“I reckon that one’s going completely commando,” Duncan said, pointing to a redhead with no discernible panty line. Or DPL as they liked to call it.
“Hard to tell in jeans,” Logan mused. “Could be a thong. She’d have to bend over to be sure. I need to see lack of butt floss.”
And then, as if by magic, the woman dropped something and folded over from the waist as she snatched it off the ground.
“Well, whaddya know?” Duncan grinned. “There is a god.”
“Awesome mind control, Bro.” Logan high-fived his brother as they watched the low-riding jeans do their thing, sliding perilously lower. No peek of the thin elastic straps of a thong which would definitely be on display by now had she been wearing one.
“Damn, man, I think you’re right. She’s not wearing any panties.”
“You two are deviants.”
Logan grinned at Duncan as they turned to face their colleague.
“Sure,” Duncan agreed, unperturbed by the characterisation. “But we’re loveable deviants, right?”
Ruth Gilligan stood, arms crossed, shaking her head at them. At twenty-nine, the same age as Logan, she was one of only two women that made up the thirty-strong squad. And the only black female firefighter in the state.
Originally from one of the smaller islands in the Torres Strait, she was fit and strong and excellent at her job. She wasn’t afraid of hard work, pulled her weight, and didn’t take any of their shit. She could shoulder lift a hundred and fifty kilo man as easily as she could put him on his ass if he gave her any lip.
“I think that’s an oxymoron,” she said.
“Aww, come on now, Gilligan, that’s no way to talk about my baby brother.” Duncan jabbed his fist at Logan’s gut but he was way too fast for his older brother, laughing easily as he dodged the hit.
Ruth rolled her eyes. “I rest my case.” She joined them at the window, perusing the parade of people out front. “Any decent guys out there? Someone who doesn’t mind a strong, black woman with, according to my last boyfriend, a reckless death wish?”
“I hate to break this to you, Gilligan, but we haven’t exactly been checking the dudes out. Besides...” Duncan thumped his chest. “Why look any further when you have such awesome specimens at your fingertips?”
“No thanks, I know where you dirty bastards have been.” She pointed to a woman in a clingy T-shirt. “That chick’s not wearing a bra.”
Logan and Duncan’s heads quickly snapped to the direction of Ruth’s point. As a breast man, Logan enjoyed the bouncy view. It wasn’t very PC but hell if he cared right at this moment.
“Looks like it’s cold out as well,” Duncan mused, a laugh in his voice.
It was hot enough to melt bitumen.
The woman turned into a building and disappeared and Logan glanced at Ruth. “I thought you were sworn off men. Or were waiting for Chris Hemsworth or something like –”
“Hey, dude,” Duncan interrupted, “there’s a woman looking up at the house who’s the spitting image of Bella.”
Bella? Logan’s pulse spiked.
“What?” He whipped his head back to the street view, his gaze hunting up and down, searching for long blonde hair. “Where?” He growled, not seeing anyone who remotely matched her description.
Duncan pointed. “Sitting on that low wall over there under the tree. She’s eating a sandwich or something.”
Heartbeat stampeding like a herd of rhino through all his pulse points, Logan’s gaze settled on the woman in question. His first thought was to reject his brother’s assertion out of hand. Everything about her was just... different.
She was too far away to assess the colour of her eyes but this woman had short, choppy hair, more honey than blonde. There was more padding on her bones although, God knew, Bella had been too skinny. But more than that, it was the way she sat, the way she held herself.
She was too... tranquil. Relaxed. Serene. Or something...
Arabella Tucker had been a ball of energy. Sitting under a tree, unhurriedly eating as if she had all the time in the world had not been part of her repertoire. Released from the strictures of her good-girl upbringing when she’d been nineteen, she’d launched herself into life full steam ahead and he’d been hard put keeping up with her.
Sky diving. Bungee jumping. Rock climbing. White river rafting. Clubbing all night. Early morning jogging along the river banks or heading to the coast at dawn for a surf, the sun rising behind them as they rode their boards into the shore.
Being with her had been the most exhilarating – and gut-wrenching – year of his life.
Suddenly, the woman opposite tilted her head. That was all – just a slight movement really. But she might as well have stood up and slugged him with a blast from a fire hose for the impact the mannerism had on him. He sucked in a breath.
It was her. He’d know that head tilt anywhere. Arabella Tucker.
Bella.
His brother frowned. “Logan?”
“Christ,” he said, pushing a hand through his short brown hair. “I think you’re right.”
Logan blinked. And blinked again. Why the hell was she just sitting there outside, studying the firehouse like a... architectural student – like a stranger – instead of a woman who knew it inside out?
Why hadn’t she come in and asked for him? Sure, they hadn’t parted ways on the best of terms but that was eight years ago for fuck’s sake. Wasn’t she at least curious about him? Didn’t she want to at least say hi for old time’s sake?
“What are you going to –”
Logan didn’t give his brother a chance to finish. He didn’t stop to consult or converse with either him or Ruth. He just ran. Ran like the city was burning down and only he could put it out.
She might not want to renew acquaintance but he sure as hell did. There was a part
