Читать книгу: «Can't Help Falling In Love»

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SKYLER KIMBALL clutched the broad oak tree branch just above her head, stretching her other hand to her nemesis. “Give me a break, Fluffy.”

Fluffy, the copper-colored, not-quite-pure-bred Persian sitting barely five feet away, merely blinked her topaz eyes.

“What did you expect, Sky?” she admonished herself. “After two and a half hours of perching in the tree, the animal was just going to fall into your arms? Life’s not that easy.” Certainly not her life.

“I called the fire department, Skyler honey,” Fluffy’s owner, Roland, called up to her.

“Uh…” Skyler’s hand slipped. She hugged the tree trunk as panic bloomed in her chest. “That’s not—I mean, maybe we’re jumping the gun here, Roland,” she yelled down, peering through the thick branches.

Roland Patterson, the owner of the pet store located next to her women’s clothing shop, smiled wide, his pale brown eyes twinkling, even from a distance.

And she immediately knew the significance of calling the fire department was not lost on her neighbor. He had a thing for the fire department. Specifically for firemen.

For nearly two years, she and Roland had owned businesses on Main Street in her hometown of Baxter, Georgia. Generous loan terms provided by the city council had given them—along with the bakery, the gym and the florist—opportunities to become part of the city’s recent downtown expansion. Skyler loved the independence her shop, Kimball Fashions, had given her, though her protective brothers had argued each and every point of the contract she’d signed.

Brothers who, she reminded herself, would be arriving at any moment with the flamboyant siren, lights and hoopla of the Baxter Fire Department.

She looked heavenward. “Please don’t let them bring the ladder truck…please don’t let them bring the ladder truck.”

The image of her climbing down that long, shaky ladder, with half of downtown staring up her flowery sundress and gossiping about the risqué lingerie no one would have imagined she wore, spurred her to action. She climbed a few branches higher. “Come on, Fluffy,” she implored, holding out her hand to the stubborn cat.

Fluffy proceeded to wash her already pristine paw.

The possibility of some panicked individual—Roland came to mind—calling the fire department for such a simple, and clichéd, task as a cat in a tree was the reason she’d scaled the giant oak in the first place. She could handle any crisis. And without her brothers’ help. Certainly Fluffy’s sudden penchant to spend the afternoon in the park.

In the distance, she heard the peal of a siren. Yeah, right.

Briefly, she considered scrambling down the tree it had taken her more than thirty minutes to climb, but one look below at the park’s summer green grass changed her mind. She swallowed hard. Had she really climbed so high?

Worse, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Two elderly women had their necks craned backward as they stared up at her. A couple of kids—was school out already?—danced around Roland chanting, “Jump, jump.” Their words caused passersby to grind to a halt. People pointed and whispered. Cars stopped in the middle of the street. When Roland shook his head at the kids and shouted “Stop that right now,” they only chanted louder. “Jump! Jump! Jump!…”

“Hells bells.” Resting her forehead against the rough tree bark, Skyler cursed her impulsive nature. She’d fought against the “hero” mentality of her family all her life by being planned, controlled and cautious. Her father had lost his life in a fire being the hero, never realizing the financial and emotional strain he might leave behind. Her brothers, Ben and Steve in the fire department and Wes as a cop, strove on a daily basis to live up to his legend, while she, at least on most levels, fought to live it down. She cared for her mother—who’d never fully recovered from the loss of her husband nearly twenty years before—she paid her taxes, attended to her customers, went out every other Saturday night with her friends for girls’ night, and fought nervous sweats and panic over her brothers’ dangerous jobs.

She had stock to unpack, customers to call about her upcoming sale and books to balance. Why had she decided to take on an ornery feline as her one heroic gesture in weeks? If only Roland hadn’t cried….

“Don’t jump, dear,” someone called up.

Skyler glanced down to see one of the elderly women had moved to the base of the tree. “I’m not jumping,” she returned. She had no intention of listening to the ridiculous suggestion of a couple of obnoxious five-year-olds.

“Just stay calm. Remember life is so precious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have so much to live for.”

Of course…Skyler narrowed her eyes as realization dawned. That lady thought she wanted to do herself in. From an oak tree? In the middle of the park? Good grief. Feeling ridiculous for having to explain why she’d climbed the tree, she pointed at Fluffy. “I’m just getting a cat.”

“You don’t have to make up a story, dear.”

Skyler clenched her jaw. “I’m not making—”

“We all love you.”

Pushing a group of leaves out of her way, Skyler craned her neck to get a better look at this goofy woman. She’d never seen her before in her life. We all love you?

“I’m just here to get the cat.” She stepped over one branch closer to Fluffy.

The crowd gasped. The kids chanted louder. “Jump! Jump! Jump!” The lady held up her hand imploringly. “No, don’t move.”

Then the fire department arrived. In the ladder truck. And the pump truck. And the ambulance.

Skyler sighed, sitting on a branch with her back braced against the tree. “Well, Fluffy, we’re getting the full show today.”

Captain Benjamin Kimball—her oldest brother—leapt from the passenger seat of the ladder truck, just as Steve, his junior by five years, jumped from the driver’s side. Drivers and other firemen scrambled out of the other trucks, all jogging in the wake of their captain. Looking away from the whole, humiliating scene, Skyler absently wondered when the police—and her third brother—would arrive.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten lunch. Fluffy butted her head against her arm, purring like crazy. She was probably hungry by now, too. Skyler rubbed the ornery feline between her ears. “You know, you could have decided to be friends twenty minutes ago, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

The cat crawled into her lap, flexing her claws as she found a comfortable position.

“Ouch!” Skyler flinched and grabbed an overhead branch to steady herself.

The crowd gasped. The goofy lady squealed. The kids chanted. “Jump! Jump! Jump!…”

“Skyler?” a familiar voice shouted.

Skyler waved her hand in Ben’s general direction. “Here.”

“You’re not planning to jump, are you?”

“Not today.”

“Can you climb down?”

“If you really think I should.”

“Skyler…” Ben said in his best don’t-mess-with-me warning tone—the one he used whenever he was forced to bail her out of some scrape her impulsiveness had driven her to.

“Coming.” Skyler planted her feet on a lower branch, using one hand to balance against the tree, while holding Fluffy beneath her other arm. Scooting on her bottom, she managed to move down one branch, but Fluffy panicked at the movement and dug her claws into Skyler’s arm. They both teetered. Fluffy hissed, swiped her claw down Skyler’s arm, then scrambled onto another branch. Her arm stinging like hell, Skyler swung one leg over the branch she was sitting on, clutching the rough bark between her thighs. Her stomach pitched and sweat trickled down her back. “Okay. That wasn’t fun.”

“Jump, Jump, Jump!…”

“Shut up already!” she yelled down, past frustration and embarrassment. She examined the inside of her arm, where a thin line of blood had appeared. Glaring up at the cat, she again began her descent. “You’re on your own.”

Before she could get more than a few feet down, though, she heard the familiar sound of a hydraulic lift. The ladder. Again, she leaned her forehead against the tree’s rough bark. “Why me?”

The cat hissed.

“You said it, Fluffy.”

“Name’s Jack, chère, not Fluffy. You wanna give me your hand?”

Skyler jerked her head around at the unfamiliar, deep, sensuous voice—and promptly bopped her head against the thick branch next to her. Wincing and rubbing her forehead, she looked down at the man who’d spoken.

She found herself staring into a pair of warm, whiskey-brown eyes, the exact shade of the Jim Beam her father used to drink. Along with those incredible eyes went jet-black hair, an arresting, sculpted and tanned face, broad shoulders, muscular arms, then…

Leaning over to get her fill of her gorgeous savior, she nearly lost her balance.

Quick as lightening, he grabbed her wrist.

Her pulse drummed against his hand. The warmth of his skin seeped into her veins, and she found her whole body heating to his touch.

“Hold tight, chère,” he said. “I’m tryin’ to impress my captain.”

Skyler blinked. Of course. The new firefighter/paramedic Ben had mentioned last week at Sunday dinner. Grew up in a small, southern Louisiana town. Met him at a convention. He wants to move up. A real go-getter.

Another hero.

Who at the moment was going to save her butt, so she had no business quibbling with him over the dangers of his job.

Still grasping her wrist, he gently tugged her arm. “Come on. I’ve got you now.”

She smiled. That sounded pretty nice. As she climbed onto the ladder it wobbled. She thrust her arms around the fireman’s neck, and the heat of his body infused hers. His sculpted face was inches from her own. He smelled pleasantly of sweat, pine and musk, as if he’d applied aftershave that morning, and the scent had melded with his duties during the day. The muscles along his shoulders tickled her fingertips, and for the first time in a great while she found herself tempted by male flesh. Tempted beyond her brothers’ tendency toward overprotection. Tempted beyond her staid reputation.

Smiling, he held her waist snugly as his bold gaze slid down her body. “This is my kind of rescue.”

Skyler’s heart fluttered. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her so brashly—and survived her brothers’ fury to tell the tale. Curious herself, she let her gaze rove him as slowly as he had her. He wasn’t model beautiful, she decided…he was better. Rugged. Strong. And big. His tanned, muscular arms and broad chest were covered by a white shirt with the Baxter Fire Department logo stitched over his left breast pocket. His black uniform pants glided over his lean hips and thighs as if they’d been custom-made…and she certainly wouldn’t have minded being the tailor.

My, my, my. There was just so darn much of him to absorb. All that agility, muscle…and man. She dropped her gaze to note he was standing one rung below her, but he still towered over her by several inches. But then, she was a mere five-two, whereas—she observed shamelessly—he was maybe six-four. It was hard to tell with their entwined proximity. Maybe this weird rumbling in her stomach was her weakness for large men.

Then, she remembered. Rescue. The cat.

She pointed toward the pesky feline, still perched several feet above her and looking for all the world like someone had interrupted her late afternoon adventure—and was none too pleased about the censorship. “Don’t forget Fluffy.”

He glanced over her shoulder briefly, then said, “How ’bout I handle you, then I’ll deal with the cat.”

Okay by me. She gave Fluffy one last you’re-on-your-own glare as the fireman started down the ladder and the crowd began to cheer. When they reached the safety of the ground, and her feet rested on the summer green grass, she gazed up at him.

Way up at him. Whoa, baby.

He grasped her shoulder, as if to steady her. “Are you okay?”

Light-headed, she nodded slowly. His smile appeared—bright, charming, confident, maybe a bit reckless, and her throat tightened. As the park began to spin before her eyes, she finally recognized the odd sensation trickling through her body.

Why me? was her last thought as she fainted dead away.

AS JACK TESSON scooped the unconscious woman into his arms, he raised his eyes heavenward, deciding some saint up there had finally cut him some slack. Maybe all those years at the hands of the St. Michael’s Parochial School nuns had finally paid off. No doubt Sister Katherine, who’d thrown him out at least twice a year, and his grandparents, who’d punished him by making him scrub floors in the restaurant/bar they owned, would say she was the devil’s temptation incarnate. Certainly not a woman for “Wild Jack” Tesson.

“Mon Dieu,” he whispered, gazing down at her beautiful oval face. Though she looked angelic, he knew from staring up the ladder that her lacy purple underwear was anything but virtuous.

Ben Kimball raced toward him. “Skyler?”

Perfect name for an angel, Jack thought, even as the medic in Jack finally overrode the man. “She fainted.” Wait a minute. Skyler? The guys at the firehouse had mentioned her. “Your sister?”

As Ben nodded, Jack realized why those bright baby blue eyes of hers had seemed so familiar. The worried and frustrated version of them stared back at him from his captain’s face.

“Let’s get her to the truck,” Ben said.

As they rushed to the ambulance, they picked up a trail of curious bystanders, one being Ben’s younger brother, Steve.

His expression fierce, Steve ordered, “Get her on a back board.”

“She just fainted,” his brother explained as they reached the back of the ambulance.

A grin tugged the corners of Steve’s mouth. “Naturally.” The brothers exchanged a troubled, but affectionate look.

Jack gently laid Skyler on the stretcher Ben pulled from the ambulance bay, pressing his fingers against her wrist and taking her pulse as he did so. A little fast. He fitted an oxygen mask over her face, while Ben hovered, watching his every move. “She’s fainted before?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, sitting on the back bumper.

Jack pulled a stethoscope from a med kit to check Skyler’s heart. As the rhythmic beats reverberated in his ears, she moaned, and he tried to ignore the soft skin beneath his fingers, the tan line along the slope of her breast. He’d worked on patients he’d found attractive before, but never with this level of intensity. Never had one smile and a wide-eyed stare from a pair of baby blue eyes brought him practically to his knees.

He glanced over at his colleagues as he checked Skyler’s extremities for injuries, noting a thin cut on her forearm that he cleaned with antiseptic. “Is she pregnant?”

Fists clenched at his sides, Steve leapt to his feet. “She better damn well not be.”

Ben grabbed his brother’s shoulder, shoving him back down. “Cool it, little brother. She’s not pregnant.”

“How do you know?” Steve countered, his eyes narrowed.

“Because you or Wes would have killed the guy by now.”

Jack snatched his hands from Skyler’s body. Okay. So, he could list an attraction to his boss’s sister under the category headed Bad Career Move.

“She tends to faint whenever she gets too excited,” Ben explained to Jack. “She has MVP.”

“Oh, God!” A man broke from the crowd and threw himself across Skyler’s legs. “She’s going to die!”

Jack grabbed the guy’s arm and lifted him off his patient. His size had always been effective with crowd control, so the small, almost delicate man was easy to remove.

The man gaze up at him fearfully, blinking tears out of his brown eyes. “But, Skyler—”

“Will be fine, Roland,” Ben said, looking exasperated as he pulled him away from the stretcher. “MVP is short for Mitral Valve Prolapse. It’s a condition where the heart doesn’t empty the chamber completely of blood. Stress can sometimes aggravate it.”

Roland eyed Ben with a look that Jack could only describe as adoring. “Really? How fascinating.”

Ben let go of the man’s arm as if he’d just realized he’d grabbed a hot poker.

“Uh, Steve?” Jack said, his voice low.

“Yeah?”

“That guy, is he flirting with Ben?”

“Yep. That’s Roland Patterson.” The pet store owner who’d made the 9-1-1 call, Jack realized. That explained the other guys’ eye-rolling when dispatch had announced their destination. “You should see him whenever Wes is around,” Steve continued. “He gets a bigger hard-on for cops than he does firemen.”

“No kidding.”

“You need to stand back and let the medics work,” Ben was saying to Roland as he gestured—as opposed to leading him—to the crowd.

“What about Fluffy?”

“The cat,” Jack said when Ben frowned.

Stretching, Steve rose. “I’ll check.”

He sauntered away just as an elderly woman approached, shaking her head. She handed Ben a business card. Over his shoulder, Jack read Clovis Crisis Counseling. “You should encourage her to make an appointment with my office as soon as possible, Captain. Climbing that tree was a blatant cry for help.”

“Skyler’s not suicidal, ma’am,” Ben said, tunneling his hand through his hair. “Just impulsive.”

The woman gave him a cagey glare. “Just give her my card.” She walked away.

“Damn.” Ben braced his hands on the stretcher and stared down at his sister, who rolled her head to the side, obviously fighting her way back to consciousness. “How does she get herself into these things?”

Personally, Jack thought the whole event was kinda fun, certainly the most exciting call since he’d arrived in town two weeks ago. He envisioned “ladder rescue experience” on his résumé, surely an asset when he applied to the bigger fire departments in Atlanta in the coming year. Baxter was going to be a great stepping stone. And he knew he’d learn a great deal from working for Ben. Though the guy could loosen up a bit. Especially when it came to his sister.

Jack glanced at her again, checking her pulse at her wrist to have an excuse to touch her again. Damn, she was beautiful. And tiny. Even her bare feet—with toes painted a shocking orange—were small. She was funny, too, remembering her response of “not today” to her brother’s question of whether or not she was going to jump from the tree. Too bad she was off-limits. Of course, a protective family member or two hadn’t stopped him before….

Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. Jack found himself practically nose-to-oxygen mask with her.

“What the hell—” She jerked off the mask, glaring at him without recognition, then her eyes went soft, and she smiled. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Jack Tesson.” His whole body rigid with desire, he fought the urge to apply his medical skills to a little mouth-to-mouth and pulled a penlight from his kit to check her pupils. They dilated normally and evenly. “How do you feel?”

She flushed bright red, as if remembering she’d fainted into his arms. Was she as affected by him as he was by her? Or was she just embarrassed?

Before she could answer him, Ben grabbed her hands. “You scared the hell out of me, Skyler. What were you doing in that tree? Risking your neck over a cat?”

“I’m fine.” Her eyes darkening, she glanced at Jack. “I just, uh…the heat overwhelmed me for a minute.”

Heat, huh? Jack leaned toward her.

“You’re not taking your medication,” Ben said abruptly.

Jack stepped back as Skyler sighed. What was he doing? Coming on to his captain’s sister right in front of him? Not even he was that crazy. He began packing his supplies.

“The doctor says I don’t need medication,” Skyler said to her brother, shaking off his touch. “I haven’t fainted since last fall when you and Steve were called to that four-alarm fire in Monroe.”

Ben tunneled his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you climbed that tree. You’re delicate and—”

“Delicate?” Skyler rolled her eyes, then slid off the stretcher, straightening her sundress. “Please.”

“Says the woman I just rescued from a fifty-foot tree branch.”

Skyler stuck out her tongue at her brother. “You didn’t rescue me. Jack did.” She smiled brightly at him.

While Ben scowled, Jack’s groin tightened. Mon Dieu, she was tempting…

Steve strode toward them with an orange-colored cat tucked beneath one arm.

…as long as no hotheaded siblings are hanging around.

“Fluffy,” Steve said. “Safe and sound.”

Ben sighed. “Return him to Roland, then let’s get this equipment loaded. Another Skyler emergency appears to be over.”

Skyler glared at him, and Steve saluted, jostling Fluffy so she hissed. “Yes, sir, Captain, sir.”

“Move it, Lieutenant,” Ben said to his brother, not looking at all amused.

Sensing this was an old argument about responsibility—and one Jack had seen aimed in his direction by his grandparents more times than he’d like to recall—he turned his attention to Skyler.

Just in time to see her strolling away.

When the crowd of curious bystanders advanced on her, she swung around and headed toward the front of the ambulance. Jack followed, catching up to her as she reached the tree she’d climbed.

“Where the hell are my shoes?”

“What do they look like?” Jack asked.

She whirled as if startled, then she swept out her hands, cocking one hip. “Do you see a big selection of shoes? I’ll bet if you spot a pair, they’re mine.” She turned around, muttering under her breath about men and their general lack of sense/usefulness/reason for living.

Beautiful, tiny, funny, delicate—he had to agree with Ben there, at least in the looks department—independent and sassy. Laissez les bon temps rouler. Let the good times roll.

He trailed behind her as she walked around the tree. When he spied a pair of bright orange heeled sandals, he scooped them up. “Yours, ’tite fille?” he asked, smiling as he held them out to her.

“Thanks.” She took the shoes, then slid her feet into them. Straightening, she smiled. The anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by a light full of intelligence and charm. “Ben said you were Cajun. I’m afraid I don’t know much French. You’ll have to translate.”

“Cajun French is a bit different than pure French, anyway.” He stepped closer to her. As her head dropped back to meet his gaze, he wondered about the differences in their heights. His size was usually a professional advantage, but women in his past had been both intrigued and intimidated by it.

Skyler swayed on her feet.

Jack grabbed her waist. “Skyler? Do you feel faint?” He pressed his fingers to the side of her neck to find her pulse racing. He was coming on to her, and she was really sick. Damn. He’d worked hard to become a firefighter and paramedic. He had five years of experience. What had he missed?

She blinked, then stepped back. “I’m fine. Just a bit wobbly in these shoes.”

He scowled. “You need to see a doctor.”

“You were translating,” she said.

Not wanting to press on a subject that was really none of his business, Jack let the subject go for the moment. “’Tite fille means little girl.” Oops. Before she could do more than frown, he added, “Maybe you’d like ’tite femme better. It means little—” Woman. Big oops. “Uh, I mean, ’tite ange. Little angel.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s kind of nice.”

The hunger he’d banked surged through his body again. Why was he so drawn to her? His voice dropped an octave. “It suits you.”

Laughing, she walked across the grass. “I don’t know about that.”

They would be back under the careful watch of her brothers in a matter of moments. Jack knew he didn’t have much time. “Maybe we could get together for a drink or dinner sometime.”

She stopped, looking up at him. “I don’t date.”

He frowned. Why wouldn’t a woman like her date?

She patted his arm as if she understood his confusion. “Sorry. There’s just too much darn bloodshed.”