was one cold woman. Fiona was nothing like her. Was Avery Kincaid? Would she be as callous with someone’s heart?
He suspected she might—that what mattered most to her was her career. That was probably the only thing he and Avery had in common. But his job helped people. Hers could harm them. And herself. Her career mattered so much that she would probably willingly put herself in danger with the arsonist.
“I’ll find out what the reporter knows,” Dawson begrudgingly volunteered. It wasn’t as if he needed to worry about his heart with her. He would never fall for a reporter.
Cody shook his head. “I’m not sure you’re up to this assignment.”
“I think he’s up for it.” Wyatt pointed toward Dawson’s mouth. “That’s not his shade of lipstick.”
“You kissed her?” Cody asked, his green eyes wide with shock. Then he chuckled. “Maybe you’re not as slow as I thought you were...”
Ever the boss, Zimmer jerked his head and sent both men off toward the weight room. They had a workout scheduled and had to keep in top shape for their job. It was one way of staying alive. Another way was not taking unnecessary chances.
Anticipating Zimmer’s pep talk, Dawson assured his boss and himself, “I can handle this.”
But even as he said it, he couldn’t help but think that he was taking an unnecessary chance.
“YOU’RE WELCOME...” AVERY murmured as she walked back into her sister’s kitchen. Her legs had regained their strength; maybe she’d just imagined going weak-kneed from that kiss. But she couldn’t deny that her lips were tingling, that her skin was still hot. Even now—hours later.
After the Filling Station, she had stopped back at her house and changed from her heels and dress into tennis shoes and shorts. She’d thought about running but her legs hadn’t totally recovered until she’d walked over to her sister’s.
A few years ago she’d bought a cottage just around the corner from her sister’s ranch house. Kim’s place was perfect for her family, with several acres for the boys to run, a wide front porch and a big country kitchen.
“I didn’t thank you,” Kim said, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked up from washing dishes in the farmhouse sink. She studied Avery’s face and smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “You look a little flustered.”
Avery opened the refrigerator—not for anything to drink but because she needed a blast of cool air on her face. Not wanting to let her sister know how right she was, though, she pulled out a water bottle, barely resisting the urge to press it against her cheek.
“Did you do it?” Kim asked. “Did you actually give that Hotshot firefighter a thank-you kiss?”
“I didn’t kiss him,” she said, which was technically true since he hadn’t given her the chance. He’d kissed her, instead. And what a kiss...
“Denied again?” Her sister gave her a pitying glance. “You must be losing your touch.”
She was more worried that she’d lost her focus. She’d let Dawson Hess and his wicked kiss distract her. She hadn’t gotten him to agree to the special feature, and she hadn’t gotten any more information out of him about the fire.
Was there anything else to learn, though? Maybe it had just been a random wildfire—but it had started so early in the season...
Too early.
She remembered how the Hotshots had looked when she’d found them in that back booth—their heads bent together, tension on their faces. Something else was going on—something they didn’t want the public to learn.
She hadn’t become a reporter just because she’d wanted to get out of Northern Lakes. She’d become a reporter because she liked digging until she discovered the truth. She believed the public had a right to know. Apparently the Hotshots didn’t care about keeping the public informed.
That irritated Avery nearly as much as Dawson Hess’s little comment after he’d kissed her senseless. You’re welcome...
But he hadn’t given her the chance to thank him. Or to question him...
“I’m not losing my touch,” she replied, but in reference to the story, not the man. Dawson Hess was part of that story, though, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Why didn’t he want to admit it?
She hadn’t met a man yet who didn’t want to brag about his accomplishments. And Dawson had more reason than most to brag. Was it himself he didn’t want the attention drawn to, or the fire?
If someone didn’t want to talk to the press, it was usually because they had something to hide.
What was Dawson Hess hiding?
Kim sighed and murmured. “Uh-oh...”
Avery blinked and focused on her sister again. “What?”
“You have that look...” She shook her head.
“What look?”
“That scary determined look you get when you’re after a story.” Kim shuddered, as if in fear. “I feel sorry for whoever tries to get in your way.”
Dawson Hess was the one who should be afraid. He had gotten in her way—denying her the feature, denying her the truth. The only thing he hadn’t denied her was the kiss. But instead of letting her kiss him, he’d kissed her.
Clearly he was used to being in control. But nobody controlled Avery Kincaid. She would get what she was after—the story.
But was she fooling herself that the story was all she wanted?
* * *
DAWSON HAD SPENT the afternoon hoping for a fire call—nothing catastrophic, just a small campfire, a car fire, a big bonfire...
Anything that would have given him an excuse to put off his new assignment. But no call had come in to the Northern Lakes fire station. And there was nothing big enough happening anywhere else in the country that required the Huron Hotshots. Other crews were on the fires out West. Maybe the Hurons would eventually be needed to relieve teams that had been on the job too long.
But tonight he had no excuse.
So he crossed Rick and Kim Pritchard’s porch to the front door. It stood open, allowing the evening breeze to blow through the screen door. Voices drifted outside through the mesh.
She was here.
Since he usually avoided the news, he hadn’t heard her voice that much until the afternoon at the Filling Station. But it was clear and full and grabbed one’s attention, making him want to listen to her, want to believe her. But Dawson knew better than to trust a reporter. She wasn’t really interested in him—in doing a special feature about him or kissing him. All she wanted was information about the fire.
And he
