Black Flame (12 page)

Roan turned back around, still smiling, her hair spilling over her flannel shirt.

“You guys are all really close, aren’t you? I mean…living here, there’s not a lot of room…”

“Well, I don’t live here,” Roan laughed. “I’ve stayed over a few times. Regina too. Jayne’s the only girl brave enough to actually live with five men. But yeah, these guys, they’re the best friends I’ve ever had. When Cal and I got together, they took me in, no questions asked, even though I didn’t make the best first impression.”

“You?” Deneen tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice. “But you’re, like…beautiful and funky and nice and warm and smart.”

Roan laughed again, her eyes wide with mirth and happiness. “I’ll tell you the story sometime. Let’s just say that the first time I met Cal I was trying to steal something, and Jimmy called the cops on me…tell you what, I’m going to be pretty busy this week because I’m starting school in January—I’m going to study to be a vet tech—and I need to put in overtime at my job to catch up before I start. But if you’re still here in a couple of weeks, I’ll have you over for tea and tell you all about my crazy path, and you can tell me what it’s like to be you.”

“I’d…like that.” Deneen found it hard to speak, thinking about what it would be like. To live among people who believed in you. Supported your decisions. Forgave your mistakes. Who weren’t perfect themselves. She couldn’t imagine what her family would do if she committed an actual crime…sure, they’d still love her, but it would be the sort of “tough love” that her mother threatened every time she screwed up.

It was so tempting to imagine Roan as a friend. Deneen loved her friends back home, the ragtag group she’d assembled from her school friends and the various jobs she’d held, but they were more likely to go out, party, and whoop it up than actually sit down and talk. Having tea was something she would have turned her nose up at a few weeks ago: when she did get a free moment, she liked to make the most of it. Now, though, it sounded downright…lovely.

“Jayne said you grew up here, on the ranch,” she said.

“Yeah, I did.” A wistful tone tinged Roan’s voice. “It was a long time ago, when my parents were still alive. My stepmother Mimi owns the ranch now. We’re…mending fences from way back. It’s good to finally be able to come here when it’s full of laughter and good times again.”

“I didn’t realize you’d lost your parents,” Deneen said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well.” Roan shrugged. “They were far from perfect, but they were my family, you know?”

“Do I ever,” Deneen said with feeling. “I know I should be grateful that my parents are still alive, and I love Jayne even though we fought like cats and dogs growing up.”

“I think it’s cool that you came up here to surprise her.”

Deneen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that was a brilliant move, right? I should have at least made sure she was going to be here.”

“Well, you’re here, that’s all that matters.” Roan surprised Deneen by giving her a quick hug. “It’s Christmas, there’s snow, you have friends around you, and a hot guy is so into you that he can’t see straight. Besides, you might be surprised how fast this place grows on you.”

Dinner was torture.

It wasn’t the ritualized customs—before she died, Jimmy’s mother had made sure he was well versed in etiquette befitting a much higher social class. Caroline Mason had been convinced that her son would go far in the world, despite his inauspicious start, and wanted him to be prepared.

So he used his silverware in the proper order, lifted his glass to toast along with everyone else, and complimented—if somewhat woodenly, since he didn’t actually taste a single bite of the food he ate—Deneen’s culinary accomplishments.

But from the moment everyone took their places around the festive table, until Cal and Zane jumped up to clear away the dishes, all he could do was try not to be caught staring at Deneen.

Logically, it made no sense that she should be more attractive now than she had been at any other moment in their 36-hour acquaintance. The effects of candlelight and the fact that she seemed to have relaxed might have enhanced her appearance, but not enough to justify the roster of responses taking place inside him.

While the others were laughing over Roan’s anecdotes from the bicycle shop where she worked, and peppering Cal with questions about the various accidents to which he had been called during the storm, Jimmy performed a careful analysis of his physical state:

Elevated heart rate and blood flow

Elevated body temperature

Difficulty focusing

Heightened sensory awareness, especially olfactory (though limited to Deneen’s scent)

Unsettled sensation in torso

…and, of course, the effects of sexual arousal, which he was doing his best to combat by ignoring them.

Which was turning out to be remarkably ineffective.

Jimmy was aware, of course, that this list of symptoms was often linked to notions of romantic love. Which was ridiculous, of course, since everything Jimmy knew about relationships—and, granted, it came mostly from the girlfriends he’d had, whose credentials were inconsistent—dictated that romantic love was built on a foundation of trust, communication, and shared interests. All of which took time to establish. And besides, he and Deneen could hardly be said to share any interests. She knew next to nothing about physics, math, electricity, or biology.

And he knew nothing about the social arts, crafts, décor, and entertaining. All of these things, if he’d given them any thought at all, Jimmy had dismissed as frivolous and lacking value.

And yet. It was hard to ignore the fact that everyone in this room was having a wonderful time. Jimmy wasn’t completely lacking in social awareness: he could tell the difference between genuine camaraderie and polite repartee. And he hadn’t seen this group have so much fun in quite a while, given the demands of their jobs and the winter weather and the roommates’ schedules.

If he had served Christmas dinner himself, as he had planned, it would have been a functional affair, and he had tried to prepare some traditional foods in a nod to the ritual aspects of a holiday, even though he wasn’t fond of it. Ritual was important to humans, and Jimmy cared very much about his friends’ happiness.

But in Deneen’s hands, the ingredients he’d purchased, and the objects she’d found around the ranch, had been transformed into something extraordinary. She’d folded the napkins into snowflake-like origami. The turkey was sprigged with herbs; the side dishes were served on platters he wasn’t even aware were in the kitchen. Roan laughed with delight at the paper crackers Deneen had made out of wrapping paper, and the shiny pennies that fell from the torn paper. Pennies! Practically worthless—in fact, there was a movement to remove them from the national currency, an idea that seemed sensible to Jimmy. But every one of his friends tucked their penny away as though it had great value, while Deneen beamed with pleasure.

(Jimmy had slipped his own penny into his pocket. He wasn’t sure why—he’d sort that out later.)

Now, Roan had carried the cake to the center of the table and everyone was admiring the elaborate decorations. Zane dug in Jimmy’s side with his elbow for the third or fourth time, and Cal kept shooting him meaningful glances. He knew that more was expected from him; perhaps his silence was being interpreted as indifference. Jimmy tried to think of something to say, but everyone had already used the usual pleasantries. As Deneen accepted an old silver cake knife and made the first cut, he finally found his voice.

“Don’t!”

She froze, the knife embedded in a thick layer of frosting.

“You might, er, exacerbate the injury to your wrist,” Jimmy said lamely. All of his physical symptoms intensified, and he briefly thought he might actually faint, until he remembered to breathe and convey oxygen to his brain.

Deneen looked down at her hand, in the brace he had made for her. “But it’s feeling so much better,” she said. “The ice made all the difference.”

“But you can’t—it isn’t—”

Now everyone had turned to stare at him. Zane was slowly shaking his head, and Cal put his face in his hands. Roan was mouthing something, but he couldn’t understand what, and Deneen—well, her lower lip seemed to be trembling and she dropped the knife on the table.

“It isn’t logical,” he burst out, somewhat desperately. “In the event of an injury, a lack of rest is counter-indicated and ignoring one’s own best interest is—is—ignorant.”

“Oh, Jimmy,” Roan whispered.

Cal groaned.

Deneen pushed back her chair and rose from the table very slowly.

“I’m sorry that I’m ignorant,” she said, her voice trembling. “Unfortunately, I have been that way for a very long time, and I don’t think I’m going to change at this point. I believe I’ll go for a walk.”

“Oh, honey…” Roan said, but she didn’t try to stop her.

Everyone watched her go to the front door. No one said anything when she took her silly old coat from the hook and pulled the hood up over her hair.

The door closed behind her.

“Now you’ve done it, my friend,” Zane said.

But Jimmy already knew that. He just didn’t know how to fix it.

Once the door closed behind her, Deneen took a deep breath, getting a lungful of frosty air as a reward. She coughed several times, adjusting to the frigid air, and pulled the hood more tightly around her chin. In her pockets were her pink mittens, which were better than nothing. As she was struggling to tug the right one over the brace that Jimmy had made for her, she heard a scratching at the door.

A moment later, the door opened a couple of inches, and a pinkish brown snout poked out, followed by a glimpse of Roan’s mass of curls.

“I know you want to be alone right now,” Roan said quickly. “But when I feel like that, sometimes Angel is good company. Don’t feel obligated to take her, but if you want to, she won’t give you any trouble.”

“Thanks,” Deneen said, accepting the dog’s leash gratefully. “I’ll be back soon.”

Roan withdrew and the door closed again, leaving the two of them alone on the porch. Angel nosed at a snow-covered lump near the front step, knocking the snow off, revealing a shiny gold ribbon bow.

Deneen recognized the ribbon—it was the same ribbon she had used to tie napkins around the cutlery for the brunch—the ribbon she had found in Matthew’s room.

Curious, she bent and picked up the package. It was a plate of cookies, covered with plastic wrap. The bow secured a white envelope on top.

On the envelope were written two words in a delicate, flowing script:

“To Jimmy.”

Deneen held the plate in her free hand while she walked down the drive. After a moment she dropped Angel’s leash; the dog stayed right by her side, and that way she wouldn’t put any strain on her wrist. Because she wasn’t going to be
ignorant
about it.

The hurt bubbled up, just as fresh the second time. Sure, it had been a dumb thing to do, but she’d been so honored when Cal handed her the cake knife, calling her creation a “masterpiece.” She’d been warmed by the glow of their kindness, despite the fact that Jimmy had been sitting there looking like he was being forced to eat coal, not saying a word.

Deneen whimpered. Just a little, out here where no one could hear. She wasn’t about to
cry
or anything. She only needed a minute or two to feel sorry for herself and then she’d get back in there with her head held high and smile her head off until she could finally slink back to bed. One more day, that was all she had to endure, and then Jayne would return and she could congratulate the newlyweds and have a nice, dutiful little visit and then head back to Arkansas and figure out what the heck she was going to do next.

The package felt far heavier in her hands than a dozen sugar cookies should.

That handwriting—definitely a woman’s handwriting. And the bow, either she had bought exactly the same ribbon that Matthew had, which was possible, or else Jimmy had used the ribbon to wrap a gift to
her
, which she had then recycled. A cute gesture, the sort of thing lovers do.

Everything pointed to the same conclusion: the cookies were a gift from the mystery woman, the one Jimmy had gone to see yesterday evening, the one who probably didn’t know he’d kissed her.

The envelope, Deneen couldn’t help noticing, wasn’t sealed, the back flap merely tucked into the envelope.

It would be wrong to look. Really, really wrong, an invasion of Jimmy’s privacy and the mystery woman’s as well. And criminal, too, wasn’t it? Or was that only if you opened someone’s mail that had gone through the postal service? Reading mail left on someone’s porch was probably just a misdemeanor. But she probably wouldn’t be caught—would she? Who would know? Especially if she walked over to the Tar Barn…over there…where a light attached to a pole illuminated the circle of drive
way
below. She could take a quick look there, just a glance, just to read a sentence or two…if it was a long letter then she’d put it back in the envelope right away. She could even do a good deed to counteract it: she could call her parents, as she had promised she would do on Christmas day.

“Do you think less of me, Angel?” she asked, as she headed for the trailer. The dog followed happily, pushing her snout against Deneen’s leg and growling playfully. Angel, at least, didn’t seem to judge her.

When they reached the Tar Barn, Deneen walked around the corner where she couldn’t be seen by anyone looking out the window of the main house. She took a deep breath and stared for a long moment at Jimmy’s name on the envelope. Who had handwriting like that? Someone as gracious and elegant as her script, that’s who. Someone who read serious books and listened to NPR, who volunteered for important causes and painted outdoors in good weather, wearing a beautiful wide-brimmed straw hat and a white linen dress.

Deneen opened the envelope carefully and slid out the card.

It was a plain white card, tasteful in its simplicity (of course!) and there were only a few sentences, all in the same beautiful hand. Holding her breath, Deneen read quickly: