Page 2 of Playing With Fire

Chapter One

Even in his most pessimistic moments, Ricky Sharp had never imagined himself troubleshooting between an overexcited and oversized black poodle, its irate senior citizen owner, and an outraged blonde swinging her red handbag like Whitey Ford winding up a wild one for the New York Yankees.

Or that he would be performing this civic service in Temple Mountain, the hometown he had left behind so many years ago.

He considered the tall, athletic-looking young woman, hands on her hips, framed by the fading fall colors of the park.

Throw her over his shoulder in an old-fashioned fireman’s lift, fending off the poodle with his bare arm? Hoist the dog over both shoulders in the classic one-man pack strap carry, and fend off both humans with his elbows?

His knees gave a warning creak. Not without the risk of serious injury and/or major humiliation.

Strictly speaking, Ricky was the new assistant to Chief Leroy Browning of the Temple Mountain Fire Department. A short-term contract, perfect for a man who’d been put on extended leave and told to get his head straight.

In reality, his job meant dealing with every town council problem which could be loosely classified as public safety. Like smart-assed kids who liked to set fires in trash cans. Or exuberant poodles and outraged ratepayers.

“Ma’am.” He kept his voice level. “If you could please stop doing that...it’s not helping and it’s...er...provoking the animal.”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Ricky’s memory stirred.

“Me? Provoking that giant poodle?” She inched up the hem of her fitted navy skirt to reveal a glimpse of shapely thigh. “See that?”

“Very nice.” Ricky spoke without thinking.

She glared. Her midnight blue fingernail tapped a drum tattoo against the red mark on her lightly tanned leg. “Right here. The dog bit me, completely unprovoked.”

“Pshaw!” The portly pet parent gave an outraged yelp, momentarily easing his grip on the dog collar.

Released, the animal lunged joyfully at its new bestie. The young woman squeaked and jiggled the bag. The dog’s tail wagged ecstatically. Game on!

“There she goes again. Teasing poor Bubbles. And she’s a boodle. That’s a cross between a poodle and a bull terrier.” The fond voice lowered to a parental coo. “She’s saying hello, that’s all. Lovely gentle dogs, boodles.”

Without warning, Bubbles reared up on her long legs. Huge paws, the size of saucers, came to rest on the young woman’s bosom.

Woof!

This throaty, friendly greeting was met with a horrified gasp. The handbag flew, just as Bubbles was yanked away, and the heavy contents slapped the senior citizen on the chin.

Both parties spoke at once.

“That’s assault.”

They turned in unison. Ricky’s hand inched towards his radio to call for backup. He wasn’t sure if he needed the dog wagon or the people wagon.

For a brief second, he thought longingly of the simple days when all he had to do was rush into a burning building and rescue people.

Ricky straightened his shoulders and channeled all the natural authority which had made him the youngest lieutenant at the New York City Fire Department Engine Company 264.

“Let’s dial this back, folks,” he said sternly.

The blonde raised an eyebrow. Ricky wasted a second admiring her perfectly made-up ice blue eyes. And strictly speaking, perhaps that dark gold hair was more honey than blonde.

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