Grady was technically homeless—not that it mattered when he lived at various firefighting base camps year-round. The northern and southern hemispheres alternated fire seasons. While other smokejumpers went home during the off-season, Grady had kept himself on the move, fighting wilderness fires in California, Montana, and Idaho half of the year and decamping to Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa for the other half of the year.

For almost ten years, he was like a migratory bird, moving like clockwork across the globe.

The clock stopped this fall during a wicked late season fire, causing him to retreat home to his family. He’d been squatting at his twin sister’s apartment since Christmas, the longest time he’d stayed in one place since he left home after high school.

“Since you’re living with me, you might as well make yourself useful,” Jenna said to Grady the next morning at the breakfast table.

“You telling me to move out?” Grady flicked through the messages on his cell phone

“No, of course not, brother dearest.” Jenna ruffled his hair. “I need help with the fall collection, and you smokejumpers are good with the sewing machine.”

Jenna was a talented fashion designer, and while she, too, had sown plenty of wild oats, she’d surprised him by falling in love with a stalwart and loyal firefighter—the last kind of man his sister had been attracted to growing up.

“Repairing our parachutes and stitching up jumpsuits don’t exactly qualify for high fashion,” Grady said. “For one thing, our stitches don’t have to be neat.”

“True, but you’ve been moping around here half a year already. What really happened out there? I know there was a death in your crew.”

“If you’re saying it was my fault, you’re wrong.” Grady pushed from the kitchen table.

Jenna’s brows turned down, and her mouth opened into a circle. “That’s not what I’m saying. I only want to know how you feel about it.”

“There are risks in everything we do—some more than others. Besides, it’s not like I’m doing nothing. I’m busy running my Dogs for Vets charity.”

“True.” Jenna walked to the refrigerator and pulled out eggs, bacon, and cheese. Before she was married, she never cooked, but now that she was determined to become a mother, she’d been practicing on her husband, Larry, and by extension, Grady. “I wonder why you’re doing all of this work with dogs when you don’t want one yourself.”

“No conflict of interest. I have a list of veterans and the types and characteristics of dogs they need, and my job is to be on the lookout for them—preferably rescuing them from shelters. If I were looking for a dog for myself, I would want to keep every one of them.”

“You only need one,” Jenna said, looking toward the side of the refrigerator where Harley, her and Larry’s male basset hound, inhaled his breakfast.

He was one ugly mug of a dog with saggy skin, ears so long they trailed on the ground, and a bulging tummy from his constant gluttony.

“Good morning,” Larry stepped into the kitchen and greeted them. He bent down and patted his dog, clearly adoring the messy hound. Still wearing the shorts and T he slept in, he wore the satiated smile of a happily married man. After acknowledging Grady with a curt nod, he made a beeline for Jenna and kissed her long and hard on the lips.

Grady turned away. He was definitely crimping their lifestyle by staying here. Here they were, hot newlyweds, and they had to share a small two-bedroom apartment with a grouch who’d given up on women—and dogs.

“Nothing against you, Harley, but you fart too much,” Grady said as he walked toward the kitchen door.

The dog gave him a droopy-eyed look and slurped his drink, splashing and flapping water with his long, hanging ears.

So sloppy, unlike Grady’s long-lost Sasha, who was beautiful in grace and form with sleek, light-red fur, tufts of pristine white accents on her chest and muzzle, and ears that stood erect and alert.

Missing and presumed dead.

Grady hadn’t had a chance to look for her after his cabin burned down because he was hospitalized for smoke inhalation. When he was released, he’d been immediately assigned to an out-of-state crew where a fire burned out of control.

He’d kept his eye on the dog “lost and found” pages online, but after several false leads, he gave up.

The fire that had consumed his cabin had started right outside the kitchen door, trapping Sasha away from her doggie door. If she had died, Grady could only hope she had passed out from smoke inhalation before the flames burned her to a crisp.

Blinking from an eye irritation, Grady shut the door of the bedroom he was staying at. He traveled light. In less than half an hour, he had his clothes packed. It was time for him to head back up the mountain and rebuild the dregs of his useless life.

Dogless and womanless.

Only one big problem. The dog might be gone, but the woman was definitely not gone, not by a long shot.

She was a long-legged, lusciously curved, brown-haired Gypsy-looking spitfire who occupied permanent residency in both his dreams and nightmares.

Linx Colson.

She lived near his property, as owner and director of the Mountain Dog Rescue Center.

And he couldn’t trust her as far as he could spit.

The woman was a liar, a manipulator, and the worst type of tease—as unpredictable as a wildfire snapping itself into a frenzy, egged on by a snarling wind.

Hot as a towering fire tornado.

And just as dangerous.

But still, she had what he needed—dogs needing homes. Even if he had to sacrifice his own sanity, he’d find the best dogs for the veterans he served, and that meant working with Mountain Dog Rescue.

He brought up his email app and sent Linx Colson a request for an appointment to scout out her available dogs.

* * *

The Mountain Dog Rescue Center sat on four acres of land, bordered by Sandman’s Creek on the south and a large track of forest on the east. It was on the outskirts of her hometown, Colson’s Corner, far enough so that the dogs’ barking didn’t disturb any neighbors, but close enough to walk to the town square. The plot of land was too small to be a working farm, but large enough to house twenty dogs in a renovated wooden barn.

Linx lived in a box-shaped cabin that served as both the office and adoption center. Chain-link fence surrounded the rescue center, and she had constructed several fenced-off areas large enough for dogs to run free in the meadow behind the barn.

Running a rescue center was a constant struggle between outreach, financing, pet care and rehabilitation. Right now, because of Linx’s big splurge at buying a designer wedding gown she’d never need or use, the center was running in the red and in danger of being foreclosed.

She’d already laid off staff and was at the mercy of volunteers, and every day, when the bills came, she endured nail biting stress as she borrowed from her credit cards to pay for electricity, water, and dog food.

Still, Linx loved rescuing dogs, mainly because she’d failed at every other endeavor she had tried.

Dogs weren’t judgmental.

Dogs didn’t gossip.

Dogs didn’t hold grudges.

Even the meanest, most maladjusted and abused dog could be won over by loads of patience and a smidgen of love. Unlike men—especially a certain smokejumping instructor she’d had the misfortune to train under.

She almost blushed at the “under” part of her training, but she slapped back the naughty thoughts. She’d reached too high when it came to Grady Hart, and he’d disavowed her in her greatest time of need.

Nope, dogs were way better than men, and after her experience with Grady and the horrible thing his lack of responsibility made her do, she’d decided it would be dogs over men for her, forever.

Morning came early at the rescue center as the dogs woke up and barked at every disturbance. Cedar, who slept in bed with her, rushed to the window and barked toward the direction of the barn, ready to go out and play with her friends.

Linx stumbled down the stairs of the loft and answered the insistently clanging old-fashioned phone. It was standard issue black with a rotary dial. These phones still worked in her town, and the town council’s biggest accomplishment this year was fighting the phone company to keep the payphones outside of the diner and general store.

“Hello,” she answered before the call kicked over to the tape-recording answering machine she inherited from her grandmother. “Mountain Dog Rescue. What can I do for you?”

A breathless female’s voice huffed and puffed. “I was jogging near the river bend trail, and I heard high-pitched squeals. I think it’s a newborn puppy, but I’m afraid to look. It’s stuck under a tangle of grass.”

“Is the mother dog around?”

“No, I don’t see her,” the jogger said. “We saw a couple of stray dogs at the Wildman campground, but a mother dog wouldn’t just leave her puppy, would she?”

“Most likely not,” Linx said, grabbing a pencil and paper. “Can you let me know exactly where you’re at?”

“Sure, but I can’t wait around. My family’s packing to leave in half an hour, and my mother told me to be back quick.”

Linx took down the location as best as the jogger could describe. The puppy had been abandoned about half a mile from the campground, and Linx would bet her eyeteeth the mother dog was already packed up and gone with her family.

Tourist season meant a spike in lost and abandoned dogs, and the upcoming Fourth of July fireworks show was pure torture for dogs and cats, causing them to run for cover and oftentimes becoming separated from their families—especially if they were camping or visiting from out of town.

“Come on, Cedar,” Linx said as she put on her boots and grabbed a small baby carrier she’d picked up at the thrift shop. Newborn puppies were born blind and toothless, and they couldn’t regulate their body temperature. She wondered about the condition of the puppy, its size and breed, but the most important thing was to bring it back and hope it wasn’t too late.

While she and Cedar hiked the mile or so up the mountainside to the campground, Linx went through the available space in the kennel. The puppy, of course, would sleep at her bedside with a hot water bottle, but the kennel was at full capacity. She even had a few dogs doubling up.

She needed to run a big promotion in the days leading up to the Gold Rush Festival ending with a Fourth of July Rescue Auction, and that meant spending money she didn’t have on advertising and social media.

She checked her cell phone for emails and frowned.

The devil always had perfect timing.

Grady Hart emailed her with his list of dog requests. He ran a charity matching dogs with veterans, and it was the perfect place for some of her more elderly guests to find homes.

But to do that meant getting reacquainted with Grady, and an acquaintance with him meant one thing only.

Bed first.

Talking later.

She’d kept him at bay by pretending she didn’t know him from before. She’d even had his family fooled. She’d flirted with him at his sister’s wedding, and she’d used up the last of her inheritance as seed money to start his charity—yep, the proceeds of that ill-fated wedding dress went to Dogs for Vets. Very reckless, but at least she’d gotten a reaction out of him.

He still hated her, of course.

And he obviously didn’t trust her.

But he’d hinted at hooking up, and she’d teased him to the hilt. They both knew what came next should they ever meet up.

Cedar let out a sharp bark as she stopped in front a giant sequoia stump. Her nose twitched, and she looked back at Linx, wagging her tail.

“You found it?” Linx stuffed her phone back in her pocket and knelt in front of the hollow in the tree.

She removed the tangle of grass and weeds and gasped at the reddish ball of wet fur. The puppy, a female, squealed and wiggled when she picked her up. Her mouth suckled on air and her eyes were closed. Her umbilical cord was still protruding from her belly button.

“Oh, you sweet little thing.” Linx tucked the cold and wet puppy into the baby carrier while Cedar sniffed and licked her. “You’re going to have a good life. You’ll see.”

The puppy snuggled close to Linx’s heart, and even though she already had a dog, and she had a rescue center full of dogs, Linx fell in love again.

“Should I call you Sasha? Or would that confuse Cedar?”

Cedar barked and gave her a quizzical look, as if saying those were both her names.

“Not Sasha.” Linx stroked the puppy’s back, cuddling it as she walked. “How about Ginger? Cedar, you like Ginger?”

“Woof. Woof.” Cedar bounced happily and headed toward home.