How to Tame a Wild Fireman (21 page)

“You bas—­” Patrick stopped himself. “Big Dog, that was way out of line. My life is my business, not yours.”

“Don’t work that way, son. You’re a Callahan until you die.”

“Oh yeah? Unless you decide to cut me off and kick me out? You’re full of shit.”

“Don’t speak to your father like that,” Callahan roared so suddenly that Patrick took a step back. For the first time, he wondered if his father was really losing it.

“Look, Dad,” he said in a placating voice. “Let’s not fight now. Just tell me what you said to Lara.”

“I told her the truth. I don’t want someone like her around my family. Especially in my son’s bed.”

“I choose who’s in my bed, not you.”

“You shouldn’t get to choose what to eat for dinner, boy. You want that hippie girl? You want to be a fireman? I aimed higher than that for you.”

“Stop it now, Dad, I’m warning you.”

“You’re warning
me
? No, I’m warning you, son. Stay away from that place, unless it’s to grab your mother and bring her back where she belongs. I’ve got plans for that sinkhole and they don’t involve my son boinking that girl.”

“Plans? What plans? What are you talking about?”

A strange, wary expression came over his father’s face. He stepped away from the window and hobbled closer. Patrick noticed a speck of spittle on his father’s cheek. He would have looked unhinged except for the determination in his eyes. “My plans are my business. But if you want things to come out okay for that girl, stay away from her. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“All you’re going to say, huh?”

“That’s it.”

Patrick stepped forward, meeting his father in the middle of the room. It was one thing for his father to go after him, but he wouldn’t let Lara get hurt. “Whatever you try to do to Lara or the Haven, I’ll fight. You want a Callahan family feud to hit the news? Leave Lara alone or I’ll start airing dirty laundry. No shortage of that.”

They stood in a kind of standoff, Big Dog looming over him by a head. Patrick tried to interpret the flow of expressions across his father’s face, but none of it was what he expected. Anger, surprise, fear . . . but mostly confusion.

“Get out,” Big Dog finally said in a low voice. “Get out of my house.”

Patrick didn’t need to be told twice. It was a relief to be kicked out, once again. He held his father’s gaze for one more moment, just to show he was leaving on his own terms, then headed for the door.

“All the structures are cleared to a hundred and fifty feet,” he said over his shoulder. “This place is about as fire safe as it’s going to get. I recommend you hire someone to tend to it on a regular basis. I was planning to rip off those old shingles on the barn roof and put up something more fire-­resistant, but maybe you can hire someone for that too.”

“Where are you going?” Big Dog shouted as Patrick jogged down the stairs.

Patrick didn’t listen. Hadn’t his father just kicked him out? He should get his story straight. The whole thing felt like the heart-­of-­darkness scene with the demented colonel in
Apocalypse Now
. Each step that took him farther away from Big Dog was a relief.

He was so eager to get out that he nearly barreled over Megan, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

He steadied her before she could topple over. “Sorry, Meggie.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just got fired. Again.” He kept moving, already making a mental list of the things he needed to do before he took off.

“What are you talking about?”

“He went too far. He insulted Lara, he’s trying to manipulate and threaten me. The brush clearing is more or less done. Time for me to get the hell out. We both agree on that.”

He pushed open the screen door and strode outside, where suffocating heat enveloped him. Goldie greeted him with an eager little hop.

Megan gave a soft gasp as she scurried after him. “You mean you’re leaving?”

“Yep. My job’s done. Managed to tick the old man off as a bonus, just for old times’ sake.”

He stalked across the yard to the guesthouse. Inside, he flung open the closet where he’d stashed his duffel bag. It was stuffed in the corner along with his Whites and other wildfire gear. He hauled everything out and thrust the boots into the bottom of the bag.

“This isn’t a joke, Patrick.” Megan sounded as if she were about to cry—­or maybe she already was crying. He avoided her gaze, preferring to keep her as a hovering blur at the edge of his vision. He needed to focus on grabbing his things and heading out.

“Sorry. I always joke when I’m edgy. Keeps things from getting ugly.” Duffel in hand, he strode into the bedroom, noticing that the sheets were still tangled from that fever dream of an encounter two nights ago.

Lara.

He had to see her. He’d make sure to clear things up with her before he left town. It wasn’t as if they had a “relationship.” Of course he’d miss her, miss her sandalwood scent, the way she cut through his crap, her down-­to-­the-­bone kindness. He ruthlessly suppressed thoughts of everything else he’d miss, the heat between them, the laughter, the sense of rightness. Maybe they could see each other back in California. Yes, that might work.

With a huge sense of relief, he picked up an armful of sweaty T-­shirts piled in the corner. “I’ll have to hit a Laundromat on the way out of town.”

“We have a washer-­dryer right here. I’m doing laundry later today, I’ll throw your stuff in too,” said Megan.

“No biggie, honey. I do my own laundry at home all the time.”

He tossed his duffel on the bed, then added his extra pair of jeans and a ­couple pairs of boxers.

“It’s a good thing I travel light.” He snapped his fingers. “Shaving kit.”

He hurried into the bathroom. After stuffing his razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, and toothpaste in the bag, he glanced around the bathroom to see what was left. His gaze snagged on his own reflection in the mirror—­his, and his sister’s. There he was, scruffy and sweaty from his work in the fields. A bit red-­eyed from squinting against the sun. Shadows under his eyes from two consecutive late, sex-­drenched nights.

And there was his little sister right behind him, looking as if the sky was falling. Her mouth wobbled, her glasses had slipped down her nose. Little gingery tendrils of hair clung to her freckled face. “Don’t do this,” she whispered.

“Honey.” Try as he might, he couldn’t drag his eyes from her woebegone reflection in the mirror. “I’m done. In every sense. Besides, he told me to get out.”

She bit her lip, looking tragic. “He doesn’t always mean everything he says.”

“He hates having me here. You’ll be fine. Mom will come back. Everything will go back to normal.”

Her eyebrows drew together in a soft, accusing line. “Normal? You mean the normal where you’re not here?”

“I don’t live here, remember?”

He couldn’t take this. Shouldn’t have to take this. Brushing past her, he left the bathroom, grabbed his duffel, stuffed everything inside and cinched it closed. “I’ll do what I can from San Gabriel, okay? You can call me anytime.”

At the front door, he pulled her in for a tight hug. She clung to him, shaking.
She’s just upset,
he told himself.
She’ll be fine
.

“Call me, okay? Every day if you want.”

She nodded against his chest, then pulled away to swipe at her tears with the back of her hand. He noticed that she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Love you, honey.”

Still she wouldn’t look at him.

To hell with it.
He had to get going. Now that he’d decided to hit the road, he couldn’t wait to get going. He flung open the front door.

Maaaah.
Goldie stood right outside, the breeze ruffling her white fur. She wasn’t afraid to meet his eyes. On the contrary, she fixed him with her devoted, golden gaze, her jaw moving back and forth, grass dangling from either side of her mouth.

“Goldie, this is it for a while.” He patted her head and chucked her under the chin. Her eyes closed halfway and she made that affectionate rumbling sound he thought of as a purr.

The sound mingled with the sniffling behind him. And the whisper of the wind in the tall grass near the barn—­an area he hadn’t tended to yet. But drowning out all those sounds was the chant of his own guilty conscience.

You can’t leave
, it told him.
They need you here
.

Where had that damn conscience come from? He’d been doing just fine without it.

Slowly, he dropped his duffel bag to the ground, then shoved his hands in his pockets. Goldie nuzzled the duffel with her head. He felt Megan’s arms come around him from behind.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re the best brother ever.”

That should have felt good. But instead it gave him an empty, hollow feeling. If he was such a great brother, why didn’t he know where his little brother was?

Chapter Twenty

P
atrick finally tracked Lara down at the Loveless city hall. She was arguing with a clerk behind the desk of the licensing department. She wore a conservative navy blazer that didn’t quite manage to disguise her curves. As he approached, she threw up her hands, whirled around, and nearly slammed into him. He steadied her with a hand on each elbow.

“What’s going on?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hello, Callahan.” Yanking her arms out of his grip, she stalked past him. He followed, lengthening his stride.

“Uh-­oh. What’d Big Dog do?”

“Your father is a one-­man wrecking ball. He doesn’t want me to sell the place, he doesn’t want us to fix it up, and now . . . he doesn’t want us to be in business at all.”

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise. He campaigned against brothels in Nevada.”

“No, that’s not it.” She slammed a sheaf of papers against his chest. “He’s trying to get our business license revoked because we
aren’t
providing brothel-­type ser­vices anymore. You’d think he’d be happy, right? Seriously, what does he want from us?”

“You’re asking the wrong Callahan.” He hurried to hold the front door open for her. She sailed through, barely noticing the gesture.

“You know what?” Her long hair flowed like a rebel flag behind her as she loped down the stairs. “This ticks me off so much I’m tempted to sell my body on the streets just so we can get our license back.”

“Come on, Lara.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “If I weren’t so sexually repressed and uptight, maybe I would.”

Sexually repressed? That wouldn’t be his description of his wild nights with her. It was as if she’d forgotten them—­as if the light of day had blotted them out.

“He’s pulling every string he can think of,” she continued, “and now he’s trying to bury us in paperwork. Good thing Janey’s a master at this stuff. Big Dog doesn’t know who he’s messing with.”

The fluctuating flush in her cheeks gave him an uneasy feeling. Something was definitely up. He snagged her arm, stopping her headlong rush down Main Street. “Lara, can we talk? Cup of coffee or something?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead shading hers to scan the street. “I don’t have time. I need to get these forms to Janey. If only I could remember where I parked my car.”

“I’ll give you a ride. Look, I know you came to the house and talked to Big Dog today. I already told him to back off. He won’t hurt you again, if I have anything to do with it. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“As you can see, I’m fine,” she said briskly. “Oh, there’s my car.” She turned to him with a smile so forced it was more of a grimace. “You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t need help from a Callahan. I’m sure you’ll be heading back to California soon anyway. It was really cool to get to know you again after all this time.” She stuck out her hand.

He stared at it, dumbfounded. “What are you doing?”

“Shaking hands.”

“Shaking hands?”

“Why not? I just thought, since we’ve been pretty intimate, all things considered . . .”

“Pretty intimate. All things considered.” Though he realized he was repeating each outrageous phrase like a parrot, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

She withdrew her hand. “Fine. No handshake, if you want to play it that way.”

He grabbed her elbow and swung her up close against his body. “I’m not playing, Lara,” he said fiercely. “You’re the one that’s playing. Mind telling me what the game is?”

Whiskey-­gold eyes flashed at him. “You’re manhandling me.”

“And you’re brushing me off.” They stayed like that, gazes locked together, heat rising between them. He felt the race of her heart against his solar plexus, saw the pulse in her throat going wild. “At least tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine,” she finally managed, in a choked voice. “I don’t think we should be involved anymore. We’ll still be friends, of course. I’m glad we got to know each other again. And I really appreciated the . . . well, having sex with you.”

Patrick went still. He suddenly felt as if he were looking down at her from a great distance. Maybe he ought to be insulted or upset. Or angry. And maybe later he would be. But for now he saw the hurt lurking at the back of her eyes. “What exactly did Big Dog say to you?”

She wrenched herself away from him. Digging into the pocket of her blazer for her keys, she practically ran for her car. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“For God’s sake, Lara, you can’t let him get to you. He’s a jackass most of the time. Everyone in the frickin’ state knows it.”

“Maybe it’s not about him.” She opened the car door and stepped behind it as if it were some kind of shield. “Maybe it’s about me and what kind of person I want to be.”

“You mean the kind of person who runs when things get tough or someone says something nasty?”

She flinched. Then she raised her chin and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Interesting comment, coming from you. I couldn’t have a better role model, could I?”

Now that stung. The slam of her car door, as she slid inside, punctuated her insult with a bang. She rolled down the window with one long press of her finger. Two bright spots of color burned in her cheeks as she leaned out.

“Maybe I just don’t want to be someone who has casual sex.”

Unfair. Hadn’t he been the one to suggest they get to know each other more? “That’s a load of crap.”

She lifted her nose in the air, looking so prim and superior he wanted to rip the fake-­conservative blazer right off her. With another jab of her finger on the window control, glass rose between them.

Before he could protest that things between them had never been “casual,” that this time he wasn’t running, that he was sticking it out through all kinds of crap, she was driving down the street.

Well,
hell
.

Lara was still
riding her self-­righ­teous high when she walked into the Haven. She stopped dead at the sight of the Goddesses and Candy, all assembled in the Be Loved and Welcomed Room. “Did I miss a memo?”

Since the Haven didn’t do “memos,” preferring scrawled messages on the chalkboard, this was unlikely.

“We had some things to discuss without you,” said Janey in her blunt way.

“Well.” Lara fingered the paperwork from the city hall. While she’d been off fighting the municipal bureaucracy, they’d been meeting without her. It rankled, even though last month she would have screamed at the thought of having to attend a Haven meeting. “What’s up?”

“Sit down,
querida
,” said Annabella, offering her a cushion.

“I’d rather stand. Pacing around nervously sounds good right now.” She spared a glance for Candy. If Patrick’s mother weren’t there, she wouldn’t mind venting about her frustrations with the male Callahans. Candy, looking serious, sipped from a mug painted with a yellow happy face.

Janey rang a meditation bell. “Focus, please. Let’s bring our energy inward. We’ve important things to discuss.”

Lara pressed her lips together. All the meditation bells in the world weren’t going to make Big Dog Callahan leave them alone. She waited while the bell tone faded away. But the enforced moment of reflection brought only one thing to mind: the wounded look on Patrick’s face when she’d lashed out at him.

“Lara, my dear,” said Janey when the last vibration of the bell had died away. “We’ve come to a community decision that it’s time for you to go back to San Diego.”

“What?”

“Do you want to sit down now?” Romaine whispered.

Lara sank onto the cushion that suddenly appeared at her feet. “Why?”

“You’ve done all you can do here,” said Janey. “You have a life in San Diego, and it involves things that are more important than our dramas.”

“It’s a close thing,” said Dynah, “but I’d give saving lives the edge over the Haven horror show.”

“But Aunt Tam—­”

“Would not want your career completely upended by her death. She wanted to give you a gift, not force you to spend weeks or months whipping us into shape. We’ve decided you should sell the place.”

Lara’s jaw dropped. “But . . . but . . .”

“We’ll be fine. We put our heads together and came up with a list of former clients who might be interested in buying the Haven. Mr. Callahan’s influence doesn’t go beyond the borders of the state.”

“Or even the town,” added Candy.

“Someone will want to buy it. If they want to run it as a sexual healing center, a spa, a brothel, or a cactus farm, that’s up to them. Maybe we’ll stay, maybe we won’t. But there’s life beyond the Haven. None of us needs to be tied to it forever, especially you, Lara.”

Everything Janey said made so much sense. If she went back to San Diego, she wouldn’t have to learn how to patch a roof. Or come up with workshop ideas for senior swingers. Or prostitute herself to qualify for a brothel license.

She winced as she remembered her empty threat and Patrick’s face as she’d flung it at him. But that was an issue for another moment.

“I’ll talk to the lawyer back in San Diego too,” she said slowly. “Maybe he knows a realtor we can work with who isn’t beholden to Big Dog.”

“I bet I can rustle up a name or two,” said Candy. “It would be my pleasure.”

In San Diego she wouldn’t have to deal with Big Dog’s opinion of her ever again. She wouldn’t have to remember her former outcast status every time she walked down Main Street. She could resume her life as a respected, well-­educated, capable, skilled medical professional.

Best of all, she wouldn’t even be letting the ­Goddesses down—­they were telling her to go back,
urging
her, voting on it in her absence. What was she waiting for?

She nodded. “You’re right.” Funny how the words clogged in her throat. Of course they were right. Why wouldn’t they be right?

“Let’s face it, you never liked it here anyway, even as a little girl. I still remember the look on your face when you first saw Kuan-­Yin.” Annabella gestured to the statue behind her.

“Yes, but that was—­“ She broke off. The Goddesses were all smiling at her benevolently, just as they had when she’d arrived as a grief-­stricken kid. She thought of the carob chip cookies Aunt Tam had baked for the occasion. Janey had made her a stuffed panda out of a pair of old pajamas. Annabella offered a prayer in Portuguese. They’d been so worried for her, and so kind. Suddenly, unexpected tears stung her eyes. She blinked madly, trying to beat them back.

“
Querida?
Are you all right?”

Blindly, she turned away. “It was never you guys. You were always so nice to me.”

The soft fragrance of lavender mixed with sandalwood surrounded her as Annabella came to her side. “Then what,
amor
? Why do you cry?”

Lara shook her head fiercely. God, she hated crying. She was strong, she’d had to be, that’s what got her through those tough times. But Annabella’s hand on her back was so soothing, and the tinkling of the fountain so hypnotic. And all the emotion she’d shoved aside clamored to get out.

“I didn’t want anyone . . . anyone taking the place of my parents,” she choked out. “I didn’t want another family. I wanted
them
. My mom and dad.”

Then the tears came in earnest, deep, unstoppable sobs that shook her body like mini-­earthquakes. And all the Goddesses were surrounding her with a cloud of sympathetic murmurs and soft hugs.

She stopped fighting and let the grief well up . . . for her parents, for Aunt Tam . . . for the wounded heart she’d kept locked up for so long.

For the next
week, Patrick worked with the Cat on the fire line that ran along the road that bordered the ranch on two sides. He liked this project because it kept him away from the house and reduced the risk of another fight with his father. Big Dog hadn’t seemed surprised to see him stay; maybe he forgot that he’d kicked him out. Who could tell what went on in that man’s mind?

He’d gotten one brief phone message from Lara, explaining that she was going back to San Diego, wishing him well, and apologizing for her crack about being a bad role model.

He hadn’t called her back. He wanted to. But he didn’t trust himself to hang onto his manners if he reached her. What was the point, anyway? If she wanted to blow him off, pretend they had nothing between them besides sex and an old “friendship,” well, maybe she was right. Women were the experts on things like that, right?

He’d spoken to his mother several times. At first he’d intended to beg her to come back. But as soon as he heard the cheerfulness in her voice, he changed his mind. Instead, he promised her he wouldn’t upset Big Dog and that he wouldn’t let Megan do all the work.

Keeping that promise was another matter. Big Dog lurched around the house, often with his Bluetooth clamped to his ear, his voice a low rumble of complaint. When Patrick asked who he was talking to, he always answered, “Old buddy from the administration.”

He spent much of his time closeted in his study, and the rest in the barn or roaming the property.

“You did a good job on the clearing,” he told Patrick after one of these long walks.

Patrick had been so bowled over, he barely remembered to say thank you. So maybe his father wasn’t
always
a jerk. He’d had his decent moments even during Patrick’s rebellious years. Those moments just seemed fewer and further between.

But Big Dog’s softening only went so far. One day, when he was lounging in the TV room with a beer, smiling over the fact that his name had come up in a TV report about colorful politicians, Patrick pulled up a stool and asked him about the detective he’d hired to look for Liam.

Big Dog’s broad smile disappeared at the speed of Road Runner in fast forward. “You dare to ask me about your brother?”

“Yes. I dare. I want to find him. What if he’s in ­trouble?”

“It’s not your problem.”

Patrick stared at him. “Do you know where he is?”

Big Dog wouldn’t answer. Red crept up his face in that ominous way they all dreaded.

Patrick kept his voice as even as possible, though everything in him wanted to scream at his father. “I just want to see him. That’s all.”