Page 139 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

48

JANNA

Three days later, I was feeling almost human again. The hoarseness in my voice had faded to a sexy rasp that Dalton claimed he liked, and most of the soot had finally washed out of my hair. We were at the local watering hole where all the firefighters went to blow off steam.

It was the same place Cheryl had brought me. It was on the opposite side of town and had been untouched by the fire. It felt good. Like I belonged. I was one of the gang.

“So there I am,” Pickle was saying, gesturing wildly with his beer bottle as he continued his story of our harrowing ordeal. I was doing my best to sit quietly and let him have his moment, but he was getting a little dramatic. “I was face down in a pile of rubble, and this one comes flying through the smoke like some angel of death.”

“Angel of death?” I protested, nearly choking on my beer. “That’s the thanks I get for saving your ass?”

“Hey, I mean it in the best way possible.” Pickle grinned, then winced slightly as the movement pulled at the bandage on his forehead. “You were terrifying and beautiful at the same time.”

Laser, who was sitting closer to Pickle than I’d ever seen her sit to anyone, rolled her eyes. “You missed your calling as an author. Fiction flows from your tongue.”

Pickle clutched his chest in mock offense. “I’m the victim here! I have a traumatic brain injury!”

“You have a bump on your head,” Laser shot back, but her hand moved to his shoulder in a protective gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by me.

Interesting. Very interesting.

I had a feeling Laser had a change of heart about the big oaf after nearly losing him.

“Tell them about the horse,” I said to Dalton, who was sitting beside me with his arm draped over the back of my chair.

We weren’t hiding our relationship either. We were two couples enjoying cold beer, hot wings, and celebrating the fact we were all alive.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Dalton said, taking a long pull from his beer.

“Bullshit,” Laser said. “Chief told us you commandeered Martha’s horse and rode it through a fire zone like you’re some fucking cowboy.”

Dalton’s jaw tightened. “I needed transportation.”

“Transportation,” Pickle repeated, grinning. “The man turned into the Lone Ranger to save us.”

“I didn’t save anyone,” Dalton muttered.

“Oh, here we go,” I said, nudging him with my elbow. “Mr. Modest strikes again.”

“I’m serious. You two got yourselves out. I just showed up at the end.”

“With oxygen,” I pointed out. “Which we desperately needed.”

“Anyone would have⁠—”

“If you say ‘anyone would have done it’ one more time, I’m going to throw this beer at you,” I threatened.

Laser laughed. “I love seeing him get put in his place.”

“It’s about time someone did it,” Pickle added, then looked at me with real emotion in his eyes. “But seriously, Janna. What you did for me was impressive. I’ll never be able to repay you. I’m sorry I was out through all of it. I do remember enough to know it happened, though. And just how heroic you were.”

“I’m amazed that plane got us off the ground,” I said.

“I’m glad I was out for that part,” Pickle said. “I don’t think I would have survived riding in that deathtrap.”

“It was either that or become crispy critters.” I shrugged. “Besides, it was kind of fun once I got the hang of it.”

“Fun,” Dalton repeated, shaking his head. “We were one breath from death.”