No Damaged Goods

by Snow, Nicole

  “That’d be cool, maybe,” he says.

  Maybe.

  Again, I keep my grin to myself, and we just settle back to work.

  I think that’s the end of it till we’re almost done and I’m draining the sink.

  Then he speaks so quietly I barely hear him, looking down at his hands as he dries them off.

  “Thank you again. I mean...with my mother gone and who knows where my dad ran off to...it’s cool. So I hope this isn’t weird or out of line but...I’ve kind of always looked at you like a stand-in dad, Chief. And it’s nice just to...” He makes an embarrassed sound, then finishes, “...to have something like a family.”

  Yeah.

  Yeah, now I know one hundred percent I’ve done something right.

  Ma never gave me a good example of what a family should look like, but I’ve been trying to work that out for myself come hell or high water.

  One thing I’ve learned over the years is family doesn’t always mean blood.

  It means you can rely on each other. And I hope I can let Justin rely on me.

  With a snort and a smile, I clap a hand on his shoulder.

  “Just don’t start calling me Dad,” I tease and squeeze gently so he knows it’s okay.

  It’s damned well okay by me.

  Then I toss my head at the kitchen door. “C’mon, man. Let’s go see what the girls are doing.”

  * * *

  The rest of the evening is pretty uneventful.

  We chill and chat for a bit. Andrea gets tired of pulling Justin between grown-up conversations and curious questions and heads upstairs to sulk in her room.

  Justin looks almost guilty, looking after her, but he’s distracted soon enough. We talk about the safety course and listen to Peace tell stories about the weird places she’s been all over the States where they do similar big shows with fire.

  I’m tired by the time he heads out and go out back with one last beer for the night by the fire pit.

  It’s becoming something of a ritual.

  Beer, quiet, and the silvery snow all around, the flames lashing at my side.

  Least my bum leg’s not acting up, so I can enjoy it.

  Gotta say, I wouldn’t mind if Peace had a go at it again.

  Being under her healing hands beats the starry darkness and silence.

  Thinking her name summons her. The door opens behind me, light spilling across me and then dimming again as it closes, and her soft footsteps take her to the chair on the other side of the pit.

  She flops down, bundled up in her big coat, hands in her pockets, and blows out a little cloud of breath before murmuring, “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” With a small smile, I set my beer down on the little side table.

  “Dinner was nice,” she says, quiet but sincere, while she looks up at the sky and the horizon.

  “Yep, chef’s special,” I agree, then add, “Thanks for helping out.”

  She tilts her head toward me with a little smile. “Just earning my keep, right?”

  I chuckle. “You don’t have to.”

  Come on, man, a voice growls in the back of my mind. It’s now or never.

  “I’m sorry, Peace. About before, going off on Holt in front of you.” I throw her a heated look.

  Her smile fades, her eyes darkening thoughtfully as she cocks her head. She doesn’t say anything, just listening while I take a deep breath.

  Fuck, I don’t want to ruin this quiet, but I feel like I can’t ruin it with honesty. We hope.

  That’s what she makes me, at least. Honest and real.

  “My brother and I, we’ve got bad blood. Some of it you know about; some of it you don’t,” I admit. “Still...didn’t give me the right to treat you like that.”

  She’s just looking at me, but it’s not bad. A second later, her smile comes back, soft and just a little warmer. It’s like seeing the sun come up at night.

  Ever since my dumb outburst the other night, that brightness was turned down, but now she’s ramped it up to eleven.

  “Thank you,” she says softly, and I duck my head, clearing my throat. “But...”

  “But nothing, lady. No use thanking me for apologizing like a decent human being.”

  “But it wasn’t all bad, you going crazy.” She leans back in her chair, her face flushing, and it ain’t just the fire. “I’d almost think you were jealous.”

  I shouldn’t say it.

  I do anyway.

  “What if I was?” I counter. “That’s Holt’s thing—moving in on what’s mine—and apparently he’s still stuck in high school. I let that shit get in my blood, and next thing you know, I’m practically banging my chest with both fists like you, Jane. You mine.”

  She bursts out laughing at my silly Tarzan impression, then lifts her eyes to the stars again, her smile only growing. “There’s no contest, Blake. You don’t have any reason to be jealous.”

  The humor fades. My eyes fix on her like a hunter’s. My blood goes molten.

  Then she reaches out her hand, stretching over the warm glow of the embers in the fire pit, her fingers curled and palm inviting.

  I don’t even hesitate.

  My fingers twine with hers, wrapping up that small soft warmth in my hand.

  Her smile only deepens.

  So does that heady, possessive burn in my chest.

  So does the ache below the beltline, the surefire knowledge that one fine day, I will mark this woman from the inside out. And when it happens, when we fuck, when we finally speak in flesh and heat and thundering moans, I’m not sure you mine will ever be a joke again.

  Tracing my fingers over her skin, I try to behave as her hand gets hotter, almost fiery in mine.

  Together, we watch the stars.

  13

  Rock and Roll Ain’t Easy (Peace)

  This place shouldn’t feel so much like home.

  It’s hard to remember it isn’t.

  I haven’t really had a home in years.

  My home is a burned-out van still going through a ton of body work and internal renovations at Mitch’s autobody shop.

  I take my home with me like a snail shell wherever I go.

  The dream of settling down died a long time ago, after Dad never came home and Mom closed off the way she did.

  I made myself believe home was in my heart.

  But maybe that’s why it’s so hard to shake this feeling. Blake’s house as home.

  He’s digging his way deeper into my heart with every touch and snarly-faced glance. And the last two weeks I’ve spent crashing at his place isn’t doing anything to put the brakes on.

  I get to see this man half-asleep in the morning with his hair sticking up everywhere and a faded old t-shirt clinging to his chest, his pajama pants threatening to fall off the beastly angles of his hips.

  I get to see him taut and ready and rushing to work, slinging into his coveralls at the report of a campfire gone wild in a nearby RV park.

  I get to see him tired at the end of the night—covered in grease and soot, shoulders heavy, but half the weight he carries is pride at a job well done.

  I get to see him love Andrea.

  I get to see him fight with her, too, even if she’s clearly trying to be on her best behavior with me around.

  Doesn’t mean they aren’t oil and water.

  No, let’s be honest, more like gas and flame.

  Their fights are combustive, but I try to sit them out.

  Except somehow, I always wind up helping, holding somebody’s hand until they feel better.

  It’s only temporary, I tell myself.

  I’m not the little woman here, no matter how many times I help around the house with breakfast and dinner and cleaning.

  I can’t stay forever.

  Blake can’t be responsible for me when Andrea’s his world.

  And I can’t keep scaring him every time I refuse his offer to chaperone me, and head out to my clients’ cabins and houses for work.

  I
hadn’t expected to be as busy as I am in a town this small, honestly.

  But there are a lot of seniors here. Arthritis and rheumatism everywhere. Things that flare up in winter in ways some medications just don’t help.

  It’s not all people work, either.

  Don’t ask me how I spend a day massaging an arthritic cow’s knees.

  Just don’t.

  I have the weirdest life sometimes.

  But it’s a long day out in the boonies beyond the limits of Heart’s Edge, and I’m already tired—but I’ve still got a full night ahead. I drive my little purple people eater rental car as fast as I can to zoom back to Blake’s house to shower up and get ready.

  By the time I’m finished and dragging on clean, warm clothes, there’s a knock at the door.

  I don’t even have to look outside to recognize Ember’s car. Grabbing my guitar case and tumbling down the stairs, I open the door to find her bright-eyed and happy in a white fluffy peacoat and matching gloves and cap.

  She doesn’t say anything, squealing with a grin.

  So do I.

  Tonight, it’s freaking happening.

  We’re bouncing and hugging each other before tumbling into my car for the drive to the radio station.

  It really does kind of feel like we’re in a movie.

  Blake invited us in for more than bumper music, to play over the airwaves, where we’ll get picked up and broadcast not just locally, but as far as Spokane and Coeur d’Alene and Missoula and Seattle.

  It’s exciting. Terrifying. Enthralling.

  I can’t wait.

  But as we buckle into the car, I glance over at Ember, who’s empty-handed.

  “Hey,” I say. “Where’s your violin?”

  She blinks, looking down at her hands as if she’s magically expecting the violin to appear out of nowhere. Her cheeks go bright pink.

  “Oh my God,” she says. “I was so excited I left it at the clinic!”

  I can’t help but laugh, too, even as I twist to shove my guitar into the back seat. “No worries. We’ve got a few minutes, and it’s on the way there. We’ll stop and pick it up.”

  She flashes me a grateful smile—then holds on to the oh-shit handles as I back the purple people eater—that’s its official name now because snozzberry makes me feel like I’m going to sneeze every time I say it—out of Blake’s driveway, doing a little fishtail spin before we hit the road.

  Ember lets out a whistle. “You handled that curve like a pro.”

  “I’ve gotten used to it.” I laugh. “My car’s smaller than Blake’s, so I can pull off the easy tricks. Maybe my next gig will be a stunt car driver.”

  That aches, though.

  In ways it never has.

  I’m so used to packing up and moving on when the work dries up or I just get the itch to be on the road, but...

  Somehow, I haven’t started feeling that itch here.

  I don’t think I want to leave.

  “Hmm. Don’t think there’s much work for that kind of driver here, Peace. But if you’re ever hard up...we can always use an extra hand at The Menagerie.” Ember smiles at me.

  “And let me lose my mind around those adorable animals all day?” I half-smile, my throat tight, touched at her offering even though I’m not hard up. “Thanks, but I’ve got plenty of work coming in. I always find something.”

  “So you’re not staying?” she asks in the gentle way she has that seems to invite people to spill their souls out.

  But it’s still hard for me to say it out loud.

  Hard for me to admit.

  “I...I kinda want to.” I bite my lip. “I think I want to stay with Blake.”

  “Oh, Peace!” She lights up with a smile. “How are things going with him?”

  “Maybe you tell me?” I whisper, my face flaming. “I mentioned the time he kissed me half to death, and I’ve been waiting for it to happen again...but I’m starting to worry he sees me like family. As in, blood family.”

  She looks amused. “Nah, I don’t think he’d get all roid ragey in his brother’s face over you if he saw you like kin.”

  “He might if he saw me the same way he sees his daughter. You know how he gets with Andrea and Clark. Totally overprotective.” I sigh deeply. “I mean, he apologized for that. For getting weird with Holt. And admitted he was jealous. And I told him he had no reason to be, and...”

  That’s it.

  Me, biting my lip like a schoolgirl waiting for the hottest boy ever to make a big move.

  I groan, thunking my forehead on the steering wheel for a second before straightening up to keep the car on the road.

  “He’s a tough nut to crack,” I mutter. “Every time I think I’m getting under his skin, he just pulls back, gets busy, like he’s trying real hard not to make a mistake with me.”

  “It’s sweet,” she whispers. “Frustrating as blazes, but sweet that he cares. His first wife died, and he’s got a daughter to protect. Even if he’s ready to open up, old habits die hard.”

  “I know,” I murmur, watching for her vet clinic’s sign. We’re getting close. “The thing is, I don’t want to push him so hard I break him.”

  Finally, we pull into the parking lot at The Menagerie.

  But something isn’t right.

  There’s an old boarded-up ice cream shop next to the clinic, empty, and—

  Oh, God.

  It’s billowing smoke.

  Thick plumes jet out of the side window, gathering in the narrow alley between the buildings and arcing toward the sky, flames leaping out of the open windows a second later.

  Jets that lash out at the clinic.

  And catch on the wood eaves lining the overhanging roof.

  Ember lets out a heartbreaking squeal, already scrambling for the door before I can even stop the car. “The animals!”

  Oh my God.

  Oh my God, there are live animals inside...and the clinic’s catching fire.

  Heart in my throat, sickness in my belly, I fly out after her, already reaching for my phone.

  “Don’t rush in!” I cry, though there’s no stopping her as she bolts for the front door, ripping her keys out of her pocket.

  We need help.

  And I know the only man to call.

  I’m hitting Blake’s contact and I can’t breathe for the three rings it takes him to pick up with a lazy, drawling, “Hey, sweetheart.”

  “Blake?” I gasp, though it comes out almost as more of a whimper. “Help—help, you’ve got to hurry. The Menagerie is on fire.”

  * * *

  The last time I watched Blake Silverton put out a fire, I ended up trying to stay out of the way even though I wanted nothing more than to help.

  This time, I wind up on the rescue crew.

  Because there were over two dozen animals inside the clinic, and Ember couldn’t wait.

  I couldn’t wait, either.

  So we formed a relay, ferrying the cages out to my car, and working carefully between us to lift and move a ginormous St. Bernard who was too drugged and injured to walk after he’d been in a car accident. The poor thing whimpered as we eased him along, and I made sure to turn the car heater on as high as it would go before leaving him bedded down on a spare blanket in the passenger seat.

  My car is full of grunting, mewing, and squawking in no time.

  And my arms are full of wriggling Labrador. There’s no more room in my car, and someone’s got to hold this chocolate-colored monster while Blake and his crew hose down the clinic and the shop next to it.

  At least it wasn’t as bad as the fabric place; we called it in just in time. The damage to The Menagerie looks pretty minor.

  But they had to break the doors on the vacant ice cream shop to get inside with a fire hose, and the smoke is gone except for a heavy, burning, chemical scent.

  Not good.

  Not at all.

  I don’t think fires normally smell like chemicals.

  I can’t help noticing how grim Bla
ke looks, marshaling Justin and Rich to do a few more runs with their gear to make sure they haven’t missed anything.

  He looks so troubled, even if he’s standing tall and strong in those fireman’s coveralls, soot streaked down one angular, chiseled cheek.

  I so wish I could go to him.

  But it’s me, the chocolate lab, and my freezing cheeks. The dog keeps licking me and then leaving it to turn into frost against my skin.

  Ember’s leaning hard on her husband—Doc.

  He showed up even before Blake, rushing inside to save what he could, dirt streaked up and down his normally immaculate button-down. The back of his truck is full of animal carriers and blankets, too.

  It took all four of us to get every pet to safety while Justin and Rich started on the flames, but at least we got them all out before they could suffer from the smoke.

  Doc sighs, his lips thinning.

  “We’ll start looking for a new place in the morning, Firefly,” he tells Ember.

  Her eyes widen, and she lifts her head, looking up at him.

  “You mean we’re...we’re abandoning The Menagerie?” she asks, her voice soft, small, destroyed.

  “Not abandoning,” Doc growls, his emerald-green eyes flashing behind his glasses. “Making do while it gets fixed.”

  My heart almost dies.

  The man has such a reputation around town for being cold, untouchable, those green eyes flinty and a little unnerving.

  But when he looks at Ember, they go so warm. There’s so much love in the way he holds her, the way he tucks her hair back, the way his voice softens just for her.

  Even when they’re sad, they have it all.

  A deep, secret part of me aches for someone to look at me that way.

  Make that a very specific someone.

  Doc half-smiles, tired and distracted. “Even if the damage was modest, we can’t keep sick animals here for now. There’ll be residual smoke and carcinogens, plus the reconstruction noise and sawdust won’t help, either. So we’ll find somewhere temporary that’s safe for them—and us—until we’re done rebuilding. It won’t take long. Promise.”