CHAPTER 2
6 WEEKS EARLIER
Taylor and Tayler—it was the joke amongst their colleagues. Dawson Tayler—an EMT, Sam Taylor—an ER nurse. It never failed; when someone yelled out “Taylor” in their presence, they both answered, usually in unison. Since it was a small mountain town hospital, where everyone knew everyone, it was common for emergency medical, fire, and police to co-mingle, as well as the local ER staff. They all worked together often, were fast friends as their paths crossed often, and they all understood each other’s world just a little too well.
Nobody used their first names as this kind of camaraderie was different. You either went by your last name or some sort of ridiculous nickname. The worst were those nicknames earned by stupid deeds or mistakes in the field. Once declared, they stuck forever, never to be lived down. This crowd was tight; they were there for each other, supported each other. They were family.
Sam and Dawson tended to spend their down time with the same characters from the hospital, and the House
; the House was the station that housed all of Fire, EMS, and Police. All departments shared the same building and quarters, intermingling. As unconventional as it may be, it worked for their small tourist mountain town, cradled amongst the Cascade Mountains that rested in Oregon. They were more efficient that way; they crossed lines and helped each other, allowing their small force to have a big impact.
Dawson and Sam both declared the single life as the only life, but sparks flew, and the heat was undeniable, obvious to everyone but Taylor and Tayler. Associates through work for years now, they both struggled to ignore the curiosity surrounding one another, always trying to maintain those unfortunate professional boundaries that were bound to fail eventually, if just one of them would remove the invisible stick up their stubborn ass. They bantered, playing off their similar last names, flirted shamelessly at work and outside of work, when everyone ended a shift, at The Pump House to decompress before calling it a night.
It never went any further, even though both thought about it…often. No, neither would take the next step. Neither one did the dating thing and most definitely didn’t do relationships.
The thought of either was like a quick cold shower—no thank you. They were content with where things stood, completely safe, unattached, and single.
Taylor and Tayler, as silly a joke as it was, was their connection. Confusion over who was being summoned in the ER, or at The Pump House after a shift, generated as many laughs as it did opportunities to acknowledge each other. Dawson and Sam may have been able to avoid the obvious, but everyone around them saw it for what it was—they liked each other…a lot.
Dawson Tayler was a humble and modest man. Quiet even. As a child, he had a deep desire to help, starting with stray or injured animals, but ultimately being called to save his fellow man. His kindness and warm soul made him an outcast amongst his family. From a deep-rooted, ruthless, business savvy family, he was living an average life his family would have been appalled by…if they were alive. Although his heart was hardened and his soul numb, his instinct to help people remained.
A gentleman through and through, as his mama raised him to be, Dawson stood at over six feet tall, with sun-kissed skin and a chiseled body of rolling muscles. He had raven black hair, day old facial scruff, and the greenest, emerald eyes that made hearts break and panties melt. He was a bit of a man-whore when the opportunity presented itself, and present it was. Often. Dawson Tayler, a no strings, man’s man had a stockpile of numbers to call at midnight but not a soul to give him anything else. He liked it that way.
Regardless of his declaration of eternal bachelorhood, his satisfying life, emotionless as it was, began to change because of her. Dawson found Sam a mystery. He was drawn to her, wanted to figure her out, with or without clothes. It didn’t help that she was hot
. After many months of brazen flirting, he still knew very little about her. He wanted to solve the mystery; who was the real Sam Taylor and why was she so damn captivating? He wanted to ask her out. Not on a date; just ask her out because he didn’t
date.
The storming ball of fire who was five feet and a handful of inches, Sam Taylor defined the word fighter. Her long dark locks, slate blue eyes hooded with long thick lashes, and full rosy lips harassed Dawson every night in his sleep. Her compact size was athletic in nature, complimented by perfect curves in all of the right places. Curves he wouldn’t mind exploring. She was so sexy it should have been a sin, and he was a willing sinner.
Sam found herself living the life she’d always dreamed…sort of. With a flakey mother, divorced who knows how many times, Sam’s childhood was as unremarkable as her name. Sam, not Samantha, not even Sammy, just Sam, good enough for the woman she referred to loosely as mother
.
Her life was destined to be full of trials. Sam was practically raised by her best friend Everly’s grandmother, Granny Lou. Although not ideal, Sam didn’t regret one bit of her childhood. She always had big dreams to be a nurse, and so she was. She was a no-nonsense girl in life and in the ER, doling out her fair share of snarkiness and rejection to doting men wanting to explore the hard ass that was Sam.
“Hey Taylor, you off tomorrow?” He asked, followed by his knock your socks off smile.
“Yep! You?” She replied, nonchalant, acting as though the mere conversation, let alone question, didn’t faze her in the least, or make her palms sweat.
“Sort of; I picked up a graveyard for Jack, so I’m not on until midnight.” he replied as he sat on the stool at the nurses’ station.
“I heard Shelly was having the baby tomorrow!” She said with excitement for her friend, Shelly, Jack’s wife. “Poor girl. She’s what, like two weeks overdue?”
“Yes, something like that.” Not interested in discussing children or where they come from, he replied with a dose of disinterest before finishing his thought. “We are all chipping in and covering shifts for him, so he doesn’t have to use up all of his vacation time before the kid even gets here.”
“Baby,” Sam corrected, with an eye roll for the Neanderthal-like reference to the little bundle.
Smiling, with raised eyebrows, he tossed her an ounce of sarcasm, “Yes, honey
?” He deadpanned, proud of himself for the clever reply.
Clearly not impressed or charmed by his wit, on the outside anyway, she amended her previous thought, replacing the prior eye roll with a shake of her head. “Baby, Dawson. It’s a baby, not a kid
.” On the inside she was praying he would leave before he made her sweat through her scrubs.
“Oh, gotcha, honey
.” He was on a roll, getting under her skin, enjoying how uncomfortable he was making her, and he took that as a sign. It was almost as promising as that little bead of sweat accumulating between her brows.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, lives to save, ladies to charm?” She tossed, trying to get rid of him before she showed all her cards.
He left his perch and began to follow her down the hall, her arms full of files, distributing each to its rightful place as she went. “Nope, just you. Is it working?”
“I don’t need saving, and I’m immune to that hunky, I’m-too-good-looking-for-my-own-good charm.” Immediately squinting, making a sour face at her own words, she regretted saying anything. Crap, she just showed him her hand. So much for the poker face.
“So, you think I’m too good looking and hunky?” He upped the ante by tossing her a wink, topped with wiggling eyebrows and that sexy grin that revealed his adorable dimples—hook, line, and sinker, as he called it.
“Get out of here, Tayler!” she said, putting her hand on his chest—and a mighty hard chiseled chest it was—and giving him a shove. Of course, he flexed the giant peck under her hand, sending a slicing tingle straight to her core, making her jump and pull back her hand like it stung.
“Okay, I’m going, but first I wanted to let you know I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow,” he shot—not a question, a statement. No ‘yes’ or ‘no’ required, just an, ‘Okay, see ya then.’
Her heart stopped, her face felt hot, and her palms began to drip sweat. Holy shit! Dawson just asked her out. She just stood there wide-eyed, and damn it, she was actually thinking about it! What the hell! Her brain was saying, ‘Run, you don’t date!’ But those gorgeous green eyes and that sexy grin that was attached to that strong jaw were telling her and her lady parts to say, ‘Yes, oh yes, please
.’ Oh, my God, he just licked his lips while his gaze drifted to hers. Why was this turning her on; why was he
turning her on?
“I don’t date, Dawson,” she said, turning to walk away. “Especially co-workers and guys who change their women as often as they change their underwear.” The last part was punctuated with a sassy grin, proud of the below the belt hit. She finished him off with her own devilish side-eye and wink.
“I don’t date either, and I’m not some kind of gigolo, Sam,” he struck back, a little offended. He may see the occasional nighttime visitor, but he wasn’t what she was implying. Why did it bother him that she thought that about him? “I just want to have dinner with a friend and figure out what makes her…her.”
“Not interested, Tayler. Not going to happen. It’s dinner; it’s a date. I don’t need figuring out.
I’m out!” Walking away again, moving to her next task, she quickly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, while her back was to him, and collected herself. He was having an effect on her that she couldn’t explain. It was pissing her off, or was it?
Giving her his best pitch yet, he delivered a pretty convincing plea as to why this wasn’t a date, but he was starting to wonder if maybe it was. “It’s not a date. If it were a date, I would bring flowers, candy, and all that fluffy shit you girls like. I’m just buying a friend dinner. We both have to eat, so why not together?”
“Drinks? Will there be dessert,” she questioned.
“Now you’re talkin’. I can do
dessert, whatever you want, wherever you want…”
“I meant like cheesecake, or bread pudding, you ass.”
“I know, I know; I’m just kidding.” Excited that he was wearing her down and she was coming around, he knew she would see it his way and meet him for this non-date
, date. “I figure if I start with the bar that high, you’ll give in when I say, ‘Cheesecake sounds amazing.’”
“Cheesecake is a date.” She wasn’t giving in. He was tempting, but that was the problem.
“Fine, no cheesecake. Just dinner, maybe a drink, friends, very public, not a date.”
“Drinks…date.”
“Fine, no drinks.” Christ, she had rules, but he liked it. He was enjoying the challenge. He clearly had her in final negotiations; tomorrow night was looking good.
Sam paused as she assessed the situation, assessed him,
her darkened, hooded eyes and open mouth leaving her ponderings less than a mystery. She had a strict no dating rule and was pretty confident that rule applied to smexy, sex on a stick, co-workers especially. Nothing good would come from a Tayler and Taylor rendezvous, nothing at all good. Oh, who the hell was she kidding?
No matter how loud her instincts protested the idea of fraternization, her libidinous drive sat on her right shoulder, like the devil himself, whispering indecent lust filled notions that were much more convincing than her good intentioned constitutions. She turned a deaf ear to logic and reason, and fell victim to all the pheromones, or hormones, or whatever it was pushing her down the perilous path that was Dawson Tayler. She might regret this at some point, but she was certain it would be worth the thorny ride, or maybe it was a horny
ride that would inevitably present itself.
She turned to him, looked him straight in the eye, and delivered her matter of fact terms. “No dinner. Breakfast. Baker’s, after shift. Coffee and a fritter, very public, friends. I’ll meet you there, not
a date.”
“Sold. See you at Baker’s, honey
,” he said before kissing the back of her hand and turning his back to her to walk away. And watch him walk away she did. It was a glorious site to be seen; that ass, those pants, and God help her, he was flexing his enormous biceps, giving her an intentional show, smug son of a bitch.
With a wicked grin and a sexy wink that said anything but just breakfast
, he was gone. What the heck just happened here? How the hell did he do that? And why was she already wondering if it was appropriate to have first date nookie? Or after breakfast nookie, in this case. Maybe it was because she wanted to know if he was really built the way she imagined him, often.
Her better judgment scolded her as she questioned her sanity or lack thereof. Geez, get it together Sam
. She was humming at the thought of him, and those thoughts were naked and dirty. Why did he have this effect on her? He wasn’t the first hotter than hell guy to cross her path over the past few years. The House was full of them from Police, Fire, and Rescue.
What was it about Dawson Tayler that made her think all men were bad but him? She couldn’t answer those questions, but she was sure looking forward to figuring them all out, even the naked ones, over coffee and a fritter…maybe not in that order.
McKenzie Ridge was full of rustic mountain charm. Being in the Pacific Northwest, it appealed to tourists all year, with its ever-changing seasons and activities that surrounded their town. Main Street rested in the heart of town, both sides flanked with a variety of shops and eateries. Baker’s sat on the edge of town, on the west side of Main Street, opposite the hospital that resided to the east.
Jed Baker, third generation owner, was about the best baker there was, especially when it came to his morning delectables. Baker’s wasn’t small, nor big, with its eclectic design. It was comfortable and accommodated its patrons reasonably as the morning hot spot amongst locals and even a few foodie tourists who saw him on one of those travel food network shows. It was a great place to meet…busy, lots of people, not a date!
Dawson arrived first and found he was surprisingly nervous; getting her here was a contest he almost lost. Now how did he keep her here? He wasn’t sure what they were doing, other than not dating
, at this point. He wasn’t even entirely sure why this was so important to him. What was it about Sam that had him so enamored, ready to break all of his own rules? He was anxious to find out.
Not sure what she took in her coffee, he ordered her a tall black and had all the add-ins at the table so she could dress it up herself. He figured an apple fritter was a safe bet since it was her idea and because there wasn’t a person around that didn’t love those fresh morning fritters. Hoping his charm was enough to entice her to let her guard down, he was only sure of one thing, and that was, by noon, the whole town would know they were at Baker’s, together
. Small town living at its best.
Sam had sworn off men her last year of college, and with good reason. Men were a liability. They weren’t reliable, good for only a quick romp, some quicker than others, with no guarantee for that happy ending. Her problem was her lady parts disagreed with her every time she saw Dawson Tayler’s larger than life frame, emerald green eyes, dark hair, and heaven-sent physique.
He was quiet, reserved even, except with her. He was gentle and kind, maybe a little cocky at times, but in an endearing, maybe a tad bit charming way. Dawson Tayler could get a girl pregnant just looking at her. He was the epitome of sex, and anything with a pulse could see it. The look he had in his eyes every time she looked at him sent a shiver up her spine and a zing to her core.
She often wondered what a night in the sack with Captain Sexy Pants would be like, and then reality hit her like an ice-cold shower. He was tempting, oh so tempting. There was a story there, a tall, sexy story that made her throb in all the right places. Or maybe they were the wrong places, and she was just a horny old maid. She could never go out with him; he was far too dangerous, which is why this wasn’t a “date.”