Page 12 of Rockstar Rescue
“With what?” he grins. “The remaining flour Mr. Raccoon left you?”
“We’ve got a few things here. Charlie Boy’s kibble is sealed tight. And we have safe drinking water at the bare minimum. I had ordered provisions from the Fire Control delivery service a few days back, well ahead of the storm. I’ll check the outside locker to bring it in. But let me dry you off first.”
I wrap the towel around him, loving the sensation of his firm, warm skin under my fingers.
“Now lay down in the bedroom. I’ll be right back.
CHAPTER 8
GINNY
Iput on my parka and head back out into the snow, crossing my fingers it’s really well. The service doesn’t slip up as a general rule, but there’s always a first time.
If I had known I’d have a fancy man as my guest, I would have ordered Champagne and caviar.
Smiling to myself, I reach into the locker and pull out the basics—eggs, milk, butter, flour. frozen meat, and a few of my usual favorites.
Then I sling the bags over my shoulder and head back to the cabin.
In the short time I've been gone, Dylan has decorated the edge of the tin tub with pine cones that I had collected and stored in the bedroom from a previous visit.
The old tin tub looks inviting, now that I see it framed by the crackling fire.
“Nice touch with the pine cones,” I say, finding him in the kitchen pulling out pots and pans. “Looks great.”
“Least I can do to return the favor, Nurse Nancy.”
“That’s not my name,” I laugh.
“Sorry. Firewoman Fanny,”
“I told you I’m Ginny.”
“Ginny … ,” he says, rolling the name around on his tongue. “You don’t look like a gin-loving lush. Or a card shark …”
“Very funny. It’s short for Virginia.”
“Ah. Secret code for virgin,, yes?”
I force a serious countenance. “It’s not polite to discuss persona issues with one’s medical team.”
“Hey, medical team,” he says, gesturing his fingers at the bags I hold. “Let’s see what’s for dinner.”
I bring them to the counter, and watch as he unpacks them. He looks at each with studied concentration, like one of those TV chefs that have to make a gourmet meal from odd ingredients.
“This will do,” he says. “Are you a real firewoman? Or just a volunteer?”
“Real. Just like my dad. He was FMO for the Glacier View Ranger District.:
“What’s FMO?”
“Fire Management Officer. He died last month.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s better this way. It was a long illness. I left college in my sophomore year to take care of him.”
“No man of your own?”
