Trial by Fire by Jo Davis

he called, “Here we go!”
    Howard backed slowly out of the space, straightened, and started off. He wasn’t going fast, but Kat couldn’t stop the squeal, part fear, part exhilaration, from escaping. She felt the rumble of his laughter as she clung to him for dear life, and knew she was already in deep doo-doo. And not because of the ride.
    She didn’t know Howard Paxton at all, but sometimes a girl just knew. She was in real danger of losing her heart to a big, sexy teddy bear of a man.
    An honest-to-God hero who’d saved her life.
    A gentleman who’d brought flowers.
    Who loved and respected his parents.
    And had secrets haunting his beautiful brown eyes.
    Holy craparoni, Katherine Frances. You’re a goner.

    4
    The woman drove him stark raving mad with lust. If Kat knew what Howard wanted to do to her—and how many different ways he envisioned doing it— she’d probably jump off the bike and head for the hills.
    Or maybe not.
    The lady hadn’t exactly thrown up any “keep off the grass” signs. Yet. In fact, everything about Kat— her warm welcome, the casual jeans and eye-popping shirt, the way she beamed over the flowers— suggested she was willing to see where things went between them. Positive signals.
    Jesus, even in his own mind he sounded like a horny jerk. Just because a woman looked terrific and wanted to get better acquainted didn’t mean he had the right to anticipate a quick roll in the sack. Georgie would smack him upside the head for thinking like that, whether he outweighed her by a hundred and fifty pounds or not. And rightfully so. She’d raised him to be respectful of ladies. . . . Even if she didn’t approve of the type of women he’d been seeing before.
    Turning left down Cheatham Dam Road, he decided to be himself with Kat, no pretense. Let things develop naturally, or not. He had nothing to lose that hadn’t already been taken from him.
    Closing the last couple of miles to their destination, he relaxed and let himself enjoy the soft, warm woman pressed to his back. The balmy fall air whipping his clothes, the Tennessee hills and valleys rising and falling around them, exploding with red, orange, yellow, and brown. Majestic, ancient forests, much of the timber still untouched, the occasional homestead nestled right among the thick foliage. The people who lived and worked in Cheatham County were part of the land, not the conquerors of it. A man couldn’t hope to tame something so wild and beautiful, and these folks understood that, just like their predecessors.
    To feed their families, they labored in the tobacco fields, tended livestock, worked the barges that traveled the Cumberland River for endless weeks. Some held jobs in nearby Sugarland at small businesses like the barber shop, local feed store, or the new shopping center. A few had civic jobs at the police station or the fire department, like Howard and his buddies. Some made the twenty-mile drive to Nashville and back each day, earning their pay in the glittering high-rise buildings downtown, forced to abandon community tradition in the wake of a struggling economy.
    Old and new, battling for supremacy. Whatever their profession, they toiled long and hard to make an honest dollar, and to raise a generation of children who believed in doing the same. Oh, this little patch of heaven on earth wasn’t perfect.
    But it was pretty darned close.
    Which was why he wanted to share this afternoon with Kat. If she’d lived in Sugarland for long, she’d probably visited the park by the Cheatham Dam. Most people had, at one time or another. But not on a day like this. And not with me.
    The trees opened to clear sky, the road ending at the Cumberland River straight ahead. This particular stretch had been a public park for as long as Howard could recall. To the right, a small beach area provided kids and adults a place to play in the sand and water. A half mile farther was the dam and the lock, which visitors were no longer allowed to