by Susan Sey
She laughed. “Welcome to the Kettle. Your first beer’s on me.”
“Thanks. What do I want?”
She studied him. “Let’s start you with a pint of the Devil’s Handmaiden and see where we end up.”
“It’s a deal.”
She turned to O’Malley. “The usual, I assume?”
“Yes, please. Thank you, India.”
The waitress sauntered off into the growing crowd and Eli said, “What do you suppose a Devil’s Handmaiden is?”
“I wouldn’t know.” O’Malley leaned back in his chair and studied Eli. “I don’t drink anymore. Haven’t for years.”
“Ah.” Eli leaned back in his own chair and studied O’Malley in return. “You mind if I ask why not?”
“If there’s a lifetime limit on alcohol, I hit my quota back in the seventies.”
Eli nodded to a tattoo he could just see peeking from a rolled back shirt sleeve. “Vietnam?”
“Spent a few years there, yeah. Then spent a few years back here trying to get there out of my brain.”
“Hit your quota in the trying?”
“Exactly.” O’Malley leaned back, folded his arms. “What are you chasing yours out with?”
“Excuse me?”
“I know who you are, Walker. I may be old but I do know how to use the internet. Plus you’d have to be dead or stupid not to recognize your name in our line of work. You were with the Silver Creek Hotshots at the Cathedral Hill fire. You’re the only guy on your entire crew who walked out of that mess, and rumor has it you had the radio and the command. Now how do you suppose a thing like that happens?”
The waitress reappeared and slid what looked like a gin and tonic onto the table in front of O’Malley. She set a glass of pale, hazy beer on the table in front of Eli.
“Careful with that one,” she said, grinning. “It’s as dangerous a blonde as you’re going to find in this town, and we’re got us some dangerous blondes.”
“Do you?” Eli murmured, his eyes on O’Malley, his chest tight and hot.
India laughed. “Just ask Peter.” She tipped her bright purple curls toward the bar where Willa’s brother was laughing and chatting with tourists, his dark eyes cold as ice. “He used to be engaged to one.” She tapped the table lightly. “Anyway, let me know how you like it.” And she swung off into the crowd once more.
O’Malley lifted his drink and inspected it in the golden sun streaming through the window. “Tonic water with a twist of lime,” he told Eli. “It makes drinkers feel more comfortable when the guy across from them gets his fizzy water in a highball glass.”
“I don’t get the feeling you’re overly concerned with my comfort here, O’Malley.”
His smile was small, calculating. “I’m not. I’m concerned about my forest and my town.”
“Bullshit. If that were the case, you’d have been doing prescribed burns yearly for the past two decades or more.”
“You’ve seen the fuel load out there. It’s a keg of TNT.”
“Exactly.”
“I inherited it in pretty much the condition you’re seeing now.”
“So why the hell haven’t you been doing something about it?”
“Have you looked at the historical weather data for the region?”
“Of course I have.”
“We’re in a serious, long-term drought. I know it’s hard to believe, what with all that water right there—” He waved a hand toward the endless expanse of Lake Superior, flirting and winking at the tourists from the tidy, picturesque harbor across the street. “—but meteorologically speaking, we’ve spent the last ten years in a water deficit. If the conditions had ever been right for a burn, I’d have called for one. But I’m not going to be the guy who drops a match in a fuel load this big and this dry. There’s no way you could control it.”
“So you’d rather wait for a lightning strike or a careless campfire? You’d rather let it go up when you’re unprepared and understaffed and every hotshot crew in the country is busy somewhere else?” Eli leaned forward, anger licking at his brain, making fists of his hands. “You really call that protecting your forest and your town?”
“At this point, there’s no protecting anything.” O’Malley spread big, helpless hands. “Only God can do that. When He decides it’s time, He’ll drop the match Himself.”
“And absolve you of the responsibility?”
“Do you really think you’re qualified to talk to me about responsibility?” O’Malley’s eyes flickered with sly triumph. “Tell me, Walker, where was this righteous sense of responsibility when your men’s lives were on the line? From what I understand, your boys were practically on top of the good black but you sent them the other way trying to impress your uncle and be a hero. Where was your abundance of caution then?”
Eli swallowed, his throat hot and dry with remembered smoke, with aching grief.
“Seems like you’re pretty free with other people’s courage but if you think you can come onto my turf and start telling me how to handle the forest I’ve lived in and loved my whole life, you’ve got another think coming.” O’Malley set down his drink and leaned forward. “And if you think you can force my hand, you’ll want to think again. Gerte’s still mostly convinced you were behind all those fires we had back in the spring. That little scene she pitched a few days ago, when she rang your bell for you in front of God and everyone? It only reminded the entire town that we still don’t know who was responsible for lighting us up like that. So if my forest happens to catch fire while you’re still here — and I don’t care if it’s a lightning strike, a campfire accident or a troop of evil Girl Scouts that starts it — everybody in town is going to look at you. And I’ll have nothing to say except that you seemed awfully anxious to see our forest on fire. What happens next will make Gerte’s face-slapping look like a day at the beach, and I happen to know that girl packs a wallop.”
O’Malley rose, tossed a five on the table.
“Time to move on, son.” He smiled unpleasantly down at Eli. “Tell your uncle I said hello, won’t you?”
Willa checked the equipment box in the bed of her truck for the seventy-fifth time and tried to tell herself she was only sweaty because it was hot. She was lying. And she knew she was lying, which only added to the mortification. She could’ve been working in an ice box and she’d have still been in a flop sweat from the underwear out.
She was going to Eli’s cabin.
Yesterday she’d told him she didn’t want him — another dirty lie. She did want him. She wanted him like she wanted her next breath but she knew better than to take him. She’d already taken more than was reasonable or safe. She knew when she’d pressed her luck far and hard enough, just like she knew that, given her druthers, she could press a lot harder and a lot farther on Eli Walker.
A hot shiver skipped across her skin that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with what she was afraid of.
She ignored it and went back to making absolutely certain that she had everything she needed to chase the mice out of Eli’s cabin. Because she had the courage to go there one more time. She had the strength for one more show, for one more convincing no. After that, she didn’t know how long her good intentions could hold.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she nearly tumbled out of the truck bed. She snatched at it with slippery hands, saw Addy’s photo on the screen and breathed through a curious mix of disappointment and relief. She swiped the screen to answer.
“Hey, Addy.”
“Hey, Willa.”
“What’s up?”
“Not much,” Addy said lightly. “I was just calling to see what you’re up to tomorrow night. Thursday.”
“Why?” Willa knew better than to admit to free time. Not when Addy was looking down the barrel of both Devil Days and her own wedding.
“Because Devil Days opens on Friday.”
“Right. So?”
“So Diego After Dark is also opening on Friday, and
you know how controversial that showing has been. We thought it would be a nice gesture to the local business owners to do a special preview for them the night before we open to the public, so they can see there’s really nothing to fuss about. I want you to come.”
“I don’t think Zinc Pest Control has any pressing interest in Diego After Dark.”
“You’re as much a member of this community as anybody else,” Addy said stoutly. “If I’m inviting them, I’m inviting you. Besides, I could use a friendly face in the crowd. Diego After Dark is the racy stuff. That’s going to be an after-hours, ticketed-admission-only event. But we’re showing something else, too.”
“Like what?”
Addy hesitated. “Remember those paintings of Diego’s I found back in the spring? The ones that Gerte was all upset that Bianca wanted to show?”
She did, actually. It would be tough to forget Addy risking her life to pull those canvases out of her burning garage. They were rumored to be works of such staggering emotion and technical brilliance that even Diego’s Angel paled in comparison. Nobody but the Davises had ever seen them but everybody in town had an opinion. Gerte was certain they were dirty, of course, while Bianca had assured everybody they were pure genius even as she conspicuously refused to remark on their content. Addy and Jax had been suspiciously close-mouthed about the whole affair, and Georgie had just floated around on her usual cloud of entitled nonchalance. Willa didn’t care about the paintings, not really, but something about Addy’s guarded attitude toward them had inclined her to believe they hadn’t said anything particularly nice about Diego’s views of marriage, love and fidelity. All of which had been wrapped up in Addy.
“I remember,” Willa said cautiously. “You rescued them from the garage fire only to have them burn down with Davis Place a couple months later.”
“As to that.” Addy cleared her throat. “There was one that didn’t burn.”
“Was there?”
“Yeah. It was called Broken. We’re hanging it right next to the Angel.”
“Like it’s the Angel’s opposite number?”
“Exactly like that.”
Willa’s gut clenched. “Why would you do that?” she asked. “Why show it? You already have a fresh collection in Diego After Dark. Why drag up whatever shit Diego put you through toward the end?”
Addy sighed. “It’s a long story, but bottom line? I took off Diego’s ring months ago. Before I can get married to Jax, I need to take off the halo, too.”
“And showing Broken will do that?”
“Big time.”
Shit. Willa hated being right.
“I really could use the backup, Willa.”
“Do Georgie and Bianca know you’re inviting me?”
“Yes. Bianca said it was as good a time as any to test drive your new peace accord. Georgie took to her bed. Said she needed to conserve her strength if she was going to make you presentable for a gallery preview.”
“Fuck me.”
“You have a very fashionable fairy godmother,” Addy told her primly. “You should embrace her.”
“Fuck her, too.”
Addy laughed, and it actually sounded genuine enough to make Willa’s discomfort worthwhile. Almost.
“Hey,” Addy said, still chuckling, “you should bring your person.”
“My person?”
“Yeah. Like a date. A plus-one? You had one just the other night, remember?”
Another hot shiver chased itself over Willa’s already super-heated skin. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Bring him. Her. Them. I don’t care. Just come.” Her voice softened. “For me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
Willa sighed. “What time?”
CHAPTER 20
ELI ROUNDED THE bend in the two-track leading through the woods to his cabin and jammed reflexively on the brakes. That was Willa’s truck in front of his cabin. Willa had come to him.
Hope soared inside him, erasing the ugly taste the confrontation with O’Malley had left in his mouth. He snatched the phone off the dash where he’d set it so he could talk hands-free.
“Ben? I’ve got to go.”
“Damn straight. Get the hell out of there. O’Malley’s come fucking unhinged. If he thinks he’s going to pin a fire on you—”
“No, I meant I have to get off the phone.” He eased his DNR-issued tuna can up to Willa’s bumper. It wouldn’t keep her from getting away if she wanted to — she’d run over this car like it was a paper bag — but it might slow her down a little. “Something’s come up.”
“Fine. But, hey, real quick. How many more supervised removals do you have to do?”
“Two.”
“Do them and get the hell out of there, Eli.”
He wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ll talk to you later, Ben.”
“You sure will.”
He hung up and headed for the cabin, a curious mix of delight and trepidation dancing around inside his rib cage. He pushed through the front door. “Willa?”
Nothing. And it wasn’t like she could hide, given that the entire interior of the cabin was visible from the front door. He stopped by the fridge, grabbed a couple of beers and stepped back outside. He rounded the corner to the back and found her on a ladder propped up against the back of the cabin, her ball cap poked up under the overhanging eave.
“There you are.”
She didn’t spare him a glance. She patted at the tool belt slung around her hips and came up with a power screwdriver. “Here I am,” she muttered through the wood screws between her lips. She picked one out, centered it and drove it home with an unfussy expertise that sent a hot ripple of interest through him. She was good with her hands. It was a damn fine quality in a human being. Finer yet in a woman who might be convinced to use those hands on him again sometime.
“What are you doing up there, Willa?”
She centered and drove home another screw. Eli shifted, uncomfortably aware that he was enjoying this a little too much. He had one, maybe two more screws until that enjoyment became visible.
“My second observed removal,” she said and zipped another screw into place. Christ. He put both beer bottles in one hand and so he could put the other in his pocket for camouflage. He was in trouble here. She slipped the screwdriver back into her tool belt — thank you, Jesus — and came down the ladder. She stood on the grass and squinted up at her work. “You should be mouse-free within the week.”
“Really?” He handed her one of the beers. She took it and slugged back a good half the bottle at one go.
“Thanks.” She pulled off her cap to swipe a sleeve over her face. “It’s hot out here.”
“No kidding,” he murmured, momentarily mesmerized by all that dark hair spilling down her t-shirt. Little wisps had escaped her ponytail and they clung to her face, to her damp neck, and Eli caught himself reaching. He wanted to touch that glowing skin with everything in him, with a hunger so vast it might break him if he didn’t grab the reins on it. He managed to abort the touch, pointed at her with his beer bottle instead. “How’d you get all that saw dust in your hair?”
“There’s sawdust in my hair?” She pulled her ponytail over one shoulder and inspected it. “Oh, wow. Yep.” She gave it a couple of brisk smacks, sending a shower of wood shavings flying and Eli mourned. He’d have taken minutes, hours to comb his fingers through that river of hair, freeing each individual shred and shaving. He’d have laid her in the grass and spread all that hair out like a blanket, followed each strand and color to its end just for the pleasure of it, and she’d chosen instead to shake it out like a wet dog. All that skill in her hands, he thought wonderingly, and she used none of it on herself.
But he kept his tone light when he said, “You built me a better mouse trap, did you?”
“You could say that.” She lifted her beer again, a sip rather than a guzzle this time, her eyes cautious on his over the bottle. “I sealed up the cracks in your foundation
and siding, then installed some one-way vents over the larger openings.”
“One-way vents?”
“Think doggie doors that only flap one way.”
“Ah. Exit only?”
“Exactly. Come on, I’ll give you the tour.” She bent, scooped up her cap and Eli took it from her. “Hey!”
He adjusted the back and snugged it onto his own head. “Payment for the beer.”
She frowned “You want my sweaty ball cap?”
“I want to see your face.”
She stiffened. “Eli—”
“What? It’s a reasonable enough request, isn’t it? To make direct eye contact with my contractor?”
“That’s not what you want.”
“What do I want then?” He stepped forward, close enough to crowd her. She smelled like warm woman and hot sun and cool, blessed peace. “Tell me what you think I want, Willa.”
She scowled at him. “You want to give me things.”
“I’ll take the beer back if it makes you nervous.” He smiled and slid the cap’s brim to the back. Stepped closer yet because he knew it wasn’t the beer making her nervous.
Her scowl deepened but she refused to back up. She had grit, his Willa. Eli approved of grit. He also approved of the way it put her boots nearly toe-to-toe with his own. The way it put her body close enough to scramble the air particles between them into a hot frenzy. The way it put her lush mouth and angry eyes perilously close to his. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“What then? The mouse nest made out of dirty socks and clean — thanks be to heaven — tampons?” He tipped his head and gazed down at her. “What, too much romance too soon?”
She flinched. It was tiny, probably imperceptible unless you were watching as closely as Eli was.
“Back off, Eli.” She gave him a bad-tempered nudge. “You’re crowding me.”
Heat streaked through him that had nothing to do with the weather. He took her beer, set it aside with his own. Stepped forward again. “I know.”
“So back off.” She did give ground this time, and her back fetched up against the cabin wall. She gave him another little shove, and the heat roared through his system like lightning, a jagged blast of brilliant desire.
