by Reina Torres
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Marina Adair. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original St. Helena Vineyard Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Marina Adair, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Playing With Fire
By Reina Torres
Dedication:
Marina - I'm sure there are a thousand different ways to say 'Thank You." Different languages, flowers, poems, even interpretive dance! I wish I could offer them all to you in this moment, but they would never be enough to thank you for being the amazing person you are! Mahalo, dearest friend!
Acknowledgments:
My heartfelt gratitude to Thuy, Mel, and Carrie for your dedication and generous hearts!
And my readers! You bring such joy to me, I hope I return the favor!
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Prologue
Weddings were an occupational hazard when you lived in St. Helena. Especially when you've dated one half of the happy couple. Everyone had said what a great idea it was to go, but Roman Brady should have known better. He'd made the decision to go because his son, Matt, was best friends with Cooper. And Cooper didn't want to be the only kid at his mom’s wedding. Oh sure, there were going to be girls, but it wasn't the same thing. So there he was, dressed up in a fancy suit wishing he could have an honest to goodness drink, but he had little boys as his Plus Two.
Given the sympathetic looks from nearly everyone in the room, no one had forgotten that at one point he'd intended for it to be him at the altar with Sara, but one rainy day meeting with Trey DeLuca was all it took to cement Roman’s dancing shoes in the concrete floor of the Friend Zone.
For the most part he’d avoided the consolatory puppy dog looks from the Nonnas in the room, and there had only been a few conversations cut short as he walked by, but he was really looking forward to the magic hour when he'd take the boys to his house for their sleepover.
When they called the bouquet toss, Roman let out a sigh of relief. He remembered the basic order of things from his wedding to Kathleen. Bouquet - check. Garter - next. Cake. And then freedom!
Wait! Garter? That would be a big NO.
He moved toward the hosted bar at the back of the room. It was, so it seemed, the last bastion of the unmarried men of St. Helena, heads ducked and eyes focused on the long line of desperate-to-remain-single-men ahead. Aside from the bathroom, this was the only place to avoid the next event at the reception and not look like an anti-social schmuck.
A loud cheer erupted from the dance floor and Roman hazarded a look along with a number of other men in line. Stella was the lucky winner. Putting a big grin on her face, she marched right past her father and Velia, both armed with cameras, and stepped up beside the bride ready to suffer through the photographs, flashes popping off like paparazzi. Beside her, Sara glowed, her face alight with joy. She was almost achingly beautiful.
Roman turned back to the line, waiting for the old feelings to come back. Waiting for the tight twist in his gut when he thought about Sara. And even when the line shifted forward, some unlucky schmuck booted back out into play, he didn't feel jealousy twisting through his middle as it had just a few months before.
Sara Reed had been a good friend, she was gorgeous, and she was also a great mom. It had been the perfect idea. With one child apiece, they wouldn't get anywhere near the numbers of the TV Brady Bunch, but it would have made a perfect blended family, with both of them dedicated to the children.
Turning back to look at his table, the boys were huddled over Matt’s tablet, playing some kind of game like a strange four-armed monster. They would have been wonderful brothers, but even as he went through the list of reasons that he had given himself for pursuing Sara, he realized that there was something essential missing from his list.
Love. Deep, abiding, and passionate love. The same kind of love standing on the dance floor at that very moment.
Sara, back in Trey’s arms as some of the staff cleared the floor, was dressed in a body skimming floor-length froth of fabric. She gazed up at her brand new husband with so much love that Roman turned away.
The line moved and Roman took a step only to find himself in the pathway of Adam Baudouin. The other firefighter came up short with a broad smile that earned him a curious look from his captain.
“Aren’t you headed in the wrong direction?”
Adam shook his head. “Nope. I'm headed right for that garter toss.”
“Are you telling me something, Baudouin?”
Adam lifted a hand and waved at his aunt Lucinda in the crowd. Her beatific smile was nearly radiant. “Making my aunt happy. She threatened to find me another ’nice girl’ to take out on a first date.”
“And then?” Roman wasn't sure he liked the smile on Adam’s face.
“No worries, Cap. I have no use for a ‘nice girl.’ I'm having too much fun spending time with girls that are more naughty than nice.” That sounded more like the Adam he knew and sometimes tolerated.
“Then why,” Roman knew he would hate himself later for even asking, “are you headed for the garter toss? The guy that catches it is supposed to be next.”
“Exactly!” Adam’s smile reminded him of a satisfied animal of prey, rolling in the sunshine, contemplating his next meal. “Having that garter hanging from my finger is catnip to the ladies.”
The microphone in Chiara Ryo’s hand squealed with feedback as she announced, "Final call for the garter toss!"
Adam’s expression grew more wolf-like by the second. “Better hurry up, Roman,” he tilted his head toward the floor, “I'll even give you a fair shake.”
Roman waved him off. “I'm just fine where I am.”
With a shrug and a hard slug to Roman’s arm, Adam was off. Roman stepped one foot closer to the bar. Just a little while longer. Roman was counting the seconds until he could get out of the ballroom at the Napa Grand Hotel and get the boys tucked in their tents in his backyard. Then he’d be alone with his thoughts.
But in this case, alone might not be the best idea. The last few days, with the wedding a big red circle on his kitchen calendar, his thoughts had drifted back to the first wedding he’d participated in.
There hadn't been any photos from Finley's wedding as far as he knew, and that was fine with him. He'd been wearing the same clothes he'd put on nearly twenty-four hours before. He hadn't slept for the same amount of time and was running on steam, coffee, and mini mart munchies from a handful of gas stations between St. Helena and Las Vegas.
The bride had been simply beautiful. Her honey blonde hair falling down around her bare shoulders, her simple shift dress with lace trim at the edges would have looked plain on anyone else, but for Finley, his oldest and best friend, it only made her natural beauty glow. She'd run into his arms, happy that he'd made it in time. But that only made one of them.
Standing across the waiting room was a man in a suit that looked more suited to an office instead of a wedding chapel decorated with strands of twinkle lights. It was the first and onl
y time he'd ever set eyes on Russell Sattler, the lucky stiff that was about to marry the woman of his dreams. He'd stood there as the hostess at the chapel came out and called the 'Sattler Party.' He'd stood there with his mouth open and his mind jumbled up with all of the words he'd never been able to say. And just when he'd sucked up every last bit of his courage and taken her hand, she'd looked up at him with hope and eagerness glowing in her eyes and said the words he'd never thought he'd hear coming out of her mouth.
"Will you give me away?"
#
The DJ cued up the bump and grind music that was more at home in a burlesque club than the Napa Grand Hotel, and a round of hoots and hollers rose up from the assembled guests, and he knew that Trey was taking off Sara’s garter, enjoying every moment of their newly-wedded bliss as they played before the cameras and their assembled cadre of family and friends.
Ducking his head to blink away the memories, Roman reached into his pocket, took out a few bills from his wallet, determined to bribe the bartender to keep him out of the line of fire for as long as he could possibly manage. He’d shown up for his son and their friends, but he was about done with pretending that this was where he wanted to be.
A teasing drum roll of the music tightened the knot in his chest, and he looked around, giving a sigh of relief when he saw the distance he’d put between himself and the assembled maul of eligible bachelors on the dance floor.
The last man between him and the bar finally stepped away and Roman held up his hand, tip pressed between his fingers to make his drink order.
When the cymbals crashed the room went silent. Roman opened his mouth to order a ginger ale to soothe his upset stomach and froze. Something slithered down his fingers, to rest against the back of his hand.
The bartender’s expression was telling. The wince and sympathetic shrug happened a moment before someone clapped a hand down on his shoulder and laughed in his ear.
Lowering his hand, Roman couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Sara DeLuca’s garter dangling from his fingers. He wasn’t sure who had gathered around him to celebrate, the swimming sea of faces bobbed in the edges of his vision for a few moments until he heard Trey’s voice cutting through the buzz of noise. The happy groom slung an arm over his shoulders, determined to direct him to the dance floor for a slew of embarrassing photos at the center of the circus.
If it hadn’t been for the quick glimpse of the boys standing on their chairs cheering him on, he would have bolted for the door. Instead, he plastered an insipid grin on his face and faced the firing squad of photographers, both professional and playful, and earned himself a kiss from the bride, on his cheek, with a whispered apology in his ear.
He knew he had to make it through the cake cutting, or the rumor mill would start up again and that was the last thing he needed. But once the pictures stopped the real danger began.
Damn Adam for being right. Having the garter in his possession meant that nearly every unattached female in the vicinity suddenly had him in her sights. It didn’t matter that he’d already had a first and last date with a number of the women before. The little lacy bit in his pocket seemed to erase the past and put him right back on the market.
But he didn’t want any of them. Not the way he wanted the one person he could never have.
Chapter One
Roman pushed open the door to Stan’s Soup and Service Station at the end of his shift. Stan, the proprietor and soup god of St. Helena, set out a bowl of chili and a couple of cornbread slices at the center seat on the counter.
Lowering himself onto the stool, Roman let out a little sigh. He could smell the chili from the door and the pats of butter that Stan put on top of the cornbread were melting just enough to slide off the sides and onto the plate. “Thanks, Stan.”
The older man nodded and carried over a glass of iced water for him. “Happy to see one of my best customers.”
“If you ever revoke my counter privileges, I’m done for,” Roman joked and took a sip of the water. Long hours at the Station always made him thirsty, no matter how much he drank while he was there. Working with fire made him appreciate a good cold glass of water more than most people.
The bell above the door jingled again, but Roman didn’t move. There was always space, just like magic. Unlike most little ‘greasy spoons’ in small towns, the stools in Stan’s were spaced a good distance apart. Crowding didn't happen, even with all the broad shouldered men in St. Helena. Stan was the grandfather of one of their resident veterans and one himself, so seats accommodated everyone’s size, including the six foot three and well-muscled frame of St. Helena’s fire captain, Roman Brady.
He'd only managed to pick up a spoonful of chili when a shadow fell over his meal as someone handed a metal cup to Stan across the counter.
“Hey.”
Roman looked up as Jonah leaned his hip against the counter.
“Hello.” He picked up his spoon, scooping up some chili before setting it back into the bowl and starting again.
Stan passed the cup back to Jonah over the counter, the converted tailgate of a ‘48 Ford truck. He tried to wave off the bills that Jonah held out to him, but the sheriff tucked the bills into the tip jar and gave him a salute. Blowing over the top of the coffee, he took a little sip and sighed in satisfaction.
Roman managed to swallow the chili he’d spooned into his mouth in the interim and, when Jonah didn’t head to the door, Roman let a little bit of his irritation bleed through, and he turned on the stool to look at his old friend. “You going to sit down or just stand there.”
By the tight twist of Jonah’s lips, Roman knew he’d struck a comical note with his friend, quite the opposite of what he’d been trying to do.
“I’m just curious.”
Something dark muttered under Roman’s breath.
“I’m sorry?” Jonah leaned a few inches closer, raising a questioning brow. “What was that?”
“I said,” Roman tried to inject a little bit of humor in his voice, “that’s not the only thing you are.”
“I'm also well informed,” Jonah took another sip, “so, I’m surprised to see you here at Stan’s.”
Roman picked up his napkin and swiped it over his mouth before turning back to his bowl. “Where else would I be? It’s dinner time and Stan has the best chili this side of heaven.” He picked up his glass and raised it toward the older man before taking a sip. “And you know that Matt’s in San Diego with his grandparents.” Just the mention of it tightened his jaw the slightest bit. Matt was having a great time touring the sights with his mother’s parents. While Kathleen wasn’t big on spending time with her son, her parents really enjoyed their time with him, and even though they invited Roman to go, this was the first time he’d let Matt go on his own.
So for the last two days he’d been home, alone. There was still a long list of things that needed to be done around the house, and not having a child around was the perfect time to accomplish everything… but since he’d put Matt on the plane there hadn't been much fun eating at home.
“Besides,” he struggled to keep his tone light, “makes no sense to dirty up a bunch of pots and pans when it’s just me.”
Jonah leaned back a little, his expression taking a momentary dip into a neutral stare. “Right,” he cleared his throat, “I wasn’t exactly talking about that.”
A burst of sound like a laugh had Stan momentarily covering his mouth and offering up the explanation of “dust.”
And Jonah’s grin was back in place. “I just figured you’d know.”
Roman stared back at Jonah, wondering why he’d heard the last word as if Jonah had added ‘air quotes’ around it. “Know what, Jonah?”
The lawman shrugged and took another sip of coffee. If he kept up his pace, he’d need to pee and get another refill before he left. “I thought with all of your super powers, you’d feel a,” he looked to Stan for help, “disturbance in the Force.”
Roman sighed loudly. He'd worn a Supe
rman costume for a Mighty Mites event and some enterprising St. Helena resident with a Facebook account had posted a picture of him just when a gust of wind lifted his cape a few steps away from an antiquated telephone booth. People still joked about his ‘alter-ego.’
“You’ve got it mixed up,” ‘dumbass’ was unspoken but understood. “Superman doesn’t use the Force.”
Stan nodded, his bushy white brows raised as he nodded in agreement.
“Sure,” Jonah took another sip and considered his words. “But, I thought you had your finger on the pulse of St. Helena,” he continued on, “enough to know the comings and goings of new residents.”
“Or returning,” Stan offered from his vantage point against the wall.
“Exactly,” Jonah’s grin was comical, “like your spidey sense.”
“That’s Spiderman.”
Jonah gestured a mea culpa and took another sip. “Still, you’re going to break some hearts when people find out you’re not ‘all seeing.’”
Roman pushed his chili bowl a few inches away and turned again, his arms folded over his broad chest. “What is it, Jonah? Spit it out.”
Jonah finished the long draw from his cup and set it down on the counter. “I just thought you would have mentioned it to me,” he explained as if that answered all of Roman’s questions. “At the very least, I thought you’d go over and welcome her home. After all, it’s been years since she left.” Jonah blew out a breath as he held up a hand to stave off Roman’s question. “Hold on,” he moved around the counter and headed for the bathroom at the back, “I think I had too much to drink.”
Roman glared at his friend’s retreating back and picked up his spoon, his gaze lifting to a smiling Stan who was watching him with a mixture of interest and curiosity. “You know something, Stan?”
The older man, who some had taken to calling ‘Father Time’ shrugged, raising the shoulders of his mechanic uniform. “Oh, I know a thing or two, here and there,” he grinned, “but damned if I know if any of it would help.”
