The Eleventh Hour

A note from the editor…

Well, this is it—the last month of Harlequin Temptation. We’ve had a good run, but everybody knows that all good things have to end sometime. And you have to admit, Temptation is very, very good.…

When we celebrated our twentieth anniversary last year, we personified the series as a twenty-year-old woman. She was young, legal (well, almost) and old enough to get into trouble. Well, now that she’s twenty-one and officially legal, she’s leaving home. And she’s going to be missed.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the countless number of authors who have given me, and other Harlequin Temptation editors past and present, so many hours of enjoyable reading. They made working at Harlequin an absolute pleasure.

I’d also like to thank our loyal readers for all their support over the past twenty-one years. Never forget—you are the reason we all do what we do. (Check out the back autograph section if you don’t believe me.)

But this doesn’t have to be the end….

Next month Harlequin Blaze increases to six books, and will be bringing the best of Harlequin Temptation along with it. Look for more books in THE WRONG BED, 24 HOURS and THE MIGHTY QUINNS miniseries. And don’t miss Blazing new stories by your favorite Temptation authors. Drop in at tryblaze.com for details.

It’s going to be a lot of fun. I hope you can join us.

Brenda Chin

Associate Senior

Editor Temptation/Blaze

“I’m tired of being cautious and shy.”

Laine looked at him. “I took this job with the magazine for the pay raise, but it’s also part of my journey to be more assertive and confident.”

The tension dispelled, Steve kissed her palm. “How assertive are we talking about?”

She lifted herself out of her seat, hiked her dress up, then swung her leg over his lap and straddled him.

“That’s pretty assertive.”

Laine grinned. “When you want something…” She traced his bottom lip with her finger. “Or someone…”

Eyes wide, he slid his hands up her sides. “I don’t want our first time to be in a car,” he said without much conviction.

Leaning down, she tongued his earlobe. “Sometimes assertiveness is all about the timing.” She pressed her hips against his. “And this isn’t our first time.”

The Eleventh Hour

Wendy Etherington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Things always seem to come full circle, don’t they?

I started these stories about the Kimball family with the concept of heroes and their importance in both life and fiction very much on my mind. I was writing the first one in September 2001 and now here we are years later with the definition of an “American Hero” changed and intensified forever.

In the lives of the Kimballs it’s finally “Baby” Steven’s turn. Hopefully he will measure up to your personal definition of a hero as he finds himself and the love of his life.

While my story comes full circle, so does Harlequin Temptation. After twenty years of love, drama and laughter, this month marks the end of the line in North America. I hope the books have been as pleasurable for you to read as they have been for us authors to write.

Drop me a line anytime via my Web site, www.wendyetherington.com, or by regular mail at P.O. Box 3016, Irmo, SC 29063.

Take care and happy reading!

Wendy Etherington

Books by Wendy Etherington

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

944—PRIVATE LIES

958—ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT?

998—SPARKING HIS INTEREST

HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE

29—IF THE STILETTO FITS…

This book is dedicated in memory of Robert “Scooter” Haines, a great American hero to both his country and his family.

The Temptation Years 1984–2005

Autographs

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Prologue

WITH A HOLLOW STOMACH, Laine Sheehan sank onto a bar stool. She rested her elbows on the glossy mahogany bar that had been in her family for so long, still stunned by the news.

“It’s over,” her sister, Cat, announced as she tossed ice into a cocktail shaker. “I knew those biddies from the historical society would reject us. The city wants a new road, so we’re out.”

Laine realized her sister’s bravado was a front; this was killing her.

Temptation would soon be no more.

As her and Cat’s two closest friends, Gracie and Tess, flanked her and launched commiserations at her sister, Laine clutched the envelope the leader of the historical society had given her as they’d walked out of the courtroom earlier.

She reread the enclosed letter, the knot of disappointment that had formed in her stomach tightening to anger.

Thank you for applying to the Kendall, Texas, Historical Society…your establishment, Temptation, while having been in your family for more than twenty years, unfortunately doesn’t qualify for registry in our society…send our best wishes…

“Blah, blah, blah,” she said under her breath.

Laine had never considered failure. She’d planned an attack and executed it. The city wouldn’t be asinine enough to throw out two thriving businesses—Temptation and Gracie’s bookstore next door—for a wider stretch of asphalt. It wasn’t right. Or fair.

Okay, maybe they hadn’t been thriving lately, but that was only because the city’s big road project had already caused lane closures, detours and had cut into the building’s parking. When the work was done, their customers would come back.

Gracie sighed. “Where am I going to store all those books if I can’t find a new place in thirty days?”

“I’ll never find another job as good as this one,” Tess said.

“How are we going to explain this to Mom?” Laine asked Cat.

Tess patted her hand. “Brenda will understand. She’ll be pissed, but she’ll deal with it.”

Laine could feel angry tears clogging her throat. She wrapped her hand around the stem of her martini glass and had to resist the urge to hurl it across the room. “I just can’t believe it.”

Cat raised an eyebrow. “Had faith in the system, Lainey dear?”

Glaring at her sister for both the hated nickname and her caustic attitude, Laine crushed the letter in her fist. Of all the times she’d pulled Cat—kicking and screaming—out of one fix or another, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t succeeded this time. “Yes, I did. This isn’t right. How can they just take away everything we’ve worked for?”

Looking miserable, Gracie sipped her drink. “Because they can.”

Laine dropped the crumpled letter and envelope onto the bar, then shoved back her stool and turned away. They’d failed. She’d failed.

Though the idea to approach the historical society had been Gracie’s, Laine had taken charge of the process—compiling Gracie’s research, filing the paperwork, calling frequently for updates. As always, she’d handled everything down to the tiniest detail and she was the one who’d convinced the others that with the right plan, the right argument, there was hope they could convince the city not to demolish their building.

And if she was feeling this lousy, she couldn’t imagine her sister’s emotional turmoil. The bar was her baby. Though Laine balanced the books, made the work schedules, booked local bands for the weekends, ordered supplies and occasionally played barmaid, Cat worked daily and nightly behind that long mahogany bar. Temptation was her job and her life.

While Laine kept herself, her family and everybody else on schedule and organized, Cat relied on little but her guts and wits.

Which was why now—more than ever—Laine had to take up the slack.

Unlike Cat, she had a career outside the bar, one that would hopefully save them financially. After years as a photographer for a lifestyle magazine, she’d been hired recently at Century, a national, hard-hitting news publication. The assignments were pushing her past the comfort zone she’d fallen into, but for the raise she was getting, she’d find a way to manage. Her paycheck had just become essential. She couldn’t imagine Cat surviving on her own, and Laine couldn’t let her sister down.

Gracie appeared next to her, putting her arm around Laine’s waist. “This isn’t your fault.”

Laine shared a strained smile with her friend. “Sure it is. If I’d talked to the right person, made the right argument…”

“The city would still be steamrolling over our businesses.”

“Maybe.” Avoiding the subject of the bar closing, Laine glanced at her longtime friend. Gracie had grown up with her and Cat, then Tess had come along a few years later looking for a short-term job and had never left. The four of them had been through a lot together and had always found time for weekly poker at table seven. “What are you going to do now?”

“Find a new place for the bookstore, I guess,” Gracie said with a shrug. “I owe it to Aunt Fran.”

“I’ve got money from my new job.” Which she really wasn’t in a position to offer, but the bookstore was also Gracie’s only means of income. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll be fine. You shouldn’t take on so much. There’s nothing more you can do here. Why don’t you go away for a few days. Take some time for yourself.”

Laine shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve only done a few assignments for the magazine. Not to mention Aunt Jen is making me crazy. Those wildfires in California are threatening—”

Well, damn. Aunt Jen was relying on her, too. Even in the path of a forest fire, Jen had vowed never to leave her precious, hundred-year-old home.

Laine felt as if she was being pulled in a dozen different directions.

Money. The bar. Her job. Aunt Jen. The wildfire.

And she suddenly realized the only way to make it all work was to combine everything. If she could convince her editor to let her do a pictorial on the wildfire, she could earn a living and make sure stubborn Aunt Jen evacuated when necessary.

Cat wouldn’t be happy if she left, but neither could she deny that the income was vital. Her sister would just have to prepare the bar for closing and hold down the fort until she got back.

She glanced over her shoulder at Cat, who was mumbling something to Tess and looking miserable.

Maybe the responsibility would be good for her sister. Maybe the time by herself would urge her to finally get her life together. “June thirtieth, right?” she asked Gracie.

“That’s D-day apparently. Less than three weeks.”

Would her editor go for her assignment suggestion? There was only one way to find out.

1

“SO, HOW ABOUT ME in California?” Laine asked, rocking forward on her toes as she stood in front of her boss’s imposingly disorganized desk.

Mac Solomon’s silver-and-black eyebrows drew together. “That’s a big assignment.”

“I’m ready.” Or in desperate financial straits—take your pick.

“Maybe. You know my philosophy, right? Bad news sells better than good.”

“I remember.” And she knew how the assignment game was played with her boss—the aggressive, pushy photographer always won. Even if, deep down, she was scared to death of getting within ten miles of a raging wildfire. “You’ll be pleased to hear they’ve called in an arson investigator.”

“I want something on this dead smoke jumper.”

Laine swallowed and avoided glancing at the Internet story and picture she’d laid on her boss’s desk. Tommy Robbins had died five days ago fighting the northern California wildfire. In what seemed like a lifetime ago, she’d known him. He’d been a close friend of a guy she’d dated the summer she’d lived with Aunt Jen after her college graduation.

Those carefree days seven years ago had ended in heartbreak, and now her trip back would begin there. Part of her dreaded going. The rest of her relished the challenge.

“I’ll get you all you want on smoke jumping,” she said.

Her former lover, Steve Kimball, might not be thrilled to see her, but his ego certainly wouldn’t deny her the opportunity to follow him around and take pictures of him doing heroic stuff. Of course, she’d have to fight off the gaggle of women surrounding him, but that shouldn’t feel like a kick in the teeth this time around.

Mac harrumphed. “I want some action shots. Destruction and flames.”

“This story is not just about the fire itself, you know. The reports are that the blaze could consume most of the town of Fairfax. There will be evacuations, acts of courage, a community pulling together. It could be a real uplifting piece.”

“Tears are always good sellers.”

“Ah, Mac, you’re all heart.”

“I’m all business, Laine. You know that. We have that in common.”

While she considered herself a professional, she certainly hoped she never reached the jaded bad-news-sells-better-than-good status that Mac had.

“You’ll get the best,” she said.

“I want daily updates. E-mail me what you’ve got. If you can come up with a real action shot, maybe we’ll talk about the cover.”

A big fat bonus came with the cover shot. That would come in handy. Maybe she could pull together enough funds to send Cat back to school, as she’d once dreamed of doing.

“Not too much sissified human-interest crap,” Mac went on.

Since feel-good, human-interest pictures had always been her specialty, Laine had to swallow that blow to her pride. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“I should be sending one of my guys to cover this, not the new girl.”

Nothing like the added pressure of having a sexist for an editor. “But they don’t have a connection with the smoke jumpers. Or an in with the chief in charge of the operation. I do.”

Thank you, Aunt Jen. Provided Laine cleared her shoots with him and supplied the forestry service with copies of her photos for training purposes, the chief had agreed to sign releases for the magazine and get her close to the fire.

“Hmmph.”

“I know the people in this town, remember? They’re a close-knit group. They’re not going to let just anybody wander around taking their picture.”

Of course, close to the people and close to the fire were two entirely different propositions, but Laine had little choice. She’d taken this job not just for money, but for new challenges. She’d decided she couldn’t bear photographing yet another rose show or “garden of the month,” such as the layouts she’d done for Texas Living. It was time she proved to Mac—and herself—that she was ready for a new test in her career.

“I’m the best person for this assignment,” she added.

“Yeah, sure.” Mac shuffled through the papers scattered across his desk. “Then what are ya standin’ here for?”

STEVE KIMBALL SHIFTED the heavy supply pack onto his shoulder as he climbed into the forestry service transport truck. He’d spent two exhausting days digging a fire line, cutting down trees and clearing brush, trying to deprive the raging flames of fuel. He was dirty, frustrated and exhausted. The men around him didn’t look much better. Faces black with soot, eyes downcast and solemn.

Though it had been a long time since he’d been part of a smoke jumper team, he knew they were usually energized by the flight, parachuting through the heat and smoke-choked sky, the feeling that they were making progress blocking the spread of a fire that couldn’t be fought in ordinary ways.

But the cockiness and exhilaration hadn’t come for Steve. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected it. He was in the last place he wanted to be, for the worst reason in the world.

He’d buried one of his closest friends a week ago. The crew he was now part of had lost one of their best.

“Well, this sucks,” Josh Burke commented as he slumped on the bench seat and laid his head back against the dark green canvas surrounding the truck bed.

Of course, he wasn’t just talking about the wildfire. Almost five thousand acres of beautiful northern California forestland had burned so far, with the flames creeping closer to civilization by the hour. If they didn’t get some rain soon, they would have to start evacuating the small community of Fairfax, the town where Josh grew up and Steve had lived during the three years he’d been a full-time smoke jumper. If the fire got beyond that, there was nothing standing between the blaze and the more densely populated city of Redding.

No one mentioned these dire details, or the late Tommy Robbins. They were men after all. Smoke jumpers. Firefighters. Heroes.

Yeah, right.

“Let’s send Kimball into town for women,” Cole Taylor said.

“You don’t buy them at the store,” Steve said, bracing himself as the truck bounced along the country highway. Besides, he didn’t want company. He just wanted the meal that awaited them at base camp, then to collapse on the guest bed in Josh’s apartment.

Josh raised his head long enough to glance at Steve. “We’d have to clean him up first. Not even Mr. Magic could get a woman looking like that.”

“Mr. Magic?” one of the younger guys asked.

Josh lay back again, casually folding his hands across his stomach. “Women love him. Go figure. Personally, I don’t see it.”

Steve forced himself to smile, relieved to have something to focus on besides death and flames. He could grieve and feel sorry for himself when he was alone later. Right now he had a role to fill—the fun guy, the one who couldn’t wait to charge the deadly fire again, then dance with the girls and hoist a beer to his comrades. “When you’ve got it…”

Cole leaned forward, his white teeth peeking from behind his sooty face. “So come out with us tonight. You bailed the other night, and we wanna see you in action.”

“I don’t—”

“Unless you’re afraid of some competition,” another guy shouted.

“I got twenty on Kimball,” Cole said.

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Josh advised the others. “Especially since it would be so easy for him to hook up with an old flame.”

Steve cocked his head. Who did he know—

“Laine Sheehan is in town.”

His heart stuttered. He and Laine had dated the summer after her college graduation. He, Josh and Tommy had been roommates, living in Fairfax, working for the forestry service as smoke jumpers. Cocky and wild, they’d cut a now-notorious path through the parties and clubs of Redding and one night had run into Laine and some other women from Fairfax.

The shy, reserved blonde had stopped Steve dead in his tracks.

Though Josh and Tommy had never really understood his single-minded interest in Laine, Steve had soaked up her gentleness, her golden-brown eyes, her complete adoration of him. At the end of the summer he’d asked her to move in with him, but she couldn’t deal with his dangerous job, and she’d gone back home to Texas.

At the time, he’d been resentful of her asking him to choose her or his job, but seven years later he supposed he understood her hesitation to get more involved with him. Especially in light of Tommy’s death.

He’d never completely gotten over her.

“How do you know she’s here?” he asked Josh, feeling the gazes of the other men on him.

“Saw her the other night at Suds.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “What was Laine doing at Suds?”

“Drinkin’.”

“Drink—” The truck jerked to a halt before Steve could finish. Since they had to consult with forestry service officials about the fire’s progress and get their schedule for the following day, he didn’t have a chance to question Josh further until dinner.

As he dug into baked chicken, macaroni and cheese and green beans, he was grateful for the delicious food. The churches in Fairfax had banded together to feed the dozens of teams fighting the fires, and they’d pulled out all the stops. He didn’t even want to think about any of those people losing their homes and businesses.

“So why was Laine Sheehan drinking at Suds?” he asked Josh quietly as they sat next to each other in the bustling food tent located in the base camp’s center.

He shrugged. “I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say.”

“Some help you are.”

“I don’t know why you’re still getting worked up about that woman. You’re complete opposites.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

“And, sorry to be critical here, but she’s not up to your usual physical standards.”

“Just because she doesn’t have a double-D chest—”

“Though, come to think of it, she looked pretty good the other night.”

Steve put down his fork. “She did? How good?”

“I don’t know, man. Just good.” He pushed his plate aside. “And if you’re so interested, I heard she’s staying out at her aunt’s and covering the fire for some big-time magazine.”

“Laine is covering the fire?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“This fire. Our fire.”

“Yes.”

“She dumped me because she thought my job was too dangerous—”

“And don’t forget she wasn’t wild about your popularity with women.”

“She never said that. I just got that feeling.”

“I told you at the time that I agreed with you. I still do. Women can get real possessive.”

“And men don’t?” Steve waved away the comment before Josh, who had gotten into countless fights over some guy looking at his date, could respond. “We basically broke up over my job, and now she’s covering the fire.”

“Kinda weird the way life turns out, huh?”

“Does she realize she’ll have to get reasonably close to the fire to take pictures of it?”

“I assume so. Laine was a quiet one, but no one could call her that naive.” Josh paused. “I guess this means you’re going out with us tonight.”

For a minute, Steve wondered if seeing Laine again was a good idea. He’d already spent a lot of time the last few days reflecting on the past. The path he’d taken. His regrets and mistakes.

His life had been one long adventure. As the youngest of four and the son of a firefighter tragically killed when Steve was only nine, he’d been indulged and encouraged to pursue the never-ending energy and curiosity that filled him. High school and a year at a university in Europe. Firefighter and paramedic training. Working in the Atlanta Fire Department. Then smoke jumper training and tackling one of the most challenging—and dangerous—aspects of firefighting.