Spontaneous Combustion

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “Good thinking.”

  “And if I know your brothers, they’ll want to interrogate him, anyway, seeing you were out with him. How about I drop a little hint in Sean’s ear that maybe he ought to invite John for Sunday dinner, get to know him a whole lot better? Takes the pressure off you that way.”

  Shannon thought it over and nodded. “Mom’s got a first class bullshit detector. I wouldn’t mind hearing what she’s got to say about him. And having somebody new for dinner at least gets her off my case for a few hours.”

  “Mary’s a worrier. I know for a fact she’s read up on every single thing that could go wrong with me and the baby.”

  “Doesn’t that make you crazy?”

  “It would if I didn’t know that she’s doing it out of love. It doesn’t bother me the way it would if it was my mother doing it. But Mom’s too involved in getting her medical degree to have time to worry about me, so it’s kind of comforting in a way that your mom does.”

  “I’d take your mom’s approach any old day.”

  “Speaking of approaches, have you considered the up close and personal one with your Forester fellow?” Linda winked at Shannon. “When you said the guy had picked you up in his arms and then fixed your foot, it sounded as if he wasn’t exactly Quasimodo, am I right?”

  “He’s nothing short of gorgeous,” Shannon confessed.

  “And while he was packing you around and fooling with your toes, you wouldn’t have left out any little detail like a kiss or two, huh? Maybe on your foot, to make it all better?”

  “How did you know? Lips, toes—I can tell you, as a kisser he’s world class. He made the nape of my neck sweat.”

  “Uh-uh, I figured something like that. Your eyes went sort of glazed there. So why not capitalize on that animal attraction and get real close to him?”

  “You mean…”

  “Yup. As close as humanly possible. Down and dirty. Naked, if that’s what it takes. That way, you can watch his every move. You said he’s on the same shift as you, so that takes care of the work part of it. Tie him up at night, either literally or otherwise, and he won’t have much time for plotting arson. Rotten work, but someone has to do it.”

  “Anything for my career,” Shannon said, making her eyes wide and putting one hand over her heart. “Thanks for the advice, Linda. And I promise I’ll take it under advisement. It’s so refreshing to deal with someone who trusts instinct over reason.”

  “Sex is their vulnerable area. Knowing that is one of our strengths as women. It’s what makes us dangerous.”

  Shannon knew they weren’t being entirely serious. But she also knew that for all sorts of reasons, getting close to John could be dangerous. Maybe not for him, but definitely for her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN SEAN O’SHEA INVITED him to his parents’ house for Sunday dinner, John came dangerously close to turning the invitation down. He’d pretty much made up his mind to keep his distance from Shannon, and tough as that was proving to be, he’d been sticking to his decision. He’d seen her at work, but he’d managed to keep things strictly professional between them.

  “This is the first Sunday in a long time that Shannon and I have both been off—we usually work alternate shifts,” Sean explained. “So the whole family will be there.”

  Meeting her extended family didn’t seem the best way to go about getting her out of his system, John thought, although there were also powerful reasons he ought to accept Sean’s invitation.

  Shannon’s brother Patrick was the mayor. Sean was a fellow firefighter, extending the brotherly hand of friendship, and unless John came up with an airtight explanation as to why he couldn’t attend, it would look downright surly to refuse.

  And what kind of excuse could he come up with, anyhow? All he had planned for Sunday was a visit to the nearest Laundromat.

  “Thanks, Sean, I’d love to come,” John said. “Sure your mother won’t mind?” He wouldn’t in his wildest nightmares consider bringing a guest home for dinner with his own mother. The idea was so ludicrous it almost made him laugh. If the guest was male, she’d do her best to seduce him. Female, and his mother would find a way to humiliate her. Naomi couldn’t abide competition, and neither could she cook.

  “Sunday dinner’s a tradition with my family,” Sean said. “Mom’s a great cook and she loves it when we bring someone new home.”

  “Give me time and place, and I’ll be there.”

  John scribbled the address down on a paper. “We eat early, around five, so come an hour or so before and meet everybody.”

  AT QUARTER PAST FOUR on Sunday, after two trips around the block to work up his courage, John finally pulled up in front of the rambling two-story frame house on one of Courage Bay’s quiet, old residential streets. He’d faced loaded guns and a switchblade with cool confidence, but the knots in his gut right now were a direct result of pure terror.

  Get over it, Johnny boy. Just go in there and act your socks off. It’s only dinner, for crying out loud. How tough can it be?

  He delayed for a moment, studying the house.

  Well cared for was what came to mind.

  The front lawn was closely trimmed, as was the box hedge. A riot of late summer flowers bloomed in neat beds, and a hanging basket by the front door spilled scarlet geraniums and white baby’s breath. Lavish blossoms that John didn’t recognize filled huge pottery planters that bordered the paving stones leading to the front door.

  What did he know about families? He’d grown up living with his mother in apartments, some not bad, but then as her drinking got worse and money became a major issue, they’d started moving from one low-rent dive to the next, until at last they were living in rat-infested dumps. He’d known he had to get through school at all costs, so he’d worked at anything he could find until he graduated.

  As soon as he started making real money, John had invested in a condo for himself and an adjoining apartment for his mother. He’d paid an astronomical amount to have both places professionally decorated, but because of his job, he was hardly ever home, anyway.

  His mother regularly hocked most of the apartment furnishings for money for booze and drugs, so he’d started using less expensive modular pieces to fill in the blanks.

  So much for his nice middle class upbringing. This whole white picket fence, American family bit was foreign to him. Few things made him nervous, but families were one of them. He had no idea how they operated.

  Well, you got yourself roped into this, so get your ass in there and pretend to have a good time.

  With the bottles of wine he’d thought to bring tucked under his arm, he made his reluctant way to the entrance and rang the bell. The door opened almost instantly—and it was apparent that the tall, heavy man balanced on the step was on his way out.

  “You must be John Forester. Come on in.” The big bald guy smiled and held out a massive hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, John set the bottles of wine on the hall runner and shook hands.

  “Pleased to meet you, John. I’m Sean’s father, Caleb. I’m just on my way to the convenience store. Been sent on an errand by the wife. She forgot to get whipping cream for the banana cream pie. Can’t have my favorite pie without cream.” He chuckled, a low, friendly rumble, and John found it easy to smile into his arresting blue eyes. So this was where Shannon and her brother had inherited those startling eyes, and also where their height came from.

  Caleb was eye to eye with John and probably fifty pounds heavier, which would put the older man at six-five and in the low-three-hundred range.

  “Mary,” he bellowed over his shoulder. “Mary, sweetheart, come and take charge of this young fellow while I get the cream.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Caleb, stop hollering.” But the reprimand was accompanied by a smile every bit as welcoming as Caleb’s had been, and the tall, big-boned woman with the halo of long, wild white curls grasped John’s hand in both of hers and held it. Here, too, he could see traces of Shannon—in her moth
er’s high cheekbones and long, graceful neck.

  “I’m Mary O’Shea, Caleb’s wife,” she introduced herself. “And of course you’re John Forester. Welcome to our noisy home, John. It’s a wonder the neighbors haven’t made us muzzle him, he’s that loud,” she said as her husband planted a noisy kiss on her cheek and headed out the door, slamming it behind him.

  “We’ll have to just wait here a minute—he’ll be back for his car keys,” Mary confided with a wink. “I’ve got them in my pocket.”

  Sure enough, the door burst open an instant later.

  “Where the hell are my—”

  “Here you go. I found them on top of the microwave this time.”

  Caleb took them with a sheepish shake of his head and left again.

  Mary laughed. John retrieved the wine and handed it to her, and she thanked him. “I love this wine. You have great taste, John. We’ll enjoy it with dinner.” She set the bottles on the small entrance table. “I’ll open them and let them breathe in a minute, but right now, come this way and meet the gang.” Holding John’s hand in one of hers, she led him down the hall and into a spacious living room that seemed filled with people and loud voices.

  A quick glance told John that Shannon wasn’t there, and he felt a sharp stab of disappointment. The fact that she would be here was the single thing about this invitation that had been appealing.

  “Hey, John, glad you made it.” Sean was standing behind a tall, beautiful lady, his arms looped around her shoulders. He kissed her cheek, released her and came over to John, drawing him into the group.

  “You’ve met Mom, and this is my wife, Linda.” His voice resonated with pride.

  John extended a hand, and Linda took it. She was a confident-looking woman, and she had a firm handshake and a wide smile.

  “Pleased to meet you, John.”

  He had the distinct impression that her astute gray eyes were doing a fast and expert assessment of everything from his clothing to his haircut and shoes.

  “Shannon told me you patched up her foot the other night.”

  Her words had a mischievous undertone, and John wondered how much else Shannon had told her. He was debating whether to ask where Shannon was when an older man appeared beside Sean. Sean slung an arm around his shoulders.

  “This is my grandpa, Brian O’Shea. We just celebrated his eighty-fifth birthday last week, and we’re trying to talk him out of learning skateboarding. Grandpa, this is John Forester, the newest member of the Courage Bay firefighting team.”

  “Good to meet you, John.” Brian’s grip could have been that of a much younger man. “These young whippersnappers just want to stop me from having any fun,” he complained. His wide smile was mischievous and young, although the heavily veined hand John held trembled slightly. “No one offered you a beer yet, young man? Got to watch this crowd—they’re territorial about their beer.”

  “Just about to give him one, Gramps.” Sean held out an icy can, and John took it gratefully as Sean indicated an older man who looked very much like Caleb. John immediately recognized the woman beside him, although they hadn’t been formally introduced.

  “This is my uncle Donald O’Shea—he’s Dad’s big brother. And this is Willow Redmond. Willow, John Forester, the new guy at the firehouse.”

  “We’ve sort of met,” Willow said with a wide and wicked smile. “Almost. Good to see you again, John. How’s it going with the reflexology?”

  “I think I need more training.” He remembered exactly how it had felt to hold Shannon’s foot against his chest, and when Willow looked at him, John could tell from the amusement dancing in her eyes that she was remembering the same scene.

  “Reflexology?” Donald frowned. “That something else you’re into, Willow?”

  She turned and put her hand on his arm, stroking it a little. “Not really, Donnie, it’s just an interesting alternative therapy.”

  “You’ll have to show me sometime,” he purred, looking at her with a fond expression.

  “Absolutely,” Willow said, winking at John, who was studying Donald O’Shea.

  Donald and his brother Caleb could be twins, they looked that much alike. Both were tall, well built and moderately overweight. They had even both chosen to shave their heads, and it suited them.

  Willow seemed impossibly fragile next to Donald, small-boned, slim and dramatically elegant. Her silver cap of hair shone; her black silk pants and matching top looked sophisticated. Silver bracelets jangled when she extended a long graceful hand, and John thought he detected the clipped syllables and rapid speech of the native New Yorker, a clue that had escaped him the other evening at Shannon’s. But then, he’d been otherwise occupied.

  Her words confirmed it. “Sean says you’re from New York, John. I’ve lived in New Jersey most of my adult life, but my family are native New Yorkers from ages back.” She smiled warmly. “What made you decide to leave the big city and come to Courage Bay?”

  He needed to be careful here. Instinct told him that this woman might trip him up if he wasn’t careful.

  “Oh, I needed a break from the city, and I saw a documentary about smoke jumpers and Courage Bay,” he said in a casual tone. “This place intrigued me, so when an opening came up in the fire department, I applied.”

  “We must get together and have a talk about the city,” Willow said. “I’ve always found that sooner or later, New Yorkers discover they know some of the same people. It’s amazing. It’s happened to me over and over.”

  John very much doubted that it would happen with him. Unless he was badly mistaken, there wasn’t a chance in a million that he and Willow Redmond’s paths had come within a mile of one another, much less crossed. All the same, he was relieved when Sean said, “And here’s the mayor, late as usual. Patrick O’Shea, John Forester.”

  Black, well-cut curls, those trademark blue eyes and a wide, engaging smile had probably helped get Patrick O’Shea elected. All the O’Shea offspring were distinctively attractive. John watched as the two brothers exchanged friendly high fives before Patrick turned and extended a hand in his direction.

  “Hello, John, welcome to Courage Bay. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  But the heartiness in his voice wasn’t matched by any warmth in his penetrating blue gaze. It was obvious Patrick O’Shea was putting John on probation, for whatever reason. How to best set him at ease? John was working on that one when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

  “Hey, Big Bad John, how’s it going?” Shannon had come up behind him, a white butcher’s apron covering her abbreviated green shift. Her face was flushed; her long legs and feet were bare. He knew the cut on her foot had healed without incident, and he noticed that she now had brazen red polish on her toes. Having her close to him had the usual effect—his heart rate increased and he had to force himself not to stare at her lips.

  “You been introduced to this whole crew?” she asked.

  “Yes, Sean did the honors, thanks.” John couldn’t stop looking at her. Her midnight hair was again pulled up into a messy, shiny knot at the crown of her head. Bits were floating around her ears and down her neck, and her blue eyes with those amazing long, curling lashes sparkled at him.

  John’s pulse picked up another several notches. God, she was beautiful.

  “Sorry I didn’t come and say hi sooner, but I was trapped in the kitchen. Mom made me stir the gravy—it’s really high maintenance.” She motioned to several brown stains on the front of the apron and wrinkled her nose. “Darn stuff spits at you, too. No gratitude whatsoever.”

  John watched her, mesmerized, as she turned her attention to Patrick. “Hello there, big bro.” She gave him a quick, hard hug and a smack on the cheek, and John noted the softening of Patrick’s expression as he held her close for an instant. These people cared deeply about one another, and they weren’t afraid to show it.

  Observing them gave him a feeling that might have been emptiness. Or maybe he was just hungry.

  “So,” Sha
nnon said to Patrick, “you and John talking politics and religion already? I’ve heard that’s the very best way to get a party going.”

  “We only just met,” Patrick said, glancing over at John with that considering look. “No time yet for controversy.”

  “Well, don’t start, because Dad’s back and Mom says dinner’s ready, so come and sit down.” She raised her hands high over her head and clapped them as she announced in a loud voice. “Dinner is served in the dining room, ladies and gentlemen. And the cook is temperamental, so don’t waste any time. Just follow me—one, two, three, march.”

  Laughing, talking, arguing, everyone did as she ordered.

  In the spacious dining room, John found himself seated between Linda and Willow. He felt a tiny stab of disappointment when Shannon, her apron gone, sat down across from him, a brother on either side of her like protective bookends. Caleb was at the head of the table and Mary at the foot.

  The long dining table, covered in snowy-white linen, was laden with a mouthwatering array of food. A standing rib roast decorated with scarlet crab apples sat in the middle, surrounded by bowls of buttery mashed potatoes, a platter of asparagus, beets and carrots, a huge ceramic bowl of green salad scattered with oranges, plus various small pots of relishes and pickles. John drew a deep breath and realized he was ravenous. Breakfast had been a very long time ago, and nervousness had made him skip lunch.

  He filled his plate as the food was passed and the wine was poured. He was about to lift his fork when Mary said, “Caleb, would you ask the blessing?”

  After a quick glance around, John bent his head along with the others, and both Linda and Willow reached over and took one of his hands in theirs.

  “We thank you for bringing friends and family together on such a beautiful afternoon,” Caleb said. “We ask your blessing on this wonderful food that Mary and Shannon have prepared for us. Thank you for bringing John and Willow to share it with us. Protect each and every one of us as we go about our daily lives, and give us peace and joy and love in our hearts. Amen.”