All Wrapped Up (A Pine Mountain Novel)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Not anymore, at least.

  “Let’s get started,” Gary continued, testing the limits of his desk chair as he pushed back to look at the group. “Where are we on this fire in Pine Mountain yesterday? We’re losing sales to Bealetown by the week, and I don’t want that jackass Trotter from the Bugle scooping us on this.”

  Well, at least there was one thing she and Gary could agree on. Mike Trotter was a dick and a half.

  “Can’t get scooped on a story that isn’t there,” came a wry voice from across the table, and Ava zeroed in on its owner. Of her three fellow reporters, she liked and respected Ian St. Clare the most, even though she knew Gary did too.

  Ian pushed at his already rolled up shirt sleeves, shaking his head as he added, “Both the PMFD and the RFD are giving the standard just-the-facts press release pending investigation, but at first glance, it doesn’t look like arson. As far as the rescue goes, the little boy’s apparently fine, but his mother put out a statement at the hospital refusing all interviews. So that’s a dead end.”

  Gary frowned. “Goddamn overprotective parents. What about the guy who ran in to save the kid, this hometown hero? Feel-good stories sell a shitload of papers, Ian. Tell me you at least talked to him.”

  Ava’s heartbeat ratcheted all the way up despite her titanium-strength effort to stay cool. Just because she hadn’t seen Ian at the Double Shot last night didn’t mean he hadn’t been in touch with Nick. And even though she’d seen Nick blow off all the other bids for attention last night, he hadn’t left any doubt as to who his least favorite reporter in the Blue Ridge was at the moment. If Nick had spoken to Ian and given him information pertaining to the rescue, Ava was screwed. Yes, she was desperate for the story, and oh hell yes, she’d do nearly anything to get it, but scooping an in-house reporter was hugely frowned upon in journalism, not to mention being a bitch move of unrivaled magnitude. But if Ian hadn’t made any headway with Nick, there was still a chance she could land this story.

  Please, God . . . this is my big chance to prove my worth as a real reporter.

  “He hasn’t returned my calls or e-mails,” Ian said, and Ava exhaled in a whoosh of relief. “As far as I can tell, the guy’s not talking to anybody at all. I’ve been watching local outlets, but word on the wire is his favorite response is no comment.”

  “Come on. The guy—Brennan, right? He risks life and limb running into a fire, but doesn’t want any credit for it? No spotlight at all?” Gary snorted. “I need a freaking story here. Can’t we lean on him?”

  “We could.” Something flickered behind Ian’s eyes, and wait . . . was that unease? “But that hasn’t really worked for anyone so far, and nearly everyone in King County has tried. I get that this fire is the biggest thing to go down in Pine Mountain in a while, but to be honest, unless it turns out to be arson, I don’t think there’s much of a story there.”

  Now or never.

  “Actually, Ian, I respectfully disagree,” Ava said, swinging her gaze between Ian’s surprise and Gary’s thinly veiled disdain. “I was on the scene at Joe’s yesterday, and I’ve been taking a look at some of the facts. There might be more to the personal-interest part of this story than we think.”

  “More to the hometown hero than meets the eye, huh.” Gary’s brows folded hard beneath his receding hairline. “You got some kind of angle on the guy I don’t know about?”

  Ava’s pulse pitched. Okay, so she was probably the only person who knew Nick had planned to become a career firefighter seven years ago, but her cursory search this morning had come up eerily empty, so she couldn’t prove he’d actually done it. If she shot her mouth off with facts she couldn’t back up again, Gary would have her job on a silver platter. No matter how questionable his story-getting ethics were, the story-printing had to be ironclad.

  Plus, her “in” with Nick was more like an “out” right now, and anyway, she didn’t want this story because she knew him. She wanted to be the best reporter for the job.

  “I don’t know about an angle,” Ava said, choosing her words with extreme care. “I’ve been watching the story like everyone else, and I’m familiar with the facts. I think a spotlight would be a great personal interest piece with a focus on the positive, and an exclusive interview would certainly sell a lot of newspapers, both locally and in bigger markets.”

  “An exclusive,” Gary echoed, jabbing one sausagelike finger in her direction. “You really think you’re tough enough to squeeze something useful out of this Brennan guy when he hasn’t let out a peep to anyone else?” The only thing more unmistakable than the challenge in his voice was the doubt.

  But Ava answered him with even more unmistakable certainty. “I’m confident I know how to work a source to break a great story, yes.”

  For a second, Gary looked like he was going to argue, but then his expression went cold and flat. “Fine by me if you want to waste your time trying, Mancuso. But if there’s a story there, it had better be big, and you’d better be the one to get it. This Brennan guy gives an exclusive interview to another paper? You won’t even get a shot to cover a junior varsity football game.”

  Ava sat in the driver’s seat of her Volkswagen, her arms knotted over her chest and her eyes on the Double Shot as if she were three paces away from a shoot-out. Just because she’d spent five hours here last night—to no avail—didn’t mean she had to like the place. She normally avoided establishments like the Double Shot at all costs, but right now, the bar was a means to an end.

  A really broody, smoldering-in-the-best-possible-way, clearly-still-mad-at-her-for-the-past end.

  “Okay.” Ava smoothed a hand over her blouse, straightening the green silk beneath her coat before grabbing her huge leather tote from the passenger seat and abandoning the comfort of her car. Gary had given her this assignment, and now her pride and her job depended on getting this story. If she had to sit in a bar in order to get a word in edgewise with Nick Brennan, so be it.

  But God, did the bitter smell of liquor have to permeate everything?

  Ava set her shoulders, brushing off the thought as she crossed the Double Shot’s gravel-strewn parking lot. Objectively, the place was nicer than most, with its weathered clapboard siding and whitewashed shutters surrounding the gleam of bright, clean windows. Lantern-style light fixtures hung at even intervals along the building’s narrow wooden porch leading to the front door, and the tiny white Christmas lights lining the railing added extra glow. Even the polished brass door handle felt warm in her palm from the remnants of slanted sunlight peeking past the pines and evergreens dotted around the parking lot.

  “Hey, welcome to the Double Shot!” A cheery blonde greeted Ava from behind the polished mahogany hostess stand. “How many in your party?”

  “Just me, but I’d love to sit at the bar, if that’s okay.” The words felt odd in Ava’s mouth, probably because she’d never once spoken them in her life, but if she wanted another shot at talking to Nick, being up close and personal was definitely her best chance.

  The blonde’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she tilted her ponytail toward the stretch of dark, glossy wood spanning the restaurant’s entire back wall. “You and everybody else.”

  Ava’s eyes made the full adjustment from the over-bright sunshine to the dusky low lights in the bar, and whoa. Both the dining room and the bar area were more than halfway filled with a growing crush of people, servers weaving expertly through the crowd to take orders and deliver drinks amid the rising din of voices.

  “Is this normal for four-thirty on a Friday?” Ava asked, unable to hide her shock. Why on earth would a small-town bar and grill be brimming with this many people only thirty minutes after opening?

  Unless of course, that small-town bar and grill had a big-time story working behind the counter.

  “Nope.” The blonde’s head shake confirmed both Ava’s suspicion and her fear. “I mean, the new menu’s great and we’ve been busy lately, but not like this. Oooh, it looks like you’re in luc
k though. There’s one seat left at the end of the bar over there. Feel free to grab it while you can.”

  “Thanks.” Ava zeroed in on the same spot at the end of the bar where she’d taken up residence last night, moving with purpose toward the empty bar stool. The seat was fairly out of the way—likely why it was the last stool standing right now—but Ava didn’t mind. She’d chosen it last night for its good vantage point on the rest of the bar. Sometimes gathering facts meant watching twice as much as asking, and even though she’d had only the one brief exchange with Nick last night, Ava had still learned plenty.

  He might not have given anyone a story, but everyone in Pine Mountain wanted a piece of Nick Brennan.

  “Oh! There he is. There’s Brennan!” The excited murmur came from somewhere in the growing crowd, and Ava’s gaze shot involuntarily to the swinging door behind the opposite end of the bar. Her pulse tapped out the Morse code equivalent of yes, yes, yes at the sight of Nick emerging from the kitchen, falling into step to take drink orders alongside the same tall redhead who had been behind the bar last night. They orbited around each other with precision and an ease that suggested they not only worked well together but were friends, and Ava watched him covertly as he interacted with various customers.

  His movements were smooth and decisive, right down to the stretch of lean, corded muscles over his forearms as he reached for a chilled pint glass to fill it expertly at the tap in front of him. Every motion had purpose, and the unwavering control built in to his stubbled jawline sent a quick streak of envy through Ava’s gut. While it quickly became clear from Nick’s deadpan expression that there was a reporter or two in the bunch asking questions, he took the attention from the other people at the bar in polite stride.

  Until he landed in front of her, anyway.

  “You’re back,” he said, his dark eyes going wide. For just a sliver of a second, there was nothing between them but high-octane intensity, and it shot down Ava’s spine in a bolt of pure want.

  “I, ah, thought I’d give dinner a try.” She held up a menu, trying like mad to remain unaffected by both her mutinous libido and the sudden scowl spreading over Nick’s darkly handsome face. He snapped a clean bar towel from a stack beneath the counter, putting it to use on the polished wood between them.

  “Have you ever heard the expression let sleeping dogs lie?”

  Her snort was soft but inevitable. “Yeah, I’m a reporter. I poke the dogs.”

  “I’m not giving you a story,” he said, his tone completely devoid of emotion, but two could dance to that song. It was obvious she was going to have to chisel out whatever leeway he’d give her, and she was nothing if not persistent. Plus, he had a hell of a smile, and damn it, Ava really wanted to see it again.

  “Okay. Then could I please have a cheeseburger with waffle fries, hold the tomato, and extra fried onions?”

  Nick’s brows winged upward, but hell if he didn’t step up to the plate. “Not planning on kissing anybody later, I take it?”

  The heat that had flared through her only a minute ago went on a massive comeback tour, but going soft wasn’t on her menu of options. “That’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think?”

  Ava got the smile she’d been after, and great God in heaven, the sweet and seductive pull of Nick’s mouth could render an otherwise intelligent woman totally useless.

  “How’s that shoe fit when it’s on the other foot, Spitfire?”

  A shocked laugh popped past her lips without her brain’s permission. “You did not just call me that.” The nickname he’d given her seven years ago had settled into the dusty recesses of her memory, but it curved right back into her ear as if it had never left.

  “You’re changing the subject,” Nick said, sliding a scoopful of ice into a pint glass with a clink. He’d filled it two-thirds of the way with lemonade before Ava finally conceded.

  “Fair enough. Tell you what, then. Why don’t we trade?”

  “Trade what?” He topped off her drink with the perfect layer of iced tea, placing it on a cocktail napkin in front of her.

  “A question for a question,” she said. Okay, so it was a wing and a prayer and a whole lot of hey, what the hell, but at this point, she had no other options. “I’ll answer yours if you answer one of mine. In fact, I’ll even go first.” After all, what could it hurt to tell him that she didn’t have any plans to kiss anyone later? It wasn’t like she had to cop to the fact that she hadn’t been kissed—truly, properly, felt-it-in-every-corner-of-her-being kissed—in what had to be a century.

  Or however long it had been since Nick had last put his mouth on hers.

  He paused, and oh my God, he was thinking about it. “Off the record. Nothing about what happened yesterday is on the table. And I answer first.” His tone was as immovable as his stare, and Ava jumped in with both feet.

  “Done.”

  “Okay, then,” Nick said, his hands hitching just slightly as he wrote up the ticket for her order. “Ask away.”

  She scooped in a deep breath, but said nothing. She needed to gain his trust here, which was the mother of tall orders, considering their past. But her sudden desire to melt his calm, cool exterior extended past wanting a story, so Ava simply said, “How long have you worked here at the Double Shot?”

  “That’s your question?” Now Nick’s hands screeched to a complete stop. His lips parted, showing just a flash of white teeth against his nearly black facial scruff, but she stood firm.

  “That’s my question,” Ava agreed.

  He examined her for a second, as if looking for a trapdoor. “Two years,” he finally said.

  “Oh.” Her brain brimmed with no less than a thousand other questions, but a deal was a deal. “To answer your question, no. I’m not planning on kissing anyone later tonight.”

  “That’s nice, but it isn’t my question.”

  Ava pulled back against her bar stool. “I’m sorry?”

  “You said a question for a question. I never specified which question I wanted to ask.” Although Nick’s expression delivered just the facts, the tiny crinkle at the corners of his eyes was a dead giveaway that she’d been had.

  Of all the underhanded, sneaky . . . “You tricked me.”

  “Yup,” he acknowledged, unrepentant. “But you agreed.”

  Damn it, there was no way she could not answer whatever he asked now, and judging by the look still hovering in his eyes, the question was going to be a doozy.

  “You’re right. I did.” Ava squared her shoulders, shoring herself up for a direct hit. “What would you like to know?”

  Nick leaned in, so close she could feel the warm puff of his breath on her lips and the hypnotizing heat of his nearness, and in that moment, she remembered exactly how much he didn’t disappoint in the go-all-in department.

  “I want to know why you left me seven years ago.”

  Chapter Five

  If kicking his own ass wasn’t a physical impossibility, Brennan would’ve polished up his shoes and gone for broke right there behind the bar. It was bad enough that he’d agreed to answer anything Ava had to ask, even if she’d surprised the hell out of him by going totally benign with her question. But any second now, she was going to recover from the shock currently dominating her pretty face, and not even one-upping her was worth hearing her answer.

  Keeping his emotions on lockdown was hard enough, thanks.

  “You know what, forget I asked. I’ll get this in for you.” Brennan gripped the ticket with her dinner order hard enough to make his knuckles blanch, but Ava was quicker on the draw.

  “Nick, wait.” Her hand landed on his, but Christ, he felt it everywhere, and if she didn’t move, his composure was going to go up in flames.

  “Brennan,” he ground out, simultaneously wanting her to let go and pull him closer. He might push himself to the point of pain while he worked, but carrying that over into his personal life couldn’t happen. Especially not now.

  Especially not with Ava.
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  She opened her mouth, but before even a syllable could get past her lips, a man in a rumpled blazer and the most hideous tie known to man elbowed his way to the bar.

  “Oh hey, are you Brennan? Harrison Frost with the Rock-ledge County Examiner. I was wondering—”

  “No comment.” Brennan nailed the guy with enough of a glare to stop the flow of his question, and Ava slipped her hand discreetly back over the bar. Before she could say anything else, or worse yet, before the reporter standing next to her could connect the dots and start asking different questions, Brennan pulled an about-face. His lumbar vertebrae did their best to blackball the sudden movement, but he forced his cross-trainers over the rubber bar mats in quick, deliberate strides, not stopping until he’d reached the touch-screen register at the midpoint of the back counter.

  “What’s the matter, Brennan? Pretty reporter got your tongue?” Teagan arched an auburn brow to go with the wry smile tugging at her lips, and Brennan grappled for a slow, steady inhale.

  “No.” But the baser part of his brain reminded him just what he could do to Ava with his tongue. His calming breath jammed to a stop in his windpipe, and come on—how had he miskeyed a fucking cheeseburger on the register? He had to enter at least thirty per shift.

  Teagan was next to him in less time than it took to finish his muttered curse. “Hey, I can kick these pain-in-the-ass reporters out if they’re bugging you that much. Just say the word.”

  Brennan’s head whipped up from the register’s touch-screen. “Are you crazy? Look at this place.” They’d barely been open for an hour, and there had to be seventy people in the bar and restaurant combined, with more flowing in by the minute. “The business is over the top.”

  “Yes, but it means damn little if it costs me my bar manager’s sanity. So really, are you okay?” She measured him with a worried glance that marked the question as rhetorical.

  But Brennan would be goddamned if he couldn’t get these feelings back under control where they belonged. Being rattled just wasn’t his MO, and he hadn’t been this out of whack in years.