Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
AMbrOSE
My pager chirps. Dispatch calling in.
“Rough & Ready Firefighters, a reported emergency at thirteen twenty-three Cassidy Lane. Cat stuck in tree in need of diabetic medication.”
The station echoes with the snickers of my three comrades, Donovan, Waldon, and Aiden.
“Felines? Seriously?” I snap, glaring at the guys. “How are we supposed to respond to human emergencies when we’re tied up with this?”
“Sounds like a call for you, Hollywood,” Waldon says, gum snapping, smug as ever.
Donovan joins in. “Didn’t playing a firefighter on TV prepare you for this exact scenario?”
Yeah. Six damn seasons on SoCal Hotshots. Enough to pay my way through UCLA fire management, not enough to ever live it down.
Maxwell, our shift officer, pops his head in. “What are you waiting for, Ross?”
I grit my teeth. “It’s Dutch. And do I seriously have to go?”
“Yes.” His grin sharpens. “You’re the most experienced with kitty rescues. Wasn’t that a season four plotline?”
The guys howl.
“Besides, if you don’t hurry, you might miss the bachelor auction tonight, and we can’t have that,” Maxwell adds with a chuckle.
He and the chief have been hinting at this charity event all week. Last thing I need are more women hungrily eyeing me like a charcuterie board.
I bite back what I want to say. That one of these days I’ll prove I deserve this job, not as a punchline but as a firefighter. Instead, I grab my gear and head out.
Dad’s words echo in my head. You can’t control what life hands you. Only how you respond to it.
“Cat rescue, here I come,” I mutter, sliding into a red pickup. Dispatch sends the address to the console.
Despite my best efforts at staying professional, though, the situation gnaws at me.
Calls like this are supposed to be hazing. Hollywood stuck cleaning up messes while the real firefighters wait for something worthy.
But I didn’t leave Los Angeles and bust my ass through school and training to be a running joke. Nevertheless, I remind myself: Every call matters … even if it’s for one stubborn cat.
Ten minutes later, I pull up to Cassidy Lane. Ponderosa Pines line the street, their tops swaying in the August heat. Nothing like chasing a cat up a hundred-foot tree. I should’ve brought the ladder engine. But that would’ve meant the whole crew tagging along to witness my ignominy. No, thank you.
But first, the front door. I knock twice.
It opens to a tiny woman with white hair and sharp brown eyes. She wears pastels, her delicate face striking and animated.
“Ambrose Dutch from Rough & Ready Fire Department.” I hold out my hand. She takes it like she’s holding court, not shaking.
Suddenly, her eyes light. “Mon Dieu! You’re Avery Ross.”
I suppress a groan. “No, ma’am. I played him on TV, but I’m not him.”
She squints, unconvinced. Most people never are.
“I’m here about a feline in need of rescue. One with diabetes.”
Her brows knit. “Cat? Oh, you mean Catalina? Mon couchon. I hope she doesn’t have diabetes.” I detect a slight French accent.
Feline. Cat. What’s the difference? Despite my grumpy internal dialogue, I work hard to stay patient and polite.
“The kitty does,” I clarify.
She nods hesitantly, her face softening. “Ah. I’m Marguerite Dupont. Come with me.”
“Enchanté,” I say … the only French I know. It works. She beams and leads me through a bright kitchen and out the sliding glass door.
It opens onto a manicured lawn and backyard overflowing with showy, lingering, late-summer blooms along the property’s fenced perimeter, though it’s days away from October.
“Ah, ma chère Cat, are you doing okay?” she calls, heading for a tree near her back fence, her gait slow but steady.
“Yes!” a woman’s voice grumbles above us. Smooth and silky with a slight rasp that hits me low in my gut.
I follow Marguerite’s gaze. And then I see her.
Clinging to the trunk of an ornamental evergreen ten feet up is … not what I expected. A prim brunette with chestnut hair pinned tight, her skirt torn, and legs tangled in branches. Pink satin flashes through the rip in her clothes, and I jerk my gaze away, heat spiking in spite of myself.
Now, this is a cat rescue I can get behind.
But even more than the lovely form of the woman, what knocks the breath out of me isn’t the flash of pink. It’s the sheer determination and courage in her grip. Most people would be sobbing. She’s holding on like hell itself couldn’t pry her loose.
“Oh, wow,” I exclaim, politely averting my eyes. “How’d you get up there?”
She flushes crimson. “I was trying to get the cat, Dumpling, out of the tree to give her insulin before my lunch break ended.”
Marguerite starts, “We’ve got A—”
“Ambrose Dutch.” I cut her off.
“Okay,” the woman, Catalina, replies, squinting down at me. “I could climb back down if my glasses hadn’t fallen off.”
“Found them.” I stoop, pocketing them from the grass.
Her sigh floats towards us, shaky with relief.
Marguerite clucks her tongue. “Is there any way you can adjust how you’re sitting? Mon couchon, you’re showing everyone your dumplings.”
The elderly woman has a point. Catalina’s ample curves and thick thighs are masterpieces. She’s pinup perfection. My kind of girl. The ideal mixture of buttoned-up proper and hidden naughtiness.
Catalina groans, clinging tighter to the trunk.
I grit my teeth, stepping forward. “Don’t move one inch, Cat. Safety before modesty. Besides, I’m a certified EMT. I’ve seen it all.” Though never so fucking tempting …
Marguerite frets. “If only you weren’t so stubborn growing up, always chasing after your brothers …”
“Gran!” Cat hisses.
Brothers. Stubborn. Interesting. I file it away.
“Hang tight.” I nod at Catalina. “I’ll be right back with a ladder.”
She mutters sassily under her breath, and damn if I don’t grin. Gorgeous, exasperated, refusing to admit she needs me. My kind of challenge.
“Tell me your full name and age,” I command.
“Catalina Dupont,” she whimpers so inaudibly that I have to ask her to repeat herself. Her voice comes out stronger the second time, and her face looks slightly less pinched.
“And Ms. Dupont is your grandmother?”
“Yes, and I live here as a part-time caretaker.”
The last information puts warmth in my chest. In high school and part of college, I lived with my great-grandfather, helping to care for him. Funny what you can have in common with someone you didn’t even know existed a half hour ago. “And Dumpling?”
“Scrambled right back down the tree like it was nothing. She never needed saving at all.”
The heat of the midday sun beats down on me, and I run the back of my hand over my forehead. Removing my jacket, I watch Grandma’s eyes hungrily go to my navy blue button-down department shirt, which fits like a glove.
Catalina’s don’t.
Either she really needs her glasses, or she’s not impressed. That would be a first. Not sure how I feel about that.
Addressing Grandma, I ask, “Do you have a ladder handy I could use?”
“Oh, yes, there’s one in the garage.”
“Catalina, hang tight. I’ll be right back.”
“Do I have any other options?” she murmurs. I like this girl. Not only is she stunning as fuck, but she doesn’t take crap from anyone.
In the garage, I find a ten-foot metal ladder, a two-by-four, stakes, some rope, and a mallet.
Ms. Dupont reminisces, “This was my beloved husband’s. But it’s been years since anyone used it. Glad it’s finally coming in handy.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“And who are you again?” she asks, suddenly looking a little shaky.
“The firefighter rescuing your granddaughter.”
“Firefighter?” she knits her brows. “Is there a fire somewhere?”
“No, ma’am. Just your granddaughter stuck in the tree she climbed to rescue Dumpling.”
She looks puzzled for a moment, wringing her hands in front of her. Then, she laughs. “Oh, yes, you’re right.”
I assess her visually for signs of distress. Her cheeks glow from the heat, my best guess for what triggered her sudden forgetfulness. “Why don’t you go back inside, cool off, and drink some water? I’ll have Cat down in a flash. I promise.”
She hesitates, then smiles, turning and reaching for the door that leads into the house. “What a nice boy.”
Back outside, I set the ladder against the tree, securing the base with the two-by-four and stakes. It’s not going anywhere.
Catalina eyes me warily.
“We’ve got two options,” I tell her. “Call in the ladder engine and turn this into a full-blown rescue … or let me do it the old-fashioned way.”
“No ladder engine,” she pleads. “Next thing I know, this’ll be front-page news.”
“Welcome to my world,” I half-bark, half-laugh.
“What do you expect in such a visible line of work?” she asks.
Visible line of work? Dammit! She does recognize me.
Reluctant to give up the ruse and hoping to keep her distracted from her current plight, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“Firefighters, first responders, sheriff’s deputies. You’re always in the news.”
I chuckle, relieved by her oblivious answer. It’s a first for me. “May I call you Cat?”
“Everyone does.” Her voice sounds exasperated.
“Then, let’s stick with Catalina.”
That earns me a ghost of a smile.
I shouldn’t feel this protective of someone I just met. But the idea of her falling, of her getting hurt on my watch, sets my teeth on edge. Strange, how fast a stranger can matter.
“Why not be like everyone else?”
“Because you clearly don’t appreciate the nickname.”
“How can you tell?”
I can sense the emotions rolling off this woman in waves. I don’t know if it’s the frantic situation she’s in or something else. But it’s intoxicating as fuck, like a vibrant river washing through me.
Of course, I can’t tell her this. I’d sound like a total whack job and maybe undermine her confidence in my ability to rescue her safely.
Instead, I say, “You’re not very good at hiding your feelings.”
“My mom always said that would be my downfall.”
I grimace. “Maybe if you’re a professional poker player. But I think it’s beautiful.”
She presses her cherry-stained lips tightly together, and I’d give far more than a penny for her thoughts.
When I reach her, I place the glasses in her hand. Her fingers brush mine, warm, soft, electric. For a heartbeat, the autumnal air feels charged, like sparks snapping between us.
“Alright, Catalina.” My voice comes out low. “Let’s get you down safe. Then maybe we’ll both laugh about this.”
But something tells me I won’t be laughing. Not when every nerve in my body is already wired to her.