Burning the Past (Southern Heat Book 3)

by Jamie Garrett

  “Tim Jefferson lived down here. No one has come forward to claim his body or any of his things. I told Meg I would go through his things to see if there was anything worth saving.”

  Dean looked at the objects cluttering the room. “Is there?”

  She slowly shook her head. “Not really. This stuff might have meant something to him, but I doubt there’s anything worth salvaging down here.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Looks like he did his fair share of dumpster diving.”

  She nodded and then turned to look at him, her gaze passing over his features. Such blue eyes. Baby blue. They matched her blonde hair perfectly, the overall effect startling.

  I’m sorry,” she said, swiping roughly at her cheeks. “I’m not usually so emotional . . . it’s just been a difficult few months.”

  “I understand. No apologies necessary. Anything I can do to help?”

  She looked over the room and slowly shook her head. “No, not really. It’s just stuff that I have to work through.”

  Was she referring to the mess in the room or her personal issues? Amy didn’t say anything else and he allowed the silence to linger as he looked at the . . . he could only call it junk . . . scattered through the room. Had the guy planned to sell the stuff? None of it was close to sellable, in his opinion. It didn’t matter anymore.

  He should be going—

  Amy raised her head. “What brings you here today?”

  He pulled his gaze away from what looked like a Spider Man comic book and turned toward her. It was now or never. “Actually, I was going to ask if, one of these days, you’d have a cup of coffee with me.”

  She stiffened, her face drained of color. Dean leaned back slightly, startled as he quickly sought to reassure her. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Amy. I was just asking, that’s all.” Such an innocent question but one that obviously evoked fear, or at least extreme caution on her part. Dean frowned. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “I have no expectations. I just want to be your friend. But it’s okay if you say no. Really.” Of course he wanted her to agree, but he certainly wasn’t going to get upset if she didn’t. What little he knew of what had happened to her had been horrendous. It had to be, given her emotional state months later.

  “It’s not . . . it’s not you, Dean. It’s just that, well, I’m not sure if Meg or Sloane told you, but I don’t go out too often.”

  “Because you don’t want to or because you can’t?” He asked the question gently.

  “I’m not sure anymore.”

  Damn, he wanted to know more about her. It was so easy, comfortable, sitting here with her, but he also knew that if he overstayed his welcome, she’d probably retreat and it would take a long time for her to talk to him again. She may never.

  Dean nodded, not wanting to push his luck. He shifted, preparing to stand, but she placed her hand on his forearm. He glanced down at her small fingers, startled by the effect that just a simple touch had on him. His dick was definitely interested. So was he. Simply her touch on his arm has his hormones raging again. That had never happened before, either. Amy was something special. He just had to force himself to go slowly enough so he didn’t scare the crap out of her. She deserved a man who would take his time, to wait until she was ready.

  “I suppose that we could go out for a cup of coffee one of these days.”

  He smiled. “Sounds good to me. How about tomorrow afternoon? I’m off shift at three o’clock. I could swing by after.”

  He hoped he hadn’t sounded too desperate. He certainly hadn’t intended to, and he almost smiled again at his own reaction. He could go down to the local bar and have company for the night any time he wanted. Only since he’d met Amy, he hadn’t wanted to anymore. He feigned a relaxed shrug. “Or whenever . . . when you’re available.”

  He’d never pressured women to go out with him and he wasn’t about to start with Amy. But he was hoping that she would accept. The sensations thrumming through him were too new, too unexpected for him to give up too easily.

  A small sound issued from her throat. “If I’m available.” She gave him a slight roll of her eyes. “I guess I am. It’s not like I have a job or anything, at least not yet.” She paused. “I’m working on it.”

  Her cheeks flushed again. Embarrassment? What the hell had happened to her? He knew only the basic story. Sloane and Meg knew more, but Dean doubted anyone knew the full story. That only compelled him further. Amy needed someone she could trust, someone she could talk to outside of the woman she depended on for a roof over her head, or her only other friend. Maybe that someone could be him.

  He might be biting off more than he could chew. Expecting someone to trust after what she had been through was a tall order. But coffee was a good first step.

  “I learned a long time ago not to rush things,” he said, rising. He missed the warmth of her hand on his forearm, but shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his arousal. “Just take your time and don’t apologize to anyone for it. Things will happen when they happen.”

  She nodded. He turned to leave, but she stopped him again, this time by saying his name. He paused and gazed down at her. It looked like she was struggling with how to say something. He shrugged again. “You can tell me, Amy. Good or bad, I can take it.”

  She smiled again, a low chuckle erupting from her throat. “Can you read everyone’s thoughts, or just mine?”

  He shrugged. “I can read people pretty well. Comes with the job, maybe.”

  “I do want to have coffee with you, Dean. I do. But sometimes, things are a little difficult for me. I just want you to know that—”

  “No explanations necessary,” he said softly. “Let’s just have a cup of coffee tomorrow. I’ll pick you up. And I give you my word that the minute you tell me you want to come back here, I’ll bring you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  4

  Dean

  Dean finished his shift and climbed into his truck without changing clothes. Still in uniform, he headed over to Promise House. They hadn’t had any call-outs, so his uniform was fresh and clear of any smoke smell.

  Had Amy changed her mind about having coffee with him? If she had, he’d find out soon enough. He hadn’t offered his phone number and she hadn’t asked. He supposed that if she had changed her mind, Meg would know about it and could call the firehouse, or she could have told Liam or Mason.

  To his surprise, Amy was sitting on the new porch swing when he pulled up to the curb. Without even waiting for him to get out of his truck, she left the swing, stepped down the porch steps, and headed across the short lawn and around to the passenger side of his truck.

  She opened the door and plopped down, shut the door, and fastened her seat belt. Was she afraid?

  “You still want to go?”

  “Yes, but I might change my mind any second, so you might want to start driving,” she said, only half joking.

  “The Starbucks is always too busy. I was thinking about Patty’s Place. That okay with you?” Patty’s Place was a small mom-and-pop diner at the north edge of town. Good food, good coffee, good prices.

  “I’ve never been there. It’s not too far, is it?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. It’s on Peachtree as you’re heading north out of town.”

  They engaged in small talk as he drove through the streets of Monroe. In a matter of minutes, they arrived at the diner. He pulled into the parking lot and found a space. At this time of day, there were only a couple of cars parked in the lot. By the time he turned off the engine, opened his door, and moved around the back of the truck to open Amy’s door, she already stood outside.

  When he’d first seen her the night of the fire, he hadn’t noticed her petite stature. The last couple of times he’d seen her, she’d been sitting down. Standing a couple of inches over five feet tall and maybe weighing one hundred fifteen pounds dripping wet, the top of her head barely came up to his shoulder. She wasn’t looking at him now but at the din
er, her gaze taking in the building and then the street around it. Watchful.

  He wondered at her hypervigilance, a symptom of PTSD. He wasn’t going to be the one to ask. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him.

  “After you,” he said, gesturing toward the door of the diner. She looked up at him, offered another of her wan, trying-to-be-polite smiles, and nodded. She wore a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, and a lightweight and floppy pullover sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup, but she didn’t need any. The sweater hid the shape of her body, but her jeans were filled out nicely. Her hips swayed slightly as she walked. Just as she reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder and took in the street again.

  He reached for the door. “Let me get that.” He opened the door and gestured for her to precede him. “How about over there, in the corner by the window?”

  She nodded, walked to the booth, and sat down with her back against the wall so that she could look at the entrance and most of the interior of the coffee shop. He slid into the bench seat across from her. The red vinyl squeaked as he reached to pull his wallet from his back pocket. He placed his wallet on the table. The rich aroma of coffee, chocolate, and pastries filled the air.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Black coffee is fine with me.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. Interesting. He had expected her to order a mocha or at least a latte. He gestured toward the counter. “Would you like a pastry? They make the most amazing buttery croissants here.”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. Coffee’s fine.”

  He nodded and slid out of the banquette and walked to the counter. While he waited for a waitress to emerge from behind the swinging doors, he glanced back over his shoulder. Amy stared out the window. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he was determined to get her to trust him. She needed someone.

  Everyone needed someone.

  5

  Amy

  Amy had no idea how it had happened. She had been attracted to Dean the moment she had met him at Sloane’s the other night. As he had yesterday, he seemed perfectly relaxed and at ease, friendly yet not overly friendly. He wasn’t putting out I-want-to-sleep-with-you-vibes, wasn’t behaving in any way that would suggest sexual attraction, at least not on his part, but she still wondered.

  She didn’t know him well enough to figure out whether the looks he was giving her were the way he looked at every woman. Was his gaze lingering on her mouth a little too long? Were the sidelong glances he gave her intent on studying her profile, or was he looking beyond her at something else?

  The oddest thing, at least as far as she was concerned, was that she felt at relative ease in his company. She hardly knew him. And yet . . . was she going to make another naïve mistake? Had she inadvertently given him a sign that she was interested? No. She wasn’t ready to start dating. Amy shook her head. My God, Dean had just asked her out for a cup of coffee, not offered a marriage proposal.

  So what did he want? What was his ulterior motive? She closed her eyes, sighing. It drove her crazy. The mistrust, the suspicion that anybody who would express an inkling of interest had ulterior motives and nefarious plans for her. It was broad daylight, sitting in the middle of a coffee shop with plenty of witnesses. Witnesses. Funny how she should think of fellow shoppers and bystanders as witnesses.

  But could anyone blame her? Could she blame herself? This distrust, now so deeply ingrained within her . . . it was something that she had to confront. To deal with in her own good time. She wasn’t so naïve anymore, so blind to so-called humanity as she had been before. At the same time, she didn’t want to turn into a bitter, suspicious woman who believed that everyone was out to get her.

  But where was the middle ground? How could she find it? She wanted to learn to trust again. Sloane had vouched for Dean. Meg knew him, too. He was a big part of the local community. He seemed so normal, so ordinary.

  She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help but compare him to Nick. He’d been the quintessential bad boy, a creature of the night, one who preferred the darkness, the parties. A motorcycle-riding drug user who liked the excitement of nightclubs, of pushing the envelope, of pressing against societal norms.

  Of course she saw that now, but at the time he had been exciting. Maybe subconsciously she had dated him just to prove to her parents that she was an adult and could make her own decisions.

  And here was Dean, standing at the counter, waiting patiently for the waitress. The firefighter. The lifesaver. A man who, according to Sloane, was grieving the loss of his mother. Not a mama’s boy. Far from it. But one who had loved her and obviously missed her. Or so Sloane had said at dinner last night.

  That thought brought her back to her own parents. Amy wished she had the courage to travel back to Arizona, to visit them, but she knew she wouldn’t be welcome. Not anymore. Her parents weren’t dead like Dean’s, but she was dead to them.

  She focused once again at Dean, watching him as he turned from the counter after ordering their coffee, then glanced outside, just to be sure. Dean returned to the table and sat down before a waitress approached, carrying a round tray with two coffee cups and saucers and a half-filled coffee pot. She placed a saucer and cup in front of each of them and then poured.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she said. She placed the coffee pot on the table and then left.

  It was hard to keep from staring at him. He was handsome, well built, and exuded a sense of confidence. Of security. While she had intentionally avoided men since the incident, she didn’t feel put off by Dean. He was different.

  She didn’t get any indication of pressure from him. Any indication that he wanted more than to befriend her. That would be nice, but at the same time a little bit scary. The last time she had encouraged the attentions of a man, look what had happened.

  Dean gently nudged the coffee cup and saucer closer to her. She reached for it, wrapping her fingers around the thick porcelain, warm under her fingers. She glanced up at him and smiled. “This smells nice.”

  “Always is,” he said, taking a careful sip.

  They sat silently for several moments. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel awkward. The quiet was comfortable. As she glanced around the diner, decorated with old records, memorabilia of the 1950s and 1960s, she surreptitiously studied him. He was relaxed, leaning against the cushioned seatback behind him, gazing out the window. Thinking about what? Regretting that he had asked her out? She didn’t want him to think she hadn’t appreciated the invitation.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow but then smiled and offered a slight shrug. “I’m not even sure they’re worth a penny.”

  She did her best to engage him in small talk. The fact that she was even trying impressed her, made her feel proud of herself. Maybe she wasn’t a complete lost cause, after all.

  Amy listened carefully, learning more about him. How long he had lived in Monroe, how he ended up becoming a firefighter, innocent conversation. She was relieved when he didn’t ask any questions about her. She had no idea how she’d answer those.

  No one knew the whole story, and Amy was happy to keep it that way. Not just because it was frightening to think about, but because it made her angry. Angry at herself. Angry at her gullibility. For being so naïve and trusting.

  She took another sip of coffee, glanced at Dean, and found him once again looking out the window. She studied his profile. Strong. Confident and watchful. Something niggled at her, deep down in her belly. Her nipples tingled with the thought of his large, strong hand cupping her breast.

  She stiffened at her thoughts. She hadn’t experienced even a hint of sexual desire for any man since . . . well, since him. In fact, she’d wondered if she ever would. But staring at Dean’s profile, glancing down at his well-developed biceps, the way his chest filled out his T-shirt, and she couldn’t help but stare. The thick veins that trailed their way down his arm to the back of
his hand were captivating. When his fingers moved to grip the cup, ropes of muscles twitched in his forearms. A wave of heat burgeoned upward.

  How long had it been since she had felt the touch of a man’s fingers on her skin? The squeeze of fingers around her waist? How long it had been since she had enjoyed a kiss, warm lips pressed against her own, moving down her neck to encompass a hard, throbbing nipple?

  Amy’s cheeks heated. There was absolutely no indication that Dean was interested in any of that. He was just being friendly, maybe even taking her out as a favor to Sloane. She took a sip of coffee, holding the mug to try to hide her blush.

  She knew exactly how long it had been since a man had touched her in any way she’d wanted. What was surprising was the fact that she hadn’t even thought about sex until now, sitting across from Dean in this cozy diner. Until she’d met him, it was as if that part of her no longer existed. Now, Amy wasn’t so sure.

  “Penny for yours,” he grinned.

  She nearly choked on her coffee. “You don’t want to know.” The way he looked at her, the way his pupils dilated as he studied her face and focused on her lips had her feeling even more unsettled. Unsettled in a good way. Her body began to zing. Literally zing.

  Did he know? Could he possibly read her mind? Impossible. But the way he was looking at her, you’d think that he could. It took a huge effort to not only tamp down her surprising desire for this handsome firefighter, but to get things back on an even keel. She deflected his question. “I never knew this place was here.”

  “The guys and I come here a lot. Not always together, but often enough. You should join us sometime.”

  She gently shook her head. “Thanks for the invite, but I don’t get out much.”

  “Maybe you should,” he said.

  Amy took a deep breath. It was time to lay her cards on the table, at least some of them. “Dean, how much do you know about my past?”