Fire Away

by R. L. Syme

  Chapter One

  Somewhere, Texas

  Aidan Conley sat in his truck and re-read the text from Marin.

  Will be too late. Text me pictures.

  Like he was her assistant, not her brother.

  Like it hadn’t taken an hour on his punching bag to get him here.

  Like she didn’t remember he preferred not to come into town except to go to the firehouse. He hadn’t been in this bakery since high school—bad enough Marin had to have her highfalutin wedding in Somewhere, but now she was sending him to do her bride work.

  Whatever was keeping her fiancé in Dallas, she should have rescheduled the cake-tasting.

  The big, yellow and blue sign had been replaced with a set of red letters hanging over the building that read Meg’s Bakery. In the ten years since he’d been exiled from his own hometown, someone else had bought the bakery and changed it.

  He dialed his sister’s number and she picked up on the first ring. “I’m sorry, Aidan, just don’t yell at me.”

  “This is why I wanted you guys to get married in Dallas.” He ruffled the hair at the base of his neck. “You can never manage to make it down here. You know I don’t like driving in.”

  “You live three miles from town, Aidan. You work at the fire station. It’s not like I asked you to drive across the country.”

  He tried to push out a comeback, but the problem was, she was right. It shouldn’t be this hard.

  Then why was his heart jackhammering?

  “We’ll be there by six. I promise.” Something clicked on the other side, and she started talking to someone else about spreadsheets and formulas. Then back. “We’ll take the jet.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes, forcing calm interest into his tone. “And how is Beckett?”

  “You don’t have to say it like that, Aid.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re choking on it.”

  He laughed. The clock read 10:59, and he slid out of the seat, locking the door behind him. “You owe me big for this.”

  “I know. And I’m really sorry. But Meg did all this prep, and these meetings came up so fast for me. If I could have gotten away…”

  “Just know I’m going to collect on this one.”

  He pocketed the phone and yanked open the old, flimsy screen door that had always guarded the entrance to the place. Aidan paused in the entry.

  Where was the damn punching bag when you needed it?

  He stepped into the unusually high-ceilinged bakery, and the familiar scents of yeast rolls, cookies, and fried pastries unlocked all kinds of cavernous memories.

  Not to mention everyone stared.

  It wasn’t quite early enough for the usual crowd, so not every table was full. But there were enough white-hairs to shoot up his discomfort.

  He tried to focus on the counter and ignore the whispers.

  Small town though it was, you’d think a guy could get a reprieve from the gossip after ten years. This was why he stayed away.

  At the counter, a big blond man stood in a red apron, putting caramel rolls onto a tray. When he met Aidan’s eyes, a giant smile overtook his features.

  Talk about old memories.

  “Captain Conley!” Berg Klein’s voice was as big as his smile, and those who hadn’t already been watching turned to gawp. Aidan ducked his head.

  “Berg.” He took the offered handshake.

  “I haven’t seen you in…”

  “Since high school.”

  “Y’know, you’re right. It has been since high school. Well, how the hell have you been?”

  Aidan glanced around the big room. “I’m supposed to meet someone for a tasting thing.”

  “Right. That would be my wife, Meg.” Berg thumbed behind him as though Aidan should know where Meg was.

  “Should I just wait here, or…?”

  “No, you can go on back. Meg just buzzed up to say she’s in the back with your other half.”

  Aidan couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising. “My what?”

  “Your fiancé, or whatever. For your wedding cake tasting.”

  An unconscious hand went to his pocket, where he was pretty sure the phone he hadn’t hallucinated still sat, having just disconnected from his very-much-in-Dallas-in-her-office sister. Not fiancé. He hadn’t had a fiancé in ten years.

  Someone around Somewhere had her wires crossed.

  His mouth hung open for a moment while he collected his thoughts. “She’s my sister, and I thought she was still in Dallas.”

  “I guess not.” Berg gestured with his big hand as though he meant to take Aidan under his arm. “Come on back. I’ll show you.”

  Aidan flexed his shoulders and hesitated. If this was some sort of prank—which Berg was famous for in high school—he wasn’t in the mood. And if it was a mix-up, he didn’t want to have to stay to iron out the feelings that would get hurt, even if they were his own.

  He didn’t like feelings. Especially the kind that needed fixing.

  “I promise, we don’t bite.” Berg’s smile hadn’t lost its wattage, and Aidan was starting to feel like there were hidden cameras somewhere.

  His fists itched for the punching bag.

  He joined Berg behind the counter and made his way through the giant industrial baking equipment to the small, cramped office in the back.

  The door to the office was all wood, and painted white, like everything else seemed to be. The effect produced a sort of head-aching brightness that made him feel naked.

  Inside, two heads bent over a desk: one red-haired, the other blonde. Neither was his sister.

  Berg knocked on the glass and the red head turned around, grinning at his big Viking friend. That had to be Meg. She pointed to something else on the paper in front of them, then rose. She had on the same red apron as Berg, and he noted the lettering on her chest mirrored the lettering on top of the building.

  Much fancier than he was used to in this town.

  The redhead opened the door. “Well, hello. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She ushered him into the room and leaned back toward Berg. “Have Anna bring in the tasting tray and we’ll be out when we’re done.”

  They made a smooching sound, but Aidan wasn’t paying much attention anymore. His knees had locked, his heart raced, and his stomach did a Wiley Coyote off the cliff. The profile: the curve of her cheek, the curtain of straight, thick blonde hair, the long, graceful fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on her collarbone as she read.

  How could he forget those features?

  She was the ghost of his wife.

  ***

  Claire Milton fiddled with her necklace absentmindedly as she re-read the menu. Meg had graciously offered to let her join the tasting with another couple, since she had such a rush order. The bride had okayed it, last minute, and Claire wanted to find the girl and give her flowers.

  In fact, she should have brought flowers to the tasting, she was that grateful.

  Grateful, hopeful, optimistic.

  For the first time in months, she was feeling positive about the future. Maybe years. Had it been that long?

  She fingered the words Fiery Delight, with their raised letters. All of the cupcakes had names that made her hungry. Tarte Tatin, Egyptian Fattoush, Blue Forest, Texas Sunrise… but none did quite as much to stimulate her taste buds as the Fiery Delight.

  The description read, spiced chocolate stout cake with a hot ginger caramel buttercream, topped with a candied jalapeño. This was the cake she wanted.

  This was the cake that would make her life, the cake that would be so memorable, her investors would fall over each other trying to fund her new venture with her best friend. Claire owed Tande her life, and picking the perfect cake would be a good way to start showing more gratitude.
/>   Not to mention it could make or break their presentation.

  While pear cake with basil-walnut filling or pomegranate honey olive oil cake topped with sweet fig white wine buttercream or citrus pound cake with tequila ginger cream filling and cherry frosting all sounded delectable—and Meg was famous for her unique cakes—there was nothing that appealed to her more than spice.

  To coin a cliché, she liked it hot.

  Fiery hot.

  And the Fiery Delight sounded just about perfect.

  Right down to the candied jalapeño.

  Meg came back to her seat and cleared her throat. “I’m not sure if you two know each other.”

  Claire smiled and shook her head. She glanced up into the stranger’s face and saw a friend looking back.

  An old friend, and one she never expected to see again.

  She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. She’d thought she would meet the governor’s son and his fiancé—some nameless, faceless couple whom she’d assumed she wouldn’t recognize.

  But she was pretty certain that Daniel Conley was the fire chief, still, not the governor. Yet his son, Aidan, stood in Meg’s office, having as much trouble formulating words as Claire was.

  “Uh. Yes. I do know Aidan.”

  “Wait,” Meg said, scrambling for her clipboard. “You’re not Preston Beckett?”

  Aidan didn’t take his eyes off Claire, and every inch of her body heated under the scrutiny. He wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at Jane. Everyone did.

  This was why she hadn’t wanted to come back to Somewhere.

  Even her parents saw Jane in her face. Or worse, the way Jane would have been.

  “Preston Beckett?” Meg repeated.

  Aidan shook his head, wordless, stunned.

  “Well, why would Berg bring you in for the tasting if you weren’t Preston Beckett,” Meg muttered. She flipped through her papers. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I will go see what happened.”

  Before Claire could stop her, Meg scooted out of the office, leaving her alone with Aidan Conley.

  She wanted to say that he looked good. His grey, flecked Long Rock County Fire and Rescue shirt could have been the same one he’d always worn. Or it could be brand new. She couldn’t tell. But he still cut it like a diamond.

  She wanted to say that she was sorry. Sorry for looking like Jane. Sorry for being in this office. Sorry for being in Somewhere.

  The rest, she couldn’t even bring to mind, it was too much.

  Instead, she said nothing.

  He said nothing.

  What do you say to the person accused of killing your sister?

  What do you say to the person you used to love, so many years ago, who never loved you back?

  And what would he say to the person everyone thought he’d cheated with? Lied for? Killed for?

  Nothing.

  Yet something kept him there, frozen to the freshly-vacuumed carpet, hands stuffed in his jean pockets, his big, intense eyes running over every contour of her face, her neck, her exposed skin, her chest, her stomach, her legs… what was he looking for?

  Meg scampered back through the door, giggling. “Well, don’t I feel sheepish.” She offered her hand to Aidan. “You must be Marin’s brother. She’d emailed me that you would be joining her. I guess I wasn’t expecting you to be alone.”

  Their handshake was awkward, mostly because Aidan was still staring at Claire. Meg took her seat once again, but Claire couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about when the knock had sounded on the door.

  “Marin and Beckett won’t be here.” Aidan’s voice was thick, like molasses, and slid over her with all the force of unwanted nostalgia. “But I know what she wants.”

  Meg’s cute face scrunched into readable disdain, and Claire felt sorry for Aidan. She knew what it felt like to be the wrong sibling.

  “It’s ok,” Claire said. “I think I know what I want, too.”

  Meg couldn’t have looked more put out. “So neither of you wants to taste the cakes?”

  Claire shifted in her chair and tried to come up with a convincing excuse to leave.

  Aidan shrugged his shoulders. “We’re here now, I guess we might as well eat.”

  “This is Claire Milton, by the way.” Meg gestured across the air between them. “Aidan Conley.”

  “Thanks,” Aidan said in a kind of quiet, aw-shucksy way. “We know each other.”

  Claire closed her eyes as she waited for him to mention Jane or say the words brother in law, which she had avoided even thinking. And just as she feared, the dam cracked, and everything she’d been holding back came rushing at her with a devilish speed only repression can create.

  Even though Aidan didn’t elaborate, all Claire could see was her sister’s face. Her round handwriting. Her suitcase. Her little orange house on a stretch off Sweet Mountain Road.

  Meg was talking, then Aidan, but Claire couldn’t concentrate on the English language. The images were too vivid, too heady.

  She tried to breathe away the bad, but it just continued to rush in faster and stronger. There was a reason the human brain repressed stuff, and Claire found herself wishing it had tried a little harder.

  “You ok?” She felt a hand on her back, and opened her eyes to see Aidan staring down at her. Touching her.

  No, she wasn’t ok.

  A loud knock on the door thankfully precluded her answer to that question, and Claire leaned forward, encouraging the hand to go about its business.

  But Aidan continued to touch her, which made it hard to concentrate on anything but his fingertips on her back.

  A young brunette entered. Gorgeous. Like, insane gorgeous. Claire felt like the ugly stepsister, between Meg’s button-nose redhead thing and the swimsuit model carrying the cupcakes.

  Claire smoothed her shirt over her belly. Maybe she should start Crossfit, like Tande.

  And his stupid hand on her back. When would this end?

  “Here’s Anna,” Meg said. “Why don’t we get this tasting on the road?”

  “I’m ok, Aidan.” Claire waved a hand, trying to disengage him from her person.

  “Here’s another chair.” Miss Bikini Model pushed a chair next to her and gave Aidan a twinkly smile. And why wouldn’t she? Aidan was still the same magnetic, intense, unreachable god of a man he’d always been. Who wouldn’t use every charm in the book to land him?

  Claire glanced at his wedding ring finger, just to see if someone already had. She’d been gone too long to know for sure.

  Naked.

  Well, Miss July, have at him.

  Chapter Two

  With a tray of cupcakes between them, Aidan tried his best to focus less on the beautiful blonde and more on his sister’s instructions. Claire was a tad distracting.

  He tried cake bite after cake bite, with Meg explaining each one. Something-about-tequila cake, followed by blueberry lemon something or other. He couldn’t keep them all straight.

  Sure, they all tasted good. It didn’t take a rocket scientist… or rocket baker to make cake taste good. Besides, he knew which one Marin wanted. He just had to make sure it didn’t suck.

  Those may not have been her precise instructions, but that was what he gathered.

  Watching Claire eat may have actually been a better experience than tasting the cupcakes himself. She was so focused and measured. She took a little bite, like it was a wine tasting, smelling the icing and the cake, licking at the filling, tasting the garnishes, then a whole bite of it all together.

  After which, she usually let loose some kind of inadvertently sexual noise. Everyone knew Meg’s baking was magical, but Claire was either in love with the cake, or she was avoiding conversation.

  Aidan tasted the one with an Egyptian name and was surprised that it stuck out. He took one more bite, while he watched Claire sample.

  With an appreciative grunt, he said, “That was good.”

  Meg was sitting on a third side of the tray, scribbling notes with each set
of plates Anna put in front of them.

  “And what do you think, Claire?” Meg’s pencil hovered over a box.

  Aidan’s pocket buzzed. He apologized and pulled it out to check the screen. Will. He hit the text back option.

  Day off and I’m running errands.

  The last thing he wanted was to go in to the firehouse. The previous two days had been full of meetings with the new Fire Chief. Aidan’s dad had packed up his office a week ago, and nothing was the same.

  The new guy had his own systems they’d all have to learn. A 48-hour shift had been enough to remind Aidan why he’d been reluctant to even assume the Captain’s responsibilities when his dad promoted him. He didn’t like meetings and talking heads. He liked to fight fires and work with his boys.

  Meg was discussing the name of the cupcake with Claire. Something about the flavors of Egyptian cuisine. He didn’t care much about that foodie stuff. Food was for eating.

  “Let’s move on, then.” Meg gestured and another plate appeared in front of him. This one had a slice of pear on top, and tasted like a fancy restaurant. It even had a fancy French name.

  Claire’s groan set his blood on fire. He hadn’t heard a woman make noise like that in… well, he couldn’t count that high.

  He smiled and took another bite.

  Marin would like this one. It tasted complicated. She liked all that complicated crap like truffle foam and shit.

  His phone buzzed again. This time, a text from Will. 911 dude. Get your ass down here.

  Aidan sighed and thumbed around the keyboard. I’m off duty. I’ll get there when I get there.

  Will thought the station dog having fleas was a 911, which was ironic, given that they actually worked for 911. Plus, the message was likely from the new Chief, and Aidan needed to flex his muscles a little when it came to this guy.

  He was still the Captain, after all. Unless Bret MacLeod planned to demote him. That would be news. MacLeod had some balls.

  Too young to be really effective, and too old to be relevant. A paper pusher if there ever was one. At least his dad had been an active Chief. This guy would probably never run another siren for the rest of his life.

  “And here’s the last one,” Meg was saying. Anna replaced the plates one more time. This was the one his sister had specifically requested he sample. It had a caramely brown frosting sprinkled with some kind of crushed candy and was topped with a sugar-crusted jalapeño slice.