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This was his last full day on shift. Tomorrow morning at eight, he'd be off. It had been a productive four days, learning the routine of his new station, getting everyone's names straight, quietly figuring out who could possibly be trouble and who was a solid member of his team. So far, no one seemed to be much trouble. But it was still early in the fire season yet—Memorial Day weekend had only just passed—and all of them had been on their best behavior.

He could smell the tantalizing scent of burgers as far as the parking lot and his stomach growled in answer. They'd been going at it steadily since six this morning. Menial calls, every one of them, but just enough to keep them busy and unable to eat a real meal. He'd scarfed down a protein bar around ten and had a bottle of water with him always, but he was down-to-the-bones hungry.

And he was dying for a burger basket special from the BFD. When was the last time he came to this place? He couldn't remember. The Bigfoot Diner opened when he was still in high school, and at first he and his friends had done nothing but make fun of the place. Until they all went in together one night and tried the food out, only to discover it was mouthwateringly delicious.

They quit making fun of it after that.

Besides, he'd heard a rumor that Harper was working here and he was hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Totally juvenile of him, he knew, but he really was craving a BFD burger. They were the best in town.

“Do you eat here much?” West asked no one in particular. He knew one of them would eventually pipe up.

“I'm not much of a meat eater,” Tori sniffed. The lone female firefighter on his crew, he liked Tori. Thank Christ she wasn't a newbie. They were too antsy and ready for action, like overeager puppies. Though she did have a stick up her butt half the time. Not that he could blame her. The guys were brutal. He used to be too, but now that he had to manage the crew? He was their leader and couldn't blow it by making some offhand remark.

“Yeah, we've heard that,” one of the bozos said right before he started to crack up, but he was the only one laughing. Jon was his name. Cocky, mouthy, good-looking, and young,
he
was a newbie and the son of someone in the human resources department at headquarters, which made his attitude that much worse.

In other words, West couldn't stand the nineteen-year-old little asshole.

“Better watch your mouth,” West said, his low tone warning enough. Jon's lips snapped shut and he sent a look to the other guys standing nearby. West turned away, not really caring if he pissed the kid off or not. He had a crew to run.

More like he had a crew to feed.

West pushed through the front door, Tori directly behind him, the rest of the crew falling into line after her.

They'd shed their turnouts earlier, after they'd fought a small vegetation fire started by a car flying off the road and landing in an empty cattle field. The hot transmission had lit the tall, dry grass beneath the car and within seconds more than an acre was burning. They got the fire out quick, but they were lucky the air still held a hint of moisture. Come late July into August, forget it. It would be dry as a bone.

He had to savor these days while he still had them. Predictions for this summer's fire season were off the charts. What with California suffering through a major drought, the conditions were ripe for most of the state to burn right up. The forest that surrounded Wildwood was dotted with dying trees, the lush green pines broken up by more and more brown trees as time went on. If they didn't have a wet winter with plenty of rain and snow soon, the entire forest was likely to die.

And then burn up.

A cute waitress approached, greeting them with a bright smile and an overenthusiastic hello. Her green T-shirt with the Bigfoot Diner logo emblazoned on the front stretched tight over her tits and he swore her nipples were hard. West did his best not to look at her chest, but the other guys were blatantly checking her out and practically drooling. Not that she seemed to mind.

Christ, he felt like an old man with this bunch.

“You want to sit outside or at a table in here?” the blonde waitress chirped at him, waving a hand at the remaining empty tables. Most everyone was sitting outside on the patio, enjoying the warm weather.

“Inside's fine.” They needed to cool off and the restaurant's air-conditioning felt amazing. They all settled at a large table that could seat at least ten, most of them not bothering to look at a menu, West included.

He knew exactly what he wanted. Burger basket, no onions with a side of the special fry sauce that wasn't advertised. Only locals knew about it. Funny, how he'd fallen into his local routine pretty much the moment he'd stepped back into Wildwood.

“So what made you leave this place? I figured all Gallaghers were lifers when it came to Wildwood,” Tori said to him after the waitress took everyone's order.

West was surprised by her question. Was she a mind reader or what? Didn't much like being called a lifer either. “I was offered a promotion so I took it,” he said slowly, refusing to comment on the lifer part. “Why do you ask?”

As discreetly as he could possibly be, he let his gaze slide around the room in search of Harper, but she was nowhere in sight. He thought it was kind of odd, her possibly working at the diner. Didn't she work with her boyfriend? Hadn't she left to go to college for a few years? Hell, why hadn't she just flat out left for good? That's what he'd done though here he was, back where he started.

Harper was too damn good for this town.

Tori shrugged. “I know Holden, and he's mentioned you a few times. How you left Wildwood as fast as you could.” When West still hadn't said anything she continued, “Holden and I were stationed together our first year. We went to the academy together.”

All firefighters had to go to the academy before they were assigned to a station. If they failed, they couldn't become firefighters. It was hard enough to get into Cal Fire. Nothing worse than getting through the first gate only to be sent home packing because you couldn't pass the basic physical tests.

West had just finished up at the academy near Sacramento a few weeks ago. It was a requirement for his promotion—the engineer was the one who drove the fire engine and he had to pass the driver's test. Talk about sweating bullets. He'd practiced taking the test again and again, knocking over fewer and fewer cones with every try. Managing to squeeze that big-ass engine between the strategically placed orange cones hadn't been easy.

But he'd passed. Still felt damn good just thinking about it too.

“So you and Holden are friends?” West didn't think Holden could be friends with someone of the opposite sex, especially someone as naturally pretty as Tori, what with her long dark hair and warm brown eyes. But maybe considering he was so happy, so solid with Kirsten, Holden didn't even notice Tori.

Yeah right.

“Sort of. We don't really see each other much anymore except in passing.” Tori sent him a meaningful look. “Are you happy to be back here?”

“I guess?” West hadn't meant for it to sound like a question, but he really wasn't sure how he felt about being in Wildwood. His father hadn't seemed thrilled at his return and he figured the old man would give him endless crap for coming back. So far, they hadn't talked much.

Just the way West liked it.

“I think I get what you mean. There's nothing to do here. I'm not even from this silly little town.” Tori shrugged, casting her gaze about the restaurant with a critical eye. “I mean, really. A Bigfoot-themed restaurant? How lame can we get?”

“They have the best fucking burgers in town. Hands down,” Jon said firmly, interrupting their conversation like he'd been listening the entire time. Nosy little fucker. “So quit your complaining. It's not our fault you're a vegetarian.”

“Lay off,” West said to Jon, his tone a warning. Though he couldn't believe what Tori said. Who knocked the BFD? Granted, the walls were covered in various Bigfoot sightings articles and even the metal napkin holders had a Bigfoot-walking silhouette on top of them, but it was Rebecca Hill's restaurant, one that she'd created in her late husband's honor. No one from Wildwood mocked the place.

Hell, even the tourists loved it. The place was packed, even at two in the afternoon.

Tori sent Jon a condescending look before turning toward West, a smile curling her lips. “I'm not really a vegetarian. I just don't eat beef.”

He could really not care less about her eating habits, but it was noted just the same. They all took their turn cooking. Now he knew not to expect a juicy steak on Tori's kitchen shift. “Got it. No beef.”

Her voice dropped and she leaned in close. “I heard there was a fire a few nights ago that was possible arson.” She paused, her eyes meeting his. “Is it true?”

West knew nothing about it. And even if he did, he wouldn't discuss it like two kids gossiping in the cafeteria at school. “I only just got here so I don't know.” He shrugged.

She breathed deep, glancing around. “I overheard Tate talking about it. Maybe I was mistaken.”

“Maybe.” West tried his best to remain neutral and made a mental note to ask Tate. Deep down, he was immediately filled with worry. If it was true and there really was an arsonist in Wildwood, he needed to know about it. He didn't like the idea of his hometown at risk. The town was surrounded by towering pine trees, many of them dead or dying because of the ongoing drought. This place could go up in flames easily, putting everyone at risk.

“So. Is it true that Harper Hill broke up with her boyfriend?” Tori waggled her brows at West's confusion.

She knew how to change the subject whip-fast. And why was she suddenly bringing up Harper? He'd forgotten just how small the town was. Everyone knew each other, even if only in passing.

“Talk about gossip,” she said. “They were solid. Everyone thought they were getting married. Figured you'd have the lowdown on what happened, considering Harper's best friend is your sister.”

“Harper and I aren't that close anymore.” Kissing-close, but that was years ago and didn't count any longer. “I know nothing.” Even if he did, that would be his automatic defense. No way would he spread any rumors or speculation about Harper. “What do you know about the boyfriend?” He wanted to kick himself for even asking.

Tori's waggling brows stay up, like she was surprised by his question. “I don't know much about Roger. He was quiet and kept to himself. Harper's always friendly, but she never really reveals herself to anyone.”

Odd. He remembered Harper as being overly friendly. But then again, he wasn't a stranger to this town like Tori, not really. He'd known Harper since she was little and felt like he knew everything about her, even when that wasn't the case. “We grew up together,” he said carefully, not wanting to say too much. What if Tori really was a friend to Harper and she'd tell her everything he said? Forget that. Hell, he was walking on shaky ground just by asking about Roger the boring ex. “But we haven't really stayed in contact since I left.”

“I heard you didn't stay in contact with
anyone
after you left.”

He said nothing, could only figure Holden told Tori that, which seemed like a pretty intimate thing for his brother to tell some random chick he worked with.

When he said nothing more, Tori sighed and gave up a little more information. “Roger wasn't from around here either. He's an accountant, bought the old H&R Block a few years ago and started his own business. Good-looking in that bland,
I've made appearances in a Sears catalog
way, if you know what I mean.”

Scarily enough, West knew exactly what she meant.

“Nice enough, but boring.” Tori shrugged. “You don't know him?”

“I haven't been back here in years, remember?” West prodded.

“Yeah, Holden had mentioned that once or twice.” Her cheeks were a little pink. “We used to talk a lot, but not so much anymore.”

The waitress suddenly appeared with a tray of drinks, and West got distracted by his growling stomach and the promise that food would be coming soon. And once the burger baskets finally arrived, everyone was so ravenous all conversation was forgotten as they stuffed their faces.

It wasn't until he pushed his empty basket away and wanted to groan over all the food he ate that he finally looked around once more for Harper. But there was no sign of her. Damn it, was she really at the restaurant now? Because he swore he could feel her presence—and that was insane. He had no business going in search of her. He was on duty, for Christ's sake. Though everyone was still eating and the radio attached to his belt was quiet, indicating that there weren't any calls.

Stretching his arms above his head, he braced his hands behind his neck, going for nonchalance. He hadn't spotted her grandmother either. Maybe he should go ask if Harper was in.

Would he look too eager? Yeah, probably, but he sort of didn't care. He wanted to talk to her. See how she was doing. They'd been interrupted at the bar last Saturday night and they'd never really had a chance to reconnect.

He needed to change that. Was curious to see how she treated him without their friends or family around. It probably wasn't right, seeking her out, trying to get closer to her, what with her recent breakup, but he couldn't help himself. The urge to see her smile, smell her intoxicating scent, was strong.

Besides, a little flirtation never hurt anyone. Right?

G
RANDMA PEEKED HER
head around the doorway. “Someone's out there asking for you.”

Harper looked up from the paperwork she was trying to comb through. “Who could be looking for me here?”

Her grandma had already taken off.

Only twenty-four hours into her new job and Harper was already exhausted. And majorly confused. Her grandma definitely wasn't the best when it came to organizing things. There was no rhyme or reason to the haphazard filing system the woman had adopted since she first opened the diner. It was really a system that only Rebecca Hill understood. Yet she wanted her wrecked system cleaned up “in case I leave the restaurant to you one day.” Direct quote. Or worse, if the IRS ever decided to conduct an audit.

She was already overwhelmed and she'd only gone through the top drawer of one filing cabinet. Numerous filing cabinets lined one wall of the small office. Plus there was a closet full of past paperwork that she'd need to go through as well.

She figured she'd bitten off more than she could chew, but no way was she admitting that to anyone. Instead she'd soldier on like she was so good at doing, never complaining.

With a weary sigh Harper stood, stretching her arms above her head, twisting to the left, then the right, her cramped muscles protesting. Her back hurt from being hunched over the file cabinet and her grandma's messy desk the last two days. Upon entering the office, she'd vowed to have the entire spot clean in two weeks, but Grandma only laughed. Other employees of the restaurant had bets on exactly how long it would take Harper to clean up “the inner sanctum”—and how long Harper would last at the BFD in general.

Despite her reputation for being hardworking, no one had any faith in her. And that stung. Was it because to the outside world, it looked like she'd given up on Roger?

Tilting her neck to one side, then the other, she heard the satisfying crack. She'd show every single one of them eventually. So maybe it would take a little longer than she originally planned. She wasn't a quitter. Fine, she quit her relationship and her job, but she'd had no choice. If she hadn't shaken up her life, she'd have been in for years of the same thing, over and over again. Talk about boring. Maybe cleaning out her grandmother's office wasn't exactly the answer, but it was a start. However small.

She walked down the narrow hall past the bathrooms and the doorway to the kitchen until she was behind the diner's long counter, where mostly regulars sat for their midafternoon cup of coffee and piece of pie. The BFD served only Rebecca Hill's special homemade pie; it was famous throughout the region and both her lemon meringue and apple pies had won awards in the past.

When her grandma informed Harper last night she'd need to learn the recipes before she retired, Harper had almost experienced a full-blown panic attack. She wasn't much of a cook. And she definitely wasn't good at baking. How was she expected to take over the pie-making duties?

She smiled at old Lester Marcum, who nodded his greeting since his mouth was too stuffed with pie. Glancing around the restaurant, she spotted the group from Cal Fire, recognizing a few faces, though there was no Tate and he was the one who typically accompanied this particular group.

“There you are.”

The familiar, deep warm voice came from directly behind her. She went still, closing her eyes briefly because she knew she looked an absolute mess and she didn't want to see
him
like this: not a lick of makeup on; her hair in the sloppiest knot on top of her head barely held together with a pen; she wore a faded BFD T-shirt that was dirty from her rummaging around in her grandma's dusty office; old denim shorts that were frayed at the hem; and beat-up white Converse that really weren't white at all, more like a nondescript gray that came from many years of wear.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and turned to face him, a firm smile on her face. She'd just pretend she was dressed up and looking gorgeous.
Fake it until you make it.
“Weston. Imagine running into you here.” She should've known he would've brought the fire crew to the diner.

“I heard you were working at the BFD and had to see it for myself.” He grinned, ridiculously good-looking in his navy blue uniform. She tried to keep her gaze focused on his face and not blatantly check him out, but she couldn't help herself.

She blatantly checked him out. And liked every single thing she saw too. She'd never been one to fall for a guy in a uniform. Never thought much about a guy in full military dress or some sexy uniformed cop—Wren went through a stage a few years ago where she was hot for every young cop in uniform she saw. Didn't help that her big brother had a swarm of various deputies for friends. They only fed her fantasy. But she got over it quick because Lane nipped it in the bud, saying none of his friends were worthy of dating her.

There was nothing like a big brother to put a major damper on his sister's not-so-secret fantasy.

Right now though, Harper was considering all sorts of fantasies involving West in his uniform. She especially liked the thick black utility belt he wore. The heavy boots on his feet. And those tattoos that covered his arms, those were new. Every single one of them. They were hot too. And mysterious. She wanted to know the meaning behind them all. Made her want to unbutton his uniform shirt slowly and reveal the T-shirt beneath. She had a feeling it clung to his every muscle just right . . .

“Does your grandma have you outside digging in the dirt or what?” West asked, pushing her out of her thoughts.

Harper blinked up at him. He must've seen the confusion on her face because he leaned in a little closer, his voice low as he said, “You're kind of dirty.”

Ah, if he said that while implying a different, more scandalous meaning, she would be blushing. But she really was dirty. She glanced down at herself, wiping at the front of her shorts. More like absolutely filthy. “I'm cleaning out her office right now. It's sort of a nightmare.”

He whistled low. “Sounds rough.”

“Trust me, it is.” Though nothing was as rough as fighting wildfires, going on medical calls, car accidents . . . all the stuff West did on a daily if not hourly basis. He probably thought she was a complete and total joke, griping about cleaning out a stupid file cabinet and getting paper cuts. But damn it, those little slices in her skin
hurt
. “How are you doing? Is your first shift back in Wildwood going well? Are we keeping you busy?”

“So far, it's been good.” He glanced back at the table where the others from his station sat finishing their meals. “And today was extra busy. Finally got a chance to stop off for a late lunch.”

“Well, we're honored you chose the BFD.” She smiled, trying to fight the nerves bouncing in her stomach from the way West watched her so carefully. “How was your food?”

“Delicious, as usual.” His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there, and her lips tingled as if he'd reached out and physically touched them. She shouldn't react this way, right? She'd broken up with Roger only a few days ago and she was already having physical feelings for someone else. Granted, those feelings were for someone she'd harbored a secret crush on for years, but still. It was wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Good to hear it.” Her smile wavered when his expression turned serious. Deadly serious. She had the sudden urge to run. “I, um, should let you get on with your afternoon, then. Take care, West.”

She started to walk away, but he stopped her just by saying her name.

“Harper.” She turned to face him again and he reached out, rubbing his thumb across her cheek, just beneath her eye. She sucked in a breath when he touched her, awareness prickling from his nearness, his fingers on her skin, however briefly. “You had dirt on your face,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said weakly. God, could she sound dumber? Her knees wobbled and she tried to smile at him but failed miserably. “Thanks.” She went to move past him, but he stopped her again, his fingers circling her wrist.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

Was he actually asking her out on a date? No freaking way. He hadn't let go of her wrist. Did he feel her pulse fluttering wildly under his fingers? Probably. And there was nothing she could do about it either. “Um, digging through piles of old receipts in my grandma's office?”

His eyes warmed, his lips curling into the faintest smile. “Sounds exciting. How about after you get off work?”

“Um.” She swallowed hard, hating that she'd said
um
twice like some sort of idiot.
Don't blow this!
“Nothing, really.”

“Want to come over? I was hoping I could get your input on something.” When she sent him a puzzled look he continued. “Your grandma wants me to paint the interior walls at the condo. I had some other ideas of what I'm considering doing to the place, too, but I wanted to get your insight before I started.”

“Oh.” Disappointment wrapped her in its embrace, leaving her cold. She slowly withdrew her hand from his grip, giving him a tight smile. “Sure. I'd be glad to help you.” It's what she did, after all. Helped people. Harper Hill, ever accommodating, always ready to lend a helpful hand. Even West realized this, but how could he not? That's what everyone expected from her. She wasn't wild and crazy, like Delilah. She wasn't opinionated, saying whatever the hell she wanted whenever she wanted, like Wren. She was quiet and accommodating and what the hell was that ever going to get her in life?

“Thanks, Harper. That would be great.” He smiled, looking pleased. He just wanted to earn her grandma's approval for fixing up her place. This had nothing to do with her or him and what they shared so long ago. She was a fool to even think it.

“What time do you want me to come over?”

“What time are you done here?”

“Around five I guess?” Ugh, she didn't want to go over to his place at all. Not if he just wanted to show her paint samples and ask her opinion about tearing out the ugly brown tile in the downstairs bathroom—which she'd say yes to if he asked, and she really hoped he asked.

Yeah. She was ridiculous. Falling right into helpful mode even in her thoughts like she couldn't stop herself, which she supposed she couldn't. Not like she could talk about her problems with Wren and Delilah either. Wren would freak out if she knew Harper was hot for her big brother. And Delilah was West's ex-girlfriend so no way was she broaching the subject with her. For all she knew, Delilah was still interested in West.

Though deep down, Harper suspected Delilah was really lusting for Lane Gallagher. But that was another story for another time.

“Call me when you're done.” His gaze shifted to the top of her head. “Gonna borrow this.”

He pulled the pen from her hair, causing it to fall past her shoulders in haphazard, totally weird waves. If she didn't curl it, she straightened her hair every morning. Seeing it in its natural state wasn't a good thing and she was quietly mortified West did just that.

“Let me give you my cell number.”

He took her hand and flipped it over, writing his phone number on her palm like they were in still in school. She tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand, hoping it didn't look too awful. Praying he wouldn't notice the subtle tremor running just beneath her skin.

“How old are we again?” she teased.

West glanced up at her through his absurdly long eyelashes, his gaze meeting hers. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you had a way to contact me.” He paused, appearing a little unsure. A look she wasn't used to seeing West wear. “You'll call when you're done here tomorrow?”

“I'll call you. Or I'll text,” she reaffirmed, wondering if maybe he
was
interested in her. Maybe this was more than talking about paint color and redoing the countertops?

“Good.” The relief on his face was evident. “You look really pretty with your hair down, Harper. You should wear it like that more often.”

And with that he was gone, headed back to the table where his crew waited for him, more than a few of them eyeing her curiously.

Blushing like a fool, she hurried out of the dining area, back to the sanctuary of her grandma's office, where she could relive the words Weston Gallagher just said to her about her stupid, crazy hair.

“S
O
,
HEY
.”

Later that afternoon, West turned to find Tate and . . . Lane? Standing in front of him.

“We want to talk to you,” Tate said, his expression serious, though no one did serious like his big brother. He had the look down pat.

Lane stood just behind Tate, scowling at him as they waited for his response. He didn't say a damn word. That had always been his best defense tactic and it worked for him.

West scratched the back of his head with one hand while pulling out a chair with the other. They were in the kitchen, the only ones in there. Everyone else was outside washing the engines. West was about to bail since he was off shift, thankful to head back to his condo, where he'd collapse into his bed—or what he liked to think of as Harper's old bed—and sleep like the dead for a few hours.

Instead, he was sitting across from his big brother and his captain, unable to shake the feeling that he was in trouble. Old habits died hard.

“What's up?” he asked, hoping like hell he sounded casual.

Tate looked at Lane, who nodded as if in approval before Tate started to talk. “We didn't want to bring it up around the others, but . . . we're fairly certain there's an arsonist in the area.”

Unease slipped down his spine. He recalled his earlier conversation with Tori. Guess her speculation was based in truth after all. “What makes you say that?”

“It started earlier this spring,” Tate said, leaning forward so his forearms rested on the table between them. “Had a few spotty fires here and there. No big deal at first. Most of them seemed accidental. They were always put out pretty fast and we were thankful they didn't turn into more. Yet they kept happening, so after a bit of investigating, prevention discovered they were all started by the same accelerant. And it was too coincidental to be an accident.”