Authors: Anne Marsh

Burning Up (21 page)

BOOK: Burning Up

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He couldn't afford to care now. “
You
never married,” he pointed out.

“And I'm not asking you to,” Ben said quietly. “Just asking you to treat her right. And I know you'll do that, but she's like a daughter to me, Jack, so I have to ask. Someday you'll have a daughter of your own, and you'll understand how I feel.”

Lily was a damned special woman. No matter how bad Jack was at holding up his end of this conversation, there was no question about that. Lily mattered. Maybe he already knew how Ben felt. Not exactly, because there was nothing paternal about the attraction blazing between Lily and him. But he understood Ben's need to protect Lily.

Drawing his finger down the page, he forced his mind back to the business at hand. Two other boys had gone out consistently with the engine, riding along to the summer's fires. Eddie Haverley and Ethan McBride. Both of them were still right here in town. Ethan owned a ranch, while Eddie had some sort of consulting business. Not that Eddie, who faced the world armed with a trust fund, had to work to pay the bills.

He looked down at the page again to confirm the pattern coming together in his head. Not just little grass fires. There had been a series of fires on Haverley land as well.

He tapped the page to get Ben's attention. “Take a look at this, and tell me what you think,” he said. “What do you know about Eddie Haverley?”

Nonna walked into the firehouse as Jack and Ben were closing up the logbooks, slipping through the door in that quiet way she had. “You took the plunge,” she observed, giving Jack her usual kiss. “This place has been empty a real long time now.”

Yeah, he'd fix the old place up some and move his boys into it. He didn't like walls, never had, preferred sleeping out at the hangar or on Nonna's sunporch. When he was younger he'd often slept there, where he could open the windows and pretend the walls weren't closing in on him.

“This is temporary,” he warned. He wasn't filling up whatever kind of empty she meant. And, with Nonna, every conversation had more damned layers than a cake.

Nonna, of course, just looked at him. “Uh-huh,” she said. The Adirondack chair Ben had brought over earlier as a “housewarming” gift creaked as she settled back into it, folding her legs beneath her. Jack bet Ben had known precisely who would be sitting in that chair.

“I don't stay put,” he repeated. He needed her to remember that.

“I know, baby.” Curled up in the chair, she looked smaller than he remembered. And just a little bit sadder. There was a shadow to her eyes he didn't remember. “You never did stay put. Not once.”

Chapter Twenty

F
riday night was free concert night in Strong. Sprawled on the grass, listening to a local band belting out a nearly unrecognizable rendition of bluegrass, Jack figured the concerts were free because no one in his right mind would pony up cash for this kind of noise. Still, Main Street was lit up real pretty, the beer was cold, and there were worse places to lie in wait for a woman. It looked as if the entire town had come out to park their asses in lawn chairs and eat dinner out of red plastic coolers. Plenty of barbecue and laughter.

His team was making themselves right at home. Joey was whooping it up with a curvy brunette who might or might not have been in Jack's high school biology class. Either way, she had her fingers wrapped up real tight in Joey's T-shirt, standing on tiptoe to whisper something into his ear as they improvised a set of moves Jack was fairly certain wouldn't win any dance competitions. An appreciative grin lit up Joey's face, though, so his friend was clearly enjoying his dance. A second tug on his shirt had him following the brunette off the improvised dance floor and into the shadows. His hand on the girl's shoulder flashed a quick signal, and Zay melted away into the edges of the small crowd.

Eddie Haverley hadn't showed his face yet, but Jack wouldn't miss him if he did.

Where was Lily? She should have been here by now. His intel said she'd left her farm and headed down the road. All he could think about was kissing her. Running his hands over her hair, down that curvy little body of hers. Pulling her just as close as she could get. He wanted to go on holding her for the next fifty years or so.

Hell, he hadn't known he possessed a side like thatâand it scared the ever-loving shit out of him. Men who had families didn't jump out of planes at three thousand feet, because that wasn't the responsible thing to do. Those men kept their feet firmly planted on the ground and punched a nine-to-five somewhere.

Ben came up beside him, and he turned to the older man as if to a lifeline.

“How do you know?” This wasn't the kind of shit he usually discussed, but Ben knew Lily, and he probably knew way more about relationships than Jack did.
Because,
he mocked himself,
you run like hell just as soon as there's any chance of things sticking
. Now he needed to understand what long-term really meant.

Needed to understand this woman he feared was holding his heart in the palm of one small hand. “How can you be sure you've met that one woman you can settle down with?”

Ben took a careful sip of his beer. “You want to hear about all the times I've fucked up?” He shook his head. “It's instinct, Jack. You've just got to trust those instincts of yours. How do you know a fire isn't going to flash back over you? You just know, Jack. You've been doing it long enough. You know what the land and what your gut is telling you, and, at some point, you trust your instincts, and you jump.”

“You ever done that?” From the other side of the street, Evan flashed him a signal, and Jack forced all the unwelcome emotional back-and-forth to a far corner of his mind. Lily was walking up the sidewalk. She'd come. He could just make her out, laughing with her friend Miriam. The one who ran the florist shop.

Ben snorted. “I'm standing here with you, aren't I? Told you I should be the last person you take advice from. All I know is, if you're asking the question, maybe you're on the right track here.”

“Right.” He wanted to move the conversation in another direction, but his brain shorted out, taking all reasonable thought with it as Lily strolled into view. God, she was so beautiful. She was wearing a wickedly short romper, a pretty little pink swoop of soft fabric that clung to her ass and her breasts and made him itch to run his hands down her sides. Tiny pink ribbons held up the bodice above the short shorts. And, God help him, there were little buttons marching down the front of the romper. He wanted to reach out and unbutton her, peel back that fabric, and taste every inch of her.

Down, boy
. He needed to get to her. Fill her in on the Eddie Haverley situation. She was shooting blanks in the dark if she didn't know the name of her stalker.

Manning up, he stalked over to her, ignoring the raised eyebrow she sent his way. He didn't care if she objected to his possessive manner or not. She was stuck with him. “You're late enough,” he said, “that I thought you weren't coming.”
Real smooth, Jack.
Maybe he could just write sad love notes while he was at it. Rip out his heart and hand it on over.

“I wasn't aware we had a date,” she said coolly. Was she a little pissed that he'd been so preoccupied lately and hadn't seen that much of her? She did a little side step when he reached for her arm, but he wasn't letting her get away, not now, so he captured her elbow and drew her up against his side.

“I need to talk to you.” He steered her over to a wrought-iron bench. Looked harder than hell, but it was a pretty little spot in front of the window of a particularly cluttered antiques shop. That would cover their backs for the moment.

She shrugged. “What's so important?” she said. “You haven't seemed much into conversation with me lately.”

Okay, so she was pissed, but he'd deal with that later. He got right down to what was important. “I think I know who our stalker is.” That got her interest, all right. She turned toward him so fast, her hand slammed into his thigh. He put one hand over hers, trapping her fingers against his leg. Savoring the feel of her.

“Who?” she demanded.

“Eddie Haverley.” Quickly he sketched out the reasons for believing Eddie was their man. “You ever date him in high school? Give him any reason to believe there was the possibility of a relationship between the two of you?”

“No.” Her brow puckered as she thought it over, but at least she'd stopped trying to pull her fingers free, so he loosened the prison of his hand and stroked her palm softly. “Eddie's older than me,” she pointed out. “By a couple of years. I can't have spoken more than a handful of words to him.” She shrugged again, and he wrapped his hand around hers before she could pull free. “Not that I remember. He didn't ask me out. I didn't ask him.”

“I think he believes you're his.” He was sure of it. That sense of possession explained the fires. The need Lily's stalker had to hurt her.

“Then he's crazy.” She looked sideways at him. “I don't belong to anyone.”

“No, baby,” he agreed quietly. “That's true.”

Something flashed in her brown eyes, but he didn't stop to try to figure out what it could have been. He needed her to understand what was at stake here. “But we think he's the one stalking you. So we're watching for him.”

“Okay,” she said, surprising him. He felt suddenly off balance, unsure of himself. Somehow, she was turning the tables on him, being unusually accommodating. “You want me to make a spectacle of us, draw his attention? Is that the reason you're here, Jack?”

“Lilyâ” He damned sure didn't have any words to give her. He didn't know how to explain to her that she'd upended his entire world, and he didn't know where he was or what to do.

“You smell good,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “No smoke.”

He inhaled, too, and the familiar cherry and vanilla scent of her filled him. “You, too,” he said.

When she breathed, this close, her breasts brushed his hands, hands aching to hold her. He almost cursed, because they were in public, but she was moving closer, leaving not an inch to spare between them.

She smiled up at him. “Dance with me, Jack.”

As he had every evening for years, Ben walked over to her place, two lemonades in hand. Nonna couldn't remember the last time he'd missed a night. Rain or shine, there was Ben. Once he'd picked his course, he stuck to it. He dropped into the chair next to her. Familiar. Comforting. The porch was empty until he got there. He gave his usual little huff as he stretched, letting his body curve into the chair. There he was, on the wrong side of sixty, and he couldn't bring himself to rock the boat any more than she could.

But she wanted that change, she realized. She was lonely, and she was wondering if it wasn't finally time to nurture the seeds time had planted between her and Strong's fire chief all those years ago.

Every evening like clockwork he'd climbed the stairs to her porch and dropped into the seat beside her. It felt good to sit down in the evening and let the remainder of the day wash gently over her. Even better, she thought with sudden clarity, to be sitting there right beside Ben. God willing, he'd be sitting beside her for years to come.

He handed her the second beer and popped the top on his own can. “Our Jack and Lily, they're almost ready, Nonna.”

“Don't,” she said suddenly.

“Don't what?” Even he hadn't missed her interest in hooking that pair up. She'd thrown them together every opportunity she had. Horse had left that barn, so it was too late for her to start regretting and second-guessing now.

“Don't call me Nonna. That's not my name.”

“You've been Nonna for years,” he objected. “Just about ever since you brought those boys home to stay. Why would you mind the name now?”

“It's not my name,” she said slowly, the words suddenly coming to her. “It's what I am. Some of the time.”

“Fine,” he groused. “You want I should call you Mary Ellen? I can do that.”

She knew he could. Ben had always been capable of anything he set his mind to. “Mary Ellen will do just fine.” The paint on her Adirondack chairs was starting to peelâshe'd need to refinish them before too long. Maybe even choose a new color for them. Those chairs had been a pale lilac for longer than she could remember. “Chairs are getting worn out,” she said out loud, running her fingers along a curl of paint.

“You let me know when you're ready to paint.” He looked over at her, hoisting his cold beer in a silent toast. As if he could read her mind. “I'll come over and help.”

“Maybe next weekend.” She thought for a moment. “A new coat of paint would be good.”

“You thought of a color?” His eyes challenged hers.

She'd wanted something different, hadn't she? A slow smile creased her face. “Red,” she decided. “Fire engine red.”

“I'm touched.” He took another swallow of his beer and settled back in the chair as if he belonged there.

BOOK: Burning Up

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