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Cameron

I cocked my head, straining to understand the sound coming from under the hood. My car was old—ancient, really—but it had never made a noise like this before. My window was open because of the heat, and I leaned my head out.

The unholy screech came again, high and grating, and I slammed on the brakes right in the middle of the street. A horn blared behind me, but I barely noticed. My stomach dropped with a terrible suspicion.

I cut the ignition, unfastened my seatbelt, and waved the driver behind me around. Then I popped the hood and hurried to the front of the car. My fingers fumbled against the engine-warm latch before I managed to lift it, propping it open with the metal rod.

At first, I didn’t see anything. Just dirty hoses, belts, and black tubes running in every direction. Then a glint of gold caught my eye. Definitely not a color that belonged under there. I leaned closer and froze.

A tiny feline face peered out at me, golden eyes wide with terror, whiskers twitching against the tangle of wires. Could I even get my hand in there?

“What the heck…” I whispered. “Oh, little dude. How did you squeeze in there?”

The animal let out a pitiful, broken cry.

I leaned in further, my long braid falling forward. I tried to brush it behind my shoulder, but it caught on something. I tugged, but it didn’t release. “Are you flipping kidding me,” I muttered. I ran my hand down the braid and found where it had tangled, but couldn’t get it free.

I could see the headline now. ‘New Eagleheart school teacher dies by rear-end collision with hair connected to engine’. Or maybe, ‘New teacher dies saving kitten’.

I angled my head to look down at where my hair was caught, but I couldn’t see through the darkness.

“You all right?”

The harsh, graveled voice cut through my half-panic, and I jerked, then yelped, as my scalp pulled. Something dug into my ribcage as I lost my balance, almost laying on the hot engine. It gave me a perfect view of the embarrassment coming my way.

He was just there, stepping off the curb like he’d been waiting for this. Broad shoulders filled his navy-blue Eagleheart FD t-shirt. The fabric stretched over a chest that looked built to carry the weight of the world, his pecs and biceps well-defined. His jeans were faded and work-worn, his boots scuffed with soot. What looked to be an old burn scar cut across his temple and down the length of his cheek—not disfiguring, but striking, the kind of mark that told a story of survival. His thick, dark hair was cropped short, as if he refused to hide the scar behind it.

And his eyes. Granite-gray, steady, shadowed under dark brows that drew together as he studied me.

“Um, yeah,” I said, swallowing my pride. “I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

I tugged pointedly at my hair, and he winced. Then, stealing my breath, he leaned in incredibly close, wrapping his thick, muscular arms around me.

It had been a long time since I’d been this close to a man, and I couldn’t help but inhale. The faint scent of Irish Spring and smoke drifted from him. The two scents shouldn’t have blended, but they totally did. I felt his hands run down my braid, and then I was released. It seemed embarrassingly quick and easy. He gripped my arms and helped me stand, even as I gathered my hair over my shoulder. It was thick enough I couldn’t even tell where the strands had been caught and broken.

“What were you doing leaning into the engine like that? Are you having trouble?”

My cheeks burned as I met his narrow-eyed, amused look.

“There’s a kitten,” I blurted, clutching the fender like it might steady me.

Cocking his head, he leaned back over the engine compartment. He pulled a small flashlight from his belt and shined it down inside the tangle. “Well, I’ll be damned. I’ll get it. It’s a good thing you didn’t reach in there.”

Before I could argue, he leaned into the engine. His movements were deliberate and patient, the kind of calm you couldn’t fake. He managed to slide his huge hand through the tangle of machinery, and a moment later he pulled a hissing little creature free, holding it with two fingers by the scruff of the neck. The kitten growled once, then curled against his hold like it had finally found home.

The fire fighter looked slightly amused while I was desperately trying to keep my emotions under wraps. I forced a shaky breath and tried to ease the tension out of my shoulders. My heart still raced, whether from the scare, the traffic stacking up behind me, or the sight of this man cradling something so fragile in his arms.

An image flashed in my mind—the firefighter calendar I’d bought last year to support the animal shelter. That had been in Illinois, but I’m sure they did them everywhere. That calendar had been full of kittens and muscles, but none of those glossy pages had prepared me for the real thing standing in front of me now. I would pay a lot of money to see this firefighter in a similar pose. That shirt was in the way…

I scrambled for something to say. “This feels so trite. Rescuing a kitten in the middle of Main Street…”

The corner of his mouth tipped into a deeper smirk, and my stomach flipped. “It’s a stereotype for a reason. And don’t forget the damsel in distress.”

“Obviously,” I murmured, even as my cheeks burned hotter.

I was a fresh divorcée. I had no business looking at this man like I was actually looking for a man. Because I wasn’t. Really.