Every Little Kiss (13 page)

T
he next day before work, Abe could hardly concentrate. He kept replaying last night's date with Casey in his mind, wondering what in the world had happened. It had been the most enjoyable date he'd had in ages—at least until she'd frozen up at the end. It was like a blizzard had come through and smoldered the spark between them, leaving him to shovel out from under it while trying to make sense of the whole thing.

Only he
couldn't
make sense of it. The only thing he knew was that he'd been having fun last night. He liked Casey Tanner. But the way she'd bolted from the Jeep left a gnawing doubt about whether she liked him back.

He groaned, feeling like he was fifteen again and wondering if the pretty girl in algebra thought he was cute, too.

His phone rang and for a brief moment he brightened, thinking it was Casey. Maybe she was calling to tell him she wanted to see him again after all. But when he saw the number, he just groaned. It was Hayes Ulfsson, and his damn bull was in the damn tree again.

Abe headed over to the farm before work to help the farmer out. In a distracted moment, the animal's sharp back hoof nearly connected with his gut. “I'll make prime rib out of you.” He glowered at the muscled black beast.

“He'd sure be tough,” the old farmer said. “He'd make you work for every damn bite.”

Abe kicked a frozen turd. “This gets less and less fun, Hayes. I'm doing this on my off time, you know. Any chance you can keep him in the barn more?”

“Too close to the cows.”

The farmer had left it at that, content to have Abe volunteer to help him once again.

After freeing the bull, Abe arrived at the firehouse and started in on some paperwork, glad to see Lambeck wasn't in. He didn't have the energy to tamp down rumors today.

He scribbled on a handful of forms, only to keep glancing at his phone. He wanted Casey to call, and also wondered if he should call her instead. Probably he shouldn't. He didn't want to look desperate. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since he'd seen her.

He frowned. He didn't like this indecisiveness. It wasn't him.

He tried not to think about the way her body had felt against his while they'd watched the parade the night before. Her warm scent had him wanting to lick parts of her that were covered in winter layers. Her sparkling smile as the parade had marched by had his chest aching with something he couldn't place.

He glanced at his phone again. The screen showed the time and nothing else. Not a text, not a voice mail.

And why wouldn't it? Casey was probably busy at Robot Lit, working her numbers and helping the kids there. She had a life. And a good one at that. Her home wasn't big, but it wasn't a shoebox, either. It was just off Main Street in an old neighborhood that he'd always liked. Her furnishings had been tasteful—maybe even expensive by the looks of it. On the bookshelf, he'd spotted a picture of Casey hugging her sister, Audrey, who was wearing a wedding dress. They both looked pink-cheeked and radiant.

He wondered if Audrey's marriage had been what prompted Casey to move back to White Pine. He'd have to ask her that. Along with a thousand other questions that were hustling through his brain. What were her favorite movies? What books did she like to read? Had she ever been abroad? He thought about his dream trip to Freiburg and his mind suddenly flashed to Casey walking with him on the clean, straight streets. They would take pictures for his folks together, then hold hands on the platform as the train rumbled into the station, precisely on time. He'd help her into her seat, and her golden brown eyes would glitter at him.
Danke
, she'd say, and he'd kiss her, even though the Germans probably frowned on public affection.

Panic surged.
Jesus, what was even happening to him?
He pushed his chair away from his lieutenant's desk. Sitting around and fantasizing about Casey Tanner would not do. It was ridiculous. Stupid. Especially when she'd bolted from the date last night like she couldn't get away fast enough. He knew plenty of girls who would kill to stick around when he wanted them to. It was no use getting worked up about one who didn't.

Still, he wondered if he should phone Stu. “When is it cool to call a girl again after a date, especially if she didn't seem that into you at the end?” He pictured himself asking the question and Stu laughing on the other end. His brother was his opposite—he
loved
love—and always had a woman in his bed whom he claimed to adore. Often two. Girls fawned over him, and he opened his heart to them readily. He just never seemed inclined to make them stay if they wanted to leave. And often they did when he couldn't love just one of them at a time.

“Lunch is ready, Lu,” Reese said from his office doorway, jarring him back to the here and now. The kid's navy pants and navy polo with Station One's emblem on the chest were all spattered with grease.

“What the hell did you make?” Abe asked, taking in the kid's skinny frame, his unruly, sandy hair.

“Hamburgers. Fried 'em up for the whole crew.”

Abe could already picture the black hockey puck of beef on a dry bun. This was what happened when his team took on different duties each shift. The upside was that it enabled them to get a range of experiences—like being able to drive the engine versus always riding in the rescue wagon. But the downside was that it meant the crew often did things at which they weren't skilled. Like cooking, in Reese's case.

“You guys go on without me. I'm going to pop down to the Rolling Pin to grab a doughnut.”

Reese shrugged. “Sure thing, Lu,” he said, and returned to the kitchen.

Abe grabbed his coat and set off. Ten minutes later, he was walking back on Main Street from downtown, two custard-filled long johns sitting like rocks in his gut. He'd just taken a tentative sip of his steaming hot coffee when the sight of smoke stopped him in his tracks. A thin, gray stream rose from one of the windows at Leroy's auto repair place, just up the street from the firehouse.

“Dammit,” he swore. He tossed his cup into a nearby snowbank, vowing to go back and get it later. He sprinted toward Leroy's, reaching for his phone. He fumbled with the device, trying to dial the firehouse as he ran.

“Station One. This is firefighter Iris Quinn. How can I help you?”

“Quinn, it's Abe,” he huffed, still running. “Get the engine started now. There's smoke at Leroy's place. It's coming out the east-facing garage window.”

“Copy, Lu. We'll be right there.”

Abe shoved the phone into his pocket just as he reached the front of the abandoned building, its weathered brick façade pale in the afternoon light. A rusted tow truck rested in the driveway, snow up to its wheel wells. Darting to the nearest window, Abe strained for a look through the garage door's dusty glass. The sound of sirens from the firehouse reached him as he squinted to make out what he was seeing.

The smoke was coming from a small pile of papers and some strips of cardboard on the cracked cement floor. Small flames licked the edges of the pile. It was a small fire for now—but potentially deadly if it hit the right accelerant.

Just like the Robot Lit fire
, he thought.

Straining, he attempted to open the rusted garage door, but it wouldn't lift. That had him wondering how the person who'd started the fire had gotten in and out of the building in the first place. He pressed his face against the window again, and that was when he saw it—a hooded figure exiting out a warped back door.

Abe's heart hammered.
Got you
, he thought.

The sirens were louder than ever as Abe sprinted around the side of the structure. The figure was headed west, away from downtown, but was close enough to catch sight of Abe's form coming toward him. Like a deer bolting from a gunshot, the figure jumped into flight, arms and legs pumping furiously.

“Stop!” Abe cried, giving chase. “You'll only make it worse if you run!”

Nonplussed, the person ran faster, up the street. The small shoulders hunched with effort. To Abe's dismay, his quarry darted across the street toward Robot Lit, white sneakers flashing.

It's just a kid
, Abe realized, pushing himself harder. He was only a few paces behind as the kid flew into the Robot Lit lobby and bolted up the stairs two at a time—all the way to the third floor.

He knows where he's going
, Abe thought as his quads strained to carry him along. He didn't let up, but burst into the great room on the kid's heels, his chest heaving as he threw open the door.

“Stop!” he bellowed. The tutoring groups clustered around tables froze. Abe pointed a finger at the figure at the far end of the room. He was trying to sneak off into the nearby hallway. “Freeze right now. Then turn around and walk slowly toward me.” Abe made his voice as deep and authoritative as he could. He needed to scare the shit out of this kid so he'd do whatever he told him to. “Now.”

The kid straightened and turned—and that was when Abe's stomach dropped. He was maybe ten years old, if that.
Just a boy
, Abe thought. The kid's lean face was too hard for his young age. His skin was pale but his gray eyes were sharp. He was scared—but maybe mad, too. Or defiant. Or
something
that made him light fires to burn off whatever intensity was flaming inside him.

“You're not a cop.” The boy lifted his chin.

Abe's resolve hardened. Young or not, the kid had started a fire. And Abe needed to ensure that that stopped. Immediately.

“I'm Lieutenant Abe Cameron and I'm with the White Pine Fire Department. I don't need to be a cop to get you down to the station.” He worked to make his words tough and even. Authoritative but not scary enough so the kid bolted again. “So I need you to come on over to me, nice and slow.”

“I didn't do anything,” the kid said.

“That may be. But you and I are going to have a talk about it nonetheless.”

“There's nothing to say.”

Abe's patience frayed slightly. “I saw you in Leroy's old place. Where there's a fire burning right now. I'd say that means we have quite a lot to discuss.”

“You can't prove anything.”

Abe inched forward. He kept his eyes on the kid's lean face, all the while calculating how to grab hold of him before the kid ran again.

“Come on,” Abe said. “I'm not the police. Just a fireman.”

The kid's pale face whitened another shade. Abe's stomach twisted. This kid looked downright tortured.

“What's your name, son?” he asked.

The boy looked at his shoes, then back at Abe. He didn't say anything.

“All right. Let's make a deal. If you come my way and agree to talk, it'll just be you and me. But if you run again, I'll have the cops track you down, and once the police are involved, this is a whole different matter.”

The kid stared at him, and Abe met his gaze head-on. “It seems like you know this place,” Abe continued, “and I bet at least a few people in this room here recognize you. So you won't be hard to find. For the cops, I mean. That's a lot of trouble, though. So what do you say to you and I just start talking now?”

The kid's expression crumpled, and Abe's gut wrenched. What was so bad in this kid's life that he had to light fires?

“Fine,” the kid said.

Abe exhaled. The young boy took a step in Abe's direction—but then, at the last minute, swiveled on his heel. He was going to run for it again.

Dammit
, Abe thought, leaping into pursuit.

Straining, he just managed to grab a handful of hoodie before the boy could get his feet under him.

“Let me go!” the kid yelled. “You're hurting me!”

Frustration washed over Abe. He was holding on to the kid's
sweatshirt
, for crying out loud.

The kid twisted, desperate to break free, but Abe held fast. Behind him, the reading room attendees were scattering. He could hear chairs scraping on the hardwood. Maybe the tutors were getting the kids out of there so they didn't get swept up in any drama.

“Settle down, son. Easy does it.”

In response, the kid opened his mouth and let out a full-on scream. Abe struggled just to hang on as the kid fought and kicked. Dimly, he heard doors slamming and heels on hardwood.

“Little help here!” Abe called out, hoping one of the Robot Lit staffers would come to his aid. Maybe even Casey.

“Abe! What in the world?” Ingrid was rushing toward them, white blonde hair streaming behind her.

“Help me,” the kid pleaded, his eyes brimming with tears. “This man chased me.”

“You bet I did. And we both know why.”

“Ingrid, help. I'm so scared.”

“Not as scared as you'll be when the police book you for lighting Robot Lit and Leroy's on fire,” Abe said.

Ingrid's eyes widened in surprise. She turned to the kid. “Carter, is this true?”

Instead of answering, Carter kicked at Abe furiously. Abe was just about to pin the kid's arms behind his back when the kid's toe collided with Abe's groin, inches away from his nuts. The air whooshed from Abe's lungs at the close call. He spotted Casey then, standing a few feet away, her mouth slightly open.

Abe swallowed back a string of curse words. “Ingrid, handle him. I need to call the cops.”

“Carter, into the conference room now,” Ingrid said firmly. As she led him away, Abe pulled out his phone and called dispatch. By the time he was done explaining the situation and was assured the police were en route, Casey was at his side.

He caught her glancing at his crotch, even though she pretended not to. “Need an ice pack?”

“It was only a close call. I'll be fine.”

“Police on their way?”

“As we speak.”

She shifted, seemingly reluctant to leave him. Unlike last night, when it was as if she couldn't wait to get away from him.