Heat: A Friends to Lovers Firefighter Romance Read online

  “To a new job?”

  “To a new life.”

  “Oh.” For a moment I thought Danielle was going to make a brazen wise crack. “Is that because of you two?”

  “Us?” Only in my dreams. Three years of dreams, not that I was counting.

  “I just assumed the two of you are a couple. When I first heard she was married, I assumed she hadn’t taken on your name.” A mistake many of the journalists made, only I didn’t feel the need to correct them.

  “Just take it easy on her today. You’ll probably get your tears on cue, but make it about the fire and back off on the personal, okay?”

  “No problems, both of you have suffered enough.”

  Confounded woman. Just when I wanted to dismiss her as another clickbait journalist, Danielle had to pretend to be human.

  At least, I’d done what I could to protect Zoe. Now, with a light sprinkling of rain threatening to turn Danielle’s dress translucent, I needed to find Zoe and coax her into another interview I hoped she had remembered.

  Zoe

  As if to taunt me, Glenn’s car barely disappeared around the bend when the heavens opened with a tantalizing light drizzle of rain. Where the hell had the rain been two weeks ago, when it would have mattered.

  Maybe made a difference.

  Saved lives and livelihoods.

  Leaving the cardboard box where Glenn had dumped it, I returned to the back of the pub. Following the sounds of laughter and clinking of bottles. Dozens of locals had decided to thank Reece and his other volunteer bush fire fighters with a community barbeque. Although food and thanks didn’t seem to be enough for the six men who’d saved the pub and the almost one hundred of us sheltering inside.

  Except, I couldn’t relax. The entire time I should have been circulating, laughing, and having fun in the light drizzle; when I should have been enjoying the kids turning ash into mud; I couldn’t. All I could do was remind myself with each breath that the smell from the cooking was safe.

  The innocent, usually enticing smells of sausages, steak, and caramelizing onions.

  Not cars and buildings.

  Breathe in, breathe out, repeat.

  We were safe. I was safe.

  Still, my knuckles whitened around the thin strap of my handbag. Inside it were the only things remaining from my previous life. A wallet and mobile phone, sans the charger. A nude matte lipstick that had melted in the heat, and keys to a car that no longer existed.

  The thin polyester dress started to cling to my body in the rain. Soon, it would show off my cheap, ill-fitting bra and unsexy boy cut panties. Nothing I would have chosen for myself. But I’d learned to find comfort in the donations. Knowing almost everything I now owned had been given in love.

  “You okay?” Again, it was Reece who found me when the emotions of the day were about to take hold. About three o’clock each day, I’d wait for the signs and escape to my room until my predictable panic attack subsided. Reece had been the first to notice and it felt nice to know someone cared. My face must have had all the hallmarks of panic, even though it wasn’t the usual time. Surprisingly, I felt more relief than impending doom. The marriage part of my life had ended, leaving me with a lifetime to come. New mistakes to make.

  “I will be.”

  “You’ve survived tougher.”

  “Than what?” Snorting, I couldn’t imagine anything tougher than being around people. Most marriages disintegrate in private. Our—no, my—community had watched mine explode from front row seats.

  “Than having a guy who didn’t want to be here, walk away. You’re the one who held everyone together in the pub that day.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” I shrugged, uncomfortable with accepting compliments from Reece. The man who lead his team had become the nation’s hero and rightly so. “I counted them off and forced them to sing.”

  “You kept them calm so we could do our job.”

  “I think I’ll bypass the party. My room and bed awaits.” I tried to joke, thinking that spending the rest of the day in bed could be just what the doctor ordered.

  “The press is here. They want to talk to us.”

  “The face of Meringa.” I cringed at the label forced on us by what was left of our community and the national press who needed a human-interest story to fill columns and inspire donations.

  Who better than the man who was the real hero?

  Reece with his footballer’s body, broad shoulders and sexy dark brown fringe that dropped over his forest green eyes. The camera loved him, and within minutes of his first interview going live, Reece Sinclair became every woman’s dream. The press needed a female by his side and couldn’t seem to get enough of hearing how I herded people together on the day, trying to get everyone to sing louder than the roar from the flames. Once the international journalists caught footage of me setting up a makeshift childcare in the pub, my name and face was joined with Reece and no interview could be complete without our soundbites.

  “The face of survivors,” Reece smirked. Humble but ready to go into battle with another journalist. “Come on, you can trust me.”

  Listening to Reece go through his account of what happened on the day and another attractive blonde journalist falling more in love every minute, I faded out.

  My own memories of the day weren’t for sharing.

  “Zoe,” Reece pulled me out of my thoughts. His calming hand on my knee the only reason I didn’t run. As the public faces of the south coast fires, it was our responsibility to give the media what they wanted.

  “Sorry, I was thinking about the day.” I smiled over to Danielle Stone. I vaguely remembered her from the interviews before the fires were even under control. As journalists went, she was one of the better ones. Less intrusive. But still full of stupid questions.

  “Thinking back,” Danielle simpered. Clearly besotted with Reece, she didn’t have to remind me that I was only here at the insistence of her production manager. “Why didn’t you leave before the fires? Why stay?”

  “That’s difficult to answer,” I started unable to hold her gaze. Instead, I focused on the cool breeze blowing ash over Danielle’s pretty white, lace up, stiletto heels that were better suited for red carpets. Wishing Reece was holding my hand instead of my knee. To buy time, I reached over to the collapsible picnic table for the glass of water. Donated furniture in place of the wooden tables and chairs that were now nothing more than smokey rubble.

  Thankful this interview wasn’t being shown live, so I could take my time.

  Australia didn’t want to hear the truth. That Glenn and I had been too busy fighting to agree on anything, including when or if to leave.

  I’d woken to the news reports, looked at the emergency services fire maps and wind direction. There was no way we were going to be spared, and I tried to get Glenn to help me pack up both cars, pick a direction and start driving.

  Except, because it had been my idea and not his, Glenn wanted to wait and see. “They’ll come around and ask us to leave,” he’d reasoned.

  “Or they could be busy actually fighting the fires,” I’d countered, wishing my wardrobe included protective clothing and gloves instead of thin cotton and polyester. Checking my leather jacket to make sure it was real and not a good fake.

  “I’m handy with a hose. Call me if it gets close and I’ll save you.”

  “Like you save damsels on the other side of the world!”

  Damn him and his gaming addiction. The world was burning, but because it was in real life and not online, he didn’t care.

  By the time the wind picked up, the fires jumped the containment lines and the radio announced the road closures, leaving town was no longer an option.

  By the time the power went off, his computer died, and Glenn finally agreed to leave our house, it was too late. Fires coming from the north, south and west; our only chance for survival was heading into town or sitting on the beach.

  “Miss Wynters?” Danielle prompted, needing a soundbite.


  “I’m sorry, it’s still hard to process how quickly everything happened.” My smile was weaker than a twice used teabag. “We didn’t think it would get this bad. We were streets away from the national forest.”

  I’d rather the world think we were naïve than know we’d been fighting instead of planning.

  If it had been up to Glenn, we would have stayed in the house with a single garden hose between the two of us. Instead, I’d grabbed my car keys and yelled at him to come with me.

  He’d agreed to head into town for a drink. Had assured me we would be fine. That he didn’t need to lug my boxes to either car. That our double brick home would withstand the heat on the off-chance fires came.

  That was the moment my marriage died.

  When I couldn’t carry my boxes or suitcases and he didn’t care. When I was pleading with him to leave and he made me feel like an idiot for feeling panicked.

  Yes, we went to the pub for a drink. But we never got the opportunity to go back home.

  I’d live with regrets of not leaving earlier. For not at least taking the suitcase that held the photo albums of my grandparents and great-grandparents. Or the wooden box that held great-grandpa’s horse ribbons from years of trotting.

  “Didn’t you listen to the news reports? The radio?”

  I knew what Danielle was trying to do. Make sure future families learned from my mistake.

  “I guess my ex-husband and I assumed we’d be safe. That we didn’t need a bush fire emergency plan. That we’d have power and water pressure and time to make a decision.”

  How natural it felt to call Glenn my ex-husband. Perhaps, our marriage had died years ago, and the fire was only the catalyst for making the decision. Something for me to think about another day, not with a journalist looking for a story.

  With our fold-up chairs touching to stay in the same frame, Reece easily released my knee. Gently unprying fingers clenched together in my lap. His thumb stroking my palm in time with my pounding heart. Knowing how much I hated bearing my soul to the world in the name of making sure the victims of the fires weren’t forgotten.

  “We—were—wrong.” My voice broke and Reece quickly took over. Explaining how the Christmas and New Year fires had been unprecedented.

  His voice calm, just as it had been that day. And every day since.

  Reece Sinclair had been Captain of our local volunteer bush fire brigade for the past three years. Leading men thirty years his senior after replacing his father when cancer claimed another victim.

  Reece Sinclair had become my standard for what a hero should be. Tall with broad shoulders, perfect for playing first grade Australian Football League, the local AFL centre who could have gone professional but for a knee injury. Now, our local vet who refused to grieve for his business in front of families who had lost their beloved pets while he was saving human lives.

  The depth of his grief and guilt buried beneath his need to lead rebuilding of the town and our community.

  Reece had channeled his grief into helping others. Bringing a community together.

  Keeping me sane.

  “Have you gone back?” Danielle turned back to me, this time her voice softer. She knew these were dumb and repetitive questions. But the public wanted to know. They wanted to know their donations had been worthwhile and appreciated.

  “My house doesn’t exist. You can still see the footprint from collapsed brick walls. I was able to get a couple of old iron pots and one cupboard of board games.” I handed Danielle my phone to show her the footage. “It looked like the boxes were still full of games, but the moment I touched them, they turned to ash.”

  “Incredible.”

  “It’s like watching my life. From the outside it looks okay, but once you get too close—”

  Danielle got what she wanted. Me, a sobbing mess. Crying into the shoulder of my best friend. The man Australia had fallen in love with and I needed more than I wanted to admit.

  Reece had held me after I’d toured my property with the insurance assessors. He’d forced me to eat when my stomach churned at the thought of food, when the stress of surviving made me wish I’d stayed to fight. And died in the flames.

  Now, he held me while Danielle watched.

  At least my tears saved me from the usual, final question.

  How are you?

  Usually, by the time someone or a reporter remembered to ask, either Reece or I had closed them down. Or, they had become bored with hearing the same story of one hundred people trapped in a pub, saved by fire fighters, that they didn’t care about the answer.

  How was I? Day by day minute by minute it was a different answer.

  Right now, with my ex-husband gone, a community to rebuild and life to live, in Reece I could trust.

  1 March

  Zoe

  I wandered downstairs, enjoying the warmth of the wooden handrail leading the way from my second floor, single room, downstairs to the main room.

  Meringa Pub.

  My new home.

  Since the day of the fire two months ago.

  Many of us had crammed together within the twenty rooms. Extended families to a single room. Couples sharing with other couples. Single men and single women packed into the other rooms.

  All floor space taken up with mattresses, blankets and the occasional sleeping bag.

  Clothes were stuffed inside t-shirts for make-shift pillows until the donations started to pile in.

  Reece and the other fire fighters had been given the prize rooms. The first to get camp stretchers instead of having to sleep on the floor in shared accommodation. They deserved and needed their rest while the fires still raged in nearby towns.

  As homes and rooms opened up, caravans parked on any open space; families were the first to move out and within three weeks, I got a room of my own.

  I’d been offered accommodation in nearby Beringi. As a single woman without dependents, it had been easy to match me with a couple who had a spare room.

  One night.

  That’s all I lasted before coming back to the pub.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I need my family.”

  Old Man Hobbs understood.

  Most of us who stayed craved the companionship of people who understood without words. When a look said it all. Yes, we could smell the smoke from the fires kilometres away. Yes, it still scared the shit out of us when we went to sleep.

  Yes, we worried about the fire fighters who were pulling old trucks out of mothballs just to give communities a chance of being saved.

  “Zoe!” Eight-year-old twin girls flung themselves at my legs. “Read us a book? Please?”

  “Sure!” I swung one around my hip while looking for their mother.

  “Do you mind? I’ve got to go into town and sort out their school enrolments. We’re late and I—” Lydia tried to explain.

  “No problems. Take your time. Will you be here at three?”

  “Of course.”

  The pub would be full. But invitation only.

  If you hadn’t taken shelter on that day, you weren’t invited.

  Two months to the day, Old Man Hobbs was opening the bar

  I read until both girls became bored and ran outside to play with friends.

  Watching them play in dirt and ash, I marveled at their resilience. What people didn’t tell you was that a firestorm left nothing behind. They’d had to use satellite imaging to work out land boundaries for surveyors to come out and start marking out properties.

  I couldn’t face the rebuilding, yet.

  Meringa pub had always sponsored the local AFL and cricket teams. It had always been the community’s soul and I was proud to call it my home.

  Gradually, it filled. As the breakfast rush became hunters for mid-morning coffee and the builders came in for their counter lunches.

  Each one reminded that the pub would be closed for a private function after two.

  No one needed reminding why.

  Familiar faces started to
appear, greeting me with hugs turned tears.

  I hadn’t expected the emotion of the day to be so overwhelming. Mothers who had found strength during the fires by comforting their scared children were now blubbering messes. Men who had been the last to take shelter with their families, the first to openly weep together.

  This wasn’t an afternoon for reporters or interlopers.

  Truly, if you hadn’t been here on the day, you’d never understand.

  Tears weren’t from weakness.

  They were the release of relief.

  We’d survived.

  “Thank you,” I turned towards the voice. In the last two months, our friendship had grown but never crossed a line. But to see Reece Sinclair in his chinos and black collared shirt, my heart wondered why it had taken me so long to at least think about the possibility.

  “For what?” I hadn’t done anything, at least not for Reece.

  “For trusting me that day.”

  “You trusted me, to go in and make sure everyone was accounted for.”

  “You trusted me to keep you alive. Thank you.”

  “Oh, Reece, I—”

  Not for the first time, I wanted to say more but he was urged away. Parents introducing him to their children. Reminding him of how many lives he and his team had literally saved that day.

  The clock edge closer to three pm.

  Old Man Hobbs turned off the television and the joyous talking and laughter gradually died down as everyone stood focused on the time.

  With ten minutes to go, the air was thick with emotion. It wouldn’t have taken much to turn this celebration of life into a wake.

  Reece caught my eye, willing me to go along with his idea. A slight nod. I’d trusted him on the day, today would be no different.

  Wordlessly, he went behind the bar and started filling jugs of water.

  “Pass out some glasses, will you Zoe?”

  “Sure.”

  Almost one hundred people waited to know why as I handed around glasses.

  “When the clock strikes three, I want to raise a toast.”

  “With water?” came the cry from what was left of the football team. Yeah, most of these guys only drank water at the gym or on the field.