Black Flame (3 page)

“No problem,” she said brightly, and walked down the hall, glancing into the rooms, whose doors all seemed to have been left open. Maybe the roommates really did get along as well as Jayne had described. There—that room must be Matthew and Jayne’s; Deneen recognized her sister’s prized Pendleton blanket on the bed, and a favorite family photo in pride of place on the dresser.

A pang of sadness struck Deneen. That particular photo hung in her parents’ house as well; it had been taken at the party celebrating Jayne’s graduation from high school, at which she had given the valedictory speech. Deneen was ashamed to admit how jealous she had been that day. She herself was certainly no valedictorian, and though she was still a sophomore when her sister was a senior, it was pretty clear her academic record would never measure up.

When Jayne had shocked the family by moving to North Dakota and becoming a trucker, Deneen had thought that finally the invisible halo over her sister’s head might dim, and her parents would have to concede that even Jayne was human. Instead, her mother had celebrated her eldest daughter breaking the barriers of traditionally-male employment. Since Marjorie prosecuted gender discrimination lawsuits for a living, Deneen supposed it made sense, but just once she’d like the chance to impress her parents.

She peeked in the remodeled bathroom, inhaling the smell of wood shavings and fresh paint, and admiring the beautiful work Matthew had done. Then she found the other bathroom at the end of the hall.

The sink, shelves, and cabinets were crammed full of six people’s toiletries and personal items. Deneen’s heart sank to see that there wasn’t an inch of storage space to spare. The top shelf contained Jayne’s familiar no-nonsense soap and lip balm and deodorant, her hair elastics and brush, her few cosmetics. Deneen’s own grooming products took up far more shelf space. She’d just have to improvise, storing her things in whatever guest quarters they put her in and shuttling them in and out of the bathroom.

She washed up and returned to the kitchen, where Jimmy was pouring a suspiciously lumpy batter into a cake pan.

“What are you making?”

“Cake.”

Deneen wondered if the recipe really called for the batter to come to the top edge of a single pan. “Um, that batter might rise,” she said diplomatically.

“Yes, bicarbonate of soda contains carbon dioxide, which is released as a gas when heated, causing the batter to appear to expand. I will be serving this cake for Christmas dinner tomorrow night. You are, of course, welcome to join us.”

He put the cake pan into the oven and fiddled with the dials. Deneen refrained from pointing out that usually one preheated the oven before putting the pan in, as Jimmy didn’t seem especially receptive to cooking advice. Besides, his method would probably work, even if it didn’t produce a perfect cake.

Deneen put far too much emphasis on the way food looked—at least, that was what her last boyfriend had told her. “It’s all going to the same place,” he’d say, when she brought out her carefully garnished plates. Her family felt the same way; Marjorie never even used the serving pieces and colorful dishes Deneen had given her for Mother’s Day over the years, preferring her plain old CorningWare.

“I would love to join you for Christmas dinner,” Deneen said formally. Now came the hard part. “I was, er, wondering if I could…maybe stay with you guys. For a few days.”

Jimmy closed the oven door and turned to face her. “You mean, here? In the bunkhouse?”

Deneen could feel her face beginning to get warm. “Yes? I mean, if…I can sleep on the sofa,” she said. “Or, maybe, um…”

“How many days?”

He was looking at her intently. He had a nice firm jaw, a very nicely formed nose. His eyes, well, those were just totally off the hook, with their navy blue depths and those thick, long eyelashes, and so it was just as well that he wore funky black-framed engineer glasses, to dim their wattage somewhat. Because otherwise, a girl might be forgiven for losing her place, just a little. Or forgetting that he was long on irritating remarks and short on intuition.

Couldn’t he see that she was struggling here? Hadn’t he paid attention when Jayne complained about her ditzy younger sister? Jayne, who loved her dearly, nonetheless rarely passed up an opportunity to point out her shortcomings under the guise of elder-sister guidance. Or had he found the subject so incredibly uninteresting that he couldn't be bothered to remember that she was broke, under-employed (well, as of last week,
un
employed), and homeless as well, unless you counted the bedroom she’d lived in since she was born?

“A few,” she hedged.

“A few like two or three, or a few like more than that? The reason I’m asking is that the household population is currently in flux, with some members being currently absent. Perhaps accommodations could be made on a temporary basis. I’m sure that Chase wouldn’t mind if you used his room, as he is visiting his girlfriend’s family in Tennessee for the holidays. And Regina has left some…girl stuff in there, that you might find, um, convenient.”

Deneen was fascinated despite her mortification. “Girl stuff?”

“Yes. Er. Like hangers covered in a slippery synthetic material which she says is better for her clothes—”

“Padded hangers?”

“—and various salves and unguents of a personal nature—”

“Lotion? Moisturizer?”

“—and a number of dresser drawers in which to keep—that is to say—her, uh, undergarments…”

“I see,” Deneen said quickly. As amusing as it was to watch Jimmy Mason try to describe a woman’s intimates, she wasn’t about to make him say “bra drawer.” The poor man appeared to have no experience with women at all. How he had come to be a part of Matthew’s circle of friends, guys who’d been known for partying and boisterous pranks and a way with girls, was completely beyond her. As best she could remember, there had been rumors of one girl or another managing to snag his company for a party, a movie, a dance, but he’d never had a girlfriend.

“Well, in that case, I’ll be glad to move my things in. When are they coming back?”

“Not until after the new year. They’re going to stay in Nashville for three weeks.”

“Three
weeks
?”

“Yes, rig workers work three-week hitches. Twelve hour days, seven days a week, with time off in between. Didn’t your sister tell you anything about the oil industry?”

“I, um…” As a matter of fact, Jayne had talked about the oil rigs quite a bit when she and Matthew had come home for a visit last fall. But it had been too boring. Or, if Deneen was truly honest, it had been too painful to see her parents and extended family fawn all over Jayne while she described hauling equipment and water to the rigs, and Deneen had tuned her out mostly out of jealousy. “So, which room is it? I should probably get settled before…before…um, what are you doing for the rest of the day, anyway?”

Jimmy’s expression tightened and he began picking broken eggshells up off the table and collecting them in a bowl. “I’m making the dressing. That, and baked goods, can be made ahead. I’ll prepare the rest of the holiday meal tomorrow, of course. I’ve got an errand to run, and then, well, I guess since you’re here you’ll want dinner, and I’ve got leftovers from last night. And then I’ll probably do some work in my workshop.”

“Oh!” Deneen said, injecting as much enthusiasm as she could into her voice, considering that the man clearly was unhappy that she was here. “Your workshop? What sort of work do you do?”

“I make things. Useful things. Although, this evening I’m just finishing preparations for tomorrow, when I will be taking part in a Christmas brunch for disadvantaged families, as part of an organization for which I volunteer.”

Disregarding his confusing explanation of his workshop activities, Deneen saw a way to ingratiate herself. “Oh, I’ve done that! I help out at the food bank back home from time to time. I’d love to come along tomorrow and help.”

“That’s very nice, but I’m to impersonate Santa Claus. As you can imagine, only one false Santa is needed, as additional impostors might confuse the children, who have been led to believe there is only one.”

“But I can help cook or serve or watch the little ones. It’ll be fun!”

“Well, I guess you could help me hand the presents out,” Jimmy conceded reluctantly. “I’ve got them wrapped and tagged with gender and age. Here, you can box them up, if you want, while I’m cleaning the kitchen.”

Deneen felt her spirits lift as she followed him down the hall. At least she’d be celebrating with someone. Christmas—which had threatened to be a very un-festive affair this year—was looking a little more promising.

“There’s Chase’s room; you can make yourself at home. And this is my room,” Jimmy said, opening the one door which had been shut.

Deneen preceded him into the bedroom and stopped short. Mounded on top of a bed made with military precision was a very tall stack of boxes wrapped in red paper, next to a number of brown paper grocery bags. The gifts were all different sizes and shapes, but they were precisely wrapped and taped. The same fastidiousness was evident in the rest of the room. On the desk was a blotter with a laptop in the center. Shelves held dozens of neatly arranged books. A wall cabinet was filled with mechanical and electronic gadgets, or pieces of gadgets, whose purpose was unclear. A peg board held a number of tiny pliers and screwdrivers and other, more mysterious tools. The closet door was closed, and the only ornamentation in the whole room was a photograph hanging by the window—a smiling, pretty young woman in old-fashioned clothing. Though she bore little resemblance to the frail figure Deneen remembered visiting with her mother long ago, she had no doubt that it was Jimmy’s mother.

“Where’s the ribbon?” she blurted, embarrassed to be caught looking around so nosily.

“The what?”

“You can’t give these gifts like this. They need ribbons. And were they really out of patterned paper at the store? You know, with snowmen and polar bears and elves and stuff?”

Jimmy blinked and regarded the gifts. “I like red.”

“Well, I like red too, but—never mind.”

“There may be some ribbon in Matthew’s room,” Jimmy said uncertainly. “He was wrapping gifts to take with him.”

“And this stuff,” Deneen said, going through the grocery bags, which were filled with plain paper plates, plastic cutlery, and white paper napkins. “These supplies aren’t for the breakfast, are they?”

“Of course they are. The kids can’t very well eat pancakes without forks and plates.”

“But they’re—you know they make
holiday
plates, right?”

“You’re suggesting that I should have bought the decorated items,” Jimmy said, frowning. “With the, er, elves and polar bears.”

“Well,
obviously
.”

“I thought they were a little too...gaudy.”

Deneen rolled her eyes. “Honestly! If you can’t be a little glitzy at the holidays, when can you? Tell you what, you leave this all to me. Go do your cooking and cleaning and I’ll add a little holiday bling. For the kids,” she added, before he could protest.

Jimmy opened his mouth and then closed it again. Good. Even Supergeek was helpless in the face of at least some of her charms. Although, Deneen preferred to think that most men gave in to her because she was irresistible, not merely relentless.

Oh well. Jimmy Mason was hardly a candidate for her amorous attentions, no matter how nicely his white button-down shirt strained over his bulging shoulders. And Deneen wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend, anyway. She was here to prove herself, plain and simple, which she would do the minute her sister returned. Meanwhile, she might as well stay busy.

“I’ll just put your suitcases in Chase’s room,” Jimmy said, backing out of the bedroom.

“Thanks,” Deneen said. Then she started unpacking the boring plates while humming “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.”

The minute Jimmy exited his bedroom, he headed for the weight room that he’d rigged in the bunkhouse’s former larder. The unused room was unheated and smelled of moldy onions, but no one had objected when he’d bought a set of used barbells and a chin-up bar and installed them in the small space. He didn’t have time for a complete workout—that would have to wait until after dinner—but if he didn’t pound out at least a few deadlifts and bicep curls, he might just lose his mind.

Ever since middle school, when Jimmy accidentally discovered the calming powers of vigorous exercise after the gym teacher made him do fifty pushups as punishment for being a smartass, Jimmy had lifted weights as a means of dealing with frustration, anxiety, and the confusion of trying to navigate social interactions that were way over his head. As it happened, he hadn’t meant to provoke the gym teacher when he pointed out that his demand that his students “feel the burn” was, in fact, counterproductive since a burning sensation meant the body couldn’t convert glucose to water and carbon dioxide quickly enough, but before he could explain himself, he was on the floor grunting and sweating. Which, it turned out, was both easier than trying to make himself understood, and strangely satisfying.

After recruiting him to play football, his high school coach—who had a much higher tolerance for Jimmy—gave him an old weight bench and some free weights in exchange for Jimmy rigging the school’s scoreboard with a projector system the A/V department no longer needed so it would light up for night games. By then, Jimmy’s career as an inventor seemed inevitable—at least to him. Between school, sports, and tinkering, there was little time for anything else, especially after his mom got sick, so his experience with girls was limited to the occasional make-out session or exploratory grope. Since then, he’d graduated to longer and more satisfying sessions with willing adult women, but he was careful to choose only the most predictable, the ones who could be counted on not to form bizarre attachments. Female scientists were good. He’d also had relatively successful, if brief, relationships with an international economist, a philosophy grad student, and a visually impaired attorney.

Deneen was definitely not potential sexual partner material, even if she hadn’t been Jayne’s sister and, therefore, off limits due to the current living situation. She was, in fact, the sort of woman Jimmy tried to stay away from: a heavy user of cosmetics and grooming products, she dressed for visual impact rather than practical considerations, which indicated an undesirable set of priorities. Not to mention the fact that she was far too attractive. Jimmy didn’t discriminate against attractive women, but in his experience, physical beauty was highly correlated to impetuous, unpredictable, and dangerous behavior.