A Beautiful Fire (Love at Lincolnfield Book 4)

by Colette Dixon

  Without help from anyone. The usual rush of freedom she felt from flexing her independence didn’t come. On the contrary, at the prospect of no help, of being so very alone, her heart did a little dip.

  After fifteen minutes of strained muscles, a sweat soaked forehead, and pain so severe in her leg she nearly suspected a blood clot, she had gathered some clothes, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. It took another five minutes to pull herself to the stairs where she threw everything down to the bottom. Everything but her toothbrush, which she clenched lengthwise in her teeth.

  At least no one is here to see how ridiculous you are right now.

  Going down was harder. She had to lift her bad leg to get her heel and the bulky knee brace they’d given her in the ER up and over each stair. Pain rippled through her knee. She bit down hard on the toothbrush.

  After several stairs, she fatigued from the effort and stopped trying to protect her leg. She let herself slide, her heel bumping on each stair, jarring her injury. Instinct rolled her onto her side to protect her leg.

  Bad idea. The fabric of her yoga pants slick against the runner, she began to fly down the stairs.

  She screamed, a sound like a large zoo animal, one part anger at herself for getting in this stupid position and another part fear—her bad leg was aimed right at the entryway bench at the bottom of the stairs. She managed to roll the bad leg out of aim of the bench. She flopped onto her stomach, her chin knocking on the last stair, and ended up sprawled prone atop the pile of clothes she’d thrown down.

  Cheek pressed on cold ceramic tile, she groaned.

  Worse fates or not, this fractured patella thing sucked.

  For a moment, she considered calling Aaron.

  Aaron who had seemed so promising—a pharmacy professor she’d met through a mutual friend. He had the highest degree in his field. Check. Loads of ambition. Check. A restrained one-glass-of-wine-with-dinner drinker, he’d taken her to top-tier restaurants, had proved well-read and a good conversationalist on everything from politics to medicine to the arts. Not interested in sports. Not controlling. The sex was… pretty good. Check. Check. Check.

  But he failed at texting. At communicating in general. Weeks would go by without a word from him.

  If a man you were sleeping with couldn’t keep you in his consciousness enough to acknowledge your existence regularly, he couldn’t be trusted.

  The experience with Aaron added to her growing body of evidence that men were not to be relied upon. One experiment did not evidence make, but similar repeated results could not be overlooked by even the most skeptical of scientists.

  No, she couldn’t call Aaron. They hadn’t really ended on the friendliest of terms anyway.

  I’m not sure what you want from me, Harper.

  Staying in touch regularly is very important to me.

  I feel like talking once every couple of weeks is good enough for me.

  The words had stung. She’d stayed true to her own rules and thought she’d found a suitable man. When she’d admitted she didn’t understand what had gone wrong, he’d said, Harper, you look great on paper. This relationship is ninety-five percent good.

  At first it had sounded like a compliment until he added, That last five percent is just never going to be there.

  Despite the fact he’d essentially given her an A, she’d broken it off.

  She wanted a man who was accomplished, but who had the makings of a good father—someone she could depend on, not someone content to ignore her.

  She wanted someone who met one hundred percent of her criteria and who actually cared about her. It didn’t seem like too much to ask.

  When one searched a research database, using and phrases narrowed the pickings, sure, but retrieved more relevant results. Too bad searching for the right man seemed infinitely more difficult.

  Bev might say her standards were too high, but Harper would not settle for less. She would not make the same mistake as her mother.

  No, she never wanted to see or talk to Aaron ever again.

  So what she’d fallen? A couple of times. She didn’t need a man to come to her aid. As crappy as this situation was, she could handle it herself.

  As her hand found the crutch propped on the bannister, the doorbell rang.

  Well, that was inconvenient.

  She’d just ignore it. Couldn’t be anyone she knew anyway. She didn’t know many of her neighbors. Her neighborhood was so mixed with apartments, condos, and townhouses, people came and went with the briefest of greetings for each other. If they acknowledged each other at all.

  Pounding rattled her door. Then a muffled voice, “Harper, you okay? It’s Jakub. From the fire station. I heard a scream.”

  Jakub. Panic prickled her skin from head to toe. But as she lay there breathing heavily, a sense of comfort began to overtake the panic.

  She did not particularly want him to see her in this state, but she was bored and tired and sore. The man had impeccable timing.

  She called out, “Just a minute,” then flipped herself over. She kicked her clothes into a pile with her good leg then pulled herself up and arranged the crutches under her arms.

  She hobbled to the door and turned the dead bolt. There stood Hot Fireman of her morning daydreams, Jakub Wojcik, in crisp jeans and a navy waffle knit shirt that traced the muscles of his chest and brought out the deep blue color of his eyes.

  He stood with a stony look of concern on his face.

  “Hi,” she said in her best imitation of someone who hadn’t just fallen down a flight of stairs with a broken knee. Her gaze fell to the teddy bear he clutched at waist level.

  Warmth flashed in his eyes as he replied, “Hi.”

  Chapter Five

  “You okay?” Jakub asked, eyes twinkling with something that looked like amusement.

  “Yeah, fine.” She flicked her head to move her bangs out of her eyes but sweat had plastered a strand to her forehead. Why had she not used her clothing to wipe off some of the sweat before answering the door?

  “Cause it sounded like someone was having a limb torn from their body in here.”

  His hyperbole triggered something in her. She wasn’t dying. She was a strong, capable woman. And what was he doing here anyway? “Do you usually lurk at doors listening for damsels in distress?”

  “Only at doors of damsels I know are in distress.” His skin looked golden and rested despite the evening hour and the harsh white light of her stoop.

  “Well, I’m not in distress.”

  He bit his bottom lip as if holding back a quip, drawing way too much attention to his mouth.

  She cleared her throat. “Did you get some sleep?” Oh, she shouldn’t be asking him that. Far too personal. Nor imagining him in a bed.

  “I did.”

  Was he a boxer brief guy or sleep in the nude guy? God, stop this, Harper. “Good.”

  They stood staring at each other a few seconds longer than appropriate for two people so minimally acquainted.

  “I just…” she thumbed the stairs behind her and tried to fight down an embarrassed smile. “Had a little mishap on the stairs. I’m fine now.”

  He tilted his head with a tentative smile. “You sure?”

  She nodded, the pain in her leg, the shock of the fall and the sight of him on her doorstep keeping her from returning the smile.

  His eyes dropped as his mouth settled into a flat line. “Okay. If you’re sure, I’ll be going then.” He held out the teddy. “Thought you might like a little something to keep you company.”

  The tender gesture warmed her heart but it also needled. Was it so obvious she didn’t have anyone in her life? She may not have a man, but that didn’t make her incomplete somehow.

  She reached for the bear. In a less enthusiastic tone than she intended, she said, “Thanks.”

  He turned to leave.

  The idea of his absence tugged at her heart. “Wait. Are you working tonight?” She knew he wasn’t.

  He’d only been
off for twelve hours, meaning he had another thirty-six to go. Not to mention the fact he was wearing jeans and that very casual shirt.

  That’s right, Harper, you don’t really go for men who wear long underwear in public.

  He turned back slowly, a mix of emotions on his face like trepidation and intrigue all at once. “I’m not.”

  “What are your favorite TV shows? I’m getting a little bored. I need something other than nature documentaries.”

  He’d turned his chin to his shoulder and cut his eyes through sandy brown lashes. “TV shows?”

  “Don’t say Chicago Fire. Oh, I shouldn’t assume you like that. It’s probably like doctors watching Grey’s Anatomy. Anyway, forget I asked.”

  “Harper.”

  Her breath caught in her throat with the way he said her name. Like he knew her much better than he did. Like he understood something about her he couldn’t know. But in that instant, she wanted him to know her. His voice, the sound of her name on his lips wrapped around her heart and squeezed.

  Whatever he was going to say next, she wanted to hear it with every molecule of her being. “Yes?”

  “Would you like some company? Other than the bear, I mean.” In the silence during which she stared—why couldn’t she say anything?—he shifted his weight to his left foot and ran a hand through his hair. Then he met her gaze again with those lake blue eyes.

  Hot Fireman who she’d looked forward to a sighting of every morning for the last several months was here at her doorstep. Nearly inside her house. Again. And despite her no-waffle-knit-in-public preference, he filled out the shirt absurdly well.

  “Never mind. I shouldn’t have come. I would have called but I didn’t have your number. I just wanted to check on you.”

  She’d stalled too long, staring in disbelief at his existence on her doorstep so that, surely, he thought she was freaked out by his presence. He would be partly right. “No, it’s okay. Thank you for checking on me. It was sweet. And for the bear.” She held up the bear as if he might forget which bear she meant.

  “Goodnight, Harper.” He swiveled away.

  That tug again. “Wait. Do you have your phone on you?”

  His eyebrows rose, and he nodded as if the fact should be obvious. Somehow, that subtle snark made him more attractive.

  She wiped her bangs off her forehead and pulled the crutch more snugly under her right arm. “My number...”

  He kept his eyes on her a little suspiciously as he reached in his back pocket and produced his phone. “Okay, go.”

  She gave him her number and watched him punch it into his contacts.

  He held up the screen showing her information. “Goodnight, Harper Peters.”

  The start of a smile crept over her face. “Goodnight, Jakub Wojcik.”

  “You should really elevate that leg now.” Commanding rescuer mode slipped into his tone.

  Her smile fell. “I know what to do.” That came out way too defensive. “Thank you,” She added to soften it, but only ended up sounding trite.

  He was backing slowly down her stoop, still facing her, one hand on the railing. “I’m sure you do.”

  As she closed the door on him, he flashed her a smile that could light up a street at midnight.

  After standing there for a minute gathering her breath, she collected her clothes then collapsed onto the mattress.

  The phone vibrated.

  A text from an unknown number. Now you’ve got my number too.

  Smiling, she entered Hot Fireman—Jakub’s—name into her contacts.

  The phone vibrated again.

  This time it was Bev. Oh, I’m so sorry about your leg! I’ve got all the seasons of Sex and the City on DVD. I’ll bring it over. But I can’t be there until tomorrow.

  Not her usual choice in TV shows, but she needed distraction. And she was grateful to have some female companionship. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Thanks. You’re the best.

  Suddenly, the idea of the rest of the night alone, when she had Jakub’s number, when he was willing to keep her company, when he was probably only as far away as his truck on the curb, seemed like longer than she could bear.

  What kind of TV shows would Jakub like? No doubt they had completely different tastes. He probably liked watching sports and shows with angst ridden criminals.

  Only one way to find out. Quickly, she texted him.

  I lost my remote. Any chance you’re not too far away? I’m sorry. Stupid question. Just exhausted over here. Never mind. Thanks again for checking on me.

  She blew out a breath and folded an arm over her eyes. God, she was pathetic. He no doubt thought she was unhinged, erratic at best.

  The knock on her door made her jump out of her skin.

  She was unhinged. But Jakub had heeded her request. Her heart took off at a gallop.

  “Come in,” she shouted, scooting to a sitting position on the mattress.

  Slowly, the door opened and he peeked around the half-wall separating the entryway from the living room.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  “Hi,” he matched her quiet tone.

  “Um… Thanks. I have no idea where it is. I went upstairs—but no, wait, I couldn’t have brought it up there with me.” Could he see through her fumbling lie?

  He stood now, legs apart, arms crossed, appraising her with a hint of a smile. “Sure you didn’t just want some company?”

  He was a cocky one, wasn’t he? She wouldn’t admit to being so transparent. She flicked her head to remove a section of bangs that had fallen over her eyes and opened her mouth to defend herself.

  Before she could think of anything intelligent to say, however, he was on his knees before her TV, searching around her entertainment center like a cable technician diagnosing a problem.

  “Oh, you have this streaming box.” He held up the little black box. “You can get an app for your phone that acts like a remote.”

  “Really? That’s great to know. Thank you.”

  He narrowed his eyes, looking at something on the mattress next to her. She followed his gaze to…the remote.

  Oops.

  God, why was this man flustering her so? She’d been suddenly so desperate not to be alone, she hadn’t even contained herself enough to actually hide the darned remote.

  He only chuckled. But then he swiveled on his knees and began to crawl along the mattress next to her.

  Her heart, already racing, hammered against her ribs.

  But he only snatched the remote. Then he bounded up, planted himself on her couch, and crossed a leg over a knee.

  One arm draped over the back cushion, he aimed the remote at the TV and began flipping through the channels. “I never answered your question.”

  A bit dumbfounded by the image of the fireman she’d admired so long now lounging comfortably in her home, she muttered, “What question was that?”

  “What kind of TV shows I like.”

  “Oh.” She tugged at the strap of her sports tank beneath her T-shirt. She was dying to change into her PJs but that would have to wait.

  Eyes on the screen, he’d scrolled to a broadcast of a soccer game. “I’m going to bet you’re not a big soccer fan.”

  “That would be a safe bet.”

  “Tennis,” he said flatly.

  “What?”

  “You strike me as more of a tennis type.”

  She shook her head, trying to mask her amusement that he had theories about her. “I don’t really have time for sports.” Not to mention she never saw the appeal. Football, basketball, and baseball games had always been an excuse for her dad to get wasted and take the house hostage with his moods. It wasn’t the fault of the sport, but still she couldn’t separate such sports broadcasts with the memory of that queasy feeling in her gut.

  Jakub’s blue eyes bored into her, but his expression was unreadable. “Huh. Too bad.”

  If he had theories about her, she could have theories about him. “Let me guess, you’re one of
those rabid sports fans?” Whether or not he drank liberally during games, she had no idea. He just looked so…athletic.

  He laughed quietly as though it was some kind of private joke. “Not exactly.” Scrolling past the soccer game, he squinted at the screen and paused on another station. “How about this documentary, ‘The History of the Third Reich’?”

  “I’ve seen that already.” Besides, with a broken kneecap, war documentaries sounded much too somber.

  “Me too. Oh, I know. Man in the Woods?”

  “What’s that?” The way his eyes were glowing, she was genuinely curious.

  “Wilderness survival show. A good one. Trust me.”

  She wanted to trust him. His enthusiasm was very tempting. “That’s not one of those insipid shows where they manufacture drama and eliminate people like a game show?”

  “No. This is the real deal.” Disappointment laced his voice as though he was annoyed at the implication he’d watch a survival show that wasn’t of the highest caliber.

  She wasn’t entirely convinced she’d agree with his assessment, but she very much wanted to see what Jakub Wojcik considered the real deal of survival shows.

  He found the show, sat back, and patted the empty couch cushion next to him.

  She froze, her gaze on his fingers splayed over the brown leather. He wanted her to sit up there? So close to him?

  She dared a glance at his face.

  His expression had gone stone. If stone could flush red. “Never mind. Forgot a moment about the leg.” As if this was all about the leg and nothing to do with his request for her to sit so close.

  She could play along if that’s what would keep things in a clearly platonic realm. “Wish I could forget about my leg that easily.”

  He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, and gave her an achingly empathetic look. “Want me to make popcorn or something?”

  For a moment, she envied the old ladies who got the surprise of Jakub Wojcik answering their 911 call. He had that unique way of making a person feel their importance through his presence and attention alone. “That’s sweet, but no, thank you.”

  “Okay, watch.” He was right back to his intense TV show concentration. “I’ve seen this one. He goes to Costa Rica. It’s great. You’re going to love it.” Satisfaction working up his cheeks, he sat back, pushed his sleeves up, and folded his arms behind his head, baring the tender insides of his forearms.