Fan the Flames by Katie Ruggle Page A

Off.”
    With flattened ears and a pathetic whine, he returned all four feet to the ground and slunk a few feet away from the Bronco. Ian closed her door and circled the truck.
    Chewing her bottom lip, she looked at her unhappy dog. Jack wasn’t used to being left at home without her, and his bewildered expression made her nerves return with a vengeance. What was she thinking? She needed to get her behind back to her bunker and cook the meatloaf she’d planned for tonight. There was hamburger thawing and everything.
    â€œThis isn’t a good idea,” she said when Ian hopped into the driver’s seat. Her right hand felt for the door handle.
    â€œYes, it is. We’ll eat, maybe talk to another human being or two, see if you like fire training, and then head home. You might even have fun.” He cranked the engine. “Rory, don’t even think about bailing.”
    That stupid commanding tone worked its magic again, and her hand returned to her lap as he drove through the gate. When they came to a halt right outside the fence, she reached for the door handle again.
    â€œI’ve got it,” Ian said, opening his door and jumping to the ground. “Do you have your keys?”
    Patting her coat pocket, she felt the lumpy bulge of her key ring. “Yes.”
    â€œGood.” He gave her a grin. “Be right back.”
    The SUV was angled so she could watch him in her side-view mirror as he pulled the gates closed, then locked them with the multiple chains and padlocks. While he worked, the deer cameras flashed as they photographed him.
    By the time he returned to the Bronco, he was scowling. “I hate those cameras,” he growled, releasing the brake. “They’ve completely fu—uh, messed up my night vision.”
    â€œAt least we know they’re working.” Now that the gate was secured behind them and the option of running was, if not impossible, at least more inconvenient, Rory relaxed a little. “I might have a new picture to use as wallpaper for my computer, too.”
    At Ian’s grunt, she bit her lip to hide a smile.
    * * *
    They ended up at Levi’s, as did most of Simpson’s residents. There wasn’t much choice, really, with most of the other restaurants closed until May. Rory made a beeline for an open booth in the back, grabbing the bench on the far side of the table so her back was to the wall.
    â€œShove over,” Ian grunted, trying to sit next to her. When she didn’t budge, he used his body to slide her along the seat until she was wedged between the closed end of the booth and Ian’s substantial bulk.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with that side?” she asked crankily, waving a hand at the empty seat across from them.
    â€œI don’t like to have my back to a crowd,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the small, but busy, restaurant.
    â€œMe neither,” she admitted, shifting back and forth on the seat in an attempt to claim more room. It didn’t work. All Rory managed to do was brush her hip against Ian’s. Flushing, she tried to focus on her menu.
    â€œIan,” a deep male voice said, making her raise her head. Sheriff Rob Coughlin and his teenage son, Tyler, stood next to their booth, and Rory mentally chastised herself for getting so distracted that she hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings. Her parents would’ve been so disappointed. It was especially surprising that she’d missed Rob’s approach—with his formidable build and rugged, striking features, he was not a man who was easily ignored by any woman with a pulse.
    â€œSheriff.” Ian, his face expressionless, gave the other man a stiff nod. He warmed visibly as he turned to the teen. “Hey, Tyler.”
    â€œHey,” the boy responded, keeping his head down.
    After returning Ian’s nod, Rob focused his gaze on Rory. She wanted to squirm, but forced herself to remain still under his careful