She slid off the downed tree. When she stood before him, his expression didn’t change. For the first time, she noticed flecks of light in his dark eyes. Leaning up on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He pulled their bodies together. New emotions she couldn’t name swirled through her. When he eased away, she stared at him through a haze of desire. This is what it was supposed to be like. No pretenses, no one else around, no time limit.
“I need to go,” Jordan said, as if reading her mind. “I told Roger I’d be there in,” he glanced at his watch, “twenty minutes.” He took her hand to walk her back to the cabin. Before he got in his truck, he gave her a scorching kiss that made her want to beg him to stay, but she forced herself not to.
“Do you want to go out tomorrow?” he asked. “I’m not scheduled to work, but I am on call because we’re short staffed. I may have to leave in a hurry, but only if something big comes up.”
“Okay,” she said in a breathless whisper.
“I’ll pick you up around seven.” He got in the truck and rolled the window down. “I’ve never seen anyone shake off a spider that way. I liked it.” He gave her that sexy half grin, shooting even more heat into her blood, and drove away.
Chapter Seventeen
Jordan could see the anger on Roger’s face as he parked in front of his brother’s modern rambler. The clean lines seemed at odds with the evergreen trees and cheerful dogwoods surrounding the ridge.
Roger jerked the truck door open. “Are you insane or just stupid?” he barked.
“Hey, bro, good to see you too,” Jordan said. “Mind moving back so I can get out?”
When Roger leaned back so Jordan could slide out, he was still close enough that Jordan could smell garlic on his breath. “Thanks,” Jordan said. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Quinn.”
“She’s none of your business.”
“The hell she’s not. She’s trouble, and you know it.”
Jordan grinned and leaned against his truck with one foot on the running board, the picture, he hoped, of complete ease. He wasn’t angry, exactly. Roger tended to be overprotective, but it was past time his brother stayed out of his personal life. “Or what? You’ll ground me? I stopped following your orders at the age of eight.” He rubbed his jaw. “Hmm, didn’t you say Beth was trouble?”
Roger took a step back, and Jordan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“Now I remember. You said she was a gold digger. That she came to town to score some cash. That once she got what she wanted, she’d split.”
“Just shut the hell up,” Roger said in a hoarse whisper. “She hears everything. If you get her riled up, there’ll be hell to pay. This isn’t about her, and you know it. It’s about you and that Quinn woman.”
“Melanie.” Jordan enunciated each syllable. “Her name is Melanie, not that Quinn woman.”
“I know what her fucking name is.” Roger struggled for control. “Good God, kid, I don’t want to pick you up off the pavement again.”
Jordan’s humor vanished. “You wouldn’t have needed to pick me up if you hadn’t knocked me there in the first place.”
Roger grabbed a fistful of Jordan’s shirt. “If I hadn’t knocked you there, you’d have killed yourself. You fell apart because you lost a woman. It hurt. I get that, but you went ballistic. You ran so far and fast that you didn’t know which way was home. If that happens again, I might not find you in time.”
Jordan pushed him away. For an instant, he wanted to take a swing at his brother, just one to let out the pent up frustration, but he didn’t, because what Roger said was true, and they both knew it.
“What is the matter with you two?” Beth, short, brunette, sexy, and pregnant, put her hands on her hips. She glanced at Jordan, then eyed Roger with the same determination that once made Roger doubt her intentions toward him.
“What’s next,” she said, “a fist fight? You’re both too damned old to act like this. Jordan, grow up.”
Roger’s grin vanished when Beth turned on him. “You, my dear, are an overbearing idiot who needs to mind his own business. Now both of you shut up, and come inside so Roger can start dinner.” She tucked her hand in the crook of Jordan’s elbow and headed to the house.
“Ah, shit,” Roger mumbled and caught up to them. Beth smiled, but over her head, he shot Jordan a look that said this wasn’t over.
****
After a restless evening, Melanie finally fell asleep only to wake with the certain knowledge she wasn’t alone. She listened, trying to figure out what woke her, but all she heard was the blood pounding in her ears. She opened her eyes, but only saw familiar shadows and shapes. Charm slept against her side, oblivious to the world. Her digital clock read 2:28 a.m.
She flipped on the bedside lamp. There was nothing except her usual clutter of clothes and shoes. She got up, and Charm followed her out the door. Nothing moved in the dark, so she reached for the light switch.
The instant she flipped it on, Charm snarled. Mick, smeared with black and crouched low, peered out the bottom of her living room window. Before Mel could think, he jumped to his feet and ran toward her, snarling. He slapped the switch, and she jumped back.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a furious whisper.
Her heart raced. “What’s going on?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Listen to me,” Mick ordered as an acrid stench, like burnt popcorn and charred wood swept over her. “Go back to bed.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You’re in trouble again, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Shut up,” he snapped and crept back to the window.
She obeyed only because she couldn’t think of anything to say. Who was he hiding from? If the police were after him she should turn him in, but he’d do the same to her. He’d threatened often enough.
The other option left her cold. If it wasn’t the police, it was someone worse. If they found him here, she could pay the price.
“You can’t stay here.”
“Shut up.” His voice snapped like a whip.
“You shut up. This is my place, and I don’t want you here. Leave. Now.”
He grunted. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Really?” She flipped on the light.
“Damn it,” Mick shrieked. He raced across the room and hit the wall so hard he left a hole in the wallboard underneath the switch, and the living room window rattled. “Do you have a death wish, you stupid idiot?”
She didn’t answer. She’d gotten a good look at him, and wished she hadn’t. Soot covered his clothing, his right sleeve was ripped off, and the hair on the left side of his head was scorched to his scalp. The horrible smell wasn’t burnt popcorn, it was burnt hair.
“Do you?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from each word.
“What happened?”
“Turn on the light again, and I promise neither of us will make it out of here.”
That put her in her place. Mick returned to the window, and she stood there, wondering what to do. He’d obviously been involved in a fire. Old memories connected like puzzle pieces. When their burglary attempt at Ricky Alvarez’s was a bust, the next day his roof caught fire, supposedly from the chimney. The garbage cans burning outside Elsie-Lee’s store, after their robbery netted an incomplete quarter collection. Oh, God, was Jordan working tonight? The realization he might be battling an inferno right now, one Mick was involved in, made her sick.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
“Shut up. I need to think.” The finality in his voice stopped her, like it used to do when she asked too many questions.
Since being in the same room made her nauseous, she went back to the bedroom with the puppy trailing behind. Only after she double-checked the window latch did she crawl into bed.
; She’d forgotten to grab a hammer, so she climbed out of bed and felt around for a weapon. All she could find in the dark closet was the spiked heels she’d worn to the reunion. Figuring they were better than nothing, she crawled into bed and set one on each side of her. Charm squirmed her way up, circled three times, and settled, resting her head on Mel’s stomach. The puppy’s eyes were open, her gaze on the door. Mel squashed the urge to call Jordan and warn him. She didn’t have his cell number, and what would she say?
Hours later, she woke in a blurry haze. She had a vague memory of hearing the shower and the slam of the front door. Resisting the urge to snuggle into her blankets and go back to sleep, she let Charm out and checked the cabin. Dear Old Dad had left black smears all over her bathroom, a hole in the wall, and he’d taken her favorite black jacket, but at least he’d left.
****
Melanie worked from noon to four at Last Chance and left without telling anyone about her upcoming date. She wanted to cherish the secret and anticipation without advice, however well meant. Jordan must have kept quiet, too, because half a dozen locals came in the store and no one mentioned it.
Mixed in with all the wonderful things about Jordan, including substantial lust, was the worry about Mick. No fires had been mentioned on the local news, but she’d been edgy and tense anyway.
When she got home, the puppy raced to greet her, which meant Mick wasn’t there. Relieved, she scanned the rainbow of skirts and pant legs in her closet. The insurance check for her car hadn’t arrived, and the shopping trips with Julia had eliminated her last two paychecks, but she’d rebuilt her wardrobe. She ignored the business suits and the red dress with long sleeves. The green one had a high neckline. Pants didn’t feel right for a first date. She’d save the black nightie for a private, in-home seduction. If they got that far.
She did her makeup three times, lost an earring and her navy blue sandal. Dressed in a summery knee-length skirt and a snug blue tank, she tossed a short-sleeved lacy top on the counter next to her purse and fished under the couch for the missing sandal. When she finally found it in the bathroom, she figured if Jordan got close enough to her feet to see the puppy’s chew marks, they’d be well on their way to naked and she wouldn’t care what he thought of her shoes.
On the dot of seven, Jordan’s truck drove up, and she hurried outside to meet him. Although she’d cleaned and sprayed air freshener, she worried that Jordan might pick up on the lingering odor of burnt hair left from Mick’s visit.
****
Jordan picked the tiny white restaurant on the shore of Lake Washington because Standish said his wife thought it was romantic. With the building set between the road and water, the sounds of vehicles were muffled. He could hear the small waves lapping at the rocky beach and smelled the tang of salt-water. Sailboats eased across the far horizon, silhouetted against the clear sky. Sitting at a small table on the deck, he watched the setting sun turn Mel’s honey-blonde hair to fire.
She’d been tense and distracted since he picked her up, but she finally relaxed enough to laugh at the stories of his first year as a firefighter.
“So, I’m the new-boot in the back of the truck, and everybody’s staring at me like I’ve got something hanging out my nose. The engine takes off, and a tarp full of water splashes down on my head. They rigged it along the back edge, angled and timed it so I was the only one who got wet. That day I learned to check what was over my head. I caught the next two tries before they went off.”
“How did you survive the practical jokes?” she asked.
“I gritted my teeth and kept my mouth shut,” he chuckled. “If I couldn’t handle it, I had no business being there.”
“It couldn’t be easy, knowing they did things like that on purpose. Alex’s practical jokes used to drive me crazy.”
“After a while, you learn to laugh right along with them.” He smiled at her skeptical look. “In the fire department, you start training even before you’re hired. Many departments in Washington, especially Cedar Valley, won’t even consider hiring you if don’t have your EMT Certification. You can only get into the EMT program if you’re sponsored, which means a fire department or ambulance company is planning to hire you.”
“Isn’t that a catch twenty-two ?” she asked. “You can’t get a job if you don’t have it, but you can’t get the certificate unless you’ve got the job?”
“That’s the trick. You have to get a department to sponsor you before they hire you.”
“How?” She took a sip of her drink.
“Volunteer or become a resident and live at the station. Pays nothing, but you get to know the firefighters and they get to know you.” He paused while the waiter cleared their table. “You get enough training so that when you get hired you’re more active in the calls. In training, you learn to deal with the situation, but dealing with the people can be even harder. That’s where the things I learned as the new-boot helped.”
“Being the brunt of practical jokes helped your career?”
He nodded and looked out over the water. “You learn work issues stay at work. The people who can’t draw that line, can’t keep their emotions separate, don’t make it.”
He’d gotten damn good at leaving work at work. Since he’d already seen the worst there was, letting go of other people’s tragedies wasn’t all that hard. Maybe he was a cold S.O.B., but if he didn’t keep that shield in place, he couldn’t do his job. He tried not to think about his years in California, but sometimes the memories, both good and bad, snuck up on him.
It was easy to remember the smiling blue eyes, a little cherub’s face. Laughter at a red balloon. The smell of crayons and apple juice. Smoke, stretchers...
****
The far-off look in Jordan’s eye made Mel wonder what he wasn’t sharing. His jaw tightened. The lines around his mouth and eyes furrowed. Rather than pry like she wanted to, she changed the subject. “You said you joined the fire department when you were twenty-three. What did you do before that?”
Something flared in his eyes, dark and dangerous, and was gone so quickly she wondered if she imagined it. A sudden breeze sent chills down her back. The early summer warmth disappeared with the sun. She shivered.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
“Let’s go inside.” With an easy smile, he got to his feet and took her hand.
The restaurant was candlelit and cozy. Piano music filled the room, and a few couples swayed on the small, shiny floor. A fire crackled in the central fireplace, and Mel’s chill slid away. Jordan spoke to the hostess, and she led them to a table beside the fire.
“Would you like to dance?” Jordan offered Mel his hand.
“No, but thanks.” At his inquisitive look, she added, “I don’t dance.” At least not with him. She’d trip over her own feet.
“Really? I thought you were a great dancer.”
“You thought wrong.” She kept her tone light, even though part of her would love to sway in his arms.
“You were dancing at the reunion.”
“I was also pretending to be a lesbian. It’s different.”
“I remember seeing you at a dance in high school. You were wearing blue, and your hair was up, right?”
She wondered if it was a perverse rule of the universe that people remembered the events you most wanted them to forget. Rather than take a trip down memory lane, she tried distraction.
“It was probably Yvonne.” She brushed it off with a laugh, but her face felt hot. “Anyway, how’s the—”
“It was you.”
The memory crossed his face. The perplexed look followed by the “ah-ha” moment with wide eyes. Then humor. She fought the urge to crawl under the table and reached for her drink, intending to tip it over for a distraction.
“Wasn’t that when Brent Hanson broke his foot? He was in a cast for weeks. They called an ambulance and... You were dancing with him?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out, and her hand froze in m
id-air.
“I didn’t know,” Jordan said.
“No one knew.” She let her hand drop.
“Brent talked more than all the cheerleaders put together. How did you keep him quiet?”
It happened more than ten years ago. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. “Trade secret.”
He just looked at her.
“I persuaded him not to say anything.”
“How?”
“I asked him?” Too late, she realized it came out as a question.
“Try again.”
“Fine. I threatened him.”
“With what?”
She grinned. “A kiss. I threatened to kiss him. That took care of it.”
He cocked his head. “Since Brent was probably the horniest kid in our class, that’d hardly be a threat. Tell me the truth.”
She stared at her drink and twirled the straw. “I told him I’d break into his bedroom and plant some women’s underwear and gay men magazines in strategic places. And maybe a high-heeled sandal. ” She tried not to wince, knowing Jordan would be thinking of the time he found her in his bedroom. “Then I’d talk his little brother into snooping until he found them. It worked,” she whispered. “Brent never said a word.”
“Would you have done it?”
She hesitated, still unable to meet his gaze, and nodded. “Yes. Now it sounds petty, but the other kids were just starting to forget about the singing episode. One more catastrophe with my name on it would have blasted apart what was left of my reputation. It happened later anyway, but at the time…” She shrugged.
He took her hand, and she looked up to see humor return with his smile. “So what happened?”
“I just told you.”
“How’d he break his ankle?”
She gently removed her hand. There’s no way she could tell Jordan she’d seen him and been so undone she not only tripped herself, she took Brent down, too. Only she made it back to her feet before anyone noticed.
“We crashed into each other, and the next thing I know, he’s on the floor holding his foot. I think he swore, but I can’t remember.”
“I can. He did.” Jordan got to his feet. For a horrible instant, she thought he’d walk out. Instead, he held out a hand. “Let’s dance.”
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