One Fine Fireman Read Online Free Page A

have you been? I called all your friends and—”
    “I’m sorry, Mom!” Pete looked wretched. “Didn’t you get my message at the café?”
    “You know I didn’t. I never get those messages. That’s why you’re supposed to use my cell phone.”
    Kirk shot Pete a sharp glance. Crap! He’d let the kid get away with deceiving his mother. Maribel was going to hate him now.
    “I forgot. Besides, I didn’t mean to stay that long. I didn’t see how late it was. I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to ride my bike after dark, and he offered me a ride and—”
    “You’re not supposed to take rides from strangers! It’s like candy! Same thing! You know better, Pete.”
    “But he’s not—”
    “And you!” She whirled on Kirk again, who took a step back, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm and in the process nearly knocking over his bike. “I ought to call the police. Giving a kid a ride on a motorcycle. What were you thinking? What’s next? You’re going to buy him a beer? Take him club-hopping?”
    “Mom!”
    If Kirk could only explain, set her mind at ease, but the strap of his helmet refused to come off. He must look terrifying to her, hiding behind his helmet and black leather jacket.
    “Pete, get in the house. Now.” She gave Kirk one last, scathing look and turned away. His eyes swept across her pert little rear, encased in a pair of shorts, and her long, deliciously sleek legs. She was barefoot. Her feet were . . . well, kind of big and clunky. For some reason that flaw clutched at his heart. She couldn’t leave. Not until he’d explained himself.
    He gave the helmet strap one last yank. This time the buckle finally burst open. The helmet bounced to the ground, but he barely noticed, thanks to the pain shooting through his head and the stars dancing in his vision. Had he just punched himself in the face? He had. He felt his jaw, working it to make sure it wasn’t broken. He packed a hell of a punch, if he did say so himself.
    “Mom! Kirk’s hurt.”
    “Who’s Kirk?”
    “Kirk! The fireman. The man with the bike.”
    M ARIBEL FROZE, THEN slowly turned. Sure enough, the tough-looking man in the motorcycle helmet was no longer an intimidating stranger, but a wincing silver-eyed Kirk. He seemed to be weaving a little on his feet. “Sorry to scare you,” he said. “Pete didn’t have any lights on his bike, and it didn’t seem safe for him to ride home like that. I’m a very experienced rider. There was never any danger. But I’m real sorry to worry you.”
    She stared. Was this really the strong, silent Kirk? She’d never heard so many words out of him at once. Maybe that bonk on the head, or whatever had happened, knocked the quiet out of him.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Oh, yeah. I just . . . had some trouble with my strap.” He moved his jaw from side to side.
    “You should put some ice on that. Why don’t you come in?”
    He didn’t seem to grasp her meaning, gaping at her blank-faced. Poor guy must have really done a number on himself. She went to him and took his hand, which felt very warm and big. At his touch, a little sunburst seemed to light up her insides. “You’d better come in and sit down. You shouldn’t get back on that bike yet. And you definitely need ice. Pete, run ahead and get a pack of frozen corn.”
    “Peas,” Kirk said.
    “What?”
    Had he said something about having to pee? Unusual thing to mention. He must really be out of it. She paused and looked back at him curiously. But he was looking ahead at Pete—who had just zipped in the doorway—or maybe at her house, or maybe he was just seeing stars. Who knew? At any rate, he didn’t notice that she’d stopped walking. He plowed right into her.
    As she started to fall backward, he caught her by the shoulders. She clutched at his upper arms, which felt hard as rocks under his black jacket. The smell of pure, manly male—car grease and leather and open road and something else, something