Eloping with the Cowboy Fireman (Rough & Ready Firefighters #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

DONOVAN

“I’ll be lucky to get a twenty dollar bid,” Waldon grumbles, gum snapping as usual, though not nearly as smug.

Aiden scowls, shaking his head. “If anybody stays around to bid on us at all. Whose idea was it to put Hollywood out front?”

Sheriff McLeod doesn’t mince words. “You think you have it bad? At least, the whole SoCal Hotshots thing has ladies hankering for hook and ladder men. As for my single deputies? They’ll be bidding on each other.”

I scrub my eyes with the heels of my hands. Personally, I’d like the floor to swallow me whole. But I haven’t seen much progress in that direction. Instead, I’m hoping for a quick visit to the stage—no drama, no bids.

“Phoenix gets to find out next,” Waldon says, eyeing me like I have anything to say.

He doesn’t need a reminder I’m the quiet one. I grunt anyway.

“Just want to get this over with,” Aiden chimes in. “Grab a beer and go to bed.”

Onstage, the bidding is intensifying.

“Damn,” I say, finally unable to hold back. “Hollywood might raise enough in one fell swoop the rest of us can go home and forget this ever happened.”

“Won’t get off that easy,” Hawk chimes in, one of Rough & Ready’s helicopter pilots. He’s married to Roxy, the organizer of tonight’s event, a small-town bachelor auction to benefit her charity, Three Nations Animal Rescue.

“He might,” Waldon chimes in, listening for a second to the booms from the stage’s sound system. “Can’t skate by on his good looks like I can.” He flexes his square-cut jaw, growling under his breath to emphasize his ego.

“In your dreams,” I grumble, but the ending gets cut off by uproarious applause and screams. “You still planning to break auction records?”

Waldon smirks, popping his gum. “Oh, I’ve got my eye on one bidder in particular.”

“Yeah?” His grin shifts, just slightly. “Yeah. And she hates me.”

I snort. “You’re screwed.”

“Already know it.”

Nothing ever changes with Waldon—the smug one—or Aiden the grumpy one. Been on the same crew long enough to know better, two years. But our newest brother, Ambrose “Hollywood” Dutch remains what you might call a wild card.

Tonight’s proving it.

“Damn, you’d think Morgan Wallen were out there or something,” McLeod frowns.

Chaos descends as Hollywood leaves the stage, and we get pushed out into the hallway by the janitorial closet.

“Pretty much sums up the night,” Aiden grumbles, regarding the sign on the door with a tap of his finger.

“You’re next up,” Kurt, our fire chief says, sticking his head out in the hallway. He’s pointing at me.

“Tough act to follow,” Waldon says with a wicked laugh.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be there soon enough,” I answer, sauntering back toward the stage. Halfway down the hallway, Hollywood comes rushing out with Sheriff McLeod and the DMV lady, stopping me in my tracks.

“Well, I’ll be,” I mutter, making room as they pass, a plan already in the works to spirit them out of here without all his fans getting in on the action.

The rest happens quickly. Before I know it, I’m on stage with Dallas, one of Hollister’s local rodeo announcers. I stare into a blinding white light, sweating like I’m under interrogation.

Or having a near-death experience. The funereal atmosphere in the room doesn’t help one bit. Gone are the screams and catcalls. So is the energy. Just as I predicted, everyone left after Ambrose’s debut. Why they chose to put him out first, I’ll never know.

But good. This’ll go by quickly… and uneventfully.

“Alright now, ladies,” Dallas says, putting his full bravado into it. “Our next bachelor is personal friends and colleagues with Avery Ross.”

I roll my eyes. That’s the name of Ambrose’s TV character. “If you’re looking for the inside scoop on our own celebrity fireman, Donovan’s the man.”

No, I’m not. I’m the quiet guy.

“Isn’t that right?” Dallas says tipping the mic toward me. But he thinks better of it at the last second, pulling it back before I can say anything.

He adds like the ringleader of a circus, “He may even throw in one of his comrade’s autographs if you play your cards right.”

For God’s sake!

Dallas grins like he just struck gold, feeding off even the smallest ripple in the crowd.

And I mean slightest.

“Now don’t let the strong, silent type fool you,” he continues, pacing the stage in those ridiculous rhinestone boots. “This man right here is the one you want when things go sideways. Fire, flood, cat stuck in a tree—”

A few scattered laughs drift up from the remaining crowd.

I shift my weight, squinting into the glare. He’s not wrong. Just… not helping.

“—and I hear he’s the kind of guy who sticks,” Dallas adds, lowering his voice like he’s letting them in on a secret. “Loyal. Dependable. The one who doesn’t walk away.”

That gets a few more murmurs. Great. Now I’m a golden retriever.

“Let’s start the bidding at fifty dollars,” he calls. “Do I hear fifty?”

Silence.

That’s predictable.

I resist the urge to shove my hands in my pockets.

Told you.

A chair scrapes somewhere in the back. Someone coughs. The energy in the room is nothing like it was for Hollywood. No frenzy. No screaming.

Just… polite disinterest.

“Fifty?” Dallas tries again, a little less sparkle in his tone.

A hand lifts halfway, then drops.

I huff out a breath, glancing toward the curtain where Waldon and Aiden are probably enjoying the hell out of this.

“Come on now,” Dallas pushes, clapping once. “You’re telling me none of you ladies want a fireman who actually shows up?”

I hear a few chuckles. Still no bids.

I roll my shoulders, ready to step back and call it.

Then, I hear a voice cut through the too-quiet gymnasium with its gaudy strings of lights and burnt cotton candy smell. “Fifty.”

My head lifts before I can stop it, and there she is. Standing near the side of the room, paddle raised just enough to be seen.

Number… hell, I can’t even make it out through the lights. But I see her.

Dark hair—somewhere between black and red—catching the glow of the string lights.

Burgundy.

I think.

Her eyes stay steady, locked on me like she’s not seeing anyone else in the room.

Something shifts in my chest.

Dallas latches on immediately. “We’ve got fifty! That’s what I’m talking about. Do I hear seventy-five?”

My throat works, ready to protest. Don’t push our luck. Fifty’s more than I expected.

But Dallas isn’t asking or listening.

And I’m a hunk of meat that no one wants… except her.

I keep looking at my bidder. She doesn’t look away, face unreadable, lips slightly parted in a way that puts warmth behind my sternum.

“Seventy-five,” another voice calls, somewhere off to the left.

My jaw tightens.

Dammit.

“Good! Seventy-five. Do I hear one hundred?”

“One hundred.” It’s her again. The same tone and the same calm as before like she does this every day.

Heat settles low in my gut, unexpected and sharp.

That’s it. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.

But Dallas is back in full swing now. “There we go! One hundred dollars. Do I hear one-fifty?”

“Two hundred,” someone else jumps in, a little louder this time.

I don’t even glance that way. I’m still watching the redhead. Trying to figure out why the hell it feels like the whole room narrowed down to one person.

“Two-fifty?” Dallas calls.

No one moves.

I swallow hard, blinking through the lights.

Then, her paddle lifts, and I hear it. “Three hundred.”

My pulse kicks.

Dallas lets out a low whistle. “Now we’re talking. Three hundred dollars. Do I hear—”

“Four.” It comes from another bidder, closer to the front. One with short curls of a gray-blue hue. She could be my grandmother. It couldn’t get more awkward. Now, I’m truly invested in the outcome.

Come on, Burgundy.

I shift my stance, something in me sharpening. This is ridiculous. It’s an auction, and I shouldn’t care. But damn if I don’t.

“Five hundred.” Her. Again.

Thank God.

I notice something else, too. There’s no hesitation in her voice or actions. Hell, she doesn’t even check in like the other bidders, glancing around the room.

She just keeps her eyes fixed on me, like we’re the only two people in the room. And suddenly, I care a whole lot about what happens.

Dallas laughs, delighted. “Five hundred! Anybody going to take her on?”

I say a silent prayer.

Quiet prevails.

The earlier energy never comes back. No feeding frenzy like before with Hollywood. Just a general sense of… disappointment.

“Five hundred going once…” Dallas drags it out, eyes sweeping the room. “Going twice…”

My chest tightens, something unfamiliar pressing in.

“Sold!”

The sound cracks through the space. Applause follows. Much lighter this time, but real.

I barely hear it, because she lowers the paddle slowly, her gaze still locked on mine. And there’s nothing accidental about it or what that look does to my pulse.

Dallas claps me on the shoulder. “Looks like you’ve been claimed, my friend.”

Yeah. It feels like it, and though I don’t want to admit it, maybe this whole small-town bachelor auction thing isn’t so bad after all. Even for a too-quiet, anything-but-famous smoke eater.

I step forward automatically, the lights still blinding, the crowd still there. But none of it matters the way it did a second ago.

Because now I know exactly who I’m walking toward. And for the first time all night…

I’m not in a hurry to leave.