“Firefighting is special. You make a real difference in the world.”
Genuine admiration tinged Aubrey’s voice, and his chest swelled.
“Like being a nurse?
“Firefighting is nothing like being a nurse. You put your life on the line for others. That takes courage and daring.” She tilted her head and stared him square in the face. “I have to say, Gage, you really impress me. Not that I wasn’t—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish, because he hauled her into his arms, lifted her onto her toes and brought her mouth to within a tiny fraction of his.
Her green eyes went wide. “If you’re thinking of kissing me, think again.”
“Oh, I’m going to kiss you, all right.”
Dear Reader,
Some years ago when my family was visiting Young, Arizona, I had the opportunity to meet the Payson Hotshots. The crew, fresh from the front line of the fire, strode into the Antler Café where we were having dinner, turning every head in the place. In speaking to them, we learned the citizens of Young were helping out by hosting the wilderness firefighters—feeding them and putting them up for the night at the local community center.
That weekend while I stood on our cabin porch watching the fire blaze in the nearby mountains, I wondered about the Hotshots and the amazing individuals who chose to work in such a dangerous profession. I also wondered about the people who loved them and made up their families.
From that experience, Gage and Aubrey’s story was born. His Only Wife is my first Harlequin American Romance, a line that I’m thrilled to be writing for. I hope you enjoy reading about Gage and Aubrey as much as I enjoyed writing about them.
Warmest wishes,
Cathy McDavid
P.S. I love hearing from readers. Visit my Web site at www.cathymcdavid.com to drop me a line.
His Only Wife
Cathy McDavid
MILLS & BOON
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For the past eleven years Cathy McDavid has been juggling a family, a job, and writing and doing pretty well at it except for the cooking and housecleaning part. Mother of boy and girl teenage twins, she manages the near impossible by working every day with her husband of twenty years at their commercial construction company. They survive by not bringing work home and not bringing home to the office. A mutual love of all things Western also helps. Horses and ranch animals have been a part of Cathy’s life since she moved to Arizona as a child and asked her mother for riding lessons. She can hardly remember a time when she couldn’t walk outside and pet a soft, velvety nose (or beak, or snout) whenever the mood struck.
This book is dedicated to the courageous men and women who serve as wilderness firefighters in the western United States and all over the world. It has been a joy writing about you and an honor to make your acquaintance.
Contents
Chapter One
Tourists in motor homes, cowboys in pickup trucks, and teenagers in hot rods with the radios blasting.
Not much had changed about the Pineville service station over the last decade from what Aubrey Stuart could see, except maybe the price of gas.
And her.
She guided her mini SUV toward the far island and parked beside a pump. Pushing the door open with one hand, she grabbed her tiny purse off the front passenger seat and stepped outside. In the blink of an eye, she exchanged air-conditioned comfort for the heat of Arizona high country in late June.
While waiting for her credit card purchase to be authorized, she removed the cap from her gas tank and eyed the constant stream of vehicles coming and going. Everything about this place was familiar to Aubrey. During the four-hour drive from Tucson, she’d steeled herself against the pain that the sight of Pineville always brought on during those few short visits she’d made through the years. But to her vast relief, there wasn’t any. Only a twinge of melancholy.
Could it be she was really and truly over Gage Raintree?
A high-pitched electronic beep drew her attention to the gas pump and the message scrolling across the panel in vivid green letters.
“Cash only, see clerk inside,” Aubrey read out loud and sighed. With another hour’s drive still ahead of her, she had wanted this to be a quick in-and-out stop.
Better to be safe than sorry, she decided. Thirty-foot drop-offs in some places made the winding dirt road to her grandmother’s home in Blue Ridge treacherous. Running out of gas halfway there would be at best an inconvenience, at worse a disaster.
Slamming the door of her SUV shut, she headed toward the minimart, extracting a twenty-dollar bill from her