Page 8 of Steamy Dreamy Hearts

Oh my God.She was setting me up.

Smack frowned at Kamira. “Are you sure?”

That hurt my feelings. Did he think Kamira was the better firefighter? I would prove to him my worth. He’d want to take me to every damn wildfire in the history of wildfires. Forever.

“Something the matter?” I challenged him. Let him tell me to my face he didn’t want me.

“No, not a thing,” he answered firmly. “I guess it’s you and me, Caleb.”

“Yes, sir.” I smiled.

And despite Captain Smack usually acting badass, his cheeks flushed.

Phin nudged me with his elbow. Kamira smiled. They’d both encourage me to go beyond fantasies and ask him out if I asked for their opinions. But real-life relationships had only hurt me.

Besides, Captain Smack would never break the rules and date a fellow firefighter, much less one all scarred and damaged like me. He’d blushed because my flirting made him uncomfortable, not because he returned any feelings. Right?

“I’ll pick you up at 10:00 a.m. on Sunday, and we’ll head out,” Smack ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Smack studied me, as if weighing my tone. I was 50 percent sure he disliked it. And the other 50 percent? Feared he liked it fine. For the first time in weeks, my heart gave an optimistic little jolt.

CHAPTER

FOUR

SMACK

“Listen, Daddy! I’m playing it again!”

“Great, honey bunny.” I worked at the enthusiasm in my voice.

That freaking trombone. Erin blew a note. Stopped as she faltered. Blew another, longer one. “How’s that?”

“Amazing. You’re getting better each day. Just keep practicing.”

“I will!” She belted out a series of short ones that resembled the sound of flatulence.

My smile stayed pasted on my face. I even tapped my feet as if there was a rhythm.

Although Erin excelled academically at school, her teachers were concerned about her small motor skills. Things like tying her shoes or working an umbrella did not come easily to her. She was all thumbs. Dan had been like that, too. The man couldn’t load a dishwasher to save his life.

The doctor had recommended sports or a musical instrument to help Erin. My mother had hoped to teach her the piano, having taught me years ago. But the day I took Erin tolook at pianos, she somehow convinced me to get a trombone instead.

“Oh gosh, it’s bigger than her arms,” my mother exclaimed. Erin played it night and day. And with the way it brought her so much joy, I didn’t care if her motor skills were a little delayed.

“Daddy! Are you even listening? I asked how this sounded.” Erin’s voice jolted me out of the memory.

“Sorry. Can you play it again?”

“Uh-huh.” She took a deep breath, counting to three, and then played the note.

That one sounded like a loud, dying sheep.

“Wow.” I nodded. “That’s…something, isn’t it?”

Erin flashed me a toothy grin.

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