Ethan got a roll of yellow caution tape and tied one end to a fence post. “Would your mother lay off if you had a boyfriend?”
“Sure. I mean, I think so.” When Priscilla had been dating Cory Levine the previous year and it appeared to be serious, her mother had been so happy. “But I don’t have a boyfriend and I don’t want one. Who has time, anyway? I don’t see how you newlyweds do it.” Ethan and Tony had both tied the knot during the past few months.
“How about a pretend boyfriend then?” Ethan suggested. “Tell your mom you’re seeing someone.”
“I’ve thought of that. But a fictional boyfriend won’t cut it. She’d have to meet him, approve of him and hear wedding bells before she’d stop matchmaking.”
Otis squirted the back of Priscilla’s coat with his booster line, just to be ornery. “Why don’t you take me home to meet your mama? Give her a heart attack and be done with it!” He cackled at his own humor, and Priscilla had to admit it was a little bit funny, thinking of how her parents would react if she brought home a forty-five-year-old, twice-married firefighter.
But then she sobered. Her mother’s matchmaking efforts had become a problem. She couldn’t attend any gathering without Lorraine thrusting some earnest young man at her. Some of them were very handsome and very nice. But Priscilla simply wasn’t interested in putting herself out there again right now, going through the dating rituals. The angst and uncertainty drove her nuts.
Her gaze again slid covertly to Roark. They hadn’t exactly dated; they’d slept together. Their affair had been all about stress relief, a strictly physical thing. That’s what she’d told herself, anyway.
Roark had wanted to prolong their liaison. But the intensity of their times together had frightened Priscilla. She hadn’t been able to control herself and she didn’t like that feeling. So she’d put a stop to the relationship before it had really gotten started—before they’d had a chance to get to know each other, to open up and share who they really were. She hadn’t been ready for that.
She might never be ready. She liked her life pretty well right now, living alone, answering to no one.
“Here’s an idea,” Ethan said. “Why don’t you produce a real boyfriend?”
“I can’t just materialize a boyfriend out of thin air,” Priscilla said sensibly.
“What I mean is, get someone to pose as your boyfriend. Someone impeccable. Someone your mom couldn’t possibly object to. Trot him out to meet your parents, hint around that it’s serious. Do that, and your mother will be satisfied.”
Priscilla had to admit the idea was attractive. The ploy might give her a few months of peace, anyway. “And where do you suggest I find this paragon of a fake boyfriend?” Although she didn’t want to say so out loud, she didn’t think her mother would approve of Priscilla dating a fellow firefighter. Lorraine had enough trouble with her daughter living one-third of her life in a firehouse with a bunch of men. But dating one of them?
“I have the perfect candidate,” Ethan said, his eyes full of mischief, and Priscilla felt a stab of apprehension. Who did he have in mind? What had she stepped into? “Maybe,” Ethan said, “your parents would approve of an arson investigator.”
Priscilla gulped and glanced at Roark, startled to discover that he was almost right behind her, leaning against the fence. Silently she begged Roark to put in a quick refusal. But he didn’t. He looked a little surprised at being put forward as a candidate to be Priscilla’s fake boyfriend. But not unhappy.
“Hey, that’s perfect,” Otis said innocently, having no earthly idea that Priscilla and Roark shared a bit of their past. “Who could object to Roark? He’s gainfully employed, he cleans up nice and he talks like some aristocrat. Epperson, what do you say? You want to make Priscilla’s mom a happy woman?”
Priscilla would have liked to sink into the dirt. The last thing she wanted was Roark to play any type of boyfriend, fictional or otherwise. She was still several feet from him, but she couldn’t stop her heart from racing. Her lips tingled, she was getting warm in places not mentioned in polite society and her hands itched to touch him, to muss up that perfectly groomed hair.
Priscilla looked to Roark, again praying he would say no, quickly and forcefully. But instead he wore a pensive expression, as if thinking over the proposition.
Then abruptly he smiled and looked straight at her, reminding her of a shark coming in for the kill. “I’m always willing to go the extra mile for a comrade. Sure, I’ll help you out, Priscilla. I could be convincing, too. Very convincing.”
A charged silence followed his statement. Jeez, did everyone in her unit now know that Priscilla and Roark had slept together?
Ethan broke the silence. “Then it’s settled. Priscilla, your problems are over. All we needed was to put our heads together. You can thank me later.”
Thank him? She was going to pinch his head off once they were some place without witnesses.
“Captain Epperson, don’t listen to any of them,” she said, pretending it was all a joke. “You’re very kind to want to help, but I can handle my mother. Been doing it for a few years now.”
Roark Epperson thought fast as Priscilla started to walk away. He needed a way to prolong the contact. He had questions and he wanted answers. “Priscilla?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“When you were in training, you seemed to take a special interest in arson investigation.” And in the arson investigator, but that was a separate issue. “I could use some help collecting samples. I’m sure Lieutenant McCrae won’t mind if I borrow you a few minutes.”
Roark could see the turmoil in her eyes. She didn’t want to be alone with him. Was she embarrassed that she’d shown him so much passion? Was she guilty about it? Was there another man in the picture?
They had shared very little personal information during their brief liaison. He knew she’d broken up with someone not long before they met, but she’d given him no details.
“Sure, I’ll give you a hand,” Priscilla said, deceptively casual.
He took her over to his car and handed her several clean empty cans and some plastic bags, then instructed her on what to collect from among the charred remains of the shed and how to package the evidence. She put on latex gloves and followed his instructions while he watched.
He’d been intrigued from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, the only woman in the class. At first he’d thought he had her pegged: too slender, too weak, too pampered. But in this case, first impressions had been totally wrong. She was astonishingly strong for a woman her size. And he had never seen anyone work harder to get through training. He’d spotted her on the obstacle course several times after hours, often by herself, practicing until she got it right.
Priscilla poked at some dead leaves near the chain-link fence, searching for evidence. “Hey, Captain, look at this.”
She’d found a book of matches. “Good job. Could be very useful.”
Carefully she used tweezers to collect the evidence and place it in a plastic bag. Roark, meanwhile, studied her face, imprinting it in his memory so he could think about it later—the slope of her cheek, the curve of her lower lip.
The physical chemistry between them had been undeniable from that first day. But it was her grit and determination—and her quick mind—that had truly fascinated him.
It might have come to nothing if she hadn’t gotten stranded in the fire academy parking lot one rainy day with two flat tires. Someone—one of the male trainees who resented her outshining