Page 1 of Some Like It Hot

One

He knew he didn’t deserve it, but Riley McCord wasn’t going to turn down Larke’s smile. Not when she looked at him with those sweet, pale blue-green eyes, grinning at him like he might be a bona fide hero.

Fate seemed to like him tonight. Maybe because he’d paid a few dues when he’d saved his fellow smokejumper’s hide on the line a couple days ago. When he thrown himself into the fire to grab Skye Doyle when her drip torch malfunctioned and trapped her in a ring of death.

So, yeah, he let himself be called a hero, and he leaned into Larke Kingston’s laughter, just barely suppressing the urge to wind an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

Later, maybe. When he could sneak her back to Sky King ranch where he and the rest of the Jude County Smoke Jumpers were bunking—her ranch, actually—but he planned on finding a nice spot to watch the sunset, or whatever passed for that up here in Alaska, and…well, he had a few things on his mind.

Namely, trying to forget the date. July 12. The day that always seemed to sneak up on him and leave him hollow.

Not tonight.

He leaned on the bar, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he finished his story about escaping a fire his first summer as a jumper. “The team’s plane had gone down in this ravine—”

“Looks like there’s trouble brewing.” Larke glanced over his shoulder to the front of the Midnight Sun Saloon.

Riley turned, his gaze traveling over his team of still slightly grimy firefighters seated at a long table in the middle of the room, drinking beers, eating wings, and yelling at a rerun football game on the flatscreen overhead, and landing on seasoned jump veteran, Tucker Newman.

Tucker had gotten off his stool in the crowded bar and was standing up to some bulky, flannel-clad local who wore a less-than-welcoming look on his face.

Perfect. But he had Tucker’s back. They’d survived their rookie summer together—one that involved an arsonist with a vendetta against the team—and Tucker was one of the few who put up with Riley’s demons.

So Riley moved forward, past the booth where Skye sat alone, nursing a Coke, past Seth and Romeo, jumpers from Minnesota, past Hanes and Eric, former Zulies out of Missoula, and stood just outside the rim of trouble, under a stuffed moose head.

The place screamedNorthern Exposure, with its out-of-season Christmas lights looped around rough-hewn beams overhead, the smell of greasy fries and spicy wings emanating from the kitchen.

A few grizzly locals had stirred from their booths.

And of course, it was about a girl. Because Tucker had a soft spot for ladies who needed rescuing. Had been just a few short steps from running into the fire after Skye, all the while screaming instructions at her to shut off the torch.

Riley had solved that hiccup by grabbing the defective torch and hurling it into the oncoming fire.

But Tucker was the guy who made sure that a drunk girl got home, tucked her safely into her bed, left her keys on the kitchen table, and locked the door behind her. Tucker was the good guy, the one who followed the rules.

So, his standing up to Flannel wasn’t a huge surprise, given the pretty, petite brunette glaring at the big guy.

And Flannelwasa big guy, hadlet’s throw downwritten in his glare as Tucker held up his hand, maybe trying to deflect the inevitable. “Don’t—”

Tucker glanced at the girl and responded with, “I just want to make sure—”

“Nate—!” The brunette shouted just as Nate made his decision.

Riley’s instincts cha-chingedas Nate’s punch spun Tucker around and into the bar.

Riley was already moving. Because he’d seen the guy to Tucker’s left coming out of a nearby booth, a moose of a man who had the smokejumper in his sights.

And well, a fight might fill the hollow spaces inside Riley just as well as what might happen with Larke.

Behind him, the table of lit smokejumpers ignited with a roar.

Riley tackled Moose Man around the waist, the girth not unlike Rueben’s, their sawyer who had unfortunately already walked out the door with his girlfriend, Gilly, their jump pilot. He landed on top of the man and relished the way the big guy’s breath whooshed out.

But when Riley reared back, the man’s fist caught him on his shoulder, and with a blinding flash of heat, pain splintered through him.

He might have landed a bit hard on that stupid shoulder when he’d tackled Skye. Now, the pain shot gray into his eyes.

Turned him woozy.

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