Jeremy

"If you can tap a keg on the move, I'm game." Her face was inches from mine. She had a cute spray of freckles showing faintly across her nose through her makeup.

Damn, my heart would not settle down.

Beer kegs bounced and rolled around us, coming faster and more frequently.

"Take your pick." I pulled her close and covered her head with my hands to protect her from flying kegs. Did she settle quietly down to let me gallantly protect her? Hell no.

She tugged her skirt down, pushed me away, and wiggled out of my embrace.

Why? Why did victims always fight their rescuers? I expected as much out of panicking people who were drowning, but on dry land?

She scrambled to her feet, her cross-body purse bouncing around her waist. At the same moment, I got a glimpse behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder.

The driver of the truck was slumped over the wheel, unconscious and still buckled in. The truck was leaking fuel. Smoke billowed up from beneath the hood.

I hopped to my feet, shoved her behind me to protect her, and made a dash for the truck. A tongue of flame began licking its way out of the engine.

"Stand back! The whole thing could blow any minute. Get help." I had to get the driver out before the whole thing went up. There was no time to think. I acted on instinct, shedding my shirt and using it as an oven mitt to protect my hand as I grabbed the truck's door handle.

Fortunately, the truck had hit the pole on the passenger side. The driver's door came open easily enough. But the driver was a big guy with a beer gut appropriate for someone who drove a beer truck. He was buckled in and wedged snugly between the wheel and the seat.

Suddenly, she was behind me again. "Stand back hell."

"Get back!" I shouted at her, trying to shield her from the heat and smoke.

"You'll never get him out alone," she said in my ear. "Let me help." She reached for his seatbelt buckle.

Now this was a woman who looked like she weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. How was she going to help? Brute strength didn't look like her thing, and that was what I needed most.

I coughed. Too damn much smoke. It was rapidly filling the cab. Soon we'd have no visibility and asphyxiate. Perspiration beaded on the driver's face. There was no time to argue with her. Flyweight or not, she was all the help I had.

Without speaking, we coordinated our efforts.

She unbuckled him and moved out of my way. I grabbed the guy around the waist. Free from the seatbelt harness, he slumped over farther. I managed to get a grip on him sideways beneath his arms. I pulled and struggled. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, trying to add her weight to the effort.

"He's not budging. He's stuck," I said, as if it wasn't obvious.

She let go of me, slid the flap of her purse open, and dug inside, pawing through the contents, mumbling to herself. "Why is it that what you want is always on the bottom? Ah-hah!" With a triumphant look, she pulled out a tiny jar of petroleum jelly.

I stepped aside to let her work. She greased the wheel and the guy's ample belly, coughing as she worked. "That should do it." Her eyes were watering as she stepped aside.

I nodded and took up my position again, getting a grip beneath his arms. He was still breathing. That was a plus.

She wrapped her arms around me from behind. "Together."

"On the count of three." I braced myself, trying to use my leg strength, not my back. "One. Two. Three!"

She pulled me back. I tugged on the guy, feeling the burn in my thighs and arms. His body resisted and finally slid free. Good old petroleum jelly.

He was a good hundred, hundred and fifty pounds heavier than I was. Even pumped up and fueled by adrenaline, I almost dropped him as he came free from the seat. She moved in unison with me. Anticipating the needs of the situation, she wedged herself beneath one of his arms, catching him, staggering beneath his weight even though I had most of it.

You know how it is at the gym when you're trying to bench-press a new personal best? And you're almost there. Your arms are shaking. You're sure you can't do it, that you don't have the strength? Your spotter puts two fingers beneath the bar and "helps" you lift it. Suddenly the bar shoots up. This was like that. With her balancing some of his weight, I was able to take most of it as I half carried him out of the cloud of smoke enveloping us.

The heat was intense. Several kegs of fine IPA had spilled. I could tell it was IPA by the smell. The heat evaporated the beer, making a beer cloud. All I could say was that I was glad beer wasn't eighty proof or better. Below-eighty-proof alcohol doesn't burn.

Take it from a guy who brews beer in his bathtub from time to time—beer is twenty proof at best, and that's for a strong stout. IPA tops out at about fourteen proof. All this beer had a chance of doing was acting a little like throwing a few glasses of water on the flames. In theory, a retardant. But only in theory.

What the foaming beer did do was make the road and sidewalk slick and treacherous, slowing me down dangerously. The area smelled like a frat party gone wrong. We were dripping and coughing, choking on the thick smoke, as we carried the driver from the truck toward fresh air. The smoke was so dense that we couldn't see. We had to trust our noses and lungs to lead us out.

"There!" someone shouted as we emerged from the cloud of beer and smoke. "They're alive."

A group of men who'd come to help surrounded us. Two of them relieved me of most of the weight of the driver as we carried him farther away from the fire. She let go and backed away.

When we were out of the thick of the smoke, the truck burst into full flame, sending a searing blast of heat all the way to us. Someone swore. The guys and I carrying the driver shielded our eyes and shivered in the heat, realizing what had almost become of us. I let the others take over and handed the driver off entirely to their care.

I was breathing hard and so was she when I found her waving people away from her. "I'm fine. Fine," she said over and over.

"I'll take care of her. I'll make sure she's okay." I must have sounded authoritative enough. They backed off and left us alone.

We leaned against the wall of a dry-cleaning store. People were streaming out of the businesses and gathering to point at the accident. Traffic was stopped.

She and I grinned at each other like we'd just saved the world, not one truck driver.

Her mascara was smudged. The heat had frizzed her formerly beautifully straight hair. Her sandals were covered in beer foam. She smelled of smoke and barbecued India pale ale with overtones of expensive perfume, which wasn't an altogether bad aroma.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, dragging a trace of soot across her pert nose and cheek. Her dress was soiled and pitted out. She was completely, utterly adorable, and gorgeous. The best-looking, hottest woman I had ever seen.

Staring at her, grinning at her, I fell in love. Seriously. I fell seriously in love.

The sound of sirens approaching filled the air, growing louder by the moment. The crowd made way for the approaching fire and police crews and ambulances.

Crazily, her cross-body purse was still slung, but skewed, over her shoulder. She straightened it.

"Nice work," I said. "Quick thinking getting the jelly out."

She shrugged. "My friends always say I carry too much in my purse. That it's too heavy and will ruin my shoulders someday. This proves you never know what you'll need, and when." She ran her fingers through her hair.

I caught myself staring at her lips.

She took my face gently in her hands, went up on her toes, closed her eyes, and kissed me lightly on the lips. "That was fun."

I had merely been in love before. Now I was in way too deep to ever imagine surfacing. This woman was my soul mate. Love at first rescue—wow. Who needed an adventurous wedding when you had a first meet like this? Wait until I told this story to the guys and our grandchildren.

A firm hand clasped my shoulder. I turned to see who was there. Cody, the head baker from the Blackberry, a big, burly guy with arms as thick as an old-growth Douglas fir.

"You okay, buddy?" he said as the first of several fire trucks and a paramedic squad pulled up. He looked like he was ready to throw me over his shoulder and carry me to the hospital if he needed to.

I nodded. "Yeah. Fine." I coughed.

I heard her whisper, "You can handle this." She patted me on the other shoulder and lightly touched my arm.

Ashley appeared, pushing her way through the crowd, calling my name, and waving over the heads of the people. She distracted me momentarily.

Before I could turn back to my accomplice in rescue, a paramedic beat Ashley to me. "Are you okay, sir? Let's check you out."

"Never mind me. You'd better help her. She breathed in a lot of smoke—" I turned to pull her forward. She was gone. "What the hell? Where'd she go?"

The paramedic frowned. "Who?"

"The woman," I said. What the hell was her name? I hadn't even gotten her first name.

I looked to Cody for confirmation. He shook his head and held his hands up as if he had no clue. "Sorry, buddy." He wandered back into the crowd.

Ashley came up beside me and took my arm. "Jeremy. Thank God you're okay. I heard the whole thing from the bakery. The sound of the collision was horrifying." She shuddered. "It rocked the entire bakery and rattled all the cups. All I could think about was you walking to your appointment with me right at that moment."

I turned to Ashley, desperate. "You saw her." I ran my hand over my lips where, a moment ago, the woman had kissed them. "You saw the woman who helped me pull the driver out."

Ashley frowned and shook her head. "I didn't see anyone. Just you."

I grabbed Ashley's hand. "She was here." I pointed down the street. "She's the one. She can't have gone far. You're the matchmaker. Go find her."

Ashley glanced at the paramedic.

He gave her a sympathetic, knowing nod, and took me by the hand. "You need to come with me, sir. You've taken in toxic smoke. That's a nasty bump you have on the back of your head. Let's get you in the ambulance and get you to the hospital to have it looked at. The police will want to talk to you and get your statement. But first you need a clear head."

What nasty bump? I reached up and felt the back of my head. My fingers came away sticky with blood. Until he mentioned it, I hadn't felt a thing. Thanks a lot for pointing out my pain, buddy. Suddenly I felt lightheaded.

Ashley nodded. "You're pale. A head injury is nothing to mess with. And all that smoke you breathed in. Get yourself checked out, Jeremy. I'll call Lazer." She asked the paramedic what hospital they were taking me to. She turned back to me. "We'll work everything out." Her voice was calm and soothing as she looped her arm through mine and began leading me toward an ambulance.

"The driver needs an ambulance more than I do," I said.

"They're taking care of him," she said. "Don't worry."

I pointed down the street again. "You'll find her? She needs to be checked out, too. She helped me save him."

A news crew showed up.

"I can't guarantee I'll find her, but I'll look," Ashley said. "I promise."

---

Crystal

That guy was hot. So completely adorable. How could I not kiss him?

All right. That was probably dumb. Maybe? Possibly? I wasn't usually so forward. There was something about him…

I felt like…like Cupid had cut right to my heart. We had a moment, he and I. We definitely had a moment. Maybe even a once-in-a-lifetime moment. Now I was kicking myself—why hadn't I given him my card? Or my number? Or gotten his? I wasn't usually so bumbling. I panicked when all the news crews showed up, and didn't think, just escaped before my face showed up on the evening news.

I was protecting my business, a reaction that had become instinctive. I'd been in the area meeting with a top-secret client. The client didn't want it known they'd hired me to help them flesh out a new business plan and capture a new market segment. They were in an exceptionally competitive market and going against giants in the industry. There was enough industrial espionage as it was.

Because they were paying me big bucks, I wasn't about to take any chance of word getting out and ruining my relationship with them. Being the heroine at the scene and surrounded by news crews was a little too high-profile for me just now.

I was still coughing when I got to my car. A friend of mine was a doctor at a walk-in urgent care clinic. I called her as soon as I slid in to the driver's seat, glad I got a signal in the bowels of the parking garage. She told me to come in and get checked out right away. She'd be waiting for me. And not to worry, she'd keep things quiet, like always. She was used to my emergencies.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and shook my head at my mangy reflection. I was a mess. My hair was frizzy and needed a trim. I was tired of being a blond. Time for a change. Yes, definitely time for a change. I'd call my stylist and get the latest cut and color.

I glanced down at my dress and beer-soaked sandals. Both were ruined. The dress had been one of my favorites and the sandals one of my most comfortable pairs. I didn't know what I'd been thinking going out in a summer outfit.

Actually, that was a lie—I did. Dressing out of season was my simple way of going out a little incognito. The unicorn hunter, the cool hunter, the trend spotter was always the height of fashion and immaculately turned out for the season. That was my reputation—when I wanted to be seen. The unicorn hunter certainly wouldn't still be wearing a summer dress. Unless she didn't want to be spotted. My little incognito twist.

And, all right, maybe I still wasn't telling myself the whole truth. Maybe this was simple rebellion. My way of hanging on to summer.

It's fall now, baby, I reminded myself. Time to get into my new fall clothes. Why was I so humdrum about the season change this year? Time to ditch the light, natural makeup of summer, the tinted moisturizer and lip gloss, and put on the heavier, more dramatic makeup of fall. Time to switch gears and switch seasons. Time to dive into the most current fall fashions. I had a closetful already, just waiting for the change of seasons.

I pressed the ignition button, shaking. The shock and adrenaline were wearing off. I was coming down off the high. Reality was setting in, just like it did every time I put myself in danger. The knowledge of how close I'd come to being a casualty rocked me. I was always charging into danger without thinking. Until later.

I took a deep breath and released the emergency brake. I glanced in the mirror again and realized I was smiling. Yeah, saving someone's life was a rush. But that trucker wasn't the source of this smile.

I couldn't get that guy out of my head. He was adorably hot, just the kind of cute, lean guy I was inevitably attracted to. And rarely had time for. Too many of my relationships had crashed and burned because I was a workaholic. Yes, guilty as charged. Most of the guys I'd dated were workaholics, too.

I mentally kicked myself again for not getting that guy's number. That instant chemistry between us was so powerful that it couldn't have been real. I tried to convince myself it was only a fleeting thing caused by heightened awareness and danger. More like a flash fad than a trend. Definitely not a classic. I'd never find out now.

There was something else I knew from experience—being pumped with adrenaline was almost like being drunk and wearing beer goggles. Adrenaline rushes mess with perception. And that was without inhaling all that evaporated beer. Yeah, those were some beer goggles. When I saw him all calm and unaided by an adrenaline rush, in normal life, he wouldn't be nearly so hot, just an ordinary guy. Or so I convinced myself.

The incident, however, cemented one thing for me—I wanted that rush and connection with a guy in regular life, in the mundane, everyday world we all usually live in. I wanted to go on a date and feel the rush over and over like an addict. I wanted it every day until it faded into something cozy and well-worn and comforting. I wanted to wake up to a smile that lit up my world the way his grin had as he pressed me against that wall. And damn it, I wanted a guy who could make quips in the face of danger. I wanted a hero, a man who would jump to a stranger's aid without thinking.

I smiled to myself as I remembered him fighting me for the lead in that rescue. Didn't he know this wasn't my first rescue? I was one of those people who practically seemed to cause accidents to happen around me. I was like a disaster magnet. As a result, I'd done more than my share of rescuing. Did that make my life worthwhile? Did saving others give my life meaning?

I made a mental note to add "hero" to my wish list. Why not? I was looking for a unicorn anyway. Why not shoot for the moon?

I kept smiling as I checked the reverse camera and pulled out of the spot. He'd been so adorable trying to protect me. I could handle myself. Guys found that out soon enough. I was no damsel in distress, no shrinking violet.

I made a snap decision—that matchmaker who'd given me her card? I was going to take her up on her offer. I was going to give her a call. Maybe she could find me a man who wasn't high maintenance. Show me what you got, matchmaker. Do you have a hero for me? My hero?