"Damn, I shouldn't do this."
She murmured something. A protest? His name?
It didn't matter much as soon as his mouth touched hers. It was still there, the explosive rush of desire that shook him whenever he touched her, and he shuddered inside, caught in a trap of his own making.
But Lord, she was soft and warm and sweet, he thought as his mouth demanded more. A small sound came from her throat, and then she was leaning into him, her fingers pressed tentatively against his waist.
Knowing that he would pay later and not caring, he hooked one arm around the small of her back and lifted her to her toes. She came to him willingly, her arms clinging to his shoulders now.
Through the material of his shirt, he felt the brush of her breasts against his chest, and a liquid flame ran hot and true below his belt.
He remembered her naked skin turning damp under his kisses, and he remembered sliding quickly, deeply into her. Hunger ripped him like a lash, goading him to pull her down on the rumpled sheets with him.
And then, suddenly, it came to him, like the first rush of water through a two-inch line to hit him squarely. Flames. Smoke. The sound of Pat's scream as the fiery beam hurtled toward him.
Nearly suffocating, he wrenched his mouth from hers. Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked like a sleepy cat, her eyes sheened with pleasure.
"Judd?" Her voice was soft and full of confusion, and her smile was sweetly crooked.
"The twins are probably wondering where you are."
The sweet smile died, and her eyes filled with chagrin at the reminder. "Yes, I'm sure they are."
Her cheeks reddened, and her gaze skittered away from his. He'd hurt her, and he hated it, but maybe that was for the best.
Careful not to look at her, he made himself step past her to open the door.
"Hey, Monk!" he called into the seemingly empty garage. "Round up the twins for me, will you? Ms. Kerrigan wants to leave now."
"Mrs. Fisher." Her voice sounded stiff.
"Sorry."
"Sure thing, Chief," Monkhouse called from the far end of the huge garage. Seconds later, the girls came running, each trying to be the first to reach her mother's side.
"I won!" Betsy shouted, panting like a puppy.
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
In unison the girls turned to look up at Judd.
"Hey, don't start that again, you guys."
"But, Judd!" they chorused.
"No way! I'm declaring a pact of neutrality from now on."
Betsy and Angel looked at each other, mirror images of perplexity, before turning in unison to look at him. "Ask your mother," he ordered.
He was inside with the door closed before they could start on him again. It was safer that way—for all of them.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
"And we'll put the dormer window here." Darcy marked the dusty attic floor with the toe of her sneaker. "Maybe a window seat, too, with big, squishy cushions."
For dreaming and wishing, she thought. Things kids should be doing instead of scrounging in garbage cans and begging passersby for pocket change.
"Room I can give you—at least four good-sized bedrooms and a bath, just like the floor below," contractor Grant Koch announced as he made one final notation in his small, leather-bound notebook before slipping it and his slim gold pen into the pocket of his custom-tailored suit jacket.
"Don't forget the dormer windows in each bedroom and maybe a window seat—if we can squeeze them out of the budget," she said with a hopeful smile.
"I'll have to run some numbers before I can give you a firm estimate."
"Use a sharp pencil, okay?"
Koch flashed the slow boyish grin that had opened more bedroom doors in Grantley than a skeleton key. "I'll make you a deal, Darcy. Go with me to the Frontier Days barn dance and I'll make sure you get the windows and the window seats gratis."
"Won't that make things a little awkward for dancing—you, me and your wife?"
Grant brushed cobweb from the sleeve of his jacket. "You don't get out enough, doll face. Cara left me two months ago. Accused me of tomcatting all over the county while she was stuck at home with the kids and the housework."
"Was she right?"
Grant's eyes turned sly. "What do you think?"
Darcy shook her head. "I think you'd better change your ways before you end up with a fatal disease."
"Hell, I'm no dummy. I practice safe sex." His voice lowered to his version of a sexy purr. "How about helping me practice—starting at the barn dance."
Darcy hid her revulsion behind a cool smile. She'd grown up parrying Grant's stale innuendos and ribald suggestions. "Now, Grant, we settled that a long time ago. I don't date married men."
"Separated, doll face."
"But still married."
Grant moved closer until she was enveloped in the scent of his after-shave. It was cloyingly sweet and made her think of a department store perfume counter.
And a dark shape barreling into her outside her office!
She stiffened, not really believing the sudden suspicion that had popped into her mind. Grant was certainly bulky enough to have been the intruder, but it made no sense.
A direct descendant of Colonel Francis Grantley, the town's founder, and rapidly becoming known as the most successful developer in the state, he was always in the forefront when it came to civic improvements or concerns. Everyone knew Grant, and most people liked and respected him. What earthly interest could he have in her uncle's personal mementos and papers?
Still, it was the same after-shave, no doubt about that.
Suddenly uneasy, she took a step backward, aiming for the stairwell, and at the same time said pleasantly, "Well, thanks for coming over today, Grant. As soon as you have those figures, give me a call, and we'll go over—"
"Mommy, are you up here?" It was Betsy.
Sidestepping, she turned toward the top of the attic stairs and her daughter. "I'm here, sweet—" She broke off, her breath suddenly dammed by the sight of Judd standing like a bulwark behind Bets.
He was dressed like a working fire fighter in a dark blue T-shirt adorned with the department logo, worn jeans and the trademark of Grantley County's finest, red suspenders.
The casual clothes gave him a tough, unsophisticated look, more like the lean, restless young man she remembered. She felt the familiar excitement stir inside her, the same age-old woman-for-man excitement that had kept mankind from becoming extinct.
"Are we interrupting anything important?" His voice seemed as dusty as their surroundings.
"No, nothing important. Grant and I were just going over some numbers." She remembered her manners suddenly and looked quickly from one man to the other. "Um, Judd, do you remember Grant Koch? He took over Koch and Sons Construction when his dad retired and moved to California about ten years ago. Grant, you remember Judd Calhoun, I'm sure."
Judd's gaze slid past her to the silent man at her side. He remembered, all right. They'd been in the same class in high school, although Grant was a few years younger. Popular, rich and conceited, he'd been the worst type of bully, the kind that slapped you on the back right before shoving a knee in your kidney.
"Koch," he said with a nod.
"Calhoun." The contractor's grin carried just the right amount of congeniality as he and Judd shook hands—the kind of acknowledgment a man at the top reserves for the lesser classes. "It sure is nice to see another local boy who made good."
Judd rested one hand on the ledge of his hip and allowed himself a cool smile. "Thanks."
"Of course, there are those in these parts who might hold your past against you, but I'm not one of them."
"That's good to know."
"My company took over the old fruit warehouse on Melrose, fixed it up some. Stop in and say hello next time you're in the area. I've got some fine sippin' whiskey I keep for my special friends."
"I'll keep that in mind."
&nb
sp; Grant drew in a hearty we're-all-friends-here breath, then threw Darcy another whiter than white smile.
"Be good, doll face. Like I said, this is my busiest season, but what the heck? For you, I'll get my people to put a rush on the bid."
"Fine. I'll wait for your call."
"And I will be calling, you can count on that. In the meantime, give my offer some thought. You won't be sorry, I guarantee."
On his way to the steps he stopped to pat Betsy on the head. "Ouch," the little girl complained with a sour look. "That hurts."
"Hey, don't be such a wimp, kid. Your mommy sure wasn't." Grant was chuckling as he headed down the attic stairs. Seconds later, the slamming of the front door reverberated up the stairwell.
Darcy scowled. "Cover your ears, Bets. Mommy wants to say some bad words."
Betsy giggled, then arched her neck and gave Judd a conspiratorial look. "When she's just a little mad, she says damn, but when she'd really, really mad, she says hell's bells real loud."
Judd grinned, and the stiff curve of his mouth under the thick mustache stole some of the harshness from his face. "So which is it today, Mommy?"
Darcy was still caught in the surprising sensuality of that quick grin. "Definitely hell's bells."
Betsy giggled again. "See, I told you."
Darcy ruffled her daughter's carrot-top head, then glanced toward the bottom of the stairs. "Where are Rosie and Angel?"
"Waiting on the truck, of course."
Of course? Sometimes, when she tried to communicate with her girls, Darcy felt as though she were missing a chapter or two. "What truck?"
"The big one, with the humongous white ladder that goes up and up." She shifted her attention from her mother to Judd. "Right?"
"Right. It's called an aerial ladder."
"You brought a fire truck out here, just to give the girls a ride?"
"Not exactly. The guys were already out this way on a rescue drill. I figured another stop couldn't hurt. Besides, there was this request burning a hole in my desk."
"Request?"
"From one Darcy Fisher, owner of Kerrigan Orchards, Inc. For a fire safety inspection."
Why should she be disappointed that he'd come strictly on business? Darcy wondered. She preferred it that way, didn't she?
"Which request is that?" she asked in a tart tone. "The first or the second?"
Judd glanced at the form clipped to the board in his hand. "This one's dated February 10."
"That's the second one. Uncle Mike was a little slow getting around to things like that."
Judd refrained from saying that Mike had been a little slow about a lot of things.
"So is it okay, Mommy?" Betsy asked with her most engaging grin, the one Darcy wasn't quite tough enough to resist.
"Is what okay, sweetie?" she replied, stalling.
"Going for a ride in the big truck."
It couldn't really hurt anything, Darcy told herself. After all, she'd ridden on her share of fire trucks when she'd been only a few years older than the twins. Besides, Judd was probably doing it to get her persistent little imps off his back.
Fixing her daughter with her sternest look, she said firmly, "First, I want you to promise to be on your very, very best behavior."
Betsy did her best to look solemn. "I promise."
"And make Angel and Rosie promise, too."
"Angel! Rosie! It's okay, Mommy said!" Betsy shouted as she raced down the stairs.
Judd shook his head, his ears ringing. "Keep you on your toes, do they?"
A rueful tenderness softened the suddenly cautious line of her mouth. "Sometimes I think it might have been easier if they'd been boys."
"Especially when they start dating."
"Bite your tongue."
The look she tossed him before she headed down the stairs was anything but provocative. In fact, nothing about Darcy was blatantly sexual, he decided as he followed her down.
He doubted that she'd done more than run a brush through her wash-and-wear hairdo and scrub the sleepiness from her face before heading full out into her day. If she'd put on lipstick, she'd long since nibbled it off. And as for her getup, that old shirt with the grass stains on the back and the frayed hem had to have come from a thrift shop somewhere.
Not that he minded, however, he realized as she reached the landing and turned to wait for him. The stray threads dangling halfway down her bare thighs merely served to draw, his attention to the smooth, creamy skin just beginning to tan.
A current of masculine awareness thrummed through his veins, and his reaction was immediate and visceral—a sudden quickening of his breath and tightening of his gut—reminding him forcefully that Darcy was no longer a girl of sixteen.
So why did he all of a sudden feel like a horny kid of twenty again? he wondered, and then felt the heat rising under the skin of his cheeks.
"Look familiar?" she asked when he reached the landing and paused to give the place a quick once-over.
"Very." The walls were painted a different color and the rug beneath his boots wasn't familiar, but the smell and the feel of the place were the same.
She led him to the first door on the right, knocked once and then, hearing no answer, opened the door. Neither seemed inclined to recall that it had once been Pat's.
"At the moment Prudy and Rosie Lee share this room. It's not the greatest arrangement, but right now it's the best we could do."
The room was filled with color. On the walls, on the bright bedspreads, everywhere he looked. It was a great room, a kid's dream.
His room in the parsonage had had plain furniture and sour brown walls. His one dresser had contained the Bible his father had made him study word by word every night, his folded handkerchief and a formal picture of his mother and father taken on the day his mother had been baptized into his father's church. Nothing else was allowed.
So when his father had found the girlie magazines under his mattress, he'd made Judd burn them in the fireplace and then spend the rest of the night on his knees on the cold floor praying for forgiveness.
Sometime around 4:00 a.m., when his teeth were chattering uncontrollably in the December cold and his legs were cramping, he'd sworn never to ask anyone for forgiveness again, no matter what it cost him. At the time he hadn't known just how high that cost would be.
"Problems?" Darcy asked, looking up at him with concern clouding her eyes.
He'd never had much luck hiding things from those intense blue eyes. Maybe that's one of the reasons the very thought of falling for her had had him tied in knots for so long. A smart man always held something back.
He cleared his throat. "According to the file, the wiring was updated when these rooms were remodeled."
"Yes, six years ago September."
"And the chimneys?"
"Cleaned every other year."
"Bathroom's in the same place, right?"
"Sure, although when we remodeled, we did add one on the first floor." She paused at the bathroom door to let him precede her.
He gave the place a thorough look, noting outlets and window latches. "Too bad you didn't keep the tub."
"I wanted to, but it was just about rusted through."
It had been cast iron and huge, a nineteenth-century original that had been in the house from the beginning.
Judd glanced at the sparkling white replacement. It was half the size of the old one, with shiny brass fixtures and built-in whirlpool jets. Everything was clean and neat and unfamiliar. A sense of sadness ran through him, leaving a heaviness in his gut.
"Nice," he said when he realized she was watching him closely.
"You hate it."
"It's your house."
"Mine and the bank's." She grinned ruefully. "Mostly the bank's."
Moving to the room that used to be hers, she paused to say with a grimace, "And this is the twins' room. Best watch your step."
She opened the door on chaos. Toys, clothes, even a tent made of an old blanket, left very li
ttle room to move. "Good Lord! How do you navigate through here?"
"Carefully!"
"Easy for you to say with those dainty little feet of yours." He took a cautious step, then froze as something crunched under his size twelve triple E's. "I think I'm in big trouble here."
"They both swore they'd cleaned it up."
Judd looked as though he wanted to bolt, but there was also a partially masked longing in those dark eyes, as though she had something he craved and couldn't have.
"Maybe you'd better go first," he muttered as he lifted his foot with the precision of a ballet dancer, albeit a rather intimidatingly large one. Oddly, Darcy found his awkwardness irresistibly appealing.
"No problem, I'm used to it. Only it might be a good idea if we see what just got scrunched."
Darcy hunched over the debris and rooted through the clutter. "Aha," she cried, straightening with a smashed packed of saltines held gingerly between forefinger and thumb.
"Don't you ever feed those rascals?"
"Only constantly," she muttered as she deposited the crackers on the nearest dresser, then shot Judd an intense look. "Do you smell something?"
Spying the pink wad on the bedpost, he took a stab. "Bubble gum?"
Eyes narrowed, she sniffed the air, then scowled. "Peanut butter. I thought I was missing a jar."
"Where is it, do you suppose?"
Her gaze made a quick circuit of the room. "Knowing those two, it could be anywhere. My guess, though, would be … here."
She ducked into the makeshift tent, giving Judd a glimpse of a neatly rounded tush in skimpy, hot pink shorts. He was enjoying the view immensely when she backed out and straightened.
"The evidence, Watson," she intoned with a twinkle in her eyes.
It still worked, she saw with unexpected pleasure. Take him by surprise and one of those quick boyish grins escaped before he could stop it.
"Looks like they like chunky."
"Looks like it's time for another family conference, and this time I think Mommy needs to be a bit more forceful."
The slow lifting of one eyebrow signaled his opinion of the outcome.
"Hey, I can be a tyrant when I have to be."
"I don't doubt that for a second, Red."
FIREBRAND Page 8
