Tripp sitting in his favorite recliner in front of the television. Or maybe the icy cold was her imagination because the look he shot her was more apologetic than disapproving anger. Still, the tension was there. No amount of imagination could have produced a feeling that strong. "Hi," she said hesitantly, the words wobbling with nerves, and even managed to force a smile. God, she hated this, walking on eggshells with the man she loved all because of her ego and hardheaded determination. She should let it go. Give it some time. That's what the captain told her and did she really have much of a choice, anyway? She was stuck in exactly the place where she swore she would never let herself be. In love with a man she worked with, her superior, opening herself to all the ridicule and distain men often showed women who attempted to build a life in what was so widely considered to be a man's world, a man's job. Tripp used the armrests of the recliner to push himself into a straighter sitting position. "How's your arm? We should probably change your bandage." Okay, not exactly the welcome home she expected, though, yeah, it was decidedly better than picking up where they left off with both of them hurt

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and angry. And maybe attempting to play it as though this morning hadn't happened was the better way to go. Too bad they would never be able to do it. Not for long, anyway. Bailey walked to him, perching on the end of the coffee table. The supplies—ointment, gauze, tape—they needed to replace her bandage were there on the table behind her where she left them that afternoon. Tripp reached for her hand and she held it out for him, the warmth of his tender touch sending electric sparks of awareness through her hand, up her arm, and spreading throughout her body. It still amazed her how she could feel the simplest of his touches all the way to her toes. "I came home earlier and changed it myself." Since you weren't here. She left that portion of the sentence unspoken but, even so, it lingered in the air between them. Where had he gone after she left? Where had he spent the better part of the morning and all the afternoon blowing off his steam? She'd hesitated before going to the captain's house, fearful that she might run into Tripp there. She'd half expected that to be where Tripp would go but when she pulled into the condo parking lot and hadn't seen Tripp's truck, she knew she was okay. "What did you do all day?" she asked because she couldn't stop herself from wondering. But he spoke at the same time, his focus obviously on her wound. "You didn't do a bad job. I guess it doesn't look too bad under there considering I didn't come home to find you laid out on the floor." "Ha ha, funny man. It's only blood that makes me a little queasy," she scoffed. She watched him, marveling at the intense concentration in his eyes as he carefully removed the tape that bound the gauze to her wrist, slowly removed the bandage to examine the burn. "It's looking better already." "Yeah, that ointment must be some kind of magical cure." "Does it hurt when you apply it?" He reached around her for the tube on the table. Bailey shrugged. "A little. I can do it if you want." He shook his head, squeezed a dab of the ointment onto his fingertips. "I drove around for a while," he said and she realized he was answering her question of what he did all day? "A long while. There's so much of the city

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that is looking good. You know, since the hurricane. Yet, there's so much that will never be the same." Yeah, Bailey did know. Like her parents’ house. The very house she'd grown up in, the only house she remembered living in as a child. Outside of her nightmares, anyway. But even it was gone now. Wiped from existence just like the house in her dreams. A fire had taken that house back then. A fire started by a man's hand, a man that to this day, as far as she knew, had never been caught. A hurricane took the house now. A hand of nature as destructive as any man that no one would ever catch. "Ouch!" Bailey sucked in a breath through her teeth as Tripp began spreading the ointment onto her burn. Tripp winced and lightened his touch. "Is it bad?" "You know when you're cooking French fries and some of the grease pops out of the fryer and hits your skin?" Bailey asked, somehow managing to keep her breaths smooth and shallow. Dang, it hurt! At Tripp's slow nod, she continued. "It's kind of like that only about fifteen times worse. The cream helps, though. It's like putting an ice cube on an open flame. I'm surprised we can't hear it sizzling." "I'm so sorry." Guilt filled his face and his voice. "So you just drove around all day? At today’s gas prices? I didn't know you'd hit the lottery." He smiled at that, her attempt to distract him working. And his smile in turn worked to distract her because, my oh my, when Tripp Barrett smiled, her entire world seemed to light up brighter than the Christmas tree in Times Square. Her stomach did a slow, arousing flip-flop as prickles of awareness all but popped in the air between them. "Not all day. I, uh, eventually stopped in at the Paradise Lounge." He squeezed another small drop of the ointment onto his fingers and gently applied it to her wound. Tripp had gone to a bar? Wow! He must really have been upset to seek solace in a drink. Although, she supposed he could've been looking for her there and just didn't want to say it. After all, he'd found her there once, hadn't he? Attempting to drown her problems and fears in a bottle of beer even though she absolutely hated the taste of the stuff. It was the night she realized he knew about her claustrophobia despite her attempts to hide it, the

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night she confessed to the nightmares, the night he kissed her for the first time. She looked at him now, at the hard angles of his face, the laughter lines around his mouth and eyes, the smooth curve of his luscious lips. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget that night, that first kiss with this man. More, she would never stop wanting to kiss him like that again. "Max Jasper was there," Tripp continued. He reached for the gauze and began carefully recovering her wound. He shrugged. "It gave me someone to talk to for a while. You know, an outside party to give unbiased advice. It, uh, made me see a few things a whole lot clearer." Bailey's heart skipped a beat. What did he mean by that? A sudden rush of fear raced through her. It made me see a few things a whole lot clearer. Did he mean things like how badly he wanted to remain Lieutenant of B shift no matter what the cost? Things like how tired he was becoming of her and her steadfast resolve for equality and separate work environments? Or things like how she was right and working apart would indeed be best for them both. Oh, God, suddenly she didn't want to know. "You did a much better job with that than I did," she said, referring to the bandage he'd taped to securely cover the wound. "It feels better now, too. That ointment has a bit of a numbing effect." His hand slid down her arm to lace their fingers together, and when he met her gaze, his eyes were remorseful and just a bit sad. Many times, she'd wished he wasn't so good at hiding his emotions, that he would stop with the guarded gazes and let her read his thoughts. Lately, she found herself wanting exactly the opposite because the looks she saw these days were dammed near killing her. What was that old saying? Careful what you wish for. Yeah, no doubt the person who came up with that one was a bonafide genius and a half. "About this morning," he began and Bailey knew in that instant she didn't want this. Not here. Not now. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to fight, didn't want to know. The captain popped into her head, telling her about the study related to couples in a work environment, triggering a memory for an article she'd recently read. "Let's not do this now," she told Tripp quietly. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her palm, letting her fingers play in the hairs at his temples. "I read somewhere that relationships are often stronger once both

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parties learn to leave work at the office at the end of the day. I know we can't ignore this," she pulled her hand back and began unbuttoning her blouse as she spoke, "but for now, just for a while, let's pretend that we've just come home from the office." She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, carefully slid the sleeves off her arms, mindful of the clean bandage and let the material fall on the table behind her. She reached behind her back to fumble with the clasp of her bra, her gaze on Tripp as he watched her every move, as heat began to flame in his eyes. God, she loved that she could cause that level of desire to rise in him. "Think of it as practice," she suggested as she tossed her bra aside. "We'll need plenty of that once you come back to work, right?" **** Right. Tripp wasn't sure if he actually spoke the word aloud or merely thought it. Hell, he didn't even know what he was agreeing to. The fully clothed Bailey Lamont could make every circuit in his brain spark, but naked, geezus, God, the electricity rerouted to points of sizzling overload. He knew they should talk before this went any farther, although for the life of him, he'd completely forgotten exactly what they should talk about the instant the silk and lace fell away from those incredible rounded breasts. Still, it was there as was the knowledge he would willingly and gladly give this woman anything she wanted as long as she stayed right here, this way, with him for the rest of her life. She stood, stepped out of her shorts using her toes to kick them aside and, ho now. Thank you, thank you, thank you! What she wanted right now was him. Trip let his gaze slide down her gloriously naked body as desire turned to need and raged into a growing blaze inside him. She was wicked temptation and he couldn't stop himself. He reached for her. A slow smile curved her sweetly moist lips as she put her hands in his and climbed onto his lap, her knees between the chair arms and his thighs, her incredible heat spread open and held mere inches above his throbbing cock. Dear Lord. He pulled one of his hands free to touch her. How could he not? The sound she made as he found her clit with the pad of his thumb was

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amazing and driving and encouraging, and God, he loved it. She was hot and slick, her clit a hardened nub beneath his thumb as he massaged it, lightly pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, then caressed it some more. "Tripp." She gasped, releasing his other hand to brace herself on the back of the chair, her arms on either side of his head, her breasts in his face. Yes! He sucked one taut nipple into his mouth, drawing another of those tantalizing sounds from her lips that he felt clear down to his balls. Her legs tightened on his hips, squeezing as she began to move against his thumb. He reached further down, finding her opening and delving two fingers inside. She cried out from the pleasure, saying his name over and over in combination with ‘please’ and ‘oh yes,’ her slick juices coating his hand, the heat inside her all but scorching his fingers. The woman was always fire in his arms and to know that he could do this to her, make her want him this badly was such an incredible turn-on, it made his dick spasm in anticipation. "We should take this upstairs," he said breathlessly, releasing her breast only long enough to speak before turning his attention on its other perfectly rounded, pebbled twin. "Do you want to move upstairs?" He made the offer, but the truth was he doubted he could stand right now even if his life depended on it and no way did he want to let go of this smooth, perfect body in his arms, to stop kissing these delicious breasts. "No." She breathed and he actually felt a rush of relief at that. He liked having her this way, on top of him, all of her glorious treasures within his reach, making it all the more easy for him to pleasure her. Pleasure him too because, geezus, just touching this woman had him knocking on the door to paradise. "The only thing I want to take is you inside me," she said, lowering her head to whisper in his ear, her uninjured hand moving down to pull at the elastic waistband of his shorts. She didn't need any help exposing him, which was a good thing because he already had his hands full with her breasts, her sopping wet pussy. She pulled at the elastic, lifting her hips slightly to give herself more room as she tugged his shorts lower, her hand delving inside to find his cock and pull it free of the confines. She stroked him. Her soft, lightly calloused hand closing around his shaft, gliding up and down in a pressured motion that very nearly made him cum.

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"Christ, Bailey!" he growled against her breasts. He had to think about the pounds per square inch of a hose in reference to the fire to be fought before he shot his own seed into her hand at a PSI rate that would send her flying off his lap and across the living room. "Baby, please. We need a…" Condom, he was about to say, but she lifted her head to look down at him, a sultry smile on her lips and a condom in her hand. She must have grabbed it from somewhere, he realized, before she climbed on top of him. He took it from her, ripping the package open with his teeth and covering his erection in record time. She lifted her hips ever so slightly, locked her gaze with his, and then lowered herself onto his cock. Geezus! It felt so good, her silky hot wetness closing around his throbbing dick, that his eyes rolled back in his head. She pushed herself lower, taking him deeper inside her, plunging him through that door to paradise and beyond. He was so close, that smooth push inside her so heart-stoppingly good that he teetered on the edge of release before she even started to move. He had to catch her hips, to hold her still while he regained control, fought not to cum. She knew it too, the devil. She knew what she did to him and the look in her eyes told him how much she loved it, loved him. "Are you trying not to cum, Tripp?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement, her voice singsong and teasing. He held control of her, using every muscle he possessed and then some to keep her from moving, yet she could still tease him. The witch! "Because I'm not quite there yet," she continued, knowing he wouldn't allow himself release until she was shattering around him, coming in loud and forceful convulsions all over him. And he knew just how to get her there. He reached around her, his palm skimming over her firm buttock, one finger slipping between her cheeks. Her eyes widened as she realized his intention and she began to quiver slightly. He released her hips, knowing he wouldn't have to hold her now. Other than that barely there quiver, she wouldn't move for a good two or three seconds, not until her body claimed the mountainous release he was about to give her. He'd discovered this about her purely by accident, never in a million years expecting Bailey Lamont to enjoy something so clearly on the other side of kinky. Oh, she loved sex and she was always up for new positions. She could give a blowjob that left him weak in the knees for hours and when

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he was shoved balls deep inside her, there was no other feeling in the world. No doubt about it, the woman could fuck like a dream. But to like her anus played with while he was inside her, that defied anything and everything he ever thought he knew about her. Tripp watched her as he grazed the pad of his finger over her sensitive hole. Damn, it was such a turn-on the way her eyes turned glassy and her breathing went ragged and the little whimpering sounds she made as he slid just the tip of his finger inside her forbidden opening….Oh, yeah. She fell forward, catching herself with her hands on the back of the chair, her breasts again in his face right where he wanted them. He used his free hand to find her clit once more simultaneously sucking one breast into his mouth, inching his finger infinitesimally deeper into her anus all the while with his cock shoved as far as it would go inside her. When at last she moved, he knew she was almost there. Thank God because no way could he take much more of this. He heard her lose it seconds later and lights danced in the darkness. It was only then he realized he'd closed his eyes. He tried to open them, wanting to see the expression on her face as she came, but every muscle in his body had become hostage of his balls tightening painfully between his legs. Then the pain lessened as his cock flexed, contracted, and let go. Pleasure, mind numbing, groan drawing, paradise making pleasure rocketed through him as he filled the condom, as her pussy muscles convulsed with her own release, milking his dick until there was nothing left. No semen, no feeling, no life. Heart pounding, he eased his finger out of her anus, his other hand from between their bodies and snaked his arms around her waist, holding her. Her arms shook in place on either side of his head, her forehead resting on one well toned bicep as she attempted to gain control of her own breath. She looked amazing, her long dark hair falling around a face so obviously spent and satisfied, her smooth skin gleaming in the aftermath of her orgasm. "You are so fucking beautiful," he heard himself whisper. "Have I told you that lately? How unbelievably gorgeous I think you are?" She opened eyes still slightly glassy and distant, and he watched her make the slow trip back from the paradise of moments ago to the reality of now. She smiled, her lips curving in a lazy grin, and shook her head.

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"Well, I should have. I should tell you that at least once a day because you are amazingly beautiful." He slid his hand up her back, smiling at the way she shivered slightly as he moved up her spine, under her hair to the nape of her neck. "I'm so sorry we fought this morning, Bailey." That did it. What a way to erase those last glimmers of paradise from her eyes, her lips, her body. She went rigid in his arms and a wave of tension washed through the room with the power of a tsunami. Dammit! He should have just kept pretending this morning hadn't happened. He should have continued to do as she said and left work at the office, in a manner of speaking. He should have gone on practicing for the rest of the night, the week, their lives. Practicing. Practicing… "What did you mean when you said we would need plenty of practice?" He studied her now more closely for the truth. Yeah, no doubt about it, she hadn't meant that practicing reference as a joke. She looked away from him, pushing herself up to sit straight in his lap, his full condom-covered cock still inside her. He needed to pull out, to get rid of the condom, clean them both up. Staying inside her this way was dangerous. Used condoms could easily leak, but more importantly right now, he needed to know what was going on. What had she been telling him that his one-track mind—at that moment in time solely on the sexual track— hadn't been able to grasp? "Exactly what I said," she told him. She tried to sound nonchalant, but her body language ruined the effect. "I figure since we're going to be working together again. What? Starting tomorrow, right? I figure we should start learning to leave work at the station when we come home at the end of rotation." Tripp smiled. He couldn't help himself. It was as if a ray of sunshine was suddenly cutting through all the thick darkness that had made much of this day so gloomy and sad. "You've decided to stay on B shift with me." He structured it as more of a statement than a question. Still, he expected her to nod, to smile back, not to shrug and look away. His smile died even as the darkness returned and his heart sank. "Except, you didn't decide, did you? What is it you aren't telling me, Bailey?" "I kind of don't have much choice," she said, her voice small, barely above a whisper. She put a hand on his chest, her palm caressing his shoulder, his breasts, the dark patch of curls that led down his abs and

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stomach, lower. But she wasn't trying to distract him with sex this time. No. Her touch was idler, more as though she simply needed something to do with her hand, something else on which to concentrate. "The spot I was going to take on C shift. You know, before the accident. It's been filled and there aren't any other openings in our department. Dean won't even consider letting me transfer to another station so…" She trailed off, shrugged again. She'd actually considered transferring to another station? A rubber band tightened in Tripp's gut at that. Geezus, was she that serious about not working with him anymore? Or was she just that scared? Tripp reached up, hooked a hand behind her neck, and pulled her down to him. "It will be okay," he whispered, brushing his lips lightly over hers. "We'll make it work. I promise, baby." But even as he said the words, even as he gazed into the swirl of uncertainty in her eyes, he knew. If she were in danger, there was no way he would be able to keep that promise. **** "You don't have to do this," Tripp said softly so only Bailey could hear him. "As a matter of fact, I wish you wouldn't." He let out a heavy sigh at the look she shot him, shook his head. "That has nothing to do with emotions or personal bullshit, Bailey. You're hurt. This is training. Nothing more. Nothing that you can't do some other time. Like in, say, a month or two when that burn on your wrist heals." "I want to do it, LT," she argued, no doubt purposely calling him by the same nickname all the guys on the shift used to reiterate the fact that this conversation better not have anything more than Lieutenant versus firefighter underlining its meaning. Christ, she was determined not to make this easy for him. But why should she? He would be the first to admit, not to anyone but himself of course, that thinking of her without letting all the emotions between lovers inside while at work was proving to be pretty dammed difficult, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. It wasn't like he hadn't been Nomex hood over boots in love with Bailey Lamont before he hurt his back. Hell, he'd fallen for her way before that. Yet, he'd had no problem then separating their two relationships. Could it be because they hadn't had two relationships before?

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That stunning revelation had him stopping to think. Okay, they'd been coworkers from the start. It was how they met. And from that coworker association a friendship formed. Yes, that friendship began to bloom almost immediately into something far more serious, but it wasn't until the accident, or rather the argument they had the evening before his accident, that either of them truly admitted their feelings. Not until then and even several weeks after did they actually become lovers. "You won't be the only one of us on the sideline, Lamont," Tripp pointed out, unable to let it go no matter what his reasoning. "I'm not participating and neither is Magee." "Both of you are on light duty," Bailey countered. "Doctor's orders. I, on the other hand, have a small bandage on my left wrist. That in no way impairs my ability to walk, lift with my right arm, or reach. Thank you for your concern, sir, but I would like to request permission to participate in this training exercise." Yikes! Tripp couldn't say which made him suddenly want to go screaming for hills that didn't even exist in Silver Springs, MS. The defiant set to her shoulders and the hard professional edge to her voice, the words she spoke that clearly implied she was indeed the holder of a far lesser rank than he. Or the look in her eyes that clearly said ‘Stop wishing you had me in bed right now and act like my lieutenant, which might I remind you is exactly the role you are supposed to be playing right now.’ And it was. She was completely right on both counts. He couldn't think of the right words to say, the ones that would both placate her and dig his ass out of the hole in which he'd dug for himself, so he simply nodded his permission and turned his attention to the other members of B shift standing ready to get today's training exercise started. He may be on the sidelines himself, but he was still the lieutenant and it was time for him to act like it. He let his gaze move over the course set up for the training exercise, an obstacle course of endurance, strength, and speed. There really was no reason Bailey couldn't participate. She was injured, yes, but compared to his injury or that of Ryan Magee's still healing smashed kneecap, her wound was pretty superficial. As long as she watched herself, made sure to use her right arm for all the intense stuff, she should make the course without a hitch. It was, after all, a pretty simple course. A double line of ten tires, five in each row, started it off, leading to a rope swing over a mud pit.

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The firefighters would then climb over a six-foot brick wall, landing on the other side where a rolled up fire hose weighing close to twenty-five pounds would be waiting. They would heft the hose onto one shoulder, running for several yards around cones, leaping over boards, drums and holes, finally coming to the opening of the pipe maze. The firefighters would drop to their knees to begin the tight crawl through the maze of twists, turns, and climbs made by a half-mile or so of cement pipes. It was only the last that really gave Tripp pause. That would be a true test of Bailey's endurance and of his own heart because if she started to freak, he wasn't sure he could keep himself away.

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Chapter 7 Bailey's wrist stung with a heat reminiscent of the fire that burned her. She'd stupidly brushed it on the top of the brick wall as she went over, and God, it hurt! Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision both from the pain in her wrist and that in her tongue because she had to bite the shit out of it to keep from screaming. This whole training exercise was being done in full turnouts complete with helmets and open microphones. All she needed was for every man on B shift to hear her whine about a scraped burn. She pushed on, forcing herself to ignore the pain, to concentrate on the course. At least she'd managed to keep her senses and heft the twenty-five pounds of coiled fire hose onto her right shoulder after coming over that wall. Ordinarily, even though she was right handed by nature, she would have used her left shoulder to hold the hose. It was both a way to build more strength in her left arm and to keep her right arm free and maneuverable for the job at hand, or in this case, the next area of the training course. She reached the said area and immediately let her hose slide off her arm to the ground even as she dropped to her hands and knees, or rather her hand and knees. No way would she put any weight on her left wrist right now. She'd just have to do this the handicapped way, with her left hand up and just a bit out from her body and the ground, the better to keep from brushing it against something again. As Bailey prepared to crawl, the position she made reminded her of the miniature teacup Chihuahua she'd owned as a little girl. Though the dog more resembled the Taco Bell dog with its catch phrase "Here lizard, lizard" during the time of the modern day Godzilla movie release, she'd named the dog Bambi. Bambi had received a broken leg, her front left one to be exact, when she decided to attempt the acrobatic act of leaping out of Bailey's arms, falling to the edge of a concrete step as a result. The dog had walked

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around for weeks after with her left front leg in a cast, sticking out from her tiny frame like some kind of balancing stick. Pushing the thoughts of Bambi aside, Bailey crawled into the entrance of the pipe maze and was almost immediately hit with a curtain of darkness so thick, it was as though she stumbled into a black hole of space. Fear, sudden and intense, gripped her and she had to stop, glad she'd made it far enough inside the pipe that anyone standing close enough outside couldn't see her there. But they would know when she took too long to come out the other end of the maze. She was being timed and her performance would be assessed, her weak areas targeted. Like everyone in the department didn't already know what that area was. She was currently surrounded by it, being swallowed by it. Oh, God. Please, no. Hey there, she silently coached herself. Get a grip, girl. Panicking was not an option to successful completion in this training exercise. Neither was hightailing it backward the way she came in. She hadn't allowed herself to think about the maze that lay ahead as she tackled all the obstacles before. She'd known that focusing on what was to come would only aid the developing fear. It's just darkness, she told herself now. Darkness that, duh, she could easily split by simply flicking on her helmet lamp. With the pipe too shallow for her to sit up, her only choice of reaching the switch was to use her still stinging left arm. She needed her right arm to remain on the cool concrete helping her knees to support her weight and keep her balanced. Gritting her teeth, she fumbled on the side of her face shield, found the switch to the attached helmet flashlight and flicked it on. Blessed light illuminate the darkness and her breathing almost immediately returned to normal. Well, not quite normal because she was still enclosed in a very narrow, very shallow cement pipe. Yeah, the darkness may be gone, but the sensation of the walls closing in on her was still very much there. Ignore it, she continued her silent instruction. It's only a pipe, a maze, a test to see how good you are. And you are good. You can do this. You can do this. She turned the last into a new motivational mantra as she plunged forward, crawling faster in hopes of making up some of the time her brief

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pause cost her. She knew she couldn't be too far behind schedule. After all, she'd actually gotten a bit ahead during the tire portion of the exercise. And the hose lugging, despite the searing sting in her wrist, had gone well, too. She was fast on her feet. But she barely made it to what she perceived to be about the halfway point of the maze when her helmet light went out. Instant disorientation. Oh, shit! "Lamont, how's it going in there?" The captain's voice spoke through her open headset. Dammit! Had she made a sound when the darkness fell over her again? Had she gasped, squeaked even? She didn't know. Shit, shit, shit! "Almost out, sir," she lied, and thank you, Jesus, her voice was actually steady. At least, she thought it was a lie. In truth, she could be almost out and not even know it. Christ, where was the end of this dammed maze? But no. No way was she even close, she realized, because she hadn't even made the first turn. And which way was she supposed to turn to get out? Was it right or left? And what the hell happened to her light? Was that part of the exercise, too? Had the captain somehow rigged it to only work long enough for her to get deep inside this blasted maze before it cut out on her? She wouldn't be surprised to find out that were true. So okay, she thought even as her mantra kicked up in the back of her mind yet again. You can do this. You can do this. Yes, she could do this. She squinted her eyes. Not that it did any good in helping her see through the darkness and she began to crawl. She took the left path when the pipes forked, then right because process of elimination told her going left again would bring her in a circle. Right? Wrong, she realized as she hit a dead end, her helmet connecting with a solid wall of concrete with a brain jarring smack that had her seeing stars for a couple of seconds. "Dammit!" Oops, that curse had definitely been aloud. "Lamont?" The captain's voice came instant. "What's up?" "Just got turned around, sir," she admitted grudgingly. "How's my time?" She knew the clock had to be ticking to near critical numbers by now. "You're doing fine. You're currently in second place behind Karlston and almost a full minute ahead of Shannon."

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Okay, that wasn't so bad. She hadn't expected to beat David Karlston. The height challenged, slimly muscular but still rock solid firefighter could move faster than a rat. As for Shannon, his lanky build often caused him to move more awkwardly than fast. "Ouch! Crap!" Bailey seethed seconds later as she continued to push on, determined not to ruin her second place lead. "Bailey?" Tripp's voice, clipped, full of concern, demanding. "Just scraped my shoulder on a corner, Lieutenant," she responded, placing strong emphasis on the title. A friendly reminder of who he was, who she was, where they were. "Took that corner too sharp. Kind of hard to judge distances in the dark, you know." Double crap! She'd meant that as a lame attempt at a joke figuring if she could make light of this darkness, it would help her to ignore how it seemed to have swallowed her so completely. "What do you mean dark? What happened to your helmet light?" Tripp sounded more on the verge of freaking out than she did. "It's not working. I'm feeling my way through here." "Stay where you are. I'm coming in to get you." "I'm fine, Lieutenant. I don't need you to get me out. I'll find my way." She brushed another corner, narrowly missing another scraped shoulder. Christ, these dammed pipes were getting narrower the closer she got to the end of this thing. "Bailey, you can't see. It's dark in there. Let me—" "Not helping," Bailey ground out. No. Being reminded of just how dark it was inside this round, suffocatingly narrow semblance of a coffin was definitely not helping. "Stand down, Lieutenant," the captain ordered. Bailey turned around yet one more corner and saw light. Blessed light. Thank you, Jesus! There was a light at the end of this dammed tunnel after all. "I'm out," she reported and, for the first time since she crawled into the maze, she breathed a slow sigh of sheer relief. You can do this. Yes, she could and she did. ****

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"The bulb blew," Zack Houston, B shift's radio operator and equipment officer said, turning Bailey's helmet in his hands until the light faced her. As if to reiterate his words, he flipped the switch and light, blinding and white, hit her straight in the eyes. "Works now though." He grinned. "Yeah, no kidding." Bailey snatched her helmet back, turned off the light. "Thanks." A door opened at the end of the hall, drawing her attention. Tripp walked out with the captain at his heels. The captain stopped in the doorway to his office, though, crossed his arms, and shook his head. Tripp kept coming. "What's up?" It was the guarded expression on Tripp's face that made her ask. He'd been in the captain's office for a long time. Not that it was unusual for the two commanders of B shift to shut themselves in the office to work from time to time. But it was the sudden rush of grim drifting on the air in the hall that raised Bailey's alarm. Tripp stopped and laid a gentle hand on her upper arm. "We'll talk when you get home." "Where are you going?" And wasn't that a stupid question? The man was obviously going home. But in the middle of his shift? His next words confirmed the silliness of her question. "Home. I'll explain when you get there after your rotation ends tomorrow." He lifted his head, brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I love you. Stay safe." "I—" Love you too, she started to say, but he was already walking away. She glanced at Zack who looked as baffled as she felt, then she turned to the captain still standing in the open doorway of his office. "What just happened here?" "He quit," Dean answered her in a matter-of-fact tone that was so obviously feigned. "Turned in his badge and gear." Bailey stared at the captain, unable to comprehend and then able to comprehend too well. Tripp had quit the fire department. Holy God. **** "Have you lost your mind?" Bailey demanded.

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Apparently, he had if he'd actually believed she wouldn't follow him, that she would do as he asked and wait until she got home tomorrow for him to explain. Yeah, it looked as though he would have to do his explaining now, right here in the parking lot of the station. Tripp stopped in the act of opening the driver’s door of his truck, took a deep breath, and turned to face the wrath of Bailey Lamont. And wrath was defiantly a good word choice, he realized as he met her gaze. Disbelief and fury swirled in her eyes fighting for paramount place, neither emotion winning over the other. They were both too strong. "You quit." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation fired at him with the force of a .44 bullet, the hurt that followed the words hitting him in the chest with equal fervor. "Quit! What the fuck are you thinking?" "I'm thinking that you're right," he told her calmly. There was no need to shout, no need to draw attention to them. Besides, she was doing a good enough job of that on her own. He spotted Ryan Magee limping back from the station entrance door just as Kyle Shannon and Max Jasper peeked their heads out the bay doors to see what the ruckus was about. He met Jasper's knowing gaze but quickly looked away. "You've been right all along. I can't do this. I can't work with you so closely anymore and keep emotions out of it." "So you just quit?" Bailey was indignant. "You're giving up. You can't have it all, so you're going for nothing instead." "I'm going for you. I love you." "Jesus, Tripp, you love your career, too." He did. He very much loved his career. He'd worked his ass off to get here, and then when he went down and the doctors told him he wouldn't be back, he worked his ass off again, and yet….He realized during that training exercise that it all meant nothing without Bailey. If he had to choose between Bailey and his career—and after the way he'd acted during that exercise, the way he'd been so ready to forget everyone and everything else, fuck protocol and training and go in after her—he did have to choose and he had. He'd chosen Bailey. "Don't quit." She lowered her voice, stepping closer to him, pleading with him. "You are not a quitter. You never have been. We'll figure out something, some way to make this work. Let me transfer," she suggested quickly. "I still think that's the best answer for both of us."

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"Yeah, except there's nowhere for you to go," he reminded her. "And you really don't want to be on any other shift or department, either. Look, let’s not do this here, okay? I'll see you when you come home tomorrow." Tripp turned, got in his truck before she could say anything more and got away from the station as fast as he could.

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Chapter 8 Tripp needed another job. There were other career options open to a former lieutenant firefighter. The most obvious of which he had never considered. He could transfer. Yes, he would have to leave the Silver Springs department, probably even the district because he knew for a fact there were no Lieutenant openings on any shift. Well, on any shift, except B shift because he'd vacated that one. Tripp rested his forearms on the porch rail outside his house and gazed into the front yard. He saw the grass in bad need of a mow and the flowers Bailey planted a few weeks before that now looked to be blooming beautifully despite their obvious growing thirst. He supposed he would have time to take care of such things now that he'd become unemployed. He tried to find that sense of loss he expected to feel at knowing his career as Lieutenant of B shift had come to an end. Again. Yet, even searching for it as he was, he found he couldn't quite grab hold of it this time. It had been there, so easy to grasp, it almost choked him, right after the injury, the last time he'd lost his career. That time he'd been almost unable to bear the sense of overwhelming loss, of doom and despair, of failure. But he felt none of those now. Not really. Was it because this time, it had been his choice? Oh, he mourned the fact he would no longer be a member of B shift. He loved working under the command of Dean Wolcott, loved working with the other firefighters and EMTs on their rotation, and yes, he'd loved his career. But he was finding that he truly loved Bailey Lamont more. "What are you thinking about?" Speaking of the woman he loved, she just walked up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He felt her body brush against his as she stood on her tiptoes, gaining the extra inch of height she needed to rest her chin on his shoulder. He felt a definite physical reaction to her touch, her

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closeness, her incredible breasts pressed against his back, and it settled in his dick, leaving him momentarily scatterbrained. "I'm thinking about how far I can get you back inside the house before I give up and make love to you where we stand," he told her, turning his head to kiss her. God but the woman knew how to kiss. Whatever semblance of togetherness his brain had left scattered the instant his lips touched hers. He licked his way into her mouth, loving the sweet sound she made as she pressed her body harder still against his back almost as if she were trying to climb inside his body via the opening of his mouth. "Liar," she said on a soft laugh when she finally broke the kiss. "That's not what you were thinking about before I walked out here." Tripp turned in her arms, circling her waist with his arm as he gazed down at her, and grinned. "It's what I'm thinking now. Although, you're too close already. I'm actually wondering if I can even make it inside the door." Bailey laughed, pushed herself to her tiptoes again to plant a kiss on his nose, then stepped back. "Nice try, Skippy. Now, seriously, what were you thinking about?" Tripp shrugged and turned back to the rail. "Life. My life. You know, what I want to do next. That sort of stuff. I've suddenly found myself in need of a job considering I'm still a bit young to retire." "You could always have your old job back." She stepped up beside him, her movement as hesitant as her words. "I wish you would take it back. Quitting was never something I wanted you to do." "I know that." He glanced at her but couldn't hold her gaze. He hated it when she looked at him all sympathetic and worried and sad. "You think I'm depressed, don't you, because I left the department? You think I'm regretting my decision." "I'm concerned that you are. And I'm worried that you will start to blame me even though you say that you know I didn't want you to quit." Tripp looked at her again and this time he did hold her gaze. "I will never blame you. I made the decision and…" He stopped, shook his head. "Let’s not go through this again, okay?" They'd discussed it enough already in the nearly week and a half since he quit the department. He'd spent much of that time trying to convince Bailey he was okay with the decision he made. Did he have any regrets? Yes, for about half a second. In truth, he knew what he'd done had been right for what mattered most to him these

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days…his future with Bailey Lamont. Hopefully, one day very soon, Bailey Lamont Barrett. "I was actually thinking of going into investigation," he confessed. Now wasn't exactly the right time to ask the woman he loved more than life to marry him after all. "Fire investigation," he clarified. He definitely had her attention. She looked at him with one eyebrow raised, intrigue in her beautiful eyes. "You would be good at that," she said after several long moments and it was clear by the sound of her voice she really meant it. "I think so and it will keep me in the loop, you know, in the fire service." He would have to go back to school for a couple of semesters, get his certification, but he could do that. The community college across the bridge in Billings taught all the courses he'd need. The sound of a motorcycle engine drew his attention to the driveway just as Dean Wolcott brought his fire-engine-red Harley FLSTFI Fat Boy to a stop. It had been a while since Tripp saw his friend on the back of his favorite toy and seeing it now brought a smile to Tripp's face. "Hey, Captain, when are you going to let me take that toy for a spin?" Bailey called to Dean as he silenced the engine. "Let me show you what that baby can really do." Dean laughed, shook his head as he climbed off the bike, took off his helmet, and secured it on the back rack. "How come I never knew you could drive one of these and why am I surprised to find out now?" He continued to chuckle as he approached the porch. "Daddy taught me." Bailey shrugged. "Family legend puts him as a pretty hot biker in his day. He was no Michael Carrington—you know, the part Maxwell Caulfield played in Grease 2—but he was good." "Come by the condo when that wrist heals," Dean said with an almost imperceptible nod at her arm resting on the rail. "No. Better yet. I'll bring the bike to the station. You can show your stuff to all the B shift guys. Give them a bit more of your ‘In your face’ action." "She's good at that." Tripp laughed. "Though your woman is pretty good at it, too. Where is Veronica?" "Home. We've got plans to take Timmy to the movies later. Tina and Ryan are having a quiet night. Anyway, this isn't a social call. I'm here on business."

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Tripp straightened at that but just as quickly relaxed once more. His first thought had been that something was wrong on shift, something that, as the leaders of B shift, Dean wanted to discuss away from the station. Except Tripp was no longer one of the leaders of B shift. He felt only a split seconds tug of something in his chest, and then Bailey spoke and the tug was gone. "Do you want to come inside?" she offered. "No. This is fine. Like I said, Ronnie and I have plans." He propped a booted foot on the porch steps. "I can't stay long, but well, I just came from the station. The captains, myself, Travis Perkins of A shift, and Arnold Talbot of C shift, had a meeting with Rebecca Dagel of the city council. You know that Chip Wrigley is retiring." Tripp nodded. Where was Dean going with this? "It will become official on Monday," Dean continued, but he stopped again, looked at the ground, then back up at Tripp. "The council needed an answer today." "Did you take the position?" Bailey asked point blank. It was exactly what Tripp wondered too and that tug was back in his chest, but this time, he could identify it. It was a product of the same dread and grief he heard in Bailey's voice. B shift was about to lose the best captain it ever had. "No," Dean answered, his gaze transfixed on Tripp. "We want you to." Tripp stared at Dean momentarily unable to comprehend what he just heard. "You want me to…" "You're offering Tripp the position of district Battalion Chief?" Bailey asked the question Tripp couldn't quite seem to get out. "I know it's a bit unorthodox," Dean told him. "Ordinarily the position would go to a captain, but for the first time in what is probably fire department history, none of the captains want the job. We're all happy where we are." None of the captains wanted the job. Yeah, no doubt because of Dean's influence, Tripp thought. "We also think you would be a perfect replacement. That is, of course, if you accept the nomination." Bailey looked at him now, anticipation and hope swirling in her eyes. It was a chance to have his career back in a way he'd never expected. It would

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be different, of course. The battalion chief spent more time between the stations in the district, more time doing paperwork and handling department business than fighting fires. It was why Dean had been hesitant to make the move from Captain to Battalion Chief and probably the other captains, too. Battalion chiefs didn't see quite as much of the action. But he would see enough, Tripp decided. He would be a firefighter, a battalion chief, and he could damn well show up on any call he wanted. As long as Bailey wasn't fighting the said fire, he amended, knowing he would still have to keep his distance there. Still, it was the answer they'd both wanted. The answer neither of them thought possible. "Tell the council I accept," Tripp told Dean. "I'll be there Monday morning." **** "Tell me this is what you want." Bailey pushed herself from the rail, walking straight to Tripp's arms as he walked up the porch steps. He'd gone down to shake Dean's hand and waited there as the captain rolled out of the drive. The purr of the motorcycle's engine grew fainter now and she wondered if maybe Tripp hadn't heard her over the noise, but then he smiled and her heart leapt. "It's what I want," he said in a tone so sure sounding, so convincing that she couldn't doubt him. "And you're okay with it?" "Are you kidding? Of course I'm okay with it. It's…" "The perfect solution," he finished for her. "Well, yeah. Especially since you refused to take your old job back." "I didn't choose nothing, you know." He slowly guided her backward. "I chose you." God, when he said that, it made her heart swell with so much love, she feared it might burst out of her chest. "Yeah, but now you have it all." "Not quite." He shook his head as her back gently hit the wall of the house. "But I will if you marry me." Bailey choked. "M-marry you!" "Marry me," he said again, so calm, so smooth. "Say you'll be my wife. I love you, Bailey, with all my heart, all that I am, all I will ever be. There's

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no conflict of career now and I swear to you that I will always stand behind or beside you but never, ever in front of you. Please, baby, marry me." And what could she say to that except, "Yes." Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. She kissed him and knew that he was right, now they both had it all.

ALL OR NOTHING The Heroes of Silver Springs 4

THE END WWW.TONYARAMAGOS.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Bestselling author Tonya Ramagos spends much of her time daydreaming about one plot or another. Give her a cup of hazelnut flavored coffee and a keyboard and she is at her happiest. When she isn't writing, thinking about writing, or plotting what to write, she can be found taking on the mother role with her two boys and the husband, too. She enjoys taking long walks on the nature trails near her home in Chattanooga, TN, playing computer games, swinging on the playground, dancing, and curling up with a good book.

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