Where There's Smoke (Holiday Hearts #1)

by Kristin Hardy

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something wrong. I could hear it when we talked the other week but it’s worse now.”

  Sloane filled a pot with water to boil the pasta. “It’s a man I was seeing. We broke up.”

  “That would have been my guess. Who is he?”

  She should have known Candy would get right to the point. “A firefighter.”

  Candy snapped her head around to stare at Sloane. She shook her head. “You don’t pick the easy ones, do you?”

  “I didn’t pick him at all.” She set the pot on a burner and turned it up high.

  “No. Sometimes the picking’s done for you. So what happened? It just didn’t work out?”

  “Nothing had to happen.” Sloane leaned against the counter. “You of all people should understand that. Look what you went through with Mitch.”

  “Yeah, let’s look,” Candy said slowly, covering the simmering pot of sauce. “Eleven years of thanking my lucky stars every morning when I woke up next to him. A wonderful son. The sister I never had by blood.” She reached out to squeeze Sloane’s hand.

  “But God, Candy, what you went through every night when he was on the job. And now.”

  “Sloane, that was you.” Candy’s voice was gentle. “I decided not to think about it. I learned really early on to leave it to fate. One of the accountants at work died of a heart attack a couple of years back. Safest job you can imagine. He was sitting on the couch watching a football game when it happened.” She gave a brief smile. “The clock’s running on all of us. That doesn’t mean you tuck yourself away and hide from life, that means you reach out for it while you can. Like I did with Mitch. After a while I wasn’t scared every night when I watched him leave. I was proud. He was my own personal hero.”

  “I can’t lose him, Candy,” Sloane whispered. “I love him too much.”

  “But you’ve lost him as it is, haven’t you?”

  The words shivered through her. She missed Nick so much it ached. Automatically, she tried to push it down but it bubbled back up again, worse than before. Desperation choked her. After years of denying her emotions, of bottling up grief, loss, anxiety, she’d abruptly lost the ability.

  She sank down at the table, face in her hands. “I can’t do it, Candy, I can’t do it.”

  “You can’t do what?” Candy sat by her, rubbing her shoulders gently. “Love him or live without him? You’re hurting right now and you have been for weeks. Gone is gone.”

  Sloane shook her head blindly. “No. I know he’s out there.”

  “So you’re choosing to hurt instead of having it forced on you. God, you talk about what it would be like to watch him go off to work every day, but how are you going to feel if you hear a report that something’s happened to a firefighter? Do you think for one minute that you’re not going to tear yourself apart imagining it’s him? Imagining the worst?” Candy’s gaze delved into her. “And what if the worst does happen? Are you going to feel any better reading about it in a newspaper than hearing the news face-to-face? Is it going to hurt any less?”

  She’d thought she could avoid hurt by walking away. She’d never guessed how deep the loss would go. And for what? Sloane thought suddenly. She didn’t have to be feeling this emptiness. She didn’t have to be without him. All it would take was reaching out. “My God,” she whispered, her eyes meeting Candy’s. “I’ve been such an idiot. I’ve got to go find him. I’ve got—”

  The lid began ticking on the boiling pot of water and she paused. Dinner. More than anything else she wanted to go to Nick, but how could she run off when she’d only just begun to repair the damage with Candy and Pete?

  Candy rose to stir the marinara sauce. “You know, I don’t think there’s enough here for three of us,” she said, peering into the pot.

  “What are you talking about? You’ve got a ton of it.”

  “Pete’s a big eater. You know how they are at his age. We’d better play it safe. How about if you go back to Boston tonight and we plan on a real dinner next weekend?”

  Trust Candy to understand. She always had. The grin spread across Sloane’s face until her jaws hurt. “Oh, I missed you so much.” Sloane threw her arms around her. “I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

  “We’ll hold you to it.” Candy kissed her on the cheek. “Good luck with your man. Call and tell me how it goes.”

  Sloane stopped at the door and gave her a brilliant smile. “Count on it.”

  Nick leaned out over the pool table and eyed his shot. He made one, two practice strokes and tapped the cue ball, which rolled across the table to nudge the eight ball into the corner pocket.

  He straightened. “Looks like I win, O’Hanlan.”

  “Aye, that you do. That earns you the right to buy a couple more pitchers, Nicky, me boyo.”

  “O’Hanlan, how is it that the more beers you have, the more Irish you get?”

  “The ale loosens me tongue, brings back the mother country.”

  A corner of Nick’s mouth twitched. “Nice trick, considering your mother country is Southie.”

  “And if a man can’t pick up a good Irish accent there, then where can he?”

  “I don’t know, but for the guest of honor, I seem to be running up to the bar an awful lot.”

  “Well, once you’re promoted you won’t be able to go drinking with us, so we’d better do it now.”

  Nick snorted. “Yeah, right. Hey Beaulieu, why don’t you come along and help me carry?”

  Set in the working-class neighborhood of South Boston, Big John’s sat by the side of the railroad tracks in a beat-up wood frame building. Inside, a man could get good food, cheap beer and play pool at a few dozen of the sweetest carved oak tables Nick had ever seen.

  And every time he’d been there, John Feeney had been behind the bar pulling beers, his wizened face never seeming to age from year to year.

  Nick tossed down some money. “Three pitchers of Sam’s.”

  “Coming up.”

  It was good to be out for a change. And if his heart wasn’t entirely in it, it was still better than recaulking his shower, which was about the last thing left to do at his house.

  “Hey.” Beaulieu nudged him. “You’ve got a fan club.”

  A few feet away, a curvy blonde whispered into the ear of her girlfriend and gave Nick a playful look.

  Nick frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. As far as he was concerned, the beer could come any time.

  The blonde leaned his way. “Having fun tonight?”

  “Good enough.”

  His terse reply set her back only for a minute. She stared at the gray T-shirt he wore, with its Ladder 67 shield. “So are you really a firefighter?”

  “He really is,” Beaulieu supplied.

  “Thanks, Todd,” Nick said under his breath.

  “This is where you start offering to show her your hose,” Beaulieu murmured.

  “Funny.”

  She tossed her hair and moved toward him, managing to inject maximum hip sway in just a few steps. “Our table just got called. Want to play with us?”

  Nick looked at her. Blond hair, clear eyes—and about as much character as a glass of water. “Not right now. Thanks for the offer, though.” He shoved his change in his pocket and grabbed two of the pitchers John slid across to him. “Hey Beaulieu, you want to get the other one?”

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” Beaulieu said aggrievedly when they were back at the pool tables.

  “What?”

  “They were complete babes, man, and her girlfriend was giving me the look.”

  “Maybe she had dust in her eyes.” Nick refilled his glass.

  “You don’t just turn around and walk away on women like that. What’s gotten into you?”

  Nick took a brooding sip of his beer. It wasn’t a question of what had gotten into him but who.

  And her name was Sloane Hillyard.

  Sloane stood at the doors of Big John’s trying to calm her
jitters. It had been nearly three weeks since she’d seen Nick. Perhaps he hadn’t been out of her mind for more than a minute at a time, but he might have gotten past her a lot more quickly. Or he might still be furious with her.

  If you ever change your mind, I’ll be here. He’d said it, she reminded herself. Surely his feelings wouldn’t have changed that quickly. He was a steadier man that that.

  At least she hoped so. The only way to find out was to go through the door and do what she’d come there to do.

  Inside, the room was noisy and clouded with smoke, the buzz of conversation punctuated by the clack of pool balls smacking together. Old George Thorogood played on the jukebox. A voice over the PA announced tables.

  And Sloane stood inside the door, scanning the room for faces she knew.

  Looking for the man she loved.

  Glass in hand, Nick watched O’Hanlan set up a shot. The burly Irishman sighted the angles and stroked his cue decisively.

  And the ball went well wide.

  “Great partner you’ve got there, Nick.” Sorensen hooted. “Way to go.”

  Nick winced. “For Chrissakes, O’Hanlan, we’ve got five bucks a piece riding on this game.” He looked away in disgust, reaching out for his beer. And froze.

  At the table, Beaulieu sank the five ball and scratched. Groans and cheers erupted around the table.

  “Now who’s the one to talk about partners, Sorensen?” O’Hanlan needled. “Your shot, Nicky.” He turned. “Nicky?”

  But he was talking to thin air because Nick was already moving purposefully toward the door.

  Their eyes met with a snap of electricity. When she saw him, it was as though the rest of the room receded in some way, leaving only Nick. The longing for him was a physical thing crouched in her throat. It paralyzed her, so she could only stand, staring, as he walked up. Her pulse hammered.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over her face. “Hi. Having a good time?”

  “It’s just improved immeasurably.” He wore just jeans and a T-shirt, nothing special. And he looked perfect, absolutely perfect. “So what brings you here? Did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?”

  “Maybe I was just out for a walk.” She tried for a joke.

  “All the way from Cambridge?”

  Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. “If that’s how far I have to go to find you.”

  “Well, you’ve found me.”

  Suddenly she couldn’t find air. The whole drive from Hartford she’d thought about what to say to him. Now that the moment had come, she was tongue-tied. Just do it.

  “Let’s get some privacy.” He reached out for her hand and tugged her to the door.

  Outside, the air was frigid. “Nick, you can’t be out here without a jacket,” she protested. “You’re going to freeze.”

  “I’m not worried about it. Talk to me.” He reached out for her hand. “What’s on your mind?”

  Somehow, the dim light and the quiet released her. “I was an idiot the other day,” she told him, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve been an idiot the whole time and I’m sorry, sorry for everything.”

  The overhead streetlight set his eyes in shadow, carved deep hollows below his cheekbones. “Sorry for what?”

  “For trying to walk away. I was so afraid of what might happen. I can’t live my life that way, though. I know that now. You helped me understand.” Her voice shook a little and she tried to steady it. “You told me if I changed my mind I could look you up. Well, I’m looking you up now. I want to try this out. I want to be with you.”

  For long, excruciating seconds he was quiet. “Are you sure about this?” he asked finally. “It isn’t just because of all the stuff you went through with the papers, is it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sure, as sure as I can possibly be. I don’t guarantee that I might not get scared sometimes but it doesn’t matter. It’s life. I don’t want to be without you.” She locked her eyes on his. Everything rested on this, everything. “I love you and I want to take a chance.” She swallowed. “If you haven’t changed your mind.”

  For answer, he swept her against him and held her close. Long minutes went by while they just absorbed the feeling of one another’s bodies again, the closeness. “Being without you the past month has been hell,” Nick murmured against Sloane’s hair. “I love you so damn much.”

  Being in his arms again was everything she’d ever needed, Sloane thought dizzily, and she laughed that everything that had been so wrong could suddenly be so right. “I’m sorry it took so long. I just had to figure things out.”

  “Don’t be. You’re here now. That’s what matters.” He leaned back and frowned a little. “Just exactly how did you wind up coming here, anyway?”

  “O’Hanlan told me you were going to be here.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Oh, did he?”

  “He said you had something to celebrate.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “He didn’t say what.”

  “Ranking second on the exam. I’m in line now for promotion.”

  “Nick, that’s wonderful. You must be thrilled about it.”

  “Not nearly as much as I am about this. Don’t get too excited,” he cautioned, “I still have to wait for an opening. It could be soon, it could be awhile, there’s just no telling.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “It’s not about whether you’re promoted or not. This is about us. You, me, together.”

  And the kiss was like coming home.

  “Ah, young love,” said a voice nearby.

  “Don’t it just get you all choked up?”

  They looked up to see O’Hanlan and Knapp leaning out the door, grinning at them.

  “Now, didn’t I tell you there was a reason Nick was so grumpy?” O’Hanlan said to Knapp.

  “Now that we’ve fixed things up for him, he’ll start being human again,” Knapp agreed.

  “Seems like that ought to be worth another pitcher of beer,” O’Hanlan commented.

  “You’re an operator, O’Hanlan,” Sloane told him, grinning.

  Nick laughed and swung her around. “And I’m so glad of it.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-2203-8

  WHERE THERE’S SMOKE

  Copyright © 2005 by Chez Hardy LLC

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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  *Under the Covers

  †Sex & the Supper Club

  §Sealed with a Kiss