All Fired Up (Green Valley Heroes #7)

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

MADELINE

H unter doesn’t kiss me again all week. Not on Tuesday after our evening workout where we started interval training. Not on Wednesday when we studied at the library and I showed him more research I did on dyslexia. Not on Thursday when he came over to my house after work and insisted on mowing my lawn and helping with more household fixes on that god-awful list my mom made. Not on Friday after Adelaide screeched at me for not telling her sooner about everything that happened with Hunter the weekend prior. And not on Saturday when after our training at the fire station he said he had to go to his parents’ house for dinner because his mom won’t stop hassling him.

He’s been an attentive study partner. A diligent trainer. An actual gentleman.

And I can’t stop thinking about him. About the playful light in his eyes as he’d kissed me after I laughed at his cartwheel. At the way his gaze had darkened with earnestness as he’d told me he had feelings for me. That he was interested in me. And that second kiss, short but full of hunger. Full of promise.

I could have him if I wanted. He’s left the ball in my court.

The only thing is, Madeline Woodward is not a risk taker. She plays things safe. She follows the rules.

There are no rules for this, though. No textbook to read. No instruction manual. If I took a chance, what would happen afterward? Where would it leave us?

Well, sitting here debating it endlessly isn’t going to change anything. I grab my stuff and drive to the fire station, telling myself to stop worrying about it.

Yesterday, we’d practiced using a pike pole to breach a ceiling, which of course was more difficult for me since I’m not as tall or strong as the other guys. I’d completed the exercise, my upper arms and shoulders burning afterward since the hinged door we’d practiced on had weighed sixty pounds and we’d had to do the exercise several times in our full gear.

This morning is not much better as we go over more forcible entry methods and breaching walls, but it’s the afternoon that does me in. Hunter and I work together on performing a modified hose load, him standing on the step at the back of the engine feeding me hose while I kneel in the hosebed, packing two hundred-foot stacks of hose side by side.

My arms and back are sore by the time we’re finished, and I’m paying more attention to the ache than what I’m doing as I jump down.

A dumb, dumb decision.

My ankle rolls and I fall to the floor, hissing in a breath as pain explodes up my leg.

Hunter kneels beside me in a flash, his face full of worry. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

My eyes squeeze shut, trying to block it out, but it doesn’t work. “My ankle.”

“Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.” I shift and a whimper escapes me as a fresh wave of hurt travels over me, though it’s not as bad as a second ago.

“I’ll carry you inside.”

Before I can agree to it, he’s whisked me in his arms and is halfway across the open bay toward the inside of the fire station. Um, okay. Guess this is happening.

Grizz stares at us open-mouthed from where he’s supervising Silas and Harry practicing a forward hose lay. “What’s wrong?” he calls out.

“My ankle. It’s fine, don’t worry.” I don’t want him thinking I’ll get hurt easily every time I’m on the job. “Hunter, put me down,” I whisper.

“Let Sebastian check you out first.” He carries me carefully over the threshold inside, then bellows the EMT’s name, who’s thankfully on call today.

Sebastian comes down from the second floor a moment later, pausing when he sees us. “What happened?”

“I rolled my ankle,” I explain, feeling ridiculous with all of Hunter’s fuss. The pain’s already subsided significantly.

“Can you check it out?” Hunter asks, his fingers flexing on the back of my thigh where he’s supporting me.

“Put her down in there,” Sebastian says, pointing to the break room.

Hunter carefully sets me down on one of the chairs, then pulls around another to support my right foot.

“Do you need me to get anything?” Hunter asks as Sebastian kneels next to my foot. “A medical kit or something?”

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with first. Madeline, I’m going to take off your shoe and sock, then pull up your pant leg, okay?”

I nod, wincing as my shoe slips off, jostling my foot. Beside me, Hunter grips my shoulder, then lets go when I stare at him pointedly.

“Did you hear or feel any kind of popping when this happened?” Sebastian asks.

“No.”

“Good. There are no breaks in the skin, no serious swelling. I’m going to remove your other shoe and sock now for comparison.”

He studies my feet, then asks me to wiggle my toes, which I’m able to do.

“How would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest?”

“Um, when it happened, maybe a seven. Now it’s down to probably a three or four.”

He nods. “I’m going to palpate it now. Tell me if anything hurts.”

He touches my ankle at different points, sometimes holding it, sometimes letting it rest against the chair, but nothing hurts too bad, thankfully.

When his examination moves to my leg and up my calf, Hunter asks, “Why do you need to touch her there?”

“Hunter, let the man work,” I murmur. He almost sounds . . . jealous.

“Some ankle injuries have associated tibia fractures,” Sebastian says easily, unfazed by Hunter’s underlying hard tone. “Everything seems okay, though. How about we see if it can bear weight?”

Before Sebastian can help me up, Hunter’s there holding my hand for balance as I maneuver my foot off the chair and stand.

“It’s not the most comfortable,” I say as I ease more of my weight onto my right foot. “But it’s better than I thought it’d be.”

Sebastian nods. “Good. It doesn’t seem broken or sprained. Probably just landed on it wrong. Rest, elevation, and ice can’t hurt, though. Take it easy for the next week.”

“Thank you so much,” I tell him, and Hunter gives his thanks, too.

When he leaves, I ask Hunter, “Maybe I can use you for balance if I feel wobbly back out there?”

His brows knit together. “We’re not going back out there. I’m driving you home.”

I blink up at him. “You are?”

“You heard Sebastian. Rest, elevation, and ice.”

“That was optional. There’s still an hour of training left.”

He makes a pshh sound. “It’s freaking hoses, not rocket science. It’s okay if we miss the last bit. Your health is more important.”

I nearly laugh. My health? “I didn’t even sprain it. I’ll be okay.”

“Please, Madeline. Can you rest it for tonight? I don’t want you to seriously hurt yourself reinjuring it.”

His tone more than his words gives me pause. He actually seems worried.

“Okay. But don’t carry me out of here again. I don’t want Grizz to think I’m weak.”

Even if it was nice to be carried by him.

He concedes, but hovers close to me as we slowly make our way out, as if I’m going to collapse any second. I explain what happened to Grizz, who asks if he needs to fill out any worker’s comp paperwork for me, but I wave him off.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Totally better with a little rest.”

“And you need him to drive you home?” Grizz asks, glancing at Hunter.

“No, but he’s insisting.”

“I am,” Hunter says, crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently, it’s not up for debate.

Grizz shrugs. “Okay. See you next week.”

Once we’re out of the bay and direct sight, I grab Hunter’s arm, letting him support some of my weight.

“I should have stepped off of the truck, not jumped. How stupid.”

“There’s no way you could have known.”

He carefully loads me into the passenger side of his car, telling me we’ll figure out about getting my car later, and drives, surprising me when he takes the turn to his house rather than mine. I don’t say anything, though, secretly pleased he wants to spend more time together.

He sets me up on the couch, propping a pillow underneath my foot, and gets a gel ice pack from the freezer to position over my ankle. I let him fuss over me, watching him with amusement as he brings me a glass of water, then a bag of chips, and drapes a throw blanket over me in case I’m chilly. He hands me the remote and tells me to put on anything I want, but I draw the line when he sits on the living room floor, not wanting to disturb my ankle.

“You’re going overboard,” I tell him. “My ankle barely hurts anymore. You sitting on the end of the couch isn’t going to make a bit of difference to it.”

“I don’t?—”

“Sit on the damn couch.”

He carefully lifts the pillow and my ankle, and situates them on his lap.

“So, anything I want, huh?” I wave the remote at him. “You’re putting an awful lot of power in my hands.”

“You have more power than you know.”

I look at him, but he’s looking at the TV. What’s that supposed to mean?

“Pick whatever you want,” he says, gingerly crossing his feet at the ankle on the coffee table, so as not to jostle me. “Seriously, I’m good with anything.”

I take him at his word and put on my ultimate comfort show— The Great British Baking Show . I half expect him to balk, but he watches along with me, barely saying anything throughout the first episode.

Another three episodes and a frozen pizza later—because that’s apparently all he knows how to cook—he’s surprisingly into it, asking me all sorts of things.

“What’s this marzipan stuff they keep talking about?”

I snuggle further under the throw blanket, the pillow that was holding my foot now being used by Hunter to lean against the side of the couch. My feet are on his lap, all toasty warm under the blanket, my ankle fine now.

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think we bake with it much here in the US. It must be something sweet, though.”

“And it’s different than frangipane?”

“I think so.” I smile to myself, entertained by his interest in the show. He never would have watched this in a million years when we first started this training program.

He nods, tuning back into the show.

“So, you’re into this?” I motion toward the TV.

He chuckles. “I mean, I’m not inspired to start baking. But it’s not half bad.”

I nudge his arm with my foot. “Come on. You like it more than that. I’m going to sign you up for the show.”

“Do I have to fake a British accent?”

“Oh, totally. Let me hear it.”

He clears his throat and says some nonsense about cheerio and top o’ the mornin’ to ya , which I think is more Irish than British, but it’s so awful that it doesn’t matter as I cackle with laughter.

“You’re jealous,” he says with a grin. “Especially because I’m going to get a Hollywood handshake and you’re not.”

I get my giggles under control. “Oh my God, I would die. Will you at least introduce me?”

He pretends to think it over. “I guess I could do that for you.”

“It’s only fair since I introduced you to the show. And look, I’ve made a convert out of you.”

“Well, you like it, so of course I’d give it a try.”

He goes back to watching the show, but his offhand comment sticks with me. Paul would have taken one look at a show like this and dismissed it. I know for a fact this normally wouldn’t be Hunter’s cup of tea, either. But he tried it, for me.

Something about it reminds me of that moment in my garage last weekend, when he said he wouldn’t help anyone else out like that. Just me.

Another episode starts up and the thought crosses my mind that I should ask Hunter to drive me back to my car now so I can go home. His couch is so comfy, though, and the lights are dim and we’re having a good time. Maybe after the next episode. It’s a marathon at this point, after all. I can’t interrupt that.

I sigh, getting more comfortable, but as the night wears on, I get a little too comfortable. The next thing I know, darkness surrounds us, the time reading one a.m. on my phone on the coffee table. Hunter’s lifting me into his arms, just like he did at the fire station, as if I weigh nothing.

“What’s going on?” I ask, although I think it comes out with more slurring than I intend in my half-awake state.

“We’re going to bed,” he says, carrying me down the hallway and into his bedroom. “We’ll get your car in the morning.”

Did he fall asleep on the couch, too? I have the presence of mind to realize he also must be half asleep. It wouldn’t make sense to have him drive me now, then.

“Okay,” I agree, not that I put up any kind of fight.

He lays me on his bed, and the last thing I think before I fall asleep again is that his comforter is just as soft as I thought it’d be.