Page 10 of The Spark Between Us

“You guys are friends?” I asked. Captain Obvious.

“Brothers, actually.”

Before I could ask him more, a giant black truck pulled up behind my car. I saw Braden’s motorcycle boots hit the pavement before he strode around and started loading my stuff into the back of the truck. Those boxes weighed thirty pounds apiece—I’d weighed them on my bathroom scale—but he tossed them around like feather pillows.

It had taken me seventeen trips to get everything out of my house and into my car, and he’d unloaded the whole thing in minutes.

Fireman Mitch waved at Braden, who sauntered over.

That’s right, he sauntered.

The man didn’t walk like a normal person. His long legs commanded respect as he moved, taking long, fluid strides while his broad shoulders led the way with an easy glide. He had a gait that said, “look at me,” and at the same time said, “there’s nothing to see here, nothing available to you, anyway.”

Fascinating. I wondered if he’d had to master his carefree walk as part of his job. I glanced at the other firemen for comparison, but nope, they did not saunter.

Braden tipped his head in my direction as the medics helped me to my feet. “I swear, I’m fine,” I told them. Then I disproved it by taking a clumsy lurch in Braden’s direction.

The man’s reflexes were sharp. He had his large palms on my shoulders in a split second and turned me to look up at him. I saw a tall, broad-shouldered, human version of a redwood tree. “You sure you’re okay?” His gaze bore into mine like he was trying to see more than an acknowledgement of good health.

I nodded. “I’m good. Just a little head rush. Got up too quickly.”

The tow truck had cleared a space behind my car and was lifting it onto the flatbed using heavy twin chains. The driver didn’t even ask me where I wanted my car taken. Maybe in this town, there was only one auto repair shop. Or maybe he was taking it to the scrap yard. A problem for another day.

“Bye, car.” I rolled my eyes at the situation and turned away.

Braden directed me toward his truck and pulled open the passenger door, where a step lowered so I could get in. The truck was gigantic, so I needed the extra step to avoid the kind of gymnastics I only did during the privacy of pole dancing classes I took as a workout. I certainly didn’t want Braden lifting me inside.

He shut the door, said goodbye to his colleagues, and jumped into the driver’s seat. If there was a step on his side, he didn’t use it. He didn’t speak much on the drive to his house, so I filled the dead air space with small talk.

“I heard Carolwood has a great rodeo in June. Guess I’ll miss that, which is too bad because I do like to look at horses from afar.”

“From afar?”

“Meaning I don’t like to ride them—it just feels really awkward in my opinion to straddle something with that kind of girth.” A garbled cough erupted from his throat, and I felt my face heat. “Do you ride?”

“Just my bike.”

“Mountain bike? One of my sisters does that. Well, not really. She hikes. But she’s near mountain bikers.”

“Motorcycle.”

“Oh, sure.”

I had more to say, but within minutes we’d reached Braden’s house. Then I was stunned speechless.

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