10
Colin looked up the moment she came into view. It was like that utterly impossible moment that always occurred between hero and heroine that he could never resist writing. First sight of each other at the same instant.
Even without the fire gear, he’d know her anywhere. There was a confidence, a surety to her stride unlike any other woman he’d ever known, or written. She came around the corner of his cabin as if she’d always been there, always belonged.
He stayed where he was and waited while she crossed the back porch, shed her pack, and came up into the vegetable garden. She wore hiking boots, shorts atop some of the longest legs he’d ever seen, and a light t-shirt luridly aflame, but patterned like a checker board. Across her chest it announced the Checker Mill Fire and the dates.
