Gini rubbed her hands together as if she were a mad genius. “You’ll never know, my friend. Never know.”
But Haddy was easy. Patrick was a bigger challenge.
Chapter Nine
Fuel. Heat. Oxygen. These three ingredients were all that were needed to make a fire. To create something so lovely, so magical, so powerful. The simplicity of it never failed to amaze her. That she could light a candle as mommies did on their babies’ birthdays and have such radiance at her fingertips. Ripples of pleasure vibrated throughout her body at the thought.
She looked to the candle cradled in her hands. She’d made this candle special. Melted the paraffin wax herself. Added chamomile oil to get rid of the tension that followed her every moment of every day. Poured it into a tin can. Slipped in the wick. Waited. Waited for it to be ready. To take shape. The finished product was a thing of beauty. All perfectly cylindrical and smooth. That wick itching to be lit.
And she’d be the one to light it. To let the candle fulfill its destiny. The flame and wick would meet in an instant blaze like meant-to-be lovers, wild and carefree. Everything in their path would be obliterated by their passion, their heat. What man had erected, fire would demolish in a smoke-filled dream.
The roar of it, the primal thunder of the blaze, was music. A symphony that only few appreciated. Only the ones who were listening. Who could hear the elemental notes and understand the true necessity of it.
She listened, heard, understood. And she craved more. So hard to resist the flame’s call.
But not yet. Patience. The time would come and she’d be ready.
****
Saturday arrived before Patrick was prepared. Sure, he had all the materials, all the tools, the know-how, but having people here touching his tools, being in his way, worried him. He’d always worked alone, most of the time in silence. Just the bang of a hammer, the whir of a saw to fill the void. But today, there would be conversation to make, lunch to share, and who knew what else.
He gripped his drill as if it were the soft blanket he’d carried around as a little boy. He could do this. He could allow these few people into his circle. He’d let them into his home, share his building dreams with them, maybe laugh with them as he had at Wolf’s Pub.
But he’d be careful too. Especially of Gini. He wouldn’t let his guard too far down. He had to keep his distance, maintain the boundaries. For his sake as well as hers.
When the doorbell rang—more of a buzz with a couple of crackly chirps than a ring—he drew in a huge breath and somehow willed himself to answer the door.
“It’s just me,” Raina said. “No need to be anxious yet.” She patted his shoulder and stepped past him into the house.
“I’m not anxious.” Patrick closed the door.
“Patrick, please.” Raina unloaded the muffins and juice she’d brought with her and turned to face him. “I know having people over is not your thing, but it won’t hurt. I promise. You can put your weapon down.” She motioned to the drill still clenched in his hands.
Patrick shrugged and pulled out one of the muffins. Blueberry, his favorite. As he chewed, he followed Raina into the great room. She stopped at the three massive windows spanning the far wall.
“Now this is a view.” She spread her hands out to encompass the panoramic mountain scene. “I could look at this forever.”
Patrick finished the muffin. “It is something, isn’t it?” He couldn’t quite describe the feeling looking at those distant mountains gave him. The sun shimmered over them, some patches bright green, others shadowed. Anything could be out there beyond the peaks lining the horizon. Maybe the feeling was hope.
The doorbell chirped again, and Raina glanced to Patrick. “You want me to get that?”
Patrick shook his head. “No. I’m okay.” He headed for the door. If he was so okay, why were his palms sweaty? Why did that muffin feel like a baseball in his stomach? He couldn’t leave them out there. He had to answer the door.
“Turn the knob, Patrick,” Raina called from the great room.
He put the drill down, took the last steps to the door, and opened it. Jonah, Mason, and Haddy stood on the other side each carrying something. Jonah had some tools, Mason had coffee, and Haddy had a cooler.
“Morning,” they said in unison as if they had rehearsed it.
Patrick’s worry lost some of its fizz. “Come on in.”
Hellos and how-are-yous passed around. Some tool admiration between Jonah and Patrick. Some paint color talk between Raina and Haddy. Some serious coffee drinking on Mason’s part. Still, Patrick couldn’t resist wondering.
“Where’s Gini?” he asked.
“She’ll be around,” Jonah said.
“Fussing with the calendar,” Haddy added.
“She wouldn’t have to fuss much if she’d made it a Burnam Police Department calendar instead of a Fire Department one,” Raina said as she winked at Mason. He stopped mid-sip, and his lips turned up in a grin on either side of his coffee cup.
“You know it’s only a matter of time before Gini thinks of doing a police one,” Jonah said. “She’s always raising money for some animal cause.”
As if following their conversation, Midas rose from his napping spot in front of the fireplace and trotted to the door. He sat and angled his head, his tail thumping on the cracked linoleum.
“What’s he doing?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know.” Patrick kneeled down and patted his thigh. “Venez, Midas.” The dog didn’t budge even when the doorbell rang.
Jonah opened the door because he was the closest. Gini stood on the front step, her arms wrapped around a large pot with tall grasses splaying out of it.
As soon as he saw her, Patrick crossed the few steps to get to her. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. She rested the pot on her thigh, one foot on the first step, and brushed the curls out of her face. That single motion made Patrick’s blood roller coaster through his veins.
“Howdy,” she said. “I brought you grass.” Gini’s smile beamed brighter than the sun, and Patrick had failed to apply the proper sun block. She was penetrating through all his defensive layers with that smile. Damn.
Raina nudged Patrick’s arm, and he snapped out of his basking. “Thanks.” He took the pot off her thigh. His hand brushed against her leg for a second, but in that second he wanted to touch so much more. Instead, he used his hands and arms to put a death crunch on the pot.
Gini stepped into the house and wiped soil off her jeans. “You’re welcome. Fireflies like that grass.” She pointed to the pot.
Fireflies?
“Oh, Patrick used to be fascinated by fireflies,” Raina said. “Remember that, Patrick?”
He nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off Gini. He was fascinated right now.
“I like them too.” Gini stepped a little closer, and Patrick blinked out of his enchantment.
“I’ll find a good spot for it.” He set the pot down under some windows in the kitchen where sunlight pooled on the floor. Midas trotted over to sit beside it.
Jonah turned around in a circle and clapped his hands together. “Okay, Boss, where do you want to start?”
Patrick got his construction mind in gear and pushed his hormonal male mind into the corner. “I’ve marked the walls that are getting ditched with white chalk. We can start with any of those.”
“All right. I brought my reciprocating saw so two of us can be cutting, while the rest cart debris. Sound okay?” Jonah asked.
“Fine with me,” Raina said. “I’m here more for moral support.”
Mason laughed. “I’m with her. There’s not enough coffee in the world to make me pick up a saw.”
“And here we have revealed Mason’s fatal flaw,” Jonah said as he hung his head. “The man will wield a gun, but not a tool.”
“I thought you judged a guy by his ability to hold a hammer,” Patrick said.
“In most cases, I do. Mason passed the other parts of my interview
process. I let the tool thing slide in this one instance.”
“How fortunate for us.” Gini gave Mason’s arm a squeeze.
Mason tipped his cup toward Gini. “Thank you.”
“Any time.” Gini pulled out a pair of safety glasses from her back pocket and used them as a headband to corral her hair. She wandered around the house checking the walls Patrick had marked. Within moments, Jonah had his saw plugged in and roaring away to cut a starting point for taking down drywall. Midas barked at the noise and took off to find a quieter spot.
“I’m going to move this food to the other end of the house,” Raina announced over the buzz. “I don’t like sawdust and drywall bits in my muffins.”
“I’ll give you a hand with that,” Mason said.
“Take this too.” Haddy handed her cooler to Mason. “Some lunch time goodies.”
Mason and Raina disappeared down the hall as Patrick caught up with Gini. Her jeans fit so perfectly that he again had to remind himself to look but not touch.
“You know,” Gini said as she turned around, “this is going to be something.”
That’s what most of his body was hoping for—to be something with Gini. Then Patrick realized she was talking about the house.
“Hope so,” he said, but now he wasn’t sure what he hoped for.
“The view is amazing.” Gini had stopped by the windows in the great room to look outside, but she was beginning to like the view indoors better.
“That’s why I bought the place.” Patrick came to stand next to her.
His T-shirt hugged his biceps, outlined his chest, and disappeared into a pair of jeans that stretched down two long legs. Gini angled her head up to take in his face and the dark, stubbly beard around his mouth and jaw. How would it feel to have that beard brushing against her face? Those lips against hers?
When Gini realized she’d been studying Patrick a little too long, she shifted her gaze to his and found those hazel eyes examining her as well. What did he see? Was he fooled by the ever-present smile on her face? Or did he know that each day was a struggle to maintain control?
“No furniture?” Gini gestured to the room around them.
“When I sold my place in Rhode Island, the couple who bought it offered to pay extra for the furniture. They were just starting out, and the furniture would be in my way here while I worked, so I took them up on their offer. Made sense at the time.”
“And now?”
“And now I miss my stuff.” Patrick shrugged. “I’ll get new stuff that fits in better here.”
Gini tried to picture what Patrick’s tastes would be. Leather and wood instantly came to mind. She could almost smell the two intermingling in the giant great room. Why did she want to see the finished product so badly?
“We should get rolling,” Patrick finally said.
“Right.” Gini picked up his reciprocating saw. “Can I drive first?”
Patrick’s eyebrow rose, and he studied her for a few more silent moments before Gini pulled down her safety glasses, her hair spilling back into her face. She put the saw down to reach into her pocket and dig out an elastic. Gathering the curls, she smoothed them back and captured them into a low ponytail.
“Do you think I can’t handle the saw because I’m a girl?”
“No, not at all,” Patrick said. “I’m sure you can handle it. Jonah said you built an arbor with a swing, right?”
“Uh-huh. Came out damn good too.”
“If you do say so yourself.” Patrick plugged the saw into an extension cord.
“Other people will say so too. You can ask them.”
“Maybe I will.”
Gini couldn’t help imagining the calendar shot she’d use for Patrick once she got him to agree. He’d have to pose with Saber. That cat would totally soften those sharp firefighter edges, and his furry tail draped across that muscled chest she was sure Patrick was hiding from her would be a nice contrast in texture. She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought about positioning cat and man on her swing. It’d be perfect.
“What are you doing?” Patrick’s voice made her suck in a breath.
“Huh? Nothing.”
“You looked like you were thinking really hard.”
“Sometimes I do think really hard.”
“About what?”
Dangerous territory. Not going there. Gini shook her head. “Lots of stuff.” She stuffed earplugs into her ears, pulled the trigger on the saw, and it revved to life. Conversation impossible.
Gini attacked the nearest marked wall and made an opening in the drywall. Soon they were both ripping off the wall board in bits and pieces. Mason and Raina, back from their food organization, took turns carting the trash out to the pile in the driveway. Somewhere else in the house, the metallic screech of Jonah’s saw sounded as he cut through nails. He was already onto removing studs. She’d be that far along too if she hadn’t wasted time inspecting Patrick.
But she wasn’t used to guys like him. So quiet. So serious. She’d spent her entire life around firefighters, most of which had been loud jokesters either teasing her or flirting with her. Patrick’s stoic observation, however, left her in uncharted territory. She wasn’t sure how to handle him or even if she should.
Damn, she wanted to though.
With the last of the drywall peeled away from their section, Gini picked up the saw again and hacked at the studs. Patrick gripped the loose wood and twisted until each stud came free of its ceiling mount. They had a tall pile of two-by-fours in no time.
“Where are those trash collectors?” Patrick gestured to the stack.
“Probably making out somewhere,” Gini said.
Patrick laughed, and Gini let the sound wash over her. She had a feeling he didn’t laugh easily so when he did, it felt as if she’d accomplish something. She found a piece of chalk on the window ledge and made a tally mark on a piece of drywall. Gini propped the drywall up against the window.
“What’s that?” Patrick shook sawdust from his shirt.
“I’m keeping count.”
“Of what?”
“How many times I make you laugh today.” Gini drew a smiley face next to her tally. She shaded in around the mouth to make a beard, which made Patrick laugh again. He took the chalk from her hand, his fingers hesitating for a moment around hers, and added another mark to her tally.
“You’re off to a good start.” He hoisted up three of the discarded two-by-fours, balanced them over his left shoulder, and headed for the garage. The way his legs strode powerfully across the disgusting linoleum floor made Gini feverish. His ass filled out those jeans as if someone had poured him into a denim mold.
Maybe she didn’t have to worry so much about setting things on fire around Patrick. Maybe she had to be concerned about being set on fire instead.
Chapter Ten
By the time lunch rolled around, Patrick counted sixteen marks on Gini’s tally board. He hadn’t ever laughed that much in so short a time. He wasn’t sure how she was managing it. She revealed some fun childhood stories about Jonah. Talked about her parents. Shared a few interesting photography tales. She weaved humor and wit into every topic. He had no choice but to laugh. Had to be magic or something.
Even Raina stopped in her debris hauling with Mason to furrow her brows at Patrick.
“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” she whispered as she tugged him aside.
Patrick sobered, and Raina shook her head. “No, no,” she said. “This guy is preferred. He looks…what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, I know. Happy. You’re allowed to be that, you know.”
He nudged her away and turned to find Gini inspecting her ungloved finger. As he walked over, a drop of blood rolled down her perfect flesh and landed on the plywood floor.
“What happened?” He automatically went into full rescue mode and took her hand in his.
“Nothing. A splinter got me. A mammoth one. Right through my glove. Got some of it out.” She held up her index f
inger, but blood covered the slice again.
Patrick guided her to the small bathroom off the master bedroom. Pointing to the toilet, he said, “Sit.” He pulled a few tissues from the box behind her and made her press them to her finger. “I’ve got some first aid stuff in the other bathroom. I know this bathroom is ugly, but it’s clean.” He gestured to the cracked white tile on the floor and the hideous, wicker-like wallpaper. “Be right back.”
The instinct to take care of Gini was immediate. As he grabbed the first aid kit, Patrick told himself it was because he was a firefighter. Helping people was what he did. As much as he tried to believe that, he knew other factors were at work here. He should call Jonah. Have him tend to Gini. He was her brother. She’d want family to help her. When Patrick emerged from the other bathroom, however, he turned toward the master bathroom instead of toward the kitchen where Jonah was working.
Inside the bathroom, Gini appeared small, fragile. Patrick knew she wasn’t. God, he’d seen her brandish his saw like a knight with a sword. She didn’t flinch when drywall or sawdust spit back into her face. She’d used raw physical strength, grunting louder than Patrick sometimes, to free some of the studs. She wasn’t delicate.
And yet, she was.
Patrick kneeled beside her and pulled away her hand holding the tissue. Fresh blood pooled in the cut.
“I washed it,” Gini said, “but I’m a slow clotter.”
“That’s better than being a fast bleeder,” Patrick said.
Gini laughed. “Okay, tally mark for you on that one.”
Patrick smirked and pulled on some gloves.
“My, my. Aren’t we prepared?” Gini let him rest her hand, palm up, on his knee.
He looked at the gloves as if not realizing he’d donned them and shrugged. “It’s automatic.”
“I see. Standard procedure.” Gini squirmed a little when Patrick used tweezers to remove the sliver of wood still in her finger.
“I follow the rules.” He disinfected the cut and bandaged it in under a minute.
Gini wiggled her finger, testing its mobility with the bandage. “Ever break the rules?”
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