by Debra Webb
“Why, howdy, Miss Wade. Coming along to watch some real heroes in action?”
~*~
Abby had never been at the scene of a fire when it was taking place. Never witnessed the devastation firsthand this close. Never stood by helplessly and watched men risk their lives to save the lives and livelihoods of others.
Sure, she’d seen her share of murder and mayhem in movies, in the news, and even some in real life. She’d even covered a mugging, and a theft or two on her reporter jobs before Up Close. But Abby had grown up on the Upper East Side, gone to the very best private schools. She’d always been sheltered from the worst the city could spawn. Hardcore reporting just wasn’t her forte.
Up Close featured entertainers, politicians, small town heroes, and the like. And with the long hours she spent at the office, there just wasn’t a lot of time to take notice of the other things going on around her. Not that she was oblivious by any means—just busy.
Too busy.
Someday she fully intended to be a respected, award-winning writer for a better magazine. Harper’s or Atlantic Monthly or something like that. But she’d never wanted to be like her father who traveled the globe writing about war and the gut-wrenching issues of the world. The important issues, as he would say. That just wasn’t for Abby—not right now, anyway. She was perfectly content with covering the brighter side of life. Maybe she would change her mind someday. She didn’t know. If her father had anything to do with it, she’d change directions today. But he didn’t.
The acrid odor of smoke burned her lungs, and its thick presence in the air stung her eyes, yanking her back to the here and now. The fire was out. Only the charred and ruined remains of the barn still hissed and emitted steam as the firemen sprayed the area down one last time for good measure.
Fortunately for the man who owned the property, Matthew and his crew had saved the two horses, the mother cat, and all five of her kittens from the blazing structure. But more importantly, they had saved the house and the nearby equipment shed from the inferno. If either had gone up in flames, the man’s entire livelihood would have been threatened. Insurance was expensive, and Abby had just learned that small farmers couldn’t always afford the premiums. The firemen worked hard to save everything humanly possible... risking their lives in the process.
They had arrived to find the farm owner suffering from smoke inhalation. His wife had made the 911 call. In a flash the firemen had dispersed. Like actors in a well-directed play, each knew his part. Two men went inside to save the animals from the inferno. Within seconds of Matthew’s coming out of the burning barn with the second horse, the structure was consumed by the flames—a total loss. The heat had been overwhelming, suffocating. According to Roger, the long dry spell had put everything in the fire’s vicinity in danger, trees and fields included. The only solution was to wet everything down and pray. After recovering somewhat, the farmer had even plowed a wide path around the burning structure to reduce the possibility of the fire spreading.
The entire event had given her a serious adrenaline rush. Is that what kept these men coming back for more? Abby wondered vaguely as she watched the handful of volunteer firefighters do their jobs.
Three and a half hours later and back at the station, the small group of exhausted and soot-covered men were ready to go home. The fire truck had been serviced and all was set to go for the next emergency.
After arriving at Matthew’s place, Abby followed him through the back door and into what had once been a porch but was now an efficient-looking laundry room. She kicked off her sooty, dusty sneakers and Matthew did the same. Abby watched as he peeled off his sweaty, blackened T-shirt. He groaned when he stretched his arms over his head. She’d seen the fall he’d taken.
The last horse had resisted rescue. Matthew had thrown his jacket over the animal’s head in an effort to blind him from the threat. The ruse had worked, but just as they’d exited the burning barn a beam had fallen. The loud thud had spooked the horse, making him rear and knocking Matthew to the ground. He had to be bruised and sore. But it was a miracle he hadn’t been hurt worse. Only a few inches had separated the animal’s powerful hooves from his chest.
He swore softly as he pitched the ruined T-shirt into a laundry basket.
“Are you all right?” Abby hadn’t realized she’d moved until she was standing right next to him. Dismayed by her own actions, the sight of his bare chest made her breathing hitch. Her gaze slid over all that magnificent masculinity, upward to his full lips and then to clear blue eyes.
He smiled and Abby’s heart stumbled. “Nothing a long, hot shower won’t cure,” he rasped, his voice strained from shouting and smoke inhalation.
She nodded, utterly unsure of herself in this man’s presence for the second time in the last twenty-four hours.
“Well, I should hit the shower,” he said, but made no move to go. Their gazes held and the soot and the grime that smudged his face faded into insignificance.
His gaze dropped to her lips and Abby stopped breathing altogether. Slowly he lifted his right hand, then rubbed the pad of his thumb over her chin. He licked those awesome lips of his and Abby’s knees almost buckled.
“You have soot...” His words trailed off as his mouth slowly descended to meet hers.
The contact was so brief, so tender, and yet so charged that Abby literally ached with the unsated need when he drew back. A desire more powerful than any she’d ever experienced coursed through her.
He swallowed, the play of muscle beneath tanned skin evidence of the effort. “You are very hard to resist, Abby Wade.” His warm breath feathered across her freshly kissed lips, sending another shiver of awareness through her. “People may be calling me a hero, but I’ve never been accused of being a saint.”
With that, he turned and walked away. Abby released the breath she’d only just realized she’d been holding. How had she let that happen? Becoming infatuated with the subject of her assignment could compromise her credibility, color her perception of the story.
She rubbed the heels of her hands against the sudden pounding in her forehead. God, she’d lost control completely there for a minute. Become a danger to herself and to this story. She knew better. She had been in this business far too long not to recognize the signs.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she closed her eyes and recalled the ideals of objectivity she had worked so hard to develop to a strict degree of discipline, the sacrifices she had made to reach the level of excellence she had attained. She’d graduated from New York University with honors. She was up for senior writer status at a major magazine.
No one—certainly not Matthew Stone and his zany friends—was going to make her lose sight of her ultimate goal.
The story.
Chapter Three
“I can’t do this story,” Abby argued, “if you keep running out on me.”
Matthew shrugged and grabbed his tool box. “I don’t know what to say.” He pushed the back door open with one lean hip. “Some things just won’t wait, and Mrs. Loudermilk’s toilet is one of them. This is how I make my living.”
Abby huffed in irritation, as tension tightened like a steel band around her temples. “It’s Saturday night! Don’t your customers know not to call after business hours?”
Matthew sighed mightily. “Abby, a plumber is on call twenty-four hours a day.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Plumber? I thought you were a home improvement contractor.”
He shifted the tool box to his other hand. “Right. And in a small town like this that means plumber, electrician, painter, wallpaper hanger, among other things.” He smiled. “In other words, a handyman.”
Abby arched an eyebrow in disapproval. “I think we’ll call you a home improvement contractor for the purposes of this story.”
“Whatever,” he acquiesced. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” Abby demanded. When he reluctantly turned back, she asked, “What am I supposed to do with them?” She hitched a thumb
over her shoulder.
“You’re a woman, you’ll think of something.” The screen door slammed behind his hasty retreat.
Abby stared after him for a long moment of indignation which quickly turned to defeated disbelief when he got into his truck and actually drove away. She glanced down at the huge, shaggy dog sitting outside the door, waiting to be allowed inside. “Don’t even think about it,” she said flatly. He made an unhappy sound and peered up at Abby with big, sorrowful eyes. “You’ll get over it,” she muttered, not about to be dissuaded by that pleading look. She remembered all too well those long fangs. No matter what Matthew said, the dog could bite if he wanted to.
Slowly, she turned to face the problem he’d left her. Grinning like Cheshire cats, the small boy and girl patiently waited for Abby to rejoin them in the kitchen. Jenny’s twins had the Stone family’s dark blond hair and blue eyes. Both were cute—well, cute for kids. So far they appeared cooperative enough. They’d done whatever their uncle had told them to do since their arrival half an hour ago.
Abby reminded herself that she had interviewed several important political figures, actors, and superstars of the music world in her three years at Up Close. She could surely supervise the activities of two kids for a couple of hours.
“Okay, guys, what would you like to do now?” Abby put on her most accommodating smile.
“We’re hungry,” the little boy said. The girl, Carlee, nodded her agreement.
“Okay.” Abby bit her lower lip thoughtfully. What did five-year-olds eat? When no answer popped into her head she went to the source. “What would you like?”
“Ice cream,” they shouted in unison.
Abby glanced at the clock on the wall, and frowned. It was only six-thirty. “We haven’t had dinner yet, so let’s have the ice cream for dessert,” she offered. In a show of defiance, Chris and Carlee folded their arms over their little chests and puckered out their bottom lips. “I promise we’ll have ice cream later, but right now let’s find a more nutritious snack.”
That didn’t go over very well either. Rubbing at the tension in her neck, Abby scanned the kitchen for a place to begin her search. She jerked her gaze back to an open door next to the refrigerator. The shelves of what she decided must be a pantry caught her eye.
“You two go wash your hands and I’ll check the pantry,” she told them. Neither had moved a muscle since assuming their defiant poses. Confident that they understood her instructions, Abby hustled into the pantry and scoured the shelves for something nutritious that would appeal to Matthew’s sullen little house guests.
“Aha!” She spotted a bin containing fruit. Abby selected three shiny red apples. All kids loved apples. Didn’t they take them to school for their teachers or something? That’s right. Apples would be perfect.
The pantry door shut behind her. Abby whirled around. “Hey, who closed the door?” Maybe it closed by itself, she reasoned, giving her nerves and the twins the benefit of the doubt. Frowning, she took the few steps necessary to cross the tiny room. The panic didn’t set in until she pushed against the door only to find it wouldn’t budge. “Chris, Carlee, open the door right now!”
The children didn’t answer, but Abby could hear them giggling and moving about in the kitchen. She banged on the door then. “You’d better open this door immediately or”—she thought for a minute for an appropriate warning that would spur them to action—“Your Uncle Matt will punish you.”
No response.
Clutching the apples to her chest, Abby cursed, then turned around slowly in her well-stocked prison.
At least she wouldn’t starve.
~*~
More than an hour after he’d driven away, Matthew dragged his exhausted body from his truck and trudged up the back steps. He had never been this tired in his life. Between this morning’s game, the fire, and then Mrs. Loudermilk’s plumbing emergency, he was totally spent.
He didn’t even have the energy to maintain the guilt he’d initially felt at having to leave Abby stuck with the twins. Interview or no, he still had a job to do.
Abby. Mathew paused at the door and closed his eyes. His groin tightened and heat flooded his body at the memory of her in that short yellow nightshirt this morning, all shapely legs and dangerous curves. And those silky auburn curls that framed her sweet, heart-shaped face and expressive green eyes. Eyes that threatened to melt him each time he looked at her. If he’d had any idea that the writer assigned to his story was so drop-dead gorgeous, he’d have asked her to stay with Jenny.
He shook himself. What fool compulsion had possessed him to kiss her? Had he lost his mind? No. It was worse than that. Some kind of intense chemistry was brewing between them. It was hard to believe that such a brief meeting of the lips could affect him so deeply, but it had.
Even worse, he wanted to do it again. Why had he stayed single for so long? He should have married again years ago. Matthew loved kids, wanted some of his own. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known plenty of nice women who were willing. He had. But he just hadn’t clicked with any of the ladies he had dated since his wife’s death six years ago. Not one had gotten under his skin the way Abby did.
On top of that, he’d been so busy the last few months that he’d almost foregone dating altogether, with only an occasional evening out here and there.
Sex, that was the problem. Going without too long made a man edgy.
But the possibility of sex with Abby Wade was out of the question. Wasn’t it?
Hell, he had lost his mind.
The woman had come all the way from New York to write a story about a hero, and all Matthew could do was think about separating her from her panties.
Damn.
He deposited his tool box in the laundry room and headed for the kitchen. For the first time since they were old enough to tear the house down, he was thankful the twins were spending the night.
That appreciation was short-lived when Matthew surveyed the scene in the kitchen. His jaw sagged at the sight of Chris and Carlee sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, with vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup all over their faces, their clothes, the table, and the floor surrounding it. Chocolate syrup dripped down the wall behind the table, leaving long dark trails.
Abby Wade was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Abby?” he demanded, his temper rising too swiftly.
Two sets of identical blue eyes peered up at him in complete innocence. “Who?” they asked angelically.
“Abby, the lady I left with you. Where is she?”
“Let me out of here!”
Matthew turned instantly toward the sound of Abby’s voice. The door to the pantry shook beneath her pounding. Matthew shot his niece and nephew an accusing look and then stalked across the room to free Abby. He flipped the slide latch his grandfather had installed nearly three decades ago to keep Matthew and his sister out of the pantry, then pulled the door open. Abby stood before him, outrage radiating from every gorgeous inch of her.
“What the hell happened?”
She stamped out of the pantry staring daggers at him. “Don’t ask.” Her piercing gaze arrowed across the room to the table, and then back to his. “Why didn’t you warn me to watch my back?”
The look of indignant outrage, coupled with the shocked disbelief on her face, was priceless. Nothing Matthew could have done would have stopped the laughter from bubbling forth.
“There’s absolutely nothing funny about this,” she hissed, hands on hips.
“You’re right,” he croaked. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent another explosion of hysteria. The woman had obviously never dealt with real kids. “It’s not funny at all.”
“Then why on earth are you laughing?”
He stifled the grin that threatened and pulled a serious face. “Abby, lighten up, they’re just kids.” At that precise moment Carlee padded up between them. She peered up at Matthew, her big blue eyes bright with tears, her face stained with sundae fixings.
�
�Uncle Matt, the choc’lat’s empty.” For emphasis, she jutted her lower lip and squeezed the plastic bottle in her hands. “See,” she whined. Instantly, chocolate syrup squirted across the front of Matthew’s jeans.
“Carlee!” Matthew clenched his teeth against a scorching oath and reached for the hand towel on the counter.
“Lighten up, big guy,” Abby intoned, her arms crossed triumphantly over her chest. “They’re just kids.”
Matthew scowled first at Abby, then at his stained jeans.
This was going to be one hell of a night.
~*~
By midnight Abby was fully convinced that Matthew’s sister’s children were the devil’s spawn. They had all but destroyed everything with which they’d been allowed to come into contact. The kitchen, the living room, and several other rooms could now be classified as official disaster areas.
The twins refused to sleep anywhere but in the room with their uncle. She and Matthew had to be with them at all times. Fortunately Jenny had sent along their cartoon character sleeping bags.
To pass the time away, board games were the order of the evening. Chinese checker’s and Candyland did absolutely nothing to reduce the stamina of the Energizer Twins. Once the children lost interest, Abby and Matthew played out the game of Monopoly they’d started. Clearly in awe of themselves, the children then began an acrobatics routine on the floor. They rolled and tumbled, giggled and whispered—did everything but sleep.
Abby tossed the dice and shot a disgusted look at the wiggling children. “Do they behave like this all the time?”
Matthew grinned. “Pretty much.”
She shuddered. “I guess being an only child wasn’t so bad after all.” She moved her ship token to Park Place. “I’d like to buy that property, please.”
“You can’t buy it.” Matthew frowned. “You’re an only child?”
“Yes, I’m an only child,” Abby retorted. “And why can’t I buy it?”
“Because I always buy Park Place and Boardwalk,” he insisted. A serious Monopoly player, Matthew already owned Boardwalk and had motels stationed on numerous other properties.