by Nora Roberts
handle this.”
“I want her to pay.”
“I know, and by God, so do I. If they find anything to link her to that ready room, I want them to toss her in a cell. I felt sorry for her,” he said in disgust. “I gave her a second chance, then a third one when I fired her instead of calling the cops. So believe me, nobody wants her to pay more than I do.”
The phone in her pocket jingled.
“Go ahead and take it. I’m going to pass the word on lunch.” He headed back, turned around briefly to walk backward. “Keep clear of the stampede,” he warned.
Laughing, she pulled out her phone. Seeing her father’s ID reminded her of the messages she’d left him.
“Well, it’s about time.”
“Honey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. I got in late, and didn’t want to chance waking you up. I’ve been busy all morning.”
“Here, too.” She told him about the ready room, the police, about Dolly.
“For God’s sake, Ro, what’s wrong with that girl? Do you want more help? I can reschedule some things, or at least send over a couple men.”
“I think we’ve got it, but I’ll ask L.B.”
“Quinniock, you said. I know him a little. I met him when I did one of those charity grip and grins last year. He came out with his kids. We gave them a tour.”
“That’s where I saw him. He’s been through here, too. So . . . how was your meeting last night?”
“It was good. I’m going to work on this project for some of the high-school kids. And Ella—the client—she’s signing up for AFF training.”
“All that? That was some drink.”
“Ha. Well. Ah, you’ll probably meet her. She wants to connect up with the base, too. For this project. I’ve got a group coming in, but you tell L.B. to let me know if he wants extra hands. I can put in some time.”
“I will, but I think we’re good. You could come over after you close up. You can always put in some time with me.”
“I’ve got a dinner meeting with the accountant on the slate tonight. How about we plan on it tomorrow? I’ll come by after work.”
“Works for me. See you tomorrow.”
She clicked off, then started over to join the horde spilling out of manufacturing in a beeline for the tables.
Her mood improved. Progress, a full stomach, an upcoming date with her best guy. After which, she promised herself, she’d turn in early and bank some sleep.
It lifted her a little more to hear Matt laugh at something Libby said, to watch Cards dazzle one of the rookies with some sleight of hand, to listen to Trigger and Janis bitterly debate baseball.
As irritating as it was, Gull had been right. The Dolly crap? Just a bump.
She nudged him as they started back to their respective work areas. “Four o’clock, on the track.”
“I’ll be there.”
Asking for trouble, she thought, and admitted she liked it. So maybe she’d bend her rule just a little—or a whole lot—for him. Maybe think about it awhile, and stretch out the heat, that sizzle of tension. Or just jump in, go full blast, burn it up, burn it out.
They were both grown-ups. They both knew the score. When the fire between them lay down, they could just step away again. No scars, no worries.
If she opted for the jump, that’s just how she’d approach it. Two healthy, single adults who liked each other enjoying some good, tension-snapping sex.
“That’s a big, smug smile you’re wearing,” Janis said as she joined Rowan at the table.
“I’m deciding if I’m going to have sex with Gull sooner or later.”
“That would put a big, smug smile on my face. He’s just sooo purty—” She gave a shoulder wiggle that sent her ponytail, circled with bluebirds, dancing. “In a manly way. But what happened to the rule?”
“I’m thinking I’ll temporarily rescind it. But do I wait, keep getting off, so to speak, on the sexual tension, innuendo, byplay and pursuit? Or do I dive headlong into the hot, steamy, sexy goodness?”
“Both are excellent uses of time. However, I’ve found, occasionally, that building anticipation can also overbuild expectation. Then nobody can fully meet the overbuild.”
“That’s a problem, and another factor to consider. The thing is, I don’t think I’d be considering it, at least not yet, if this hadn’t happened. The Dolly Crapathon. It’s thrown me off, Janis.”
“If you let that tiny-brained, coldhearted, self-pitying skank throw you off, you’re letting her win. If you let her win, you’re going to piss me off. If you piss me off, I’m going to beat the snot out of you.”
Rowan went pfftt. “You know you can’t take me.”
“That has not yet been put to the test. I got my fourth-degree black belt this winter. When I make martial arts noises, thousands flee in terror. Don’t test me.”
“Can you hear that? It’s my knees knocking.”
“They’re wise to fear me. Go, have sex for fun and orgasms, and forget about the Dolly Crapathon.”
“You are wise as well as short.”
“I can also break bricks with my bare hands.” And examined her manicure.
“That’s a handy skill if you ever find yourself walled up in the basement of an abandoned house by a psychopath.”
“I keep it in my pocket for just that eventuality.” She glanced over as Trigger walked between tables on his hands. “A sure sign we’re going stir-crazy. Plenty to do, but we’re doing it grounded.”
“The way we’re going, especially with Super-Sewer Dobie, we’re going to be in better shape on gear and equipment than before The Nightmare on Dolly Street.”
“I hope the cops put the fear of God into her.” Janis lowered her voice. “Matt gave her five thousand.”
“What?”
“For the baby. I heard her crying to Matt after L.B. gave her the boot. How was she going to pay off the hospital bills now, and the pediatrician? He said he could spare five thousand to help her clear up the bills, tide her over until she got work. I guess I get it. His brother’s kid and all. But she’s going to keep tapping him, you know she is.”
“Why work when you can sob-story your dead lover’s brother into passing you cash? If he wants to help out with the baby, he should give money to Dolly’s mother, or pay some of those bills directly.”
“Are you going to tell him that?”
“I just might.” Rowan gathered up the chute to take to repair. “I damn well might.”
She considered offering unsolicited advice and opinion—which everybody hated—or just staying out of it. By the time she took a break for her run, she’d all but exhausted ideas for a third choice. Maybe the PT would help her think of one.
She changed into her running gear, grabbed a bottle of water. Gull joined her as she walked out of the barracks.
“Right on time,” he commented.
“If I’d had to spend another hour indoors, I’d’ve hurt someone. What’ve you got in you today?”
“We’ll have to find out. I’ll tell you this, the ready room looks like Martha Stewart stocked and organized it. And I’m well past done with anything approaching domestic work, but I am looking to get some more rigger training.”
“So you’ve been studying there, too?”
“Knowing how something works isn’t the same as making it work. You’re a certified Master Rigger. You could tutor me.”
“Maybe.” She already knew him for a quick study. “Are you looking to work toward your Senior Rigger certification, or to spend more time with me?”
“I’d call it multitasking.”
They stopped on the side of the track where Rowan shed her warm-up jacket, laid her water bottle on it. “Distance or time?”
“How about a race?”
“Easy for you to say, Fast Feet.”
“I’ll give you a head start. Quarter mile of three.”
“A quarter mile?” She did a little toe-heel to loosen her ankles. “You think you can beat me with
that much of a spread?”
“If I don’t, I’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the view.”
“Okay, sport, if you want my ass in your sights, you’ve got it.”
She took the inside lane, cued her stopwatch, then took off.
Damn nice view, Gull thought as he strolled onto the track, plugged in his earbuds. He took a moment to loosen up, shaking out his arms, lifting his knees. When she hit the quarter mile, he ran.
And God, it felt good to move, to breathe, to have music banging in his head. Warm, dry air streamed over him, the sun splashed on the track, and he had Rowan’s curvy body racing ahead of him.
It didn’t get much better.
He built up his pace gradually so by the first mile had cut her lead in half. She’d changed into shorts that clung to her thighs, and a tank that molded her torso. As he closed more distance he let himself enjoy the sexy cut of her calf muscles, the way the sun played on those strong shoulders.
He wanted his hands on both.
Totally in lust with that body, he admitted. Completely fascinated with her mind. The combo left him unable to think of anyone else, and uninterested.
At two miles he advanced to a handful of paces behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder, shook her head and dug for more speed.
Still, at two and a half, he ran with her, shoulder to shoulder. He considered easing off—a sop to her labored breathing—but his competitive spirit kicked in. He hit mile three a dozen strides ahead.
“Jesus, Jesus!” Rowan bent over to catch her wind. “I ought to be pissed off. That was humiliating.”
“I thought about letting you win, but I respect you too much to patronize.”
She wheezed out a laugh. “Gee, thanks.”
“You bet.”
“Still.” She examined the stopwatch she’d clicked at the finish. “That was a personal best for me. Apparently you push me to excel.”
Her face glowed with exertion and sweat; her eyes held his, cool and clear.
He hadn’t run far enough, Gull realized. He hadn’t nearly run off the need. He hooked his fingers in the bodice of the tank, jerked her to him.
“Hold on. I haven’t got my breath back.”
“Exactly.”
He wanted her breathless, he thought as he took her mouth. Hot and breathless and as needy as he. She tasted like a melted lemon drop, tart and warm. The heat from the run, and from that dominating lust, pulsed off both of them while her heart galloped against his.
For the first time she trembled, just a little. He didn’t know whether it came from the run or the kiss. He didn’t care.
From somewhere nearby, someone let out a hoot and whistle of approval. And for the first time, like a lemon drop in the sun, she began to melt.
The siren sounded.
They tore themselves apart, their breath quick and jerky as they looked toward the barracks.
“To be continued,” Gull told her.
12
In the air the next afternoon, with a golf pro harnessed to him, Lucas watched the base scramble below. He and his daughter wouldn’t eat dinner together tonight after all.
The disappointment ran keen, reminding him how many times he’d had to cancel plans with her during his seasons. He wished her safe; he wished her strong.
“This is the best time of my life!” his client shouted.
You’re young yet, Lucas thought. Best times come and go. If you’re lucky enough, they keep coming.
Once they’d landed, once the routine of photographs, replays, thanks wound down, he read the text on his phone.
Sorry about dinner. Caught one. See you later.
“See you later,” he murmured.
Lucas called base to get a summary of the fire.
The one the day before had only required a four-man crew, and they’d been in and out inside ten hours.
This one looked trickier.
Camper fire, off Lee Ridge, load of sixteen jumping it. And his girl was in that load.
Though he could bring the area into his head, he consulted his wall map. Ponderosa and lodgepole pines, he mused, Douglas fir. Might be able to use Lee Creek as a water source or, depending on the situation, one of the pretty little streams.
He studied the map, considered jump sites, and the tricky business of jumping into those thick and quiet forests.
She’d be fine, he assured himself. He’d do some paperwork, then grab some dinner. Then settle in to wait.
He stared at his computer screen for five full minutes before accepting defeat. Too much on his mind, he admitted.
He considered going over to the base, using the gym, maybe scoring a meal from Marg. But it felt too much like what it was. Hovering.
It had been nice to eat in a restaurant the other night, he remembered. Drink a little wine, have some conversation over a hot meal. He’d gotten too used to the grab-and-go when Rowan wasn’t around. Not that either of them excelled at cooking, but they managed to get by.
Alone, he tended to hit the little cafe attached to his gift shop, if he remembered before business closed for the day. Or slap a sandwich together unless he wandered down to base. He could mic a packaged meal, he always stocked plenty at home. But he’d never gotten used to sitting down to one without the company of teammates.
There had been times, he knew, when he’d been jumping that he’d felt intensely lonely. Yet he’d come to know he hadn’t fully understood loneliness until the nights spun out in front of him in an empty house.
He pulled out his phone. If he let himself think about it, he’d never go through with it. So he called Ella before he had a clear idea what to say, or how to say it.
“Hello?”
Her voice sounded so cheerful, so breezy. He nearly panicked.
Iron Man, my ass, he thought.
“Ah, Ella, it’s Lucas.”
“Hello, Lucas.”
“Yeah, hello.”
“How are you?” she asked after ten seconds of silence.
“Good. I’m good. I had a really good time the other night.” Jesus Christ, Lucas.
“So did I. I’ve had a lovely time thinking about it, and you, since.”
“You did?”
“I did. Now that you’ve called, I’m hoping you’re going to ask to do it again.”
He felt the pleasure rise up from his toes and end in a big, stupid grin. This wasn’t so hard. “I’d like to have dinner with you again.”
