Space Age- Houston, Prepare for Launch Read online

  Nick and Todd stomp down from the third floor. “Clear on three.” They pull up a few steps short of trampling Becks at the same time the men with the hose come up from the first.

  With one more quirk of her brow, she nods at my men before squeezing past and jogging down the rest of the steps, not once looking back.

  Nick and Todd throw me a questioning look, but I have no answers. Just one question.

  What is with these NASA women?

  Two

  Cockloft

  Rebecca

  The fire’s out.

  Luckily, the wind is carrying the smoke out toward the adjacent longhorn field that runs behind NASA, and not toward the rest of the buildings.

  I check off the last name on my list. “That’s it.”

  “Awesome.” Jules crosses her arms over her chest, making her gown ride higher up on her thighs. “Maybe now we can get back inside and grab my stuff.”

  “Are you finally recognizing the fact that you’re wearing a hospital Johnny outside in December?”

  “Nah. I mean, this is Texas. It may be December, but that doesn’t mean it’s cold.” She shifts on her bare feet, grimacing. “But I left my lucky boots inside. I want ’em back.”

  “Hoping to get lucky?” I inhale deeply, glad of the slightly cooler weather and breeze. I was only in the smoky building for a few minutes, just to make sure no patient was left behind and to print out the logs to confirm everyone was accounted for, but it feels nice inhaling deep breaths of fresh air. I don’t know how firefighters do it.

  “With all this emergency responder testosterone I’m swimming in?” She scans the male dominated first responders and firemen spread out around the clinic. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Looks like everyone else is hoping to get lucky too.” I gesture over to the young nurses and staff fawning over the uniformed men. Even the older, married ones are circling, admiring the view.

  “And what about you?”

  I blink. “Me?”

  “Well, we know that cowboy romances don’t seem to interest you. How about firefighters?”

  My eyes can’t help but look for the firefighter I came across on my way to evacuate. Tall, broad shoulders, commanding. I could tell even through his shield that he was good looking. Now, without the helmet, he also looks a bit young. He’s talking to another uniformed man, this one not in gear, but with a fire department badge on his shirt.

  “Oooo.” She nudges my arm. “Someone has caught your eye.”

  Cringing at getting caught, I try and blow it off. “No. I was just wondering what the different ranks were.”

  “Uh huh. Sure. I’ll play along.” Jules points at a group of men by the fire engine. “Those are your basic firefighter recruits. Low men on the totem pole, but equally bangable.” She circles her finger in the air around the group. “One of them is probably the driver. That’s a tough job.” She motions to the guy I met in the clinic and the man with the badge. “That’s the station chief with the badge, and since that hunk you’ve got your eye on has been talking to him, probably debriefing him on the situation, I’m guessing he’s the station’s lieutenant.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  She shrugs. “I’m former Air Force. You get used to dividing men and women into rank.”

  Like he knows we’re talking about him, the fireman looks up, catches my eye and smiles.

  “Holy shit,” Jules breathes.

  Yeah, it’s a good smile.

  He says something to the badge-wearing guy and heads in our direction.

  Jules backhands my shoulder, hard. “Looks like fire boy needs some medical attention.”

  I rub the spot. “Don’t start, Jules.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who’s got a fire in my pants for Lieutenant Hot Stuff.”

  Before I can think of a threat to aim her way, one she’d actually heed, Hot Stuff arrives.

  “Becks, is it?”

  I throw Jules a death glare. “Not if you want me to respond.”

  He frowns and Jules takes pity on him. “That’s just a nickname I was trying out.” She throws me a look. “Apparently she doesn’t like it.”

  “Oh.” He runs a hand through his already tousled hair, the situation growing awkward.

  Feeling a bit like a petulant child, I give in and offer my hand. “Dr. Rebecca Sato.”

  A side grin kicks up on one side of his face as he takes my hand in his. “Lieutenant Ryan Cassidy.”

  I never thought of my hands as small. They’re efficient, useful. But in his they look slender. Feel delicate.

  “I knew you were a lieutenant.”

  Both of us startle, our hands separating. I’d forgotten Jules was there.

  “I’m Astronaut Julie Starr. In case you were wondering.” She looks to Ryan, then me and back. “But I guess not.” She smirks and looks over her shoulder at the EMTs still circling the evacuated medical staff, making sure everyone’s okay. “I guess I’ll go let that cute EMT wrap me in a blanket now.” She claps her hands once and rubs them together. “It’s his lucky day.” With an unsubtle wink in my direction, Jules spins, her hospital gown flapping dangerously high, and struts over to the unsuspecting first responder.

  “She’s an astronaut?”

  I can’t help but laugh at his incredulous tone. “Yes. And one of the best, too.”

  “That’s… interesting.” Shaking his head, he looks down at me.

  I’m not petite. In fact, I’m an inch taller than average at five foot, six inches, which is also unusually tall for my half-Japanese heritage, but standing in front of Ryan Cassidy I feel downright tiny.

  It’s annoying.

  “Did you need something?” I remember the impromptu manifest I made and thrust it toward him. “This is a list of all the employees and patients in the building at the time of the fire. All are accounted for.”

  He raises his eyebrows at the list but doesn’t take it. “Ah, thanks. But that isn’t necessary. My men did a thorough sweep of the building while they contained the fire. Everyone is safe.”

  “Okay, then.” I look at the crowd, finding Jules making wide eyes at me and jerking her head to the side. I frown, lost as to what she is trying to tell me.

  I turn my attention back to the lieutenant, who looks a little… nervous?

  “So… I don’t usually condone not evacuating in a timely manner, but it all worked out. And if it had been a bad fire, that list would’ve been helpful in the ensuing chaos.”

  I can’t tell if he’s reprimanding me or complimenting me. “Thanks?”

  He chuckles, the movement of his chest muscles catching my eye. He’s taken off his fire protectant coat, leaving him in a tight navy T-shirt and red suspenders that do wonderful things for his pectoral muscles, and thus my lady parts.

  “I guess I’m not very good at this.” He rubs a hand over his lightly stubbled cheek.

  “Good at what? Putting out fires?” Or setting them off in my pants? Oh dear lord. I’ve been hanging out with Jules too often.

  “No, I meant—”

  “Your team did a remarkable job,” I continue, trying to silence my inner whore. “Got here within minutes of the alarm sounding.”

  “Ah, yes. We did, but I didn’t mean…” He runs a hand through his hair again and I have to fight the urge not to ogle his biceps when he raises his arm like that. They are huge and solid and also doing wonderful things for my lady parts.

  Stupid, immature lady parts.

  “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime.”

  Wait. What?

  I must look as confused as I feel because when he talks again, he speaks slowly. “On a date. I’d like to take you on a date.”

  “No.”

  “Yes!” Jules is suddenly next to me, panting, blanket wrapped around her waist. “She meant to say yes.”

  “I did?” “She did?” Ryan and I say at the same time.

  “Yes. You did.” Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare while she talks
to me through gritted teeth. “Because….” Jules looks a bit wild eyed. “Because of the calendar!” she shouts and I lean back from the force of her enthusiasm. “You need help with the calendar.” She straightens, hands on hips, looking inordinately proud of herself.

  “What calendar?” Ryan asks, seemingly amused.

  I’m about to ask the same when Jules sidles up next to me and pinches me, hard, out of Ryan’s view.

  Damn, that hurts.

  “You know, the calendar, the one you’re putting together for the Space City Animal Shelter?”

  “Animal shelter,” I parrot back, still unclear where this is headed.

  “Yes, you’ve been trying to raise money for the local shelter to help them expand.” She nudges me in the side with her pointy elbow. “Remember?”

  I try pulling out of her reach, but she latches on tight. “Uh huh, yes. The, erm, shelter.”

  “Then this is perfect.” She puts one hand on Ryan’s shoulder, easier for her since she’s five eight. I catch myself glaring at her hand.

  “You”—she pats Ryan’s shoulder—“can take Rebecca here”—she moves her other hand from my waist to my shoulder—“to dinner to discuss how the fire department can team up with the animal shelter for a fundraising calendar. One that features animals in need of homes in the arms of hot, half-naked firemen. Everyone wins. Am I right?” The blanket around her waist drops and a rare Texas breeze blows her Johnny open in the back. “Whoops.” She pulls her arms back to hold the fabric behind her down. “Better go see a man about some clothes.”

  She turns, hands still holding her backside, and walks toward the medical building, where a nurse has a few sets of scrubs laid out for anyone who needs them. “Dinner-date-charity-pow-wow,” she calls out as her bare feet slap across the sidewalk. “Make it happen!”

  The lieutenant and I watch her snag some scrubs, tugging them up on the sidewalk, giving everyone a glimpse of her ass before she pulls them all the way on and ties the waist.

  He frowns at me. “Are you sure she’s an astronaut?”

  Ryan

  “I’m thirty-six.”

  “Okay.” I draw the word out, not sure how that is an answer to my question about the kooky astronaut.

  She narrows her eyes. “Don’t you think thirty-six is a little old for you? How old are you?”

  I narrow mine right back at her, fighting amusement. “I thought we decided that we aren’t going on a date. Aren’t we meeting to discuss a fundraiser calendar for the animal shelter?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Her eyes relax, but she avoids eye contact with me. “That’s right.” Her disappointment is adorable.

  No need to volunteer my own age, don’t want to freak her out. As soon as she said “doctor,” I figured she had to be older than my twenty-eight, though I hadn’t expected eight years. She has that flawless, milky white skin that doesn’t show age. And honestly, though it was her sexy, exotic eyes and full lips that got my initial attention, what finally had me manning up to ask her out was watching her take charge of the situation so efficiently: grouping people by division, marking everyone present, and making sure everyone had what they needed.

  Dr. Rebecca Sato is assertive, confident and smart. And that is sexy as hell, no matter what age or how good-looking she is.

  “So—” I fight a smile. “We should probably exchange numbers.”

  There go her eyes again. “We should?”

  I lose the fight at her lack of enthusiasm, my lips sliding wide over my teeth. “That does seem to be the usual way people get in contact with each other these days.”

  That has her fighting her own smile. “Yes, I’m aware. I’m not so old that I still communicate through Morse code.”

  Huh. She’s really hung up on this age thing, isn’t she?

  She straightens her shoulders, a professional mask sliding over her face. “Now that we’ve taken a date off the table, I should simply call the Houston Fire Department’s public relations department.” She gives me a patronizingly apologetic look. “No need for you to have to trouble yourself or get involved, Lieutenant.”

  “No trouble.” I cross my arms over my chest in the stance my mother used to call my mule-stubborn pose. “I insist.”

  When it still doesn’t look like she’s going to give me her number, I gesture across the street to the wild-haired astronaut. “I guess I could ask—”

  “No, no.” She throws a hand up. “Let’s not involve Jules any more than necessary.” She turns over the list in her other hand and pulls a pen out of her lab coat, clicking it in an oddly arousing manner. “What’s your number?”

  I give it to her. “And yours?” I spread my hand over her list and motion for her to write on it. She hesitates for a second, then moves the ballpoint pen across my skin, her hand brushing over mine.

  Her skin is cool to the touch. Soft. But steady. This is a woman not easily rattled. The fact that my asking her out flusters her makes me grin. She’s as interested as I am; she just needs to get over a few years’ age difference.

  She releases my hand and steps back.

  “Huh.” The ten-digit number is evenly spaced and level across my large hand. “I can read it.”

  A cute snort escapes her. “You sound surprised.”

  I shrug, enjoying her amusement. “I thought all doctors wrote in chicken scratch.”

  She smirks at that, the smile lighting up her dark eyes. “Not this one.”

  “The building is clear.” The captain’s voice booms across the lot. “You have ten minutes to retrieve your things. Though the fire is out, the smoke and water damage in the quarantined construction area still have to be assessed, so please be quick. Firemen will be stationed inside while you collect your belongings.”

  I turn back to the doctor, catching her staring at me. Quickly, she looks down and starts shuffling the papers in her hand.

  “That’s my cue to get back to work.”

  “Yes.” She clears her throat. “I should too.”

  My lips twitch at the professional tone, quite at odds with having just checked me out. “I look forward to your call.”

  “About the calendar,” she clarifies, like I’m trying to trick her.

  “Uh huh, sure. The calendar.”

  Her eyes narrow again. How the woman doesn’t have more wrinkles amazes me.

  I raise my hands, palms up. “What? I agreed with you.”

  When she adds in a set of pursed lips I almost lean down and kiss her, just to see how she’d react. “I mean it. I want to help you organize the calendar. I’m an animal lover myself, you know.”

  “You are?” Her eyes soften, though she still looks skeptical.

  I hold up my hand boy scout style. “Honest.”

  “Hmmm.” She nods once, then looks down, dismissing me, her long ponytail falling over her shoulder.

  “Try and stay safe.” I reach down and brush the inky strands back, the tips of my fingers grazing the bare skin of her neck. She looks up, startled at my touch, eyes wide. “And next time, Dr. Sato, try and evacuate with everyone else, hmmm?”

  When she quirks an eyebrow at me in that superior way she has, I laugh outright. Then I drag myself away, jogging across the street, knowing full well she’s probably checking out my ass as I go.

  Three

  Evasive Manuvers

  Rebecca

  “Public relations department for the Houston Fire Department. Cammie speaking, how can I help you?” Cammie’s voice is high and cheerful.

  “Yes, this is Dr. Rebecca Sato. I’m calling in regard to a fundraising effort I’m spearheading for the Space City Animal Shelter. I was hoping to speak to someone about joining forces with the fire department for a calendar.”

  “Ah yes. I know just who to connect you with. Hold one moment?”

  “Of course.”

  Elevator music plays softly as I wait. I have to give it to Jules: her idea to pair firemen with rescue animals is genius. It might have been in an attempt at getting
me together with the handsome fireman, but still. A good idea is a good idea.

  As is mine to call the public relations office directly and not bother the lieutenant.

  A pinch of guilt hits me when I remember how adamant he was that we exchange numbers. But then I think of how young and good looking he is, and I realize I’m giving myself too much credit. He has other, more appropriate options for his dating life, I’m sure. It isn’t like he’s waiting around for me to call.

  “Dr. Sato.” The deep, sexy timbre of the man’s voice is familiar. “So glad you called.”

  It can’t be. “Ry—Ryan?”

  “Oh, so you do remember me. I thought maybe you’d forgotten, what with the fake number you’d given me.”

  Crap. “Uh…”

  “Color me surprised when I called to ask some questions about the animal shelter and was greeted by the sexaholics anonymous hot-line.”

  Kill me now. “That is, I…”

  “You wouldn’t be trying to tell me something, would you, Doc?”

  “No!” I take a breath, reminding myself I’m in my new temporary office which is nothing more than a bunch of cubicles in an unused space race era building. Avocado file cabinets and Formica desktops as far as the eye can see. “I, just. Well…” I drop my head in my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Silence.

  I shift in the ancient, upholstered and metal chair, hinges squeaking. “That wasn’t very mature of me, and I’m sorry.” I blow out a small breath. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Er, yes. The, uh, sexaholic hotline was a joke some of the med students and I used to use when we were in college. I don’t know why I did that. It was very childish.”

  He laughs. “No, that was funny. I mean I wasn’t expecting an apology.”