by Jill Shalvis
“You’re not paying to stay here at all,” she pointed out. “I mean it, Jake, that was the stupidest thing—” She broke off when he sank back to the bench, lifting his left hand to rub his shoulder. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Yes, he hurt like hell, and was damn tired of it, too. “I’m fine. Thanks for the lecture. You can get back to work.”
“Let me see.”
“What? No.”
“Take off your shirt.”
A laugh choked out of him. “Didn’t we do this in reverse a week ago?”
“Here—” Impatient, she unbuttoned his shirt herself, her tongue caught between her teeth with concentration.
Jake stared at that tongue while her fingers brushed his bare skin, sweeping the material off his chest and shoulders. “I decided sleeping with you again would be extremely detrimental to my mental health. So I’m begging you, put that tongue away.”
Ignoring him, she touched his scar, from armpit to the tip of his shoulder. “You didn’t split anything.”
“No.” Apparently his lower body didn’t get the memo about not sleeping with her, because it was reacting to her touch. “The incision’s closed.”
“But it hurts?”
“Only when I breathe.”
Her fingers kneaded lightly, in a motion that was both torture and pleasure. “You’re not massaging it enough. The scar tissue is stiff.” She dug in with her fingers, stopping when he sucked in a pained breath. “Too hard?”
“Nah.” Sweat broke out on his brow.
Shaking her head, she let out an irked mutter and continued to massage his shoulder and scar, manipulating it much the same way his physical therapist had. “You hanging in?” she asked a few minutes later.
He decided not to answer that because he wasn’t sure. Eventually she stopped and pushed him back to the bench when he would have risen. “Stay,” she said, and whirled away, only to come back a moment later and set an ice pack on him, making him yelp at the cold. “Ten minutes, you big baby.”
“Damn, such a bedside manner. Are you this kind to all the men in your life?”
“You could ask my ex. I once held his own shotgun on him.”
He shuddered. “And here I thought you were so sweet. Why did you get married so young?”
“Besides being stupid?” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She touched his ice pack. “It’s a little pathetic, actually.”
“Well, I’m feeling a little pathetic myself. Tell me.”
“It’s just the same old poor neglected kid story. You know, where no one looks at the girl twice, so when a guy finally does…” She shrugged again, looking embarrassed. “I fell for Matt hard. Hook, line, and sinker.”
“You got your heart broken.”
“I lived.” She smiled grimly. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Yeah, you are,” he said. “And softer, too.”
She looked at the weights that had nearly strangled him. “I still can’t believe what an asinine move that was.”
“Gee, don’t hold back.”
“I never will.” She looked at his shoulder. “Your father fell off the barn roof once. He’d been up there fixing a leak, insisting he knew what he was doing—he didn’t, by the way, but he was so stubborn. I guess I know where you get that.”
“I’m not like him.”
“How would you know?” she asked softly. “I mean, in all the years I was here before he died. I never saw you here. How come?”
“Did he talk to you about that?”
“Never.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
“You mean he never asked you to come?”
Pride dictated he change the subject, but he decided to tell her the truth instead. “Not since I was twelve and told him I wanted to be a big city firefighter.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “His loss then, for believing a twelve-year-old could possibly already know what he wanted in life.”
“I did know what I wanted. I wanted him to work a little harder at wanting me.” The minute the words slipped out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. They were too open, too raw, and far too revealing.
“His loss,” she repeated gently, and adjusted his ice pack again. “I remember being twelve. I’d see other kids getting rides to school. They’d have a sack lunch, or money. A hug if they wanted. It all seemed so normal.” Her wistful tone and soft breath brushed over his skin. “I used to wish for that.”
Him, too. Knowing he’d missed out, he’d tried to give a sense of normality to Tucker, though he’d failed miserably.
“When I landed here, I felt as if I’d come home for the first time in my life.” Her fingers danced over his skin lightly. He wasn’t even sure she realized she was doing it; he just didn’t want her to stop. “Richard was everything to me,” she said. “He taught me so much, accepted so much.”
Was she waiting for him to say he’d made a mistake in not coming here sooner? Because he wasn’t going to. That street had gone two ways, and as she’d said, he’d only been a kid. Richard could have reached out, too, and the age-old resentment balled up in his gut. “Yeah, he was a real saint.”
“Oh, Jake.” Her smile was so sad. “He was so much more than I’d ever had before, yes, but I wasn’t blind. He loved this place over and beyond all else.”
“Including his own flesh and blood.”
“Including his own flesh and blood,” she agreed. “It was just who he was. Stubborn as a bull, hard-headed to boot, and God forbid anyone not agree with him. He knew what he wanted at all times and didn’t understand why everyone else didn’t want the same thing. He could be”—her smile was wry—“curmudgeonly. Difficult.”
“An ass.”
“Well, that’s a matter of opinion,” she said loyally. “But the truth is, most of his employees worked hard for him because he paid well and fair, but he wasn’t loved by any stretch of the imagination.”
Off-kilter and off balance, he looked at her. “At his funeral service, you were furious with me for not grieving. Why tell me all this now? What’s changed in me?”
“Maybe it’s not you who changed.”
“And maybe it’s both of us,” he said quietly. “Maybe I’m rethinking things, too.”
“Your life has changed.”
“Drastically.”
“And it makes you sad.”
“Extremely.”
“I’d say I’m sorry but I don’t want you to think I’m pitying you.” She smiled softly. “But have you thought that maybe changing your life’s path could turn out to be a good thing? That you can find something just as rewarding as firefighting?”
“I’m not that evolved.”
Her radio chirped and she rose. “Lie still and cool your shoulder down.”
After she’d gone, he tried to stay still, which he managed for five minutes. Restless, he tossed aside the ice pack and stood, carefully rolling his shoulder, telling himself he didn’t hurt any worse than usual. A lie. Fire burned all the way from his throat to his fingertips. Buttoning his shirt, he walked down the hall of the house, which was quiet. Too quiet.
Now that he’d nearly killed himself in the weight room, he’d exhausted all options of self-entertainment. He wished for something to occupy him, to take his mind off everything. At home that want would be sex. Sex on the lunch table. Sex for dessert. Sex, sex, sex.
Now he’d be happy to have someone to sit with and talk to.
Christ, he was getting old. He needed to sell and get out of there. Go back to his life.
But his stomach dropped a little because deep, deep down he was afraid of the truth—that the life he wanted to get back to no longer existed.
He stepped out of the house into the warm spring day.
Goose rushed to the edge of the grass, neck out, prepared to attack. Jake actually imagined the obnoxious thing as the spirit of his father, cursing hi
m, waving his fist. “Honk, honk,” Goose said, and Jake heard “Loser, loser.” He shut his eyes and ears to the image and turned away from the grass, stepping instead onto the driveway.
Goose let him go, but watched carefully.
Callie’s red Jeep was still parked on the driveway. The hood was up, and from beneath it came an exceptional pair of jean-clad legs topped with well-worn boots.
She was talking, either to herself or the Jeep or the old dog lying prone at her feet. “You big, worthless piece of shit.”
Lifting a brow, Jake moved closer, coming to a stop just next to the hood. Shep didn’t waste the energy to lift his head. How he’d ever managed to get another dog pregnant was a big mystery to Jake.
More swearing from Callie.
“Problem?”
Jerking upright, she smacked her head on the hood. With another impressive oath, she rubbed the top of her head and glared at him. “Don’t sneak up on me.”
“I didn’t sneak. What’s up with your Jeep?”
“It won’t start.” She kicked the tire. “And Lou’s on a job interview in Boca. Damn it.”
“I saw Lou right here only a little while ago. He had his tool box out.”
“He was giving the Jeep a tune-up. You’d think he’d have noticed it wouldn’t start.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“Oh no. I’m working on evening out the score between us, not adding to my debt.” She vanished beneath the hood again.
“What, you think I’m keeping track?”
“Oh, stop with the insulted, wounded warrior tone. This isn’t about you.” Her words echoed beneath the hood.
Wounded warrior? “Look, I worked as a mechanic after high school while I was training to become a firefighter. I could probably—”
“I’ve got this handled, Jake.”
She wasn’t even looking at him. Damn, he was even lonelier than he thought to be bugged by that. He glanced around him.
Still just wide open space. He was going to lose his ever-loving mind out here. The last two visits hadn’t been this way, but they’d been short and quaint and, even better, he’d had a woman with him, tending to his every need.
He didn’t know what he’d expected this time, but it sure as hell hadn’t been this soul-deep loneliness. He turned back to Callie, buried in her Jeep, and wished she’d look at him, talk to him some more, even if it meant hearing more about his father and his life out here, which made him worse off than he’d even thought. “Callie—”
“Honestly. I’ve got this.”
“Right. Because God forbid you actually need anyone.”
She started to jerk upright again, but slowed down just before she hit her head. Looking greatly vexed, she eyed him. “What does that mean?”
“I think I scare you.” He had no idea why he was pushing this. Maybe it was the pain. Or sheer perversity and frustration. Pick one. “You’ve been burned and now you’re protecting yourself. I get that, but you still have to put it on the line and live.”
“And you’re the resident expert on this?”
“I’m not afraid, I’ll tell you that.” Just lonely as hell.
She slapped a screwdriver against her thigh as she studied him. “You know, as fascinating as this conversation is, I have work.” She stepped around the lazy dog and hopped up into the driver’s seat, slamming the door.
“Please start,” she whispered to her beloved Jeep. “Please.” Because then she’d be able to drive away and forget the look on Jake’s face.
The look that had seemed an awful bit too close to desperation.
She didn’t want to think of him as being vulnerable. Hurting. She wanted him to remain as she’d conveniently filed him in her head—arrogant, conceited, and a pain in her ass, not to mention on the verge of selling the Blue Flame, her heart, her home. That’s how she wanted to think of him.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, and how he’d taken her right out of herself while he’d worshipped her body. And then there’d been his expression in the weight room, when she’d talked about Richard. He’d looked starved for the information, angry at wanting to hear more, and terrified he might feel something other than that anger and resentment for the father he’d never known.
He missed his life, and she knew he was afraid he’d never get it back, that he wouldn’t heal, that he couldn’t perform. That had softened her, when she hadn’t wanted to be softened.
Jake reached under the hood.
“Jake, move.”
“Wait.” He leaned in further. His shirt came untucked from his faded Levi’s.
Not that she noticed. To distract herself, she opened the door. “Shep. You coming or what?”
The old dog groaned, got to his feet.
“I wouldn’t bother, old buddy.” Jake reappeared and looked at Callie. “Someone pulled your coil wire.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s missing. You think Lou took it?”
“No. Why would he?” She hopped back out of the Jeep and looked under the hood again, unable to believe her eyes. Why hadn’t she seen this before? “No wonder I couldn’t start the thing.”
“Yeah. Callie—” He broke off at the sound of a truck rumbling up the driveway.
Michael’s Dodge. He got out of the truck and walked over to them. “Hey, babe,” he said, pulling Callie into a friendly embrace. Only a little taller than she, he was blond and blue-eyed, and so perfectly featured he should have been in the movies alongside other current hotties like Orlando Bloom. But financing was his thing and so was Arizona, and she was glad. He felt warm and familiar and safe as he hugged her, and she resisted the urge to put her head on his shoulder.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked, squeezing her gently.
She lifted her head and gave him a baffled smile. “I didn’t know you were picking me up. I was coming to meet you, but I have Jeep issues. Michael, this is Jake Rawlins.”
“Ah.” Michael shook Jake’s hand, his eyes assessing. “Figured I’d meet you sooner or later. What’s the matter with the Jeep, Callie?” He stuck his head under the hood. “Your coil wire is missing.”
“We know that much,” she said.
“We just don’t know why,” Jake said.
The two men looked at each other for a long moment, doing the size-the-other-man-up thing, and Callie barely resisted rolling her eyes. They were both incredibly good-looking men, and also incredibly different. Jake was taller, leaner, and definitely edgier, with an air of mystery Michael could never achieve. But truthfully, any man would have paled a little standing next to the sheer maleness of Jake.
“You shouldn’t let just anyone drive the thing,” Michael said to her. “I saw Stone in it last week, and Eddie in it yesterday getting gas for you. And you just let Lou tune it up. You do know why he was let go from Roger’s.”
“Yes, but he’s innocent of those charges.”
“Roger’s an ass,” Michael allowed. “Still, anyone could be messing with you. We can get a new coil wire in town after we eat.”
“Well, if Lou took it while he was working on the Jeep, he had a good reason. Maybe he’s just getting me a new one.” Callie turned to Jake. “I’ll be back. We’re just going to go over some financial—”
“No, we’re not. No wasting our lunch date on business talk.” Michael waved at Jake before leading her to his truck. “Everyone deserves a break, and that’s what this is. A lunch break.”
Callie craned her neck as she pulled on her seatbelt. Jake was already walking away. “Why did you do that?” she asked Michael when he got behind the wheel.
“Do what?”
“Let him think this is a date. It’s a working lunch, and you know it. I want to talk about getting a loan, and what I need—”
“He was looking at you funny. Like he wanted to gobble you up.” Michael’s searing blue eyes suddenly weren’t light and friendly, but protective. And worried. “You want to buy Blue Flame from that man
? Then you want to be friendly but distant. Nice but cool. Not a pushover, and definitely not available.”
Callie shook her head, but laughed at his twisted logic. Being distant and cool just might keep her out of Jake’s arms. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I always am, babe. Always am.” He shoved the truck into gear and drove into town.
The Japanese businessmen left. That night, when Lou came back from town, Callie asked him about the coil wire.
“It was there when I was working on the Jeep,” he said with such confusion that she believed him. He went out to check for himself, and scratched his head. “That’s odd.”
More than odd, but she’d already picked up another coil wire, so she put it out of her head because her poor brain was too full to dwell.
A group of Tucson librarians came the next day for a ride to an abandoned ghost town, guided by Eddie and Stone. Stone had been sick in the morning but thankfully had recovered enough to take them. Callie had a bad feeling he’d simply been hungover yet again, but since he’d been able to do his job, she didn’t interfere.
While they were gone, Lou, Tucker, and Jake painted the barn. Lou worked on the inside, Jake and Tucker on the outside. Callie joined Lou until the fumes got to her, then moved outside in time to hear Jake telling Tucker about the coil wire. The two men looked at each other for a long moment.
Later Callie went in to get drinks and when she came out, she found them arguing.
“Something’s up,” Jake was saying. “I can feel it.”
“What’s up is your horrible painting,” Tucker said.
“I’m doing it left-handed. And you’re changing the subject.”
“I’m not sure it’d matter if you switched hands, bro.”
“I’m trying to talk about Callie.”
“Stow the save-the-world complex. Save it for firefighting.”
Jake stopped painting altogether at that and squared off to face Tucker. “You’re as bad as she is. Something’s going on out here. Don’t tell me you’re so selfish that you’d put your hatred of me before her safety.”
Tucker stopped painting, too, and dropped his brush into the paint. “No. Damn it. I’ll keep my eyes out for her.”