Ember's Fire: A Hearts of Harkness Romance (The Standish Clan Book 2)

by Norah Wilson

  “What about you? You didn’t sleep much either.”

  She turned and eyed the empty side of the bed. It did look inviting, even without a pillow.

  As though he read her mind, he lifted his head and pulled his own pillow out. “Take this one. If I’m going to be stuck on my back, it’ll wind up on the floor anyway. Gives me a crick in my neck.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Now lie down. I won’t be able to sleep if you’re going to be prowling.”

  She bit her lip. What could it hurt? It’s not like they could accidentally get entangled. He was swaddled on top of the blankets and she would be under them.

  “Why not?”

  She shucked off her damp jeans, but kept her underwear, shirt and socks on. After placing her jeans on the seat of one of the chairs, she scooted back and crawled into the bed. Happily, the sheets were clean. Not a bit musty smelling. Mrs. Dufour had to be letting this room out semi-regularly for them to be so fresh.

  She turned on her side facing Jace. “How’s the ankle feeling?”

  “Better.” He turned his head to face her. “You were right about needing to elevate it. Thank you.”

  Oh, God. His dark head against the white sheets, that face, those eyes... Her chest constricted.

  “Ember?” He lifted his head, concern in his eyes.

  “It’s nothing. A little indigestion from drinking that coffee on an empty stomach. It’ll pass. But we were talking about you, mister. The first pharmacy we come to, we’re renting you crutches. You can’t keep putting weight on that ankle.”

  “Or what? It’ll take longer to heal?”

  “That too, but you could also aggravate it. You could wind up with it in an air cast for months on end.”

  “Sold. We’ll get crutches.”

  “And when we get to Crandler, if we don’t find Bridget right away, we may need to get a motel room there too. We’ll need someplace to go periodically to elevate and ice that sprain, especially if we’re going to be riding around in this truck. If we’d gone back for your car, you could at least be sitting in the back seat with your foot up while we drove.”

  “If we’d gone back to get my car, we wouldn’t be here,” he said dryly. “Not together, anyway. Your brother would have kicked my ass before he let you drive off with me. Or tried to.”

  He was right, of course. “Point taken.”

  “Speaking of which, do your brothers know you’re here?”

  “They know I’m with my ‘patient’. Titus is still on the mountain, probably pinned down by the weather, so that should hold them for a while. He found Ocean, by the way.”

  “I figured he must have, but glad to hear it.” Jace paused. “So I don’t have to sleep with one eye open? No irate Standish man looking to go a few rounds?”

  She laughed. “No. Now go to sleep.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He dutifully closed his eyes and within minutes was sleeping.

  She lay there listening to his respirations, watching his relaxed face. When she finally fell asleep, it was with an ache of loss and sadness in her chest.

  Chapter 10

  JACE GLANCED at his cell phone, then grimaced and placed it down on the table beside his mug of steaming coffee.

  According to Google, there was one Bridget Northrup in the area. He’d called her listed number, leaving his name and a message asking her to call him back on his cell. Now he was going crazy waiting for his phone to ring. True, it had only been twenty minutes, but there were some things a man couldn’t wait on.

  Like discovering the truth after so many years.

  He looked across the table at Ember. He’d put his menu down five minutes ago, but she was still reading hers. Or rather staring at it. Her eyes weren’t flitting around the plastic, one-page breakfast menu of Chloe’s Back Porch Diner.

  Damned weather. Half the day was gone and he had nothing to show for it.

  Back at the Gnome Sweet Home, he’d slept hard for over two hours, waking around noon. Ember was already up, and by the look of her, showered. It was still windy out, but the rain had stopped. She’d checked his ankle, pronounced the swelling improved, given him another dose of painkillers, and handed him his almost-dry clothes. He managed to dress himself, after which she’d helped him to the bathroom. He’d longed for a hot shower and a close shave, but given how much daylight they’d already burned, he settled for a quick wash-up. Then she’d slid under his right arm again and helped him out to the truck. He’d already prepaid for the use of the day room—in cash, with a nice bonus for Mrs. Dufour—but Ember had insisted they check out officially. Even though it was a distinctly unofficial stay, she thought they owed Mrs. Dufour the courtesy. She’d also insisted on doing it herself while he waited in the vehicle. Fifteen minutes after he’d woken up, they pulled out onto the highway, headed for Crandler.

  He’d wanted to stop at the first greasy spoon they saw for a late breakfast when they hit town thirty minutes later, but Ember had had other ideas. The first order of business? Getting him crutches. He had mixed feelings about that, even as the pharmacist guided them through choosing the proper set. On the plus side, he now had more mobility, but there was also no reason for Ember to tuck herself under his arm.

  Finally, they’d pulled up outside Chloe’s. The hostess settled them into the last available booth, one of a long line of booths stretching along the west wall of the restaurant. Even with the wild weather, the diner was doing a brisk business.

  He glanced at Ember, but she was still gazing at the menu.

  Ignoring the rumbling of his stomach, he looked around. Far from a back porch, Chloe’s was a sizeable diner fronting on Chandler’s Main Street, tucked in between an antiques store and a coffee shop. The interior was nothing special. At best, it might be called cozy. But what it lacked in ambiance, it more than made up for with the quality of the food, not to mention the lumberjack-sized servings. It was hands down the best place for buttermilk biscuits in the entire Prince Region. Almost as good as Jace’s mom used to make.

  He took a sip of his coffee, stretched back a bit in the padded seat. How long had it been since he’d thought about his mother?

  Jewel Cooper had died at thirty-two years of age, in a car/bicycle accident that rocked the region. Jace had been fifteen at the time. By then, his mother had been married to Wayne Picard for almost five years. Five happy years, for all of them. She’d met Wayne at the bank where she worked, and after a year together, they’d tied the knot. Wayne had promptly adopted Jace, and it had taken no time at all for Jace—then ten years old—to start calling him Dad. Wayne had always been great to him, treating him like a son.

  Not that Jace had a lot of experience with father/son relationships. He’d never known his own father. Didn’t even know the guy’s name. The few times he’d broached the subject with his mother, it seemed to make her sad, and he couldn’t bear her sadness. He always figured she’d tell him when he was older, but then she’d died, taking the secret with her.

  In the fourteen years since Jewel Picard’s death, Wayne never came close to remarrying. When he died two months ago of complications from pneumonia, Terry and Jace were his sole beneficiaries. Control of WRP Holdings had gone to Terry, who’d inherited sixty percent ownership, compared to Jace’s forty percent, an arrangement Jace had no trouble with. In fact, when he and Terry had gone to the lawyer’s office for the reading of the will, Jace already knew about the sixty/forty deal. Wayne had talked a lot about his intentions. He’d also gifted Jace something before he died—he’d opened a joint account with a half million dollars in it, in case Jace should ever need it. Reading between the lines, Jace figured his stepfather meant in case you need it to rein in your brother. Their father had loved them both, but he wasn’t blind to their faults.

  He swallowed, surprised to find his throat was aching. It had been over two months, but sometimes he still had to remind himself the old man was gone. Jace couldn’t have asked for a better dad. Wayne had
always encouraged him. Made sure that whatever Terry had, Jace had just as much. Went to his boxing matches. And he’d always liked Ember. “Pretty and smart,” he’d said of her. “Hang onto that one, Son.”

  If only he could have.

  He picked up his coffee and took a drink to ease his throat.

  Ember was still staring down at the glossy, laminated menu when their waiter—Bobby J, from his nametag—came to take their order. Make that came back to take their order. This was his second time around. The gangly kid didn’t look a day over fifteen, with that barely there beard and the mom-pressed uniform shirt.

  “Are you all set to order?” he asked.

  “Almost.” Ember shook her head slightly, as if that would shake her distraction away. “Just give me a sec.”

  While she decided, Jace went ahead and ordered. “I’ll have two eggs, over easy, bacon, and two of Chloe’s biscuits. And keep the coffee coming.”

  “Will do.” Bobby J took his menu. “But if I get caught up and you can’t wait, you’re welcome to serve yourself.” He nodded his head toward a row of coffee makers in the corner. “Refills are free.” He looked hopefully at Ember. “Have we made a decision?”

  “Yes. I’ll go with the western omelet,” Ember said.

  “A couple buttermilk biscuits to go with that?” Bobby J. asked. “Chloe pulled some fresh ones out of the oven just a minute ago. The butter’ll melt right into them.”

  Jace smiled inwardly. The kid was was a pro.

  “I’ll skip the biscuits, but I’d love a green tea.” She handed the menu back and the waiter scurried off.

  Jace regarded Ember across the table. Now that her menu was gone, her gaze had turned to the window and the trees outside, stripped now of half their leaves by the wind and rain. Her lovely face seemed slightly pinched with worry.

  “Penny for your thoughts. Isn’t that what you Standishs used to say?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Make it ten and you have a deal.”

  “You guys still do that.”

  “Yeah.”

  But she didn’t say anything else—at least not right away. Nothing about what was weighing so heavily on her mind. She just picked up her fork and started toying with it.

  Was she thinking about Bridget Northrup? That was certainly a possibility. But the more he studied her, the more he thought there was something else.

  “So, is our truce still in effect?”

  She looked up, clearly surprised by the question. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Well, if it still holds, you can tell me what’s wrong.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Who said anything was wrong?”

  “You did.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Face it, Ember, I could always tell when something was bothering you.”

  “Seriously?” She made an inelegant snorting noise. “We haven’t seen each other in years. What makes you think you know—”

  “You still gaze away and chew the inside of your lip in that certain way. Look out windows, and lose your appetite.”

  She blinked. “I ordered an omelet.”

  “And skipped the fresh biscuits.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I’ve changed. I’m not that naive girl from the farm anymore.”

  “Of course you’ve changed. We both have. But somewhere inside, I’m still the same Jace and you’re still the same Ember. A little older, and hopefully a lot wiser. But the point is, if something’s on your mind, you can trust me.”

  Trust me.

  She didn’t have to say a thing; it was there in the way she looked at him.

  He’d blown that privilege out of the water years ago. Too bad he couldn’t remember doing it.

  Suddenly those coffee pots in the corner seemed to be calling his name. He reached for his crutches and started to get up, but Ember’s hand covered his.

  He stopped.

  “It’s Titus,” she said.

  He propped the crutches against the empty seat to his left and sat back in his chair. She released his hand as soon as he subsided.

  “You’re worried about him up on the mountain?”

  “Not really.” Bobby J chose that moment to deliver her steeping tea and a promise that breakfast would be right up.

  “So what is it?” he asked when the waiter left. “What’s up with Titus?”

  “I’m not sure. He called us home—Scott and me.”

  His heart rate leapt. “It’s Thanksgiving weekend. Family time.”

  The words stuck in his throat. Most likely he’d be celebrating with a turkey sandwich and a Moosehead Dry, watching football by himself.

  “Well, it hasn’t been a very regular thing for our family in recent years,” she said. “I’ve been too busy with med school and internship to make it home with any reliability, and we’re lucky to tie Scott down to two or three days at Christmas. But Titus insisted—really insisted—that we both be home this weekend. I don’t know why.”

  Jace swallowed. Fuck. He had a pretty good idea why.

  The sale.

  He had to tell her. “Ember, listen I—”

  “Do you think it’s Dad?”

  He paused. “Arden?”

  “Maybe Dad’s sick,” she said. “Maybe it’s his heart. I mean, he’s not exactly over the hill, but he’s not a young man anymore either.”

  “I’m sure your father’s fine. He looked okay the last time I saw him. And you’re the doctor in the family, right? Your father would consult you on anything medically related.”

  She shook her head. “I’d like to think so, but the Standish men can be stubborn.”

  “The men?”

  He was rewarded with the flash of a smile, but then a strident female voice cut across his next words.

  “Jace? Jace Picard?”

  He looked up at the woman standing by their table, looking down at him disdainfully. “So it is you.”

  “What can I do for you?” He suspected that was where the polite conversation would end.

  She planted her fists on her hips. “You can help me by getting the hell out of the Prince Region, you and your brother both. That’s what!”

  “Excuse me?” Ember stiffened in her chair. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re way out of line.”

  Jace put a hand over Ember’s. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

  He looked at the lady—if she were wound any tighter she’d blow right through the roof. He knew her. Budge Colpitts. One of the members of the region’s environmental action committee, PR-PUSH—recently acquired enemies of WRP Holdings.

  “You know where my office is, Mrs. Colpitts,” he said firmly. “I’ve invited you several times to meet with me there.”

  She huffed. “Yeah, you and your company lawyer!”

  He exhaled an exasperated breath. “You call and threaten to sue WRP Holdings, my brother and me personally over some alleged environmental infractions. Then you expect me not to call the company lawyers when you show up at my offices waving around documents I’ve never seen before, demanding I take action or there will be hell to pay.” He kept his tone low and even, aware that all eyes in the place were on him. But he was even more aware that Ember’s eyes were on him too.

  “The whole region knows what you and your brother are up too,” Budge Colpitts said. “We’re not going to let you get away with it!”

  There was a smattering of applause.

  Jace looked around the restaurant—at those with their heads lowered staring into their coffee cups, and unblinkingly meeting the glare of others. He noted a few weak smiles. A couple of apologetic ones. Budge seemed to have won the majority. But she couldn’t leave it at that.

  “And you...” She leaned in toward Ember. “You should be ashamed of yourself keeping company with this man.”

  Oh, man. Could she not see that was exactly the wrong thing to say to Ember Standish?

  “I’m just fine with the company I keep,” Ember said cooly. She reached over and wrapped both her
hands around Jace’s, smiling into his eyes. “More than fine, in fact.”

  He knew it was a mock display of intimacy, but it felt more real than anything he’d experienced in a long time.

  Ember looked up at Budge. “Now you, on the other hand—someone who prefers grandstanding to communication, someone who would make a nasty, public scene in a family restaurant rather than have a civil meeting—that’s the kind of company I could do without.”

  “Well, I can see there’s no talking to you.” Budge turned away and stalked off in an indignant huff. Ember didn’t let go of Jace’s hand until people went back to their meals and the din of the crowd rose again. He felt the absence of that warmth immediately.

  “Thanks for the moral support,” he said, “but you don’t have to put yourself out there on my account. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I just can’t abide that kind of rudeness.” She leaned forward. “What was that about anyway?”

  “That was Budge Colpitts. She’s on the region’s environmental action committee. They call themselves PR-PUSH.”

  “And she’s mad at you why?”

  He sighed. “Terry wants to take the company in a new direction.”

  “What direction?”

  “He wants to get into hazardous waste storage and treatment.”

  She sat back abruptly. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Unfortunately not.” How could he tell her that his brother not only wanted to bring a large waste storage and treatment facility to the region, he wanted to bring it to Harkness. Specifically, to the Standish farm. But he had to tell her, and he had to do it now. His heart thundered. “Ember, there’s something I have to—”

  Then his damned cell phone rang.

  It was Bridget Northrup.

  Chapter 11

  EMBER PAID for their meals, adding a generous tip for Bobby. When Jace’s call had come in, he’d gone outside to take it. Figuring he’d be antsy to get on the road as quickly as possible, she’d asked the young waiter to switch their meals to take out. He’d assured her he’d do his very best to expedite the order, and he’d come through.