Sweet Burn (15 page)

He
’
d come from a firefighting family. His father, his brothers, his cousins—they
’
d all fought fire. They were blue collar, hard-working, beer-drinking men who preferred blue jeans and flannel shirts. When they made a promise, they kept it. They were also men who married young and stayed married, more than a little redneck and honest as the day was long. He hadn
’
t appreciated them growing up. That was probably, he thought, how most kids felt about family.

Nope. For him, life had been a hedonistic do-as-he-pleased gig. He still had no problem with pleasure—
bring it on
—but not at the expense of others. He
’
d spent high school and the year after drag racing on back country roads and building late night beach bonfires. He
’
d had himself twelve-packs of beer, sex with girls, skinny dipping in the pond and four-wheel-driving. Those weren
’
t bad things in and of themselves, but he
’
d been careless. When he
’
d crashed his truck, he
’
d gotten a wake up call all right. A broken arm was better than a broken head, and he
’
d realized he was on a fast-track to a bad end. No more sweet temptation of giving in and doing the wrong things because they felt good. He wasn
’
t a Puritan, but nobody got hurt on his watch now. He
’
d learned to fix trucks that summer, but he
’
d also learned that some stuff you couldn
’
t put back together. Ever.

Fancy Jane, for example, had been broken into too many pieces.

She hadn
’
t wanted him to put her back together.

Mimi snuffled in her sleep and he ran a hand down her back. Sometimes, there were too many parallels between Fancy Jane and Mimi. Or maybe he had an overactive imagination. Damned if he knew which it was. All he knew was that he fully intended to kill Mimi with kindness.

And seduce the hell out of her.

Mimi had woken up in more than her fair share of strange beds—really, she had no one to blame but herself—and she
’
d mastered the morning after scene. She woke up and she got the hell out of Dodge. She blamed Mack for her departure from her usual mode of operation.

This morning after had been… different. Not different
bad
, but definitely not like any other morning after. Of course, they hadn
’
t actually had sex, which might have had something to do with it. She looked at Mack and she heated up all over, and yet he refused to do anything about it. Instead, he held out on her.

Since Sheriff Hernandez had brought her in in the patrol car, Mimi didn
’
t have her bike or her truck. That meant she couldn
’
t slip away. Mack
’
s farmhouse was also far enough outside of Strong that walking was out of the question.

When she woke up, he
’
d already gone out. Right. The training run he had to do. That meant she
’
d been forced to wait for him to come back. Which he
’
d done, bearing a paper bag with two maple-glazed doughnuts. Then he
’
d driven her out to get her bike and dropped a quick, hard kiss on her mouth before she mounted up.

“Drive the speed limit,” he growled.

He tasted like maple icing, probably because he
’
d stolen the end of her doughnut. She opened her mouth and he pressed a finger against it.

“Please,” he said. “You
’
re going to give me gray hairs and drain my bank account.”

He was smiling, though, so she didn
’
t think he was truly mad at her. And he did have a point about the speed limit. She
’
d also paid more speeding tickets than she should have, so there was that.

“Yes, sir.” She mock saluted him and he shook his head.

“You
’
re not going to do it, are you?”

She shrugged. Five miles over didn
’
t count.

She pulled out, the gravel spitting beneath her tires, and damned if he didn
’
t ride her six all the way back to Strong. Better yet, as she sedately putted her way into Strong (because, really, anything less than forty was turtle speed),
he
sped up and passed her. The bastard.

He also looked suspiciously like a guy she could fall for and that she one hundred percent believed she didn
’
t deserve. By late afternoon, her confusion hadn
’
t cleared up any. He
’
d followed her inside the bar and immediately started triaging the repairs she needed before she could re-open. She knew he was busy. The jump team was training hard while they waited for the call to come in about the next fire. So she had no idea why he was currently on his hands and knees replacing the charred boards in her dance floor. Still, it was a good look for him and she had a perfect view of his perfect butt.

“
You sure I can’
t pay you?” She had no idea how, but she didn
’
t like the thought of owing him anything.

“You ask me that again and I
’
m going to say
yes
.” He looked up and there was the wicked curl of his lip. The sexy gesture did something to her.

“And?” She definitely heard an
and
there.

“And I
’
ll be taking your money and buying you the hottest strip-o-gram out there.”

Right. She
’
d been banished to the bar after her lack of hammer expertise had become clear. So now she was mixing up a new drink because maybe she could jazz up her menu and bump up her revenues. She tried it and made a face.

“You
’
re going to punish me by sending me a half-naked man?”

“Uh-huh.” He re-focused his attention on her floor, grabbing a hammer from the oh-so-sexy tool belt he
’
d strapped around his waist. Looking at him was no hardship.

“We may be defining the word differently.”

He sat back on his haunches and looked at her. He was gorgeous from that angle too, the move accentuating the muscles in his thighs and that tool belt—uh huh. She loved a man who knew how to work with his hands. The positively wicked grin spreading over his face, however, said he knew something she didn
’
t.

“Fighting fires is mostly a seasonal gig. You know the Big Bear Rogues?”

“
Will Donegan
’
s team?” Abbie
’
s husband and a couple of other hotshots came by Ma
’
s on a regular basis. They were nice guys. Blue collar, hardworking, and rough around the edges, sure, but they would also give you the shirt off your back—or work their butts off to save your house. No questions asked.

“He
’
s one of them, yeah. He
’
s got Abbie, though.”

“I
’
m not following.”

“For the winter months. She gets a paycheck from the school district, so if he can
’
t find part-time work to fill in the empty months, he
’
s not eating canned beans from the food shelf. A couple of the other guys…”

“
Deliver stripper-grams?
”

“In the flesh.” He grinned at her as he shoved to his feet and came over to the bar. “I
’
ve heard Cal Holland is one hell of a dancer.”

She could believe it. She
’
d seen the guy tearing up Ma
’
s dance floor. The man knew how to move his hips.

“He
’
d dance for beers. Save your money. Plus, I never said I was offering to pay you with cash.”

He blinked and she held out the drink to him. The glass held a mix of tequila, triple sec, and cherry and cranberry juices. It was definitely—she squinted at the glass—very, very pink. Whatever.

“Whatever you
’
re offering, stop asking me to take it.” He reached over, grabbed the drink and took a tentative sip. “Woah.”

“What do you think? Too sweet?” Her teeth had started begging for a dentist after two sips.

He nodded, his fingers brushing hers as he handed back the glass. “I like a bit of a bite. What
’
s this one called?”

She looked into his brown eyes smiling at her. Was there a subtext there? Because the cranberry juice ought to have had him puckering up from the sour. She wasn
’
t good at frozen froufrou drinks.

“Sex in the Desert.”

“It has possibilities, although I think the sand would be uncomfortable.” He grinned and got back to work. He was almost done, this man who
’
d bailed her out in more ways than one. He
’
d stuck by her side which, she realized, was more than any other man in her life had done. She
’
d miss these afternoons together. The company was pretty damned good.

***

“Table for you.” Delia, Mimi
’
s part-time cocktail waitress, leaned over the bar. Her cheeks were flushed and strands of hair escaped from her ponytail in little curls. The poor girl had been running flat-out since they
’
d opened at eight, although Mimi hoped the tips were good enough to compensate. She
’
d finally gotten Ma
’
s re-opened after a week of cleaning and painting. The new dance floor—all forty square feet of it—was almost invisible beneath the press of booted feet. The entire jump team had come out to celebrate her grand re-opening and they
’
d brought friends. Every firefighter in the county appeared to be crammed inside her place and Mimi only hoped they
’
d left the fire marshal at home. It would be too ironic to get shut down for a fire code violation because she had too many firefighters in the building.

“Take their order,” she snapped. “Do I look like I
’
m waiting tables?”

There was something to be said for being the only bar in town. Strong
’
s residents had clearly missed easy access to alcohol. From the moment she
’
d opened the front doors, Mimi had juggled pouring drinks, restocking and running endless loads of glasses. Someone had dropped a tray of bottles with a cheerful whoop of “Clean up on aisle five.” Right. Not so funny if you were the cleaning crew. Thank God she
’
d dressed for it. Her faded blue jeans and cowboy boots were comfortable enough, and a Ma
’
s T-shirt made it clear which team she played for tonight.

Delia shook her head, ponytail bouncing. “They want you to come take the order. I told them, twice, that you were serving the bar only.”

Since her immediate answer for the recalcitrant table involved her middle finger, Mimi took a moment to breathe in. Out. Nope. There was no magic antidote to irritation there either.

“Then they go dry.” Too bad for them.

Delia didn
’
t look happy, but she took off for a corner of the bar. Five minutes later three butts hit the barstools, the butts
’
owners staring expectantly at Mimi. She probably should have seen this coming. Those girls were like the Three Stooges. Where one went, the other two did as well.

Laura leaned forward. Any further, Mimi thought, and she
’
d land on Mimi
’
s side of the bar. “We need the fun stuff.”

Right. Like Mimi knew what that was. She slapped a menu down on the bar. “Feel free to read up on what Ma
’
s has to offer tonight.”

Katie winced dramatically. “Ouch. Since you wouldn
’
t come and talk to us, we had to come over here. What kind of customer service is that?”

“The kind you get here.”

They probably had baby shower stuff to pass on. She should be nice. She thought about it for a moment, but her feet hurt too much and Delia was waving frantically down the bar, clearly intent on dropping off another round of drink orders. Mimi took care of Delia
’
s alcoholic wishlist, wondering when Strong
’
s usually beer-drinking, blue collar crowd had switched to wine by the glass and fancy cocktail creations that took far too long to create.

When she came back to the girls
’
end of the bar, they were waiting for her. It looked like they
’
d made a decision while she
’
d been busy.

Abbie grinned at her. “What kind of margaritas do you make?”

“We need a pitcherful,” Laura Jo ordered. “A big one.”

She rummaged under the counter and unearthed an ancient bottle of mixer. “Pink.”

“That
’
s a color, not a flavor.”

Katie was right, but Mimi didn
’
t care. “And it
’
s all I
’
ve got.”

While the girls bickered over the relative merits of pink versus not-pink, Mimi got on the drink order. Her poor blender was going to expire from the work out. Most of her patrons were beer men, or liked the simple stuff like Jack and Coke or tequila shooters. When she checked the expiration date on the mixer bottle, the mixer wasn
’
t precisely fresh. Still, one week shouldn
’
t kill anybody.

“Yes to pink margaritas? It
’
s a limited time offer,” she said, when no one said anything. “Take it or leave it. The beer
’
s cold.
”

Abbie slapped a twenty down on the bar. “As long as it
’
s also got tequila, I
’
m good.
”

The younger woman looked tired. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, her brown hair falling around her face. Defensive posture 101—Mimi was an expert at that. What she couldn
’
t tell, however, was if Abbie wanted to talk about whatever it was that was bothering her. Sometimes, all a patron wanted was some space, some ice, and a big hit of booze. Other times, drinking took backseat to babbling. Mimi had learned on day one at Ma
’
s that the bartender was also expected to be a therapist, best friend, and confessional.

She took a shot. “Long day or a bad day?”

“Both. Will
’
s hotshot team got called out.”