Putting Out Old Flames (12 page)

“So you two can still work separately?” Judge Nichols shook his head. “You need to learn to work together.”

Jane poked her tongue into her cheek. Did the judge want her and Chance to make conference calls? That seemed rather silly. Besides, it would just be easier to do it herself. Chance obviously didn't know what he was doing as chair of a fundraising committee, and the less time she had to be around him, the better.

The hot kiss they'd shared after game night flashed through her mind. It was easier to work without him around, on a lot of levels. She darted a glance at him, and the tips of her breasts tingled. Even dressed casually in threadbare jeans and a polo shirt, he was hot as sin. She focused on the narrowed eye glaring at Chance's leather loafer from the foot of the couch instead.

She'd let Chance get too close, and she couldn't allow that to happen again. Working separately was better.

The judge's face cleared into a serene smile. “I'll handle the catering. I just left Allison's diner and I don't think I'll have any trouble convincing her to help us.”

Jane wrinkled her nose. “I love the Pantry, and Allison's a great cook. But I don't think meat loaf and burgers is what we're looking for.”

“Trust me.” He rocked up onto his toes. “Allison is more than that. She'll do a great job.”

At this point, they'd be lucky to get Colonel Sanders to cater. “Well, if you think you can get her on such short notice,” Jane said doubtfully.

Chance sat forward on the sofa, not noticing the creeping bundle of fur stalking his foot. “Great. I'll get in touch with the florist—”

“You'll both talk to Paul. You can stop by his shop after you deliver the meal that Allison prepared for Saul Harraday. The dishes are in my car, but since I'll be back at the Pantry talking to Allison about the catering, I won't have time to deliver the food.” The judge clapped his hands together, like the problem was solved. And for him, it probably was. Finding a caterer with only two weeks left was a cakewalk compared to going to Mr. Harraday's. The old man's tongue was filled with venom, and he used his cane more as a weapon than a tool to help him walk.

“You're taking food to Mr. Harraday?” Jane wet her lips with her tongue.

“Yep. Once a week Allison cooks him up something good, makes sure there'll be lots of leftovers so we know he's eating something solid, and I know he's still kicking. A safety check of sorts.” He rubbed his hands together. “And this week you and Chance are the lucky people who get to deliver it to him.”

“Great,” she muttered.

“Sure,” Chance agreed, oblivious to the danger. He was new in town and had no way of knowing the citizens of Pineville considered the old man their Boo Radley. He stood. “Jane and I . . . son of a—”

Chance lifted his foot, glared in outrage at Jane. “Your cat!” he spluttered.

“Run, Cyclops,” Jane yelled. The cat didn't need telling. After delivering his revenge, the beast had sprinted for the kitchen, making his escape out the window. He paused at the sill, tail twitching, and Jane could have sworn the cat smiled smugly.

Chance advanced a step. “Your cat peed on me,” he said quietly, only the flicker of a muscle in his jaw giving Jane warning.

She tried not to smile. From the fire that crackled to life in Chance's eyes, she knew she must not have succeeded.

“You can't blame Cyclops.” She took a step back. “He's just defending his territory.”

“I don't blame the cat.” He stepped close enough to grab her, and Jane scuttled around the back of the couch. “I blame his owner.”

The judge clapped his hands together. “Well, I'll just leave you kids to it.” He started for the door.

“Wait!” Jane flew after him. “I'll just, uh, get that food from you.” Chance stood behind the couch, gripping its back, his fingers white. Yep, leaving the apartment for a cooling-off period was a definite necessity. “I'll get the bag from the judge's car while you clean up.” Snagging her keys from the bowl by the door, she added, “In fact, why don't you meet me downstairs?” Jane didn't want to come back to her living room to face him. Not when there were no witnesses. Being in public was a much better idea.

Grabbing her purse, she followed the judge out the door. “I'll see you downstairs,” she said brightly, closing the door on his glower. She held back her laughter until she hit the sidewalk, then let it spill out.

Judge Nichols shook his head as he handed her the bag of food, but his lips twitched. “I'll see you two later. And Jane”—he rested his hand on her shoulder—“we can't let past hurts ruin this fundraiser. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but you need to work it out.”

Easily said. But Jane nodded and waved as he drove off. Waited for Chance to come down.

And waited.

She was sitting on the trunk of her car when he finally emerged from her apartment building. The bottom half of one of his pant legs was wet and his one loafer was a darker shade of brown than the other. Holding the bag of food in front of her like a shield, she smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” He snagged her keys from her hand, and climbed in the driver's side. Without holding her door open for her this time, she noticed.

Grumbling, she sat in the passenger's seat. “Took you long enough. It was just a little pee.”

Chance jammed his foot on the accelerator, and her head whipped back. She gritted her teeth.

“I couldn't get my shin in your sink so I took my jeans off.”

Whoa. Chance had been pantless in her apartment. She swallowed. His thighs looked really muscular now. Strong. Maybe she shouldn't have fled, but stuck it out in her place.

“And I used your hairdryer to try to save my shoe.” They both looked down at his foot on the pedal. “I don't think it worked.”

“They were old anyway. Had a good life.”

He narrowed his eyes. “They're well-worn. Molded perfectly to my foot shape.”

“And now one just has a couple of spots on it,” she said. “Hardly noticeable.”

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “The smell is noticeable.”

She'd hoped he was congested. Once they'd gotten into the enclosed space of the car, the odor had become pungent. Rolling down the window, she tried to force optimism into her voice. “I'm sure it will fade. You're going to want to take a left up here on Maple.”

He followed her directions but remained silent. Pulling in front of Mr. Harraday's house, Jane gave up on her forced cheer. “Look, if you want me to buy you a new pair of shoes—”

“I don't.” He turned off the ignition, pinned her with a stare. “I want your cat to not pee on me when I come over.”

“The fundraiser will be over soon. You won't be coming over after that, so I don't think we have to worry about it.” She tried to keep her voice light. What would happen after the ball? She'd sworn she never wanted to see the man again, but when faced with that prospect, she felt . . . Crap. She didn't know how she felt. But it wasn't warm and fuzzy.

Pineville was a small town. He was a firefighter and she worked in dispatch. They'd run into each other.

She rubbed at her tight chest. Was that what she wanted, or wanted to avoid? She was so confused she didn't know anymore.

Chance grunted and got out of the car. Grabbing the handles of the white plastic bag, she followed. He'd already knocked on the door by the time Jane joined him on the porch. They waited side by side a couple of minutes, Chance's arm brushing hers as he shifted.

“I don't think he's home,” he said. Knocking again, Chance leaned sideways to look through the window. “It's pretty dark in there.”

Jane peered through the window on the other side of the door. “He's an old man. He probably doesn't turn on the lights during the day, to save money.”

“That's harsh.”

Jane jumped off the porch and went to another window. “Remember your grandfather when he'd come to visit? He'd sit in that BarcaLounger and shoot a rubber-band gun at me if I didn't turn the light off when I left a room.”

Chance grinned. “I think he just liked hearing you shriek. Can't say I blame him.”

Jane shot him a look.

“It's high-pitched and girly. Cute,” he amended when she narrowed her eyes. Hands on hips, he looked at the small house. “Let's leave the food on the porch. He'll see it when he gets home.”

Jane bit her lip.

“What?” he asked.

“Well, what if he's fallen? The judge said the man was expecting him.” She tugged at the window, grunting when it didn't budge. “I'd hate to leave only to find out later that he needed help. Even if it is Mr. Harraday.”

Chance pulled her away. “Breaking and entering isn't going to help. A neighbor might call the cops.”

“I think Jerome's on duty. He'd help me break in to check on Mr. Harraday.” Jane walked to the side of the house. A six-foot fence with a locked gate blocked her view.

“Meaning I won't?” Chance's breath was hot on her neck.

Stepping to the side, Jane gripped the top of the fence and tried to pull herself up to get a look over. She had about two seconds of hang time before scraping back down the wood to the ground. She shook her arms out. “Apparently you won't, since I'm doing all the work here.” Besides a weed-strewn lawn and some rusty patio furniture, Jane hadn't seen much in her first jump.

She went for another. Clenching the top of the fence, she hopped up, trying to walk the soles of her sneakers up the side.

A hand on her butt took the weight off her arms. “Hey!”

Chance grunted and lifted her higher. “See anything?”

“No.” Jane's hips dug into the wood, and she leaned forward, trying to shift her weight to a better position. “But I might hear something.” She turned her head to listen. “A radio maybe?”

“Okay, get down.” Chance shifted his hand from her butt to her hip. She knew he meant it to help, that he wouldn't let her fall. She knew it, but when that support that she'd been resting on disappeared and she started to slide backwards, her body went into panic mode, not trusting that the light grip on her hip would catch her.

She threw her upper body forward, hoping to balance herself. And the light grip on her hip that would have eased her body back down the fence had no purchase to hold her as she toppled over the other side.

“Shit!” Chance yelled from the other side of the fence.

Jane lay on her back, disoriented from her ass-over-teakettle flop into Mr. Harraday's backyard. Chance's upper body sprang into view as he pulled himself up onto the fence and swung his legs over, leaping over in one smooth move.

She hated that men could do that so easily while she could barely clear ten inches in a jump. All those muscles flexing and bunching in Chance's body. Yeah, really hated it.

He dropped next to her. “Are you all right?” A crease appeared above his nose when she didn't answer. “What hurts?”

“Besides my pride?” She pushed his hand away and propped herself up on her elbows. Her rear end was going to be sore tomorrow, but he didn't need to know that. “I scraped my palm and banged my elbow, but I'm fine.”

Chance didn't pay attention to her assessment and went into medic mode, running his hands lightly along her body, checking for breaks. “Follow my finger,” he ordered, holding a digit up in front of her eyes, moving it back and forth.

Grabbing his finger with her own, she yanked it away from her face. “I'm fine. This patch of weeds broke my fall.”

His face relaxed. Sighing, he ran his hands around her head, felt the contours of her skull. “I don't know why I'm even checking. Your head's too hard to get hurt.”

Jane wanted to pull away, get up, but the head massage felt too damn good. She'd forgotten how talented Chance was with his hands. “I thought you used to say I was soft in the head.”

His fingers paused. He looked down at her, the rim of his irises so dark they almost looked black. “That was your heart, Jane. You always had a soft heart.”

That organ stilled before jumping into overdrive. She needed to keep her mouth shut. Something really stupid, something that would tell Chance more than she wanted him to know, was ready to tumble out, and she couldn't let that happen.

Dragging his fingers through her hair, Chance pulled his hand back, holding a dandelion. He put it before her mouth and smiled. “Make a wish.”

Don't be an idiot. Don't let yourself get hurt again
. There were too many wishes to pick just one. She puckered her lips and blew.

Don't lose him again
darted through her head as the white seeds wafted from their stalk and floated to the ground.

She groaned. That was her wish? She was smarter than that.

Chance frowned. “You do hurt. Where?”

“I'm
fine
.” She extended her hand. “Help me up.”

Chance's warm hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet. She forced herself to let go. Brushing stray weeds from her pants, she nodded her head at the rectangle of cement that acted like a porch. “Let's knock at the side door. Maybe he just couldn't hear us before.”

Nodding, he set off through the knee-high grass. The yard was wild, overrun, and green as a forest. Jane frowned. She wouldn't expect the elderly man to be out there mowing his lawn, but he must have someone who could help him.

“Hello? Mr. Harraday?” Chance pounded on the door.

Jane shaded her eyes, and tried to look in through the small window. She tugged at the sash, but it wouldn't budge.