Light My Fire

by Christie Ridgway

  "It gives me something to do," she muttered. Some way to work off her anxiety. "What if they don't come?"

  "They'll come. They said they would."

  "But what if they don't?"

  He turned around and put his hands on his hips. "We'll pack up lots of leftovers and we'll hit the sack early. See? Win-win."

  It was his turn to make her smile. "You'd like that, would you?"

  His arm stretched out and he snagged her by the belt loop to haul her close. He smelled like soap and that exotic aftershave of his. "I—"

  Whatever he was about to say was lost as he went on alert. "Car at the gates, baby." Turning her around, he swatted her on the butt. "You've got yourself a party."

  He was right. Within fifteen minutes, their guests had arrived. Walsh and Reed first, with no new news about the missing Beck, though they seemed certain he would eventually turn up no worse for wear. When Cilla prodded them about providing his email address so she could at least try making contact, Walsh shook his head at her.

  "Silly Cilla," he said. He had nut-brown hair and deep brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he grinned. "Beck doesn't do technology."

  "Complete Luddite," Reed confirmed, who was taller than his brother by an inch and had eyes a startling blue. He crossed to the under-counter refrigerator that they'd stocked with beers, waters, and sodas. With an easy underhand, he tossed a Negro Modelo to Walsh and then sent another Ren's way. "Anyway, his travels don't take him to internet-friendly territory."

  "If he's lost, he's probably enjoying the hell out of it." Walsh wrapped an arm around Cilla's shoulders and drew her close. "Wipe that worry off your face, sweet pea," he said with an easy smile. "You're far too pretty to fret."

  "Walsh," Ren called, his voice sharp.

  The other man looked up, his lips still curved. "Yo."

  "Truck at the gate. Go greet the new arrivals, will you?"

  "Sure." His hand slid down Cilla's arm to capture her fingers. "Coming, hon?"

  "Uh, no," Ren answered, snagging her other hand to pull her free of Walsh's hold. "She stays here with me."

  His brows shot up, then he glanced from Ren to Cilla. "Uh, sure, man." Then he strolled away, whistling.

  Ren thumbed her chin. "Remember he's not your brother either," he murmured. "Now what would you like to drink?"

  By the time he'd poured her a glass of wine, the rest of their guests joined them. Cami had hitched a ride with Payne. Bing and Brody had shown up right behind them and they'd brought Alexa Alessio.

  "I hope I'm not intruding," the young woman said. She was petite, with nearly black hair highlighted with copper and gold threads. Her eyes were heavily lashed and a warm brown. "I know it's a family thing—"

  "We're not all really family," Reed said. "Not in the way you mean, anyway."

  As she crossed the patio to pass Cami and Alexa the glasses of wine they'd requested, Cilla felt Ren's gaze on her and heard his voice. Promise me you won't expect too much. "Each one of us might not be related," she said, unable to help herself, "but we've shared experiences—"

  "Yeah," Payne said in a sarcastic tone. "So many happy times."

  Ren narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Bro, come over here and help me get this food off the grill. Cami, can you get the condiments from the fridge?"

  Under Ren's direction, they all pitched in to put together the last details of the meal. Drinks refreshed, they gathered around the large patio table, plates filled with barbecued chicken, potato salad, baked beans, and servings of the monstrous green salad that Alexa had contributed.

  Cilla was the last to find her seat and before they dug in, all heads naturally turned to Ren, who'd been given the chair at the head of the table. His brows rose as he took in their expectant expressions. "Uh..."

  "Say a few words," Cami encouraged, sending him a small grin.

  He shook his head. "Really?"

  "Toast!" Reed called out, and then the rest of them joined in the chant. "Toast, toast, toast."

  "Okay, okay," Palms out, Ren quieted the gathering. He lifted his beer. "To all of you, who responded to my not-so-subtle arm-twisting when I said I wanted to get together after eight years away from the States."

  "To us!" the group responded.

  "And to Gwen," Ren continued, "who I think we all miss very much."

  "To Gwen!"

  Then his gaze shifted to Cilla. She held her breath. "And to Cilla, who..." He looked away, looked back. "Who made the gallons of baked beans and potato salad we're about to enjoy, and who reminds me...who reminds me..."

  An awkward silence developed. She felt her face go hot. Then she jumped to her feet and held her glass aloft. "Who reminds you, who wants to remind all of us, that when life gives you the Lemons you—"

  "Make lemonade," the others finished for her. Some said it with a groan, some said it with a grin, but familiar glances were exchanged around the table and Cilla decided it was definitely a Moment.

  There were others as they enjoyed the food. Reed bouncing a balled napkin off Payne's forehead when the other man maligned his favorite basketball team. Bing and Brody thumb wrestling over who was to get up and retrieve more beers. It was even a Moment when the eye-rolling (from the women) trash talk (amongst the men) evolved into a challenge over a game of horse shoes. The six Lemon boys divided into teams which left the women with the detritus scattered on the table. Still, Cilla couldn't help but smile as she rose to clear it away, ignoring Ren's command to leave it until the horse shoes competition was over.

  It wasn't a hardship to clean up when she had the company of Cami and Alexa.

  The three chatted as the men began their competition around the sand pits they could see in the distance. Alexa mentioned an upcoming wedding in the family, some big Italian thing that required her to be one of the wedding party. When Cilla tried prying by asking who she'd be taking as a date (hoping to get some greater insight into her relationship with Brody) the other woman turned red and mumbled something unintelligible. Then Cilla turned her attention to Cami. She was focused on the horse shoes game, a stack of paper plates in her hands. Cilla joined her, also taking in the gathering of good-looking males. "Nice to see almost all of them together, wouldn't you say?"

  "A surprise," Cami responded. "Frankly, I didn't think I'd ever see Ren in Southern California again."

  "Perhaps he'll come back more often now." Or stay, Cilla's hopeful heart whispered.

  Cami sent her a skeptical glance. "Maybe he's mellowed a bit. Maybe he's mended some of his wild ways. But I don't see him suddenly becoming the chummy sort. Not with the other Lemon kids. He was always a loner."

  But he was chummy with them once, she wanted to protest. It was on the tip of Cilla's tongue to tell Ren's sister about the photographs and how delightful it was to see that evidence of a childhood filled with simple pleasures and camaraderie.

  But Ren had spirited the box away the day they'd discovered it and she supposed he wanted to put the contents on view when he deemed the time was right.

  After horse shoes, the party re-gathered under two patio heaters. Flames leaped in the outdoor fireplace adding an intimate atmosphere. Dessert and coffee were passed about and then someone produced two decks of cards and began teaching the rest of them a cutthroat game that had half the table laughing in triumph and the other half uttering dire threats.

  Cilla's cheeks hurt, she was smiling so widely. It's like a family, she thought. This is what a real family would be like.

  But as the afternoon wore into evening, she worried Ren might miss his opportunity to share his inheritance from Gwen. Her concern edged toward anxiety when she realized he had removed himself from the group altogether. He stood at the edge of the patio, in the shadows where the lights couldn't reach. His back to the noisy party, he stared out into the surrounding canyon darkness.

  As she crossed to him, in the distance a wild animal yipped in pain.

  Cilla's skin prickled with chills even as she told herself to ig
nore the bad omen. She touched the small of his back, then let her hand drop when he didn't turn toward her or even acknowledge her presence.

  "Well," she said, a defiant note of cheer in her voice. "I think it's a success. Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time." Everyone except you.

  He grunted, his gaze never leaving the black night.

  Cilla wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm. "People are making sounds about leaving soon, though. So you might want to get them out now."

  "Get out what?" he said, sounding puzzled.

  "The photos," Cilla said. "Don't you want to give everybody a chance to see them?"

  She didn't have to be touching him to sense his sudden stillness. "Those were left to me."

  "Yes, but you should share them," she insisted. "Don't you think? Share the tangible proof of those good times that seem to have been forgotten."

  "No."

  "Ren—"

  "I told you not to expect too much," he said, and then strode off into the darkness with quick strides.

  Leaving her behind.

  At the rebuff, a sting of tears pricked Cilla's eyes. But she squared her shoulders and dredged up some of her father's showmanship. Mad Dog Maddox was known for his onstage antics and she attempted her own display of theatrical ability by returning to the others with a smile affixed and held there by sheer force of will.

  It remained pinned through the goodbyes. Ren had returned—his expression cool and his body stiff—but he stood nearby as she doled out farewell hugs and cheek kisses. Packages of leftover brownies were met with sincere appreciation. Payne was the last to head out.

  Wearing a faint smile, he accepted his packet of goodies. "Gwen would have loved this," he said.

  "Yeah." Cilla nodded.

  He glanced in the direction of his half-brother. "You and Ren—"

  "There's no me and Ren," she hastened to say.

  Payne smiled. "I was going to say you and Ren did good today—making this happen. Thanks."

  "Oh." Cilla felt her face flush. "You're welcome."

  Then he bent to kiss her hot cheek. "Stay happy."

  It was hard to follow that command as she returned to Gwen's cottage. Ren had disappeared altogether. Cilla prepared for sleep, trying to ignore the knowledge that for the first time since he'd arrived, she was going to bed in an empty house. And for the first time in days, she was going to bed alone.

  Apparently the attempt at togetherness with the rest of the Lemon kids resulted in a separation from the man that she loved.

  Chapter 13

  Bleary-eyed, Cilla made her way from the bedroom to the kitchen. It was nearing ten a.m., but she'd stayed awake long into the night, listening to the silence. Ren hadn't come home during the hours she stared at the darkness, but she figured he was once again in residence.

  She smelled coffee.

  It drew her forward, and she didn't hesitate. She needed caffeine more than she needed to tiptoe around Ren.

  Anyway, she'd already decided how she was going to handle the man. If he was offhand, she'd be unruffled. If he was cool, she'd be ice. If he was distant, she'd be Antarctica (which had the benefit of being both a faraway and a frozen land).

  He stood by the French door, his back to her, mug in hand. Broad-shoulder, lean-hipped, and a complete bastard.

  Without a pause and without a word, she continued toward the coffee maker on stocking feet. At the splash of brew into the bottom of her cup, he turned.

  She kept her focus on the dark liquid.

  Ren cleared his throat. "Good morning."

  "Is it?" she asked, moving to the refrigerator for the half-and-half.

  Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she ignored him as she took in her first few sips of caffeine. When he sat in an adjacent chair, she pretended not to notice, only watching the way his palms cupped his mug from the corner of her eye.

  He had beautiful hands. Long-fingered and strong. The rest of her life she'd remember them touching her face, removing her clothes, stroking her skin. Closing her eyes, she took another swallow of coffee.

  "I made my plane reservation," he said. "I take the red eye to London tomorrow night."

  Her eyes remained closed as she willed herself not to flinch. This was the way it was always going to end, he'd said that, she'd accepted that (sort of), and any dream of another outcome was on her. He'd never lied or implied differently.

  "I know it's a few days early, but my duty's done here."

  Wait. What? Duty? She felt her temper begin to rise. Remain unruffled, she tried reminding herself. Be ice. Antarctica.

  "I'm sure you'll be glad to get me out of your space," he added, in a stranger-to-stranger tone.

  Cilla's eyes popped open and there was a red haze across her vision. "Really?" she said, before she could stop herself. "That's the way you're going to play this? Pretend nothing happened between us? Freeze me out like you did last night?"

  "You knew—"

  "I suppose I did," she snapped. "But what about everybody else who was here? You invited them, and in case you didn't figure it out, they saw that as an invitation into your life, Ren. Then, before a couple of hours passed, you pulled away."

  "Yeah," he said, his expression set, his attitude unrepentant. "I do that."

  Cilla shoved back her chair and stomped to the bread drawer. Maybe if she ate something, the acid burning a hole in her belly would be neutralized. Unfortunately, the bag inside was filled with a green and hairy penicillin experiment. Slamming it into the trash, she crossed to the pantry to stare at the shelves, fuming all over again. No sweetened cereal, and she'd be damned if she'd swallow down steel cut oats on a morning such as this.

  From the fridge, she yanked the bowl of leftover potato salad. With a soup spoon in hand, she dropped back into her seat and dug in.

  Ren caught her arm before the mound of mayo, celery, and spud made it to her lips. She jerked up her chin to glare at him, ignoring the traitorous roll of warmth traveling through her at his touch.

  "Let me take you out to breakfast," he said, his voice low. "Let me at least do that."

  Sucking in a fast breath, she tried steeling her spine. This was no time to say yes to the man. This was the time to tell him to take a dive into the fiery depths of hell.

  But damn it all, he had hold of her heart, and she didn't want to consign it to the incinerator along with him.

  She wanted to get it back.

  His thumb brushed across her inner wrist. "Please, Cilla."

  What a sap she was. What a silly, soft-spined, fool. But maybe during these few last hours with him she could find some way to reclaim what she'd so unwisely given. "Fine," she said, with little grace.

  Because they arrived at the small café she'd selected between the breakfast and lunch rushes, they nabbed a window seat. Cilla stared through it as she sipped from her oversized latté cup. The shops she could see across the street—a florist, a candy shop, and a lingerie boutique—bustled with business. She watched the parade of customers instead of paying attention to the man in the seat opposite hers.

  "Hey," Ren finally said, breaking into the silence. "I don't like leaving with this friction between us."

  She slid him a look. She didn't like him leaving with her heart.

  Both his hands speared through his dark hair. It fell back to his forehead, the glossy strands a perfect frame for his high cheekbones and unusual eyes. "It was a mistake—"

  "Let's talk about something else," she put in. She couldn't take talk about mistakes. Next up would be apologies.

  He studied her face for a long moment, then he sighed. "Hell, Cilla, you know I'm sorr—"

  "Let's talk about something else."

  Further conversation was halted by the appearance of the server with his eggs Benedict and her brioche French toast. After the woman topped off Ren's black coffee and moved away, Cilla gave her full attention to the flow of hot maple syrup she poured from a tiny stainless pitcher.

  "Al
l right," he said. "We can talk about something else. How long do you plan to stay at the compound?"

  She placed the syrup onto the table and began cutting bites. "I managed to pack up most of Gwen's collection over the last couple of days and I've got fitting and design appointments at the beginning of next week. So I suppose I'll move back this weekend."

  "Okay. I'm sure that Tad the Turd—"

  "What?" Cilla's head jerked up. "What did you call him?"

  "It's Brody's name for your ex."

  The corners of her lips twitched. "Say it again."

  He shook his head. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Tad the Turd."

  Cilla's laugh might have been more of a giggle.

  Ren seemed to enjoy it, whatever its classification, because he smiled as his fingers reached to cover hers. "There she is," he murmured. "I like that sound and those bright eyes."

  Without making a big deal of it, she reclaimed her hand and went back to her meal as if she didn't want to fling herself into his arms and beg him to stay. "What were you going to say about Tad?"

  Ren picked up his knife and fork. "He won't be bothering you again."

  "I don't need your assurances. I can handle things myself."

  Glancing up, he caught her eyes. "Yeah, baby, and I think you can handle him." With two fingers, he mimed a scissors action. "You're tougher than you look."

  At his words, warmth glowed in her belly. Being at Gwen's cottage had restored Cilla's sense of self. Being with Ren had made her realize that losing eighteen inches of hair didn't mean she'd lost anything.

  "But in any case, after our run-in with him, yesterday Brody and Bing told me they paid him their own visit."

  She stared. "What? Ren—"

  "It was just a conversation, okay? They'll be talking to you more often, too. As a matter of fact, I managed to have a quick word with everyone."

  Before he'd disconnected, isolating himself away from her and the others. "A quick word about what?"

  "In the future, there'll be check-ins via phone, text, and email. Face-time, too. You all live close enough to have regular contact. You can get together, have each other's backs. Be a tribe."