by Amy Vastine
Her eyes closed, her body sparked and shuddered. He dragged off her hat and his hands tangled in her hair, his mouth dropping to linger where her neck met her shoulder. Her lungs burned, unable to get enough oxygen. Customers out in the front parking lot burst into noisy laughter, and as leaves flew in the autumn breeze, something in her altered forever. Or changed back…
“I could kiss you every day of my life,” he murmured into her skin. “Hold you.”
“So why don’t you?”
He stroked her back. “I would if you let me.”
“I would if you saw a real future together.”
His tender expression faded and his hands stilled. “Why does that have to include a ring? Children?”
Anger rose. Regret fast on its heels. Why had she kissed him? When she spoke, her voice was thick, tremulous. “Because that’s what people do when they’re really in love.”
“Not all people.”
She tore herself away and leaned against the back wall. “Well, this one does.”
He averted his eyes and clenched his jaw. It made her want to run to him. Tell him she could compromise…but she couldn’t.
“That’s it, then,” he said, his voice low but firm.
“Right.” She yanked on her hat, pulling the brim low. “Now we’ve got that out of our system, we can focus on the dinner. We’ll just chalk it up to being caught up in the moment.”
He nodded slowly, tossed the salt containers in the trash and turned. “Soaking turkeys will do that to you every time.”
Despite herself, her mouth quirked. “Their rubbery flesh.”
“The slime.”
“It’s a real turn-on.”
His faint smile jacked up her heart rate. “How could we help ourselves?”
“Exactly. So, I’ll see you later, at the table cloth painting?”
He nodded. “I’m heading over to pick up the kids now. And don’t come near me with the giblets.” He winked then turned, speaking over his shoulder. “I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
She laughed to herself and stared at the porch door long after it’d closed behind him.
How could she act responsibly around him? Exes didn’t kiss. Or shouldn’t. She knew better.
Yet Katharine Hepburn once said that you couldn’t have fun without breaking the rules.
And it’d been a long time since she’d felt happy like this. Did she dare indulge in a no-strings flirtation with Eric while they worked together?
Everyone deserved a little love during the holidays, didn’t they? Just not the heartbreak sure to follow…
* * *
“That’s a nice, ah, pumpkin, Taylor.” Eric peered over the boy’s shoulder at the white table cloth stretched over the diner’s counter. Newspapers shifted underfoot, catching the drips as foster kids jostled each other and painted the tablecloths.
He couldn’t get over how unfazed they seemed. Despite suffering a huge loss, they argued and joked, concentrated and acted out as if their world hadn’t just burned to the ground.
Kids were much more resilient than he gave them credit for. When his mom had checked out, he and his brothers had each other. But these children held it together without any parents or siblings… Maybe he needed to adjust his thinking about their coping abilities.
“It’s a fire engine,” Hannah snapped. “Sheesh.” In her plaid shirt and loose jeans, she looked as tough as she acted.
“Right. I see it now.”
Hannah snorted. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
She balled her hands into fists and propped them on her hips. “Then where’s the ladder?”
“Umm…” Was it that brown, blobby bit?
“Psst.” Taylor cupped his hand to hide his finger from Hannah and pointed at a black streak. His large brown eyes glimmered beneath a white-blonde buzz cut.
“There it is!” Eric traced the streak triumphantly, playing along. “A ladder.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Hannah’s small mouth turned down in disapproval.
“My dad used to say that.”
“Is your dad a fireman, too?” Taylor asked.
“He was, but he died when I was very little. Hannah’s age.”
He waited for the usual sympathetic noises but heard only the slap of more paint hitting the table cloth.
“Well. At least you had a dad,” Hannah observed, her tone off-hand, as she applied black rungs to Taylor’s “ladder.”
“My mom says I don’t have one,” Taylor piped up.
“Me neither,” Hannah put in, her round cheeks puffed out farther. “Did your father ever say ‘I love you’? Sometimes I pretend I have a dad who says that.”
Eric nodded, a lump forming in his throat.
“Did he read you stories?”
Taylor jumped, splatting Eric with red paint. “I love Peter Pan.”
Eric nodded again, unable to speak. It was as if his tongue had swollen, filling the entire space within his mouth.
“Buy you ice cream?”
Taylor clutched the brush to his chest. “No one ever played catch with me. Did your dad do that?”
The backs of Eric’s eyes pricked. Yes. His father had done all that and more. “Yeah. He did.”
Hannah sighed and her shoulders drooped. “Then you’re lucky. At least somebody wanted you.”
Eric’s mouth fell open and he dragged in a quick breath. Lucky? He’d never thought of it that way, but they were right. By focusing on his father’s death, Eric had lost track of the difference his father’s life had made.
Maybe that was the real tragedy.
What if Eric’s father had decided never to have kids? A much greater loss, he saw now. Maybe he was wrong to rule out a family. A wife.
“Who wants cider?” Maggie called out. She emerged from the kitchen, a gallon jug swinging from each hand. In slim black pants, ballet flats and a white dress shirt tied at the waist, she resembled that movie star she always used to make him watch. Katherine something or other. Her idol, she’d said.
Only Maggie was much more beautiful. Vibrant. Colorful, from her hair to her bright lips. She glowed from within and drew his eye, like a brilliant gemstone catching the light.
He’d ruled out marrying for so long, but now he wondered. Was Maggie strong enough to manage if the worst happened or would she fall apart as his mother had?
CHAPTER FOUR
Maggie’s car fishtailed to a stop in front of the fire station. A steady drizzle—rain mixed with sleet—was tapping on her roof and windshield and, the instant she snapped off her defroster, it coated the glass.
She pulled up her jacket’s fleece hood then ducked outside. Cold blasted her face as she slid, shivering, across the skating rink of a parking lot to yank open the door.
Nasty, awful weather. Fall to winter…always unpredictable in the North Country.
Under the large overhead lights, two fire trucks gleamed. The smell of diesel and polished metal stung her nose. She heard muted voices overhead. Gripping a large bag of fresh cider donuts, she clomped up the steps. Boisterous men playing cards around a large table quieted when she emerged.
“Maggie James!” boomed the flushed fire chief before he fanned out what looked like a straight. The other men groaned and tossed their cards on the discard pile. “What brings you out this evening?”
Her eyes flashed to Eric, who watched her from the end of the table. His gaze was direct and steady, his expression inscrutable. Was he happy to see her? Palms sweating, she handed over the deserts to a new guy she didn’t recognize.
“Vivie and I wanted to thank you for serving the kids tomorrow.”
“Kind of you,” the chief mumbled around the half donut he’d already shoved in his mouth. “Though no thanks are necessary. We’re all in this together.”
The rest of the firemen chewed and nodded.
“Still. It’s nice of you to leave your families.”
“This is our other family,�
�� one of the veterans said, chortling. “Plus, gives us an excuse to have two meals.”
Exclamations of agreement erupted. Maggie’s gaze swerved to a silent Eric. This must be how he felt. The only family he wanted.
Though he’d said he wanted her, too…
Was that enough?
In the past, she would have said no, but after their kiss, she couldn’t shake the sense of rightness. The feeling of coming home. Was she doomed to care about the one man who was every kind of wrong for her? And how adorable had he been with the kids today?
“Here. Take my seat.” The new guy pulled out a chair. Sandy blonde hair sprang at odd angles around his handsome face, as if he’d just pulled off his helmet.
“No. I’ve got to drive out to the VFW hall. I forgot to give the kids their pilgrim hat materials.”
“Well at least warm up first,” the chief urged. “Dean here’s turned out to be quite the cook. Have a cup of chili.”
“Really. I should be—” But before she could finish, Dean shoved a steaming mug in her hand. His fingers lingered over hers. For an embarrassing moment, he simply stared at her, his smile widening.
Maggie studied the perfect symmetry of his features, his finely shaped nose, his height and strong build. Everything about him should attract her but didn’t. He lacked one thing… He wasn’t Eric.
“Are you going to spoon feed it to her, too?” Eric growled. At his thunderous expression, Dean stepped back and looked between the two of them. The rest of the crew burst out laughing.
“And what if I do?” Dean asked, his jaw jutting out. “Though I’d rather take her to dinner.” He turned and his blue eyes twinkled in a way that probably made lots of girls swoon. Just not her. “How about this weekend?”
“I—I—” she stalled, realizing it’d be stupid to turn down the first date she’d had in months. And with a gorgeous man.
Was she crazy?
She slid a sidelong glance at a narrow-eyed Eric.
No. She was just a girl head over heels in love. Six months hadn’t changed her feelings for him. Dating another guy wouldn’t help, either. She’d been wrong to let Eric go. A family alone couldn’t make her happy, or a ring. Maybe what she really wanted—needed most—was just him. Working with the foster kids proved there were other ways they could have children in their lives.
Would it be enough?
“Not happening, buddy.” Eric’s chair scraped back and he reached Maggie in a couple strides. He placed his hand on the small of her back, warm and firm.
Some of the firefighters quieted and a few whistled, the air suddenly electric as the men eyed each other.
“I’ll drive you to the VFW,” he said. “Dean and one of the other guys will bring your car back to the diner. I don’t want you out on those roads.”
She nodded and Eric gripped her hand as he pulled her down the stairs. Inside his truck, he started up the engine and turned, shadows pooling under the masculine angles of his face.
“All set?” he asked after she buckled up.
“Yes.” She nodded firmly, despite the frightening weather and the unknown path ahead of them. She trusted him. Believed in them.
One thing she knew for sure: she was miserable without Eric.
Better to have him in her life in any way possible.
Starting tonight.
* * *
“Oh, the kids will love these!” One of the foster home counselors gasped when Eric handed her Maggie’s box of pilgrim hat-shaped cutouts and other craft materials.
“I wanted the kids to make them at the diner, but the table cloth painting went too long. Then I forgot to give these to you so…” When Maggie trailed off, Eric followed her gaze to a dimly lit room where children listened to a woman reading a story.
At the wistful expression on Maggie’s face, Eric’s chest tightened. She loved kids. Had he been wrong to deny her a family? Separate himself from the only woman he’d ever loved?
And Dean.
The idiot.
There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let that guy, or any guy, date Maggie. He couldn’t catch his breath. How could he convince her to give their relationship another shot?
“Story time’s nearly over. Would you like to sit in the back and give them the materials for the hats when this activity’s done?” the counselor asked.
“I’d love to, but Eric drove me and—”
“I’d like to stay,” he cut in, earning a wide-eyed glance from Maggie.
“Great. Go on in.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Maggie whispered as they tiptoed inside the darkened room.
He reached out slowly, enfolding her hand in his. “I want to be here,” he murmured and led her to a spot behind the rapt children.
They sat in a couple of chairs, their fingers entwined. Her proximity sent his thoughts scrambling. When he breathed in her fresh scent, his chest rose and fell, as if he could take all of her in. Soul deep. Where she belonged.
“Why?” she asked without turning. In the gloom, he could make out her delicate profile and the slight tremble of her bottom lip. His pulse throbbed in his temple as he recalled the taste of her mouth on his.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
After a long gut check of a pause, where the storyteller droned on and Eric listened to his drumming heart, she said, “I don’t want to leave you, either. Ever.”
There were tears on her cheeks and he brushed them away with his thumbs. His heart ached when she turned to him, her expression open and vulnerable. Gone was the brittle veneer she’d worn around him the past two days. Instead, she looked fragile and he knew, down to his marrow, that he’d never break her heart again.
He took her face in his hands. “I should have never let you go.”
She turned her cheek in his palm and pressed a kiss to its center. “We let each other go.”
“Big mistake.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled as she grinned faintly. “Huge.”
Unable to resist, he pulled her up, out of her seat and into a smaller room in the back. With the door shut, he cupped the back of Maggie’s head and kissed her, kissed her tears away, his lips urgent against her soft skin, promising a future. He kissed her until they were both smiling and she swayed slightly in his arms.
“I can’t feel the bottoms of my feet.”
“Then I’ve done my job.” He grinned, barely able to hear himself over the blood thundering in his ears.
She gave him a cheeky salute. “Lieutenant Langley reporting for duty.”
“I live to serve my country…and you.”
Suddenly she sobered. “I want us to be together, Eric. However that is. All of those other things I thought were important… Well, they don’t mean as much as you do.”
His breath caught. Was she saying she’d give up marriage and kids for him? Deep down he knew it was too much of a sacrifice. On the other hand, was he ready to make a real commitment for her sake? His head buzzed.
“I feel the same way.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “These past six months were the loneliest of my life. I don’t want to be apart again.”
“So you’re saying…” Hope lit a match in her eyes. Made them flare and glow.
He trailed a finger along her silky cheek. “We’ll find a way to make this work. For both of us. You mean everything to me, Maggie.”
Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his and his cell phone chirped. A nature ringtone he’d programmed to alert him when his volunteer search and rescue team called.
He swore under his breath and snatched his phone from his pocket. Holding up a finger, he turned.
“Langley.”
“We’ve got a missing hiker on Whiteface,” Mitch said. He was the owner of a local rock and ice climbing business.
“How long has he been gone?”
“Ten hours.”
Eric’s hand tightened around the cell. “I’ll meet you in fifteen.”
He punched off th
e call and turned to a pale-faced Maggie.
“What’s going on?”
“Lost hiker. I’ll drop you at the diner on my way to Whiteface.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.” He stepped closer and brushed a kiss over her mouth.
“To be continued?” she murmured and threw her arms around his neck.
He pulled her close and spoke against her temple. “To be continued,” he vowed.
CHAPTER FIVE
A tinkling sound woke Maggie. Cold air curled over her skin when she threw off her quilt. Had the furnace shut off? And what time was it? She glanced at her alarm clock. Its face stared back at her blankly. With the cord still in the wall, it meant one thing: power outage.
Maggie groaned and padded to her window. Outside, crystallized water coated every surface and turned the world into an ice-sculpture of itself.
Last night’s storm must have knocked out the power, but the sun shone and the worst seemed over, thank goodness. Hopefully the roads would be passable later on. Maggie bit her lip. The foster kids deserved this dinner and she’d make it happen, even if she had to cook over an open fire.
Had Rowdy bought gasoline last month for the back-up generator?
An engine sputtered then revved, choking until it caught.
Yes.
She could always count on Rowdy.
And Eric.
She hurried to dress, her thoughts on their interrupted conversation. Her insides danced with excitement as she imagined ending the day together, planning a future, never being without him again…
But shouldn’t his pickup be here? She’d only seen Rowdy’s plough truck in the parking lot. Had Eric’s team recovered the hiker before the worst of the storm? If not, they would have called off the search but resumed it at daylight.
She snatched up her cell and frowned. The battery was dead. Maybe the landline still worked? A moment later she returned the silent handset to its cradle and sighed. She’d have to be patient. In the meantime, she had to get Thanksgiving started.
Maggie tromped downstairs, cell phone and a battery-operated charger in hand. Her breath frosted in the air as she called to Rowdy. A moment later, he appeared through the porch’s storm door.
