He touched his forehead to mine, already emotional from the day. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t need anything fancy, do you?” He shook his head. “Pick a Saturday.”

He scrambled for his phone, opening his calendar. “November seventh. That way we’re sure fire season is over, and maybe some of the guys will still be around.”

“Sounds great.”

“November seventh,” he repeated.

“Perfect.”

“Last chance to change your mind. I’m texting Dad,” he said, waiting for me to call his bluff.

I waited, amused.

He held his phone to his chest, closing his eyes. “If you’re bullshitting me, it’s going to break my fucking heart.”

“Tyler Maddox!” I grabbed his phone, typed out the message, and sent it, turning the phone to show him. “It’s sent. It’s a done deal. I’m your wife on November seventh.”

He touched my cheek with his hand, running his thumb along my jawline. “You sure you’re ready?”

“What is there to be afraid of? You’ve already seen my ugly side and loved me through it.”

“What if the situation was reversed?”

I bit my lip, staring at his. He was honest, he was strong, he was beautiful, and he was mine. “You’re not the only one who would walk through fire for what you love.”

He scanned my face, breathed out a laugh, and shook his head, pressing his lips against mine.

THE END.

READ MORE ABOUT TREX AND DARBY IN OTHER LIVES, A NEW CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE NOVEL RELEASING WINTER 2016.

Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing about something I know nothing about is always a fun challenge for me, most of all finding an expert who is willing to talk to the “author who is writing a fictional book on the subject.” I happened to know the expert in this case, but had no idea he was an interagency hotshot crewmember until I complained to my husband one day about how much trouble I was having finding someone to talk to about wildfire fighting. Cowboy asked me why I didn’t just message Tyler Vanover. With much excitement (and a smidgeon of doubt), I sent Tyler a message asking if he had, in fact, been a hotshot. Tyler confirmed he had—although he was shocked I knew, apparently not many people do—and shortly after I had eight full pages, front and back of notes.