by Andre, Bella
"Yes, waiting for the next generation of Callaways, although not too many of us seem in a hurry to marry or reproduce. Nicole is the only one who made it down the altar."
"Emma told me that Nicole's son Brandon is autistic," she said, handing back the wine.
"Yeah, it's sad. When Brandon was a baby, he was totally normal. He'd laugh and make eye contact, and I used to carry him around on my shoulders. Now Brandon acts like he never met me. To be fair, I haven't been around much the past year. It's no wonder he's forgotten who I am."
"Emma said you live up in Redding."
"Yes, I've been there the last three years."
"But you don't fight fires all year long, do you?"
"No, we take care of the forests in other ways during the off season. I also do carpentry for a local cabinet maker."
She wasn't surprised that his off-season job had to do with building. Aiden had always liked working with his hands. She shivered, unable to believe she could still remember his hands running down her arms, his fingers grazing her breasts. God! How crazy was that. She'd had other men touch her since then, so why did she still remember him?
She took another sip of wine. "So when are you going back?" she asked.
"Not sure yet."
"But you are going back, aren't you?"
Doubt filled his eyes. "I don't know. My plans are up in the air."
"What would you do if you weren't a smokejumper?"
"Too many questions, Sara," he said, taking the wine bottle from her hands.
"You always wanted to be a firefighter," she said, watching him take a drink. "Following in the family tradition."
"Not really. Smokejumpers don't protect people, just trees, property, land. It's a step down, according to the men in my family."
"I'm sure they don't believe that."
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
She suspected it did matter, but he'd never admit it.
"Anyway, I can't jump fires forever," he said. "I'm getting old."
"Thirty-two isn't old. Is your uncertainty because of what happened to Kyle?"
"Partly." He set down the empty bottle. "We took care of that."
"We certainly did," she said, feeling warm and a little dizzy. "Maybe we'll both be able to sleep now."
"I haven't slept in three weeks. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever sleep again. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in the fire."
"What happened, Aiden?"
"I can't say."
"You mean, you won't say," she corrected.
He shook his head. "No, I can't remember. I fell down a mountain. When I woke up I'd lost several hours of time."
"Does your family know that?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure if I mentioned it."
"Well, maybe you should. I think they'd have more compassion if they understood that it's not that you don't want to talk, you don't actually remember what happened."
"It doesn't matter."
"It does matter, and now I know why you can't sleep. Your brain is trying to recreate the memories."
"Possibly. I have a lot of recurring nightmares."
"Isn't there anyone else who can help you fill in the blanks? You weren't alone on that mountain, were you?"
"I talked to some of the guys, but Kyle and I were separated from everyone else. After a certain point, it was just the two of us. Anyway, we don't need to talk about that."
"Are you sure? I can be a good listener. And I'm great at puzzles."
He frowned. "We've shared enough for one night, Sara."
"Have we? You don't want to talk about you, so let's go back about twelve years. I have a question that's caused me a few sleepless nights."
"I'm sure I don't want to hear it."
She ignored him. The wine had loosened her inhibitions and broken down her guard, and the question was bubbling past her lips. "Why did you stop kissing me, Aiden? Why did you pull away? Why did you say I can't do this?"
"You said you didn't want to talk about that night," he reminded her.
"That was before we started drinking. I told you that you might regret opening that bottle of wine."
"I should have listened."
"Did you ever wish we hadn't stopped?" she asked.
His mouth tightened. "You should go inside, Sara. It's late and we're both a little drunk."
"Why won't you answer the question?"
"Because it was a long time ago."
"That's not the reason. You always want to call the shots, Aiden. I'm an adult now. You don't need to protect me."
He got to his feet and gave her a short smile. "This time I'm protecting myself."
He disappeared into the shadows, leaving her to wonder at his meaning. It would be stupid to think he'd run off because he was feeling something for her. She'd made the mistake before; she wouldn't do it again. It was good that Aiden had left. This was not the time to start something … or to finish what they'd started before.
***
Sara woke up Saturday morning with a headache, a reminder that breaking the rules was never a good idea. Flopping on to her back, she stared up at the ceiling. Despite the pain in her temple, she couldn't regret opening the wine and sharing it with Aiden. It had been nice to talk to someone who'd known her since she was young. None of her New York friends knew anything about her childhood or her family. She never talked about her father to them. But Aiden already knew, and he understood. He saw her side, and she'd appreciated that. But she couldn't let herself think of him as anything more than a friend. Despite the mental admonition, she found herself remembering the night they'd moved past friendship.
She'd been seventeen years old, a senior in high school, and Aiden and his friends were going to a concert in Golden Gate Park. Emma was supposed to go, but she'd gotten distracted by her current crush, and so Sara had gone alone. She'd been so terrified of not fitting in or doing something stupid, that she'd drunk a lot of vodka. At some point in the night, she and Aiden had separated from the others and under the shadows of the trees, they'd started making out.
She'd wanted to kiss him for at least three years so pushing him away had been the furthest thing from her mind. She was ecstatic that he'd finally noticed her, that he wanted her the way she wanted him. He'd told her she was beautiful, and he'd put his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her breasts and she'd wanted more. She'd wanted to have sex with him right there in the park. It didn't matter that they were outside, that people could see them, that she was a virgin. She wanted to be a woman – a woman with him, and the desire in the eyes of the guy she'd always wanted had taken her past the point of sanity.
She blew out a breath, shaken by the memories. Putting her hand to her mouth, she realized that while she hadn't consciously thought about that night in a very long time, she'd been comparing that kiss to every other one since then, which was ridiculous. She didn't even know if it was the kiss that had been so good or the alcohol combined with years of a teenage crush. Probably both of those factors had come into play.
In the end, Aiden's hot kiss had turned to cold rejection. He'd pushed her away, saying he was sorry, but he just couldn't do it.
She'd been stunned. Aiden didn't say no to anyone. He'd probably had half the girls in school, and he prided himself on being a rule-breaker, a risk taker, a rebel. Obviously, she'd been too dull or too something…
He'd left her feeling humiliated. She'd been willing to hand herself over on a silver platter, and he'd turned her down.
Now he was surprised she wasn't grateful to him for saving her from herself?
Anger ran through her as she recalled his earlier words, but deep down she was as annoyed with herself as she was with Aiden.
Maybe she should be grateful that she hadn't had sex with him. He hadn't cared about her. In fact, they hadn't spoken after that night, at least not more than a mumbled hello or goodbye when their paths crossed, which hadn't been often. She'd made sure of that. She'd left for college a few months later. Then h
er mom died, and there was no reason to go home.
Which brought her to the present…
She was twenty-nine, not seventeen, and she had no intention of falling for Aiden's charm again.
Getting up, she grabbed some clothes out of her suitcase and headed into the bathroom. A quick shower made her feel a lot more like herself. After dressing in jeans and a soft sweater, she headed down the stairs.
The kitchen looked even worse in the daylight. So did the dining room and the hallway where sheets of wallpaper were peeling off the walls.
Her dad would be devastated. He had always been a very neat, organized person. She had to fix it. She'd start with Aiden's uncle.
She left the house and walked next door. Her knock went unanswered. That was odd. It was nine o'clock in the morning. Where was everyone? She glanced down the driveway at the room over the garage. She really didn't want to talk to Aiden again. But what option did she have? She climbed the stairs and knocked.
Aiden opened the door and gave her a sleepy stare.
Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his bare chest, tousled hair, rough beard and bruised cheek. Thankfully, he still had on his sweats.
"What's up?" he drawled.
It took her a minute to remember why she was there. "I wanted to get your Uncle Kevin's phone number. I tried the house, but no one answered."
"I don't have his number on me, but I'm sure my mom has it. I can get it for you," he said.
"Are you sure? It looks like I woke you up."
"You did."
"Well, at least you slept."
"A few hours anyway." He stepped back into the room, grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he walked out to the landing, pulling the door shut behind him. "How did you sleep?"
"Not bad." She followed him down the stairs and into the house.
"First, coffee," he said, grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard.
"That would be awesome," she said.
He poured two mugs and handed her one.
She took a grateful sip. At some point in law school, she'd become addicted to coffee. All those late nights studying for the bar had made caffeine a necessary part of her diet.
"Did you talk to your dad this morning?" Aiden asked.
"Not yet. I want to have some information to share when I tell him he's going to need a new kitchen. Do you think you could get me that phone number?"
"I could, but I'm hungry. Why don't we eat first? I'll cook."
Before she could answer, he had set down his coffee and was on his way to the refrigerator. He pulled out a carton of eggs. "Scrambled okay?"
"You don't have to make me breakfast," she said, although the idea was making her stomach rumble.
"It's no big deal. I can make you a scramble you won't forget—tomatoes, onions, avocado, cheese."
"You're even cocky about your eggs," she said dryly.
He grinned. "I know my strengths, that's all. What do you say? Have breakfast with me?"
She really needed to say no. This was Aiden, the man who had rejected her a decade earlier and left her heartbroken and feeling completely unsure of herself. It had taken her a long time to recover. Did she really want to spend even a few more minutes with him?
The tingle running down her spine said yes. That same tingle had sent her into his arms a very long time ago. She should listen to her brain instead of her body, but when she opened her mouth to answer him, the tingle won out.
"Yes," she said, hoping she wasn't about to make another big mistake.
Chapter Seven
Sara sipped her coffee, watching Aiden's quick and efficient movements in the kitchen. "I can't remember the last time a man cooked breakfast for me," she muttered, then mentally kicked herself for sharing that revealing fact.
"Do you usually cook for them?"
"Sometimes," she said vaguely. It had been a long time since she'd even had breakfast with a man, much less cooked for one. Not that she had much skill in the kitchen anyway. Her mom had tried to teach her, but her father liked his meals just so, and she'd always felt too much pressure to cook, so she'd usually sat on a stool, chatting while her mom made dinner.
A wave of sadness ran through her.
"What's wrong?" Aiden asked, his sharp gaze raking her face as he glanced over at her from the stove.
She started, straightening. "Nothing."
"You'd be a lousy poker player. You have way too many tells."
"And a tell is?"
"A sign of what kind of cards you're holding."
"I was thinking about my mom. She was the cook in our family."
"I'm sorry I missed the funeral, but I was out of the country."
"Were you?" she asked in surprise. "I just thought you were busy."
"I wouldn't have missed your mother's funeral. I was in Ireland with my cousin, Tommy."
She vaguely remembered hearing about his trip back to the "old country" as the Callaways liked to refer to the homeland of their ancestors.
"Did you like it there?" she asked.
"I did. It's a beautiful country."
"I'd like to go sometime."
"You should," he said, as he turned his gaze back to the eggs he was scrambling.
"I'll put that on the To Do list."
He smiled. "Still have one of those, too, do you?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"Not me."
"So you have nothing to do today?"
"Aside from making breakfast, and getting you that phone number, my day is wide open."
"Maybe you should try to find out what happened to Kyle."
His mouth drew into a grim line. "I knew I was going to regret sharing that with you."
"You have to find a way to fill in the blanks, so that you can defend yourself."
"How do you know I have a defense? Everyone else thinks I'm to blame. Maybe I am."
"Then you should know that, too," she said. "You may not remember anything right around the time you fell, but what about before that?"
Silence followed her words. Aiden tossed the eggs in the pan, then said, "The fire was bigger than we expected. We'd make some ground, then lose it. But we kept working the way we always did. Then the winds changed abruptly. I debated whether or not to retreat. I was having trouble getting information from the other commanders. The radio kept going in and out. Then the fire blew up on us. Our exit routes were cut off. The team separated. Kyle and I were together, but he was way ahead of me. I don't even know if he realized I was with him, or if he was too disoriented by the fire. He just kept walking, sometimes running, and I could see he was heading straight into the fire. I couldn't get his attention. The fire was all around us." He blew out a breath as he finished. "And that's all I know."
"It sounds like an accident," she ventured.
"Does it?" he challenged. "I waited too long to bail out. Kyle's death is on my head."
"Maybe you need someone to blame, too," she suggested.
"Better me than Kyle," he said.
"What does that mean?"
"Forget it."
"Aiden. Did Kyle do something wrong?"
"I don't know. But I'm sure as hell not going to try to pin anything on him. Kyle has a wife and a baby son who are mourning him, along with his parents and his brother and sister. They're heartbroken. I won't add to their pain. If they need to blame me, I'm okay with it."
She met his gaze. "I understand, but you need answers for yourself. You're not okay. You don't sleep. You're thinking about quitting. That's nowhere close to being okay."
"I'll deal with it."
"Maybe I can help. I can be very intuitive and objective."
"I'm not one of your clients, Sara, and I'm finished talking. The eggs are almost done. If you want to help me, why don't you make us some toast?"
She sighed. "You can be so stubborn."
"Look who's talking? When did you get to be so pushy? You used to be timid and shy."
"I grew up and became a lawyer," s
he said. "I've also been taking care of myself since I was nineteen years old."
"Well, how about taking care of that toast for now?"
"Fine," she said, knowing she wasn't going to get any further at the moment.
She hated injustice. It was something that drove her crazy as a lawyer. If someone was getting a raw deal, she wanted to take up their cause. She wanted to fix things. It was frustrating when she couldn't, when she was supposed to somehow look the other way. Not that she knew if there was injustice involved in Aiden's situation. Perhaps he was to blame. He could be reckless. He could be a thrill seeker. Was it really that big of a stretch to think that he might have thought he could beat a raging forest fire?
She put some bread into the toaster and got out plates while Aiden finished the eggs. A few minutes later breakfast was ready, and they sat down together to eat.
Aiden's cockiness had been well-founded, she realized as she sampled the eggs. The scramble was delicious. "This is good," she said.
"Did you have any doubts?"
"I thought you might be exaggerating your talents, but this time it turns out you weren't. Did Lynda teach you to cook?"
"She did. There were so many of us she was always looking for help in the kitchen."
"I can't believe you were home that often to help. I remember you always being on the go, coming from some athletic practice of some sort, going out with your friends, or making out with some blonde on the sofa in your parents' living room."
He grinned. "Those were some good days. High school was fun."
"Not for me. I was so worried my grades wouldn't be good enough to get me into the right college. When I wasn't studying, I was usually doing something awkward or embarrassing."
"Like what?" he asked, setting down his fork.
"I don't need to relive those experiences with you."
"Come on. I'm curious."
"I got my sleeve caught in my locker and I couldn't get the combination lock open for about ten minutes. Pamela Danvers and her little gang of cheerleaders stood there and laughed at me. Finally, Emma came to my rescue."
"That sounds like Emma."
"She was great, but she wasn't always around, like when I stayed up all night studying for my AP test and then I fell asleep in the library during study hall. I missed the test, and when I woke someone had drawn pictures on my face."