CHAPTER 2
Olivia
M y stomach drops and I’m suddenly all too aware of my slightly drunk, very frazzled state.
One that isn’t equipped to handle Asher.
Because this man is not just good-looking.
That’s much too boring of a description for him.
At six foot five, he’s big everywhere; his jaw is wide and chiseled, covered by a full dark beard.
Every angle of his face is symmetrical, straight and strong, and his skin is laden with ink, intricate tattoos that run from his neck all the way down to his knuckles.
The mysterious burn scars that creep up his hands, only add to his allure.
He’s powerful and commanding, and as he leans into the truck and pulls out a thermal blanket, my mouth goes dry and my vision blurs.
Asher calls orders over his shoulder to the rest of his crew as they start pulling a thick hose out of the truck.
One of them is familiar: Walker Black, the middle son from the Grosvenor Cattle Ranch just outside of town and, if I remember correctly, Asher’s volunteer assistant captain.
Asher doesn’t waste any time approaching me. His woodsy and clean scent, one I’d know anywhere, smells like oak and bergamot. Right now it’s mixed with a hint of smoke from his gear, and somehow even that is enticing.
Of course Asher would be on call tonight. Of course he’d be here smelling delicious and peering down at me like I’m the biggest pain in his ass.
“Liv,” he greets curtly as he wraps the blanket around my shoulders.
His voice is a deep timbre with a slight Irish accent.
It’s a voice that has always felt like the promise of something darker, born from the most suppressed part of my dreams. The kind of dreams I’ve pushed down for as long as I can remember.
God I’m drunk.
“I need to assess you,” he says, as I rearrange the idiotic stare I’m sure I’m wearing while I watch his face, his throat, his lips.
He doesn’t seem to notice; his gray eyes are devoid of emotion as he checks me over.
“Anyone else on the premises? Pets?”
Grief steals my words as I shake my head, a fresh set of tears filling my eyes for my little Biscuit as Asher’s men work to put out the flames inside my house.
My front door is wide open and the hose lays across my threshold.
I look around and see it took only a few minutes for almost every neighbor on my street to take up residence on their front porch to watch my world crumble.
“Come with me.” Asher nods to the back of the fire cruiser, pulling his helmet off as he lowers the tailgate and I step off the curb. I misjudge its depth and almost fall until he steadies me.
I’m accident-prone, which Asher has witnessed more than most. I can’t count how many nights he’s stopped me from stumbling out the door at the Horse and Barrel, the local bar where he sometimes works.
As he helps me up onto the tailgate now, his hands circle my waist to steady me.
The skin he’s touching immediately breaks out in goosebumps.
“I’m not hurt. I’m sorta drunk …” I croak out, nearly choking on a sob.
“Aye,” he mutters as he pulls out a medical bag.
As I look at my house and see the damage, I try not to hyperventilate.
“How drunk ?” Asher asks, trying to catch my gaze with his own.
“A couple glasses of wine?” I answer, but he waits, staring at me until I look up at him with the truth. “Most of the bottle.”
“ Christ sakes …” he mutters under his breath, so softly it’s almost inaudible.
“How long were you in there? Try to remember. This is important. ”
“M-maybe two minutes,” I tell him as he moves robotically, popping an oxygen mask on me.
“Deep breath in,” he orders. He’s always been a man of few words, which makes him unapproachable on its own, but, in his fire gear, he seems even more intimidating.
I inhale, thinking of the way I must look right now: pajamas, tears, a mask, and to top it all off, my overstuffed cow slippers.
Thankfully Asher doesn’t seem fazed by my appearance as he spends a few minutes taking my blood pressure.
His warm, calloused grip grazes the underside of my arm, and everything buzzes under my skin when I watch his strong jaw tense.
“Again,” he orders as he watches his meter.
Smoke catches my eye again. Oh my God, my house …
“ Olivia. ” Asher’s voice is deep and commanding. The sound of it normally sends what feels like a live wire through me, but right now it’s oddly the only thing stopping me from spiraling out of control.
“It’ll be okay, understand?”
“Okay …” I say, my voice breaking. A few moments pass as Asher removes the blood pressure cuff and pulls off the oxygen mask, his finger lifting my chin as his scent washes over me again. God, he smells so good.
“Eyes here.” He points with two fingers to his own gray pools. I almost get lost in them before a light blinds me. I squint, and his frown deepens before he removes the light. He clips something onto my finger before glancing over his shoulder, assessing. “It’s nearly out now.”
His calm assurance allows me to take a deep, settling breath, and I realize I shouldn’t be so surprised he’s the one who’s able to calm me.
Asher Reed is somehow never far when I’m in need. At least I think it’s him who watches over me; I’ve never built up the courage to ask.
I think back to the time a handsy cowboy spent the night hitting on me at the Horse and Barrel.
I escaped to the bathroom to hide from him, and when I came back he was gone.
His friend told me he got kicked out, and when I looked over to Asher standing behind the bar, he just nodded. I knew it was him.
A few weeks later, I worked a series of late nights at my clothing store running inventory.
When I arrived at the store on the last morning, there were muffins and coffee from Spicer’s, our local bakery, resting on the step of my storefront.
That was about a year and a half ago. Now, when I find myself in need of something, it seems to appear out of nowhere.
The snow brushed off my car when I leave my shop on a cold night, or my driveway shoveled in the morning.
My front porch light was replaced once, and my dad denied it was him.
I know on instinct that it’s Asher and, although I know it’s not normal, it doesn’t scare me.
It fascinates me. If I ever told anyone, they’d probably tell me I had some sort of stalker fetish.
But what they don’t know is that I’ve always been drawn to dark and mysterious men, and Asher Reed definitely fits that bill.
“You have to be more … aware,” he scolds me now, bringing my attention back to the present. “Especially when you live alone.”
His comment stings, but I cover it with a laugh. “Are you saying I need a man to take care of me?”
“Fuck no, and you’d probably find a way to take out the poor bastard anyway.” His eyes briefly flit to mine, but they don’t linger. “I’m suggesting you fuckin’ drink less while you’re alone, seeing as you tend to be …”
“Accident-prone?” I chide. “To say the goddamn least.”
“What if he’s an everyday superhero, like you? Mr. Right Place, Right Time,” I fire back jokingly. Sober me is gonna hate this tomorrow. “Seems tonight you’re my knight in shining red truck.” I pat his solid upper arm.
“You’ve had way too much to drink,” Asher grits out.
I snort in response. “Don’t go getting your dalmatian-covered knickers in a twist. I’m joking. And, for the record, it’s not that I don’t want a man.”
Now would be a great time to stop talking, drunk Liv.
“But I wouldn’t hit on you, so don’t worry,” I try to recover. “For one, you grimace way too much. Like Oscar the Grouch.”
Asher just peers down at me with those damn hypnotizing eyes, very Oscar like.
“Tough crowd,” I whisper under my breath.
“My job is to make sure you aren’t suffering from smoke inhalation, not to entertain you.”
“You’re the one who brought up marriage,” I quip. Didn’t he?
“Fucking alcohol,” he mumbles. “The last thing I’d be talking about is marriage. You need to sleep.” Asher’s voice trails off as he puts his oxygen meter away.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why what?” Asher’s eyes drop to my mouth as I lick my lips. He swallows slowly, and the way his throat works sends a thrill through me. Suddenly I’m hyperaware that I’m sitting here in very thin pajamas and no bra.
“Why wouldn’t you be talking about marriage?” I tighten the sweater around me.
“Because it’s a ridiculous institution.”
“What do you mean? You never want to get married?” I push.
His jaw tics again. “No.”
My eyes widen. “ Never ? I mean, no partner, no companion? Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
“No.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why not?”
“Take this off.” Asher tugs at the bottom of my sweater and my stomach drops with his commanding tone, though I do what he says as he moves around to my back.
I hold my breath as he gently brushes my thick hair over my shoulder before pressing his stethoscope to my back through my tank.
As his warm fingers connect with my skin, little sparks race through my chest and my nipples harden.
The mortification sets in when I realize he’ll be able to hear how fast my heart is beating.
A moment passes as he listens. If he does notice, he doesn’t let on.
“Getting married is a sham for people who want to feel secure. Nothing lasts forever. Including romantic love. Now, give me a deep breath,” he orders.
I want to dig deeper into his thoughts as he finishes listening to my lungs, but I don’t get the chance to ask him what made him so cynical because a county police cruiser pulls up beside us and I see that it’s Wayne, Laurel Creek’s deputy sheriff.
Asher quickly repacks his medical bag and walks over to meet him.
“Her vitals are normal but she’s three sheets to the wind.”
Asher looks down at my cow slippers over his shoulder. “Maybe four.”
“Hi, Wayne,” I say, waving from my place at the back of the cruiser.
“Hey, Olivia.” He tips his hat. I went to school with Wayne, and it’s nice to see a friendly face in this moment.
Wayne takes a look at my house, hands on his hips, as the last of the smoke dissipates out the now open kitchen window.
“Do you have somewhere to go tonight?” he asks me as he comes closer, Asher beside him.
The realization that I can’t go inside my own home hits me with a force I’m not prepared for and, suddenly, the wine in my stomach starts to churn. All my belongings, my clothes, mementos, photos. Everything I own …
“A friend? Your parents?” Wayne pushes softly.
I shake my head. CeCe and Nash have an early doctor’s appointment.
And CeCe’s hardly sleeping as it is. Cole and Ginger’s spare room has turned into wedding central, plus I wouldn’t want to wake Mabel on a school night, and I’m not dealing with my parents right now.
My mother’s worried energy would send me over the edge.
“I’ll just … I can stay at the Motor Court Inn and call my parents in the morning.”
Asher looks me over, and I can almost see those mysterious gears grinding behind his eyes.
“Walker,” he calls over toward one of his crew. “Quick report?”
Walker Black pulls off his helmet as he starts to fill us in. He’s tall and broad with a thick, dark beard. His face is covered in soot from being inside the house, and the color contrasts with his deep blue eyes.
“The fire was contained to the kitchen, but I’m afraid the house is uninhabitable.” He turns to me. “I’d say everything in your house should be salvageable, aside from … anything in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I all but whisper as I hold back another wave of tears.
“Ma’am.” He nods. Walker turns to go as Asher pats him on the back, then glances toward me.
“Where are your keys? And some proper shoes?” He looks at Wayne. “I’ll take her.”
Wayne seems satisfied as he shakes Asher’s hand before following in Walker’s footsteps.
“In the basket in the entryway and … my sandals are at the front door,” I answer. “Thank you. I obviously … can’t drive.”
Asher’s jaw tics.
“Obviously.” He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket as his stormy eyes rake over me. “But I’m not taking you to a hotel.”