by Marta Perry
“Won’t Seth and your father do that?”
He shrugged. “He doesn’t listen to Seth. They’re too close in age, I guess.” He wouldn’t tell her what Dad’s reaction had been. That would just reinforce her opinion. “I’ve always looked out for the younger ones.”
He suspected she understood what he didn’t say about his father.
“Have you talked to your mother about it? She seems to have influence over Ryan.”
“No. We don’t talk to Mom about things that would make her worry.” That had always been an unwritten law in the Flanagan household.
Nolie’s eyebrows lifted. “You think she couldn’t handle it?”
“Look, we just don’t.” Annoyance sharpened his tone. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“About mothers?” She tossed the words at him. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t.”
He’d hurt her. He addressed a few unprintable adjectives to himself silently.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” She jerked a nod toward the block of apartments coming up on the right. “You want to tell me where to turn?”
“The second street.” He ought to try again to apologize, but what more could he say?
The truth was that he had to find a way to keep some barricades in place between him and Nolie. If she were angry with him—well, that just might work. Because nothing else seemed to.
Nolie glanced around the apartment’s living room while Gabe searched for something he wanted in the bedroom. Typical Spartan bachelor fare, as far as she could tell. Gabe had a wall full of CDs, a bank of electronic equipment, an exercise bike and a rowing machine.
Everything else looked like castoffs from the Flanagan house—a sofa with faded slipcovers, a rug with a worn place at one edge.
Did criticizing his decor make her feel any better? Not really. She’d told him things about herself that she’d never told anyone but Claire. And he’d turned right around and used it against her.
Well, maybe that wasn’t fair. To do him justice, Gabe probably hadn’t even been thinking about her past when he’d made that comment about mothers. He was too obsessed with the problem he felt burdened to solve.
She’d never had brothers or sisters, or at least none that she knew about. So she couldn’t really understand the responsibility he seemed to feel for them. As for his worries about Ryan—
She still thought he was wrong about Siobhan. She suspected the woman was a lot stronger than Gabe gave her credit for. In a family where the husband was so outgoing and dominant, maybe that attitude was understandable.
And maybe she ought to give him a break about what he’d said, as well. After all, the poor man hadn’t known what he was getting into when he’d probed into her childhood.
As for that kiss—well, it was definitely better not to go there.
Gabe walked back into the room, carrying a couple of books. He went to the bookshelves, clearly searching, and then pulled down some sort of manual. She glimpsed the title. Advanced Techniques in Fighting Chemical Fires. Obviously Gabe intended to make use of his time at the farm to prepare for his return to work.
He glanced at her. His blue shirt made his eyes look even bluer, and she sternly told herself to stop noticing things like that.
“So, what do you think of my place?”
She sought for something complimentary to say. “It seems very—um, utilitarian.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Bland and boring, you mean? I guess it is that. Decorating isn’t my forte.”
He had that right. “You think?”
Gabe grinned, looking around, as if seeing it through her eyes. “I figured it was past time I had a place of my own, but I never seemed to get around to fixing it up. Just stuck in what I needed.” He rested his hand on the exercise bike, as if it were an old friend.
She’d like to bring up the little matter of how the dog would fit in here, but she didn’t want to start another quarrel. Or hear him say again that he wasn’t going to need the dog. She’d save that discussion for another day.
“As long as it suits you, that’s all you need. I’d like a little more color and comfort myself, but—”
“That’s a woman for you, always wanting to fancy things up. What’s wrong with my color scheme?”
“Beige on beige is not a color scheme,” she pointed out. “It’s a lack of one.”
They were talking like casual acquaintances, and she was grateful. If they could just keep things on a nice, professional basis, having Gabe at the farm would be a lot easier.
He grinned. “You might have a point there. I could turn my sisters loose on the place. They’d have a field day.”
No girlfriend, apparently. She’d think a man as attractive as Gabe would have a flock of females willing to take on his decorating chores.
“It couldn’t hurt.”
“Ouch.” He gave the exercise bike another pat. “I think that’s it. Maybe we’d better get out before you find something else about my place to insult.”
She hesitated. “Do you want to take the exercise bike? There’s plenty of room at the cottage.”
“What about getting it there?”
“We can throw it in the back of the van. Believe me, I’ve carried bigger loads than that.”
“That’d be great, if you’re sure you don’t mind.” He slapped one palm against his jeans. “Using the bike every day would help me get the strength back in this leg.”
“Sure thing.” She reached for the bike’s handles. “I’ll take it.”
Gabe was already handing her the books. “You take these. I’ve got it.”
They gripped opposite ends of the exercise bike, frowning at each other.
“Suppose we both carry the bike,” she suggested. “It’s going to be a two-person job to get around the bend in the stairs. I can come back up for the books.”
He clearly didn’t want to admit that he needed any help, but finally good sense won out and he nodded. “Okay. But I’ll come back for the books.”
She let it go. If he was determined to climb those stairs again, it probably wouldn’t hurt him.
“All right.” She lifted the front of the bike, to discover the thing was heavier than it looked. “Ready?”
Together they maneuvered the exercise bike out into the hallway. Gabe set it down long enough to put his books on the floor and lock the apartment door. Then he hefted his end of the bike. “Let’s go.”
She’d gotten two steps down when Gabe stopped, frowning. “Maybe I’d better go first.”
“I’m fine.”
He backed up, pulling her along with him. “I’ll take point.”
She shifted the weight a little, searching for a better grip as they started down the stairs again. “Is that firefighter talk?”
He shrugged. “I guess. Or basketball. With five kids around our house, we played a lot of basketball. Terry’s got a jump shot you wouldn’t believe.”
“You’re almost to the bend,” she pointed out. “Better slow down.”
He grinned. “Getting too much for you, Lang?”
“You just hold up your share of it,” she retorted. “Watch out for—”
Her foot hit a wrinkle in the stair carpet, and she stumbled. The bike tilted, hitting the wall, and Gabe let go to grab her. They ended up pinned into the corner, the exercise bike between them.
“You okay?” Gabe ran his hand along her arm, spreading heat in its wake.
“Fine.” She wasn’t breathless. Of course not. “Sorry. My foot caught.”
“Either that, or you were looking for an excuse to throw yourself at me.”
His tone was light, as if he were determined to put that kiss into its proper perspective. She had to match his casual attitude.
“Believe me, if I wanted to do that, I’d pick a more comfortable place. You’re standing on my foot, and the handlebars are in my ribs.”
“Sorry.” He shifted position, his arm brushi
ng hers in the process.
There was that warmth again. She managed to get her breathing under control.
All right, she could do this. The fact that Gabe seemed ready to treat her as if she were one of his sisters should help.
But it was certainly a good reason to keep those fences up between them. She was definitely attracted to Gabe Flanagan, and she needed all the defenses she could get.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Nolie looked as if she really wanted an honest answer to that question. Gabe held the cottage door, letting Max go inside ahead of them.
He forced a smile. “Not too bad, considering.”
Actually, he’d hated every minute of the little shopping excursion Nolie had planned for this afternoon. She’d insisted he take Max along to the market. Insisted he say, when questioned about bringing the dog into the store, that Max was a service dog. It was that or have the dog wear a vest saying “service dog” which seemed even worse.
He’d hated it. But he’d done it, because Nolie wasn’t about to back down, and he hadn’t had a choice.
Nolie flipped the light switch, bringing the main room of the cottage to life. A greater contrast to his apartment couldn’t be imagined.
Everything was color and light. The overstuffed sofa, done in blue with yellow accents, welcomed him to relax with a book. The books were there, too, crowded onto a white-washed bookshelf. The shelves more or less matched the white wooden coffee table that looked as if it had been created from a pair of heavy wooden shutters.
An island separated the living space from an open galley kitchen, where red geraniums bloomed on the windowsills. He set the grocery bag he carried on the counter.
“I know it’s uncomfortable to speak out about the service dog at first.” Nolie began unpacking the bag. “But it gets easier, believe me.”
“You should know.”
He kept the edge of anger from his voice by sheer force of will. He would be cooperative, even conciliatory. Because before Nolie went back to the farmhouse this evening, he was going to get a commitment from her to talk to the chief. To convince him that by the time Gabe had finished this training, he’d be ready to go back to work.
He’d messed that up before, rushing the subject before he’d even begun to cooperate in Nolie’s program. Now they were at the halfway point, and he had a lot more solid foundation for making his case.
Nolie paused, hand on the countertop. “Admitting that Max is a service dog is an essential part of the process. You have to be prepared for the fact that every business won’t be as welcoming as my local market.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, just that this was an easy one. Everyone at the market knows what I do here.”
“In other words, it was a set-up.” He had to work harder this time to suppress his irritation.
“No, of course it wasn’t.” Nolie planted her fists on her hips, frowning at him. “I wasn’t trying to trick you. I simply thought you ought to have an easy experience for your first time out with the dog.”
He counted to ten. He would not tell her again that he didn’t need the dog. All that did was raise her hackles, and he wanted cooperation, not a fight.
“Well, it was that.” He nodded to Max, who was watching the unpacking process attentively. “Do you suppose he knows I have dog food in this bag?”
Her face relaxed in a smile. “That’s a sure thing.” She bent, opening one of the lower cabinets, and took out a red plastic dog dish. “Why don’t you give Max his first meal in his new home?”
He took the dish, his hand brushing hers, and suppressed the desire to let his hand linger on hers. “What do you think, Max?” He held up the dish. “Dinner?”
Max gave a short bark, as if answering in the affirmative, and his tail wagged.
“Guess that’s a yes.” He ripped open the bag of kibbles, poured them out, and set the bowl on the white tile floor of the kitchen. Max dug in.
Nolie put a quart of milk in the refrigerator. “I know your mother sent some food along for you, too, but if you’ve forgotten anything you need, just ask. My kitchen’s pretty well stocked.”
“Will do.” He folded the bag and stowed it under the sink. “The cottage is great. Did you do all this yourself?” It wasn’t just a means of getting her on his side. He wanted to know.
She nodded, glancing around the room with a look of satisfaction. “I loved doing it. This place was a tumbledown wreck when my aunt was alive.”
She moved back into the living-room area. He couldn’t let her get away until he’d brought up the crucial subject. He held up the two-liter bottle of cola he’d bought.
“Can I interest you in something to drink? We can toast the success of our project.” She wouldn’t refuse that, and she didn’t need to know that the success he had in mind was something different from her vision.
If that was surprise in her face, she masked it quickly. “Sounds good.” She sat on the sofa, pulling one of the patchwork cushions behind her.
He dropped ice in glasses, poured, and carried them to the living area, settling next to her on the sofa. He raised his glass to clink against hers. “To success.”
“Success,” she echoed.
He leaned back. “I’d have to say, this place is a lot more comfortable than my apartment.”
“Possibly because I did put a little work into it.”
“Tumbledown or not, at least your aunt left it to you.”
Her lashes swept down, hiding her eyes, and he knew he’d said something wrong.
“Not exactly.” She shrugged, staring at her glass as if fascinated by ice cubes floating in cola. “It seems my great-great-uncle didn’t entirely rely on her good judgment when it came to property.” She gave a faint smile. “By all accounts, he was a typically thrifty German farmer who held on to his land with both hands. Knowing the value of farmland in the Suffolk to Lancaster area, he left it in trust.”
It was another little piece to the puzzle of who Nolie Lang was. “Did he think she’d sell the farm and run off to Atlantic City with the proceeds?”
“No.” Her mouth clamped shut on the word, and he sensed something repressed with an effort. “She’d probably have given it away.”
Something told him not to ask what she meant by that.
“Well, you’ve done a great job with the decorating, anyway. You must have a gift. Sure you wouldn’t like to take on my place?”
She managed a smile. “I’m afraid that might be beyond even my abilities.”
He could only be relieved that they’d gotten back onto safe ground. “So, I guess I can expect to do a lot more shopping with you and Max during the next two weeks.”
“Among other things. I want you and Max to feel at ease with each other in any situation. I can’t duplicate everything you’ll run into in real life, but I’ll do my best.”
“Sounds like fun.” Two weeks in close contact with Nolie, as well as Max. He’d be better off if he could go back to thinking of her as plain.
“I do want you to continue working with Danny as much as possible.” She gave him a look that seemed a bit wary. “You’re good for him, you know. He admires you.”
He didn’t deserve any admiration. “Kids think firefighters are heroes. We’re just people doing a job.”
“Plenty of people who aren’t kids think the same.”
He shrugged, not wanting to respond.
The wariness in her face increased. “Danny really would love a chance to visit the fire station with you.”
No wonder she felt wary. Tension surged along his nerves and tightened every muscle. He wanted to slam the subject closed in her face.
But if he were able to open up to Nolie, just a little, this might work to his advantage. It could help move her to do what he wanted.
He took a breath, forcing taut muscles to relax. “I know he wants to. I wish I could say I’d take him, but I can’t. I can’t go back as a visitor. I can’t go back unless
it’s for real.”
“I understand how you feel, but—”
He swung his body to face her, reaching out to grasp her hand. “No, you don’t. Don’t you get it, Nolie? I have to have the hope of going back to hang on to. I have to.”
Nolie’s lips trembled slightly, and her hand turned to clasp his. Maybe she knew that the passion in his voice was real. “I know. I understand.”
His fingers tightened on hers as if to compel her agreement. Now was the moment. “If you understand, you’ll do something for me.”
“What?” Caution battled empathy in her voice.
“When I’ve finished the training, I want you to talk to the chief for me. Persuade him that I’ve done everything he asked, and I’m ready to go back to work. Please, Nolie. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“I’m not a doctor. I can’t give a medical judgment.” Her eyes were troubled.
“I’m not asking for that. But he’ll be impressed by your opinion.”
He watched her expressive face, reading her inner battle clearly. She wanted to help him. She wouldn’t do anything that might endanger her program.
“Please, Nolie. It might make all the difference.” His fingers caressed hers.
“All right,” she said finally. “If you haven’t had any seizures by the time your training ends, I’ll talk to the chief for you.”
He clasped both her hands in his. “Thanks. You won’t regret it.”
Her eyes darkened. “I hope not.”
He was getting her on his side. That could only work to his advantage.
And he wasn’t manipulating her, not at all. He was only asking for the truth. The fact that he’d cut down on his seizure medication wasn’t her concern. She’d already said she wasn’t capable of giving a medical opinion, so she didn’t need to know that.
He was right. So why did he feel like such a jerk?
Chapter Seven
“He’s impossible.”
