Black Flame

by Ruby Laska

  “Oh.” Jimmy looked down at the dishrag in his hand. Clearly he was uncomfortable, too. Well, obviously, because he had an unwanted dumb blonde in his kitchen. “You can clean up tomorrow. Now why don’t you show me your, er, projects, so I can get to work.”

  Deneen almost told him to forget it, especially because he was bound to think her efforts were wasted. But he was already leading the way back to his bedroom, so she hustled after him.

  Inside the room, he stopped and stared silently at the bed for several long moments. Behind him, Deneen felt more and more anxious. Did he hate what she’d done? He probably did. She must have broken some rule and offended his rigid sense of order. Plus she’d done it on his turf, in his room, mussing up his stupid boring bedspread with its hospital corners and perfectly folded bed sheets and—

  “What are those?” he asked, in a strained voice, pointing to the floor, where she’d set the centerpieces she had fashioned from bits and pieces she’d found around the ranch.

  “Oh.” She swallowed nervously. “Those are for the tables. Decorations. I wasn’t sure how many tables there were, so I made six.”

  “Six is…fine.” He took one last look and went to his dresser, grabbing a handful of clothes from the top drawer. “All right, well, I’m off to my workshop. We can load all of this into the truck in the morning. I’ll just, you know, sleep on the floor or something.”

  Was that supposed to be humor? Deneen honestly couldn’t tell, especially since he clearly hated everything she’d done. He barely glanced at it and didn’t offer her a single word of praise. Well, his mother had probably told him that if he didn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

  “I’ll put it all by the front door,” she assured him. “You’ll have your bedroom back good as new.”

  “Okay. Great. Thanks.”

  Then he was gone. A moment later she heard the front door close. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  Deneen sighed and picked up the first of the centerpieces. Okay. So, maybe they were a little unusual, she thought as she ferried it to the living room, where they could easily load it in the morning. If he hadn’t changed his mind about taking her. If she hadn’t changed her mind and tossed all of her handiwork into the fire. Maybe he was right…maybe she should have left well enough alone, and let the kids enjoy their bare-bones, man-crafted decorations.

  Maybe you should have stayed in Red Fork, said the nagging little voice in her head—which sounded maddeningly like a combination of her mother and her Aunt Ida, who’d grown up in the same hippie household and who was the only female construction foreman (“forewoman,” the voice corrected her) in Red Fork.

  Well, maybe she should have. And maybe she should have gotten an engineering degree from MIT. But she couldn’t do a thing about either one now. And she wasn’t a quitter. Or rather, she was a quitter—she’d quit every job she hadn’t been fired from—but Deneen only quit when she’d decided she was beaten.

  And, she decided as she went back for another centerpiece, she hadn’t been beaten yet. Not by the stupid frigid weather, not by this incomprehensible household where they didn’t even own a glue gun or a ribbon curler, and definitely not by one too-smart-for-his-own-good, hunky, impossible Supergeek.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jimmy slammed the door of his workshop, causing the former trailer to echo loudly. It was, after all, made of metal, having once been in the service of a long-haul trucker before Matthew gave up the gig to become the ranch’s caretaker. For a while last summer, a young aspiring singer had lived in the thing with her adolescent brother, but Chase’s girlfriend Regina was a talent scout, and she believed enough in Sherry’s talent to help her move her to Nashville where she was quickly becoming a country star. Jimmy had been fond of Sherry and Harry, but he was glad to take over their quarters.

  And never gladder than tonight, since he really, really needed to get away from the maddening woman who’d inveigled her way into his home. He stripped out of his clothes and tugged on his t-shirt and shorts. He couldn’t even use his gym, not with her doing her crazy puttering in the house. She’d probably come in and festoon it with ribbons or something. Well, Jimmy wouldn’t let that stop him—he could work out anywhere, and right now, his confused and overloaded mind definitely needed the break that would come with an elevated heart rate.

  He dropped to the floor and began pounding out a set of pushups. Sherry had covered the floor with an old rug when she lived here, but it was still freezing cold, since there was no insulation below in the trailer. Each dip burned through his biceps and brought him within inches of the ice-cold floor.

  Confound Jayne’s sister, confound Jayne, confound Matthew for having the brilliant idea of taking her away for a romantic holiday. Spending the holidays with only Zane and Cal for company might not be exactly optimal…but it was as good a way as ever to spend the time of year that Jimmy hated the most. The holidays, as far back as he could remember, meant his mother doing her best to put on a festive air without any money or time. He didn’t remember the time, before he was three years old, when his father was still alive, though his mother often paged through her photo album to show him pictures of the two of them: the elder James Mason dandling him on a knee when he was an infant, pulling him in a little red wagon, and—his favorite—standing next to a snowman his father must have built, because it was nearly seven feet tall.

  But then there had been an accident at the transformer on which his father was working, and James didn’t make it home. After that, his mother didn’t smile as much, and he spent most of his time at a babysitter’s house with a half dozen other children. School helped, but as early as second grade, a disappointed Jimmy had noticed that all the other kids were making lists for Santa while his own wishes went unanswered. Finding out who was really behind the charade only made things worse, though it explained why his Christmas gift was usually socks or underwear or occasionally a new pair of shoes, because then he had to worry about his mother who tried to put in overtime shifts every fall so she could buy a tree and a turkey.

  As glum as those holidays had been, they were nothing compared to middle school, when the Sunshiners discovered their run-down little house at the end of Dewberry Lane.

  The Sunshiners Club was the sort of small-town institution that had kept wealthy ladies busy for decades. They came several times a year with donations of hand-me-down clothes, school supplies and backpacks. And at Christmas, they brought holiday boxes brimming with a frozen turkey, cans of chicken stock and boxes of stuffing mix, and bottles of apple cider. Inevitably, there were “gifts” provided by the members. These were usually odd or chintzy, like a cheap nylon nightgown for his mother or a discount store remote control airplane that nosedived to the ground on its first flight and never flew again. His mother’s cheery display of gratitude never flagged, and she counted these gifts among her blessings when she said grace at the dinner she’d made from the donated groceries, and Jimmy never let on that he dreaded the so-called kindness of strangers.

  That was why, now that he was making more money on the rigs than he’d ever earned in his life, he had asked to be in charge of the kids’ gifts. Any donation he deemed unsuitable, whether it was too flimsy, too educational, or simply not what the kids were all hoping for this year, was quietly set aside and replaced with toys and games that he purchased himself. He’d requested cash donations instead of bags of groceries, and working with the local grocery store, had selected a standardized menu of only top-shelf ingredients. No family in Conway would receive a can of generic lentils or a dime store dart set; instead they would be able to eat just as well as any other family in town, and every child was guaranteed to receive at least one gift they really wanted. Jimmy had been feeling pretty good about tomorrow, in fact, and even the indignity of the Santa Claus costume he was required to wear hadn’t dampened his mood.

  And now this maddening woman had come along and called everything into question. Table deco
rations? For kids? But maybe they were meant for the parents. Maybe the mothers and fathers who brought their children to the brunch saw some value in the…things that Deneen had made. Jimmy, who was aware that aesthetics was the weakest of his senses, gave her points for ingenuity; the truck hubcaps that she had filled with pinecones and red berries and greenery did resemble large shiny silver bowls, and he could always put the mirrored glass ornaments back on Jayne’s Christmas tree after the brunch.

  But the rest of her preparations seemed gratuitous. Each set of plastic cutlery had been rolled up in a paper napkin, the triangle points fanned out, and tied with little bells on bows made from the ribbon she’d found in Matthew’s room. The plates had been stamped with Christmas tree designs around the edges in a shade of green that he recognized as the same color as the leftover paint from the living room. And the gifts had been festooned with ribbon fashioned into big floppy bows and anchored with the remaining ornaments from the Christmas tree. The fact that the ribbon was wired in place with copper conductive wire, and the bows were made from material that looked suspiciously like the sheets that were now missing from Jayne’s bed, was not lost on him.

  Jimmy, warmed up from the pushups, lay down on his back and began a punishing series of crunches. His skin flinched when it came in contact with the cold floor, but he stayed warm by pushing himself well past his target heart rate to deal with the confusing tangle of thoughts in his head. Replacing the copper wire was merely annoying—it cost twenty dollars per spool and had to be special ordered from a supplier in Texas—but how was he supposed to explain to the rest of the household that Deneen had appropriated their belongings for crafts projects? Jayne was probably familiar with her sister’s habits, and presumably wouldn’t hold him responsible for Deneen’s behavior. But the hoodie she’d put on under her coat was Regina’s. The scarf was Matthew’s, though he probably wouldn’t mind since Jayne had knitted it from burgundy yarn that was a little too close to pink for his taste, a fact he’d sworn his friends to secrecy. And how was Matthew going to feel about the fact that she’d driven nails into the brand new siding so she could hang swaths of greenery cut from the evergreen trees at the edge of the woods?

  Jimmy finished his crunches and put the length of iron pipe in place on the supports he’d hung from the trailer’s ceiling, back when an invention had required him to suspend heavy objects to dry. The makeshift chin-up bar wasn’t ideal, but it did the trick. After the first set of twelve, the pull-ups became satisfyingly more difficult, and he grunted with each rep.

  While struggling to reach fifty reps, Jimmy decided he might as well face the fact that all of these problems were minor compared to the biggest challenge he faced: Deneen was, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, affecting him in a way that no woman had before. He supposed it could be chalked up to a combination of pheromones—recent research indicated that humans indeed used chemicals to communicate—and the social conditioning that encouraged a healthy male to respond to a physically superb female. But he would have expected his intellect to override such an instinct. After all, he had effortlessly resisted many other pretty women after assessing their intellects and habits.

  The door opened, and there she was: Deneen, in the flesh. She looked as surprised as he was as he dropped to his feet, his arms burning from the effort of lifting himself above the bar. He was aware that he was drenched in sweat, and probably smelled unpleasant as well.

  “You’re, um…I’m sorry to interrupt your work,” she said, averting her eyes.

  “I wasn’t—that is to say, cardiovascular exercise is an excellent way to increase core body temperature,” Jimmy said, flustered.

  Staring at the floor, Deneen raised her eyebrow skeptically. “Yes, but you’re wearing a cotton shirt, which will retain moisture and put you at risk of freezing to death as soon as you stop jumping around. Also, pull-ups aren’t really the most cardiovascular exercise, they’re more of a muscle-building workout.”

  How had she ascertained the content of his shirt in the split second that she’d looked at him? Jimmy was forced to revise his opinion of her slightly. She wasn’t intellectually challenged, it seemed, but her body of knowledge was perplexing and her goals in amassing it difficult to determine.

  “Look,” she said, staring at the floor. “I only came out here because I was, uh, in your room and I saw that Santa suit and there is no way you are wearing that thing tomorrow. No kid’s going to be fooled by it—it smells like mothballs and the sleeves and legs are going to be way too short on you. Also, the fur is matted.”

  What had she been doing in his closet? Jimmy was certain he had left the closet door closed, which meant that she had opened it deliberately. Was she planning to cut up his clothes next for some decorative purpose? “I hadn’t thought much about the fit,” he conceded. “I just thought I’d put some pillows around the stomach. Are you sure the kids will notice?”

  “A smart one will.”

  She had him there, but on the other point, Jimmy stood firm. “And I guarantee you no kid is going to worry about the quality of the synthetic trim.”

  Deneen wrinkled her nose and stole a glance at him, her gaze quickly skittering over to the tool bench, the very one from which she had taken the copper wire. “You’re wrong. I would have cared very much.”

  “Well—any normal child,” he clarified.

  She looked him straight in the eye. “What? You’re calling me abnormal? Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

  Jimmy winced; she had, perhaps inadvertently, scored a direct hit. “All right, fine. One of my fellow volunteers offered me the use of her husband’s suit. She was very specific that he was my height. Maybe I could give her a call.”

  “Jimmy, the brunch is twelve hours away. We need to go pick it up now in case it needs any alterations.”

  “Even if that’s the case, I really doubt that we’d be able to find a seamstress at this hour. We're probably better off with what we’ve already got.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She dug her phone out of her pocket. “Give me the number. And the name.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Your phone’s right there,” she said, pointing to the chair, where it sat on the pile of discarded clothing.

  “Well, I should probably make the—”

  “Name.”

  Jimmy sighed. “Doris Osterhaus.”

  “Number.”

  He picked up the phone and read her the phone number from his contacts list. A moment later her face lit up in a big smile. It was remarkable—her scowl, her air of discomfort, evaporated, and she looked sweet and approachable and very, very lovely.

  Was it so awful to have to speak to him that even the prospect of conversation with an elderly stranger was preferable?

  “Hello, Mrs. Osterhaus?—How are you this evening? I’m so very sorry to interrupt you on Christmas Eve. My name is Deneen Burgess, and I’m calling because I am a friend of Jimmy Mason, and I’m helping him with preparations and it turns out that the Santa suit he was going to wear is entirely unsuitable. Jimmy said you offered to loan him yours, and—uh huh—of course—oh, that would be lovely! Oh, I’m sure we can be there in the next half hour. Jimmy just needs to—um, freshen up. Address?”

  She looked up at him, her full lips parted expectantly, her eyes bright, and it was all he could do to stammer, “I’ve got it.”

  “Jimmy says he has your address already, Mrs. Osterhaus. We’ll see you soon.” She said a pleasant goodbye and hung up the phone, then smirked triumphantly at him.

  “She’s expecting us, so hurry up,” she said. “Your body is cooling down fast in that sweaty shirt, so you might want to come inside if you don’t want to die of hypothermia.”

  She stalked out of the Tar Barn and across the yard, letting herself into the house as though she lived there.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Deneen had been doing something in the kitchen while Jimmy took a quick shower, but when he was ready to go, she was waiting by
the door.

  “I just need to stop at the grocery on the way back,” she said. “It won’t take but a minute.”

  Jimmy frowned. “I don’t think the stores will be open, will they?”

  “I already called. SaveMart stays open until eight, so you’ll need to hurry.”

  “Well, what do you need?” The snow was falling steadily, and Jimmy didn’t want to spend any more time in it than necessary. Also, Zane and Cal should have been home by now, and he was beginning to worry about them. “Maybe we’ve already got it.”

  “No, I checked. I just need a couple of things so I can rescue your cake. And you’re out of cinnamon.”

  “Rescue my…look, I know that the cake is a bit, er, unorthodox looking, but it tastes okay—I tried a piece that fell off. Besides, I don’t think cinnamon is going to help.”

  “No, the cinnamon’s not for the cake, it’s for the coffee. I always have cinnamon in my coffee on Christmas morning.”

  “Can’t you make an exception this once?”

  “No, silly, that’s the point of traditions—you never make an exception, or it wouldn’t be a tradition!”

  Jimmy considered trying to explain to Deneen that her argument didn’t make sense, then decided it might be easier simply to give in and stop by the store. “We should leave now. Road conditions will worsen as the snow accumulates.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Deneen opened the door and an icy blast of wind and snow blew into the room. She squared her shoulders and trudged out into the snow, her hands in their silly cat mittens jammed into her pockets. Jimmy would have called to her to wait, and searched the house for an extra pair of gloves, but she didn’t stop until she had clambered into the cab of his truck. A moment later she popped out again, holding the scraper. Jimmy had caught up with her by then, and tried to take it from her.

  “No, I can clear a little snow from a windshield,” Deneen said. “How hard can it be?”