“Want a cookie?” she called from the back room, drawing him out of his perusal of the foyer.
The polished hardwood floor creaked as he made his way back to the room that had always been the heart of Gram’s home. He’d done his homework on the large pine table, shared meals here with Gram and his mother most evenings, and spent hours watching Gram bake or wash dishes while they chattered about whatever was on his mind.
Olivia held out the porcelain cookie jar to him with one hand while she crunched down on a fat cookie with the other. “I promise I didn’t make them. Lila’s specialty…chocolate chip.”
He reached in the jar and took a couple cookies. “Her specialty used to be peanut butter.”
“Mmm…maybe for you,” she said around a mouthful. “I gotta have chocolate or it’s not worth the calories.”
Reyn pulled out one of the ladder-backed chairs at the table and swept his gaze around the kitchen. The appliances were new, the ones he’d paid to have installed a few Christmases ago. He’d known the thirty-year-old appliances Gram had been using were a fire hazard, and he’d ordered the switch long distance.
“So here’s what we have so far. I plan to search my attic and see if there’s more, but I haven’t had the chance yet between work and school and Lila’s surgery.” Olivia scooped a few files from the counter and laid them in front of him. Pulling out the chair next to him with a scrape, she dropped onto it.
The sweet fragrance of her perfume wafted to him, and a fist of lust tightened his gut. The simple floral scent was far sexier than the heavy designer perfumes most women he knew wore.
He tried to refocus his thoughts on the files she’d given him rather than the smooth thighs he’d glimpsed as she’d climbed in his truck. He didn’t need a distraction while he was in town. A meaningless affair with him, one destined to end badly, was not the legacy he wanted to leave any woman, and especially not his grandmother’s friend.
His break-up with Liz had taught him to be wary of casual sex. His ex-girlfriend had expected more than he could offer once they’d become lovers, and he’d hurt a good woman when he ended the relationship. He pushed aside that painful memory only to take on another. The fire that killed his mom.
He cleared his throat and flicked a quick glance at Olivia. “I was there, you know. I saw the fire. I watched the house burn, watched the men fight the flames. The house was a total loss.”
He bit down on a cookie, which should have been sweet, but flavored with his dark memories, it tasted like cardboard.
“How old were you?” she asked, scooting her chair closer.
“Ten.”
“So young. Oh God, Reyn. What a horrible thing to witness. Were you in the house when it started?” Sympathy tinged her voice, and he cringed inwardly. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.
Reyn stared at the wall across from him, seeing the smoke that poured through the windows of his childhood home again, remembering in vivid detail the taunting flames and soul-deep terror that had seized him. He struggled for a breath so he could respond. “No. I was hiding in the woods when it started.”
“Hiding?”
He nodded stiffly. Guilt flooded him, drowning him, choking the air from his lungs. “I’d run into the woods to hide from my mom. I’d gotten in trouble at school that day—again—and Principal Horton had stopped by to tell her about my latest screw up. I knew I was going to get a whippin’, so I stayed in the woods until nearly dark. I smelled the smoke, saw it from a distance and went back to investigate. The closer I got, the more scared I got, ’cause I knew it was our house burning.”
Olivia laid a cool hand on his forearm, and he glanced down at her slim, graceful fingers, the freckles dotting her ivory skin. He stared numbly as she stroked his arm. Though he registered her soothing gesture at some level, his thoughts remained focused on the horror of the day twenty years before.
“Go on,” she coaxed.
He released a deep breath in a puff. He didn’t want to go on. He’d kept his guilt and shame bottled up for so long he couldn’t talk about it now.
Even when he’d been ordered to spend several afternoons in counseling with the fire department psychologist three years ago, he’d kept it inside. After convincing the shrink that his risk-taking was due to job stress, he’d received a warning about taking unnecessary chances and several days off to decompress. But at the fire in question, he’d gotten a little boy out of an almost fully involved house, and that was what mattered to him.
Now, with his heart thundering, memories crashed down on him, and he shoved back his chair. Restless, he stalked over to the window in the back door to stare outside. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to slow his breathing to a normal pace.
“Reyn? What is it?” Olivia came up behind him and put a hand at the small of his back. “Please tell me.”
“Nothing. It was just a horrible day, and Gram doesn’t need those bad memories stirred up.”
“But—”
“No.”
“You haven’t even looked at the files yet. Don’t make up your mind until you see what my dad had found out. Things you and your grandmother were apparently never told.”
He whirled to face her and jabbed a finger toward her face. “Damn it, I don’t want to know any more! I already know what the smoke smelled like, how it choked me and made me want to throw up. I felt the flames’ searing heat from a hundred feet away. I lived every horrible minute of it, and I love my grandmother enough to spare her the details.”
Olivia’s eyes misted, and their amber depths glittered as she stared back at him. “You became a firefighter because of that day. Didn’t you?”
His breath hung in his lungs. For several seconds he said nothing, only able to stare back into her insightful gaze. Finally, with a shudder, he murmured, “Yes.”
Her expression softened with concern, and he turned away. “Don’t go jumping to any conclusions about me or over-analyzing it. I’ve always been fascinated by fire, always had a notion I’d be a fireman. That day just sealed the deal.”
“Why do I think there’s more you’re not telling me?”
He crossed the kitchen, to get distance from her knowing gaze and to buy himself time to think. And because having her close toyed with his senses. “The fire started in my bedroom. A candle I’d apparently left burning caught the curtains on fire. Case closed.”
“No. There’s more. My father was on to something before he died. It’s in his files. Read it for yourself.”
As he turned to face her again, the calendar on the opposite wall caught his attention. The firemen’s calendar he’d posed for. Open to his picture. Geez.
“My dad had suspicions about the fire being set on purpose. He apparently had evidence that there was foul play at work,” he heard Olivia say as he walked over to the calendar. “But if you have something to confess, perhaps you owe it to Lila.”
He glared at the image of himself, wishing he’d never agreed to pose for the damn picture. The proceeds might have helped a worthy cause, but the picture projected an impression he despised. He took the calendar off the wall with a huff. “I didn’t set the fire if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I wasn’t implying anything.”
“Plenty of other people accused me at the time. They knew my reputation with matches and assumed the worst.”
Olivia’s gold eyes watched him closely. Too closely. He sensed that those keen eyes saw far more than he wanted the red-haired spitfire to see. The vibrant light shining in her gaze seemed to cut through the walls he’d built, straight into his soul. The idea unnerved him.
He turned the calendar to face her. “Is this who you think I am, Olivia? Is this who Gram thinks I am?”
“What are you talking about? That is you.”
“It’s me in the picture, but it’s not real.”
Olivia crossed the kitchen, frowning. “I’ve lost you.”
Growling his frustration, he waved the calendar at her. “Th
is picture. What it says is a lie.”
She knit her russet brows and wrinkled her freckled nose. “What do you think the picture says?”
He shifted his weight and looked down at the image. His stomach pitched. “It creates this idea that I’m some kind of hot-shot stud or hero. The big, bad fireman straight out of some Hollywood version of life. It’s a fantasy image created to sell calendars.” He grimaced and tossed the calendar aside with a grunt. “What a crock.”
“Then why’d you do it? Why’d you pose?” she asked, picking up the picture and studying it closer.
“When the Firefighters Association asked me to do it, they made it sound like I’d be doing them this big favor. I knew the money was helping a good cause…the proceeds from the sales went to help burn victims…so I agreed.”
“Sounds like a good reason to me. So what’s the problem?” Her lips tugged into the sexy, lopsided smile she used so often. And like every other time he’d seen that grin today, the urge to kiss her tempting mouth kicked him in the solar plexus.
He had his work cut out for him, keeping her at bay when what he wanted was to hold her close, kiss her senseless. For her own good, he couldn’t allow her any closer, couldn’t let her expect things he couldn’t live up to. He refused to let her get hurt, no matter how tempting the thought of tangling with her in the sheets.
He gritted his teeth. “There’s no problem as long as you and Gram don’t believe that this—” he poked the picture with his finger, nearly knocking it from her hands, “—is who I really am, what I stand for. When people see this, they form expectations about me that I can’t live up to. I’m not perfect or fearless or some fantasy. And I’m for damn sure no hero.”
Olivia’s smile disappeared, replaced with a scowl. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared back at him. “You’re a hero to the people you rescue, to the people whose homes or pets you save.”
“I’m just doing my job.” He knew he was yelling but didn’t care. His body shook with frustration and the injustice of what the calendar portrayed. “I’m doing what I’m paid to do, what I’m duty-bound to do. That doesn’t make me a hero.”
“It does to me,” she said, her voice soft but firm.
“Then you’re in for a disappointment.” With effort, he matched her calm tone then stalked away. He stopped at the back door again and braced his arms on the frame. His muscles trembled, and his gut swirled with pent-up emotion, the acid bite of once-buried demons rising to haunt him again. “Ask around town if you don’t believe me. They’ll tell you what a screw-up I was as a kid. Maybe I didn’t set the fire, but I caused it. My carelessness caused it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. What if the info my father had proves someone else is involved? If someone else set the fire, don’t you want to know who and why?”
“And what if it doesn’t? What if his findings prove I was responsible? How do you think that will make Gram feel?”
Olivia stepped up beside him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Is that what’s kept you away from Clairmont all these years? Guilt?”
A shudder raced through him. How had they gotten this close to the truth? Why had he let his guard slip around her?
He stalked away from her and glared at the files on the table. “I can’t explain why your father had questions about what happened,” he said, purposely avoiding her question. “It all seems pretty cut and dried to me.”
With a deep sigh and a nod, she glanced away. “Okay. You may be right.”
The tension stretching his nerves eased a bit, and he drew a breath in relief.
Too soon.
“But we’ll never know for sure if we don’t look into it.” She clicked a fingernail against her teeth, her expression contemplative. “I think I know where we can start.”
He scowled at her. “We aren’t.”
“Oh, don’t be a mule.” She sauntered across the kitchen to him and patted his chest. “If you’d be honest with yourself, you’d admit that you want answers as badly as Lila does. You need closure. You might even be exonerated.”
“What are you planning to do?” he asked, his tone rife with suspicion.
She flashed him her flirtatious smile again and drew circles around his shirt buttons with her fingernail. The light scrape of her finger on his chest sent a crackling awareness over his skin. Like heat lightning, dancing from one cloud to another on a summer evening, his every nerve ending came alive as desire streaked through him.
“Leave the details to me. Just read through my dad’s file tonight and meet me at Burdeaux’s Diner for breakfast tomorrow morning at seven.”
“I’m not up at seven,” he countered, even though he knew he’d meet her at four a.m. in the bayou if she asked him.
“Suit yourself,” she returned and flounced by him. “I’ll do this alone then.”
“Like hell you will.”
As she left the kitchen, she gave him a satisfied smile that said she knew she’d gotten her way. He followed her to the front door, where she paused to sling her purse strap over her shoulder. Rising on her toes, she startled him with a peck on the cheek. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Reyn. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”
“Don’t you want a ride back to your car?”
“Naw, I just live through the woods about a half mile. I’ll walk home.” Olivia bounced down the front steps and strolled out into the midday sun. The bright beams set her hair ablaze, and heat flared in Reyn’s blood.
She turned and shielded her eyes to look up at him on the porch. “I’ll ride with Hank to the diner and get my car after breakfast. The church is about a block from Burdeaux’s.”
Hank? Something sharp-edged twisted inside him, something he refused to call jealousy. Hank could easily be a brother, an elderly neighbor, even the school bus driver. And he wouldn’t voice his questions and let her know he’d cared enough to wonder.
“Bye,” she called cheerfully as she jogged off toward the woods at the side of Gram’s property.
A rare summer breeze stirred the humid air, carrying her light floral scent up to him like a parting gift. He sucked in a deep whiff, filling his lungs with the intoxicating aroma and savoring it. By doing so, he held onto her essence, her vibrancy for another moment after she disappeared into the line of trees.
She’d been a pleasant surprise for him today. Perhaps his time in town, while arranging for Gram’s care, wouldn’t be as bad as he’d imagined. At least, it wouldn’t be if he could dissuade Gram and Olivia from pursuing their mission to dig up the past. His memories of his mother and the fire were hard enough to deal with without parading them out for public scrutiny. Gram’s request for answers was a tailor-made nightmare.
When nothing was left outside but the glaring sun and stifling heat, he walked back inside Gram’s house. The dimly lit rooms seemed lonely without Olivia there. And quiet. Too quiet.
Sitting at the table, he opened one of the files and scanned the first page. The handwritten note on top read, “Coroner’s report on Claire Erikson lists smoke inhalation as cause of death. No explanation of other findings. Look into inconsistencies.”
Reyn slapped the folder closed again and fought a wave of nausea. He couldn’t do it. Damn it, he couldn’t stand to relive the nightmare he worked so hard to put behind him.
A voice from his past, the gloating cackle of his personal demon called from the dark corner of his soul where he’d locked it away years ago. Coward. You let your mother die. You can’t run from the truth.
He snapped on the radio on Gram’s kitchen counter to drown out the taunting voice in his head. His thoughts returned to Olivia’s mysterious plan to learn more about the twenty-year-old fire, and his stomach bunched. He dreaded learning what her scheming mind had concocted to unearth information about the fire. Yet he couldn’t deny that part of him couldn’t wait to see her again.
She’d been eager to see Reyn again. Olivia admitted as much to herself when she arrived at Burdeaux’s twenty minutes e
arlier than they’d arranged. And when she found him already there, waiting for her, she experienced a rush of pleasure that tingled from her head to her toes. Who needed caffeine with Reyn around to get your blood racing?
Easy, girl. Don’t forget what happened last time you let a handsome face dazzle you.
Right. Trusting Billy Russell, giving him her love before he’d shown her who he really was deep inside had been a colossal mistake. She wouldn’t be so gullible this time.
She was eager to get beyond the calendar-created fantasy that Reyn was. But even if she did learn what made him tick, Reyn wasn’t sticking around. He had a life back in Atlanta, and he’d demonstrated over the years that his job and his life in Georgia took precedence over his family. How could she even consider involvement with a man who didn’t put his family first?
With a deep breath, she headed toward the back booth where he sat drinking coffee. Reyn’s gaze found hers but quickly shifted to the man who entered the restaurant behind her. Reyn’s eyebrows lowered, and he frowned.
She glanced over her shoulder at her stepfather, Hank Harrison, and wondered why the man seemed to upset Reyn.
As she crossed the diner, she returned the half dozen greetings called to her. Behind the counter, Mabel Smith held up a pot of coffee, and Olivia nodded. “And don’t try to slip me any of that decaffeinated junk either.”
Reyn stood as she reached the booth and gave her a terse nod in greeting. “So, you’re a caffeine junkie? And here I thought you were naturally chipper and energetic.”
“And I thought you wouldn’t be up at seven.”
She slid into the booth and gave him a saucy smirk.
“Actually, I was up at five-thirty. My body still thinks I’m on Eastern time.” He took another swig of coffee then pinched the bridge of his nose.
His face looked freshly shaved, his hair was still a tad damp, and the black T-shirt he wore made his eyes look more blue than gray. The clean scent of soap clung to him and mingled with the aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling sausage filling the restaurant. His gaze roamed over her in a lazy appraisal, and she shifted in her seat self-consciously. She’d taken a little more time with her makeup that morning and chosen her sleeveless, denim blouse and hip-hugging shorts with him in mind.
Reyn's Redemption Page 4
