God help him, waking up to Lana Sweet was divine.

Hank watched her move about the kitchen. He usually rose at six, but last night's whiskey had delayed him by an hour. It was after seven when he’d finally rolled out of bed and showered.

He’d discovered Lana already up and making breakfast. There was a freshly-brewed cup of coffee waiting for him on the island, accompanying a copy of that morning's newspaper on the pulled-out stool. Hank usually got updates on the fire from his phone, but he was happy to take a break from it. Having left his cell in the bedroom, he settled in with the paper.

But the news was proving hard to digest when there were other, more pressing stories unfolding before him. His eyes followed Lana as she poured out a thick stream of golden pancake batter.

She was just so damn elegant in everything she did. Her arms were slender and surprisingly strong; the arch of her neck long and graceful; her hair, in slight disarray from sleep, still gleamed and hung around her shoulders like a breath of fresh air.

She was wearing his shirt. He loved watching the way the hem danced as she moved, rising and falling infinitesimally with each unconscious gesture as she went about making breakfast.

Every time it hiked an inch, Hank was treated to a view of her tight posterior, and to the pink lacework of her panties. He was half-hard already, and she hadn't even turned to say good morning to him yet.

"Good news?" she inquired as she shoveled the latest pancake onto the heap. Hank cast his eyes down quickly to the unread paper he was holding.

"More of the same. Everyone's still holding their breath about this storm."

"I thought the Weather Channel said it was going to pass us by?"

"Yeah. But you can't sell papers if you don't keep people holding their breath."

Lana laughed and whipped around with the plate of pancakes. "Here. Come join me at the table."

"You come over here," Hank growled. As soon as she was within reach, he pulled her down onto his lap.

Her delighted squeal of laughter was interrupted by a knock at the door. Hank glanced off into the hall, disappointed. His erection was still swelling beneath her.

"I'm going to need you to get that," Lana remarked. Her eyes dragged down his chest, and he could see his own filthy thoughts mirrored in their depths. "I need to go throw pants on."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Good thing there's a big strong man around to help me get them off again," she tossed over her shoulder as she skipped out of the kitchen and vanished into the bedroom.

Hank groaned. Hearing a good girl like Lana talk dirty was doing nothing to quell his raging arousal. He tucked himself into a more discreet position as he rose to answer the door.

He was not overwhelmed with happiness at what he found on the other side. "What the hell are the two of you doing here?" he deadpanned.

Chase and Landon stood crowded together on Lana's porch. Chase was grinning like an idiot, and Landon . . . Hank liked Landon's carefully neutral expression even less.

"Thought we might find you here," Chase said.

"You weren't answering your phone." Landon's comment was the closest thing to any apology that Hank thought he was likely to get for their intrusion. "The word came down while you were out. We've been officially dismissed."

It wasn't anything Hank hadn't been expecting. Still, hearing the words spoken aloud instilled him with a strange sensation of . . . was it foreboding? Remorse?

"Hi, Landon. Hi, Chase." Lana came up behind him then. She ducked beneath his arm to give each of them a hug of greeting. Hank ignored the way Chase's eyebrows waggled over her shoulder. "Did I hear you say you've been dismissed?" she asked as she drew back.

Hank noted that she had changed out of his shirt. Not that it would have made a damn bit of difference, now, considering who her callers were.

"Yes, ma'am," Landon confirmed. "We just dropped by to relay the news to Hank. They've asked us to pack our stuff up and vacate the volunteer station."

"We were just on our way to get the rest of our things," Chase added. He motioned over his shoulder to the pickup truck the local squad had loaned while they were in town. "Want us to grab your stuff for you, Hank?"

"Maybe drop it off here?" Landon said with an insinuating eyebrow.

"Don't bother. I'll ride with you, and you can bring me back here."

"Hank . . ." Lana began as he turned back to her. "Would you like to take your breakfast to go?"

"Breakfast?" Chase asked hopefully as he leaned in.

Hank shoved him back out the door. "That'd be great. Thanks, Lana."

She packed enough for all three of them, of course. Leave it to Lana to make more than enough for any unexpected guests who might happen to show up halfway through an intimate meal.

Hank dropped a quick kiss on her forehead as he left; watching the glow of pleasure suffuse her cheeks made it worth the look of infernal glee on Chase's face as they got into the pickup.

"You still thinking about going back to Alaska?" Chase asked him, almost before the door had closed.

"That's nothing for you to worry about," Hank said.

Chase lifted his hands in surrender. "Hey, man, just checking in with you. Sookie might suddenly decide she wants to spend less time here if you're around, that's all."

"Uh-huh." Matters between Hank and his sister had improved overall, but their relationship was still cordially cool most of the time. Still, he didn't think Sookie was the one curious about his comings and goings.

"Just let us know when you decide," Landon suggested. "It sucks, breaking the team up. I'd like to stay in touch."

"Same here," Chase agreed quickly. Then, noticing Hank's simmering, stormy look, he added, “not about the wedding, I mean! Who said anything about a wedding? Me? Marry your sister? Gross!"

"Quit while you're ahead, Kingston," Landon advised.