Dancing with Fire

by Susan Kearney

  “I’m not like you, Kaylin. I’m afraid to ask. I’m afraid of what he might say.”

  So much for the strong front Becca put on to face the world. Her sister might appear secure on the outside, but deep down, she was full of uncertainty.

  “Maybe you need some time apart. To get your head together. Give him time to miss you.”

  Becca frowned, obviously not liking that idea, either. “I don’t know.”

  “You could bring him over and let us check him out.”

  Becca grinned. “Maybe. But I don’t know when. I’m waitressing Saturday and Sunday nights. With Dad gone, I’ll work extra as long as you need me to.”

  “Everything helps. Thanks.”

  Interrupting the conversation, Lia, blond hair bouncing in a ponytail, skipped into the room, Randy on her heels. Her collar bones seemed too sharp, her face pale, but Lia’s energy seemed up. “I could work, too. Maybe get some babysitting jobs.”

  “What are you doing home from school?” Kaylin asked.

  “I didn’t go. I wasn’t ready.”

  “Okay.” Kaylin and Becca exchanged long looks and then made room for their sister, which wasn’t difficult considering she was a size zero. Kaylin plumped a pillow for her. “But no schoolnight babysitting jobs. You won’t be able to stay awake in class.”

  “Whatever.” Lia wormed into the bed between Becca and Kaylin. Randy followed suit, curling up in a spot by Kaylin’s feet. Lia, like a snuggly puppy that had run around excitedly and then collapsed, closed her eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.

  Kaylin must have fallen asleep again, too. She awakened later that afternoon, her neck stiff and cramped. Leaving her sisters asleep in her bed, she rolled out, shooed Randy downstairs and out the dog door to do his business, and then returned upstairs to hit the shower.

  She was finally ready to face the blinking message lights on her phone.

  7

  BEFORE KAYLIN could fix a cup of coffee or listen to messages, the kitchen phone rang. She recalled unplugging her bedroom phone this morning before her nap and guiltily answered. “Hello.”

  “Ms. Danner. Kaylin Danner?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Francis Lansky, your father’s attorney,” he introduced himself, his voice kind. She’d met Mr. Lansky after her mother’s death and again when the house title had been transferred from her parents’ names to Kaylin’s and her father’s so they could qualify for a refinance. She liked the elderly Southern gentleman, appreciated how he spoke simply and understandably about the law, without putting on airs or making her feel dumb. He’d also come to the funeral, although she hadn’t spoken to him. “First of all, I’d like to offer my condolences.”

  “Thank you.” And so it began. The awkward calls and strained silences that had punctuated the weeks and months after the loss of her mother started anew. Just because she’d been through it before didn’t make it any easier.

  “Would you like me to take care of the corporate details?” he offered.

  “Yes, thanks.” The fewer calls she had to make, the better.

  “Your father was a friend, and it’s the least I can do.” Her father had found friends in all walks of life, and it saddened her that she hadn’t known he and Mr. Lansky had been close. He cleared his throat. “Do you have time to meet me this afternoon? I can come to you.”

  “Now?”

  “It’s about your father’s estate. I believe you should know what he wanted.”

  “I understand.” She checked her watch. “I should have time to ask my sisters to join us.”

  Mr. Lansky cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry. You and Sawyer Scott are the sole heirs.”

  “What!” What had her father been thinking? For a moment, her suspicion of Sawyer rose. If he’d inherited anything . . . would that be a motive to blow up the lab? She doubted it. Likely whatever Sawyer had inherited had blown up.

  Mitzy stumbled into the kitchen. Looking hung over, her eyes bloodshot, she headed for the coffee pot.

  “So I’ll see you at four?” Mr. Lansky asked.

  “Four o’clock will be fine.” Kaylin had one last question. “Will you notify Sawyer?”

  “I’ll make all the arrangements. And again, I’m very sorry. Henry was a good man.”

  Kaylin swallowed the lump in her throat. Mitzy slumped at the kitchen table, her gaze on her coffee cup. If she’d slept, she didn’t look it. By her expression, one would never know that cheerful Florida sunshine poured into the kitchen along with the scent of orange blossoms. While the faint reek of smoke still clung to the cleared lot, the balmy breeze was either blowing in the other direction or the smell was already fading.

  Mitzy, sitting up straighter, spoke carefully. “I suppose you’ll be wanting Billy and me to move on.”

  Glad that she and Becca had already spoken about the matter, Kaylin felt free to have this discussion. In truth, if Becca had wanted Mitzy to leave, Kaylin didn’t know what she’d have done. But all she had to do was think what her father would have wanted. He’d adored Mitzy. She’d made him happy after their mother passed on. Becca liked her, too. And she paid her and Billy’s own way, helping out with the electric and grocery bills.

  Kaylin placed her hand over Mitzy’s shaking one. “This is your home. You’re welcome to stay.”

  She hoped the words would relieve Mitzy. But like a tropical rainstorm that opened up out of a cloudless sky, she started to cry. “I didn’t expect . . . I’m very grateful. Thank you.”

  Kaylin supposed she should have spoken to Lia, too, but she already knew Lia’s mind. She and Billy were friends and she didn’t need to lose her friend along with her dad. Still, Lia was growing up. Kaylin should start including her younger sister in the decisions.

  Kaylin topped off Mitzy’s coffee and poured herself a cup, then pulled up a chair at the table. “Mitzy, now may not be the best time, but we have to talk about Billy. I’m concerned.”

  “He’s a good boy.”

  “Billy needs help. He’s using drugs.”

  Mitzy shrugged and mopped her eyes with a napkin. “He’s a kid. All kids experiment.”

  “He’s doing more than experimenting.” Half a dozen times in the last few months Kaylin had seen him high.

  “I’ll have a word with him,” Mitzy promised and sighed. “Henry and I wanted him to finish high school. Maybe go to trade school after that. Car mechanics make good money.”

  The phone rang. Kaylin awkwardly patted Mitzy on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”

  She picked up the phone. “Hello?” This time she was surprised to hear a voice she didn’t recognize. “Ms. Danner, my name is Dean Witman. I’m sorry for your loss, and I know this may be too soon to intrude on your grief . . . but I wanted you to know that I’m interested in purchasing your father’s business.” He quickly reeled off his phone number, and automatically she wrote it down.

  “I’m not sure there’s anything left to sell.”

  “Just promise me you won’t do anything with his assets, that you won’t sell them to anyone else until I have a chance to make an offer.”

  Like people would be coming out of the woodwork to purchase a black patch of earth? “Sure. I’ll do that.”

  Kaylin hung up the phone and stared down at it, trying to process the exchange. The man had sounded kind enough, eager. Maybe too eager? Before she had a chance to come to a conclusion, the phone rang again. As if on cue, the bell on the front door chimed. She ignored the phone. Mr. Lansky had arrived, and she wanted to get this meeting over with.

  Only when she opened the front door, the family attorney wasn’t there—it was Sawyer. But he wasn’t dressed for any lawyer meeting. He was bare-chested again. Either his skin was naturally bronzed, or the guy had an incredible tan. All that skin plus his powerful sh
oulders and that triangular dusting of hair drew her gaze downward. Where it didn’t belong. She tried to keep her eyes on his face, his brilliant blue eyes, the wide jaw, the stubble already shadowing his chin, although she was fairly certain that he’d shaved this morning.

  As she stared into his face, she recalled his hard chest against hers as they’d rolled on the lawn, his arms protecting her, his hands gentle as they’d snuffed out embers. Her thoughts were inappropriate, and she stuffed down the memory. Packed it away where it couldn’t see daylight.

  Sawyer was a gentleman. Her father’s partner. He’d simply been kind. And she was relieved to see him.

  In jeans too low cut to be decent, he stood on their front stoop with a sharp expression in his eyes. “Would you happen to have any spare rollers?”

  “Rollers?”

  He held up a paint roller, the rounded end caked with old paint. Someone had forgotten to wash it after use. From the dark green color, it appeared to match the house’s shutters. She’d forgotten he’d planned to paint this week after the primer dried.

  “There’s extra paint in your garage,” he explained with patience, as if he didn’t expect her to remember. “I thought I’d touch up the scorched side of the house. But this roller’s seen better days.” He looked her straight in the eye—as if he had nothing else on his mind but the task at hand.

  “Did Mr. Lansky call you?” she asked.

  He frowned, the crinkles at his blue eyes deepening. “Why would your father’s attorney want to talk to me?”

  That’s what she’d like to know. “He’ll be here shortly, and he requested your presence at the reading of Dad’s will.”

  “Okay. I’ll be here for the meeting.” When she didn’t say anything more, Sawyer raised an eyebrow. “The rollers?”

  Her hand fluttered toward his chest then back down to her side. “Don’t you want to put on a shirt?”

  “It’s hot. Upwards of eighty-five in the sun.” He grinned. “And I’m working on my tan.”

  His tan already looked great to her. Which was damn annoying. She had no business noticing that—however, she couldn’t exactly help it when he showed off those pecs right in front of her. So don’t look. Yeah, right. Like that was possible.

  She turned around and headed for the laundry room. Sawyer followed her through the foyer and kitchen and down a short hall. It had only been a few days since her father’s death, and she had no business appreciating so much as one glance at all that bronzed and toned skin.

  She turned on the laundry room’s light and peered above the washer and dryer, where shelves held an assortment of tools, cleaning sprays, paper towels, and various hardware that had overflowed from the garage. “We might have an extra roller in here.”

  Sawyer reached up to the top shelf and pulled down several plastic baskets crammed with broken knobs, string, scissors, an old lunch box, and all kinds of junk. In the close space, his male scent drifted to her—earthy, with a hint of spice.

  She scooted forward to avoid touching him. But she was aware of his every movement as his strong hands efficiently moved aside a crock pot, two kites, mosquito repellent, and a spare dog bowl left over from Randy’s puppyhood. Sawyer seemed to have absolutely no idea that they were only inches apart, that she could feel heat radiating off his body, that when he stretched to reach the back of the shelf, his jeans dropped lower on his hips.

  She swallowed hard.

  Barking, Randy ran through the kitchen, his paws scrabbling on the hardwood floor. In his eagerness to reach them, he knocked into the laundry door, shutting Sawyer and her inside the small room, which suddenly seemed tinier than a mouse trap. Randy kept barking and scratching the door, demanding they let him in.

  Kaylin would have reopened the door, but with space so tight, she couldn’t do so without turning around and reaching past about an acre of flesh. Very male, very sculpted flesh.

  God.

  What was with her? So what if he didn’t have a shirt on? So what if he was chiseled? So what if he looked more mouthwatering than fresh berries with whipped cream at the Florida Strawberry Festival?

  She didn’t know the man. Before a few days ago—when they’d rolled around in the grass—they probably hadn’t spoken ten words in the last five months. Suddenly they were in a space so tight, that with each whiff of his primal scent, she couldn’t stop her nostrils flaring. Her pulse was up. Her stomach a tight ball of nerves.

  “Here they are.” His voice sounded casual, yet triumphant. He reached to the very back of the laundry shelf, and his chest cradled her back, his hips nestled intimately against her butt. “Excuse me.”

  Was that amusement she heard in his tone?

  Outside Randy kept barking. Someone yanked open the laundry room door. “Randy, I swear,” Mitzy scolded the dog, “there’s no one . . . Sawyer? Kaylin?”

  Kaylin turned and peered around Sawyer. Mitzy’s eyebrows shot up until her forehead wrinkled. Her eyes widened in shock. “What’s going on?”

  Great. Just what Kaylin needed. Mitzy jumping to conclusions. Mitzy loved gossip. Lived for gossip. From her expression, no doubt she believed she’d just discovered a juicy story to share at Betsy’s Hair Emporium. No doubt the incident would hit every home in Riverview by next week.

  Mitzy looked from Sawyer to Kaylin, grinned, then winked at Kaylin with approval. “Don’t worry,” Mitzy said as if reading Kaylin’s mind, “I won’t say a thing.”

  “There’s nothing to say. Sawyer needed a paint roller. Randy slammed the door shut.” Kaylin would have brushed by Sawyer—except there was no room. Now that she’d spun around, she and Sawyer were face to face, her chest almost brushing his. She was certain there wasn’t enough air in here, despite the open door. The guy was big. Too big. Too attractive.

  For one moment, she prayed Randy would slam the door shut again and Mitzy would disappear, then she’d be free to lean into him and absorb some of that heat. Some of his strength.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She really wasn’t herself. She put down her inappropriate thoughts to Sawyer’s scent playing with her libido.

  “Is that the doorbell?” Kaylin asked, her voice worried, but worried was okay. She had a lot on her mind. “Mr. Lansky must be here. We need to go.” She placed both palms on Sawyer’s chest and gave him a little push. He didn’t budge. He simply peered down at her, his eyes bright with amusement.

  She prayed she hadn’t acquired a new habit of turning red when she was embarrassed or that he could read her momentary discomfort. However, he appeared distracted, so maybe he hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Like her yearning to run her hands across his . . . his everything. What the hell?

  Impatient with herself, she let an edge creep into her tone. “Come on, Sawyer. Move.”

  Mitzy took two steps back, but not enough to let Sawyer pass by. Her gaze speared Kaylin. Her eyes might still be bloodshot, but she appeared clearheaded. “Did you say your father’s attorney is here?”

  “Yes. He wants to talk to me.”

  “And Sawyer?” Mitzy guessed. But how? Unless she’d overheard the conversation at the front door.

  It didn’t matter. Kaylin shrugged. “Mr. Lansky’s following Dad’s request.”

  Mitzy nodded, her eyes calm, the circles not as dark as earlier. She’d repaired her makeup and hair, and maybe she’d slept. “Your father counted on Sawyer with the business. I’m sure he’ll be helpful to you, dear.” She stepped back with a pleased look on her face. As if she knew something Kaylin didn’t.

  With the doorbell ringing and Randy barking, there was no time for conversation. Kaylin hurried to the front door. But Lia, Billy, and Becca had already beaten her to it.

  Her sisters were speaking quietly to Mr. Lansky, a tall, thin man with graying hair and bushy eyebrows in need of a trim. Billy hovered, half in and half out of the
foyer. Kaylin took a good look at him. For once, he didn’t look wasted, not the least bit high.

  He wore clean pants and a new shirt. A fourth earring marked a new piercing. His shirt hid his latest tattoo. Billy almost looked . . . respectable, and Kaylin wondered if cleaning up had been his idea or his mother’s.

  Her sisters turned to her with frowns. Becca folded her arms over her chest and tried to hide her hurt. “Mr. Lansky wants to talk to you and Sawyer alone. What’s going on, Kaylin?”

  “I have no idea. But whatever’s mine is yours. Don’t worry, Becca. You either, Lia. We’re in this together—no matter what. Okay?” Kaylin leaned forward, hugged both sisters, and Billy slunk further into the shadows.

  When Kaylin saw Sawyer outside on the porch, heading toward her and the front door, she blinked in surprise. She hadn’t realized he hadn’t followed her through the house. Instead, he must have gone out and around the back. He now wore a shirt. She caught his eye and nodded her thanks.

  And reminded herself to have another talk with Mitzy about Billy. They had to see what they could do to make him feel more a part of the family. She didn’t approve of the drugs and believed he used them to bolster his self-esteem. And she worried about where Billy got the money for drugs since he didn’t have a job. She prayed he wasn’t dealing, because they couldn’t come up with money for bail, or even rehab for that matter.

  However, she shouldn’t borrow trouble. She had enough on her plate. And now with Mr. Lansky here to discuss the estate, she suspected more problems could be coming her way.

  8

  KAYLIN SETTLED Mr. Lansky and Sawyer in her father’s office and served iced tea along with Mitzy’s home-baked chocolate rum-raisin cookies. Kaylin and Sawyer sat side by side on the sofa, carefully not touching, and the attorney took the wing chair across the coffee table.

  After setting down his sweet tea, Mr. Lansky opened his briefcase and removed a thick sheaf of documents. Kaylin wasn’t surprised her father had his estate in order. He’d always kept meticulous records. If he used cash, he had a receipt and filed it in the correct expense account folder. He kept books the way he kept his journal: neat, precise, and up-to-date.