Putting Out Old Flames

He missed Jane as a friend. If they were going to live in the same town, he wanted that back. A new, mature friendship between two adults.

Chance squared his shoulders. So that was that. If he wanted to forge a solid relationship one thing was clear.

From now on, hands off Dispatch Jane.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, watched her breasts rise and fall beneath her thin sweater.

And lips off of her, too, he told himself sternly. And tongue. No touching her with his tongue.

She leaned her head against the back of the seat, exposing the long, silky column of her neck. His body tightened.

Christ. This friendship was doomed.

Putting Out Old Flames

Allyson Charles

LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

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Copyright © 2016 by Allyson Charles

 

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First Electronic Edition: August 2016

ISBN: 978-1-6018-3603-8

eISBN-10: 1-60183-603-1

 

ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-604-5
ISBN-10: 1-60183-604-X

O
n a good day it could take a backhoe to pry Jane out from beneath her soft cotton duvet. The goose down bedspread in a faded blue paisley had been an indulgence, but one that was worth every penny. When she snuggled into bed at night, the duvet kept her cozy through the long Michigan winters, but was light enough to breathe through the warm summers. Sleeping under her duvet was like being cocooned in a cloud. It usually took her three rounds of hitting her snooze button in the morning before she could drag herself out from its inviting comfort.

And that was on a good day. Not a day when her head pounded like the drum section of a marching band and her limbs ached with fatigue.

Jane kicked the twisted sheets from her feet, and cocked her head. There it was again. The knocking was definitely coming from her front door, not her head. She groaned. Couldn't a girl get a sick day to herself? She wasn't asking for much. The last time she'd taken time off work due to illness, a different president had been sitting in the Oval Office.

Looking into one disgruntled green eye, she sighed. Cyclops didn't approve of visitors almost as much as he didn't approve of her sleeping the day away. The orange tabby circled three times on his pillow before turning his back on her and coiling himself like a garden hose.

Message received. Her ornery pet couldn't have said
Get your lazy butt out of bed
more clearly than if he'd written the message on a whiteboard.

Crawling through a sea of used tissues to the edge of the mattress, she swung her legs over. Whoever was at the door was persistent, she'd give him that. Stumbling, she took two steps to her closet, pulled a cotton robe on over her boxer shorts and T-shirt, and headed for the front door to her apartment.

Before opening the door, she gave one more solid blow of her nose, happy to discover she'd mostly dried up while she'd napped. Her face felt altogether too crusty for her liking, but considering her head was so congested it just might explode, Jane didn't care. Even if that hunky
Thor
actor stood behind her door, he was just going to have to deal with how she looked.

Concerned blue eyes and wind-blown tufts of white hair greeted her across the threshold. “Jane, are you all right? When you didn't answer the door right away, I thought maybe you'd forgotten about our meeting.”

Her head fell back on her shoulders. “Judge Nichols. I did forget. I'm sorry.” She stepped to the side and swept an arm toward the living room. “Come on in.”

The older man paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face.

“It's okay. Dr. Murphy said I'm not contagious.” She coughed into her sleeve. “He said it's just a twenty-four-hour bug and my time's almost up.”

With another sidelong glance at her head, the judge of Crook County, Michigan, entered her small apartment and took a seat on her couch. Catching her eye, he rubbed a hand through the hair at his left temple and frowned. “If you're not feeling well, we can reschedule the meeting. The charity ball for the Pineville Fire Department isn't for another month, so we still have lots of time to plan.” Leaning back on the sofa, he shifted his softly rounded belly and pulled a cell phone out of the front pocket of his trousers.

Jane laughed. “I'm glad you asked me for help with this fundraiser. Only a man would think a month was plenty of time to plan a charity ball and fireman auction. We have a lot to do.”

Judge Nichols pulled the phone away from his ear. “Well, I'm glad you feel that way because the third member of our meeting isn't answering his phone. I can't cancel anyway. He should be here shortly.” Brushing his hand through his hair again, he said, “But if you really don't feel well, I can wait for him outside and tell him we're rescheduling.”

“Today's fine.” Jane walked to the attached open kitchen and washed her hands. “I do feel a whole lot better than I did a couple of hours ago.” The clock on the wall above her oven read 5:30 p.m. She'd slept for almost eight hours straight. Pouring water into her teapot, she set it on the stove to heat and shuffled back to the living room, flopping on the other end of the couch. “And we really don't have any time to waste. I want this fundraiser to be a success.”

As a local dispatcher for emergency calls, Jane knew most of the firefighters well. Knew their families. Every couple of years the town held a fundraiser for the Michigan Firefighters Widows' and Orphans' Fund. After a large refinery fire had killed two firemen in upstate Michigan last year, reminding Jane of just what their local firefighters faced, she'd jumped at the chance to help out and be one of the cochairs of the fundraising committee.

“So tell me about our third cochair,” Jane asked. “I have yet to meet the new assistant fire chief. He just started last week, right? I can't believe he was already roped into helping with this fundraiser.”

A devious smile turned up the edges of the judge's lips. “I believe it was a part of his initiation. He was given a couple of choices of what he, as the new guy, could do. I believe this was the least objectionable.”

“The boys in Firehouse 10 gave him a choice?” She shook her head. “They must be going soft.”

A firm knock on the door interrupted them.

“That must be the lucky man now.” Jane pushed to her feet. “What's the new guy's name?”

“Assistant Chief McGovern.” The wrinkles in the judge's forehead deepened. “First name Thomas, I believe.”

“Huh.” That was funny. She used to know someone with that name. But that T. McGovern would never have been caught dead wearing the blue-collar uniform of a firefighter. She moved to open the door.

“Wait, Jane!”

She turned, hand on the knob. The judge had risen to his feet. Even though the older man only stood at about Jane's own five foot six, he had presence. A sense of authority and calm that made few question his decisions. But right now, he just seemed agitated.

“I think you should know, uh . . .” He brushed violently at his hair.

She raised an eyebrow. Very odd. “Hold that thought.”

Shaking her head, she pulled the door open.

And everything stopped. Her heart. The faint pounding in her head. Her breath. Time itself seemed to suck in a deep breath and hold it.

The chiseled jaw in front of her dropped. “Jane? Jane Willoughby? Is that really you?”

She didn't know how long she would have stood there, staring at her high school love. The boy who'd ripped her heart in two, stuck a bite in his mouth, chewed it up, spit it out, and then ground the half-masticated bit under his heel. Not that she was still bitter about it or anything.

She knew her eyes were as wide as her open mouth, but couldn't pull herself together enough to close them. The shrieking whistle of the teapot snapped her out of her shock.

Turning from the boy she'd once placed all her hopes and dreams on, she stumbled to the kitchen, removed the teapot from the stove. From the corner of her eye she watched the judge and Chance shake hands.

“You two know each other?” Judge Nichols asked.

Chance's gaze burned between her shoulder blades. “We were friends in high school in Lansing.”

Friends
. Jane snorted. “Anyone else want some tea?” The men shook their heads, and she prepared her own mug before returning to the living room. She took her first good look at the man still wearing his department-issued blue slacks and snug matching navy T-shirt. The back of her throat dried up and she took a scalding sip of tea.

He'd filled out since she'd last seen him. The wiry muscles he'd earned from varsity football had thickened. He was more solid, his wide chest and broad shoulders looking like he'd have no problem slinging an unconscious body into a fireman's carry. Except for small lines radiating from the edges, his chestnut eyes hadn't changed in nine years, still filled with a mischievous twinkle. He examined her apartment with curiosity before turning his scrutiny on Jane.

Her heart clenched. The way his gaze swept up and down her body, the curiosity was aimed all at her. She took stock of her appearance. Faded robe. Month-old pedicure, the purple polish chipped off half of her toenails. And a nose probably as red as the sunburn she'd gotten skinny-dipping with Chance their senior year. Just perfect.

She took another sip of tea. “You're the new assistant fire chief of Pineville.” She hadn't said it as a question, but he nodded his head anyway. “A pretty big departure from your life plan, Chance.”

The judge drew his brows down. “Chance?”

“Thomas Chance McGovern,” Jane said. “He goes by his middle name. Or, at least, he used to.”

“I still do.” Chance rubbed the back of his neck, ran his hand up the back of his head, ruffling his short hair, the color almost an exact match to his eyes.

Judge Nichols pursed his pink lips and looked at the two of them. Jane could see the wheels turning in his head as he came to all sorts of conclusions. Unfortunately, he was probably coming to all the correct conclusions, something that did Jane's ego no good.

Sinking onto the sofa, she crossed her legs, trying to look as unaffected as possible. “Well, should we get down to business?”

Chance sat on the edge of an armchair across from her, a low glass and metal coffee table filling the gulf between them. The judge remained standing. He rocked up onto the balls of his feet. “Well, the first thing I wanted to talk to you two about was taking point on the fundraiser committee. There's no need to have three cochairs, and now that I know you two are already friends, I feel much more confident leaving the decisions in your capable hands.”

Jane opened her mouth to object.

“I will, of course be a volunteer on the committee,” he continued. “But as the only acting judge for Crook County, my schedule makes it difficult to take a leading role.” Smiling, he looked between Chance and herself. “I can't wait to see what you guys are going to do. For the charity ball.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. That seemed a tad manipulative. They were all busy, but how did you call out a sweet old man who just happened to have the power to throw you in jail for contempt of whatever-the-hell-he-wanted?

Nevertheless, she had to try. No way was she going to be cochair with Chance McGovern at her side. If he was involved, she needed a buffer.

“Judge Nichols, we've already organized part of the ball, and we've been working well together. I think it would be in the best interests of the widows' and orphans' fund if the two of us continued to run the committee.”

Chance's gaze rested on her, a heavy presence, one she refused to acknowledge.

“I appreciate your vote of confidence in this old man, but to be honest, I think I took on too much when I agreed to be cochair. These bones need a little rest from running around all day.” The judge rubbed his hands together. “No, the two of you will do great.”

Her pulse kicked up to match the restless drumming of her fingers on the couch's cushion. “I probably don't need any help at all. I'm sure the new assistant fire chief is very busy, and I can handle the fundraiser by myself.”

“Don't be silly,” the judge said. “Who better to help with a fireman's fundraiser than Mr. McGovern? Besides, you were the one saying how a month isn't very much time and there is a lot still to do.”

Damn. She had said that. Her mind ran through a list of excuses, but none would be good enough to convince the judge. She glared at Chance. Why wasn't he jumping in with his own reasons? He had to want to get out of this more than she did. But no, he sat there as silent as . . . something really quiet, not helping out at all.

His eyes never leaving hers, Chance slowly raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. She bit back a growl. How dare he give her that look, the one that practically screamed
What are you going to do now?
Had he forgotten that she'd been there at its inception, when a scrawny fifteen-year-old boy had practiced it in front of a mirror, using his fingers to hold one eyebrow down as he raised the other, Jane sitting on his bed, laughing at the goofy faces he made? And now he used it on her? Hell no.

She shot to her feet. The pressure in her head from her cold messed with her balance, and she wobbled. Chance rose and put a steadying hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. His touch messed with her head more than her cold did.

Jane dug her fingers into her hips. “Mr. McGovern—”

“Can't wait to help with the fundraiser. It's a worthy cause and a great way to get involved in the community.” Chance held a large hand out to the judge. “Don't worry. I've got it from here.”

The men shook hands. “Perfect,” Judge Nichols said. He walked to the door. “I'll leave you to it. Get a lot of rest tonight, Jane. Pineville needs you healthy.” And with a smile and a nod, he was gone.

Leaving her alone. With Chance McGovern.

She inhaled deeply, the sounds of snot tunneling up her nose loud in the silence. She looked around for a tissue. Remembering the tissues were in her bedroom, she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. Not something she would normally do in front of company, but she didn't want Chance to have any misunderstanding of how he ranked in her life.

“Let's sit down,” he said. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

With a huff, she flopped down on the sofa, crossed one leg over the other. Her robe gaped open, revealing her bare thigh before she grabbed the edge and tugged it closed. “I don't want to catch up. Let's just get some planning done so you can get out of here.”

His eyes flicked to her legs before settling back on her face. He leaned forward in the armchair and rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his long fingers together.