Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology

by Violet Vaughn

  He reached for the doorknob and his hand froze millimeters from the gold-plated knob. A thousand alarms screamed in his head at him to not open the door as a sense of dread crawled up his chest and tightened his throat. The soles of his boots shuffled across the carpet as he stumbled a step back and looked at the door in confusion.

  Maybe he needed the fresh air more than he thought.

  Shaking off the disturbing reaction, he ran down the stairs and out the front door into the dry climate. He could have gone out the back, through the mudroom near the kitchen, but he wanted to give Greta some space.

  The hot summer air slapped him in the face as he stepped outside and made the walk around the house toward the barns. Glittering like a gemstone in the late afternoon sun, his silver truck came into view and he stopped to admire the clean lines and sheer size of the monster. Boy, was she pretty. Did he and Greta ever take drives out into the hills with a cooler of beers and an air mattress in the flat bed?

  The image of Greta, naked and straddling his waist with the stars dancing above them, made his cock swell and his temperature jump. Man, he really needed to focus on not getting aroused every time he thought about her. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to embarrass himself more than he already had.

  He turned from the truck to head toward the barn and hoped the earthy scent of the stalls would help relieve the intense swelling that caused him to walk funny.

  Behind the hills, the sun was setting in a brilliant ball of orange and pink. Entranced by the swirl of color, Trey stepped up to the corral and rested his foot on the bottom rail of the fence to admire its beauty. During this time of the year almost the entire herd was deep in the hills, feeding for the summer, which left the paddock before him empty save for the few heifers that were too ill or too weak to make the journey. Their tails flicked in short snaps as they ignored his presence.

  Now this—this he remembered. A summer sunset dusting the rocky hillsides with a rosy blush meant the end of a day of hard labor and the promise of supper time and talks around the fire pit, or maybe a game of catch in the driveway with some of the hands. This was home.

  Nearby a door slammed shut and Mark walked out of the open side of the horse barn.

  “Hey,” Trey greeted.

  Mark nodded. “Hey.” He adjusted the tilt of his black cowboy hat. The color matched his closely cropped hair.

  “Everything check out all right?” Trey asked.

  His friend’s lips twitched. “They’re cows and they’re eating. Not much more exciting than that.” He ambled over and copied Trey’s stance. “I have the boys working on mending the fence lines. The last of the alfalfa’s been harvested. It’s been pretty quiet.”

  As Mark filled him in on the status and particulars of the rest of the ranch, Trey felt his eyes widened and gave a low whistle. “I’m doing pretty well.”

  “You sure are, Hoss.”

  “I have a feeling that you’ve had a big hand in that.”

  Mark smiled. “You’d be correct.”

  “By the way, you’re Hoss. I’m Little Joe, remember?”

  “Whatever you say, Hoss.” Mark winked, continuing the battle that had raged between them since they were twelve and spent their weekends in a little shed his father had turned into a clubhouse for them. They had a little black and white television with rabbit ear antennae that picked up one channel that ran all day marathons of Bonanza and Wagon Train. It wasn’t much, but they it was all their own.

  Trey laughed and turned back to the sunset. He licked his lips and drew a deep breath. Pause, pause, pause. “Greta…Greta seems pretty great.” Was that a subtle-enough transition?

  Mark shot him a sideways glance. “Greta is great. You lucked out when you married her.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

  Trey frowned. “Since when do you smoke?”

  Mark looked at him in surprise as he lit up. “Since when did you stop?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I smoke?”

  “Naw.” Mark chuckled and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “I thought if I said you did, you might join me.”

  “No way, Hoss. Hey, blow it that way, man.” He shook his head then looked out into the distance.

  Both men went quiet as they watched the landscape turn soft purple in the waning light. In the barn, the wood slats of the stall creaked as a horse leaned its heavy weight against the wall. A fly brushed past Trey’s ear, the buzz sending a tiny shiver down his back. Mark stubbed the end of his cigarette into the fence and placed the butt into his front pocket. Trey looked back at the house, then out toward the horizon again.

  “Are Greta and I good?” He finally gave voice to the question that had been burning a hole in his gut.

  Mark tensed. His oldest friend threw him that wary sideways glance of his. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do we get along and do we, you know,” he jerked his head left and right, “get along?”

  Mark let out a long breath and tilted his hat lower over his eyes. “I try to make it a point not to meddle in other people’s lives. Especially relationships. Why don’t you ask your wife?”

  Trey scowled. “I don’t want her even more frightened of me.”

  Mark’s gaze narrowed. “Why is she frightened?”

  “She’s not frightened–frightened.” Damn, he was fucking this up. “She’s just uncertain about me. You know, about where my head is at, or not at. I don’t want her to feel like she needs to tell me what she thinks I want to hear. You’ll give it to me true. Right?”

  With his long fingers he withdrew another cigarette and lit it with a deft flick of the wrist. All the while, that steady black gaze never wavered. “Greta is the best thing that ever happened to you. You struck gold with that one.”

  Okay, so Greta was a treasure, but nothing about how Trey treated her or how they were as a couple.

  “She's been great, considering. Her jewelry is amazing. Never thought I’d marry an artsy type.”

  Mark let go with a snort of laughter.

  “She’s…she’s, uh, really pretty.” The only response to that was a raised eyebrow. “She’s hot, man,” he admitted, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt and feeling like a dirty horn dog.

  “Trey, are you wondering if it’s okay to have the hots for your wife?”

  He grimaced. “For all intents and purposes, I just met her. I shouldn’t have such husbandly feelings yet.”

  “Hoss, I cannot talk to you about this.” Mark shook his head. “Just take it easy there.”

  “I’m trying.”

  A harsh clanging sound echoed across the field.

  “Boys!” Greta called from the back porch. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Be right in.” Mark stubbed out his cigarette. “Look, I’m not faulting you one bit, but Greta’s been through a lot too, you know. Just take it slow.”

  Trey wholeheartedly agreed. She lost her son and in a way, her husband. She definitely didn’t need to add his hormones to the mix.

  Both men stopped in the mudroom to wash up on their way to the dining room. A cloud of rosemary, garlic, and roasting beef wafted in from the kitchen and set their stomachs to rumble.

  “God.” Trey inhaled deep and closed his eyes in bliss. “Whatever that is smells so good.”

  “That’s why she’s the cook.” Mark smiled. “I think you proposed to her the first time she made you breakfast.” He rolled his sleeves over his elbows and started soaping up his arms.

  “You getting ready to perform surgery there, Hoss?” Trey commented while watching the scrub down.

  He shrugged. “Greta doesn’t like it when I come in smelling of smoke.”

  Weird how he didn’t remember Mark ever smoking and wondered what led him to start the habit. When they were younger, Mark was the voice of reason. Oh, they did their share of stupid shit, but Mark was the one to point out the less dangerous, or illegal, way to raise hell. They both loved their mothers too much to make them cry. Now
seeing his friend with a vice disturbed him. Just what else had he forgotten?

  From what Trey had been told earlier, the rest of the ranch hands had made other dining arrangements, so it was only the three of them for the evening meal. Trey took his place at the head of the table and his mouth watered as he eyed the feast of pot roast, mashed potatoes, and roasted carrots Greta prepared for his homecoming. After days of IV drips and hospital food, he was ready to tear into a hunk of meat as if he were a crazed animal.

  The first tender bite of roast melted on his tongue, and he could believe Mark’s comment that he proposed to Greta the first time he had tasted her cooking. For several long minutes, the only sounds in the room were of utensils scraping against the china and appreciative murmurs.

  After the edge of his hunger wore down, Trey finally took the bull by the horns and started a conversation no one seemed eager to begin. “Do you have family around here, Greta?”

  “No, not anymore. I grew up near Seattle, and my parents are still out there. I had a cousin who was going to school near here. She was the reason I came to Mission in the first place. She recently moved to the Tri-Cities area.”

  “So, it’s just you, me, and all of the hands? Any girlfriends you hang out with?”

  “I have a few. I’m pretty busy.”

  He paused to take a drink. “How are your folks, Mark?” Mark’s parents owned the feed store in Mission, the closest town to the ranch.

  “Mom’s good. She likes living out in Tacoma.”

  “When did she move out there?”

  “After my dad died.”

  “What?” His dad died? “When? How?”

  “About four years ago. Sorry. I didn’t know if you remembered that or not.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Don’t look so surprised. The man smoked two packs a day and ate nothing but steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It wasn’t too much of a shock when his heart gave out.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories. I seem to be doing that a lot today.”

  Mark looked over at Great who gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head before glancing at her plate. Mark’s mouth tightened as he too lowered his head.

  A forkful of creamy mashed potatoes turned into a lump of flavorless nothing in his mouth as Trey understood what they hadn’t said. He didn’t remember Luke.

  Although he had no control over his memories, the shame over not remembering his own flesh and blood left him numb.

  “Greta, that was great.” Mark rubbed his stomach in appreciation and pushed away from the table. “We’ll clean-up for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She reached for the heavy platter of roast beef.

  Trey jumped to his feet and snatched the platter away. “No trouble, magpie, we can handle it.”

  Greta and Mark froze. Ever so slowly she raised her shocked gaze to his. The sudden stillness in the room kick started his heart and made his blood pump loudly in his ears. “What is it?”

  “You called me magpie. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Was that wrong?”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “You just haven’t called me that in a long while.” She looked at him with that wary tilt of her head. “Are you remembering anything else?”

  He had no idea why he called her that. The nickname just slipped out. He tried to force his brain to remember more, but all that did was give him a headache.

  “I’ve got nothing.”

  Greta released a slow breath, her posture deflating. In fact, the whole room felt like a balloon that had all of the air let out. “It’s all right. One day at a time, right?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t sound so sure.

  Mark pushed her toward the door. “Go on and relax. Your kitchen is in good hands.”

  She passed a small smile to Trey before leveling a fierce glare at the much taller man. “It better be, or no waffles in the morning.”

  Mark’s dark eyes lit up. “With berries?”

  She drew back, affronted. “Of course.”

  Mark let go with a low whistle before he turned to Trey. “Well, come on, Hoss. Let’s not waste time.”

  Trey helped stack dishes in the sink as Mark started washing. Years of growing up at their mamas’ side in the kitchen had honed their cleaning skills. They worked silently, Mark not being much of a talker, and Trey afraid of opening his mouth. It seemed like every time he did, he reopened some horrible wound.

  As he worked, he kept his ears open, listening for any sound of movement in the house.

  Mark chuckled and threw a dishtowel at his head. “She’s out on the swing.”

  Trey grimaced at his transparency. “How do you know?”

  “Because she likes to sit on the swing. Go on out there. I can finish the last of this.”

  “Are you sure?” He was willing to pull his weight, but he really wanted to spend more time with Greta.

  “Please, get outta here. Oh, wait.” He reached for an open bottle of wine on the counter and poured a measure into a goblet. “Take a glass of this.” He handed it to him with a wink. “She likes to have one after dinner. Antioxidants, she claims.”

  “Thanks, Hoss.”

  With the offering cradled in his palm, he set out to find Greta. The swing on the wide wraparound porch was his mom’s favorite spot on the ranch. It was fitting that it was also his wife’s.

  He approached her on quiet feet, entranced again by her beauty and the calm serenity that wrapped around her as she gazed out into the inky darkness. “Would you like some company?”

  The soft illumination coming from the porch light cast part of her face in shadow. What he could see of her smiled at him in welcome. “Sure.”

  “Here, this is for you.”

  She looked from him to the glass in surprise. “How did—”

  “Mark told me,” he confessed with a sheepish grin. “Said something about the oxygen.”

  She laughed. “Thank you.” She took the glass and scooted over. “Have a seat.”

  The swing creaked and jostled with his added weight, then quickly fell into a smooth rhythm. Long minutes passed while they sat in companionable silence. The tranquility should have lulled him into a drowsy slumber, but the butterflies in his stomach turned into stampeding bulls and settled in his chest at the thought of what he was about to do. There was never going to be a right time, so now was just as good as any.

  He wet his lips and released a breath. “Greta. Can you tell me about Luke?”

  5

  Greta took a long sip of wine, and Trey’s blood pressure rose as he watched the flex of her elegant throat. The tip of her tongue swept a stray drop off her lip, almost—almost—distracting him from his line of questioning before she set the glass down by her feet. She turned her whole body toward him, presenting herself like an open book. “What do you want to know?”

  The breath he held whooshed out. “Everything. I feel horrible that I don’t even remember my own son.”

  She placed her hand over his and squeezed, her smile quivering around the edges. “He was a hell-raiser in training, just like his daddy. When he was born, he didn’t cry after that first breath of air. He just blinked those big baby blues of his at us then fell right to sleep. We were convinced he was going to be the most agreeable baby.” She laughed. “We were so wrong. Luke cried whenever we weren’t with him. It got so bad we took turns sleeping upright with him in our arms. The moment he learned how to stand, he’d crawl out of his crib. You started calling him ‘Ninja Luke’ after he woke you up one morning by hitting you in the face with a sippy cup. He gave the biggest hugs and the sloppiest kisses and drove us insane.”

  Greta’s smile faded as she turned to look out into the night. “One day I put him down for a nap. He didn’t wake up. The doctor said he had an aneurysm in his brain. It was nothing we would have seen or done something to prevent. Supposedly it was quick and he didn’t feel any pain, or so they said. He came into this world quietly, and he left the same
way.”

  Trey didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse to not remember Luke as she did. The terror they must have faced while watching an innocent soul pass on for no reason. The pain had to be unimaginable and he was sorry that Greta had to relive the grief to tell him.

  Her image swam in his vision and a boulder-sized ball of hurt settled on his chest. He had to do something to ease the sorrow etched in the tight line of her lips. “Can I hold you?”

  She nodded and scooted closer. Her breathing was deep and even as she tried to hold herself together. He saw the glisten of a tear as it traced a shimmering path down her cheek.

  Just as she was about to rest her head against his chest, she pulled back. “Your shoulder.”

  “It’s fine.” His palm slid around her nape to guide her back down. “I’m sore, but fine. Just come here.” With his good arm he reached under her knees and pulled her legs around so that they rested across his lap. When her arms hugged him around his middle, he took it as an invitation to gather her closer and stroke his hands in a soothing swirl over her back. “Tell me your happiest memory of Luke.”

  “Oh.” She breathed out in a long sigh. “He so loved you.” There was awe and wonder in her tone. “He could tell your footsteps from everyone else’s. I’d hear a set of boots on the porch. ‘Is that Daddy?’ I’d ask. ‘No.’ He’d shake his head. Then another set would come along. ‘That’s Daddy.’ He was right every time.”

  “It sounds like he was pretty smart. But he’d have to be if he came from you and me.”

  Greta looked up at him with a startled smile, as if she were astounded he would find enjoyment in her memories.

  “I hate making you sad, Greta. You don’t have to talk about Luke anymore.”

  “I want to. I want to talk about him with you. It was horrible, and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. Even though he was only with us for a short time, he was ours, and we loved him. I wouldn’t give that up for anything.”