Where There's Smoke (Holiday Hearts #1)

by Kristin Hardy

“Yeah. It’s just too hard to get away right now.”

  Nick thought of his conversation with Gabe. “Yeah, that’s a pretty easy thing to tell yourself.”

  She bristled. “I don’t recall asking you to sort out my life.”

  The seconds stretched out in silence. “I guess I deserved that,” Nick acknowledged finally.

  “I’m sorry I jumped on you. I know you’re only trying to help. It’s just not the time. Anyway, I’m stressed out. I’ve got to get a present, get it packed and mailed and still make it to my two o’clock.”

  “So let me help. We can find your nephew—has he got a name, by the way?”

  “Pete.”

  “We can find Pete a present and I’ll take care of getting it boxed up and mailed.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll see you tonight at the firehouse, okay?” Tonight, when she could keep her distance while she figured out just how she felt about the affair she’d blundered into. Because for all that they avoided labels, they were having an affair.

  “Tonight is too far away,” Nick responded. “I want to see you before then. Look at it as a time-management issue—if you don’t have to take time to mail the package, you can spare a little while to have lunch with me.”

  Lunch. That had been when she’d started losing her footing with him and she’d been tumbling ever since.

  “So do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” Sloane sighed.

  Voices and footsteps echoed off the tiled floors of the Prudential Center as they walked past the ranks of stores and kiosks. There was too much to go through. It left her feeling simultaneously harried and overwhelmed.

  Nick caught her hand in his. “So what do you want to get him? A Red Sox jersey, maybe?”

  “No way. He’s a Mets fan.”

  Nick looked at her dumbfounded. “A Mets fan? He lives in Hartford. Close enough for all right-thinking people to be Sox fans.”

  “I see.” She fought a grin. “Well, his daddy grew up in Rochester, so he was brainwashed from a young age.”

  “Tragedy. I suppose everyone has their story. So what are you going to get him?”

  It was the question she’d been asking herself all day. “That’s the problem. I haven’t got a clue.”

  Nick looked at her a long moment. “Don’t see them very much, huh?”

  “Not anymore,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Not for a long time. I used to live with them back when I was going to UConn. Since Mitch died, though…” She spread out her hands helplessly.

  Nick reached out and brushed his fingertips across her hair. “It’s okay. We’ll find something. How old is he?”

  “Thirteen. Maybe I can just get him a gift certificate he can use for music or video games or something. Kids like that, don’t they?”

  “Nothing says I couldn’t be bothered to think about you like a gift certificate. There’s got to be a better choice.”

  “Don’t rub it in. I already feel bad enough as it is.”

  They stood near the end of the mall, staring back at all the stores. With all the possibilities, it seemed impossible. It would have to be the gift certificate, whatever Nick thought.

  A woman walked past them toward the Prudential Center stop on the Boston subway. She opened the door to walk inside and the strains of a street musician floated out into the air.

  Nick snapped his fingers and turned to Sloane. “Got it.”

  “What?”

  “Do you have a price limit?” he asked quickly. “Could you go a hundred?”

  She considered. “Maybe. It’d have to be a pretty great gift. What are you thinking?”

  “It’d make you look goo-ood,” he wheedled.

  “Spill it, Trask,” she ordered.

  He pointed through the glass doors of the mall to the music store across the street. “A guitar.”

  “So you wound up ahead,” Nick said, unwrapping his sub. “The ultimate cool present, the store takes care of shipping and you come off smelling like a rose.”

  “Maybe not a rose,” Sloane said, wishing it were that easy. “It’s a good present, though. I think he’s going to like it. It sounds like he’s been having trouble lately. A guitar will give him an outlet and a focus.”

  “Happy to be of help.”

  They sat at the food court, the only way to manage a quick lunch under the circumstances. Sloane had picked out an acoustic guitar in glossy golden wood that the clerk had assured her would take abuse and see Pete from novice to proficient player. The offer to ship was a pleasant surprise. She should have gone straight back to work. The fact that she couldn’t make herself leave without a bit more time with Nick gave her pause.

  “So how long’s it been since you’ve seen Pete?” he asked casually.

  Sloane toyed with her baked potato. “Do we have to talk about this?”

  “Maybe I’m curious.”

  “What am I, your lab experiment?”

  “No, you’re someone I care about. I’d like to know about what’s bothering you.”

  It stopped her for a moment. Slowly, she nodded. “What makes you so sure this is?”

  “The fact that you don’t want to talk about it?” He gave her a level stare. “Would it help if I said I might have some idea how it is for you?”

  Hot protest bubbled to her lips but then she looked at his face and saw that he wasn’t patting her on the head. “Tell me.”

  “Last March I lost my father. He had a heart attack in the groves during the spring sap run.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He gave her a half smile. “So am I. I never thought it would be so hard to go home. I walk around the farm, the house, and I see him everywhere.”

  Sloane looked away.

  “And I’ve been staying away, just like you have.” Nick hesitated. “Sometimes the easy thing isn’t the right thing. I’ve been staying down in Boston for all the good reasons—work, side job, fixing up my house. And I’ve been trying like hell to avoid thinking about what my mom’s been going through.”

  The same way she’d been avoiding thinking about Candy and Pete. “So you think I should go down there?”

  “I don’t think it’s for me to say. I’m still trying to figure out my own life. I will tell you that I was going to stay away for Thanksgiving this year. My brothers talked me into coming. I’m glad they did.”

  “You’re going back to the farm.”

  “Yeah,” he said, shifting a little. “I don’t know what it’s going to be like, but it feels like the right thing to do. So,” he focused in on her, “got plans for the holiday?”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “I’m working, at least part of it. You’re on a night tour on Thanksgiving, remember?”

  “Yeah, that was my excuse,” he said. “Not anymore. I traded with the B-shift captain. I’m going to head up to the farm as soon as we get off the day before.”

  “Vermont, right?”

  “Maple syrup.” He finished his sandwich. “I don’t suppose you’d want to go with me?”

  Sloane blinked. “I can’t go with you to Thanksgiving.”

  “Why not?”

  Where did she begin? “It’s a family holiday. It’s where you bring someone that you’ve got a thing with.”

  “A thing sounds suspiciously like something. Off-limits, remember?”

  “You know what I mean. Someone you’re serious about.”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve brought friends along before and so have my brothers. My younger brother,” he amended. “I’m not sure Jacob even has any friends. Anyway, back up. If we’re not having a thing, then it shouldn’t matter to you what my family thinks. After all, by that standard you won’t be seeing them again.”

  “And in the meantime I get grilled as Nick’s potential squeeze.” She stared balefully at the Chick-fil-A stand. “Anyway, I don’t need to be your charity invite.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I get it fairly regularly around the ho
lidays. People ask what I’m doing, I say hanging, and there’s this awkward silence and then presto, an invitation. People don’t like the thought of me being alone. It makes them uncomfortable.”

  “Maybe they just want your company.”

  Her response was a snort.

  Nick leaned forward. “You’ve been getting a lot of practice at pushing people away, Sloane. Why don’t you try something different? Get out of town for a change. Meet some friendly people. Eat too much turkey and just kick back for a couple of days. Bathe in maple syrup.”

  “A couple of days?”

  “A day and a half. Wednesday night to Friday afternoon. You can tour the farm. Hell, you can hang out with Jacob. He’ll be no threat to you. He’s more antisocial than you are.”

  “And what are you going to say to them about your guest?”

  He crumpled up his sandwich wrapper. “The truth. That we’re seeing each other and I think you’re good company.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m good company?”

  “Well, my usual rule is to invite people I don’t like a lick, but I’m making an exception with you. Don’t make a federal case out of it.”

  She scowled, tossing her napkin down on the tray. “I’m not making a federal case.”

  “You said you’d never been to Vermont. Come with me.” He paused. “Unless the idea of meeting a few Trasks scares you.”

  “I’m not afraid to meet anyone,” she retorted, knowing he was baiting her but powerless to keep from reacting.

  “Well, then, it’s easy. Come with me. Or am I going to have to mud wrestle with you over it?”

  “You can get that idea right out of your head.”

  “Come with me, Sloane.” He looked at her, the fun ebbing out of his eyes. “It’ll be easier for me to get through it with you there.”

  And what could she do but say yes?

  Chapter Eleven

  Night shift on the apparatus floor and the air was filled with controlled urgency. The ladder crew hurried to don their breathing gear, slipping the harnesses on over their turnouts, pressing their masks against their faces. Breathing the compressed air, they stood ready to do battle with the flames.

  Nick clicked his stopwatch and clapped. “Forty-five seconds, guys. Not bad. Okay, pop quiz. Sorensen, when your mask starts vibrating for your low-air warning, how much time do you have left?”

  Sorensen took off his mask and considered. “Four or five minutes.” He gave a quick grin. “Except for a blowhard like O’Hanlan. He might get thirty seconds if he’s lucky.”

  There was a moment of surprised silence and then the group broke out into guffaws.

  “I think that was the first time I’ve ever heard you make a joke, Sorensen,” O’Hanlan said.

  “Hard to get a word in edgewise with you around, O’Hanlan,” Sorensen told him.

  “You got that right, probie,” Knapp said.

  “Come December, he’s not going to be a probie anymore,” Nick said.

  “Red as a grown-up firefighter?” O’Hanlan asked. “You know what that means, Knapp.”

  Knapp nodded vigorously. “He cooks us all a steak dinner. I like rib eye, Sorensen, in case you want to plan ahead.”

  “I’ll be sure to stop at Burger King on my way to work that day.”

  “You hearing this, Nick?” O’Hanlan demanded. “He’s getting mouthy now that he’s almost earned his badge.”

  “Around you, O’Hanlan, it’s self-defense,” Nick said. He scanned his drill sheet and decided to have mercy on the crew. “Okay, we’ve pretty well done our hour. Let’s call it good.”

  There was a general exodus. Nick was gathering together his notes when he realized that Sorensen was still hanging around.

  He glanced up. “You need something, Sorensen?”

  “I was hoping I could talk with you.”

  “Sure.”

  The probie looked at the corners of the room and cleared his throat. “I’m coming to the end of my probationary period, cap. Outside of overhauling and ventilating, I’ve only done searches in four fires. I want to work on one of the rescue squads eventually. When am I going to start really going on search detail?”

  “When you’ve got a little more experience.”

  “How can I get more experience without going into fires?”

  It was a logical question, Nick thought. He’d been slow to send Sorensen in for search and rescue, mostly because the kid looked so young. He wasn’t a kid, though, he was a man. Maybe it was time to start giving him the kinds of chances he was looking for.

  Nick nodded. “No guarantees but I’ll start trying to give you some more fire time. Keep working on your drills, do a good job inside and when it comes time I’ll try to give you a recommendation for the rescue company.”

  “No kidding?”

  “If you get it, it’ll be because you’ve earned it. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.”

  Nick glanced over Sorensen’s shoulder to see Sloane walking up the stairs, her hips swaying. And that quickly, desire twisted through him.

  Maybe she’d worked six shifts without seeing an honest-to-God fire but the ride alongs had given Sloane an appreciation for life in a firehouse. Including the experience of having yet another dinner interrupted by the bells. Not a medical aid call, this time, but a trash fire on a corner with a vacant lot. They’d put it out using the tank on the pumper and the ladder crew stumbled around on the heap to dig out the last sparks.

  Now, they were back in the firehouse. Nick walked around the truck in his turnout pants, cleaning up. He’d shrugged off his red suspenders to dangle jauntily around his hips. His gray T-shirt stretched across his chest.

  Was it any wonder that every woman she knew harbored a secret affection for firefighters? He looked her way and something twisted sweetly inside her. They didn’t have a thing, she reminded herself. It was nothing serious, but, oh, it stretched a smile across her face.

  Nick glanced over at her and stopped. For a long minute he just looked at her. Then, as though he couldn’t help it, he walked straight over to her and brushed a hand over her hair.

  She raised her brows. “Is that wise, Captain Trask?”

  “What, you missed the general stampede for the kitchen? I can assure you, everyone’s inside lining up at the microwave.”

  “What about you, aren’t you hungry?”

  His gaze was steady. “Oh, yeah.”

  “What do you suggest we do about it?”

  He rested a hand against the ladder truck and leaned toward her. “I’ve got a few ideas we could try out. For example, we could—”

  “Hey, you guys are missing out on warmed-over pork chops up here,” Beaulieu’s voice hollered down from the stairs. “Everything’s all set.”

  Nick’s eyes closed for a moment. “On our way,” he called and gave Sloane a resigned shrug. “Life on the clock.”

  Sloane turned toward the stairs, tugging him after her. “Come on, I could use some dinner, anyway.”

  His lips twitched. “You are kind of skinny.”

  Sloane gave a sniff. “Junkyard dogs are skinny. I am not skinny. The term is willowy, Trask.” They mounted the stairs.

  He traced one finger down the center of her back, almost making her lose her footing. “Deliciously willowy, Hillyard,” he murmured. “I’d be happy to show my appreciation at an appropriate time.”

  The warmed over pork chops, she had to admit, were not half-bad.

  The dormitory was black as pitch. Nick rolled onto his back and stared up into the darkness at the invisible ceiling. He could hear Sloane’s soft breathing in the darkness, felt the deep curl of need. She was only feet away, so close he could almost touch her.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Dinner had given way to a movie that he barely remembered. He’d sat in the darkened lounge, staring at the screen and conscious only of Sloane sitting in the chair next to him.

  At this hour, it was as though the entire world were l
ost in slumber and only he lay awake. Wondering. Wondering if she slept, wondering if she dreamed, wondering if she lay awake staring into the darkness, wanting the way he wanted. If they’d been alone, he’d have gone to her. Nothing would have stopped him. He could imagine the feel of her sleek body, the silken spill of her hair against his cheek, the taste of her mouth, avid and hungry under his.

  The seconds dragged by, stretched to minutes in the almost imperceptible march to morning.

  There was a deep creak as someone rolled over and O’Hanlan’s unmistakable grinding snore filled the air. Nick sighed. He reached beside his bed, feeling for the beanbag he kept there, as they all did. With unerring aim that spoke of night after night of practice, he lobbed it toward the source of the noise. There was a soft “oof” in the darkness and the snoring stopped.

  And the seconds returned to dragging torturously by.

  How long could a night last? Sloane wondered with a small stab of desperation. She shifted slightly on the mattress trying to find some position that would let her drift off. All around her there was only sleep. In her there was only awareness.

  She wanted him. There was nothing to distract her from that knowledge. No battle, no sparring, only the thought that he lay so near and absolutely unreachable. She turned, but sleep remained stubbornly elusive.

  Finally, she flipped back the covers and rose to pad noiselessly across the dormitory to the doorway. Maybe she couldn’t sleep, she thought, easing the door shut behind her, but she shouldn’t have to lie awake thirsty. A glass of water first and then maybe she’d distract herself with work or a book.

  Her stockinged feet were quiet on the floor as she walked down the hall to the kitchen. She didn’t need to switch on a light to see her way. Moonlight shone through the window across the floor, a broad swath of it, ghostly and serene. Sloane went to the window and looked out at the trees outside. The entire world had gone silent, hypnotic and washed clean in the pale light.

  She thought afterward that she’d known he would come. The small sound didn’t make her jump, but rather turn in expectation. His eyes were silver, his mouth intent. In silence, he came to her and in silence she flowed into his arms.