Chapter 1

1

WAYLON

M y patrol car skidded to a gravel-spitting halt beside the RV, the emergency lights alternating red and blue flashes across the green canopy of fir trees to the side of the road. The initial call had been that the RV had broken down, blocking Route 2 into Forestville. But we had bigger problems than that now. Smoke drifted from under the hood, and the amount suggested the damn thing had caught fire.

Adrenaline surged as I jumped out and raced around to the trunk, my boots crunching on the unpaved shoulder.

"Stay back!" I yelled to the small gathering of onlookers who'd materialized like moths to a flame.

I yanked the fire extinguisher from its mounting. Oh yeah, orange flames were now licking hungrily at the RV's engine, black smoke billowing up to smear the sky. With practiced precision, I charged toward the inferno, my focus narrowing to the base of the fire. I pulled the pin and squeezed the handle, unleashing a cloud of chemical retardant that fought back against the flames.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and smoke bit into my lungs. My muscles tensed, every fiber committed to the battle before me. I couldn't let it spread. We hadn't had rain in a week. One spark could be enough to burn down countless acres of our precious forests. Many a devastating wildfire had started under similar circumstances. Not on my watch.

My arm swept back and forth methodically, the extinguisher hissing its frosty protest against the blaze. The fire begrudgingly retreated, and I advanced, determined to come out the conqueror in this particular battle.

"Come on," I muttered under my breath, coaxing the last of the flames to die down. Phew, that was it.

As the last flicker of flame succumbed to the white cloud, a man stumbled forward, his face drawn with concern. "I'm so sorry." He coughed, waving a hand as if trying to erase the smoldering mess before us. His gaze met mine, and it was like looking into a pool of gratitude and guilt. "That's my home—or it was. Thank you for…"

"Are you hurt?" I interjected, scanning him for burns or signs of smoke inhalation. He shook his head, a disheveled mess of dark silver-threaded hair. He had to be in his early forties—at least fifteen years older than my twenty-eight, would be my guess—and he was hot. Not that it mattered in the slightest, but I couldn't help noticing. I had allowed myself to notice now that I was out.

"No. It stalled, sputtered, and then stopped completely. I opened the hood to see if I could find the issue. Not that I know the first thing about RVs or engines, but maybe it was something obvious, you know? Except smoke started billowing, and well, the next thing I knew, the damn thing was on fire. If you hadn't been here…" He finally took a breath.

"I'm glad I arrived when I did, then."

"Oh, trust me, not as grateful as I am." He extended a tattooed arm with multiple intricate designs weaved across his skin. "Melbourne Ardiff."

His name hit me like a rogue wave, unexpected and staggering. Melbourne Ardiff— the Melbourne Ardiff, whose thrillers lined my bookshelf, their pages worn from late-night reads that gripped me until dawn? It had to be with such a unique name. "Waylon Rozzell, deputy sheriff of Forestville. You're the author?"

His gorgeous brown eyes lit up. "I am. You read? My books, I mean. I didn't mean to ask if you read in general. You're a deputy sheriff. Of course you can read. But my books. I meant to ask if you read my books."

He was adorable. "I love your books, Mr. Ardiff, and I've read all of them."

"I'm honored, Deputy Rozzell," Melbourne said, offering a weary smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But please, call me Melbourne or Mel. And I owe you one—a big one."

I waved his thanks away. "Just doing my job." I turned around and addressed the folks who had gathered. "Show's over, people. Move your cars so the tow truck has access, please."

Within two minutes, everyone else had left, leaving only Melbourne and me.

"Tow truck?" he asked. "My RV needs to be towed?"

"Well, yeah. It can't stay here since it's blocking the road. Let me call Walter's Auto Repair. They can tow it and see if it can be fixed. But first, the fire department has to confirm the fire is out."

"Oh. Okay."

The acrid smell of burned plastic and rubber lingered in the air, irritating my throat and lungs, a stark contrast to the usually crisp forest scent surrounding Forestville.

I got on my radio and contacted the dispatcher at the office. "The RV caught fire, but the fire is out now, and everything is under control here. No personal injuries. Can you send the fire department to check? Once they've given the all-clear, I'll have the truck towed."

"Will do, Waylon. Let us know when the road is clear."

"I will."

Next, I grabbed my phone and called Walter's. "Hey, Gene, it's Waylon. Listen, I have an RV that broke down a quarter mile west of Old Mill Road. It had a fire in the engine. The fire department is on its way to give the all-clear. Once that's done, can you tow it and see if it can be salvaged? I wanna say twenty minutes or so."

"No problem," Gene's gravelly voice promised through the speaker. "I'll send Doreen."

"Appreciate it." I ended the call and turned back to Melbourne, who was watching me with those intense brown eyes. "Everything's set in motion."

I refocused on Melbourne, who was staring at his RV with the eyes of a wounded animal. I had the strange urge to hug him and assure him everything would be okay—a desire I'd better shove down hard. "Shouldn't take too long," I said.

"Thanks." Melbourne sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I can't believe this is happening. I've had that thing for two years. Never had an issue with it."

"When was the last time you had it serviced?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again as he shuffled his feet. "Two years ago?"

Well, that would explain it. Not that I was telling him that. Besides, we had more practical problems to tackle. "You're gonna need a place to stay until it's fixed or you've found another mode of transportation."

"Right." Melbourne sighed. "Any suggestions for something in town?"

I shook my head. "You're not gonna find anything. It's summer break, so the town's full of hikers and tourists. Everything is booked."

Melbourne's face fell. "Oh. And in surrounding towns?"

"I doubt you'll get lucky there either. I can make some calls, but I'm not optimistic. Your best bet may be to travel back to Seattle."

Melbourne shook his head almost immediately, his face scrunching as if the very idea left a sour taste in his mouth. "Nah, big cities and I…we don't mix well. It's the energy, you know? Too bustling, too loud, too many people. I can't think there," he explained, waving his hands as if to physically push away the thought.

"Ah." I couldn't fault him. You couldn't pay me enough to live in a big city. I loved my little town with all its quirky inhabitants, where everyone knew each other's business and beautiful nature surrounded us. It was home, and I couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

A familiar red truck came down the road, pulling my attention from Melbourne's captivating presence. Ah, Calian had come himself. "That's Calian Runyon," I said to Melbourne. "He's our fire chief."

"The fire chief shows up for small stuff like this?"

I shrugged. "It's a small town, so everyone other than Calian is a volunteer. He probably didn't want to call anyone in."

"Hey, Waylon," Calian said after getting out. "Whatcha got for me?"

"Engine fire in the RV. I got it out, but we need it confirmed. This is the owner, Melbourne Ardiff."

Calian shook his hand. "The author?"

"The one and only," Melbourne said.

"Calian Runyon. Pleasure to meet you."

Calian was new to Forestville, having only recently moved here, but he excelled at his job, and within five minutes, he'd confirmed the fire was out. "Looks like an electrical problem to me, but Walter's should be able to tell you that," he said to Melbourne. "I'll make sure you get a copy of my report."

"Thank you."

Just as Calian left, the sound of a diesel engine rumbled down the road. A tow truck with Walter's Auto Repair emblazoned on its side lumbered into view. Punctual as always.

"You best grab whatever you need from your RV," I told Melbourne. "It'll be harder to get access once it's in the shop for repairs."

He dashed inside.

Doreen, Gene's daughter-in-law and the best mechanic in Washington state, climbed out and put on her gloves. "Hey, Waylon."

"Hey, Doreen. Thanks for coming. It caught fire." I gestured to the engine, the hood still open and everything covered with the foam from the fire extinguisher. "Calian cleared it."

Doreen made a noncommittal sound, then pulled her bandanna over her nose and mouth and peeked under the hood. She poked twice, wiped some last remnants of the foam aside, then stepped back again.

"Might be able to save it, but some parts are melted and need to be replaced. Gonna take at least ten days, maybe more."

Melbourne, who had just stepped out again, carrying a weekend bag and a backpack, exhaled sharply. He bit his lip as he glanced at his wrecked home. "Ten days, huh? That's…that's quite a setback."

"Could be more. I'll know once I've had a better look at it."

Melbourne's shoulders drooped as he put his bags down. "Okay. Thank you."

She nodded, then gestured at me. "Waylon will give you my card."

Within minutes, she'd hooked the RV up to her tow truck. I knew better than to offer help. Doreen didn't appreciate men mingling in her business, thinking they knew better. I waved goodbye as she slid back in her truck and carefully drove off.

"Now what?" Melbourne muttered, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. I could see the gears turning in his head, his big, expressive eyes clouded with stress. It didn't sit well with me, seeing him so out of sorts.

"You could crash at my place until you've found something else. It's not much, but it's quiet and out of the way. And I've got a spare room." The words tumbled out before I could second-guess them.

His brown eyes met mine, surprise etching his features before they softened into something that looked a lot like relief. "Wouldn't want to impose?—"

"It's no imposition."

"Are you sure?" A hesitant smile emerged. I could see the wheels turning in his head, weighing his options.

"Positive." The rightness of the offer settled into my bones. Something about Melbourne tugged at me, something beyond the thrill of having a well-known author in my passenger seat.

"All right then." A genuine smile broke through. "Lead the way, Deputy Rozzell."

"Please, call me Waylon." A warmth spread through my chest as I led him to my car. Almost automatically, I held open the passenger door for him.

He flashed me a smile. "Oh, a man with manners. I appreciate that."

"All part of the job." An unfamiliar flutter tickled my stomach. I hoped my voice didn't betray how much I valued his approval.

I slid behind the wheel, let Auden know I was on my way home, and started the engine.

"Are you off-duty?" Melbourne asked. "Or am I now keeping you from doing your job?"

"My shift doesn't end till eight, but Auden—Sheriff Frant—will have no problem with me stopping by my house real quick. It's not like he can't reach me in case I'm needed urgently."

I felt strangely aware of Melbourne sitting next to me. He wasn't saying anything, but he was watching me, and somehow, that made me a bit nervous. What did he think of me? Other than I was way too young for him—not that I thought he'd even be remotely interested in me.

I knew from reading his bio on the back of his books that he was openly gay—one of the reasons I'd picked up a book of his to begin with. I'd still been in the closet, but I had known. Hell, I'd known since I was fifteen. I just hadn't been ready to accept it. I'd feared the town wouldn't accept it, but then Auden had come out, and no one had even batted an eye.

But even though I'd told my mom, boss, and coworkers I was gay, I hadn't acted on it. No way was a man as experienced as Melbourne interested in a gay virgin like me. Right?

As the silence settled between us, it gave me too much space to think. What was I doing, bringing a virtual stranger into my home? A man whose books I'd devoured late into the night, whose words sparked a fire in me I hadn't known existed. The weight of potential implications pressed down on me—a mix of excitement and trepidation.

"Waylon?" His voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For…all this." He gestured vaguely around the car, but his gaze locked on mine, earnest and intense. "It's more than I expected from a small-town deputy."

"Doesn't feel right, leaving someone stranded." The words sounded hollow because it wasn't just that. It was more, so much more, and I couldn't even begin to explain what or why.

"Still," Melbourne insisted, "you're going out of your way."

He was right. I was going out of my way—out of my comfort zone, my neatly plotted life course. But looking at Melbourne, with his too-long silver-streaked hair and his eyes that seemed to see right through me, I didn't regret it.