Loree Lough

The Firefighter's Refrain


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       TITLE PAGE

       ABOUT THE AUTHOR

       DEDICATION

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

       CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

       CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

       CHAPTER THIRTY

       CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

       CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

       CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

       CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

       CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

       EXTRACT

       COPYRIGHT

       CHAPTER ONE

      SAM WROTE HIS name on the whiteboard, wincing when the dry-erase pen squeaked across the polished surface.

      He recapped the pen. “Sorry, and I hate to admit it, but that happens all the time.”

      “It’s because you’re left-handed,” said the student sitting nearest the door. “Left-handers hold things...weird.”

      The female cadet beside him knocked on her desk. “It’s weirdly,” she said, “not weird.”

      For the moment, Sam was more interested in the left-hander than proper grammar.

      “Yeah, yeah,” the student said. “I was with the ditzy blonde on Monday.”

      Sam had lucked into a slot on Open Mic Night at the Bluebird Café, a lifetime dream made more fantastic when the crowd had stood to cheer the song he’d written and performed. Amid the applause and whistles, a cute woman had climbed onstage and wrapped him in a hug that belied her size...while her wide-eyed date had looked more stunned than Sam felt.

      “When the lieutenant straps on a guitar, he turns into a babe magnet.” The student smirked. “My girlfriend says it’s all his fault that she clung to him like a plastic wrap.”

      Laughter traveled through the room, and Sam felt the beginnings of a blush creeping into his cheeks.

      The young woman piped up. “Wait. You got a standing O at the Bluebird?” She flipped a copper-red braid over her shoulder. “That’s one tough crowd, so...” She frowned slightly. “If you’re that good, why are you here?”

      Much as Sam loved the department, he’d trade his badge for a guitar in a heartbeat...if he thought for a minute he could survive on a musician’s salary.

      “Somebody’s got to teach you bunch of knuckleheads how to get cats out of trees.”

      His students snickered.

      “Fair warning—laughing at my bad jokes won’t earn you extra credit, but showing up on time might.” He dropped the pen on to the chalk ledge. “Any questions before we get started?”

      “Were you injured putting out a fire?” the redhead wanted to know.

      A flash of memory took him back to that night when the ceiling literally caved in on him, and he believed life as he’d known it was over.

      “You know, your limp?” she continued when Sam didn’t say