Close To The Fire

by Suzanne Ferrell

  The clatter of pans behind her made her look to see how far Kyle was to being done. Looked like four big pots left to do. Refocusing on the bookkeeping program, she hurried to get all the data entered before Kyle was finished with the pots. She didn’t want him thinking she couldn’t work as efficiently on the computer as he could in the kitchen.

  Besides, she glanced out into the dark night outside the office window, walking out to the parking lot at night by herself, even in small-town Westen, gave her the creeps. Especially after the crazed-newspaperman-turned-meth-kingpin had been on the loose in town last spring. You never knew who or what might be out there.

  After glancing at the clock, Kyle focused all his attention on scrubbing down the last pot. It had been more than an hour since the fire trucks had gone screaming down Main Street. Ever since he could remember, he hated the sound of fire trucks or fire drill alarms in schools. A shudder ran through him. His breathing hitched. Sweat broke out on his face again. Same as it had with the first siren tonight.

  The psychologists called it a visceral response to how his parents had died.

  Yeah, right. For all their fancy letters behind their names, those docs didn’t know squat.

  He’d been having the same response long before that ever happened. Probably the smell of smoke on his dad was the trigger. He’d reeked of smoke every time he came in drunk to beat on him and his mom—always after fire trucks would shatter the quiet night.

  For all their training, no one ever asked him that.

  He’d kept his secret.

  He’d come outside to get Leo for dinner. The door to the shed was open. He wasn’t supposed to go inside. Ever.

  What did Leo do out there?

  He peeked inside. There was a work table with all kinds of things on it. Spools of wire. Pieces of clocks. Bottles.

  Suddenly he was grabbed up by the back of his shirt, his feet dangling from the ground.

  “What are you doing, brat?”

  He gulped hard and stared at the huge work boots, too scared to see Leo’s face contort with rage. He’d seen it too many times in his life already. “Din…dinner,” he managed to whisper.

  “You know better than to go into the shed.” The monster that was his father shook him hard.

  “Didn’t…didn’t go…in.”

  His feet hit the ground as quickly as they’d left. The shadow switched and a hand came to force his face up to meet his father’s scarred one.

  “Don’t tell anyone, boy. Forget what you saw. Understand me?” Eyes the same steely grey as his bored into him with an intensity that warned of dire consequences should he fail to heed the warning.

  He’d nodded and never went back to that shed again.

  “You’re gonna scrub a hole in the bottom of that thing.”

  He jumped, sloshing water over the side of the tub and down his shirt.

  “OMG,” she said, running to grab a dish towel.

  “No biggie,” he said as he set the pot back in the water, gathered up the bottom of the shirt and wrung out as much of the water into the empty side sink as he could.

  She held out the dish towel. “I’m really sorry. I thought you heard me coming up behind you.”

  He took it, wiping the water off his arms and the front of his jeans. He looked up to see her smiling at him, laughter in her twinkling eyes. She wasn’t laughing at him. Not like so many others had over the years. No, she was laughing at what had happened and that she’d managed to surprise him.

  Earlier he’d been surprised to hear her singing along to that old song that got stuck in his head. She had a great voice and picked up the harmonies without any effort. Of course, he shouldn’t be surprised. There didn’t seem to be anything she wasn’t good at.

  Great. Now he sounded like some stupid crushing noob. Bad enough that when she teased or flirted with him he could barely talk.

  “Thanks,” he said, handing her back the towel then turned back to the pot. “I’m just about done.”

  “I really didn’t mean to make you get all wet.”

  Something in the way she said it—a slight hesitation in her voice—made him look over his shoulder at her.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, but softened it with a wink.

  She blushed.

  His hands froze in the hot, soapy water. His heart kicked up a notch. God. She was even prettier with her cheeks all pink like that.

  “Um, I could make it up by giving you a ride home.” She licked her lips and then bit down on her lower lip.

  Kyle tightened his grip on the pot. “Um. Okay.”

  She smiled, the odd sense of nervousness gone from her face once more. “Okay. I’ll get my stuff and turn out the lights in the front while you finish up.”

  She whirled around and almost ran from the kitchen.

  He continued to watch the space where she’d just been, wondering what had just happened. Because something had happened. He was sure of it.

  Blinking, he turned back to finish scrubbing the pot. Didn’t want her to come back finding him staring like some stupid statue. Finished scrubbing away the last of the cooked cheese from the macaroni and cheese Pete had made earlier, Kyle rinsed and dried the pot. Finally, he set it in the big rack under the kitchen-prep island, right where Pete had told him it went.

  The guy reminded him of some of the old homeless vets he’d seen on the streets of Columbus and Cincinnati when he’d lived in those cities. But Pete wasn’t confused or strung out. Nope. He was a great cook and liked his kitchen just the way he wanted it. Kyle wasn’t going to mess with his process. Especially if it meant he got free meals.

  The sound of jingling keys to his left caught his attention. Rachel came to a stop in the doorway.

  “Here,” she said holding something out to him.

  He looked at the dark-grey cloth. “What is it?”

  “A dry shirt. One of the new ones my mom has for sale.” She stepped closer, still holding it out to him.

  He held up his hands, palm outward. “Nope. Can’t take anything. She might think I stole it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She bought tons of them and expects the staff to start wearing them as free advertising starting next week. You are staff here, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’m giving you yours early.” She stuck it out again, this time hitting him in the chest with it. “Go on. Change shirts,” she said, sounding every bit as tough as Miss Lorna. “Besides, if she knew I caused you to get soaking wet and didn’t offer you one, she’d tan my backside.”

  “Yeah, like I believe she’d ever hit you,” he said, whipping the wet shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. He took the shirt from her. After he pulled it over his head, he found her staring oddly at him. “Rachel?”

  “Um, yes, well, Mom never hit me.” Rachel stepped away, turning her back to go retrieve her backpack from where she’d left it in the doorway. “Not like in a mean way or out of anger. More like spanked me when I was in need of one, usually for blatantly disobeying a safety rule. And I can count those times on one hand. Mom is very just and only metes out punishment when it’s deserved. Always explains why. When I was little I’d go to the time out corner. Now, mostly I get grounded or my phone taken away.”

  “That’s good,” he said, picking up his wet shirt and following her to the back door.

  “It’s good I got my phone taken away?” She set the alarm and the two of them stepped out into the alley. The light over the back door lit up the porch and doorway so she could see to lock the two deadbolts. The alley was dark, except for the light over where Miss Lorna’s car sat. “It’s over there. Mom will drive the van to our house.”

  He walked silently with her to the car and climbed into the passenger side, thinking about how she could count the exact number of times her mother had spanked her, while he’d dodged Leo’s fists so many times, the number seemed infinite.

  They drove on with only music from her phone playing through the speakers breaki
ng the silence. It didn’t take long for them to pull up outside the Colbert House.

  “Thanks,” he said reaching for the door handle.

  “You never answered my question,” she said, laying her hand on his arm, stopping his exit.

  “No. I don’t think it’s good your mom takes away your phone. I think it’s good she’s never hit you. No one should ever get hit in their own home.”

  Before she could say anything more, he got out of the car and jogged up to the door. The sympathy in her eyes fueling his escape.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They rode in silence all the way back to town. Libby stared out into the dark night, her nerves and emotions still raw from holding him as he’d cried. Old wounds she’d been sure were good and healed felt as fresh as if someone had torn the scabs right off them.

  How must he feel?

  At least she’d had her mother and friends to help her grieve for Bill. But Deke had held his grief close, closing out his mother same as he had her. Probably hadn’t shared his pain with her before she moved to South Carolina last year. He’d lost his father right after finishing college. She doubted he’d even talked with Gage about the fire or Bill’s death. No, he’d been the lone wolf, nursing his own wounds.

  “Why didn’t you let me come see you at the hospital?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  “I was in the burn unit, Libby.” His tone suggested his comment needed no further explanation.

  Well, dammit, she wanted some answers.

  “You mean no one was ever allowed to visit anyone? Ever?” she snapped, unable to keep her frustration in check.

  He didn’t answer for a few moments. “Visitors were limited. The risk of infection was very high.”

  “So no one came to see you?”

  Another long pause, as if he were measuring his words. “My captain and a few of the others came by.”

  “So, it was just me you didn’t want to see.” This time it was hurt in her voice and she hated sounding so childish.

  He pulled up beside her car in the empty parking lot. “Libby, it wasn’t like that—”

  She held up a hand to cut him off. She turned to look at him, the street light behind him casting shadows over the planes of his face. “I wanted to be there for you. To know you would survive. That the fire hadn’t taken both of the men in my life from me.”

  Tears started afresh.

  “Libby.”

  He reached for her again, but this time she bolted from the car before she turned back into a sniveling wimp, incapable of controlling her own emotions.

  As she fumbled for her car keys, she heard the slam of a car door.

  “Dammit, Elizabeth.” Deke stepped up behind her, his arms coming around her once more, imprisoning her between his warm body and the metal of her car. “Let me take you home. You’re not in any shape to drive.”

  She started to shake her head no at his pity, but his lips landed on her temple.

  Such a simple touch. A kiss of comfort.

  Suddenly, he turned her, cupping her face with his big, work-worn hands. Pain and desire warred in his deep-brown eyes. “Ah, God, Libs,” he moaned a second before his mouth descended on hers.

  A hot, searing kiss that shot right through her. She clutched his shirt in both her fists, parting her lips and meeting his tongue, thrust for thrust, wanting to get closer to him.

  So long.

  It had been so long since he’d held her, kissed her. So long since she tasted the essence of him, the pure male scent of him and the smokiness from the fire mixed to fill her head with such desire. So long since she’d felt this alive.

  He lifted his lips for a brief moment, took a breath and claimed them again, tilting her head in the other direction with his hands. It was as if he couldn’t decide which angle gave him better access to her, his need to claim her more powerful than the distance he’d tried to put between them all these years.

  Why had he hidden from this? From her?

  She pulled her lips away from his. “Deke,” she said through a breath, making her sound whispery.

  It didn’t stop him. Moving his hand, he simply traced his lips along her jawline towards her ear. “Mmm,” he murmured as his lips pulled on the lobe, his breath teasing that spot just below that he knew drove her crazy. He’d always used it to get her to bend to his desires, his needs.

  Anger shot through her.

  Not this time.

  She released his shirt, wiggling her hands between them to land on the hard planes of his chest. With all the strength she could muster, she shoved him back. “Stop!”

  He stumbled back a step, releasing her, confusion clouding his eyes. As if not believing she wanted him to really stop, he reached for her again. “What the—?”

  She planted her hand in the center of his chest and locked her elbow. “No, Deacon. Not this time.”

  His first name in the pissed-off tone finally got through to him. He’d always had a love-hate relationship with the name. Taking a step back, he shoved his hands through his hair then to the back of his neck. A sure sign of his frustration.

  “What did I do?” he asked, the word half question, half accusation.

  Slowly she inhaled, then let it out before focusing on the now irritated male standing an arm’s length—her arm’s length—away. What she said next would either give them a step to healing this rift between them—and there was a lot to fix—or send them back to the point of ignoring each other for the rest of their lives.

  “Libby?” he asked, this time a little gentler.

  “You don’t get to do this, Deacon.” She pointed one finger of her free hand at him. “You don’t get to turn your back on me when I needed you most, ignore me for ten freaking years, then suddenly kiss me like your life, my life, our lives depended on it.”

  “Lib—” He growled softly, starting forward again, but she pushed her hand hard against his chest, forcing him to stop.

  “No. Not without answers. It’s the rules, Libby, isn’t going to really work for me. Until you’re ready to talk, really talk about the fire, Bill’s death and why you closed me out, we can’t move on. No matter how wonderful it feels to be in your arms, kissing you. I deserve better than that.”

  He stared at her, his mouth slightly open.

  Blinking again, but this time to focus her anger, she fumbled with her purse a moment and snatched up her keys. She unlocked the door and climbed in. After starting the engine, she rolled down the window to look at him. His mouth pressed in a firm line, his hands shoved in the front of his jeans, he was as stiff as an ancient oak.

  “If the man I loved is still somewhere in there, you know where I live and you’ll respect me enough to come talk with me. Honestly and openly. Otherwise, I’d rather live my life without you in it.”

  She put the car in gear, pulled out and drove away, praying all the way her ultimatum hadn’t just destroyed their future.

  * * * * *

  Deke slammed the kitchen door behind him. Dropping his keys on the counter, he pulled a glass out of the cupboard then reached in the far back corner of the pantry for the bottle of double-blend scotch he kept hidden back there. He’d made a promise to Gage’s dad that he’d get sober and he had. He’d climbed out of that bottle and had no intentions of ever going back in. But sometimes he just needed something to take the edge off.

  Like tonight.

  He opened the bottle, poured just two fingers’ worth into the glass, deliberately put the lid back on and stored the bottle in its spot behind the jars of spaghetti sauce and cans of baked beans. Out of sight, not easy to reach for a second helping.

  Carrying the glass loosely in his right hand, he strode into his living room and collapsed onto the leather couch. He took a sip of the amber liquid, letting the slow burn ease down his throat, then leaned his head back. Staring at the wood beams that ran across the width of the ceiling, all he could see was the taillights of Libby’s car as she’d driven away.


  He’d stood there in the dark parking lot, stunned that she’d not only stopped him in the hottest kiss he’d had since the last time he’d held her in his arms, but that she’d sounded upset. No, not upset. Pissed.

  It had taken him a few minutes to close his mouth, calm his own anger and really hear what she’d said to him.

  Until you’re ready to talk, really talk about the fire, Bill’s death and why you closed me out, we can’t move on.

  How could she ask that of him? Didn’t she know he lived with Bill’s death every day? Saw the fire in his head, Bill slipping over the edge into the fiery abyss blow? Was reminded every time he looked into the mirror, saw the scars? His own guilt eating away at him every time he heard the scratchy sound of his own damaged voice?

  No. She didn’t know that. She couldn’t know that because he’d never told her, never told anyone. He took another slow sip of the whiskey, picturing her beautiful face looking at him with determination as she’d pushed him away.

  No matter how wonderful it feels to be in your arms, kissing you. I deserve better than that.

  Yes, she was right. She did deserved better than the way he’d treated her the past ten years. Hell, she deserved better than him. She deserved someone solid, unscarred, safe—like that newsman Sean Callahan.

  The idea of her with anyone else hit him like a sucker-punch. He couldn’t stand the thought of her with the newsman. Hell, it wasn’t just Sean. He couldn’t stomach the idea of Libby with any other man, no matter how good they might be.

  You know where I live and you’ll respect me enough to come talk with me. Honestly and openly.

  Could he do that? Could he tell her the truth about how her brother died and his part in it? Would she ever forgive him once she knew?

  If the man I loved is still somewhere in there.

  Was he? Was that man somewhere still inside? Could he be that man again? For her?

  He swallowed the last of the whiskey and set the glass on the table, the urge to pour another one coursing through him. With all his will he got up and walked to his bedroom, turning his back on the call of the alcohol. It had taken months, but he’d crawled out of that bottle. One hard step at a time. Facing the truth with Libby would be an even harder journey.