Rachel Kenley
Passionate Heat
A Ravenous Romance™ Real Man Romance™ Original Publication
A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com
Passionate Heat
Copyright © 2009 by Rachel Kenley
Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 125G
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-072-5
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Dedication
For Mellisa,
for the late night talks,
the endless encouragement,
and your steadfast friendship.
I am grateful and lucky.
And for Tracy, who said index cards are
a great way to get your scenes organized.
Thank you for being right.
Author’s Note
The romance you are about to read is a reinterpretation of the Hans Christian Andersen fairytale, The Steadfast Tin Soldier. In the original story, the soldier is one of a set of toy soldiers, but when he was made, there was only enough tin for one leg. Although not whole, he stands as bravely as the others. In a child’s nursery, he falls in love with a paper ballerina, who he believes also has one leg because her other is lifted behind her. The soldier goes through many trials before he is placed next to his beloved ballerina, but ultimately the two are blown into the fireplace, where they perish together. All that is left of her is the sequin from her dress, and all that remains of him is a tiny tin heart.
I always believed the soldier and ballerina deserved a better ending. This is my way of giving them their happily ever after.
I hope you enjoy my version of their love story,
Rachel Kenley
Chapter One
Miles Anderson couldn’t believe he had walked into this situation. Less than fifteen minutes after the initial explosion, the feel of smoke clung to his skin. It was everywhere, pouring from the walls, surrounding him like a malevolent cloud. Most people weren’t aware that smoke had its own unique sensation, but Miles unfortunately did, and now, without any protective gear on, it was smothering him like a stalker.
The heat of the fire engulfed him as it burned out of control and he wondered if he or the flames would win this battle. Anyone who had any experience with a raging fire knew it lived. It needed oxygen, it grew, it ate, it destroyed, and it killed anything in its path that threatened it. Contained, it was beautiful – but out of control, it was a menace.
Someone was going to pay dearly for continuing this string of arsons, but he would worry about that some other time. The important thing was getting everyone out, including himself. He knew three of the other four men in his investigative unit had escaped the blaze. Since he was unsure about the last, he moved as deliberately as possible, using his shirt as a mask, to be certain he hadn’t overlooked anyone. Of course, there wasn’t much visibility anymore, but he always possessed a knack for being connected to and locating the people he worked with. It made him a valuable soldier and, now, a trusted coworker. He hoped the ability would serve him here.
Working closely with the local police force, his team had determined this was the building where their firebug was mostly likely to hit next. They had gone in to investigate, only to have an explosion set off while they were inside. While they had determined the arsonist’s pattern, they hadn’t discovered his identity. It hadn’t occurred to them that their perpetrator could have been a law enforcement official. They were paying for that mistake.
Miles was familiar with the noises of war, but he had been stateside for nearly two years, and in his time as a certified fire and explosion investigator, he had not been in the center of one. He had forgotten how loud a fire could be. The roar made it as hard to hear as the smoke made it to see. It was consuming everything around him and closing in fast. He was so focused on where he knew the door should be that he nearly didn’t hear the sound rising above the fire: the breaking of a beam. He dove as the huge piece of wood came crashing down. It was not soon enough.
The rafter landed on his leg, pinning him down. Something snapped, but he ignored it, taking a moment to be grateful that what was against him wasn’t burning – yet. He tried to work his way out from under the weight, but the pain told him he wasn’t going to be able to move. The smoke, the noise, the heat – it was overwhelming. Before the darkness took him, he had just enough time to hope his men were out and someone would get word to his brothers and Charlie. Then there was only black.
* * * *
Eight months later
Miles woke suddenly from the vivid dream, tangled in sheets, bathed in a cold sweat. His hand automatically went to his thigh. All he felt was the ridged scar, not the shattered bone jutting through the bloody broken skin, as it had been. He switched on his bedside light, needing to see what his touch told him. He looked down and saw his leg, whole and normal, except for the marks showing where the injury was and the knee brace he occasionally wore at night to help the healing.
It had been months since he dreamed of that night. He had regained consciousness on a stretcher wearing an oxygen mask, unable to remember how he got there. The pain in his leg was searing, and when he looked, he saw the hideous image of jagged bone sticking out of his thigh in a pulpy mess of flesh and blood. He’d survived the challenges of combat in Iraq, but it was alarming to see something which should be in his body on the outside. He had passed out again moments later, but hadn’t been able to shake the memory. The nightmares used to come regularly. He never told anyone. It was bad enough he couldn’t get out of months of regular physical therapy. He was not going to spend time on an analyst’s couch as well.
Light was slipping through the closed blinds, and he was glad he didn’t have to try to go back to bed. It rarely worked anyway. He hated using the sleep aids he was given when he left the hospital, but there were some evenings where he had taken them, if only to assure a dreamless night.
Harlow walked slowly into the room and joined him on the bed, her body warm and welcoming.
“Morning, beautiful. Is the coffee ready?” he asked. She barked and looked at him as if to say, You wish. He laughed and said, “Ready for a new assignment?”
The dog woofed once more, then ran out the door. Miles wasn’t certain if that was a yes or a no. He hoped it was a yes, which would mean one of them was ready. He, on the other hand, had never intended to return to the town where he grew up, and wished he could have found a way to pass on this job. He was pretty certain this assignment was the reason the dreams returned. He rubbed his hands over a scruffy face and prepared himself to get out of bed.
He was always stiffest first thing in the morning. He took off the brace and tensed before he put his weight on his legs. The anticipated pain was there. Less than yesterday? Than a week ago? He couldn’t tell anymore. It wasn’t as excruciating as the first few times when the agony brought him to his knees, but it wasn’t gone yet and, damn
it, it should be gone. He wanted to be whole again.
At least he had been off the crutches for several months now. He hated them almost as much as the weeks of mandatory bed rest after the surgery, which was required to put screws and pins in his leg. When he laid on the couch he might be nearly bored out of his mind, but he could forget for a while that he could barely walk. At least there were no questioning stares and looks of pity as there had been when he went into the office on crutches the first few times. Those looks made his skin crawl. He had spent those weeks catching up on nearly every book he had wanted to read and watching as many comedies and action movies as he could rent. He was going to buy stock in those DVD delivery companies since he was fairly certain he had made the one he belonged to rich in the four weeks he couldn’t put weight on his leg.
He checked his bedside clock and did some quick mental calculations about how much time he needed to get on the road. He made his way to the shower, skipped shaving, dressed, and headed to the kitchen, his hair still wet. He drank his coffee standing and flipping through the paper, avoiding the need to sit and get up any more than necessary. With a chunk of bagel in his mouth, he went over to where he had left his wallet the night before and took out the scribbled message that had been haunting him for a week. Charlie Monroe called. Needs your help. Call immediately.
Only for Charlie would he make this trip.
Like it or not, he was going back to Glenway.
* * * *
Miles drove almost non-stop from Maryland to New Hampshire and it was midday when he arrived. A lot had changed since his last brief visit nearly thirteen years before. As he coasted through the center of town, he noticed there still were plenty of small tourist stores, but there were also several exclusive boutiques, an art gallery, a fancy coffee place and two day spas. Must be something the skiers from the city liked to indulge in, he thought. He couldn’t imagine any of the tow’ns locals he grew up with finding any reason to spend money on a facial and a hot stone massage. His last girlfriend used to go into Baltimore once a month for those. He should have known after her first appointment that she wasn’t right for him. Anyone who was high maintenance would never fit into his life.
For now he drove past the fire station, which had been updated and enlarged since he had been there last, and headed straight for Charlie’s house. He was grateful Charlie had been released from the hospital already. He didn’t like hospitals before his most recent accident, and he liked them less now. He’d avoid them for the rest of his life if at all possible.
There were several new ethnic restaurants. One looked like the kind of place which served artfully arranged food that wouldn’t satisfy a bird. For his money, the only place to eat in Glenway was the Kinsman Diner, which not only had had the best baked goods and breakfast in town, but some of the best he’d had anywhere. Of course, there was one woman’s cooking to which he was partial.
He relaxed for the first time since leaving home as he pulled up to the gravel drive next to the white colonial with dark red shutters and the farmer’s porch. He remembered long afternoons painting those features, sometimes with his brothers, sometimes only with Charlie. The best days of his teenage years were spent here. The work was hard but satisfying, and in addition to earning money, he always got at least one meal out of it. Paula Monroe was one of the best cooks he had even known.
He got out of his truck, breathed in the still cool April air around him, and would have sworn he smelled something good coming from the house. A moment later, a familiar face appeared at the door. The hair was grayer than he remembered, but the smile was the same.
“Miles Anderson, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Paula said, coming outside to greet him with her arms open. He walked into her hug and returned the embrace.
“And you are as beautiful as ever,” he said, meaning it.
She gave him a playful swat. “Charmer as always.”
“I’m more charming with you, ’cause I mean it.”
She blushed. “Come on inside. Charlie has been pestering me all day, wondering when you were arriving. As if he hasn’t been a difficult patient before this.”
“I have someone with me. I hope she can come in.”
“Someone? She?” Paula asked, her eyes widening. “Have you finally brought a special guest with you?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you are thinking.” Miles gave a whistle and Harlow jumped out the open window on the passenger side to join him. “Harlow, this is Paula. Paula, this is Harlow, who is both a friend and partner. She’s an arson dog.”
“Now, isn’t she a beautiful girl? Of course she’s welcome in the house,” she said, scratching Harlow’s head.
“See, you were worried I’d never find a girl I was willing to love and trust, but I have,” Miles said lightly.
“As sweet as she is, this was not who I was picturing. I always saw you with a slender, graceful brunette,” Paula said absently, as she rubbed the dog’s ears. Miles knew she wouldn’t let the opportunity pass.
“Don’t start. It’s over. Has been for a long time. She’s got a life of her own and so do I.” Before Paula could say anything more, Harlow gave a yip and nuzzled Paula’s hands and apron. “She seems taken with you already.”
“That’s probably because I smell of fried chicken.”
Miles groaned with pleasure and happily changed the subject. “Tell me you made your coleslaw and I will be a happy man.”
“You know I did.”
“Your cooking alone is worth the trip.”
She turned to him and put a gentle hand on his cheek. “If that were true, Miles, we would have seen you long before now, but all the same, I’m glad you’re here. We have a real problem on our hands, and Charlie needs you.”
As if on cue, a deep voice bellowed from in the house, “Are you keeping him out there on purpose, lady? When do I get to see the boy?”
Miles smiled at the term. At thirty-two and with more than eight years served in the Army, very few people – if any – would think of calling Miles a boy. He walked into the house with Paula and yelled, “No need to shout. I’m coming, old man,” almost sounding like the kid he had been when he was here last.
“Don’t you start calling me Old Man, kiddo, and there’s no need for all this shouting.” Charlie Monroe, Glenway’s fire chief and the man who was more of a father to Miles than any he had known, came into the room, his arm wrapped in a heavy cast from wrist to shoulder. Paula had told Miles the accident changed Charlie, but Miles wasn’t prepared to see how much whiter the man’s hair was, or the weight loss that was the result of a mild heart attack last year and the stress of the town’s recent problems. For the first time since Miles had known him, Charlie actually looked like an old man. It was a hard thing to see, and he hoped the sadness didn’t show on his face.
Miles crossed the room in three strides and wrapped the man in a gentle bear hug. That felt familiar, for which Miles was grateful, as was the smell of Old Spice. For years when they were in high school, Miles and his brothers, Jason and Zack, had tried to get Charlie to wear something more modern, buying him more expensive aftershaves at department stores, but the man would have none of it. Paula used to say if he changed colognes, she would think she was sleeping with the wrong husband.
The men heard a sniffle and turned to look at Paula. She waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. It’s just been so long since you’ve been home, Miles.”
This isn’t home, he thought, but he’d never say it to her. It was as close as he had, and that was enough for now. “Is lunch ready? I’m starved.”
“You always are.”
Miles grinned. He knew to her he would perpetually be sixteen years old, growing “right before her eyes” and eating everything in sight. They sat down to a table filled with more food than he kept in his refrigerator. Paula made a plate up for Harlow and for a while conversation was filled with compliments and reminiscing about previous meals. He was glad Paula’s substant
ial home cooking hadn’t changed. He was happy to tell her so, but all too soon, the plates began to empty, and he couldn’t ignore the reason for his visit. He flinched each time he saw Charlie move awkwardly with his non-dominant hand.
“So tell me about the fires,” Miles said.
Charlie put down the fork. “If they were only fires, there’d be nothing to tell you. I started to have my suspicions after the second one. You know we don’t get more than one fully formed fire in a month, and the second was in a building under construction.”
“Electrical fires happen often during the building process.”
“Yeah, but I had checked the place out myself only the day before and there was nothing to indicate a problem. I was very thorough.” Miles didn’t doubt it. He knew the kind of work Charlie did. “The third fire started in the corner store of a Wagner business park.”
“Now that doesn’t sound right. Wagner might be an s.o.b., but he never lets things go on his properties.”
“I agree. Between the frequency of the blazes and the locations, I know something funny is going on. We’re not set up to investigate arson, and when I got taken out by the fall, I knew I needed some outside help. Your being here as acting chief will hopefully allow you to find out what’s going on without arousing too many suspicions. I want to catch this guy. Not scare him off or make him some other town’s problem.”
“Is there anyone who will be annoyed at being passed over for this position, even if it is temporary?”
“I don’t think so.” Not as sure an answer as Miles would have liked, but he’d take it. “Mostly, I think the guys are glad to have someone professional to manage this.”
“You don’t think my return will raise some eyebrows?” Miles asked.
Charlie shrugged, but Paula said, “Maybe a few, but it’s been a long time, dear. People know of the amazing things you’ve done.” Miles knew exactly who’d told them, too. “And there are lots who know you’d always help out my Charlie if he needed you,” she added, “Don’t let a few ignorant folks make you feel unwelcome.”
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