by Candis Terry
She didn’t belong to him.
She’d never belong to him.
He had to get that through his thick skull.
“It’s really not an issue of trust,” she said. “And it’s not that I’m not appreciative. It’s just that . . . this is a new beginning for me. Something I’ve been working hard for. And I’ve really been looking forward to stepping up my independence. You know, doing things on my own. I’ve already asked too much of everyone.”
“I can understand and respect that. And under any other circumstances, I’d get out of your way. I just don’t know how you’re going to manage moving such heavy stuff around while balancing on those crutches.”
Her head came up just slightly, and her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug. “My grandmother always said I had a stubborn streak.”
“Then how about we don’t prove her right. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
“I just . . .” She glanced away, then brought her gaze back. “Don’t want to feel like a charity case.”
“You’re not.” He glanced around the cluttered room and found a motive that might put her a little more at ease. “Think about it. Jana paid good money to a charitable foundation for services. Consider me no different from someone who’s been hired from Angie’s List. And if you let me help you out, that just means you can get Isabella home faster.”
“Well, I would like that. I get very lonely without her.”
He knew all about loneliness. Lived and breathed it for the most part. “Then let me help.”
Pretty white teeth snagged her bottom lip again as she debated. Today, he’d sworn on a sack of grain to Jana that he wouldn’t leave without getting Fiona situated in her new house.
He didn’t take promises lightly.
Or damsels in distress.
He moved the boxes off the sofa to the floor to make a place for her to sit. When he returned to where she remained near the door, she looked up at him. She might not want to admit the need for help, but it was there all the same in those deep baby blues.
He’d seen those eyes before, only in a deeper shade of brown. His sister had thought she could handle the challenges that had presented themselves. But she’d been wrong. Her pride and obstinacy had played a huge part in her downfall. And though he could hardly compare Fiona’s situation to Avianna’s, he still couldn’t turn away.
Allowing the lady to retain her dignity and not feel so powerless was vital. So instead of expecting her to give in, he just did what he thought was necessary. He pointed to her crutches. “May I?”
“But . . .”
“Just lean your hand on my arm for stability.” He propped the crutches against the wall, then easily lifted her into his arms.
A startled gasp cleared her delicate throat. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you off your feet.” He crossed the room, remaining as conscious of her injured ankle as he was of the scent of peaches that drifted up from her warm skin. Gently, he positioned her on the sofa. Before she could protest, he placed a throw pillow beneath her head and two beneath her ankle.
Dodging stacks of boxes, he went into the kitchen, opened the freezer door, and was relieved to find several trays of ice on the top shelf. On the counter, an open box revealed some dish towels and other kitchen items. He emptied an ice tray into a towel, twisted the top, and carried it into the living room.
“You really don’t have to do this,” she protested.
“The faster I get this done, the faster you can be rid of me.” He eased the ice over her swollen ankle.
She touched his arm. Just slightly. But it was enough to send a warm vibration down his spine.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He cleared his throat and righted himself.
The tip of her tongue swept nervously across her bottom lip. His body tightened in response. And he realized, the sooner he got things done and got out of there, the better for both of them.
Swimming in bewilderment, Fiona somehow managed to remain relatively calm while the man who’d starred in her dreams for months sat beside her on the sofa. Relatively calm—in her dictionary–loosely translated to not drooling or humiliating herself. All in all, she managed a vaguely intelligent conversation.
Some men when they entered a room were barely noticeable.
For hours, as she’d watched him come in and out of the room, Mike Halsey filled the space with masculinity that stole her breath. The seductive hint of his aftershave, which whispered of citrus and clean linen, didn’t help.
Sitting side by side with him on the sofa proved to be a challenge of a different order. Because while her head throbbed, and her ankle ached, there was no stopping the hot tingles of desire that scorched other parts of her body.
For several hours, they worked as a lopsided team, with him doing all the heavy lifting. He’d bring the boxes in. One by one she’d go through them, remove the items, and instruct him where to put them. Although she did draw the line at having him tuck away her Victoria’s Secrets.
Unlike most men she knew, he took instruction well. Probably from the years he’d spent in the Army. Then again, the Wilder brothers had spent years in the Marines, and each of them was worse than the next at taking orders.
Thanks to Mike, her house now actually resembled a home and not a box factory. He’d flattened the empty containers, then stacked them out in the garage while she admired the flex of his muscles as he worked. In a box stuffed with Barbies and storybooks, they’d uncovered Izzy’s Hello Kitty boom box. Mike had turned the dial and stopped on Taylor Swift singing “All Too Well.” An anthem to lost love. Something Fiona would rather not experience again.
Then again, she’d never really had it the first time.
The doorbell rang, and Mike got up to answer it. Earlier, when her stomach had growled like a circus lion, he’d made a call and ordered pizza. When she’d tried to pay, he raised one dark eyebrow that spoke louder than words. She’d given him credit that he hadn’t even blinked when he’d asked what her favorite toppings were though she knew they were an odd combination.
While she admired his strong back and tight buns, he closed the door and came back with the pizza, sodas, and a side order of Parmesan breadsticks. Her stomach growled again. Maybe not just from a hunger for what was in that box but the entire package of man that opened the lid.
“I’m strictly a pepperoni-and-mushroom kind of guy.” He peered in at the pizza. “So I’m a little hesitant about this quirky culinary combination.”
Fiona held out her paper plate. “I guarantee you’ll never want humdrum pepperoni again.”
He slid a large slice of the barbecued chicken, artichoke hearts, and fire-roasted red pepper pizza onto her plate. The aroma danced up and tickled her taste buds, but she waited to indulge until he served himself a slice and took a bite.
“Gotta admit.” A smile lifted those masculine lips. “I thought maybe the concussion was giving you some weird cravings, but this is pretty damned good.”
“Told you.” She bit into the cheesy slice and moaned when the flavor hit her tongue. When she looked up, she found him watching her with those fathomless dark eyes, his own pizza slice frozen midair halfway to his mouth.
“Is something wrong?” She scrubbed her finger across her mouth. “Do I have cheese hanging from my lip?”
He blinked. “No cheese.”
“Chicken?”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
She grabbed a napkin and swiped. “Did I get it?”
“Yeah.” He searched her face. “You’ve got it.”
For some reason, she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about food hanging off her face.
With the exception of the country station on Izzy’s boom box, they ate in silence. Although it was rather exciting, it was also awkward sitting beside the guy she’d drooled over at the charity auction, again at her former brother-in-law’s wedding, then gone all loco in the head and asked him if he was her knight in s
hining armor at her accident. It didn’t help that he’d now seen her at her worst. But to know the only reason he was sitting there was because he’d been paying off a debt? Well, that took a whole lot of shine off the apple.
The best thing she could do was gently let him off the hook.
“I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me.” Appetite appeased, she set her pizza crust on the paper plate. “But I imagine you’ve got better things to do than babysit.”
His head came up like he’d been insulted. “Are you kicking me out?”
“Of course not. It’s just that you’ve done so much and . . . it’s getting late.”
“I apologize.” He crumpled his own pizza crust into the napkin. “I should have realized you’d be tired. A concussion takes a lot out of you. Not to mention the pain you must be in.”
When he stood, Fiona had no choice but to look way up while guilt tightened her throat. “It’s okay.”
He headed toward the door and reached for the handle. “Glad I could help.”
“Take the rest of the pizza,” she blurted out. “You paid for it.”
“Keep it. Your refrigerator is empty. At least you’ll have something for breakfast.”
She grabbed the crutches and attempted to stand quickly to see him out the door. A wave of dizziness spun through her head, and the next thing she knew his strong arms were around her, and he’d rescued her from hitting the floor.
Concern crinkled the outer corners of his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Loving the strength of all that good-smelling masculinity surrounding her, she nodded. “Just got up too fast.”
“Try to take it easy.” He eased her back down to the sofa. “Is there anything you need before I go?”
A mix of emotions burned her from the inside out as she shook her head. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. The place looks great.”
“It’s a nice place. I hope you and Isabella will enjoy it.” He flashed a smile, opened the door, then he was gone.
When she heard his engine start up and his SUV drive away, she realized her little house had seemed so much warmer, interesting, and cozy when he’d been inside.
Dangerous thoughts.
Insane thoughts.
Unreasonable thoughts.
But that didn’t stop her from thinking them.
Chapter 4
A week after Mike had helped Fiona get settled in her new house, he stood in the station workout room and settled the barbell back in the stand with a clang. The air conditioner kicked on, and he was thankful for the cool breeze blowing at the back of his neck. A little cooling off was exactly what he needed after the heated thoughts of Fiona that had run through his head during his workout.
He wondered how she was doing in the new place. He wondered if Isabella felt comfortable and safe since both her mom and dad had moved to new houses, and he knew things like that could upset children. He wondered how Fiona’s ankle was faring and if she still had the stitches in her forehead. He wondered if she’d found a new car and if she’d been able to get a start on her cupcake shop.
Most of all, he wondered when the hell he was going to stop thinking about her.
He wiped his face with a towel just as Jackson walked in. Judging by the Nike shorts and raggedy T-shirt, Crash was about to commence his own workout before they started their shift.
“Hope you didn’t leave any sweat on the equipment.” Jackson stepped up on the treadmill and programmed his run.
“Always for you, Cinderella.” Mike laughed. “I know how much you love it.”
“Smart-ass.” Jackson grinned as he started to jog.
“How’s the house coming along?”
“Almost done. Just need to finish up the paint in the extra bedroom and tile the downstairs shower. Abby’s been really patient, so I thought I’d try to wrap it all up tomorrow on my day off. It’ll be nice just to be able to kick back with my woman instead of working till I’m practically asleep on my feet.”
“She’s too good for you, you know.”
“Yeah. I tell her that all the time. Lucky for me she doesn’t listen.”
“Wedding plans still moving along?”
Jackson nodded and kicked the incline up a notch. “You’re still coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Mike slung the towel around his neck and held on to the ends with both hands. “You nervous?”
“Only that she’ll change her mind before I get her to say I do.”
“There a chance of that happening?”
“Not as long as I’m breathing. We were meant to be together. She’s seen me at my worst, and she still loves me.”
“Seriously?” Mike grinned. “Because there’s a whole lot of worst in you to be found. And I’m only saying that as someone who’s fallen through a factory roof with you and lived to talk about it.”
“Yeah. That’s not going to look so pretty on my record when I apply for a captain’s position.”
“Live and learn.” At his friend’s grimace, Mike added, “No worries. When the time comes, you’ll do great.”
“I guess sometimes you have to move past the mistakes you made in order to find what you really need. Even if those mistakes have a real good hold on your heart.”
Mike’s head snapped up. “You calling your ex-wife a mistake?”
“I’d never call Fiona a mistake.” Jackson glared. “She’s one of the best people I know. She gave me my little girl, and she’s an amazing mother. Fiona has been one of the highlights of my life. I love that woman, and I respect her.”
“Okay. Okay.” Mike put up his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“I know you didn’t.” Jackson slid him a look. “I was actually talking about you.”
“Me what?”
“Moving past mistakes you’ve made to find what you really need.”
“I’ve got everything I need.”
“Do you?”
Mike folded his arms across the front of his damp shirt. “How is it you can run like a fucking rabbit and not even breathe hard?”
“I leave the breathing-hard part for better and more satisfying things.” Jackson gave him a familiar smirk. “Nice try, buddy. But dodging the truth isn’t going to work.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Problem was, he did know. So he headed toward the door.
Jackson snagged an arm out and caught him by the sleeve. “Not so fast, Hooch.”
“You know that’s a ridiculous-ass nickname, right?”
“God, you suck at this.”
Mike almost cringed as his best friend cut right through the bullshit.
“I seem to remember a time when you wouldn’t let me off the hook,” Jackson said. “So I’m returning the favor.”
“How about you don’t, and we’ll just say you did.”
Jackson barked out a laugh. “How about you back your ass up and not run for the door like a chicken shit.”
“Get down off that treadmill, and I’ll show you who’s a chicken shit.”
Jackson’s grin grew to about two miles wide. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
“You know I don’t date.”
“Right. You just get lucky.”
Mike tried not to grimace at how derogatory yet true that statement really was. “On occasion.”
“And you’re still sticking to your ‘I don’t sleep over and neither do they’ rule?”
“If it’s not broke, why fuck it up?”
“Are you seriously going to let that ex-wife of yours ruin you for all time?”
“It has nothing to do with her,” Mike said. And it didn’t. He’d moved way past the shitstorm that had been their marriage.
Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t it?”
“Nope. So just get that crazy thought out of your head.” He threw his towel at the man.
Laughing, Jackson ducked.
But as Mike left the exercise room, he had to admit there w
as nothing funny about his reasons for locking down his heart.
Nothing funny at all.
Physical therapy had done wonders for Fiona’s ankle. The swelling was gone, as were the stitches in her forehead, and the bruise had mellowed to a nice mustard yellow.
Progress.
The loss of time, however, was giving her a good swift kick in the jeans.
By now she’d planned to have the interior of her shop painted and the cabinets installed. Instead, she stood in the middle of her yet-to-be-realized dream, directing movers where to position the display case, kitchen equipment, and supplies she’d been granted as the highest bidder at a going-out-of-business auction for a Houston cupcakery. The auction had saved her enough to be able to hire a few experts. She might not have the carpentry skills to create shelves and cupboards, but she did have the craftiness to snag several vintage chandeliers from thrift stores and transfer them into shimmery pink pieces of art.
The old Calico Café building she now leased had sat empty for several years. Mrs. Higgleby, the owner of the building, had been so happy to finally find a tenant, she’d given Fiona three months’ free rent. The monthly charge after that was reasonable, and she was grateful. But in order to start earning income to afford even that after what she’d saved up was gone, she needed to get it in gear and get the shop opened for business.
An hour later, all the furnishings and equipment were in place, and the movers had moved on. As a reward for the meager accomplishments, she locked the door and hobbled down the street to Izzy’s new day care to join her for lunch. Andi Rose, a single mom like herself, ran Little Britches, a small day care from her home. She’d come with high praise from Jana and several other locals, and after some research and checking references, Fiona felt comfortable placing her daughter in Andi’s care.
The fact that the place was within walking distance of the shop didn’t hurt. Not that Fiona considered herself a crazy, overprotective mom, but Izzy meant more to her than taking her next breath. Though tornadoes and other Mother Nature types of disasters were rare in the Hill Country, there were numerous other kid-type catastrophes lurking in the dark. Like the snapped wrists Fiona had received in the first grade after racing a friend to a brick wall behind the school, then plowing into it hands and nose first. Kids were clumsy. Knowing she could get to Izzy fast in any situation eased the worries just a little.
