Her Rescuer (Ember Heart Ridge Search and Rescue #2)

Prologue - Ryder

PROLOGUE - RYDER

Two years ago

“Just give me the damn coffee and stop with the interrogation,” Logan grunts, rubbing his scarred neck. His permanent scowl hasn't lifted much in the years since he got back from overseas. My older brother’s not known for his sunny personality, but he’s even more grumpy than usual today.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” I flash him my most charming grin as we walk down Ember Heart's Main Street. “Did someone forget to hug you today?”

Troy snorts beside me. “You volunteering?”

“Hard pass, bro. I’m brave, but not that fucking brave.”

It’s good to be back in Ember Heart, finally home after my last military tour. The snow-capped mountains rising around us are a welcome change from combat zones and helicopter rescues. Logan's been back two years already, still healing from the injuries that ended his service. Troy finished his medical corps duty a year ago. And me? I'm glad to be flying helicopters that aren't being shot at, my honorable discharge still fresh after that close call on a classified mission that nearly ended my career… and me with it.

“Mom says the diner has new management,” Troy says. “Old Mrs. Miller's granddaughter took over.”

“Think she kept the blueberry pancake recipe?” I ask, already tasting the fluffy stacks that fueled our teenage years.

“I don’t give a shit, as long as they keep the eggs and bacon on the menu,” Logan mutters.

The familiar bell jingles as I push open the door to the Heart's Delight. The diner is different. It’s brighter, with string lights and vintage signs where there used to be faded photos and beige walls. The booths are still red vinyl, but the whole place buzzes with new energy.

“Good morning! Does me good to see the Blake boys back together!” A white-haired regular calls over as we enter. I wave to a couple of familiar faces, easy smile in place. This is the place where Dad used to bring us for Saturday breakfasts, where Mom would meet us after school with hot chocolate in winter.

“Take any open seat!” calls a voice from behind the counter. It’s low-pitched and warm.

I glance over and time stops.

She's arranging fresh-baked muffins in the display case, her blonde hair twisted up in a messy bun, streaks of baby pink woven through it. When she straightens and turns toward us, something in my chest seizes up.

The woman’s eyes are blue-green, the same shade as the lake in summer. Her smile lights up her whole face, revealing a tiny dimple in her right cheek. She's wearing a Metallica T-shirt and jeans under her apron, and there's a smudge of flour on her cheek that makes me want to reach out and brush it away.

If you took every dream girl I’d ever imagined and rolled them into one, she’d be standing behind the counter; curvy, confident and unforgettable.

“You must be the Blake brothers,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron and coming around the counter. “I'm Frankie Miller. My grandmother told me all about you guys.”

Logan and Troy respond with something appropriate, but I've apparently forgotten how to form words. My tongue feels like it's stuck to the roof of my mouth.

She looks at me expectantly. I swallow hard.

“Coffee?” I manage to croak, like a dehydrated frog.

One delicate eyebrow lifts in amusement. “We do serve that here, yes.”

Troy shoots me a strange look. I never struggle for words. Ever . I'm the Blake brother with the quick comebacks, the easy charm, the one who can talk his way into or out of anything.

But right now, I'm staring at this woman like I've never seen one before.

“There's a booth in the back,” she says, pointing with a coffeepot. “I'll bring over some menus.”

As we slide into the booth, Troy kicks me under the table. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” I grab a napkin, suddenly fascinated by its paper texture.

“You. Tongue-tied. It's bizarre. Usually we can't shut you up.”

“Leave him alone,” Logan says, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Frankie approaches with menus and coffee. As she pours my cup, her sleeve brushes my arm, and I jerk like I've been shocked, knocking the mug. Hot coffee spills across the table.

“Shit! I mean… fuck. Sorry. I didn't?—”

“No harm done!” She laughs, quickly mopping up the spill. The sound of her laughter does strange things to my insides. “First coffee of the day is always a risk.”

Her eyes meet mine, and my mind empties of everything except blue. Summer lake blue.

“Ryder's not usually this clumsy,” Troy explains, grinning like the traitor he is. “Must be the altitude change.”

“Been away,” I finally manage two coherent words. Progress.

“Military, right?” she asks, refilling my cup with steady hands.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, thank you for your service,” she says sincerely. “And welcome home. First coffee's on the house. What can I get for you?”

My brothers give their orders. Then it’s my turn.

“Blueberry pancakes,” I say.

“We have muffins. Or apple-cinnamon pancakes.”

“No blueberry ?” It comes out louder than I meant and she takes a step back. Troy is staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Not today, no.” She crosses her arms across her chest. Shit. She thinks I’m being a dick on purpose.

“I’ll just have coffee.”

When she walks away, I stare after her like a lost puppy.

“Holy shit,” Troy whispers, leaning across the table. “Ryder Blake has a crush. The eternal bachelor… I don’t believe it. Wait ‘til I tell Mom.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, but there's no heat in it.

“You're staring,” Logan points out.

I force my gaze down to the table. That dimple, those blue eyes.

Fuck.

By the time we leave, I've spilled coffee twice, dropped my spoon, and managed a grand total of maybe ten words. My brothers don't even wait until we're out the door before the heckling begins.

“So smooth ,” Troy laughs. “Really impressed her with your vocabulary.”

“Coffee? Blueberry? Ma’am ? That's all you could say?” Logan adds, his lips twitching in what might be an actual smile.

“I don't know what happened,” I admit, looking back at the diner. Through the window, Frankie’s inside laughing with another customer.

Troy slings an arm around my shoulder. “I’ll tell you what happened, bro. Cupid just shot your ass with a military-grade arrow.”

I shrug him off, but I'm already calculating how soon I can come back tomorrow. Surely I'll have regained the power of speech by then. I'll be my normal, charming, easygoing self.

But as I glance back one more time and catch Frankie looking our way with those big blue eyes, I’m not so sure.