Light Up The Tree: A Firehouse Three Novel

by Regina Cole

  “Waiting for someone?” Ty flashed his toothpaste-ad smile as his gaze raked over the bar clientele. That dude was always on the make.

  “Friend of mine,” Nate said as Kyle flagged down the bartender. “She and I went to high school together.”

  “She?” Ty said with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Point her out so I don’t accidentally take her home.”

  “You dog,” Kyle said, then turned to Sparky, who’d just turned up. The owner of the bar, Sparky was a woman with silvery-white hair and a helluva boob job. Nate had always thought she looked like Dolly Parton’s fraternal twin. “Hey, Miz Sparky. Can I get a bourbon, neat? Ty?”

  “Skip the drinks, I’ll have a kiss,” Ty said, and stood on the barstool to lean over and press his lips to Sparky’s rouged cheek. She allowed the contact, then thwapped him hard on the arm. He yelped and rubbed the sore spot as she cackled.

  “You rascal. How many times do I have to tell you I’m not your type of girl?”

  Ty put on his best puppy dog eyes. “I can’t quit you, beauty.”

  Sparky just shook her head, her rhinestone earrings flashing with the movement. “Your usual? Malibu?”

  “You know me so well,” Ty said, propping his chin on his hand and staring after her like her ass was thirty years younger. Of course, Sparky’s ass was just like the rest of her—tucked, taut, and trying like hell to look like a twenty-something.

  “Don’t know how you can drink that fruity shit,” Nate said as he polished off his Bud.

  “Don’t know why you’ll only drink horse piss, but I don’t judge you for it either, Cowboy.” Ty winked as he sat back on his stool.

  “This high school friend you’re meeting,” Kyle said, his red beard looking almost brown in the dim lighting of the bar, “is this that same woman that put us up to that bachelor auction in the spring?”

  “Ugh,” Ty groaned, pillowing his head on his hands. “Don’t remind me. I’m still kicking myself in the ass that I had to be up at my sister’s wedding that weekend and missed the whole damn thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s her,” Nate said, and pulled his cell from his pocket. He frowned. She was late. Allison was never late—her rigid inner scheduler wouldn’t have permitted it.

  “She was cute,” Kyle said, nodding his thanks to the assistant barkeep who’d set down their drinks in front of them. “Is she single?”

  Nate’s knuckles went white around his phone, and the stab of pain forced him to relax his grip. He took a slow, deep breath.

  Why the hell was the question pissing him off? It wasn’t like he had any claim on Allison. But that kiss had gotten him wondering, and hoping, and feeling territorial, clearly.

  If Nate was another guy, he might have confessed his unrequited love. But Nate wasn’t the sharing type.

  “Just got out of a nasty divorce,” he said, looking over at Kyle. To the ginger bastard’s credit, he was sipping his drink and not looking overly interested in Allison’s business.

  “That sucks,” Kyle said as his glass descended.

  Just then, Nate’s phone rang, and he excused himself. Stepping out the front doors, he plugged his free ear to block the country music coming from inside and answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Nate.” Her voice melted over him like chocolate, warming his insides even though the air was pretty damn cold for an early December Texas night. “I’m so sorry. Work has gone insane today, and I haven’t been able to leave the office yet.”

  “What’s up?” Nate leaned against the concrete block wall, far enough away from the doors that the crowd and the music was a low-key buzz.

  Her sigh was full of frustration. “Do you remember my telling you about the Santa book drive that Dallas Savings and Loan was sponsoring? How we’ve been collecting children’s books for the past six months, and two local inner city schools had agreed to let us in to give each of the children a book?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Nate had thought it was a great idea. “Something up with that?”

  “The drive was supposed to be tomorrow, and Santa has backed out, along with the bank board member that was supposed to do the driving. I’ve got approximately six billion kid’s books in my office, and no one to wear this red suit to hand them out, and even if I had a Santa, I’ve got no one to take him to the schools.”

  Allison didn’t crack. She never even threatened to buckle. But that last word had held a hint of what she was feeling, and Nate knew that was all the clue he’d get that she was upset.

  He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

  “I’ve been calling around all day, but I can’t find a replacement Santa. I’m going to be stuck here for a few more hours, but I didn’t want you to think I’d bailed on you.”

  Her voice faded out a bit, and he could hear her fingers furiously clicking on her keyboard. Even though he was a few miles away, with the wind biting through his jacket, he could see her clearly. She’d be seated in front of her desk, a mountain of hardback kiddie books surrounding her, ponytail crooked as if she’d tightened it in frustration while mulling over the problem. Her designer clothes would look immaculate at a glance, but he’d notice the way she’d misbuttoned her blazer and kicked her heels off beneath the desk.

  “I know you wouldn’t bail,” he said, shoving off the wall with his bad hand, and wincing with the discomfort. “Listen, don’t worry about heading with me to the shelter tomorrow. That can wait.”

  “Are you sure?” She sounded relieved and disappointed at the same time. “I hate to say it, but that would help my situation. If I can find a Santa, I can drive him to the schools. You could go on without me…”

  “There’s somewhere I need to be tomorrow anyway. We’ll go another day. And listen, don’t worry about the Santa Claus thing. I know a guy that should be able to fill in. I’ll get with him and let you know in the morning.”

  “Really?” Her relief warmed him through and through. “Thanks, Nate,” she said, and was off and clicking again. “I owe you one. Well, two.”

  “Who’s counting?” He asked with a smile. Certainly not him. He’d do a helluva lot more than that for her. “Talk to you in the morning. Sleep well, Ally.”

  “You too, ‘Thaniel,” she said, using the joke nickname she’d given him when he’d first shortened hers, way back in high school.

  The soft click on the line indicated the call was through, and Nate let the cell drop to his side.

  Well, it wasn’t exactly what he’d planned for his day off, but if he was going to do it right, he needed to go home and get some shuteye.

  After all, Santy Claus was supposed to have a red nose, not red eyes from lack of sleep.

  * * *

  Allison had popped three melatonin, but barely got more than two hour’s sleep.

  It was work. She prided herself on the way she ran her business. Her plan Bs had plan Bs. But for plan B to fall through, and then plans C, D, and E to follow right the hell down the crapper?

  It was definitely making her cranky.

  At five a.m., she’d given up any hope of decent shuteye, and thrown on her workout gear. She went for a run, thankful for the copious amounts of streetlights in her neighborhood. The cold cleared her head a little, the exercise letting her think.

  Deb was out of town, so Allison had to handle the crisis all on her own. Normally, not a problem. But getting all those books to the schools was going to require more space than her Audi could accommodate. She had two options—multiple trips to and from the office, or hitting up the car rental place, first thing this morning.

  She recalculated how much was left in the budget, and with a heavy sigh, decided to hit up Enterprise. If they could get her a full-sized SUV or a minivan, she could swing everything she needed without having to zig-zag all over Dallas. It’d cut into her profits, but at this point, anything that would save the charity event was a good deal.

  Her sneakers pounded the pavement of her driveway, and she mounted her front steps with a
relieved exhale.

  There. Making a plan felt better. Now, all she had to do was hope that Nate’s connection came through, and they’d be in business.

  The shower was warm, and felt good to her energized muscles. She dried and dressed in a pair of dark-washed skinny jeans and an ivory turtleneck. Knee-high brown boots with a low heel completed the outfit, along with a few simple pieces of gold jewelry.

  If she was going to be hauling heavy boxes around all day, she wasn’t about to ruin her power suits to do it. Allison didn’t mind doing the heavy lifting herself, but she needed to be dressed for the job. She headed to the kitchen for some breakfast. Like it or not, she had to stay on top of the calorie game, or her focus would suffer. Hangry Allison was not the most efficient Allison.

  Halfway through her Greek yogurt smoothie, there was a knock on her front door.

  “What the hell?”

  She set the glass down on her marble countertop and headed toward the entryway. The peephole revealed a man on her front stoop, wearing faded jeans, a long-sleeved gray tee, and an unmistakable brown leather cowboy hat.

  The door swung open, and he looked at her with those greener-than-grass eyes and smiled.

  “What are you doing here, Nate? I’d thought you were going to call me.”

  He stepped into the foyer, his heavy black boots thumping solidly on the hardwood floors. “It’s hard to play Santa via cell connection, but if you want me to try…”

  She let the front door swing closed behind him before crossing her arms and staring him down. “Nathaniel York, exactly who is the friend you’d said you would talk to about playing Santa?”

  He gave her one of those boyish half-smiles of his. “Me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I should have known better. Come on, I’ll get you some breakfast.”

  “I don’t need—”

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand as she grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the kitchen. “Don’t argue with me. I’m not going to have you passing out with a kindergartener in your lap because of low blood sugar.”

  As they walked, she kept her grip on his arm, trying not to notice the way his muscles felt firm and hot beneath the fabric of his sleeve. Friends. She and Nate were friends. And that weird little interlude the other night hadn’t changed that fact in the slightest.

  Not even if her blood was heating, her body warming at the nearness of her very best friend.

  With Nate seated at the small oak table in the corner of her kitchen, she yanked open the fridge.

  Hmm. She glanced over at him, biting her lip.

  “What’s wrong? No sausage and eggs in there?” He laced his fingers and propped them atop his hat, stretching his impossibly long legs toward her as he leaned back.

  “Do I look like a short order cook?”

  “You aren’t the tallest woman I know, but calling you short’s a bit mean.”

  “Ha, ha,” she said dryly as she pulled out the strawberries and Greek yogurt. She began washing and cutting up fruit to throw into the blender.

  Fortunately, her one concession to domesticity was making herself breakfast every morning. A smoothie might not win her any Michelin stars, but it’d keep Nate’s belly from rumbling long enough to do the Santa book drive. Hopefully.

  The blender whirred, turning the fruit, yogurt, and other ingredients into a gooey pink liquid.

  When she set the full glass in front of Nate, he looked at her, one eyebrow hiked up.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s your breakfast,” she said, lifting his hat from his head and setting it on the countertop. “I know you don’t make a habit of eating breakfast—well, drinking it, either—but today you’re making an exception. Drink up.”

  He poked it with the straw she gave him, his nose wrinkling. Allison laughed.

  “It won’t bite, I promise.”

  Inserting the straw gingerly, he took a careful sip. Both eyebrows raised this time.

  “Damn, this is actually pretty tasty.”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?” Allison nursed the watery remains of her own smoothie.

  “Do you remember that one time you tried to cook dinner at my house? What was it, the summer after your sophomore year in college?”

  Heat climbed up her cheeks and her eyes squeezed shut at the memory. “Oh God. I’m still surprised your mother speaks to me.”

  “Momma forgave you as soon as you promised to replace that pan.”

  “I didn’t know stuff could burn so fast,” she muttered, mortification thick in her words. Nate’s laughter just made it worse.

  Allison turned her back to him and busied herself rinsing out the blender’s pitcher and her empty glass. God, she hated feeling like this. She liked to be on top of everything. Usually, if she threw enough energy and positive thinking into whatever she did, she could come out on top of it. But for some reason, cooking was a skill that remained elusive, no matter how many times she tried it.

  Even Nate’s longsuffering mother hadn’t been able to help Allison overcome that hurdle.

  Dishwater splashed her sleeve as she forcefully scrubbed at a tiny bit of dried strawberry on the lid of the pitcher.

  “Hey.” His warm, deep voice, with just a hint of Texas twang, settled around her like a warm blanket. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  The warmth of his hands on her shoulders, massaging slightly, both relaxed her and keyed up her insides.

  She let her lids close, hands in the warm soapy water as he rubbed the stress from her muscles.

  Nate. Goddamn him, why did he have to make her wonder all over again? They were just supposed to be friends, right?

  His breath brushed the skin just below her ear, and her whole body trembled.

  5

  Nate wasn't sure why he was so inclined to listen to the devil on his shoulder. But damn if the horny bastard didn’t have some swell ideas.

  Allison trembled slightly as his hands moved from her shoulders, down to her upper arms, squeezing slightly as he bent close to her neck. Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he let his breath blow across the skin just above her turtleneck.

  She didn’t move. Didn't pull away. Leaned back just a little, just enough to let him know she was allowing this.

  For now.

  He forced himself to keep his eyes open as his lips brushed her skin. God, she was so soft, so warm, smelling like vanilla and cinnamon. The silky length of her ponytail tickled his ear as he kissed her neck, pressing their bodies close together.

  His hand rested on her hip, pulling her back toward him. She arched her back slightly, pressing her soft ass into his groin.

  His groan of pleasure was half growl as she tightened her glutes, driving his erection crazy with the slight movement.

  She turned in his arms then, tangling her arms around his neck. Soapy water dripped onto his shirt, but then she was kissing him, her tongue in his mouth, his fingers digging into her ass, lifting her onto the edge of the sink, despite the protests of his bum wrist. She wrapped her legs around his hips and her hot core made his cock weep at the closeness.

  Blood surged through his veins, making it hard to hear himself think. All he could do was feel, revel in the sensation of Allison in his arms, finally, finally being able to kiss and touch and explore the woman he—

  “Wait.” She'd torn her mouth away, sliding down from the counter. “Wait.”

  Shit. He’d pushed too hard, too fast. The sting of her retreat made his heart ache just a little.

  “Sorry,” he said, hands up as if to show he was unarmed. “I didn’t mean—sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut as she pressed herself back against the sink. “It's—I—just give me a minute.”

  He stayed in that spot, not moving, barely breathing. God, he hadn’t been this hard since, well, last night.

  He was trying to go slow, but damn, it was hard. She’d responded so much, he’d hoped she was feeling the same hunger he w
as, deep down.

  Don’t rush her, man. Let her get used to the idea.

  Allison’s expression neutralized, and instead of the wary confusion he’d been seeing, when she opened her eyes again she'd schooled her features into the pleasant, professional look he was used to her wearing.

  He thought of it as her “people” face. On the job. Out in public. When she was concealing her true feelings, she wore that face.

  She wore it for others, never for him. When they were alone together, she didn’t wear that face. Only when she wanted to keep someone at arm’s length.

  This morning, he was that someone, and God, did it hurt.

  “Sorry about that,” she said with a small smile and turning back to her dishes as if nothing more momentous than a corny joke had passed between them. “Give me just a few minutes and we can head out. I’ve got to stop by the car rental place to see if they've got a minivan or an SUV. There’s no way all those books will fit in my Audi.”

  “No need to rent something. We can take my truck,” Nate said automatically, reaching for his hat. He dusted off the brim, even though there wasn’t any visible lint or dirt on the damn thing. It was just for something to do. A way to reach for normal, when nothing inside him was. He was hurt, pissed off, and had a giant case of blue balls brewing, thanks to her running hot and cold on him.

  So fucking much for being jolly old Saint Nick today.

  “Really? You don't mind?”

  “Of course not,” he said, settling his hat on his head as he sank back into the kitchen chair.

  She could have his truck. His time. His money. His back. His front. His whole damn life.

  Apparently, the only thing she didn’t want was his heart.

  * * *

  Once Nate had regained his equilibrium, and sucked up the fact that his balls were doing a damn good blueberry impression, he and Allison fell into their usual, friendly rhythm as they headed to her office and started the Santa book drive.

  The normalcy was like an itchy blanket. Warm and comforting in the most frustrating sort of way. He was torn between irritation at himself that he’d jumped the gun, and irritation with her for the mixed signals she’d been throwing his way. But none of those things were the kids’ fault, so he knuckled down and did the job he’d promised to do.