“I stopped by to see—if I were to ask you to dinner, would you go?”
She pretended to think hard as his heat messed up her equilibrium. “And if I were to respond, I’d say sure, I’ll go.” She felt like a teen accepting a first hot date.
“Have you been to Pike’s Landing?” He leaned against the door sill, scorching it, hands in his pockets.
She needed fifty mud drops to cool this fire. “Haven’t been anywhere except Chinook.”
“It’s next to the Chena River. Decent food.”
“Hang on. I’ll grab my wallet.” She walked on clouds to her dresser and caught him in the mirror, seriously checking her out. Her insides shifted.
“You won’t need it.”
“I prefer to pay my own way.” She expected him to argue as she plucked her wallet from the dresser.
He didn’t.
“Okay, ready.” She said breathlessly, moving toward him.
Ryan wore civilian clothes, a stark contrast to his usual fire garb. A charcoal-gray, rugby shirt clung to his form, long sleeves pushed up on his forearms. Jeans hugged his long legs. Dressy, for a firefighter.
“Wow.” His brows lifted. He pushed off the door sill and cleared his throat. “You look great.”
“Thanks.”
She closed the door behind them, and they ambled down the hallway and stairs to the exit.
Tara caught his fresh pine scent as she rambled about the fires they fought near Chinook. She planned to apologize for what happened before, when the time was right.
He opened the back door to the barracks and held it for her.
She opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. Dial it back. You don’t have to prove you can open your own doors. Not tonight.
Ryan led her to a shiny, blue Mustang convertible and opened the passenger door.
She gave him a surprised look. “Yours?”
He beckoned her in. “Mostly Melbourne’s. He lets me use it on occasion.”
“Thought all you Alaskans drive pickups.” She sunk into a plush, black seat.
“Not when we want to impress women.” He winked and closed the door.
The wink and his dimples together turbo-blasted her. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he rounded the front of the car and sank into the driver’s seat. Wow. He was…he was...every word she thought of to describe him sounded lame.
He searched for his ignition key and inserted it. “My pickup isn’t running. Mel and I rebuilt the ‘Stang engine together, so we share it.”
“You’re a regular Captain America. Smokejumper, EMT, plane pilot, and engine mechanic. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I can’t toss up an omelet and catch it in a pan.” He flashed a quick grin and accelerated after turning onto the highway.
“Neither can I.” She leaned her head back, unconcerned about what Ryan couldn’t do.
They stuck to polite conversation, exchanging stories about firefighting the past few weeks. So much to say, but where to begin? She racked her brain for a way to apologize. Mend your fence with him.
When they arrived at the restaurant, she loved the rustic Alaskan décor with the antlers, antiques, and snowshoes on the walls.
“Reservations for O’Connor,” Ryan said to the hostess.
Tara’s chin dropped. “Reservations? You planned this.”
“I took a gamble.”
The hostess led them to a table in a corner with the closest view of the slow-moving river.
“This is fabulous. We can watch the ducks.” Tara loved the intimacy of this setting. It was nature-centric, like him.
Ryan settled in and ignored his menu. “Already know what I’m ordering. They do great king salmon.” He leaned back in his chair, so easy on the eyes it ought to be a crime.
When the server arrived, he ordered a bottle of California merlot.
“I’ll do the king salmon.” Tara noted him studying her with a hint of a smile.
“Ditto,” he said.
The server delivered their wine and poured two glasses.
She watched the red liquid swirl into her glass. “Do you miss California?”
“Sometimes. I visit my dad in Pasadena in the off-season and jump fires there on occasion. Otherwise I explore Alaska to squeeze in more hours of flight time.” He looked up at the server and thanked her.
“It’s a beautiful place.”
He lifted his wine. “Here’s to showing you more of it.”
Tara clinked his glass with hers. “I’d like that.” She smiled and sipped.
Gazing at the peaceful river, she loved how the evening glow reflected on the slow-moving water and she welcomed its divergence from fire. She hoped she was on the right path, being here with Ryan.
“You really do look good tonight.” His gaze steadied on hers.
“Feels great to be out of Nomex. You clean up nice yourself.” She leaned back, drinking him in and noting the broad outline of his chest and shoulders. His sleeves were pushed up on his tanned forearms, and for the first time she saw a number inside a small flame tatted under one of them. The number five.
Ryan poured more wine and she watched it tinkle into her glass. “Heard what an excellent job you all did on the Interior fires.” He leaned back, relaxed.
“It was great. Everyone knew their jobs. Silva assigned me as squad boss when we divvied up to work the flanks.”
“What else did you do up there?”
Tara sipped her merlot, feeling the warmth course through her. She told him about the fourth of July, Smokey the Bear, and their prank on Hudson.
“Would have paid money to see that. How’d you pull that off?” He flashed her his million-dollar smile with those two sexy divots that made his face light up.
“Tupa helped us. He could lift ten Hudsons with his pinky. I still think Hudson weighted Angela’s pack.”
“Still no proof.”
She didn’t want to tell him about Hudson groping her at the Roadhouse and how she’d cold cocked him. Not yet, anyway. They were getting to know each other, and she didn’t want him to think she had a habit of decking her crewmates.
Their food arrived and the server placed identical plates of king salmon with garnish, garlic-smashed potatoes, and sautéed green beans in front of them. They ate in between small talk about fire. Ryan talked about the fires
