Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
AMbrOSE
As we cross the parking lot under heavy Sheriff’s Deputy guard, the chestnut beauty looks downright mortified. She hugs herself, chin tucked against more than the night air.
I offer her my Carhartt.
“No, thank you.” Her voice shakes, but it’s not just embarrassment. It’s pride. A quiet defiance that makes me want to wrap her up twice as tight.
“It was Gran,” she stammers. “There’s no way I have ten thousand dollars to bid on you or any other man. No offense.”
The lady in pink? Gran. Of course it was Gran. That makes more sense. I can’t deny the sting of disappointment that clings to me, though.
“But you were one of the other bidders, right?” I counter.
“I had to try to stop her. The embarrassment of her bidding on you and winning. Ugh!”
“And that’s the only reason you bid?”
Her awkward silence tells me everything. So do her glowing cheeks.
I grin. “Either way, you’ve got yourself a ten-thousand-dollar date.”
“Whose car are we going to take?” Catalina asks breathlessly as we follow Christian.
“Avery Ross! Avery!” Screams fill the air. “Oh, my God. That’s him! That’s him, girls!”
A cascade of voices splits the crisp autumnal air as we hurry towards my dark gray pickup. “Mine. It has tinted windows to keep from constantly being recognized by fans.”
“Stay back,” Christian orders the approaching women. “This is a sheriff’s escort.” Indeed, he has four deputies with him.
I open Catalina’s door, offering my hand. She hesitates before gripping it as I boost her into the seat.
She pulls away a little too quickly, the impossible softness of her hand lingering. Her cheeks stain redder than the Merlot half the crowd guzzled tonight. Does she feel the crackling chemistry sizzling between us?
I lean forward to buckle her belt, and her bottom jaw drops. It’s like she’s never been around a decent guy before.
Inches from her face, I feel unhinged. I should back off, give her space. But hell if my body listens. She smells like cookies, all vanilla and cinnamon goodness. It makes me want to taste her, bite her. Maybe some of the bacchanal energy of tonight’s event has rubbed off on me.
Christian clears his throat forcefully behind us. Straightening too quickly, I slam the back of my head into the top of the door frame. The hollow thud reverberates through the truck, making it impossible to hide.
“Are you okay?” Catalina gasps. Concern and amusement blur in her eyes, hitting worse than the bump on my skull.
“Ouch!” The sheriff winces as I grab the crown of my head.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Christian adds, “That sounded like it hurt.”
“I’m okay.” Though my ego isn’t. “Thanks for your help tonight.”
“Until next time, Hollywood.” I hear the thud of his cowboy boots on pavement as he and his deputy escort saunter back inside, a sour look on his visage.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, I push down the pain of my throbbing head, counting my blessings instead. “You saved me tonight, Catalina. I don’t know what in the hell would’ve happened with red shirt or one of those other bidders.”
She looks down at her hands, fingers twirling in her lap. “Gran saved you.”
Suddenly, a group of women from the auction surrounds the truck, tapping and knocking on the windows.
“Avery Ross, take us instead. This girl’s not good enough for a—” For a man they’ve only seen on TV, not the idiot trying to drive Catalina away from so much fucking drama.
I turn the key in the ignition, hoping the noise will make them step back. But to no avail.
Cracking the driver’s side window, I growl. “Move out of the way. We’re leaving.”
But the women continue to encircle my vehicle. I honk, and Christian reappears, shooing them off and scolding, “You’d better get the hell out of here before you cause any more trouble, Hollywood.”
I rant as we drive away, “Whoever thought a charity auction for a local animal rescue could go so haywire, thanks to a dude who played a firefighter on TV? It seems like a travesty considering the real heroes—firefighters, first responders, search and rescue, ex-military, and more—who remain lined up to take the stage for bids that won’t touch what my stupid face and faker-than-hell identity just pulled in. ”
“Is it always like this for you?”
“Not usually this bad. The auction has brought out the worst in people.”
“So, you don’t have to worry about paparazzi or anything like that?” She knits her forehead.
“Not usually. I’ve been out of the news cycle for a while now. But anything that might bring a large concentration of people who enjoyed SoCal Hotshots together, especially in the presence of alcohol? Apparently, that’s a problem.”
The insistent twang of country love songs churns from the satellite radio. I take a few deep, cleansing breaths.
“That’s one thing to be thankful for,” she says in that smoky little voice that seems to have a direct line to my heart.
Her big librarian glasses sit a little too far down the bridge of her nose, which is covered in a light dusting of freckles.
So are the tops of her cheeks. She pushes her glasses back up, stoking flames of desire deep inside.
She’s sunshine wrapped in cardigans and cat hair, and damned if it doesn’t undo me.
I’d love to blame this attraction on a lifelong infatuation with geeky girls. But when it comes to Catalina, it’s more than that. She’s curvy, sassy, no-nonsense. That’s a rare combination. “And you’re the other.”
“The other what?”
“Thing to be thankful for.”
The corners of her cherry-stained mouth turn up, and her snickerdoodle eyes snap with realization. She chuckles, agreeing, “Some of those ladies looked like hibernation-starved bears waiting on a rotisserie chicken, Ambrose. Gran and I did get you off the hook.”
“I wish you hadn’t seen that.”
A horn blares behind me, and I look up, realizing the red stoplight has turned green.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “Should probably keep my eyes and brain on the road.” I train my gaze forward, despite the temptation to have another look at the prize next to me.
“So, how is your grandma getting home tonight?”
“Tilly and her husband offered to drive Gran home and stay until my return.” Her face softens. “That’s sweet of you to worry about her.”
“Of course. What matters to you matters to me.”
She looks down, cheeks darkening.
“You know, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you perched in the tree. I need to know why.”
She counters, “I can’t blame you, considering the regrettable view you had of me, straddling tree limbs in a very unforgiving skirt.”
“I tried not to look.” I don’t want her thinking I’m a creep or anything. “But regrettable? No, ma’am, that was a view of a goddess.”
She lets out a delicate little poof of air. I don’t know what to make of it. “So, how’d you end up a cowboy in L.A. anyway?”
“I grew up on a ranch outside the city limits in larger Los Angeles County. It was pastoral where I’m from. Small town, cozy and quaint. Maybe that’s why I gravitated to Rough & Ready Country.”
“So that belt buckle is the real deal?”
“Absolutely. Team roping with my bestie, Irish.” Most women would fawn all over me at this point. But Catalina looks only mildly interested.
“How about you, Catalina? You ever rodeo?”
She snorts, catching herself and looking mortified. It’s cute as fuck. “No way. Horses and I aren’t a great combination.”
“Tell me about yourself, then. What do you like?”
“Well, you already know I like books. Someday, I want to own a bookstore and cafe in town. It’s a pipe dream of mine.”
Her eyes soften, like she’s already picturing it.
The vision of her behind that counter, sleeves rolled up and hair tumbling, makes something sharp and possessive stir low in my chest. Mismatched chairs, stacks of freshly printed paperbacks, the smell of coffee and cinnamon rolls.
I can see it, too. A place that belongs entirely to her.
“Doesn’t sound like a pipe dream to me. Why are you wasting your time at the DMV, then?”
She shrugs. “I’m not ‘wasting my time.’ I mean, I am providing a necessary service, after all. Besides, it’s a safe and steady job with good benefits. Being an entrepreneur scares me.”
“But it’s not your passion.”
She shrugs. “Who seriously gets to live out their passion at work?”
“I do,” I counter. “I love everything about being a firefighter, from the science of fire management to being the first responder when people need help.”
“I thought it was because you’re an adrenaline junkie,” she counters.
I cock my head to the side. “Maybe that’s a part of it. After all, the job is rarely boring. But no, it’s ultimately knowing that I can be there for people when they need me most. Just the other day, we got called out to an apartment complex fire, where we saved three kids.
Oh my God! The story was plastered all over local papers, the talk of the County Courthouse all week. The firefighters involved had to hack their way in using axes. They made it out mere minutes before the structure failed, raining down fiery debris.
Yet, he says it like he’s talking about picking up groceries, like charging into smoke and flames is ordinary. To me, it sounds like a goodbye wrapped in bravado.
“But it’s also got to be dangerous, right?”
“Everything comes with inherent danger. Life itself.”
I park in front of an old fifties-style diner, brightly lit against the velvety black of night, the chrome of the building shining brilliantly. A garish neon sign reads “Ophir City Hop.”
Catalina’s face lights up with pleasure. “Oh, I love this place!”
“You do?” Thank goodness.
“It’s like all the best things from American Graffiti and Happy Days rolled into one.”
“And you can’t beat the shakes. Best of all, the kids who work here are too young to recognize me. It’s refreshing.”
A carrot-top server with pigtails skates up to the window. “You ready to order?” she asks.
I look at Catalina.
She urges, “You first.”