Taste the Heat

by Rachel Harris

  No, regardless of how hot Colby was—and there was no doubt about it, the woman was smoking—she was definitely off-limits.

  Chapter Three

  Jason shook his head in disgust as he drove down Main Street. Tall pines and moss-draped oaks stood on either side of the winding state highway that passed through Magnolia Springs. Normally, after a long or stressful day, this stretch of road chilled Jason out. Helped him think clearly and gain perspective. But today, he just felt restless. His knee bounced up and hit the console.

  He told himself he was going to see Cane. Life had been so hectic the past few months that other than discussing skills from the tactical ninjitsu classes Jason taught twice a week, they’d barely managed to issue a passing hello. Jason couldn’t remember the last time he went by Cane’s work for a simple visit. So that was why he was headed there now. To catch up, see what was new in his best friend’s world. It had nothing to do with a certain hot brunette now manning the kitchen.

  And if anyone believed that, Jason had a mountain chalet down the road to sell him.

  Reaching over, he blasted the air-conditioning in his trusty Chevy, fighting against the already brutal heat. He turned up the radio to drone out his thoughts and tapped his hand on the steering wheel, singing along to Tim McGraw. The song was about a dad and his little girl, and the lyrics had him thinking back to his breakfast with Emma. God, she was growing up so fast. The first year after his wife died, life had slowed to the pace of Louisiana politics. But lately it was as if things were going at warp speed, determined to make up for lost time. When she had come to the table that morning, he’d had to bite his tongue at the swipe of hooker-red lipstick on his sweet daughter’s lips. But when he caught Emma doodling a heart around a boy’s name, he’d lost it.

  Not one of his finer moments for sure, but when did his tree-climbing daughter start caring about things like makeup? And who the hell was this Brad kid? Did he know that her father was trained in hand-to-hand combat? Jason made a mental note-to-self to let the kid in on that not so little secret just in case.

  This was why he was hitting the pavement even though it was his day off. If he hung out at home, all he’d accomplish would be more worrying. He was no good without a plan. He needed to be productive. Useful. Busy. That’s why he’d opened up the gym. With his schedule at the department of twenty-four hours on, forty-eight off, he needed something else to occupy his time. Plus, the house was too quiet during the day without Emma’s endless chatter.

  But he didn’t have to be at the gym until six, a drawback of hiring such efficient managers and support staff. So he’d headed to the firehouse, knowing that if he weren’t there to cook lunch the men would just order pizza. He’d slid the leftover crawfish étouffée into the well-stocked refrigerator, hung his winning plaque on the wall, and accepted his share of ribbing and congratulations from his co-workers. Then, he’d hopped back in the truck and steered it toward Robicheaux’s. Where he had known he’d end up all along.

  “I’m an idiot.”

  Colby was the last thing he should be thinking about right now. She was not the woman he needed. She’d want more than he could give, her brother would kill him for even thinking it, and he should think of her like a sister. But none of that had stopped him from thinking about her. Maybe seeing her again at Robicheaux’s, talking with her out in the open now that he knew who she was, would ease his curiosity.

  Throwing his truck into park, Jason took in the family restaurant located in the heart of the town. It was a renovated Southern home on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Clean white paint and a wrap-around porch surrounded by crepe myrtles and azaleas welcomed all, but the real draw was the large back porch overlooking the water.

  Over the years, it had evolved into a retreat for the community, a place where locals gathered to uncork a bottle of wine, listen to live music, and watch the sun set over the lake. Old Mr. Robicheaux would often hang out there with his customers, laughing and talking until closing time…and often past that. That was why the man’s heart attack had rocked their small community so much. Robicheaux’s wasn’t just a place to eat. It was where friends, family, and an occasional straggler would get together to share life.

  Jason looked around the gravel lot. Other than Sherry’s magenta-colored Bug and an ancient-looking, silver Altima, the place was a ghost town. Not unusual for two thirty in the afternoon on a Monday, but it did make his appearance all the more obvious. He also noticed the absence of a certain Harley. Though that didn’t stop him from marching up to the beveled glass door and tugging it open.

  A series of bells dinged overhead. From the back of the restaurant, the youngest Robicheaux came flying, menus in hand, long stripes of purple tresses streaming behind her.

  “Oh,” she said, halting abruptly when she saw who was there. “It’s only you.”

  Jason laughed. “Gee, Sher, it’s good to see you, too.”

  She smiled and the restlessness in him eased ever so slightly. Sherry was like that, and despite her decided lack of enthusiasm, it was good to see her. To Sherry, life was one nonstop adventure and whenever you spent longer than a minute in her presence, you found yourself wanting in on it. Jason couldn’t help but smile, remembering a few of her former antics. His visit may’ve been libido-prompted by a certain prodigal sister’s return, but he was glad he came.

  “You know what I mean,” Sherry said, tossing him a wink. She plopped down at a table near the bar and pushed out a chair for him to join her. “You’re on the friends and family plan, so you don’t count as, like, a real customer.”

  “Awesome.” Jason smirked as he took the offered seat. “’Cause real customers have to pay.”

  Sherry slapped her hand over his with a good-hearted grin. “You’re not that close.” She paused a beat and then said, “I kid, I kid. You know your money’s no good here, Landry.” She shoved his hand away and laughed. “Actually, it’s been too long since I’ve seen your ugly mug around these parts. What brings you to our humble establishment? We’re not in violation of any fire codes, are we?”

  They both glanced around the empty restaurant and Jason shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Then are you hungry?”

  He shrugged. “I can always eat,” he told her truthfully. And if Colby was cooking, he was definitely curious. “But can’t a guy just drop by to say hello to his friends?”

  Sherry propped her chin in her hand. “He can,” she said, her voice taking on her Nancy Drew tone. That had been her favorite series as a kid, and he used to tease that she was a junior detective. Present day Sherry narrowed her eyes. “But you haven’t ‘just dropped by’ in a long time.”

  “I know.” He kicked back in his chair and casually glanced around the room. “That’s why I’m here. Where is everyone?”

  It took him a few moments to realize Sherry hadn’t answered—and silence from Sherry was never a good sign. Jason quickly shifted his attention away from the closed kitchen door to find her watching him, mouth scrunched, eyes clear and intent.

  “Cane doesn’t come in for another half hour,” she said, tapping a painted black nail against the scarred wooden tabletop. Click, click, click. “But then, you would’ve seen his motorcycle wasn’t here.” Click. She switched hands, placing her chin in the opposite hand, and tapped the nails of her free hand in quick succession. Click, click, click, click. “Something’s definitely up with you,” she finally decided, falling back into eerie silence.

  Coming there had been a mistake. He should’ve just gone to the gym like he’d planned, gotten some of his aggression out on the heavy bag before his class started for the night. Instead, he’d chosen to ignore all semblance of logic, and now he’d awoken the sleeping matchmaker.

  A bang and muffled curse erupted from the kitchen. About ten seconds later, Colby stormed through the pocket door. The dignified linen suit she’d worn at the competition was gone, replaced by a distressed pair of hip-hugging jeans that showed off he
r impossibly long legs. A soft gray T-shirt clung to the curves of her breasts. As she moved, the generous mounds bounced in rhythm. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, exposing the ivory slope of her neck. Jason swallowed. Any hope he’d held that yesterday’s attraction had simply been a symptom of the Louisiana heat was completely decimated.

  “Sherry, I swear to God, those take-out containers are going to be the death of me.” Colby plowed through the room cradling her left hand to her chest, her face a mask of frustration and pain that disappeared the moment she saw him sitting there. She glanced at her sister across from him and back again. Her mouth tumbled open. “Oh. It’s you.”

  …

  Colby cringed, lowering her hand to her waist. Way to go, Captain Obvious. But seriously, what was Jason doing there? She’d literally just been thinking about him, although that was nothing different from what she’d done ever since yesterday’s competition. After a sleepless night and an even more distracted morning, she had hoped the familiarity and busyness of the kitchen would get her mind off the hunky fireman. But while ladling a bowl of to-go gumbo, Colby’s mind had wandered to the étouffée she’d sampled the day before. And all the ways she would’ve preferred awarding Jason for his Best Bite.

  Which, when you’re dealing with steaming Creole stew, flimsy foam containers, and a chef with a reputation in her family for being less than graceful, wasn’t exactly the smartest move. So when her visions had morphed into steamy, NC-17 material, and her thumb jutted through the fragile container, spilling hot gumbo all over her hand, she really had no one but herself to blame.

  Awesome.

  Then to take it up another notch, she’d stormed out like a whiny child only to find the star of her yummy fantasy sitting in her dining room, dressed in all his civilian glory. Colby, not unlike every other woman on the planet, was a sucker for a man in uniform…but Jason wasn’t just any man. The way he filled out a threadbare T-shirt and wind pants was pretty darn amazing, too.

  A grin spread across his tan face as he tipped his chair forward. “You know, you’re the second woman today to give me that enthusiastic welcome.” He sent Sherry a look and then gave Colby a wink. “I must be losing my touch.”

  Well, hot damn. If this was Jason losing his touch, she didn’t think she could handle the man fully on his game.

  Colby cleared her throat. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you,” she explained. “Of course I’m glad you’re here.” Suddenly feeling edgy and not knowing why, she smoothed back the escaped strands of hair that had fallen from her clip—completely forgetting about the burn she’d inflicted on her hand. When raw skin brushed against the shell of her ear, she flinched and bit off another curse.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  Before she could respond or attempt to play it off, Jason covered the distance between them. He gently took her hand in his and frowned at the angry red welt.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, hating the breathlessness of her voice and hoping he didn’t notice. With him standing this close, she could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne. She could feel the warmth coming off his body. It made her head feel fuzzy. Not helping her equilibrium at all was the sight of his strong hands cradling hers. Colby drew a breath, and when the scent of pine hit her, her knees wobbled.

  “Really,” she tried again, embarrassed over the attention. “It’s no big deal. I should’ve been wearing my chef’s jacket.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s hanging on a hook on the back of the door. I know better than that. Kitchen burns happen all the time.”

  But the kitchen had been so dang hot. As hot as it could get in the desert, the dry heat had nothing on New Orleans humidity.

  Jason pursed his firm lips together. “Even still, we should get this taken care of.” He led her back behind the bar and put the stopper down in the sink, keeping her hand gently clasped in his own. As the basin filled with cool water, he sent her a sympathetic smile. “Where do you keep your first-aid kit?”

  At that moment, Colby didn’t think she could form a coherent thought, much less answer his question. Could the man be any cuter? Thankfully Sherry, who’d up to this point been content watching their interaction, shot to her feet. “On it.” She jogged back behind the bar, pulled out a tackle box filled with supplies, and slid it across the mahogany top. “Here you go, Captain. Stocked to your every detailed specification.”

  Jason grinned as he gradually immersed Colby’s hand in the water. Not letting go of her wrist, he kicked out a waist-high step stool for her to sit on and leaned his hip against the counter. “Let’s just hold this in here for a few minutes. I know you probably think it isn’t necessary, but it definitely can’t hurt.”

  Colby nodded, still at a loss for words. It had been a long time since she’d let someone take care of her. She had to admit, it felt good.

  The cool water did, too.

  Her sister walked back around the bar and resumed her position at the table in front of them, not even trying to give them any privacy. Not that she should, since for all Sherry knew, there was no need for them to be alone. Colby met her sister’s amused gaze. Her purple-stained lips lifted into a mischievous grin.

  Crap, am I that obvious?

  Colby rolled her eyes and gave a subtle shake of her head. The last thing she needed was for her baby sister to go all matchmaker on her. Just because Sherry was addicted to love, she thought everyone else should be, too. Sherry hadn’t become jaded yet; she had no real reason to be. And Colby sincerely hoped it stayed that way.

  She turned her focus back to Jason. “We didn’t really get much of a chance to talk yesterday,” she said. “Unofficially, that is.”

  “No, we didn’t,” Jason agreed. “You disappeared as soon as the competition was over.”

  It hadn’t been as dramatic as that, but close. First, she’d gone off with Cane and performed the obligatory round of chatting with local officials and potential customers. Then she’d made her swift escape to her recently purchased, very pretty, but highly unpredictable used car.

  During the actual competition, Colby had been able to ignore the sad memories whispering in her ear and focus on the task at hand, a feat she largely attributed to the man holding her hand in his warm grasp now. But once the event was over and the crowd had engulfed her with questions of where she’d been and how long she was staying, she’d bolted as soon as humanly possible.

  “I had a bit of a headache,” she admitted.

  Compassion flooded his eyes, softening the color to melted caramel. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He turned off the tap and flicked his hand in the water, testing the cool temperature. “But, since I didn’t get the chance before, let me now officially say on behalf of the fire department and all those privileged to have witnessed your gruesome flannel stage in the nineties, welcome back to Magnolia Springs.” He bowed his head in mock reverence. When he lifted it again, he looked directly into her eyes. “We’ve missed you.”

  Warmth from the sincere sentiment and playful reminder of her unfortunate former fashion sense flooded her. “I missed you, too.”

  And she had. Maybe not Jason directly, but what he represented. Whenever Colby came home after a particularly long day to an empty apartment and put her feet up on her Pottery Barn coffee table, she would find herself getting homesick. For her brother, for her sister, and for all the friends she had in Magnolia Springs. Her former unrequited crush included. Just not so much that she wanted to move back permanently.

  Jason smiled. The look he gave had her heartbeat thrumming in her throat. Rushing to cover the sentimental moment, she took a step away and said, “Wow, an award-winning chef, a fire captain, and now a member of the Magnolia Springs welcome committee? Why, Mister Landry, you’ve grown up to be quite multi-talented.”

  He laughed under his breath. “That I am,” he confirmed, his eyes lowering to her lips. “And that’s only scratching the surface.”

  The interior of the room instantly shot up at least ten degrees, despit
e the limb immersed in cool water. Colby hadn’t intended the double meaning to her words—but the added information was good to know.

  Very good to know.

  Since she’d left the park, Colby had wondered if she had imagined his interest. Made up a mutual flirtation where there had only been adolescent-like gawking on her part. The young guy she’d known would’ve never looked twice at her. He’d been too focused on his high school girlfriend Ashleigh to notice any other girl within a five-mile radius—especially one with the last name of Robicheaux. But the way Jason was looking at her now erased all of yesterday’s concerns.

  Not that they’re true concerns anyway, she reminded herself, since nothing could ever happen between them. Her heart was officially and forever off the market. Still, it was nice to know that he found her attractive.

  “Is that right?” she asked, fighting a smile.

  A snort erupted from across the bar. Colby’s eyes widened. She’d completely forgotten about their audience.

  Sherry paused in her task of wiping down the few tables around them and captured her top lip between her teeth in a silent laugh. Her eyes shined, clearly saying that she knew she’d been forgotten—and that she’d loved every minute of it. She flicked the cloth onto the bar top. “Please,” she said, circling her right hand in the air, “do tell us, Jason. What other areas are you talented in?”

  The tips of his ears burned red, but that was the only indication he was embarrassed. Colby, on the other hand, wanted to crawl under the cash register. Jason reached out to yank one of her sister’s dyed-purple strands. “All I meant was that I also own a gym,” he clarified with a good-humored grin before glancing back at Colby. “Northshore Combatives, down at the corner of Main and Wisteria.”