Burning Up (21 page)

On top of which they’d painted the entire rec room. It was pretty much a red-letter day.

Tonight they were going out on a date. Well, not just the two of them, but still their first official date. It was to be a double date, apparently, something he could honestly say he’d never been on. But Macy wanted them to go out with Grace and Jack—and what the hell, since the only option for a night out in this town was pretty much the Red Dog unless there
was a special event at the grange hall, they would’ve been surrounded by a crowd anyhow.

Still, it should prove interesting.
His
ex dating
her
ex while he and Macy bore witness. Weird, but interesting.

Jack’s like the brother I never had.

He grinned, and seeing as it tightened his face, tipped his chin up and shaved up his neck and beneath his chin. Jack wasn’t her ex, as it turned out. And if that made Gabe a tad smug, too effin’ bad. He’d earned it in the sweat equity he’d put into thinking the rocker had been her lover.

Someone banged on the door. “Get a move on, sonny,” Mr. Grandview groused from the other side. “I’m an old man. My bowels don’t work as good as they useta.”

Gabe vacated the bathroom moments later. “It’s all yours,” he said to the elderly man, who hustled in with his newspaper in hand.

He strode down the hallway to his room. His good mood persisted as he selected a navy T-shirt, his newest pair of jeans and a rust-colored, short-sleeved, loose-weave shirt that he’d leave open over the T-shirt to dress things up. He pulled a brush through his hair, recited, “Testicles, spectacles, wallet and watch,” in the age-old checklist a counselor at the Creighton Boy’s Home had taught him for making sure a guy had all the essentials before leaving home and exited the room. He was whistling again as he loped down the stairs.

That came to a ragged halt a few minutes later when Macy strolled down the hallway in yet another of her getups.

For Christ sake. Couldn’t she just once go out in public without the frigging camouflage?

Then guilt stabbed him as an image of her the last time she had worn regular clothes in Sugarville—at the clinic after the fire—flashed through his mind. And, hell, it wasn’t as if tonight’s outfit was all that outrageous—she had a kind of film-noir femme fatale look going with that little formfitting, pin-tucked, white satin blouse tucked into a skintight black skirt and those retro blue peep-toed, Cuban-heeled shoes she’d worn the first time he’d seen her. She had parted her hair on the left and must have pinned her bangs to the side, because a glossy wave fell over her right eye. Her left was made up with dramatic eye stuff, including lashes so long they had to be fake, and her lips were a moist red. She looked sexy and a little dangerous, but he couldn’t help it: he much preferred the fresh-faced approachable Macy of this afternoon to Theatrical Macy. Hell, she was a video queen, and everybody and his brother knew it. She didn’t need a damn costume to cement the fact.

But it wasn’t up to him to tell her how to dress. And if watching her hide behind clothing that—no matter how striking—was nothing more than protective covering set his teeth on edge, he’d just have to suck it up. Tonight’s agenda was to have a good time.

A big smile spread across her face when she spotted him, erasing his lingering dissatisfaction. She sashayed up the hallway as fast as her pencil-slim skirt permitted.

“Don’t you look handsome,” she said, then lowered her voice as she came up to him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Janna along. I know it sorta takes the date out of the date, but Ty’s spending the night with his other grandparents and she’s had precious little fun since she was hit by that car.” Her hand on his arm, she rose onto her toes, pressed a soft kiss on his mouth, then settled back onto her heels. “I’ll make it up to you, though. I’ll take you out for dinner and a movie in Wenatchee any evening that works for you. Heck, I’ll even let you pick out one of those blow-’em-up flicks.”

Warmth spiraled through him. Crazy theme outfits or the simpler clothing he favored,
this
was the real Macy: the woman who came back to a town that had been less then kind to her in order to help her family. “Deal.”

Janna came out of her and Macy’s room and started down the hall. Her cast was gone and she no longer needed the crutches, but she was still far from running any races.

“You look pretty tonight,” he said, recognizing Macy’s handiwork in the brunette’s makeup and hair—although in a more toned-down style.

She gave her dark hair a self-conscious pat and
shot him a look that held a hint of uncertainty. “I hope it’s okay that I’m tagging along.”

“Hell, yeah. We’re just going to the Red Dog. I’ll pull the car around front if you two want to wait on the porch.”

Macy gave him a big smile, slid soft fingertips down his cheek and went to link her arm through her cousin’s.

Later at the Red Dog, as the beer flowed and the noise level ratcheted up, he admitted to himself that there had been a part of him that had harbored a trace of uneasiness about coming face-to-face with Grace, knowing that she was sleeping with Savage. Not because she was having sex with another man, but because he had simply never been able to visualize her as a sexual being—and apparently had a blind spot when it came to putting her in that context.

That had changed the first five minutes they spent together. For he could see her sexuality with Jack. It was in her posture when she spoke to the rocker, in her touches, the look in her eyes and the way her tongue dabbed her upper lip when Jack looked at her—which he did a lot. So how arrogant had
he
been to think that just because she didn’t generate sparks with him that she had no sparks
to
generate? He grinned at her now across the table.

“What?” she demanded, catching his look.

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you with a man who puts that gleam in your eyes.”

The flush on her cheeks was discernible even in
the dim lighting, but she grinned back at him. “Me, too.”

If he thought that was the height of the night’s surprises, though, he was wrong. For late in the evening, when everyone was beginning to make noises about going home, Macy turned to him.

“Janna and I decided to go to our ten-year reunion Saturday after next and I was wondering…would you like to be our escort? I know other people’s reunions can be a drag—”

“I’m in,” he interrupted. Hell, yes, he was. He understood it had probably taken a lot for her to make the decision to go. He’d seen the less than great reception she’d received from Mayfield and a few others. So he didn’t merely think it was a good idea to be there as a buffer.

He insisted on it. Besides, she clearly saw him as part of her future—even if it was her two-weeks-from-now future. And for reasons he chose not to examine too much, that made him happy.

For now it was enough.

F
OR THE PAST TWO DAYS
Gabe had studied call sheets that went back almost a year, trying to determine which of his crew had been on scene most often at not only the arsons since he’d taken over the job but at the fires Chief Stoller suspected had been deliberately set during the older man’s tenure. He’d narrowed it down to two firefighters who had most consistently shown up whenever the truck was called out: Johnson and Solberg.

Not that that his fire starter was guaranteed to be either of them. If the arsonist was smart—and so far he seemed to be, given he’d gone undetected for more than a year—he’d only show up at every third or fourth fire to deflect suspicion. Still, it was Gabe’s best—hell, his
only
—bet and, if nothing else, it gave him a place to start.

The problem, of course, was that he was one man and there were too many hours in the day when he couldn’t keep an eye on even one of his men, let alone both. Neither did it help that he genuinely hated the fact that he suspected anyone on his crew.

He said as much to Johnny when they met for their usual discussion on improving workplace efficiency.
“This just blows, big-time. Johnson strikes me as a solid guy, and as far as I can tell his farm is doing okay. Solberg keeps to himself more, but if that was an indication of criminal activity I’d be under suspicion myself, since no one’s ever accused me of being the most sociable guy in the world. But all I really know about him is that he has good instincts at a fire and liked Macy best in the video she did for
Ain’t No Talkin’
.”

“Hell, I’d pick him as your guy just for that last thing,” Johnny said with a wry smile. “Sure, Macy rocked
Talkin’.
But we all know she was best in
Burn, Baby, Burn.
”

Then his expression turned serious. “Listen,” he said. “I can kick in a few hours here and there. My social life’s in a slump right now, anyhow—I might as well do something constructive. So why don’t I take Johnson tonight? I’ll set up a speed trap outside his road. It wouldn’t look suspicious, since I’ve actually used it before—it’s a good setup for catching the occasional lead foot. Not to mention that writing a ticket or two’ll have the added bonus of making me Sheriff Baxter’s Golden Boy, and you know what a hard sell that usually is. Two birds, one stone, dude. Help you and gain me kudos from the boss. It’s a win-win.”

“That would be great. I’d really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. And tomorrow I can move my trap to town. It just so happens that there’s that empty lot next to Albright Welding, where—”

“Solberg has his day job,” Gabe said. “Jesus, Johnny. I don’t know how to thank you.”

The deputy smiled crookedly. “Beer always works. But I wouldn’t spring for the good stuff just yet, because there’s sure as hell no guarantee I’ll be at the right place at the right time. But at least we can keep both of them covered part of the time.”

“And I doubt it will be for long,” Gabe said grimly. “Because regardless of which of them is setting the fires, he seems to be escalating.”

“Yeah.” His friend’s nod was equally grim. “It’s your classic good-news, bad-news sitch, isn’t it?”

“C
OME ON TOUR
with me.”

With a jerk of surprise, Grace stared at Jack standing in the archway dividing her kitchen from the living room, his tattooed and pierced masculinity—that lean, mean, rock-and-roll look—so out of place in her girly nest. Her heart tap-danced a ragged fandango in her breast. They’d spent nearly every free moment together for the past few weeks and she’d been amazed at how compatible they were outside the bedroom—which Lord knew astonished her all on its own. They talked endlessly on a wide range of subjects and laughed at all the same things and had generally just gotten along like a house afire together.

Still…he couldn’t possibly have said what she thought he’d just said. Could he? “Excuse me?”

He came into the living room, a pilsner of luke
warm Guinness in one hand, a chilled mug of Dr Pepper with ice in the other, and handed her the soda. Clearing a space in the stuff she’d scattered around her for inspiration while she put together her first week’s lesson plans, he sat down beside her on the couch. He knocked back a sip of his ale, set the glass on the coffee table and turned to give her a look at once heated and grave. “I have to leave soon to get ready for the tour, Gracie. I don’t want to leave you behind. So come with me.”

Oh, God, that’s what she thought he’d said. For one wild, wonderful moment she pictured it, the two of them, traveling the country, seeing the sights, sharing the nights. Longing washed through her, only to fade as reality set in.

“I can’t.” Reaching out a hand, she stroked it down his inked forearm, knowing she was probably throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime. “I so wish that I could, Jack, but I signed a contract with the school district. I can’t simply renege on it a week and a half before the first day of school.” And damn her sense of responsibility! It was probably going to cost her the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Regret made her voice tremble.

“Shite.” He blew out a breath and tugged her onto his lap, scattering papers from her own. “Forget not wanting to leave you behind, I don’t want to leave, period—and that’s something new for me. I’m
always
keen to start a tour.” He rested his chin atop her head
and smoothed a hand up and down her arm. “But this one—bloody hell, this one is going to be the longest four months of my life.”

They were silent for a moment, before he slowly said in a considering tone, “Still… I’ve got a few three-day gaps between gigs, so I could likely get back here occasionally.”

Her heart lifted. Who would have believed that rock legend Jack Savage would talk about adapting his schedule in order to see
her?
“I could come see you, as well,” she agreed, enthusiasm firing. “We don’t have any official three-day weekends before the holidays, but I could take a personal day to make one, and I think the day between semesters falls on a Friday this year, so that will make one more. Plus, I’ll get a four-day weekend for Thanksgiving and two weeks for winter break in December.” She tipped her head back to look up at him and didn’t care that her heart was in her eyes as her gaze met his. At the same time, she couldn’t prevent the uncertainty that colored her voice when she asked, “Do you really think we can make this work?”

“Too bloody right, we can. You’re the smartest, sweetest, most fla—” He shook his head as if he simply didn’t have the words, but when her brow wrinkled over the word he’d cut himself off on, he said obligingly, “Most attractive, that last one means. Lord love me, lass, I’ve never felt like this with another bird. And as much as I wish you were going to be with me, you’re right to stay. You’ve got more
character in your wee finger than most people do in their entire bodies. I know it’s sudden and we’re moving ninety to the dozen, but this feels real to me—more real than anything I’ve ever known.”

He rubbed a guitar-string-toughened thumb over her bottom lip. “So, to answer your question, luv, no. I don’t have a doubt in the world that you and I can make this work.”

B
Y THE DAY OF
M
ACY AND
Janna’s class reunion Gabe was wrung dry, stressed out and pissed off. Because it turned out he’d been wrong. He wasn’t a single step closer to discovering who was setting the fires around town than he’d been nearly two weeks ago.

When he spotted Johnny camped out again in the empty lot near Solberg’s workplace, he pulled alongside the deputy’s rig and filled his friend in on the surveillance he’d put in that day. Johnny gave his account in return. Unfortunately, the conversation was a short one, since neither had much to report.

“Shit,” he said in disgust. “I thought we’d have him wrapped up by now.”

Over the course of the past dozen days or so, both of them had been in position to catch Johnson leaving his farm once or twice and Solberg leaving both Albright Welding next door to where they now sat and the little house he rented out past Gabe’s place. But neither man had done anything more than
go into town for groceries or to grab a beer at the Red Dog.

The fact that he deemed that a bad thing was what truly had Gabe on edge. Because he shouldn’t be hoping for a fucking fire to be set. Shouldn’t be anxious to catch one of his own men in an act that wasn’t only criminal but downright traitorous to their profession.

Christ, what a mess.

“Look,” he said dispiritedly, “I’m gonna knock off—which probably means this will be the night he hits. But it’s Macy and Janna’s ten-year reunion, and Macy asked me to escort them—” He cut himself off. Because, oh, hell. “Shit. It’s yours, too, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but ask my boss if he gives a rip. I asked for the night off three months ago, but Baxter scheduled me to work until nine anyhow. Still, the reunion doesn’t start until seven. I should have time to go home when my shift ends, take a quick shower and throw on something sharper than this. Depending on how long the farmers among us can hold out, I’ll get there in time to catch at least part of it.” He grinned. “And, hell, even if it’s just the tail end, that’s not a bad deal. The desperate chicks will have had plenty of time to get drunk, so I’ll probably be lookin’ pretty good to them by then. Maybe I’ll get lucky and end my dry spell.”

“You’re such a hound, Angelini. Still, I appreciate the fact that Solberg will be covered tonight.”

“And you do know that Johnson was in our class, right? He’ll probably be at the reunion.”

“No. I didn’t know that.” And for some reason discovering it produced a hollow sensation in his gut. “Macy never mentioned knowing him.”

Johnny shrugged. “He was one of the 4H kids—always more interested in the farming stuff than school politics. No doubt he knew what was going on—he just didn’t give a shit.”

“Huh. Well, I’m outta here. I’ll see you at the grange hall then?”

“You bet. I’ll be the guy with no date while you have two pretty women on your arm.” Johnny shook his head. “I think I went into the wrong field. I shoulda been a fireman.”

“Babes find us hot,” he agreed modestly.

Unfortunately, the momentary mood lift he got from slinging the bull with his friend faded by the time he reached his house a short while later. Letting himself in, he headed downstairs for the temporary bedroom he and Macy had painted last week in yet another cool color she’d picked out. Throwing himself on the real mattress on the real king-size bed he no longer had to squat to access—both of which he’d just installed the other day—he ground the heels of his hands into his burning eyes.

As lowering as it was to admit, another reason he was feeling so out of sorts was that all the time he’d spent chasing leads that led nowhere had been time he hadn’t spent with Macy. God, he had it bad for
her—he felt as if he was going through freaking withdrawal. Because, except for their date in Wenatchee Wednesday before last and the past Saturday spent painting this room, setting up the bed and making it up with the incredibly soft housewarming sheets she’d bought him, the only time he ever saw her these days was at the boardinghouse.

Where people were always around. Lots and lots of people.

But she’d be here pretty soon, so he should probably go take a shower in the newly finished half bath next door. Well, the almost finished half bath; the shower stall was done but the rest of the floor still needed to be tiled. Still, the plumbing had finally been installed and was fully functional in all three bathrooms, which brought his house yet another step closer to completion.

Which was freaking great.

Following his shower, he’d pulled his jeans back on and was sniffing his shirt to see if it would hold up for another couple hours’ wear before he had to change into his reunion duds when Macy arrived.

“Hey!” she called from the top of the stairs. “You down there?”

“Yeah. C’mon down!”

She blew into the room a moment later, amber-ale hair swinging and several layers of clothing on hangers draped over her arm.

“Put those down and come over here,” he commanded and grinned inwardly when she promptly
dropped them over a straight-backed chair he’d dragged in when she’d complained of having no place to put her clothes but on the floor. Outwardly, however, he didn’t crack a smile as she strolled up to him. Instead, he slid one hand into her sleek hair, hooked the other around the back of her neck, pulled her to him and took his time kissing her. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, he ordered, “On the bed. Now.”

“Ooh. I love it when you go all masterful on me.” She plopped onto the mattress. “And I really love this bed.” She stroked the Egyptian-cotton sheets next to her hip. “I swear it’s bigger than the entire bedroom in my condo.” She lounged back on her elbows and gave him a cool once-over. “Lose the pants, Donovan. I like my men naked.”

This time he did grin. “If you love me being masterful so much, why are you always trying to take over the job?”

She hitched a pretty shoulder. “Control issues.” Then she laughed. “Tell you what. We can take turns.”

“Deal.” And it was—a great deal, the
best
deal, as they wrestled across the sheets, first Macy in the superior position, then he. During her stint on top, she straddled his stomach and pinned his hands to the sheet while she rubbed her breasts against his chest and kissed him. When his control started to fray, he rolled them over and easily held her in place with his weight, his hand spanning both her wrists
and holding them to the mattress above her head as their bodies slipped and stroked and slithered against the other’s. Then he was pushing inside of her, deep, deeper, deepest, and, God, she felt so frigging good, encasing him in a slick, hot, muscular sheath that gripped him, consumed him,
owned
him.

And not only his dick, he acknowledged just before he plunged off the cliff into a ball-tightening, free-falling, teeth-clenching climax. She’d somehow come to own his heart, as well.

Apparently his skeletal system came with the package, too, because he collapsed on her as if the structure had dissolved at the same instant as the last pulsation faded. His two-hundred-plus pounds all but flattened her, driving the breath from her lungs in an emphatic
whoosh.