Riding to Sunset Read online

  And since she lived in the small apartment above the shop, chances were everything in there was also covered in that gray ashy crap.

  She’d deal with it. Hadn’t she always managed with whatever happened to her? She’d find a way to come out of this. And if worse came to worst, she’d couch-surf with some friends until she could get back into her apartment again. It was the work that was going to be a problem. And where was she going to store all her stuff? Sleeping on someone’s sofa was one thing. Storing her equipment and finding a place to set up shop in the interim? That was going to be the big issue.

  God, she had so much to deal with. Her mind was whirling and right now she felt a little dizzy. She leaned forward, letting her hands rest on her knees while she breathed in the oxygen from the mask that the EMTs insisted she keep on. She rested on the bumper of the ambulance while she watched the firefighters walk in and out of her shop. And with every minute she felt her livelihood slipping away more and more.

  “You feeling better, miss?”

  She gave a thumbs-up to the very nice EMT with the soft voice whose name tag said Acosta. His partner was a cute perky blond chick named Smith.

  Grumpy Firefighter, the one who’d dragged her out of her shop as if he were some kind of caveman, seemed to be semi-in-charge of the other ones, because she noted that he pointed and gave instructions to the other guys.

  She blamed a lot of her woes on him. She’d had nearly all of her tattoo machines and was on her way out of the shop with them when he’d intercepted her. Then he’d had the audacity to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder like she was some damn damsel in distress or something.

  She knew what she’d been doing, and she had tied a wet bandana over her face to keep from breathing in the smoke. Or at least much of the smoke. And okay, maybe she’d been coughing—a lot. But she’d been on her way out the door. She wasn’t stupid. She knew breathing in smoke was dangerous.

  She sat up and watched Grumpy Firefighter more closely. Hard to tell what anyone looked like under all that gear. He was nothing more than a yellow-and-red blob right now. But earlier, when he’d jerked off his mask, she’d gotten a glimpse of dark hair and extremely intense gray eyes. He had a nice mouth, too.

  Not that she was interested in him or his very fine mouth. But he reminded her of someone from way back when. The old days. The bad days.

  One of the other firefighters came up to her. “We need to get some information from you, ma’am,” he said.

  She grabbed the clipboard and filled out the form, then handed it back to him, studying him as she did. This guy looked familiar, too. Hispanic, dark hair, tan skin, soulful brown eyes and the most amazing thick, long eyelashes. She used to tease Rafael about his eyelashes all the time. She looked at the firefighter’s name tag. It said Donovan. Not that they had ever known last names back then.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking you look a lot like someone I used to know.”

  The firefighter smiled, his teeth bright and even. “Yeah? Who’s that?”

  “A homeless kid I used to hang out with. I’d tease him about his long eyelashes. You have those same long eyelashes.”

  He frowned, then looked down at the form and back up at her. “Rebecca. You ever go by Becks?”

  Her stomach dropped. “All the time. Your name wouldn’t be Rafe, would it?”

  “It would. But this can’t be. You sure look different. It can’t be you, Becks, could it?”

  She knew who she was, but this had to be the weirdest coincidence. She and Rafe had been tight—like the closest friends. She couldn’t begin to hope. “We didn’t go by last names back then. You sure don’t look like a Donovan.”

  He laughed. “I got adopted.”

  Adopted. Something they’d all hoped for but knew would never happen. “You did? That’s awesome, Rafe. And Benning really is my name. Never adopted.”

  “Damn, Becks, that sucks.”

  “Nah, it’s fine.” She was having one hell of a surreal day. First the smoke-out, now running into a blast from her past. “Wow, I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I. It’s really you, Becks?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s really me, Rafe.”

  He pulled her against him, and a hug had never felt so good. It was like she’d just found her long-lost family.

  “Hey, we don’t hug the victims, Rafe.”

  A tall, well-muscled guy had come around the side of the fire truck. Becks looked at him, and damn if he didn’t look just as familiar. Skin the color of deep, rich chestnut, eyes that mesmerizing green with golden flecks. She couldn’t see his hair because he was wearing his firefighter helmet, but she wondered if it was still long and curly. It didn’t matter. She’d know that face anywhere.

  It was Kal. It had to be Kal. And if it was, she might be hallucinating.

  “Kal, it’s Becks.”

  Becks studied the guy as he removed his helmet and saw that his black hair was cut shorter than he used to wear it. They’d been the same age when they’d hung out. Last time she’d seen him he’d been a gangly preteen. He’d grown up. Filled out. Damn, he was handsome now.

  “Kal.” She smiled.

  He grinned. “Becks? Wow. You grew up.”

  “So did you.” She couldn’t believe two guys she’d been so close to had rescued her today.

  Rafe threw his arm around her. “Talk about kismet, huh?”

  “Rafe, what the hell are you doing?” Another voice interrupted them.

  Rafe pulled away. “Jackson, this is Becks. You remember Becks, don’t you?”

  Becks turned to stare at Grumpy Firefighter. This was Jackson? The one guy who’d made her twelve-year-old heart go pitter-patter?

  This could not be possible. All three of them had stayed together. And now they fought fires together.

  Only Grumpy Firefighter’s—Jackson’s—brows knitted in a frown and he said the words that made her heart sink.

  “No, I don’t remember her.”

  Well, damn.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jaci Burton is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Play-by-Play series, the Hope series, and the Wild Riders series, and the coauthor of several anthologies with Lora Leigh.

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