Husband Needed

by Cathie Linz

“No. You’re an idiot!” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  She immediately clapped her hand to her lips with such a look of guilt that Jack had to smile.

  “No, don’t hold back,” he teased her. “Go ahead and tell me what you really think.”

  “I think you should sit down.”

  “I’ll never get used to these stupid crutches by sitting down.”

  “What’s your hurry? Didn’t the doctor tell you to take things easy for the first few days?”

  “I’ve had emergency medical training. I know what I’m doing. What are your qualifications?” he growled irritably. Willing himself past the pain wasn’t working, and the pain medication the doctor had prescribed made him too damn groggy.

  “I broke my leg once. When I was ten,” Kayla told him.

  “Oh, and I suppose that makes you an expert?”

  “Are you always this grouchy or does a broken leg bring out the worst in you?” she inquired in exasperation. Remembering that he hated anyone fussing over him, she deliberately focused her attention on unpacking the remaining groceries.

  “Very funny.”

  “Not really,” Kayla replied, opening a cabinet and finding it empty except for... She held up two plastic bags of dried beans. “Having nothing to eat in the kitchen but lentils, now that’s funny.”

  “I don’t know how they even got in the kitchen,” Jack muttered. Deciding enough time had passed to make his point—that he wasn’t a weakling who obeyed orders—he carefully made his way the three steps to the kitchen chair, hoping it didn’t look like he collapsed into it. “I hate lentils,” he said, before reaching over and snagging a clean T-shirt from the laundry basket on the kitchen table.

  “Maybe one of your girlfriends brought them for you,” Kayla said, trying not to notice the way his muscles rippled as he lifted his arms to tug the T-shirt over his head. The movement ruffled his still-damp dark hair, adding to his roguish appearance.

  “None of my girlfriends know how to cook,” Jack replied.

  “Really? You mean you weren’t attracted to them because of their culinary talents?”

  He didn’t took amused.

  Delighted to be provoking him for a change, Kayla continued. “You know, I’ve heard there’s safety in numbers, but I’ve never seen such a remarkable example of it before.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on. Misty, Mandy, Tammy, Bambi...”

  “I don’t know a Bambi,” Jack inserted, enjoying the way her blue eyes lit up with humor. He’d only seen that intense shade of blue once before, in a kitten he’d befriended as a kid. Eyes so full of life.

  “No Bambi, huh?” Kayla said. “Well, I’m sure it won’t take you long to remedy that. How can you keep them all apart with names so similar?”

  “That’s not a problem. Randi has long red hair and the biggest pair of...eyes you ever saw.”

  “Never mind.” The humor in Kayla’s eyes was replaced with a flash of something else, something he couldn’t identify. “Forget I asked.”

  “No way. The least I can do is satisfy your...curiosity.”

  “That’s all you’re gonna satisfy, buster,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “I was just talking to myself.”

  “Lonely people do that a lot, I hear.”

  “I’m not lonely,” she denied.

  “No?”

  “No. I have a daughter and I lead a very full life.”

  “Even if you’re not an exotic dancer?”

  His mocking voice sneaked under her defenses, making its way to her heart like a shot of whiskey. Not that she had much experience with whiskey. She was more the milk shake type herself.

  “I still can’t believe you ever thought that,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because. I mean, I’m not...I don’t have the right kind of body.... Never mind.”

  Jack grinned. “For what it’s worth, I think you definitely have the right kind of body. The kind I like.”

  “From the number of women who called you, it sounds as if you like all kinds of female bodies,” she tartly retorted.

  “Hey, there’s always room for one more.”

  “I don’t care for crowds.” Her voice got that prim tone again, the one that made him want to kiss her.

  “I’m not wild about crowds, either,” he murmured.

  “You couldn’t prove it by those calls.”

  “Ah, but one-on-one is always best, don’t you think so?”

  “I think this discussion has gotten way out of hand,” she declared in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

  “And here I was, thinking things were just getting interesting.... Wait a second. What’s that?” Jack demanded as she pulled a six-pack out of the grocery bag.

  “Beer.”

  “It’s not the right kind of beer. That’s not what I wrote on the list.”

  “They didn’t carry that imported brand. The liquor clerk told me this one would taste the same.”

  “Well, he lied. It doesn’t. One is ale, this is just a pale imitation.”

  “Fine—” she snatched the six-pack back from him “—I’ll pick up your imported beer tomorrow.”

  “And these aren’t the right kind of beer nuts, either,” Jack grumbled, eyeing the can he’d removed from one of the plastic bags still littering the floor. “These are honey roasted. I wanted salted.”

  “I had no idea I was dealing with such a gourmet.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “I know what I like. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I’m not the one with a problem,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Implying that I am?” he retorted,

  “You’re the one with the broken leg.”

  “What a brilliant observation.”

  She’d observed plenty of other things about him, like the way his dark hair tumbled over his forehead as it dried, the intensity of his smoky eyes, the breadth of his shoulders—swimmer’s shoulders. And then there was his mouth. When he’d grinned at her a few minutes ago, it had been like watching the sun come out. Crinkly laugh lines had suddenly appeared at the corners of his lips and his eyes. The gleam of devilish humor in his gray eyes made them seem even more awesome than usual.

  Belatedly realizing he’d caught her staring at him, she hurriedly said, “So exactly how did you break your leg?”

  “I told you, I broke it in the line of duty. You didn’t seem too interested in hearing the details this morning.”

  “That’s because you rattled me.”

  “Really?”

  “Who wouldn’t be rattled when a madman comes at them, waving a crutch and shouting like a banshee?”

  “Why do I get the feeling that there isn’t much that rattles you?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. And you still haven’t answered my question about how you broke your leg.”

  “Would you believe I broke it falling out of bed at the firehouse?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not that’s the truth.”

  “It’s one version of it.”

  “Truth doesn’t have versions.”

  “Sure it does. Ask any cop. You get three witnesses and you’ll get three different versions of the truth.”

  “So what’s your version?”

  “I got clumsy.” Fighting fire left no place for being clumsy. “Fire is a jealous taskmaster,” he murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself. “She doesn’t like it when you take your attention off her, even for a second.”

  “So fire is a female?”

  Jack nodded.

  In exasperation, she said, “Why is it that anything disastrous is female—hurricanes and now fires?”

  “Hurricanes are named after guys now,” he pointed out. “But something as beautiful and powerful as fire has to be female. She’s like a living thing that eats
...and hates. And in her eyes you’re nothing more than fuel. That’s all you are. Fuel.”

  Kayla shivered. There was just something so matter-of-fact in his voice. “How can you talk about it that way? So calmly?”

  “Because I fight fire. It’s what I do.”

  “And doing it broke your leg?”

  He shrugged. “I told you, I got clumsy. You’ve seen me on these crutches and you’ve got to agree, I’m not the most graceful guy you’ve ever seen.”

  Not the most graceful, no—but certainly the most powerful. Yet for all of his strength, she experienced this sudden need to look after him. “Did you get your cast wet when you took your shower?”

  “Nope. I put a garbage bag around it because the doc said to keep it dry.”

  “What other orders did the doctor gave you yesterday?”

  “Hey, no one gives me orders outside of the firehouse.”

  Kayla sighed. Her instincts were right. This guy definitely needed a keeper. “Meaning you probably ignored whatever orders the doctor gave you, right? That was real bright. Do you enjoy being in pain?”

  “Want me to tell you what I enjoy?” Jack countered, his gaze focused on her lush lips.

  “I already know.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded and held up a bag of corn chips. “Junk food.”

  “Among other things. Lots of other things.”

  Kayla refused to be distracted. “Did the doctor give you a prescription?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Let me guess. You didn’t get it filled, did you.”

  The look on his face said it all.

  “What is it about men that makes them so stupid?” she demanded in annoyed exasperation. “Are they born that way or is it learned behavior? I think they’re born that way,” Kayla answered herself. “It’s some sort of defective gene, the same one that makes men refuse to ask directions or read instructions.”

  “What do we need to read instructions for?”

  “To get the job done faster.”

  “There are plenty of times when slower is better,” he murmured, the look he gave her making it clear what those times were.

  “Oh, I see. So slower is better when you’re in pain from a broken leg? Sure, that makes sense. Why take medication to make you feel better, right? I mean, that would be admitting that you’re human. That once in a blue moon you might need some help. Heaven forbid that should ever happen!”

  Jack glared at her. His humor wasn’t helped by the fact that his leg was really throbbing in earnest now.

  Seeing the pain etched on his face, Kayla felt remorse for yelling at Jack, even though he did deserve it. “If you’ll give me the doctor’s prescription, I’ll go get it filled for you,” she said quietly.

  “Forget it. The stuff made me too groggy.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t even taken it yet.”

  “They gave me one at the hospital. I’ve got some over-the-counter stuff around here someplace. I’ll take a couple of those.”

  “You bet you will,” she said, spying the bottle of analgesics near the kitchen sink. “What would you like to drink with it? Water or soda?”

  “I’d say beer, if you’d gotten the right brand.”

  “You’re not supposed to drink beer when taking these,” she told him. “Where do you keep your glasses?” she asked as she searched through the cabinets.

  “I don’t have any right now. Just give me the can of soda.”

  She did.

  Jack took the pills, tilting back his head as he drank half the can in one go. He knew she was watching him. She’d been watching him since he’d gotten out of the shower. But there was a wariness in her gaze that didn’t sit well with him. Never one to beat around the bush, Jack said, “So who was the guy who gave you such a warped view of men?”

  “I don’t have a warped view of men,” she immediately denied. “If anything, I have a clearer view than most.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I was married.”

  “I guessed that much. And now you’re...?”

  “Divorced.” She reached for another bag of groceries, noting that the chocolate mint ice cream had almost melted. Normally she had a system to putting away groceries, one that involved putting away the perishables first. But Jack’s appearance, half-naked and still dripping from his shower, had flustered her.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you mean what happened?” she repeated, worrying that he’d noticed the melting ice cream and somehow guessed he was the reason for it.

  “With your marriage.”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “You’re not over him yet?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The look in your eyes. Kitten blue eyes. Ah, now they’re going all frosty. And when you laugh, they kind of shimmer.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all your girlfriends,” she declared before realizing what company that put her in. “Not that I’m one of your girlfriends,” she hurriedly clarified.

  “Not yet,” Jack murmured.

  “Not ever.” Pulling her scattered thoughts together, Kayla reached into her purse. “The bank put a rush on getting your new checks in. Until then, here are some temporary checks. The cash you wanted with your ATM card is in this envelope. And here’s the receipt for the groceries—the total was seventy-three sixteen. You can make me out a check for that.” She handed him the temporary checks, receipt and a pen.

  “How do I make it out?” he asked.

  “To Errands Unlimited. And don’t forget to call your friends back. You know, Misty and the gang....”

  “They can wait. First I’m calling Vito’s Pizza for dinner.”

  “Are you going to be okay here tonight?”

  “Why?” Jack countered. “Are you offering to stay with me?”

  “No. Misty and the gang were more than willing to come over and hold your hand.”

  He shot her a devilish smile, one that was slow and sultry. “They just have a thing for a man in a uniform.”

  “You’re not in a uniform now,” she noted with a telling look at his bare legs.

  “So you noticed.”

  “It’s hard not to,” she muttered. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “No. Are you?”

  Since she was fanning herself with the grocery receipt, she could hardly say yes. Instead she said, “I’m not the one wearing shorts.”

  “More’s the pity,” Jack replied, his gaze traveling down her legs.

  It was all Kayla could do not to tug on the hem of her skirt. The look he’d just given her made her feel as if she were wearing black fishnet stockings instead of perfectly respectable tights. “I’m leaving,” she firmly declared. “You’re clearly too stubborn to have anything happen to you, so I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own.” Not that she thought he’d be on his own very long.

  “Hey, come back tomorrow and we’ll do this again,” Jack called out after her.

  The sound of the door slamming was his only reply.

  “So, buddy, tell me again why I had to spend my morning off patching this hole in your wall? Or maybe we should start with how you put a hole in the wall in the first place,” Boomer Laudermilk told Jack the next morning. Boomer was a ten-year veteran of the Chicago Fire Department, the same as Jack, and was one of Jack’s closest friends.

  “It was a simple misunderstanding,” Jack replied.

  “Yeah, right. Like the time the captain caught you short-sheeting his bed.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Which still doesn’t tell me much.”

  “I smashed the tip of my crutch through the wallboard.”

  Boomer’s bushy, blond eyebrow lifted almost to his hairline. “In a bad mood, were you?”

  “I thought she was breaking in—”

  Boomer interrupted him. “She? You didn’t tell me there was a woman involved. Man, I shoulda guessed. There’s always a w
oman involved where you’re concerned. So what happened this time? You fall for a female cat burglar?”

  “I haven’t fallen for anyone! Certainly not a bossy errand girl named Kayla, even if she does have the best legs I’ve ever seen and incredibly big baby blue eyes that show her every emotion.”

  “Uh-oh, buddy, this doesn’t sound good.”

  “She’s got a kid,” Jack declared, as if that said it all.

  “Is that a problem?”

  Jack shrugged.

  “Don’t your parents run a day care center?” Boomer asked.

  Jack nodded.

  “Then I’d think you’d be used to kids.”

  “You’d think wrong. My folks are good with kids. Not me.”

  “So what are you going to do about this Kayla woman you’re not falling for?” Boomer asked.

  “Damned if I know.”

  Kayla was running late when she got to Jack’s apartment Thursday afternoon. It didn’t help that she’d had to stop three places before finding Jack’s stupid imported ale and the right brand of salted beer nuts. On her way out yesterday, she’d given Ernie the Doorman the rejects. Ernie had responded by smiling at her, or at least she’d assumed the slight movement at the corner of his mouth was a smile—he wasn’t exactly the demonstrative type.

  Now Jack was another matter entirely. He certainly let you know how he was feeling. She’d called a cleaning service to stop by this morning, only to have them call her back and say that Jack had thrown a fit and refused to let them in. It had taken Kayla fifteen minutes to calm down the cleaning service owner, a necessity since Kayla often worked with them. No, she was not feeling kindly toward Jack at the moment.

  And those feelings took another nosedive when she saw the note taped to his front door. It had her name on it, as well as the name of the pizza place around the corner. Apparently Jack didn’t believe in using blank paper for writing when he could make do with odds and ends.

  Along with her name, he’d written half a dozen errands for her to run—including buying a five-dollar lotto ticket, picking up the latest video releases, buying a package of men’s white jockey shorts in size thirty-four as well as a bottle of pricy perfume.

  It sounded as if the man had something special planned.

  So why did that bother her? Why should she care what he did with Misty or Mandy or any other woman? She didn’t care. It just irked her that he’d written the note as if she were a peon and he the great lord ordering her about. Not to mention her aggravation at the way he’d treated the cleaning service people this morning, after she’d gone to all that trouble to get him squeezed in. If Jack thought she was cleaning up after him, he was sadly mistaken.