For His Protection by Amber A Bardan Page A

row of tires.
They scooped up rubber rings and held them overhead, commencing the first round
of walking lunges. Brooke walked behind them, clapping her hands.
    “Pick up the pace, this isn’t your Sunday stroll—it’s your
Sunday boot-camp. Get ready to sweat.”
    Brian, a firefighter by profession, stepped ahead of the
group, assuming his usual lead. Ty widened his steps, sinking his knee until it
brushed the grass before rising again. His triceps bulged under the weight of
the tire, but he held it up, never letting his elbows sink. He pushed ahead,
coming even with Brian’s shorter but bulkier form. She cut off the smile
pulling at her lips. Ty was no pretender, but she’d known that already. She
turned her attention to the rest of the group, urging on the ones who’d fallen
behind and issuing new exercises.
    They ploughed through the routine. Each new activity proved Ty
to be the athlete she’d sensed under his movements. Her whistle blasted, she
barked orders, commanded attention and people jumped. Order righted itself
whistle by whistle. Brooke on top, dauntless. Ty would get it by the end even
if she had to grind the message into him.
    The boot-camp participants formed two neat rows across the
ground, performing push-ups. Brian surged up and down, doing two for every one
of the group’s movements. Ty’s head shot up and he watched the other man, picked
up his pace, then he lifted his arm and tucked his wrist into the small of his
back, switching to one-armed push-ups.
    Brooke strolled in front of him and squatted. She pressed
the whistle between her lips and blew. Everyone froze.
    “Is my class too easy for you, Mr. Black?”
    “It’s a picnic.” Ty looked up at her from a pink face coated
in moisture.
    It wasn’t his words that kicked the bees sleeping in her
belly; it was the look in his eye. The defiant, arrogant overconfidence that
promised he’d never give in—never back down.
    “All right, everyone. Good job. You’re done,” she said and
rose to her feet. “Stretch, cool down and head off. I’ll see you all next
Sunday.”
    Ty bounced to his feet.
    She blew her whistle. “Except for you. No one leaves without
a proper sweat.” She pointed to the tires. “Give me another thirty lunges.”
    He smiled and inclined his head, jogging to the tires and
reaching for one resting on the ground.
    “Not that one,” she called out. “The big one.” She pointed
to the tractor tire leaning against a tree.
    Ty stretched straight and glanced at the massive hunk of
rubber, then back to Brooke with confused look.
    She approached with a stiff smile. “Wouldn’t want you
mistaking this for a picnic.”
    He let out a gruff laugh and strolled to the tire then bent
his knees and lifted it overhead. The veins, cords and muscles in his arms and
neck rose to the surface of his skin but he turned to her and took a deep,
lunging step. He sank his knee all the way to the ground, refusing to take a
shortcut even for a moment. His face reddened and he puffed air before surging
up for the next step.
    Heat blazed over her skin as if she were the one straining
under a mammoth weight. He moved like a mythical warrior—pure, uncompromising
strength with lashings of confidence. She’d pushed him hard, too hard probably,
tested him—punished him. Yet there he was, stepping toward her like Hercules
bursting out of chains.
    Her breath caught and her whistle dropped to the ground. Ty
rose, stretching out his leg for another step. His gaze flicked to Brooke. She
crouched and fumbled for her whistle. Ty’s foot connected with the ground,
twisting on a tree root. He went down. The tire hurtled past her.
    Ty caught himself with his palms then rolled onto his back
and pulled his knee to his chest with a groan.
    Brooke’s heart seized. “Ty,” she screamed and scrambled to
his side. “Are you all right?”
    He closed his eyes. “Just give me a minute.”
    She glanced at the leg clutched in his hands. “Dammit,