“Nobody,” Dylan said a little too quickly.
“Oh really?” Donavan drawled.
Dylan flashed him a warning look.
Donavan gleefully ignored it. “Well Mrs. Chambers, Dyl was crazy about this girl in high school.”
“Amber what’s her name?”
“Noooo,” Donavan said, “Her name is Emerson Riley, cute as a button, we called her bookworm.”
Ava stopped eating. She looked at her son wide eyed. Dylan had that football, quarter back look on his face, the one that said he was about to crush anyone in his path. Donavan grinned as if to say, anytime bro.
“So nobody knew how Dylan felt about her until the senior prom.”
Dylan glanced at his watch. “Will you look at the time? Don’t you have criminals to catch?”
“Nope,” Donavan said pleasantly.
Ava looked from Dylan to Don. “I’ve never heard of this girl before.”
“There was nothing to tell,” Dylan said, his tone clipped. He shot another - shut the hell up - glare at Donavan.
“I should’ve known though,” Donavan mused, “Whenever Emerson walked into class Dyl would stop breathing.”
“Really?” Ava asked, clearly intrigued.
“Oh yeah.”
“Shut.up,” Dylan said.
“Dyl made all of us on the football team dance with Emerson’s nerdy friends just to make her happy.”
Ava looked at her son quizzically. He shrugged as if to say, no big deal. Oh but it was a big deal and Donavan was about to prove it. Wake up Dyl, I know you’re in there. Donavan continued to press.
“Your son dumped the prom queen and danced with Emerson Riley, the entire social structure of Aberdeen Prep imploded.”
Dylan couldn’t quite meet his mother’s probing eyes.
He leaned over the table. “Don,” he hissed, “I’m going to throat punch you, that’s all the warning you’re gonna get.”
“So you don’t mind if I ask her out?”
Dylan’s blue eyes narrowed to slits. Aw there it is! That spark of life, jealousy in all its glory.
“Emerson is all grown up and damn if she don’t look good enough to-”
Dylan growled low in his throat.
“Beautiful red gold curls, cute pixie face, juicy pink lips-”
“Enough already!” Dylan snapped. He raked a hand through his hair.
Now to ignite the blaze. Donavan said, “Remember how flat chested she was in high school? Not anymore, that girl’s got a rack you wouldn’t believe, huge tits.” Donavan held his hands out in front of his chest to illustrate. “And a luscious ass, now if I tapped that-”
Dylan launched himself. Donavan took a glancing blow on the jaw, the other punches he easily deflected. He could’ve done some serious bodily harm to his friend but getting Dylan riled up was just too much fun.
Pandemonium followed. Patrons gaped. Some of the old timers drew bets on who would prevail. The younger set whipped out their cell phones and took pictures and videos. Miz Viola rushed over and poured a pitcher of ice water on the two men, who came up sputtering. “There’s no brawlin’ at The Dixie Pixie!” she hollered.
Dylan picked up the nearest plate of pie and smashed it in Donavan’s face. A piece of crust hit someone nearby which started the mother of all food fights. Globs of mashed potatoes, green beans and bread rolls flew across the diner like bullets.
Police cars pulled up with a screech of brakes, sirens wailing and lights flashing. Within minutes, a news van appeared out of nowhere with crew in tow. An ambulance pulled up.
Harper stood in front of the diner window, her mouth hanging open in astonishment. She called Emerson. “Hey, er, didn’t you leave senior prom with Dylan Chambers?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well he’s in the middle of a food fight at The Dixie Pixie.”
“What?” Emerson asked, shocked, “Isn’t he the mayor?”
When Donavan suddenly sprang up with noodles dripping from his hair, Harper burst out laughing until she cried. Donavan scowled at her and did the sign of the cross over his chest to ward off her evil.
“Em, I gotta go.” Harper smiled wickedly. She held her cell phone and snapped a picture of him. Donavan cursed a blue streak. He did a slip and slide to the door. Harper took off running, jumped in her rig and hauled butt.
Harper drove hell bent for The Aberdeen Gazette. She emailed the picture of Donavan dripping noodles to the editor. If that picture made front page, her life would be complete. She leaned against the building and held her stomach from laughing so hard. It wasn’t so funny when she later found out why Donavan fought the Mayor. He wants to ask Emerson out on a date. Not some bimbo, her friend! That wasn’t idle gossip, Dylan’s mother confirmed the rumor. It hurt so much, Harper was terrified her feelings for him would show. So she did what any self-respecting woman would do. She went to the ice cream parlor and ordered a bucket of chunky monkey.
Chapter 9
The Ice Queen had crazy flavors like Mexican Cayenne Vanilla, Jamaican Jerk Coffee Cream and The Do-Nut Job which had a scoop of ice cream sprinkled with every nut known to man on top of a warm donut. Harper sat in a booth with a giant spoon and a triple scoop.
After two decadent bites, her friend Sawyer sat across from her. “Put the spoon down,” she ordered.
“You’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands,” Harper said.
Sawyer leaned back and watched her with unnerving scrutiny. She made a formidable librarian. Her hair up in a crazy bun with wisps of mahogany curls sticking out. Her hazel eyes took no prisoners.
“He’s not a mind reader, why don’t you just tell Donavan how you feel?”
Harper savored the chocolate on her tongue and swallowed. “Sawyer, we’re not back in high school. He doesn’t want me okay? The sooner I accept that the better.”
She furiously wiped a tear and munched on. Sawyer’s choked whisper stopped her cold. “I need your help.”
For the first time, Harper noticed her friend’s frizzy brown hair, wan completion and dusky shadows beneath her eyes.
“God, Sawyer, I’m sorry, with everything you’re going through, here I am crying over a boy.”
Harper reached across the linoleum table and squeezed Sawyer’s hand. “How’s your dad?”
Sawyer made an incoherent sound of raw anguish. “The prognosis is poor, his Cancer aggressive, five percent survival rate.”
“What about the experimental treatment?” Harper asked.
Sawyer laughed mirthlessly, “The first round with medication costs $485,469.”
Harper’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
“Yep. I’ve sold my condo, my car, all my assets.”
“Oh Sawyer.” Harper had no idea her friend was suffering under crushing financial pressure. Harper lowered her voice so they weren’t overheard.
“I have $250,000 in stocks I can liquidate from my trust fund.”
“No!” Sawyer said.
“You’re my girl, I love you, no way I’m letting you go through this alone. I work for my money. Thanks to my parents, I have something to fall back on, please let me help you.”
Sawyer quickly wiped away a tear. “Thank you, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your offer but I’m not looking for hand- outs or charity. I’m determined to raise the money.”
“How?” Harper asked.
“I have an idea.”
“What?”
“You know the firefighter calendar?”
“Yeah.”
“We can do one of Aberdeen with all men and women in uniform.”
That took a moment to sink in.
“Oh hell no!”
“Harper Lindsey Grant, you will strip for my daddy!”
Both women burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, that came out so wrong,” Sawyer said breathlessly.
Harper wiped away tears of mirth. “Strip for your daddy!” They crac
ked up.
“Oh Lord, I haven’t laughed so much in months,” Sawyer said.
“Glad I could be of service.”
“Harper-”
“No calendar.”
“It will be very tasteful, you’ll have on a bikini.”
Harper snorted. “Look at me! I’m freaking huge, no one wants to see me naked.”
Sawyer looked at her quizzically. “You really don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Harper shifted uncomfortably from the compliment. “I’ve never worn a bikini in my life.”
“Please, just hear me out, I’m thinking a combined calendar of firefighters and police.”
“Sawyer, I’m the only woman in my firehouse, some of the guys think I have a dick or had one in a past life.”
Sawyer smiled. “The photographer is a buddy of mine from college, he’s done shots for Vogue and Vanity Fair.”
Harper groaned. “Does this mean I’ll have to wear makeup?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Before she could object again, Sawyer said quickly, “I already got consent from the fire chief and the police captain. If we sell the calendars for $20-$30 apiece, I can raise enough for my dad to get treatment in California, please Harper.”
Harper closed her eyes and sighed. “Ooookay.”
Sawyer launched herself across the table and hugged her. “Thank you so much!”
“Yeah well, anything for you.”
“I promise, the photo shoot will be painless, Miguel is so professional, I’ll ask him to do your session last to protect your privacy.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Yay!” Sawyer beamed, “You’re better than a sister.”
Harper smiled, she felt the same way. Sawyer kissed her on the cheek and rushed out. She had so much to do to prepare for the calendar fundraiser.
Harper said a quick prayer for Sawyer’s dad and the success of the dreaded calendar. Would Donavan pose for it? Harper blushed all over. Just the thought of him was enough to make her shiver.
She stared out the window absently and fought the urge to lick the spoon. The familiar sights warmed her heart. Tourists took pictures by the soapy fountain that produced bubbles. A horse and buggy trotted by. Couples roamed the green. A man with a baseball cap stood by the gazebo. Maybe it was the way he cocked his head or the defiant stance. The tremors started in her legs, quivered her belly, and tightened her chest. The terror was so great, her throat constricted. She blinked hard. Harper scanned the park and square frantically. Where? Where did he go?
A big hand touched her shoulder. Harper spun around, her heart pounding, air wheezing in her lungs.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She focused on the man beside her. Boyish face, kind eyes, paramedic in uniform. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m Andy your new partner.”
Harper leaned against the seat and tried to slow her erratic breathing. “Hi,” she croaked. Be calm, you’re okay, she told herself. Her eyes darted across the square. He’s not really there, it was just a trick of the eye. She swallowed hard. Andy watched her perceptibly. She didn’t care for the scrutiny of a stranger. She forced a smile. “Welcome to squad.”
Chapter 10
Harper administered the breathing treatment to the six year old asthmatic girl. The mist from the medication swirled around them. The machine hummed. Harper listened to the child’s lungs. She could still hear crackles in the left lobe. Skid row stretched for several blocks in a seedy, gang ridden area of downtown Austin.
The homeless, mentally ill, drug addicts, criminals and runaway teens slept on slabs of concrete, under highway bridges, in make shift tents draped with rags or torn trash bags.
Harper knelt down to the girl’s eye level. She held her grimy hands. “You are so brave and very strong. One day your life won’t be so hard,” she said.
The child nodded as if she truly believed. Emerson gestured for Harper to come over. She ran to her side.
“What have we got?”
“Multiple rat bites.”
Harper knelt beside the woman. She had to be in her eighties. Harper put on a pair of latex gloves. She smiled warmly even though her heart ached. As she cleaned the nasty wounds, the elderly woman told her how she ended up on the street when she had to choose between paying for her medication or her house mortgage.
“What medication do you take?” Harper asked.
The lady named an expensive tablet, advertised on television, with a price tag of over a thousand dollars a month. Harper applied antibiotic ointment and clean dressings to the lacerations.
Harper rooted through her medical bag and took out a card. “This social worker can help you get free medication from Canada.”
A wrinkled hand squeezed Harper’s. “Thank you dearie.”
Emerson gave the woman a bag of food. Hours later they sat in the back seat of a black SUV.
A volunteer drove, another sat up front. Emerson’s pretty green eyes looked troubled. “Hey, are we okay?”
Harper didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “If Donavan asks you to dinner, say yes.” The words stuck in her throat.
“Harper, our friendship means more to me than any man, are we okay?”
“Yes.” And this time she meant it. Harper squeezed Emerson’s hand.
“You are beautiful inside and out, why wouldn’t he want you?”
Emerson frowned. “I could say the same thing about you.”
Harper snorted. “You’re beauty, I’m the beast.”
“Stop it,” Emerson hissed, “You keep putting yourself down, you are amazing.”
Harper swallowed over the lump in her throat. She eyed the volunteers talking in the front seat and jamming to the radio. They sped along I-35, dodging crazy drivers and big rig trucks.
“My biological father used to call me Raven.” Harper rarely talked about him. Her real dad would always be Carl Grant. He read to her at night when she was a kid, taught her how to ride a bike, how to fish, how to defend herself, how to change a spare tire. Lindsey gave her affection and unconditional love. They were wonderful parents and Harper adored them. Emerson held her gaze.
“Why did he call you that? Because of your black hair?”
“No,” Harper whispered, “He said in ancient times, ravens were ugly, bad omens, evil, they meant death and so did I.”
Emerson gripped her suddenly cold hand. “The devil is a liar and so is your sperm donor. I wanna punch him in the face.”
Harper smiled. “Me too.”
They spent the rest of the drive catching up on old times. After a while, they drifted into companionable silence. Harper stared out the tinted window. That man she saw in the square looked an awful lot like Colt Billings. Harper shook her head as if to clear it. The last she heard, her biological father was rotting in prison way up north. Besides, her adoption records were sealed. How could he possibly find her in a small Texas hill country town? And worse yet, why would he hunt her down after all these years?
Chapter 11
The photo shoot was held in the lush gardens of the mayor’s ancestral estate. If women thought men looked good in uniform – out of said uniforms was definitely better. Harper enjoyed the eye candy without drooling, thank you very much. Firefighters, police officers, paramedics flexed their muscles, flashed their rock hard abs and smiled those pearly whites for the camera.
The photographer Miguel wasn’t bad looking either. He had that Mediterranean olive skin, jet black hair, almond shaped eyes the color of honey and a lean body to match. He set up the next shoot by a replica of Michelangelo’s David statue. Miguel adjusted the reflector screens and a few lights. Without a shred of modesty, Donavan dropped the robe.
Harper knew she shouldn’t be watching. His was the last shoot before hers. All the other men drifted inside the mansion for refreshment. Harper lingered near the pool house. She wore a fluffy
white robe over the bikini her mom gleefully picked out for her. Miguel’s assistant applied light, natural looking makeup and simply let loose her hair. She stood back and circled Harper.
“You are stunning, Chica.”
Doesn’t she have to say that to everyone in her line of work?
Harper smiled. She watched the assistant pack up and sprint down a path towards the gathering of fine looking men. More power to ya girl.
Harper tip toed across the lawn and peaked through a curtain of ivy. Her lips parted. Sweet Jesus in heaven have mercy! Harper nearly tumbled through the bush. She’d never seen Donavan without a shirt before. Her mouth actually watered. God, she wanted to taste every inch of rippling, golden muscle. His broad chest tapered down to a chiseled six pack. A light dusting of blond hair covered his chest. She longed to touch him there and feel him skin on skin. He had lean hips and a squeezable ass, thin black cotton pajama pants covered his long legs. Harper yearned for him. She couldn’t help it. He turned his head slightly as if sensing her. Miguel kept snapping photos. Click, click, click!
Donavan didn’t pose, he didn’t have to. His masculine beauty made her body throb. She wanted him, desired him, needed him, adored and loved only him.
Harper felt her breath catch. Donavan’s blue eyes burned her alive. Harper didn’t pretend she wasn’t lurking. She walked around the bushes and faced him.
“Hi,” she said weakly.
His slow, sexy grin did strange things to her heart. “Miss Grant,” his deep voice shivered down her spine.
“Mister McClain.”
His probing eyes took in her waist length blue black hair that tumbled in glossy loose curls. He wanted to bury his hands in the luminous waves. The light makeup enhanced her fresh, creamy skin. The black mascara framed her beautiful green eyes to perfection. Her lips were a bubblegum pink gloss that made them look ripe and juicy. He wanted to bite her lower lip and sink his tongue deep inside her.
Donavan blinked hard. He backed away. He intended to go to the pool house, change his clothes and meet the guys up at the mansion. But he didn’t like the flash of masculine interest in Miguel’s eyes, not one bit. The photographer openly flirted and kept touching her shoulder. Donavan speared the photographer with a look that made it clear – one more touch, just one more and Donavan would break every finger of the offending hand.
Slow Burn: A Texas Heat Novel Page 4
