Playing With Fire

by Ruth Staunton

  “You did what?!” Cade demanded incredulously. Given the shape that tower was in, he seriously doubted it could have been in much better shape five or six years previously when Stacy had been a teenager. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how dangerous that thing is? What on earth were you thinking?”

  Stacy shrugged. “Billy Moreno dared me. I was hanging out with him and Chrissie Tucker and Eric Martinez, and no, before you ask, I wasn’t drunk.”

  Cade laughed. “I wasn’t going to ask,” he protested, but the thought had crossed his mind.

  “Sure,” Stacy said, clearly not buying it.

  “So how far did you get?” Cade asked.

  “Almost to the top,” Stacy said smugly. “I would’ve gotten further, but the boards started to crack.”

  Cade could see it clearly in his mind, Stacy, even smaller in her awkward teenage years, clinging to the side of that decrepit old tower by nothing but her fingertips and sheer determination. Even in his imagination, it made his heart leap into his throat. “You’re going to be the death of me,” Cade said affectionately. “What did your parents say?”

  “Nothing,” Stacy said. “I doubt they even knew I was out of the house. That would have required noticing me.”

  The words should have been bitter, but they weren’t. If anything, they were tired and flat. Somehow, Cade thought that made them even more painful. She was long since resigned to being invisible, unimportant.

  He reached around and tipped her head up so that he was looking into her eyes. “I notice,” he said quietly with a fierceness that surprised him. “You pull a stunt like that again, and you won’t sit for a week, understood?”

  Rather than answering, Stacy laughed. “I’m not a teenager anymore.”

  Cade grinned back at her. “Sure about that?”

  Stacy twisted around and slapped him good naturedly in the chest. “Yes!”

  “Good.” Cade bent and kissed her briefly. “I still mean it though. You’re not alone anymore. I do care; I will notice, and I will deal with it. Understood?”

  Stacy nodded silently, her throat working hard against the swell of emotion that blocked her airway and stung her eyes. Unable to resist, Cade gathered her into his arms. That brought on a brief useless struggle as Stacy tried to squirm away even as she instinctively turned into him. She clearly wanted the comfort despite her resistance. Cade reached out and swatted the side of her thigh. The sound was deafening in the quiet night, but he doubted she even felt it through her jeans. She stilled nonetheless, responding to the authority if not the sting.

  “Be still,” he said firmly. “I’m allowed to hold you.” After a long moment, he felt her relax against him, melting into the comfort he offered. “Good girl,” he said softly. The surge of protectiveness that rose in him startled him with its intensity. He was used to feeling protective, especially about women. It was what he did: protect and serve. This was completely different. This was nowhere near the general sense of protectiveness that he felt for anyone in McCloud. This wasn’t just because she was a member of his community. Stacy was his. It may have started out as a dare, a half-joking taunt that meant nothing, but that time had long passed. Somewhere along the way, Cade had fallen hard.

  Chapter 7

  Stacy woke slowly, stretching luxuriously. Glancing at the clock, she was a bit shocked to realize it was already edging toward midmorning, but even that made her smile, basking in the knowledge that she had nothing particular she had to get up for. Besides, she’d been out late last night. She and Cade had talked for hours, lounging in the back of the truck like a couple of teenagers. It’d been nice, just talking about anything and everything that came to mind, from the crazy misadventures of Cade and his siblings to some of her more eccentric customers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent time like that with a man, just talking without any expectation of anything more. Not that she would have minded doing more with Cade. The man was hot, and she was most definitely attracted to him. With another man, she might have wondered if he was not attracted to her, but with Cade, the attraction was clear. The kisses and touches they shared left no doubt of that. He was simply old-fashioned enough to want to take his time and let things develop naturally. It was weird, but she had to admit that it was nice to be able to get to know him and to spend time with him without the constant pressure of sex hanging over her head. From the time she was a teenager, her relationships had revolved around sex: getting to it, doing it, or getting over it. This was new and different territory for her, but she was surprised to find herself liking it, far more than she ever expected to.

  She rolled out of bed and stretched, combing her fingers through the wild and tangled mass of curls that stood out from her head like a demented hedgehog. Tugging down the shirt she hadn’t bothered to change out of last night, she grabbed a clean tee shirt and battered, comfortable shorts from her dresser and padded barefoot down the hall to her tiny bathroom. She found herself smiling, remembering the party the night before. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself. That had been another surprise. She had expected to be bored out of her skull. The parties she was used to involved loud music, raucous crowds and dancing that stopped just short of sex, and copious amounts of alcohol, with the occasional call to the cops for disturbing the peace or to break up an out-of-control fight for good measure. She had expected the socially acceptable suburban cookout to pale in comparison. It had been different for sure. For one, no one got drunk off their asses and made a fool of themselves. For another, they managed to make it through the night without a fistfight or anyone being thrown out of the house by their husband, wife, or girlfriend of the moment. Hell, she didn’t even have a hangover this morning. She supposed she had Cade to thank for that, though she could’ve done without his high-handed attitude. The nerve of him reminding her not to drink because she was driving still rankled. She stripped off and stepped into the shower, still bristling at the memory. She wasn’t some kid who didn’t know her own limits. Granted, he had seen her at her worst that night at Joe’s, but surely he had to know that wasn’t normal. She wouldn’t have done that last night. However exhausted she was, it wasn’t the time or the place.

  Was that it, she wondered, stepping out, drying off, and throwing on her clothes. Did he think she would embarrass him in front of his friends, that she wouldn’t know how to act with the suburb crowd? Was that what he wanted, a suburban soccer mom? Was that why he’d wanted her to meet Linda? Was he hoping Linda would be a civilizing influence on her?

  A part of her, the dark and cynical part, wondered if that were true, but in all honesty, even if he had encouraged her to come, he had no way of knowing that she and Linda would hit it off like they had. Besides, Linda had seemed genuinely friendly, and Stacy had honestly enjoyed talking to her. She was looking forward to getting together with her later in the week. There was no way Cade could have orchestrated that, even if he had wanted to. She supposed he could have known that they both liked to cook, but camaraderie like that couldn’t be forced. She knew that all too well. After all, her parents thoroughly disapproved of her choice of friends in general and had tried for years to bully her into being friends with more appropriate people. It had never worked, and if it wouldn’t work for them, there was no way it was going to work for Cade either.

  Somewhat relieved, she wandered into the kitchen and began to search through her cookbooks for recipes that she could share with Linda. Searching through the recipes began to make her hungry, and she remembered suddenly that she hadn’t eaten since last night. She was peering into the open refrigerator and contemplating the serious lack of edible food in the house when the phone rang. Deciding the meager rations in her refrigerator were a lost cause, she nudged the door shut with her hip and snatched up the phone, smiling when she recognized Cade’s number.

  “Hey there, Lawman,” she said, tucking the phone between her neck and shoulder and boosting herself up to sit on the counter

  “Hello, Anastasia,” he said in
that low rumble that sent tingles down her spine. “I was just calling to see what time you wanted me to bring the car by.”

  Trust Cade to get straight to the point, Stacy thought. From anyone else, she would’ve thought it brusque or rude, but with him, it was natural. That was just the way he was, straightforward and to the point without any time or inclination for small talk or frivolous social niceties.

  “Any time is fine,” she told him. “I don’t have any plans for today. Although, judging by the serious lack of food in this house, I should probably make grocery shopping a priority, as soon as I get the car.”

  “I could take you,” Cade offered.

  “You want to go grocery shopping with me?” Stacy asked incredulously.

  “Why not?” Cade replied. “Even a lawman has to eat.”

  “You really don’t have to,” Stacy said. “I promise I have been capably shopping and feeding myself for years. I can handle this. I just need my car.”

  “I know that,” Cade told her in a tone so dry she could almost hear him rolling his eyes. “I have no doubt of your capability. Maybe I just like spending time with you.”

  Stacy laughed. “I’m kinda getting that idea,” she teased, “but you don’t have to suffer through shopping to prove that. I know most men view shopping as slow torture.”

  “Well, maybe not torture…” Cade said.

  “But something close,” Stacy finished, laughing. “Just bring the car, and I’ll handle the shopping, but since even lawmen need to eat, come over for dinner later.”

  “Do you want me to pick something up from the diner?”

  “No, I’ll cook,” Stacy told him.

  “You can cook?” Cade asked, both interested and faintly amused.

  “Believe it or not, yes I can,” Stacy told him. “I just don’t have a reason to do it very often. There’s not much point in cooking for one person. Can you?”

  “A little,” he admitted, sounding incongruously sheepish. “I man a grill better than a stove, but I won’t starve.”

  “Typical man,” Stacy teased, laughing.

  “You don’t have to cook for me,” Cade said. “We can throw some meat on the grill or go out.”

  “It’s fine,” Stacy assured him. “I actually like to cook on occasion. Any food allergies or preferences I should know about?”

  “Nah, I’m easy to feed,” Cade replied.

  “It’ll be a surprise then,” Stacy said.

  As luck would have it though, Cade pulled up in the yard just as she was just coming back from the store. Rufus went into excited hysterics. Stacy, heading up the stairs with her arms full of groceries, shook her head in amusement. Cade knelt to pet Rufus, rubbing him down and pulling his ears then stepped up and took the bags from Stacy.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I am capable of carrying my own groceries, you know,” she said dryly.

  “I know,” Cade said simply, “just not when you’re with me.”

  “Only because you never give me a chance,” she said pointedly.

  Cade shrugged, thoroughly unrepentant. “I’m well-trained,” he said. “If you have a problem with it, you’ll have to take it up with my mama. She’d have my head for not taking care of you otherwise.”

  “Can’t have that now, can we?” Stacy drawled, eyes crinkling in amusement. She opened the door and he stepped inside set the bags on the counter. When he turned back, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him soundly. “Let’s go out to Joe’s later,” she suggested, bouncing against his chest like a toddler on a sugar high.

  Cade hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m up for that today,” he said slowly.

  “What? You think you’re too good to hang out with my friends?” she asked waspishly, twisting around and stomping away.

  Cade stared after her, bewildered. “Too good? Of course not, what are you talking about? I only said I wasn’t sure because we were out late last night, and we both have to work tomorrow.”

  “So it’s fine for me to hang out with your friends after I’ve worked all day, but you don’t want to hang out with mine because you have to work tomorrow.” The edge in Stacy’s voice could have cut glass.

  “That is not what I said,” Cade said sternly. “This has nothing to do with meeting your friends.”

  Stacy huffed, jerking her head around in a manner that reminded him strongly of an annoyed teenage girl. “Sure it’s not.”

  “It’s not,” Cade repeated, forcing the word out through gritted teeth. “If it’s that important to you, we will go.”

  “It is,” Stacy told him firmly.

  “Fine,” Cade agreed. “All you had to do was say so.” He turned away before Stacy could speak, pulling groceries out of bags and lining them up on the counter to be put away. Stacy, in turn, began to pick them up and put them away. She was quiet now and clearly not actively angry, but her movements were still stiff and sharp enough to let him know she was not over being annoyed with him. Part of him instinctively wanted to fix it, to somehow make it better, but he was entirely sure just what he had done to piss her off in the first place. Why did women have to be so damned complicated?

  “I was thinking spaghetti for dinner,” Stacy said. “Is that ok?” She was still sorting groceries but had now begun pulling out things in preparation for cooking as well as putting things away.

  Cade nodded. “Sure. What can do to help?” Stacy tossed him a head of lettuce and told him to get started on a salad. Cade took to it with an easy confidence, watching Stacy out of the corner of one eye. Her earlier anger seemed to be completely gone. He swallowed on a wave of exasperation and amusement that he was sure wouldn’t be appreciated. Those quicksilver moods of hers were going to be the death of him. “How did you learn to cook?” he asked, chopping the tomatoes and carrots she passed to him and adding them to the salad.

  “Elena, who was our part-time housekeeper when I was about 12, taught me,” she replied. She pulled a large pot from the cabinet next to the stove and began filling it with water. “She wasn’t with us long--no one ever was–but she taught me to cook.”

  “Did you ever keep in touch with anyone?” The question was quiet, hesitant. He was honestly curious, but he knew enough to be wary of the potential landmines that could be lurking behind it.

  Stacy shook her head. “There usually wasn’t time,” she told him. “They came and went with my mother’s moods. There was rarely any warning. I’d just come home one day to find a new face standing in the kitchen.”

  That sounded nothing short of horrible to Cade. Growing up as he had, in a large and loving–if slightly chaotic–family, he had taken the stability for granted. From the few glimpses Stacy had given him of her own childhood, it was clear that she hadn’t had anything like a stable childhood. Largely ignored by her own parents, who though not malicious were too wrapped up in their own ambitions to take much notice of her, she had been raised by a series of temporary caregivers who came and went seemingly at random. Cade was no expert, but to his way of thinking, it was a wonder she had survived sane.

  On impulse, he moved over and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I’m sorry,” he said softly into her ear.

  Stacy shrugged. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.”

  On the contrary, Cade thought it mattered a great deal, but since Stacy clearly didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t press. He hugged her tight, dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck, and stepped away, moving over to the refrigerator to rummage for salad dressing. He came up with ranch and Italian and set them on the counter. Seeing Stacy attempting to move the large water-filled pot from the sink to the stove, he reached over and took it from her hands, lifting it onto the stove himself.

  “I’m not helpless, you know,” Stacy huffed, dropping in the pasta. “I could have done that.”

  “I know,” Cade said calmly. He took cups from the cabinet and filled them with ice. “What do you want to drink?”

  “What?” Stacy asked snidely. “You’re not g
oing to do that for me too?”

  “I can if you’d rather,” Cade told her.

  Stacy glared at him, taking a packet of ground beef out of the freezer and slamming the door a good bit harder than necessary. “Tea,” she snapped, spitting the word out like a bullet.

  Cade took the pitcher from the refrigerator and filled both their glasses, passing Stacy’s over to her. She took it without comment, but he could practically feel her bristling. She wasn’t angry, but she was seriously annoyed and definitely spoiling for a fight. He wasn’t buying though. He’d learned years ago that it took two for that particular dance, and it was damned near impossible to do alone. Stacy could stomp around all she wanted; he wasn’t playing. Ignoring her rumblings, he moved over to the table and began sorting through the various things piled atop it. He carried the dishes to the sink and sorted the newspapers and mail into neat piles.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Stacy protested.

  “I want to eat at the table,” Cade said simply, not in the least bothered by either the chore or her protests. “Where do you want these?”

  Stacy blushed but did not argue. “Just toss the newspapers,” she told him. “I don’t even know why I keep them. There’s no point in reading old news. I get most of my news from Glory anyway.”

  “Glory Baker?” Cade asked. “The hairdresser who owns the shop on Main Street?”

  Stacy nodded. “That’s the one, though she’d have a fit if she heard you call her a hairdresser. Glory is a cosmetologist as she will be quick to tell you. As she says, any hack can cut hair; she is a professional.” Stacy grinned. “I don’t think it’s that big a deal, but it is to Glory.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” Cade said. “Lord knows I don’t want to ruffle her feathers.”

  “Smart man,” Stacy said. “Although I’m a little surprised, you sure don’t seem to have any problem ruffling my feathers.”

  “I can handle you,” Cade teased, stepping over to run a hand down her back and let it linger meaningfully on her bottom. He held up the stack of mail in his other hand. “Where should I put these?”