Ember's Fire: A Hearts of Harkness Romance (The Standish Clan Book 2)

by Norah Wilson

  “I guess that’s reasonable,” she allowed. “If you have buy-in from the community.”

  “I’ve already talked to one of the local youth organizations. There’s good interest in getting a program going for some of the disadvantaged kids in the community. Might be a big help to them, and Coach O’Bryan is excellent with kids.”

  “He’s a good man.” He’d certainly been good for Jace. He’d been like a second father figure, and Jace had been devoted to him. Apparently, he still was. “So are you looking to the local service clubs to fund the programs for the kids who can’t afford a membership?”

  “No, that won’t be a problem.”

  That was all he said, but Ember knew. The kids who couldn’t afford to pay would attend for free.

  She watched him crutch his way over to a row of lockers to the left, obviously just installed. A pang of longing pierced her. With that mixture of pride and hope for the youth of the region written on his face, he’d never looked more attractive to her.

  Damn him. He was breaking her down.

  He’d done it last night too. Slowed the sex down, drew it out. Changed it.

  Part of her had wanted to know what they’d missed all those years ago. Another part of her had wanted to do it—okay, do him, to put it crassly—then move on. Get him out of her system. But he’d reached another part of her with his tenderness. A part she hadn’t planned on ever letting off the chain again. That scared the crap out of her.

  So far, she’d managed to keep panic at bay by keeping it light. So far, he’d played along.

  She’d slipped up, though, in the car, asking him that stuff about his former lovers.

  Asking him? She’d practically grilled him. And even as she pressed for answers, she hadn’t known what she wanted to hear. Legions of women, none of whom meant anything? Serial monogamy involving a couple of really serious, adult relationships?

  She should have known the answer would be somewhere in between.

  And what had he said when she asked him what happened to those relationships that did have lasting potential? I happened.

  So what did that mean? Had he done something to cause the breakup? If so, and despite what happened ten years ago with Bridget, Ember was pretty sure it wasn’t infidelity. Jace was a good guy. She was beginning to appreciate that all over again.

  Witness this project. It would have been all Jace’s doing, of course. The concept, the business plan, recruiting Coach O’Bryan, getting the community and service clubs behind it, buying and renovating the building. She was pretty sure, too, that this was just a start, one prong in his efforts to rejuvenate the region.

  How different Jace was from his brother. Terry had always been the playboy, looking out for no one but himself. Always with the angle. Always with the agenda. And never, ever to be trusted.

  “They’d be proud of you,” she said.

  He frowned. “Who?”

  “Your mom. Wayne.” She shrugged. “I’m proud of you too, Jace. This…this is awesome. What you’re doing for the community, the region. For Coach O’Bryan.”

  “I’m a businessman.”

  “Yes. But you’re also a good man.”

  He looked at her, his expression an odd mixture of sadness and tantalizing possibility. “Ever wonder, Ember?”

  She swallowed to ease her suddenly painful throat. She should lie, but she couldn’t. “Yes,” she breathed. “So many times.”

  The ring of Jace’s cell interrupted them. Cursing, he dug the phone out of his pocket and looked at the call display. “It’s Bridget Northrup,” he said for Ember’s benefit, then answered the call.

  Ember watched his brow furrow as he held the phone to his ear. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I gather it was quite a serious accident.”

  “What is it?” she mouthed.

  He held up his hand in a just a minute gesture.

  “Of course. I understand.” He paused to listen again, then said, “Okay. That works. See you at five o’clock instead.”

  “Postponed until five o’clock?” she said as he pocketed his phone.

  “Yeah. She’s no happier about it than we are, but it couldn’t be helped. That accident on the highway yesterday? Apparently, Kayla Hunter’s older sister Shelley is a friend of Bridget’s and is living in Edmundston. Bridget agreed to look after Shelly’s twin girls so she could go visit her sister in hospital and help her mother cope. But the girls’ dad will be home to take over about four-thirty, leaving Bridget time to get home and grab a bite before we descend on her.”

  Well, it could be worse. She’d half expected Bridget was calling to beg off. “Looks like we’ll have lots of time to explore Shamrock Falls.”

  “Maybe we can find out where the cool kids hang out.”

  His grin was so wickedly sexy, her heart turned over.

  God help her.

  Chapter 21

  “THANKS, JACE. That was the best sandwich I’ve had in...forever. Seriously.”

  “It’s the homemade sourdough bread and the gourmet mayonnaise.”

  Jace looked up in time to see the approaching waitress’s expression change. She must have heard Ember say his name. The older woman pasted a smile back on her face, but she was obviously nervous.

  “Mr. Picard. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier, when I took your order.”

  “No reason why you should...Sarah,” he said, reading her name from the tag on her tasteful black shirt. “And please, call me Jace.”

  “Thank you, Mr...Jace. Can I offer you dessert?”

  He looked at Ember and raised his eyebrow.

  She shook her head. “Not for me, thanks. Not after demolishing that huge sandwich.”

  “Coffee or tea?”

  “Can we get one of each, to go?” Jace asked. “I’d like to show my friend around the hotel a bit.”

  “Of course. How would you like your coffee and tea?”

  “Coffee black and tea with...?”

  “Milk,” Ember supplied.

  “Coming right up. In fact, if you want to head out to the lobby, Hank at the front desk can assist you with the tour, and I’ll bring your drinks to you.”

  Jace smiled gratefully. “That would be perfect.”

  For a small town hotel, The Shamrock Arms lobby was surprisingly comfortable. Large, sink-into-me chairs, a fireplace decorated with fall foliage, small pumpkins, gourds, and thick unlit candles in shiny hurricane lamps. He was glad to see those touches, since the old hotel was now part of the WRP Holdings portfolio, as of two weeks after Wayne Picard’s death. The transaction was the first of Terry’s acquisitions since assuming the CEO role, and so far, one of the few Jace hadn’t objected to.

  The front desk was temporarily unmanned, but that was no cause for alarm. Jace knew the place operated on a skeleton staff, and the receptionist/reservation clerk probably also served as bellhop when needed, or kept the public washrooms’ paper towel supply topped up. Just as the waitress served as hostess and cashier, as well as waiting tables.

  Sarah bustled into the lobby with their hot drinks in paper cups. Her bright smile dimmed when she saw no one was behind the reservation desk.

  “Oh, dear.” She put the beverages down on the antique marble-topped table between them. “Let me page Hank for you.”

  Sarah crossed to the desk and picked up the phone. “Front desk, Hank,” she said. Then turning her back to Jace, she urged “And hurry. Seriously, this time.”

  Jace and Ember shared a grin at that.

  When Sarah turned back to them, Jace noted the worry on her face. Ember must have too, because she jumped in to engage the older woman.

  “So, Sarah, have you been here long?”

  Sarah smiled, but it was a nervous smile. “This is my thirtieth year.”

  “Wow,” Ember said.

  Jace was equally impressed too. “You worked for the previous owners then.”

  “I did,” she said. “I worked in the main office—nine to five, five days a w
eek, until recently.”

  “What happened recently?” Ember asked.

  Jace had a sickening feeling he knew.

  “Oh, just changes.” Sarah forced a laugh. “The Old Man reorganized things.”

  “The Old Man?” Jace said. “You mean Terry?”

  Sarah looked alarmed at his reaction. “I’m sorry, sir. No disrespect intended. It’s just that Mr. Picard—Terry—was adamant we call him that.”

  Jace and Ember exchanged glances. Terry really took the cake. He might have taken over their father’s company, but the idea of him taking over Wayne’s legacy? Freaking laughable.

  “I hope I haven’t offended—”

  “Not at all,” he hastened to assure her. “Can’t disregard the boss’s orders, right?”

  “Right,” she said, almost wilting with relief.

  A scrawny older man—familiar looking in a can’t-quite-place-him way—rushed into the lobby. He gave his crisp, short black jacket a final shrug as he sidled up to the desk.

  “Hank, I have to get back to the dining room, but Mr. Picard and his guest would like to look around the facility,” Sarah said. “I told them you could help.”

  “Picard?” Hank straightened. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Jace. “Are you related to Old Man Picard?”

  “Terry, you mean?” Jace grated.

  “I was going to say Wayne, but I guess if you’re related to Wayne, you’re related to Terry too.” Hank swatted the air dismissively at his mention of Terry. “Your father and I used to fish together. You might not remember, but one time he took you up to Bright River with us to fish trout. You were bound and determined—”

  “To use hot dogs for bait.” Jace laughed at the memory. It was just after he and his mother had moved into Casa Picard. He’d never fished before in his life. A tragedy, according to his new stepdad. As soon as he learned of Jace’s deficiency, he’d set out to rectify it immediately.

  “Why hot dogs?” Ember asked.

  “Hot dogs were my favorite food at the time. I figured they had to be equally irresistible to the fish.”

  “They didn’t work half-bad,” Hank said. “You should have seen the size of the trout he caught!”

  “You have a good memory,” Jace said.

  “Faces, yes. Names, not so much.”

  Jace stuck out his hand. “I’m Jace Picard.” The older man’s grip was firm, but Jace could see his fingers were bent, knuckles enlarged. Probably arthritic. He kept the handshake short.

  “And who would this young lady be?”

  “Ember Standish,” she supplied.

  “Amber, like the gemstone?”

  “No, Ember,” she said. “Like the fire.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Happens all the time.” She reached for Hank’s hand and shook it. Gently, Jace noticed.

  “Good to meet you folks. You’re sure different than your brother,” he said to Jace. “That fellow’s a bit of an—”

  “Hank!” Sarah warned.

  He glanced at her, and finished anyway. “Arse.”

  Sarah moaned. “Hank, you’re already on probation. We both are.”

  Jace turned to Sarah. “Probation? For what?”

  “Well, I’m on probation because it’s company policy,” Sarah said. “Mr. Picard…The Old Man now puts all employees on probation for the first six months they take up a new position. No matter how long they’ve been with the company. And this is my second position since your brother re-organized.”

  “Front office, right?”

  She ducked her head. “Housekeeping. The front office job was before the motel changed hands.”

  Ember frowned. “When you say you’re on probation, that means what, exactly?”

  It was Hank who answered. “It means if we screw up, our ass is grass.”

  Dammit. What the hell had his brother been doing, jerking these good people around? “Tell me more about Terry’s changes.”

  Sarah and Hank exchanged glances—hers a cautious one, his definitely not.

  “Got time for a coffee?” Hank said.

  As a matter of fact, he did…

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Jace sat on a bed in one of the standard rooms, ice from the dining room packed around his ankle. Ember’s orders. She’d noticed his limp getting a little worse and insisted if they were going to do any more touring of the town, he had to agree to twenty minutes of rest, elevation, ice and ibuprofen.

  Sarah had suggested they take the executive suite—Terry always insisted it be made available for him whenever he stayed—but Jace insisted on a regular room. He felt bad enough that someone would have to come and re-clean the tiny room for the sake of his short occupation. No way would he make them clean a big suite.

  “Terry really is an ass, you know that? What he’s doing to those people is a tragedy.”

  His skin crawled just to hear Terry’s name on her lips, and he knew it showed on his face. No doubt she thought it was because of what an eager Hank and a more reluctant Sarah had shared with them about life at the Arms.

  Great. Let’s go with that.

  He pretty much had to, didn’t he? Unless he raised the subject himself, it didn’t look as though Ember was going to come clean. And he sure wasn’t going to raise it before they’d talked to Bridget. If he pushed her into a corner, made her admit to an action she no doubt regretted and clearly wanted to forget about, how likely was she to hang around for the trip to Edmundston?

  “Earth to Jace.” She waved a hand in front of his face.

  He blinked. What had she said? Oh, yeah. Terry = asshole. “Terry? Don’t you mean, Old Man Picard? Right about now, I’d say he’s more than an ass. He’s in contention for Asshole of the Year. Dad would roll over in his grave if he knew what Terry was putting those people through.”

  She laughed. “I can’t believe you gave them your lawyer’s name.”

  He shifted his foot. “Terry deserves to get hit with a lawsuit. At best, that’s constructive dismissal. He must have someone in mind for some of those jobs—probably some chick or other whose pants he wants to get into or some guy whose family connections he can use—and he’s employing these tactics to try to clear the positions.”

  She grimaced. “It must be hard to have to claim him as your brother sometimes.”

  “Stepbrother, as he’s quick to remind me.”

  She moved to the edge of the bed, leaned down and kissed him. “You are so much better than he is, Jace Picard.”

  Better in bed too?

  Chrissakes, what was wrong with him? Ember had no affection for Terry. And she’d been a virgin, for God’s sake. Screwing his brother might have satisfied her immediate thirst for revenge, but it was a pretty safe bet it wouldn’t have been pleasant. No matter what had happened all those years ago, it meant nothing. Nothing. He needed to just get over it already.

  He lifted a hand to her hair. “Hey, we should have showers while we have this room.”

  She took a step back. “Are you telling me I smell?”

  “Not a bit. But I know I wouldn’t mind cleaning up, and figured you might want to too.”

  “I do. And since you have to finish the ice therapy, I guess that means I get to go first.”

  He smiled. “Guess so.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom and his smile faded.

  Forty minutes later, on Sarah’s recommendation, they hit the local farmers’ market. It was good to finally see something thriving. For Jace’s benefit, Ember drove as close to the large, open-air structure as she could, parking behind a kiosk with two barbecues going full out. A tattooed man in an apron with Kiss the Kook emblazoned across it was turning foot longs on the grill.

  It was a short walk to the building itself, but by the time Jace got there, he ditched the crutches, took a seat at one of the picnic benches, and ordered a coffee. That was good enough for him.

  Not so much Ember. “I haven’t been to a market in eons!”

  “Eons?�
��

  “Okay, years,” she said. “I’ve got to look around. You?”

  “Think I’ll sit this out.”

  “Oh right, the ankle.”

  In fact, the ankle felt pretty good after the rest and ice, not to mention the ibuprofen. But they had a long trip ahead of them in the car, and he wanted to keep it under control. He was coming to appreciate that when the pain got ahead of him, his mood got pissy. It was too easy to dwell on the negative when he let that happen.

  She hauled over a plastic chair and ordered him to put his foot up on it.

  “Okay,” she said when he’d complied. “You’ve got coffee, got your foot up—”

  Her smile faded as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, read the text, then pocketed the phone again.

  “Scott?” Jace asked.

  “Titus.”

  Her expression hadn’t changed, so that must mean Titus hadn’t told her about the sale yet. “Not going to respond?”

  “It’ll wait. I have some shopping to do.”

  He waved her on. “Go. Knock yourself out.”

  She evidently didn’t need to be told twice.

  Her first stop was a table marked Blushing Moon Scarves. He watched as she sifted through the assortment of colorfully painted scarves. She settled on a blue and gold one and paid for it. Then she took off the cheap convenience store scarf, shoved it in her backpack, and tied the new scarf around her neck. Sensing his regard, she looked over at him and struck a corny fashion model pose. Then he lost sight of her as she disappeared into the crowd.

  The market was teeming with shoppers this Thanksgiving Sunday. All the usual things one would expect to see—vendors selling their holiday and country harvest goodies—pumpkin pies, homemade preserves, farm fresh eggs. There was also more modern fare. Samosas, and soy wax candles. There was a petite lady in a bright green shawl applying a henna tattoo on a young girl’s hand. From the back of one particular booth hung home knit sweaters—bright and colorful, each one unique.

  He recognized quite a few of the people—nodded hello to couple of them as he sat there sipping his coffee. Despite the hardships of the region, the people were the same as they’d always been—friendly and laughing, talking to their neighbors about that crazy storm they’d had yesterday.