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Olivia focused on the man. “If you can drop me at a hotel, I would appreciate it.”

“Well,” the man drawled, “I would, but there’s the annual Lockhart BBQ Fest going on, and the hotels are full up.”

Olivia frowned and turned to the man. “Are you serious? The Lockhart BBQ Fest?”

“Yes, ma’am. We are the BBQ capital of Texas, and this year we’re having a huge competition.”

She looked at him, trying to decide if he was pulling her leg or not. She didn’t think he was. “So, what are you telling me? That I’m stranded here but you’ll be more than happy to step in and save the day?”

The man didn’t even flinch. “Well, if I thought that would work with you, I might. Yes, you are stranded, at least temporarily, but I can open the firehouse for you to stay, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” she said softly, her mind racing. She glanced around, looking for inspiration, but nothing occurred to her. For the first time in a long time, she was at a loss. Normally, she was the one in charge with all the details, and it was a little humbling to have to accept help from a stranger. But that was the point she was at. No car, no hotel. She had her phone and purse, which was amazing, now that she thought about it. Had he been the one to make sure they grabbed her stuff before hauling her car away?

Her head swam, and she knew she needed to lay down soon. “Fine. Lead the way, hero.”

She expected him to lead her to a big, old obnoxious Texas truck. Instead, he started down the sidewalk to the left, which led around the small hospital. When they reached the far side, she had to look back. It was incredibly small, just three floors. There were a couple dozen cars in the parking lot, but that was all. Had they handled all the crash victims?

“We’re small,” the chief said, as if seeing her skepticism, “but we’re a recognized trauma center. Anything that we can’t handle goes straight to San Antonio. Several of the victims were local, so we kept them here.”

Man, her resting-bitch-face must be off, because he was reading her without her saying a word… “And the driver that hit me?”

The man grimaced. “He’s a known alcoholic. They found him a few blocks away, muttering about finding his bottle. He’s at the sheriff’s office, sobering up. Then he’ll be charged.”

Olivia sighed. “Not a mark on him, I bet.”

“Nope,” he agreed.

That would always be one of the great mysteries. How drunks got away unscathed when they wreaked so much havoc.

The man held out a hand, and she realized they were in a parking lot. She looked up. Before her there was a beautiful, brand spanking new firehouse, all brick and soaring glass. She followed him inside, noting that the expansive bays were empty. “Where are the trucks,” she asked, curious despite herself. The clock on the far wall said it was going on four p.m.

“Well, they’re out at Legion Park. The pits and smokers burn all night, and because we’re having a more active fire season this year, I thought it would be smart to keep the trucks out there, just in case something happens.”

“Huh,” she murmured, following him blindly into a hallway. These must be the living quarters of the crew. He led her to a small room at the end, with a freshly made single bed and a small, detached bathroom.

“You can stay here for the night. In the morning, we’ll see what we can do about your vehicle.”

Olivia took a breath, moving into the room. She so wanted to just crash, bury herself into the pillow and lose herself for the next ten hours.

“Here’s a change of clothes,” he offered, handing over a stack of clothing. “One of our guys is about your size.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the clothes. She felt bad for being snappish. “And thank you for everything. This is very nice, you opening up the station for me.”

“Well,” he said grinning. “I can’t turn off the alarms, so if we get a call, it may be a pretty harsh wake-up call.”

Olivia waved a hand. “No worries. I’m used to that stuff.”

His head lifted like she’d surprised him, but he drew back to the door. “I know you’re tired. I’ll talk to you in the morning, Olivia Grant.”

It wasn’t until he was through the door and gone that she realized she didn’t even have his name yet.

Turning to the bed, she debated whether to shower first. Nope, bed. Dropping her nasty clothes to the floor, she scrambled out of her jeans, dropped her prosthetic and climbed between the sheets. Almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out.

CHAPTER 3

Connor looked up from frying bacon to see the woman in the doorway, and that feeling hit him all over again. When he looked at her, it felt like he was free-falling through the air. She had beautiful, greenish-brown eyes. He thought he’d seen a little wedge of gray in her iris, too. And her pale blond hair, trimmed about an inch from her scalp and parted on the left, reminded him of his little nephew, three months old and a patch of blond fuzz sprouting from the top of his head. The woman’s hair seemed just as fine, and he had to grin a little at the lopsided mess. Apparently, she hadn’t slept well. She moved stiffly, like everything was in pain, and the bandage was gone from her head, showing a neat line of five stitches. The goose-egg had definitely shrunk, leaving a purple bruise.

She was still stunningly beautiful to him.