Up In Flames (6 page)

When Jules went home in the evening after running many errands, she was on the lookout for strange people distributing literature on her front lawn. Between Shane's behavior and the conversation she'd had with the police, it was hard to forget. She was sure the note was just a silly prank. After all, who'd want to make her “pay?” Aside from her credit card company, she couldn't think of anyone.

Thankfully, though, there were no strangers loitering on her property. Once again, her thoughts turned to Shane. She had to remind herself not to be startled at the sight of her new boarder. It was odd having him in the house and her body had been attuned to his every movement the previous evening.

She had lain in bed that night, listening to the various creaks and groans of the furniture in the room below hers. Her street sense had kept her awake in case Shane turned out to be a psychopathic rapist after all, or an author of crazy letters. But her instincts had told her he could be trusted.

Those damned instincts were at work again.

As she drove up the path to the house, she found herself wondering how he had spent his day. Being the newbie at the fire hall, he was probably still there. She half hoped he would be, as she still felt awkward over the conversation in which he'd told her he'd keep to himself.

When she saw him standing at the front porch she knew she'd have to get over her awkwardness in a hurry.

"What is he up to?” she wondered aloud as she parked the Jeep.

He stood, feet planted firmly apart, and seemed to be rubbing the porch railing. She realized quickly that Shane had found her discarded sandpaper and was sanding the chipped railing. He was concentrated on his task and didn't appear to notice her watching him.

Jules swallowed. He was nothing short of wondrous to behold. He had worked up a sweat and his T-shirt was plastered to his torso, outlining each ripple. He had a lot of ripples. Despite the large pockets on his cargo shorts, she could make out the shape of strong thighs and a muscled backside. His sandy hair was shiny, wet with sweat. He was sporting a new, shorter hairstyle and his locks were no longer falling into his eyes. He looked less boyish to her.

All man
.

His effortless sex appeal sent a jolt of lightening coursing through her, and Jules was surprised at how uncomfortable she felt. “This is not good,” she whispered. “Not good at all."

Realizing she resembled a stalker, she cleared her throat, hoping to clear her head by default. “So, how long have you been at it?"

"Oh, hi there.” He put the sandpaper down and wiped his hands on his shorts, which appeared just as sandy as the rest of him. “About an hour or so. I hope you don't mind, but I noticed the railing was, uh..."

"Decrepit? Come now, don't be shy. I told you this place was falling apart.” Jules walked over, trying to stay out of the vicinity of his enticing, sweaty body. She reached a hand out and ran it along the now-smooth woodwork of the railing. “Wow. You did an amazing job. There's not a bump on it."

"I noticed some cans of white paint out back. I could paint it, if you want.” He offered her a shy smile.

"That's very nice of you, Shane. Thank-you."

"No problem.” He paused. “So, no more notes on your windshield today?"

"Not a one."

"Good.” He looked relieved.

They stood there looking at each other for a minute, neither of them quite sure about how to proceed. Jules finally took the plunge. “Listen, I should apologize. I was a little scattered yesterday, and seeing Kevin brought out the worst in me. I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome.” She shifted on her feet and watched a bead of sweat trail down his strong neck. “This whole arrangement is new to me."

"Me too.” He regarded her quietly as if he were mentally plotting out his next words.

"You know, you've worked hard here. I was going to make pasta for dinner. Want to join me?"

"Sure.” With a smile, he followed her into the house. “Only, do you mind if I clean myself up first?"

"Take your time."

She couldn't help listening as he disappeared into the back room and turned on the shower tap. Trying to dismiss the image of him discarding his damp clothes, she freshened herself up, too. It had been a hot day and Jules could feel a thin line of perspiration on her upper lip and brow. After splashing water on her face, she applied some blush and pale lip gloss. She changed into a denim skirt and a shapely violet top which highlighted her hazel eyes. A quick squirt of rosewater, and she headed back down to the kitchen.

Lord
,
you'd think I was getting ready for a date
.

But she couldn't fight the fact she was excited to have dinner with him. More excited than she ought to be.

She shook her head and went in search of green peppers which she knew were hiding somewhere at the back of the fridge.

Within minutes, he reappeared, freshly scrubbed with his hair slicked back. “This is great. I love pasta. So, what can I do?"

"There's a pot under there. Would you mind boiling some water?” Jules began to chop the green peppers. “Hey, have you been to the fire station yet? I heard you leave this morning. It was quite early."

There was a tightness in his expression, as if he were trying very hard to look on the bright side of things. “Right. The fire station. Yeah, I was there today. We did all the introductions. It was interesting."

"Really?” She stopped chopping. “Doesn't sound too inspiring."

"Let's just say some of the other men were, uh, guarded."

"Well, as much as I dislike that bunch of liars, you do have to sympathize with them. After all, when a new captain was needed, no one from the ranks was promoted. Instead, they brought in a new guy.” She munched on a slice of pepper and threw one towards Shane as well. “It's gotta smart."

"I know,” he conceded. “I'm sensitive to how they must feel. I've seen the same wrangling in the station back home. But I've been given a job to do, and I'm not going to let a few disgruntled men hold me back. Anyway, most of them were just fine."

She tried to hide the little curl of a smile threatening to spread across her face. “I can only imagine the reaction of a few of them when they saw you. I swear, it's almost gratifying to me."

"You called them liars. May I ask why?"

She stopped her chopping. “Because although most of them knew Kevin was cheating on me, they covered for him. Whenever I came looking for him, they steered me in the opposite direction.” She resumed her chopping, so forcefully the peppers were coming out in misshapen chunks rather than even slices. “I brought those men meals. I baked them cookies. I played with their children. Not one of them thought to be straight with me ... oh, no! Look what I've done!"

In her anger, the knife had slipped and she had sliced into her index finger. Jules held up her hand as if it were a limp, dead fish and watched as a stream of blood trailed into the cut peppers. In that split second, she felt her face go from rosy to ashen.

"I'm not so good with blood,” she managed before her eyelids began to flutter. “Oh, dear."

Shane was behind her in an instant, binding her hand with a tea towel. He held her hand aloft, and allowed her to fall back on him. After a moment, he unraveled the towel and checked her finger. “It's a clean cut. Shallow. You're going to be okay. This'll heal. Just keep it bound tight."

"I can't look. Is it bad?"

"It looks worse than I think it is. You've got a pretty solid stream of blood happening there."

She dared to look down and saw the oozing, red mess which was dribbling through the stack of peppers. She felt her stomach lurch and she bolted out of Shane's arms. “I'm gonna be sick!"

Jules raced to the little powder room off the foyer and threw herself down in front of the toilet. As mortified as she was at the moment, she didn't stop to shut the door. She knelt before the toilet, and surrendered to the violent retching spasms.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Shane's feet inching closer to her, and tried in vain to cover her face with her hand. The towel had fallen off somewhere between the kitchen and the powder room, and her dripping blood was pooling at the base of the toilet.

Between retches, Jules wondered if it was possible to look like more of an idiot.

When Shane's hand came to rest on her back, lightly rubbing, her shame was complete. It wasn't bad enough to bleed and then throw up before this gorgeous, perfect stranger; the fact he was being helpful and supportive only increased her humiliation.

Still, his hand felt nice and warm on her back. Very warm.

When she was finished, he handed her a wet cloth. “Are you okay?” She nodded and he retreated to the powder room door. “I'll give you some privacy."

Jules flushed and plunked herself down on the toilet seat lid. She re-wrapped her bloody hand and tried to calm herself.
What's wrong with me? It was just a little blood. Can't even administer first aid to myself. And Claire thinks I'd make a good mother
.

After a few minutes, she emerged from the powder room, feeling bashful and three shades paler. To her surprise, the kitchen showed no sign of its previous carnage. There wasn't a scrap of bloody green pepper to be found.

Shane was on the phone. Probably calling to make reservations at the motel to get the hell away from his deranged landlady.

"Yes, I'd like to order your chow mein, some fried rice—hang on a second, please—Jules, do you like lemon chicken?” She nodded, eyes wide, and he turned back to the phone.

She stared at Shane in disbelief. He didn't seem to care she'd thrown up on his shoe and bled on his jeans. As he finished talking to the Chinese restaurant, he smiled at her. That smile was doing things to her, serious things. She stood still, unsure of where to move or what to say. All she could do was smile back, a loopy, awkward smile.

Lemon chicken, indeed.

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"So, what's my diagnosis, doc?"

Shane was in the process of re-examining Jules’ hand. He gingerly pulled back the towel, an expression of mock gravity in his eyes. “Well, it's not spurting all over anymore. You still look a little green around the gills, though. You got some Pepto and Band-Aids around here?"

"I'm okay. It's passing. It's my own fault anyway. I've always been queasy around blood and guts. You should have seen me in high school when we had to dissect fetal pigs. Not a good day.” She looked up at him, still feeling sheepish.

His warm eyes were upon her, glinting mischievously. “I would like to have seen that."

"I guess you meet a lot of people like me in your line of work."

"Sure. I just didn't peg you as a puker.” He flashed her his grin again. “That was pretty wild. I was worried your head might start spinning."

She glared at him. “I can see how you got your job now. It must have been your sympathetic bedside manner."

"I'm no doctor and you're no victim.” A twinkle still in his eye, Shane disappeared and produced a first aid kit from his bedroom, and proceeded to bandage Jules’ finger with some gauze. As strong as he was, he handled her finger as if it were the delicate stem of a rare flower. Each time his fingers brushed against her skin, shivers flew right up her arm. His hands felt so good on hers she almost forgot her own discomfort.

What was wrong with her?

Her mind was reeling. She hadn't felt so attracted to a man in a long time. Even with Kevin, the reaction hadn't been so immediate, so gut-wrenchingly raw.

He placed the last bandage over the top of the gauze. “There. Do you think you can manage lemon chicken or would you like some nice, dry crackers?"

"Don't be so cheeky.” At the mention of the Chinese food, her stomach began a protracted growl, and she decided to forgive him his relentless sense of humor. “I could murder that chicken! Strangely enough, I'm actually hungry now."

"Well, just go easy, tiger."

At that, the doorbell rang. Jules reached for her purse, but Shane beat her to the door and paid for the order in its entirety. He carried the brown bags into the kitchen, face beaming.

"You didn't have to pay for everything, you know."

"Don't mention it. You've already provided the entertainment tonight,” he joked. “At least let me provide the food."

She handed him one of her mother's old cow-patterned plates. “You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Nope."

The merciless son of a gun. He knew she was mortified, yet insisted on taunting her. She could have hit him, but then remembered how it felt when he placed his hand on her back. There had been no teasing then, only support. She could still feel the warm spot on her back, could still recall how right it had felt for his hand to be there, touching her in that way.

She shook off the feeling, realizing Shane was basically a stranger. It didn't seem right to be having these feelings when all she really knew of him was his name, rank and serial number.

And, of course, his rank was that of fire captain. She couldn't lose sight of that. He was one of them. Good for a laugh, but not to be trusted.

That was how things had started with Kevin. He had been all wine and roses, gentle ribbing and sweet teasing. It had been so easy to fall for him, so easy to lose sight of her common sense. During their relationship, he had emerged as a heroic, larger-than-life character who swept her off her damsel feet. She refused to relinquish control like that again.

Jules knew, though, she had put Kevin up on a pedestal, just like all those other women had done. She had been caught up with the sight of his smart, blue uniform and the thought of him hoisting all that heavy equipment, coming to the rescue. Kevin was tall, like Shane. Both men towered over her. And as silly as she knew it was, when she was with Kevin, she had felt protected as well as desired. In his capable hands, she had trusted he would take care of her.

She wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Shane interrupted her melancholy reverie. “Is the chicken okay? You've grown quiet all of a sudden.” He regarded her, unblinking, as if he knew exactly what had been going through her head.