Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The July sun blazed over Peaceful, its golden light warming the streets and fields that stretched out beyond the town limits. Zane stepped out of his truck, the casserole dish balanced under his arm. He’d slept in, and after waking and having a long, hot shower, he craved to see his girl.
His movements were slower than usual. Back-to-back shifts at the station had drained him. Normally, the crew followed a structured twenty-four hours on, forty-eight hours off rotation, but this week had been chaos. A stomach bug had swept through the team, thinning their already stretched ranks. Zane had pulled a triple shift—seventy-two hours straight, with barely a moment to sleep on the thin cot in the station.
It wasn’t only the grueling hours that weighed on him. Peaceful wasn’t feeling so peaceful these days. Three weeks ago, a wildfire had torn through the forest on the outskirts of town. At first, they’d chalked it up to careless campers, but the flames had spread too fast, the damage too extensive for a single campfire to have caused it. Then there had been the dumpster fire behind the high school two weeks past. It had scorched the building’s brick wall, leaving blackened scars that would take months to fix. The only reason the entire school hadn’t gone up in flames was because an alert passerby had seen the smoke and doused the blaze with a fire extinguisher before calling the station.
But the fire that really got under Zane’s skin had happened three nights ago. Tate MacCready’s car had gone up in flames in the middle of the night, parked right in his driveway. Tate was one of Peaceful’s most respected residents—a dedicated high school teacher and mentor to countless students. Hell, he’d been their teacher and mentor!
Zane couldn’t fathom why anyone would target Tate, let alone his new hybrid, so he had pulled the police chief into it. Lou had been clear: these weren’t random accidents. Someone in Peaceful was deliberately setting fires, and Zane couldn’t shake his resultant sense of growing unease. They didn’t have the resources to deal with an arsonist.
Still, none of that mattered right now. Not when his body and mind perked up at the sight before him.
Asha opened the door before he even knocked, her smile hesitant but warm. Just like that, the exhaustion pressing on his shoulders and the worry gnawing at his mind faded. His girl. And she was his, damn it, whether she fully realized it yet or not. Her soulful brown eyes met his, and the sunlight caught the deep, lustrous tones of her hair, sending a jolt of pure energy straight through him.
“Hey.” She flicked her gaze to the dish he carried. “You didn’t have to…”
“This is yours,” he said gruffly and thrust the dish toward her, the tension in his chest lessening when her hands brushed his.
“You’re returning the dish?”
Zane cracked a small smile despite himself. “Figured I’d trade it in for a coffee.”
She laughed and stepped aside to let him in. Her laughter was balm to his frayed nerves, soothing the part of him that hadn’t fully relaxed in days.
Inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him like a welcome hug. He followed her to the kitchen, every step lighter than the last as his exhaustion receded into the background. She poured him a mug, her movements graceful but edged with a nervous energy he couldn’t quite place.
He leaned against the counter, cradling the steaming mug as he watched her. Damn, she was beautiful.
“How are your mom and dad doing?” Zane asked.
Asha smiled faintly, but there was a glimmer of emotion in her eyes. “Mom is a champ. She’s working so hard.” She blinked rapidly, her voice hitching as she added, “I’m so proud of her.”
A soft shuffle of footsteps interrupted the moment, drawing both their gazes toward the doorway. Her father stood there, leaning his weight on the frame for support. His face was paler than usual, but his eyes still twinkled with their usual warmth.
“Speaking of champs,” Zane said, his lips twitching into a grin.
“Dad,” Asha said, already rising to pour him a cup of coffee. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
Her father chuckled as he settled into a chair at the table. “And you’re supposed to stop hovering. I swear, you’re worse than your mother when you get in one of these moods.”
Asha placed the coffee in front of him with a playful glare. “Someone has to make sure you don’t overdo it.”
He took a long sip and sighed contentedly. “Oh, I see. You’ve taken it upon yourself to keep the old man in line, huh?”
“It’s a full-time job,” Asha teased, her lips twitching into a genuine smile.
The three of them settled into a quiet rhythm, the hum of the ceiling fan overhead mingling with the soft clinks of spoons against mugs. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, evoking comfort against the backdrop of their unvoiced concerns. Zane leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to Asha as she fussed over her dad’s cup, stirring in an extra splash of cream.
Something was bothering her—he could feel it in the way her fingers tapped the edge of the table, the way her shoulders seemed to draw tighter with every passing moment. She looked everywhere but at him, and it left a knot in his chest that only grew heavier.
Her dad down set his cup with a decisive clink, his eyes twinkling. “You know what, Asha? You should take Zane for a walk. Lord knows I could use a break from all this mother-henning.”
“Dad!” she protested, her cheeks flushing.
Zane said, “I think that’s an excellent idea.” He stood before she could argue. “Come on, Asha. Let’s get some fresh air.”
Her father waved them off with a grin. “You’ll be doing me a favor.”
Zane held the door open for her, and they stepped out into the golden glow of the early evening. They strolled along the familiar paths surrounding her parents’ house, the air warm with the hum of cicadas and the faint scent of wildflowers. Her hand brushed his once, then again, but each time she pulled it back, as though afraid of what it might mean to hold on.
Zane’s frustration simmered. They had made love days ago, a connection that had felt raw and undeniable. Yet here she was, retreating again, her touch skittish and her silence thick with distance. He made fists, willing himself to remain patient, but it was impossible to ignore the ache building in his chest.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, allowing his gaze to linger on the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her lips pressed together like she was holding something back. Whatever ghost haunted her, it was stealing her away from him piece by piece, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
The path curved near Mrs. Collette’s tiny shed, the old wood casting a patch of shade across the ground. Without thinking, Zane tugged Asha off the trail, guiding her behind the shed. The sun-dappled shadows played across her face as she looked up at him, startled.
“What are you?—”
“Safeword still works,” he said, his voice low and steady.
Her eyes widened, her lips parting, but she didn’t pull away. Zane stepped closer, bracketing her hips with his hands as he pressed her lightly against the wall. He searched her eyes, giving her every chance to object.
When she didn’t, he lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers in a whisper of a touch. Her breath hitched, her fingers curling against his chest. And then he kissed her, deep and demanding, pouring every ounce of his frustration and longing into the press of their mouths. Asha slid her hands up to his shoulders, clinging to him as though she needed the anchor. That was fine—he wouldn’t let her drift away.
When they broke apart, their breaths mingled in the quiet space between them. Zane rested his forehead against hers, his words rough but tender. “You’re mine, Asha. No more running.”