In the huge opened garage sat three fire trucks and an ambulance. One wall was lined with equipment such as hoses and ladders.

Surfboards leaned against the outside of the building. Oak trees dotted the edge of the property, and between the two largest, near the path to the front door, a man swung on a large hammock.

A man with broad shoulders, long legs and the unmistakable build of an athlete. His boots lay on the grass beneath him, as well as a discarded button-down shirt, leaving him in blue uniform pants slid just low enough on his hips to reveal a strip of black BVDs. His white T-shirt invited the general public to bite him. He had his hands clasped behind his head, and a large straw hat covered his face. His stillness suggested he was deeply asleep.

She slowed to a tiptoe, trying not to stare but failing. She was petite, and therefore constantly had to prove to people how strong she could be, but she’d bet he’d never had to prove anything; even from his prone position, he radiated strength and confidence. Of course that long, tough body didn’t hurt, with all that aesthetically pleasing sinew defined even as he snoozed.

She envied the nap. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken one. Or the last time she’d taken a moment to just lie on a hammock and soak up the sun.

Or even just to breathe, for that matter.

A lot of that came from being raised by a wild child of a mother, with little to no stability or security. And though Brooke had been on her own since high school, things hadn’t changed much. She’d followed suit, living how she knew, moving around, bouncing from junior college to undergrad to working as an EMT, all in different cities. Hell, different states. Some habits died hard.

But she’d never landed in California before. She’d come to deal with her grandmother’s estate, which included a great big old house and no cash to take care of the mortgage. Wasn’t that just like an O’Brien.

It left Brooke with no choice but to sell the place off before it dragged her down in debt. Except she had to pack up some sixty-plus years of living first. And hell, maybe while the house was on the market, she could learn more about the grandma she’d never known.

In the meantime, she needed money for the immediates—like, say, eating—and the temp EMT position was for six weeks.

Perfect.

At least on the outside looking in, which was pretty much how she lived her life. Someday she’d like to change that. Someday she’d like to find her niche.

Find where she really belonged…