His Heart Aflame (Beach Haven Book 2) Read online

  His Heart Aflame

  Copyright 2014 A.J. Goode

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by This Author

  For my two moms: The one who gave me life, and the one life gave to me.

  Chapter One

  Sean Jackson knew better than to drive in this condition. He was an experienced First Responder who had worked more than his fair share of accident scenes created by idiots who didn't think they were too tired to drive. He knew first-hand that driving tired could be just as dangerous as driving drunk, but here he was, tired beyond all belief, driving his exhausted self home down a dark stretch of road and calling himself every name in the book.

  He opened the window to let in the fresh air and a few drops of rain, and turned up the volume of the vintage Lynyrd Skynyrd he always played when he was exhausted after a fire call. Just a few more miles, and he'd be home safely. A few more miles, and he'd be able to take a long, hot shower and fall into his nice soft bed for at least a few hours.

  Until it was time to go to work, or until some idiot started another grass fire.

  He groaned out loud. Normally, he could handle the pressure of a full-time job and his work as a volunteer firefighter. But there had been a rash of grass fires over the past few weeks that had pushed him to the point where he just wasn't sure how much longer he could continue doing both. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept more than two or three hours at a stretch.

  Sean wished he had a cup of coffee in the truck with him. He was beyond the point where caffeine was going to do him any good, but at least the warmth and steam would help keep his eyes open. He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat, ready to start singing along with Gimme Three Steps until he realized that he was too tired to remember the words.

  He was just going to have to pull over on the shoulder and sleep it off right there in the front seat. That was all there was to it. He was just too damned exhausted to drive those last few miles. All he had to do was round the curve on County Road 388, where the shoulder widened out and gave a nice smooth spot to park and—

  The woman came out of nowhere.

  He had a split second to take in the fact that she wore something white that seemed to glow in his headlights. He caught a glimpse of a pale face and wide terrified eyes, and then he was spinning out of control on the wet pavement as he jerked the wheel to the left. He pumped the brakes and swore, not sure if he was angrier at himself for driving when his reflexes were this slow, or at that stupid woman for running down a dark country road at four o'clock in the morning.

  He wasn’t sleepy any more.

  He finally fought the truck to a stop on the wrong side of the road, facing the opposite direction. He sat there for a moment, breathing deeply.

  There had been no thud. He hadn't hit the woman. At least, he didn't think he had. Sean jumped out and ran around front to examine the front of his truck. No new dents, no blood, no sign of any kind of impact. He hadn't hurt anyone.

  But where was she? He reached under the seat for his flashlight and Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Pulling the hat brim down low to keep the rain out of his eyes, he ventured into the darkness and aimed the light towards the woods.

  "Miss?" he called. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

  Silence.

  "I can help you. I'm with the Beach Haven Fire Department. Miss?"

  He thought he heard something behind him, but it was just the metallic clang of raindrops hitting his truck. Really could have used this rain an hour ago to help put out the grass fire, he thought. Not doing me much good now.

  He crossed the road and peered intently into the trees. He did not want to go in there. It wasn't exactly a jungle wilderness full of dangerous beasts, but he didn't care to come up against beasts of the non-dangerous sort in the wee hours of the morning on a lonely country road. Still, it was his responsibility to look for the woman, damn it.

  The very stupid woman who enjoyed running out in front of moving vehicles on dark rainy nights. He had a few choice words for her when he found her.

  If he found her. "Come on, help a guy out here," he shouted. "It's wet and I'm tired and I just want to go home. I'm not in the mood for Hide and Seek." The smell of smoke and sweat arose from his clothes as the rain soaked through to his skin, and the tap-tap-tap of his headache was quickly becoming more of a bang-bang-bang against the inside of his skull.

  He skidded down the slight incline from the shoulder of the road into the trees. Damn, it was dark. No moon, no stars, just heavy clouds and too many trees bursting with an abundance of late-spring leaves. The flashlight beam seemed pitifully insignificant, swallowed up by the night.

  Ahead of him, a pair of tiny yellow eyes glittered his light. He swallowed and forced himself to take another step, nearly jumping out of his skin when his shirt caught on a tree branch.

  Sean took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. You’ve been in the woods in the dark before, he scolded himself. Camping, hunting -- hell, the whole department was out here just a couple months ago looking for body parts after that train/pedestrian accident. This is nothing compared to that. Man up.

  Determined, he pushed aside a pine branch, only to have it slip out of his grasp and give him a wet slap in the face.

  Okay, time to re-think this. He was basically getting his butt handed to him by the wet, dark woods, and he was armed with a flashlight and a lifelong familiarity with the area. Was it really possible that a woman in a big, bulky dress was slipping around silently in these same woods without a light? He shined the light around again, looking for flashes of white or pieces of fabric caught on the same kind of branches that had torn his t-shirt, but saw nothing. He then stood perfectly still and listened.

  Nothing but rain hitting the leaves with increasing intensity.

  There is no one else out here, he realized.

  Which meant one of two things: Either the mystery woman had vanished into thin air, or he had imagined her. Neither answer really appealed to him, but he decided that he’d rather solve the mystery from somewhere safe and warm. And preferably dry. He turned and slogged his way back through the trees and scrambled back up the incline to the road.

  He was surprised to see the tailgate of his truck hanging open. That was strange; he remembered shoving his gear bag in there under the tonneau cover when they'd cleared the scene, but he could have sworn he'd latched it. He shined the light inside to satisfy himself that his things were still there, nodding when he saw the vague outlines of his belongings, and slammed it shut before climbing back into the seat.

  Damn, he was tired. So tired that he'd driven all this way with his tailgate hanging open, which could have cost him his all of the gear and tools he kept stowed in the back of his truck. So tired that he had imagined seeing a strange woman in white running down a lonely country road in the middle of the night.

  I wouldn’t be this tired if I did this full-time, he thought. Sure, the pros worked several days in a row, but they got to go off-duty afterward. They didn’t have to work two j
obs, either. And full-time professional firefighters seemed to earn a certain degree of respect that volunteers just didn’t get. Sean thought about the interview he’d gone to earlier in the week in a Grand Rapids suburb and wondered for the hundredth time what he would do if they actually offered him the job.

  One thing he knew for sure: no full-time fire department was going to hire him if they knew he was seeing imaginary women on rainy country roads.

  He had to have imagined her. He so wiped out that he was hallucinating. That was the only possible explanation. It certainly made more sense than some crazy lady running around in a white dress in the middle of the night and then disappearing without a trace. It made more sense, but it wasn't comforting to realize that he had almost wrecked his truck over a fatigue-induced hallucination.

  Get a grip, Jackson. Go home, get some rest, and don't ever mention this to anyone.

  Right. He put the truck in gear, turned it around, and cranked up the volume just as Sweet Home Alabama started. It was enough to get him home, where he pulled into his attached garage and stumbled toward the door to his home. He knew he should hang his wet gear and make a few phone calls to let people know he was going to be late for work, but he just didn't care.

  He stepped out of his boots on his way through the door and started shucking wet clothes on his way to the bedroom. All thoughts of taking a shower were gone, replaced by visions of a soft pillow and a comfortable bed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice was trying to remind him that he stunk, and that his bedding was going to stink, too; he firmly told the annoying little voice to shut the hell up and collapsed face-down on top of the quilted comforter.

  Sure was a pretty hallucination, he thought, and then he was out.

  Chapter Two

  In her hiding spot under the tonneau cover of Sean's truck, Maggie Reynolds counted to exactly seventy-eight to make sure he wasn't coming back. She wanted to count to one hundred just to be certain, but it was cold and cramped in there and she really didn’t see the point in counting those last twenty-two numbers.

  She crawled to the tailgate as quietly as possible, not caring when she heard the sound of delicate fabric tearing, and tumbled out to the garage floor in an undignified heap of wet, bedraggled wedding gown. She lay there for a moment, breathing in the great gulps of air she so desperately needed after her claustrophobic ride in the back of the truck. As her breathing slowed to normal, she decided she wasn't sure what was worse: the darkness, the smell, or the muffled sound of the firefighter's off-key singing.

  Maggie stifled a grin at the thought. Poor guy really couldn't carry a tune.

  She sat up and looked around to get her bearings. The garage was tidy and well-organized as far as she could see in the light that streamed through the window from a bright yard light outside. The doorway to the house had been left open; she could just make out a small kitchen inside.

  Crap. Now she'd really have to be quiet. Maggie reached back into the truck and groped around until she found her backpack. She knew the clothes inside would most likely be somewhat wet, but at least they would be an improvement over thoroughly soaked mess she was currently wearing. Frankly, she was so tired of that dress that she was almost ready to run naked through the streets of town if it meant she never had to wear that fluffy white monstrosity again.

  If there even was a town nearby. She had no idea where she was. She tried to figure it out as she tugged at the straps and zippers and buttons that held her prisoner. There had been a staff of assistants on hand to get her into the dress earlier in the day, but obviously no one had expected her to have to get out of it by herself.

  Of course, no one had expected her to be spending her wedding night unmarried in a stranger’s garage somewhere in Michigan, either.

  Maggie stopped fighting with the dress and tiptoed over to a workbench in search of some sort of sharp tool to cut away some of straps. She came up with a pair of scissors and almost wept with relief when she found a pile of stained but clean shop towels.

  It had been hours since she fled the church in Chicago. She remembered crossing the state line into Michigan some time after sunset with a vague idea of finding a hotel in some small town where she could hide out for a few days until the publicity died down and people stopped looking for her. Well, not her, exactly. They were looking for the glamorous Maeve Renault, reality show contestant; no one was looking for plain old Maggie Reynolds, wannabe chef.

  Every time she saw a police car or worried that she was attracting too much attention in that stupid little sports car that Devon loved more than life itself, she had taken the next exit or veered off onto a side road until she was hopelessly lost. Occasional glimpses of water to her left told her that she was somewhere near Lake Michigan, but that really didn't help.

  Finally free of the wedding gown, crinoline and corset, she toweled off as well as she could and felt infinitely better after slipping into a pair of damp blue jeans and a t-shirt. She rummaged around in the backpack for a pair of sandals and dipped back in one last time for a little white envelope, which she folded up tightly and tucked into her back pocket. Right now, every penny she had was in that envelope, and there was no way she was going to risk losing it. It wasn’t much, but at least it was all hers.

  There was also no way that wedding dress was going to fit in her backpack even if she wanted to take it with her. She moved through the tidy garage until she found garbage bags, resisting the urge to giggle with glee as she wadded up the mounds of white fabric to stuff them into a bag. Feeling strangely triumphant about things, she shoved the bag inside a garbage can near the door and slammed the lid down with a resounding clang.

  Crap! She’d gotten so carried away with disposing of the hated gown that she had completely forgotten about the sleeping fireman just a few feet away on the other side of the open door. Desperately, ducked back into the shadow behind the truck and mentally cursed herself for her stupidity. She held her breath and waited.

  He shuffled as he walked, almost as though sleepwalking. He stopped in the kitchen and turned slowly around. “Hello?” he called. After a moment, he shrugged and muttered something about a stupid cat.

  Maggie hadn't had a chance to get a good look at the firefighter earlier, but she was certainly getting an eyeful now. He was completely naked, and as he headed for the refrigerator, she couldn't help herself; she leaned out to get a better look.

  He stopped with his back to her and raised a jug of orange juice to his lips to drink directly from the jug. In the light from the refrigerator, she could just make out broad shoulders that tapered down toward narrow hips and long, muscular legs. He shifted, and she drew a deep breath at the sensuous movement of muscles across his firm backside.

  She was so mesmerized by the sight that she leaned even further.

  Suddenly, he lowered the jug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to look in her direction with a puzzled frown. She shrank back into the shadows and tried to be invisible.

  She got a good look at his face when he stepped into the garage. He had a strong jaw and full lips that she had a sudden, strong desire to taste. Even in the dim light, she could tell that his eyes were brown, as was his short dark hair that was just barely long enough to be mussed from sleep. Almost against her will, she let her gaze travel downward, taking in dark curly chest hair and muscular chest and ever lower, until—

  Her face grew warm. For one very long moment, he seemed to be looking directly at her and she wondered what it would be like to be discovered by him. He took a few more steps and frowned, peering around the room.

  Just as Maggie thought she might have to jump out and reveal herself just to break the tension, he grunted and disappeared back into the house, slamming the door behind him. She heard the lock click into place, and then she was alone in the dark garage.

  Well, that was certainly the high point of my day. She fanned herself and tried to focus her thoughts. She had to find a phone and a place to stay u
ntil she figured out a way out of this mess she had gotten herself into.

  Her cell phone was in her purse. Which, as she had realized several hours earlier, was still at the church. In Chicago. Along with all of her identification. She really hadn't thought this through. But then again, she hadn't really been thinking about anything other than getting away. She had seen the cameras and the TV people, the make-up crew and hairstylists and felt the panic welling up inside of her, until the only thought in her mind was to find the reality show producer and beg for a way to postpone the ceremony.

  She hadn't expected to find her fiancé, Devon Rock, bare-assed naked with another woman in one of the Sunday-School classrooms.

  Maggie didn't stick around long enough to see the other woman's face. She caught a glimpse of a daffodil tattoo on the ankle of one of the shapely legs wrapped around the man she was supposed to marry in a few minutes, and she felt no need to see any more. She bolted. She didn't think about grabbing her purse or even her own car keys. She saw Devon's keys sitting on the side table, and helped herself to his prized Italian sports car without even stopping to think that she was probably committing Grand Theft.

  Hours later, with the low fuel light blinking at her, she had had to face the fact that she was lost. And royally screwed. She had driven through a field to an old, sagging barn, and parked the car on the far side, away from the road, so she could sit and think and try to figure out what in the hell she was supposed to do now.

  Things had gone downhill from there. She had opened the trunk for a change of clothes, and managed to whack her head on the corner of the trunk lid. It left a nasty gash across her forehead, and she fought off waves of nausea when she saw a few bright red drops of blood land on the white dress.

  As soon as her vision cleared, she had realized that their honeymoon luggage was stowed in the trunk, but her own suitcase with her personal belongings was gone. Of course, she realized; they were going to be filmed on their honeymoon as well, and it simply wouldn't do for her to be seen in anything less than the outfits that had been carefully chosen for the show.