FIREBRAND

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  By the time he'd gotten the door open and managed to get his legs free of the car, she had snatched his crutches from the back seat and had them ready.

  At the same time, he was discovering that hefting himself from the low bucket seat was more of a problem than he'd figured. His abused tendons screamed with every movement, and his thigh muscles were on the verge of cramping again.

  He could have worked through that, but his bruised shoulder refused to take his weight when he tried to use his right arm for leverage.

  "I must be getting old," he muttered, mad as hell that he couldn't even get himself out of a car without damn near passing out.

  "Here, let me help you."

  Darcy wrapped her hand around his upper arm and dared him with her eyes to protest. He muttered an oath, took a tighter grip on the back of the seat with his right hand and attempted to push himself to his feet. It took him three tries and a large repertoire of cuss words before he succeeded.

  "You don't take care of yourself worth a darn, do you?" Her eyes had taken on a gentle chiding that touched him more than it should have. Tenderness wasn't something he allowed into his world. He didn't give it, and he didn't want to receive it. But God, she was so soft and her touch was so soothing.

  Their eyes locked, clung. Hers shimmering with questions he couldn't answer, his searching for a residue of the hatred he subconsciously expected whenever he saw her.

  Overhead, a few puffy clouds drifted east toward the Cascades, and a soothing breeze teased her hair from the sophisticated combs.

  Ignoring the grinding agony in his knees, he used his other hand to brush flyaway tendrils of coppery silk from her cheek, and then somehow he was resting the flat of his hand against her smooth, soft skin.

  Sunlight angled off the top of the car to spotlight the tiny lines around her eyes, lines that hadn't been there when she'd been sixteen, lines of experience and pain and twenty years of living.

  He dipped his head, then paused, waiting. Her mouth trembled slightly, then curved sweetly upward. With a silent groan, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with a gentleness he thought he'd lost long ago.

  It was more than sexual, this need he had to test the softness of her lips. And the hunger ripping through him had more to do with a long string of lonely days and even lonelier nights than it had to do with purely physical pleasure.

  Her hands cupped his shoulders, her fingers pressing into him for support, her breasts pressed softly against his chest, just above the spot where his heart was thudding harder and harder.

  A deep, years-old yearning stirred inside him and then grew rapidly until it became a hard knot of need in his gut.

  He raised his head and looked into the same deep blue eyes he'd kept locked away in his mind for so long. It wasn't blind adoration he was seeing now, however, and this wasn't an isolated night in spring.

  "I … think we'd better go inside while we still can."

  "I think you're right."

  Darcy moved first. Still looking at him, she stepped backward, slipping from his hold, yet staying close enough to catch him if he crumpled.

  She waited until he tucked the crutches under his arm and got himself steadied before resting her hand on top of the car door, ready to slam it as soon as he was out of the way.

  "Don't fuss, Red." He'd intended his words to be a warning, but somehow with the honeyed spice of her perfume teasing his senses and the sun-warmed silk of her hair blowing against his jaw, they came out too husky, too gentle.

  They were only inches apart and she was looking at him with a familiar nearsighted cast to her eyes, trying to gauge the extent of his weakness. And then she was looking at him in a different way, one that had nothing to do with sympathy or concern or worry.

  This time the feeling that ripped through him was expected, a fierce, hot surge of desire, the kind that had him wondering how far he could push his battered knees before the pain incapacitated him.

  "Okay now?"

  "Depends on how you define okay," he muttered, his gaze dropping before he could stop himself.

  "Forget I asked," she ordered sternly, but her eyes were dancing and her deliberately solemn mouth still had a just-kissed softness as she turned to lead the way.

  The brick walk leading to the back porch was strewn with bicycles and toy trucks and God only knew what else, making navigation difficult. Worse, the walk angled upward toward the house, forcing him to fight gravity with every step.

  By the time he'd gone halfway, his shirt was sticking to his spine and he was fighting for breath. He was thinking about a long cold drink of water and a soft chair when Bear came barreling around the house, barking furiously.

  Darcy had only enough time to shout, "Stop, Bear!" before he launched his front paws at her shoulders. She twisted her head to one side, but his pink tongue lapped at her cheek, greeting her with puppy exuberance.

  "How old did you say he was?" Judd asked, enjoying the sight.

  "Old enough to know better," she muttered, her hands fully occupied with a lovable brute that weighed more than she did. "Down, Bear. I mean it, now. Get down."

  Hearing his name, the dog let out a string of joyous woofs before plastering another series of wet doggy kisses all over her face. Both combs were gone now, and her hair tumbled free in a ripple of gold and bronze highlights.

  "Help!" she cried, her eyes laughing at Judd over the dog's snout.

  "Who, me? I'm a poor, helpless invalid, remember?"

  "Please, Judd," she begged, laughing helplessly. "I'm about to be licked to death."

  "Bear, heel!" The big dog paused, not quite cringing and yet not quite at ease. "Here, Bear. Come here."

  Bear gave another token lick before dropping to all fours and trotting over to Judd, his tail wagging furiously. He poked his nose into Judd's hand and closed his eyes as the strong fingers scratched behind the elephantine ears.

  "I don't believe what I just saw." Darcy's gaze whipped from the now obedient dog to Judd's face.

  "Male bonding," Judd said with an offhand shrug that had her laughing again as she tried to brush the long white and brown hairs from her all-but-ruined blouse.

  "Whatever it was, I wish you'd been here when I was trying to potty train the twins," she quipped as she sidestepped the two large males in her path and headed for the steps.

  So do I, Judd thought, giving Bear one last pat. More than she would ever know.

  "Are you sure you can't find room for that last piece of pie?" Bridget wheedled, the pie server already poised over the last wedge.

  Judd leaned back to rub his belly. "Three's my limit, honest, especially on top of three servings of stew."

  "It shouldn't be. You're too thin." Bridget turned her scowl in her niece's direction. "Isn't he?"

  "Don't fuss, Auntie. Judd doesn't like it."

  "Never did," Bridget grumbled to herself as she carried the pie to the counter.

  "If you're givin' away pie, I wouldn't mind one more piece," Sean-O called after her, his eyes twinkling.

  Bridget snorted as she fetched the coffeepot and carried it back to the table. "You could stand to lose a few pounds, old man." She refilled Judd's cup and hers. Darcy and Sean-O were drinking iced tea.

  "I'm not the one complaining that her apron is too snug these past months since Christmas dinner," Sean-O muttered with a wink in Judd's direction.

  "Does she still make that fancy Christmas tea ring with the walnuts and cinnamon and eat most of it before it gets to the table?" Judd asked, grinning.

  "Aye, that's a fact. This year nary a scrap made it to the table Christmas morning."

  "Tell the whole story while you're at it, old man," Bridget shot back before turning to Judd to add, "He thinks I don't know it, but he was skulking around the kitchen Christmas Eve, snatching tastes."

  "Ah, c'mon, Bridget. Sean-O wouldn't do that. Now, if it was rum cake, that would be different."

  "True enough," Bridget agreed as she sat down again and nodded a
t her old friend and adversary.

  At the opposite end of the table, Darcy sneaked another look at Judd's face. The stiff remoteness that had come over him as soon as he'd stepped into the old kitchen was nearly gone, melted by the warm acceptance offered him by Sean-O and her aunt.

  While Bridget had kept his plate full, fussing over him like a mama hen, Sean-O had plied him with question after question about his experiences in San Francisco.

  Darcy herself had remained mostly silent, not because she didn't have questions, but because there was a growing tightness in her chest that made it difficult to speak.

  Even though she'd been busy helping her aunt dish up the lamb stew and toss the salad, she'd noticed the quick brace of Judd's big shoulders when Sean-O had come into the kitchen.

  Both men had looked uncomfortable and she had a feeling each was thinking of the last time they'd been together in this kitchen. It had been the early hours of the morning, after the guests at her father's wake had finally departed.

  Sean-O had been tipsy, his face flushed from drink, and his blue eyes full of grieving. Judd had been withdrawn to the point of surliness, and the two had tangled over something trivial—she didn't even remember what—and Sean-O had taken a swing at Judd's chin.

  Instead of ducking, Judd had let himself take the punch head-on. She still remembered the sickly crunch when Sean-O's fist had smashed into Judd's jaw, still flinched at the violent way Judd's head had snapped back.

  It was then, with blood streaming from the split in one corner of his mouth, that Judd had told them all that he was leaving.

  Darcy glanced down at the remains of the lunch she'd arranged and rearranged on her plate. She could still see the tension in his face and the odd glint in his eyes when he'd said it, as though he were hoping someone—anyone—would try to talk him out of it. But no one had, and he had been gone by dawn, his room empty of his possessions and his bed neatly made, ready for someone else to use.

  It hurt to remember how alone he had seemed that night, how desperately he'd been seeking forgiveness without actually saying the words.

  No one could have been more helpful, more responsible, more caring than he'd been during that last terrible week. To her, to her aunt, even to the flint-eyed neighbors and friends who made no secret of their utter contempt for him and what he'd done.

  No wonder he'd waited twenty years to come back to Grantley, she thought, mentally shaking her head. It was remarkable that he was still here, working as hard as she'd ever seen a man work to remake a fire department that even she had to admit had become lax and inefficient in recent years.

  There was something good and decent about Judd in spite of the pain he'd caused in the past, something that had survived his father's brutal rejection and hers. At his core, he was steel, like a blade tempered in the hottest flame and with the greatest of searing torment.

  Now, as she eyed him through the screen of her lashes, she wanted desperately to lay her hand against his troubled face and smooth the frown lines permanently embedded in the broad forehead beneath the thick straight hair.

  He deserved more from life than he'd gotten. More kindness, more understanding. More love. What he'd had in those early years, he'd taken, fighting and scraping and struggling, never giving up, but it had cost him, she realized suddenly.

  To survive, he'd made himself hard inside, able to exist without receiving the love he'd been denied for most of his life. Able to exist without giving it.

  Darcy drew in a hard, painful breath, but the tightness in her chest was still there, like a hard, nagging ache. And yet she didn't pity him. Judd was too strong, too resilient to merit that from anyone. What she did feel, she discovered with a sharp pang, was a deep, abiding sadness. For him and, she realized with a jolt, for herself.

  "But she won't listen to an old man like me, will you, lass?"

  In the silence that followed, Darcy looked up to find her table companions looking at her expectantly. "Uh, well, um…"

  She saw laughter lurking behind the shadows in Judd's eyes and gave up. "You caught me woolgathering. Sorry."

  "Sean-O was just telling me that you work too hard. He seems to think you need a day off." His mouth slanted. "From the looks of that distracted frown on your face, I'd say he was right."

  Darcy made an elaborate show of looking at her watch. "I'll have both you gentlemen know that I have already gone through the entire morning and a good portion of the afternoon without doing a lick of work—although I have to admit that manhandling Judd out of one of Chester Chevrolet's subversively tricky bucket seats felt suspiciously like hard labor."

  Judd's eyes crinkled and he had to fight hard to keep from grinning. "All the more reason for you to spend the rest of the day down by the river, angling for the big one."

  "Only if you come with me and bait the hook," she shot back.

  "Still hate worms, do you?"

  "Yes. They're too slimy."

  "And minnows are too wiggly, right?"

  "Absolutely!"

  The laughter faded from his eyes, replaced by a memory so bleak it sent a shiver of warning down her spine. They'd been fishing together near the gravel pit when Judd had kissed her for the first time. Six months later, she was no longer a virgin, and her father was dead.

  Tension suddenly crackled across the table, changing the mood in the room as surely as a lightning strike. "Well, I'd better get to these dishes," Bridget announced as she got up and busied herself stacking plates.

  Sean-O slurped down the last of his tea a split second before she snatched the glass from his hand. "And I'd best be getting the truck ready." He went about the laborious business of getting to his feet, then stuck out his hand. "It was good sittin' across the table from you again, boy."

  Darcy saw Judd's throat work as the two men exchanged a long handshake. "It was good seeing you, Sean-O," he said belatedly, his voice deeper than usual.

  Averting eyes that were suddenly damp, Darcy gathered up the salad bowls and carried them to the sink. A quick glance at her aunt's face told her that she, too, was moved.

  "You two go ahead and tend to your business," Bridget ordered without lifting her gaze from the plate she was diligently rinsing.

  "I can help—"

  "Nonsense," she protested gruffly. "You'll only disrupt my routine."

  "Behave yourself, ladies," Sean-O called as he headed toward the service porch.

  "Just you see to yourself, old man," Bridget called, her gaze softening as she watched him leave. The screen door slammed more loudly than usual, causing Darcy to grin and Bridget to shake her head.

  "One of these days you two are going to have to get married so you can stop harassing each other," Darcy murmured before giving her aunt a quick peck on the cheek.

  "And what do you think marriage is but hassling?" Bridget grumbled, but her cheeks were getting pinker and pinker.

  Laughing, Darcy turned to find that Judd was on his feet, watching her with the same brooding remoteness he'd brought into the kitchen ninety minutes earlier.

  So much for family reunions, she thought as she forced a smile. "Let's go into my office, shall we? We can talk there."

  Darcy sat behind her desk, her shoes off and her elbows propped on the top. Outside, the pruning crew was heading back to the fields after their lunch break.

  In the kitchen Bridget was watching her favorite soap, talking back to the TV set the way she'd done for years.

  "Nice room," Judd said, his curious gaze completing a circuit of the small, airy office.

  "Thanks. It started out to be my office, but it's turned into a catchall room," she said, indicating with a nod of her head the ballet barre bolted to one wall.

  "Don't tell me—"

  "Not me! The twins. Steve wanted them to be track stars, which is fine, but they also need a little culture. We compromised."

  He nodded, then rearranged the pillows behind his back. At her insistence and after a great deal of masculine resistance, Judd was str
etched out on the sofa, his back propped against a huge neon orange cushion that she'd gotten from a basket in the living room. It smelled of peanut butter, very much like the twins' room.

  Darcy saw the first signs of restlessness and smiled to herself. Judd had never been much for chitchat and even less for inactivity.

  "So, what did you want to talk to me about?" she asked, beating him to the punch.

  He seemed startled, as though his thoughts were far away. "What do you think the chances are in a place the size of Grantley of three fires starting spontaneously within ten minutes of each other?"

  "Pretty slim." Her eyes rounded. "So that's why there didn't seem to be enough men to handle the fire at Mike's."

  "About a third the number we needed, yeah."

  "But if someone deliberately set those other two fires as … decoys, that means that Bob Whitfield is wrong about the fire being started to cover up a bungled burglary."

  "I think so, yes."

  "A bungled burglary like the one here?"

  "That's a possibility, yes."

  Her eyes were suddenly haunted, and he kicked himself for not leading up to this more gently. Thing was, he didn't have a lot of practice when it came to doing anything any other way than full out.

  "I didn't have much time this morning, but I did manage to check through some of the logs. I can't prove it because there's no evidence, but my gut instinct tells me that there's some kind of pattern in the fires over the past year or so, maybe longer than that. And patterns are man-made."

  "But if you can't prove it, why are you so suspicious?"

  "Because I know fire. It's a lot like people, always different. Always unpredictable, but always with a personality, a life of its own."

  Some were like women, smoldering for hours, sometimes days, before circumstances forced them to show their full force.

  Some were wild and full of caprice, like a forest fire leaving whole corridors untouched while scorching everything else for miles.