by Gina Wilkins
Tom had given her a quick smile. “I’m going to hit the shower and turn in,” he’d said lightly. “I leave for the office at 7:45 in the morning. If you aren’t awake by then, I’ll leave the number for you in case you need to reach me.”
She’d been sitting on the couch, pretending to read while she’d waited for him, wondering how the day would end. She hadn’t thought it would be quite so abrupt “Um, good night,” she’d said.
He’d nodded and disappeared. Just like that. She’d heard the shower running, then the sound of his bedroom door closing. She could only assume he’d been asleep ever since.
Leslie hadn’t slept a wink.
Arriving home from work late the next day, Tom found Leslie sitting on his couch, reading a magazine. She looked fresh and comfortable in a dark-green chenille sweater with faded jeans and green socks on her shoeless feet. Little Kenny lay on a baby blanket on the floor, kicking his feet and batting at colorful toys that dangled from a molded plastic contraption that arched over him.
The simple domesticity of the scene hit Tom hard. He’d never realized how dull it was to come home to an empty house until he’d compared it with this.
Leslie looked up with a distracted expression. “I didn’t know that careless smoking is the leading cause of residential fires.”
Obviously, she was reading one of his professional publications. “Read that again,” he advised her.
She looked back down at the page. “Oh. It’s the leading cause of residential fire deaths.”
“Right. Cooking, arson and alternative heaters are the more usual causes of residential fires. Fires caused by smoking cause so many deaths because the smoker has often fallen asleep, or passes out when the fire begins.”
Leslie flipped pages in the magazine, paused, then read a few more words. “Have you studied the ‘Standard Test Method for Ignitable Liquid Residues in Extracts from Fire Debris Samples by Gas Chromatography’?”
He smiled. “ASTM Standard E 1397-95. And yes, I’ve studied it. I’ve done a lot of reading about fire investigation during the past year.”
She closed the magazine and set it aside. “So you’re the fire marshal now.”
“Assistant fire marshal,” he corrected her. “One of two.”
He put his radio on a table, along with his car keys. He was wearing the standard fire department uniform of blue shirt and pants with black shoes, the clothes rumpled now after a full day at work. The walkie-talkie would stay on and close at hand while he was away from the office this week, since it was his turn to be on call. He would be summoned by the firefighters to every fire for which a cause was not immediately obvious, he explained to Leslie, preparing her in case he was called away that evening.
“Fire investigation sounds fascinating,” she said tentatively, her eyes searching his face.
He shrugged. “It’s interesting. That’s only a small part of my job, of course. Mostly I do routine fire code inspections of local businesses. Every existing business has to be inspected at least once a year, and every new business before opening. There’s a lot of paperwork involved.”
She rose from the couch, still watching him. “Do you like it?”
Again, a shrug seemed appropriate. “It’s a living.”
Abruptly, he changed the subject, “Man, something smells good. Don’t tell me you cooked dinner.”
“I cooked dinner,” she replied lightly. “It gave me something to do while Kenny took his afternoon nap. I hope baked chicken and wild rice are okay.”
“Sounds great. I’ll go wash up.”
“Take your time. It won’t be ready for another half hour.”
Tom meant to go straight to his bedroom to change, but he found himself suddenly kneeling on the floor by the baby. Kenny met his eyes, looked humorously surprised for a moment, then broke into a slobbery grin.
Tom ran a finger across the baby’s chubby, dimpled cheek. “Hey, pardner, how’s it goin’? What’s this you’ve got here, hmm?” he asked, thumping a dangling plastic yellow bird and making it sway from the bar to which it was attached with a nylon strap.
“It’s called a baby gym,” Leslie said. “See the little round hand grips? I think they’re intended to build upper-body strength. He hasn’t learned to pull on them yet, though. He just likes to watch the toys swing.”
“A gym, huh?” Tom shook his head. “Forget it, kid. You’ll never build real muscles with this sissy contraption. We’ll spend some time in my exercise room and really work on-those abs and pecs.”
Kenny chortled. Tom laughed in response to the funny sounds the baby made. This was a seriously cute kid, he decided. It was no wonder that Leslie had been willing to do just about anything to keep him.
Thinking there might be time for a fast shower before dinner, he started to rise. A curse pushed itself out of his throat when the entire lower half of his body seemed to clench. He stumbled, tried to steady himself, and stumbled again.
Leslie was instantly at his side, her full weight against him as she supported him until he regained his balance. “Are you all right?”
The pain was there, as it so often was, angry and quick. A thin film of perspiration had broken out on his face and beneath his clothing. He shouldn’t have tried to rise so hastily from his kneeling position. Even after over a year, he still sometimes forgot that there were things he could no longer do as easily as before.
Sharply reminded of all those things, he felt the laughter drain out of him. It both embarrassed and annoyed him that Leslie had witnessed his weakness. “I’m fine,” he growled, pushing away from her. “No problem.”
“Tom—”
“I said I’m fine.” He was already moving toward his bedroom, cursing his limp, cursing his temper, cursing himself.
He figured that Leslie should be well aware by now that the man she’d left behind so many months ago was not the man she had married.
Nina put the last cut-flower arrangement in the big refrigerator unit that lined one side of her florist shop and closed the door. And then she sighed and pressed a hand to the middle of her back. It had been a trying day. Not as exhausting as last Friday, of course, with its hectic Valentine’s Day rush, but still busy.
It was closing time. She’d already sent her employees home, telling them that she would lock up today. After all the extra effort they’d given her last week, she’d figured they deserved an extra half hour off today. They’d accepted her offer with alacrity.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the chrome trim on the cooler. She looked tired, she thought critically, tucking a strand of salon-perfected ash-blond hair behind her ear. Everyone was always telling her that she looked younger than her age, but today she felt all of her forty-seven years. Maybe it was because she’d left her childhood so early, had been forced by poor choices and circumstances to take on almost overwhelming responsibilities at such a young age. Or maybe it had to do with her awareness all day that her thirty-year-old son was now married, and himself at least partly responsible for a child.
She was practically a grandmother, she’d realized with a start. And while there was a certain pleasure in that acknowledgment, it was also a bit daunting.
Maybe she should try a new hair color, she mused, gazing into that somewhat distorted reflection.
“Finished for the day?”
The question, asked in a deep male voice from behind her, made her gasp and jump. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even heard the bell chime when the front door had opened, she realized. Not a particularly secure feeling, since she was alone in a small business in nearly deserted downtown Fayetteville.
She turned to gaze at the tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed man leaning against her counter, dashing and handsome in a leather pilot’s jacket, a soft-looking sweater and jeans.
“Hello, Steve,” she said, making no effort to hide her surprise. “I thought you’d gone back to Little Rock today.”
“I’ve taken a few days off. I haven’t
spent much time in Fayetteville, so I played tourist today, mostly at the university.”
“You’re a Razorback fan?”
His smile was rueful. “Isn’t nearly everyone in this state?”
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked, wondering why he’d shown up at her business this way. She’d told him a bit about her shop last night when they’d chatted over lemon pie, but she certainly hadn’t expected to see him here today.
“Have dinner with me?” Though he spoke lightly, he was looking at her closely.
Taken aback, she blinked, then suddenly understood. “You want to talk about Tom and Leslie,” she said.
He shook his head. “I think we’ve covered that subject well enough already. To be honest, I’d just as soon not talk about them tonight.”
“Then why...oh, of course. You don’t really know anyone else here in town, do you?” Obviously, he wasn’t a man who enjoyed eating alone.
Steve shrugged. “I know a few people I could have called. Business associates, mostly. But I’d rather be with you.”
His sudden grin made her heartbeat skip. She told herself sternly that she was much too old to react that way to a beautiful male smile.
She smoothed her palms nervously over her neatly tailored black pantsuit. “Well, I—”
“If you have other plans, I’d certainly understand. You needn’t feel that you should entertain me or anything. I’m perfectly capable of dining alone.”
The look he gave her was so pitiful that she had to smile. “I have no other plans,” she heard herself saying. “I’d be happy to have dinner with you.”
An innocent dinner between friendly acquaintances. That was all it would be, she assured herself.
Steve’s smile was a bit smug. “Great. I’ll wait until you lock up and we’ll leave from here, okay?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
Just dinner. And there was no reason at all that she shouldn’t enjoy herself, she thought with a touch of defiance at the little voice inside her that kept asking what in the world she thought she was doing.
“This is great,” Tom said, his plate nearly empty. “You’re a great cook, Les.”
He’d been trying to be pleasant while eating the dinner she’d cooked for them. He regretted snapping at her earlier. She hadn’t deserved it.
Leslie shrugged and toyed with her own food. “Thanks. I’ve always liked cooking, when I had the time.”
Tom glanced at Kenny, who sat in his seat, gumming a plastic teether and watching them eat. “He’s bright eyed tonight, isn’t he? Looks like he’d love to join in the conversation.”
“Mmm.” She glanced at the baby, then sipped her iced tea without further comment.
Leslie hadn’t been responding very well to Tom’s friendly overtures. Polite, but distant best described the way she’d acted during the meal. He suspected that he’d hurt her feelings earlier. And, he realized without relish, it was apparently going to take an apology to mend them.
He drew a deep breath. “Leslie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snarled at you.”
He didn’t figure he needed to be more specific, and apparently he was right. She gave him a look that told him she knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Forget it,” she said, but it was obvious that she hadn’t.
He frowned. “It embarrassed me to lose my balance in front of you,” he explained reluctantly. “I don’t like being reminded of my...limitations.” He said the word with distaste.
Her expression revealed nothing. “When did you say you had your accident?”
“Almost fifteen months ago. Barely four months after you left.”
“And you’ve been sulking and feeling sorry for yourself ever since?”
Her question knocked the breath out of him. He stared at her, stung by the unfairness of her accusation. Apparently, she hadn’t yet realized exactly how serious his injuries had been.
“I almost died,” he snapped. “I came within an inch of spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.”
Her left eyebrow quirked. “But you aren’t in a wheelchair. It looks to me as if you get around pretty well, with the exception of a slight limp. And maybe you lose your balance occasionally. On the whole, you were actually pretty lucky.”
He was genuinely stunned. “I lost my job. I loved being a firefighter, being on the search-and-rescue team. I can’t do that now.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t look entirely convinced. “But you’re still working in the field you like, and there are probably talents you could contribute to the search teams other than climbing mountains and rappelling down cliffs.”
“You don’t understand.” He felt betrayed by her attitude. Damn it, everyone else seemed to realize how much he’d suffered, how much he’d lost. Why didn’t Leslie?
“I’m sorry.” Her tone was too polite. “Did you want me to feel sorry for you, too?”
He cursed and pushed himself away from the table. He didn’t have to sit here and take this. This time he was able to stand without stumbling, to his relief. “I’ve got some paperwork to do and then I’m going to work out. Leave the dishes. I’ll get them later.”
“I’ll get them myself. I have nothing else to do. I’m the one who lost everything, including my career, remember?”
The bitterness in her voice took him aback. “Damn it, Leslie—”
She stood, holding her plate, and turned her back on him. “Go play with your exercise toys. I have work to do in here.”
With a scowl, he left the room. He heard Kenny babbling behind him, but he didn’t hesitate. All of a sudden, he didn’t feel as if he belonged in his own kitchen.
Chapter Eight
“I love spicy food.” Nina reached for her glass of water as she spoke.
Smiling, Steve watched her swallow a fourth of the glass of cold liquid. “I can tell you have no problem with spicy food at all.”
She smiled sheepishly and blotted her lips with a red-checked napkin. “I really do enjoy it. Even when it burns the lining of my mouth.”
They had chosen a trendy new Southwestern restaurant in the old downtown square, within walking distance of Nina’s shop. The room was rather dark, and the candles flickering in the center of each table provided most of the illumination. The tables were small, and arranged to provide a comfortable feeling of intimacy, encouraging low-voiced conversation. Nina and Steve had been taking advantage of the opportunity to chat about a wide variety of subjects, from sports to politics, from art to literature, from music to movies.
Nina hadn’t enjoyed a meal this much in years.
“Tommy always makes fun of me when we eat Mexican food,” she commented. “I always drink gallons of water to counteract the peppers. No food is too hot for him. He eats jalapenos as easily as if they were sweet pickles.”
“You talk about your son a lot,” Steve observed, pushing his empty plate away and leaning comfortably back in his chair.
Nina frowned. Was he criticizing her? If so, he might as well know that her son was the most important part of her life. She couldn’t help talking about him.
Steve seemed to read her thoughts from her expression.
“That wasn’t a criticism. Just a comment. You’re obviously very proud of him.”
She relaxed a little. “Yes, very. He’s a wonderful son.”
“You deserve a great deal of credit for raising him alone the way you did.”
Pleasantly embarrassed, she shrugged lightly. “I did my best. It helped that he was always such a good boy.”
“He never met his father?”
Shifting in her seat, Nina shook her head. “No. Ron never wanted to see Tom. He gave up all claim to fatherhood the day I told him I was pregnant, and he said he never wanted to see me again. He moved out of the state not long after Tom was born. I don’t know where he is now—if he’s even still alive, though I assume that he is. When Tom turned eighteen, I told him his father’s name
and gave him some personal information I thought would interest him. I told him I didn’t mind if he felt he needed to track Ron down someday, for his own curiosity.”
“And what did Tom say to that?”
“He said he had no interest in meeting the man who’d contributed nothing to his development except a Y chromosome. He said that as far as he was concerned, he had only one parent and he needed no other.” Nina couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice that time, though she tried to speak matter-of-factly.
“Good for Tom.”
“I told you he’s a wonderful son. And a fine man. You’ll like him, I think, once you get to know him better.”
“I certainly intend to try.”
“For Kenny’s sake,” Nina murmured with an approving smile.
“Partly,” Steve agreed, gazing at her over his wineglass.
Something in his expression made her clear her throat and look hastily away.
“How about some dessert?” a bronze-skinned young server asked as he approached the table with a smile. “Sherbet? Key lime pie? Fried ice cream?”
“Sherbet sounds good,” Nina agreed, seizing the change of subject. “What about you, Steve?”
“Yes, I’ll have that, too.”
Nina told herself that she was being silly again. Imagining undercurrents that simply weren’t there. You’re having a lovely evening, Nina Lowery. Don’t blow it.
After lingering for a time over dessert and coffee, Steve paid for dinner, then walked Nina to her car, which she’d left parked in its usual space behind her shop. She was very conscious of him beside her as she huddled into her coat against the February night air. He loomed so tall over her, appearing so strong and virile in his leather jacket and denim jeans. And yet the smile he slanted down at her was so kind and gentle that she couldn’t help feeling safe with him.
In some ways, she mused, he reminded her of her son. But Steve Pendleton evoked no maternal feelings in her at all.
She slid her key into the lock of her car and looked upward. “Will you be going back to Little Rock tomorrow?”
