“I can do better.” He nearly barked it.
Nice, Rube. He glanced again at CJ and realized—the kid had no rhythm. Just a crazy desire to wiggle his body and twirl his girl.
Yes, Reuben could do much better. He moved them to the center of the floor, found the beat, and led them in a circle, landing the steps, quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow.
Then he took her hand and twirled her out. Back in again.
She giggled—wow, really?—and he felt it in his chest, warmth, the slow unwinding of the coil of tension.
He led her out in a turn under his other arm then caught her in a cuddle hold.
She might be tiny, but she had moves, and she followed his lead as if anticipating him. Even looked up at him and grinned, her eyes shining.
And that’s what did it. His heart skipped, his brain stopped, and he missed a step.
The next moment, he’d tripped over his own oxen feet, and in a flash of horror, felt his momentum shift.
The floor came up at him, Gilly trapped in his arms, and all he could think was to twist, to turn his back to the floor and hold onto her.
Cushion her as he crashed onto the dance floor.
Sort of.
He landed with his body curled around her, one leg under her, one on top of her, his arms crushing her to his chest. The dancers parted, gasps echoing into the chorus of the song.
Gilly lay tangled, her arms pinned against him, her leg under his, her face buried in his chest.
Struggling.
“Let me go.”
He didn’t hear her the first time—the chorus muffling her cries.
But he definitely heard her when she slammed her fist into his chest. “Reuben. Let. Me. Go!”
The music still played, but with her near shout, hands came down, lifted her away from him.
Rescuing her from his embrace.
He scooted back, trying to free her.
And then, he was just sitting alone on the floor. She had scrambled to her feet and now stared down at him.
He expected embarrassment, maybe anger.
Not the wide-eyed horror, the almost terrified expression that flushed her face.
Nor the sense that she wasn’t staring at him, but through him, to a fixed point of pain that he’d managed to stir to the surface.
“Gilly—”
She turned and fled.
His only saving grace was that the music covered his sharp epitaph of frustration, freshly lit, a live coal in his chest.
Chapter 3
Gilly needed a fire to put out, and pronto.
And not the kind issuing from the industrial stainless steel oven in the Hot Cakes commercial kitchen, smoke a fine acrid wisp curling out as she tugged open the door.
“Are you kidding me?” Juliet nudged the back door closed with her hip, dropped her empty delivery tray on the stainless steel counter, and rushed over to survey the crispy, blackened chocolate-fudge-and-peanut-butter cupcakes. “Please tell me you haven’t burned the shop to the ground!”
Gilly had grabbed a couple of industrial oven mitts and pulled the sizzling cakes from their tomb, searching for a place to set the sacrificial offering.
“Here—” Juliet made room on the counter, pushing aside a bowl of banana-nut muffin mix, another of lemon poppy seed.
Gilly set the muffin tin on the counter, shook off the gloves, and stepped back, fighting the very present urge to flee.
“What happened? I leave you for five minutes—”
“Fifteen. You were gone for fifteen at least, and—”
“Didn’t you set the timer?”
Hmm. Maybe not. Gilly made a face at her sister. “I was reading weather reports...”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Juliet shook her head. “Okay, I get that you don’t want to help out today—”
“That’s not it. I’m glad to help. Sweep. Do dishes. Even deliver. I just don’t cook.”
“Bake. This is baking. And all you had to do was put the batter in the tins, set the buzzer, and wait.”
“There’s a fire in Idaho and they’ve pulled in the Lolo and Sawtooth teams—”
“Stop talking!” Juliet held up her hand. “Listen—Belle will be back from setting up the cake in a couple hours, and then I don’t care what you do. But I really needed you this morning. We don’t have weddings very often, but with all the teams in town waiting for the next big flare-up, we can be sold out of muffins by nine.”
Juliet walked over to the charred muffins, grabbed a hot pad, and dumped the lot into the garbage.
Sighed.
And Gilly wished, just for a second, for the fun Juliet, the one from last night who’d roped her into—well, even that had ended up a disaster, hadn’t it?
“I’m sorry, Juliet.”
Her sister wore a pink Hot Cakes Bakery apron, matching pink T-shirt, a pair of jeans, her brown hair up in a bun and hairnet—the same type of apron and hairnet she’d made Gilly wear.
Although Gilly’s apron looked like a piece of modern art, smeared with flour, banana batter, and chocolate frosting.
Five hours was not enough sleep on her day off. Someone should have mentioned last night as Gilly drove them home in her Mustang the fact that spending the night reliving the debacle on the dance floor might interfere with today’s mission.
Namely the mixing, baking, and decorating of twelve dozen designer cupcakes.
“I’m sorry, Juliet. I’m not cut out for this job.” Gilly reached behind to untie her apron, but Juliet caught her arms.
She wore what Gilly might call desperation in her expression. “I need you. Just for a couple of hours. I’ll finish mixing and baking—”
“And decorating.”
“For sure.” Juliet’s smile tweaked up one side. “You load the cases.”
“Done,” Gilly said, glancing again at the fire report, a screen on her cell phone.
“For cryin’ in the sink, Gilly. You don’t have to put out every fire.”
Gilly moved the tray of fresh peanut-butter-and-chocolate-fudge muffins to the front room.
Painted a faded pink, the room glowed with a princess touch, from the gold-leafed antique cash register to the hanging chandelier lights, to the old-fashioned cupcake case, the ornate scrollwork painted a crisp white. With white-painted metal French tables and chairs, and the words HOT CAKES BAKERY stenciled into the wall in decadent chocolate brown, her sisters had clearly snubbed the prevalent fire theme that swept through the town of Ember: the Hotline Saloon and Grill, the Spotfire Diner. Even the local football team named, appropriately, the Flames.
Although occasionally, Gilly had the urge to point out the word Hot in their name.
Still, Juliet and Belle managed to create a business that now included mail-order desserts. Probably because they rose at four a.m. and worked like dogs. Or, perhaps, like firefighters.
Gilly returned to the back room. Juliet was filling a fresh tin with banana-nut batter. A smile quirked up her face, some private thought.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about the fire you so adeptly doused last night.”
Gilly reached for the cherry-vanilla cupcakes, topped with red frosting and a white-chocolate heart. “What fire?”
Juliet slipped the tin into the oven, set the timer.
Oops, maybe Gilly had skipped that part...
Juliet turned, grinning. “The one sparking between you and that dark-haired hunk of a cowboy.”
“Reuben?” Heat flushed Gilly’s chest. Oh, she’d embarrassed him—evident by his expression as she screamed.
Why had she screamed?
It wasn’t Reuben’s fault he had resurrected her demons. That being trapped, even a little, beneath him had scoured up the nightmares. That she could think of nothing else but running from the Hotline in a full sprint. She knew how it looked—pitiful. Weak. And it only confirmed that dating—and especially dancing with—any of her teammates was not only awkward but turned her into som
eone in need of protection.
Which was exactly what she told Juliet after her sister had tracked her down, sitting in her Mustang, the engine revving.
“That was the stupidest move ever,” she’d muttered, mostly to herself, but also to Juliet, referring to her bright idea of the blue dress. And, of course, the dancing part.
“No it wasn’t. You two were cute.” Juliet had slid into the passenger seat, glowing, it seemed, from her twirl around the floor with CJ. He had come out and waved at her, leaning against the door jamb as Gilly pulled away.
“I can’t afford to be cute. The last thing I need is for Reuben—or any of the team, really—seeing me as some sort of, well, a hot cake, in need of rescue. They need to depend on me.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “Stop trying so hard to prove yourself. In fact, you could let someone rescue you once in a while.” She’d looked at Gilly and winked.
No, no, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Even the memory of the fall turned her a little sick. Gilly escaped with the cupcakes to the front.
“Reuben?” Juliet mimicked loudly from the kitchen as she frosted cupcakes. “Oh, him?”
“Stop.”
“Gills. I know you’ve had a little thing for him going on, oh—five years?”
Longer. Try seven, from the first time he’d shown up at fire camp, young and strong, refusing to quit. And frankly, the way he’d spoken up for her last night had made her feel, for a second, brave and invincible. Then he’d somehow turned her brain to oatmeal with those brown-as-dark-chocolate eyes, so much that she’d ended up on the dance floor...
And clearly the frosting was going to her head.
“I just admire him, that’s all. He’s a hard worker. And yeah, he has a tough side—”
Tough was an understatement. She couldn’t breathe, watching him fight the bull last night, his thick, ropy arms straining to hang on, his torso lean and strong. The way he had leaped from the bull as if ready for another go-round.
She swallowed, found her voice. “Reuben is the man most likely to not give up, and I respect him for that.”
“Respect. Right.” Juliet looked up at her through the kitchen door, her eyes full of mischief.
“Stop. Listen. Here’s what you don’t know—and if you tell anyone, I’ll personally drop you from a high altitude. Reuben suffers from just about the worst case of airsickness than anyone I’ve ever met. I discovered his secret after we aborted a jump—he nearly didn’t wait until we landed, practically sprinted to a nearby trash can.”
Poor guy had looked green and a few shades of yellow before he finished.
“Are you serious?” Juliet came to the door, leaned on it, arms folded.
Gilly continued to load cupcakes into the case. “Yeah. I let him sit in the copilot seat whenever it’s empty. Less turbulence than the seat in back.”
And admittedly, she kept doing it because of the quiet thank you, the soft gaze in his eyes, the tiny tweak of a smile under his dark beard. The kind she wouldn’t mind brushing her fingers—
“Gilly? Hello, talk about turbulence. I hope you’re dreaming about Reuben and what might have happened if you hadn’t gotten tangled up on the dance floor.”
“Huh?” Gilly looked up. “No. I’m not—”
“I have ways of making you admit the truth.” Juliet held up her frosting gun.
“No—I mean it. He isn’t interested in me.”
“Are you kidding me? Did you see the way he looked at you when you walked in? Poor guy had to scrape his chin off the floor.”
Gilly froze, a red velvet cupcake in her hand. And see, that was why she didn’t date. Because, while Juliet might like that reaction, Gilly knew how fast that could go south.
Get a girl hurt.
But Juliet seemed not to notice. “And you weren’t exactly suffering in his arms. I even heard you giggle.”
Giggle? Had she? For a moment there—a long moment—yeah, she’d actually relaxed in his arms.
If she were honest, she might admit she’d had the same feeling back at the fire when he’d turned and looked at her.
Peace. Hope.
And definitely the slow burn inside her. Oh no…no… She turned to Juliet. “Listen. I’m not going to get swept away by Reuben. He was just being nice, and let’s remember, I’m not the swooning type.”
“You mean you don’t let yourself swoon.” Juliet’s smile faded. “And that’s because you don’t let a guy within arm’s length.” She touched Gilly’s arm, her voice soft. “There’s no reason to be afraid anymore, Gills. You’re not the girl you were—”
Gilly returned with her empty tray to the kitchen, brushing past Juliet.
“You can be tough and tender. Brave and beautiful. Sweet and strong. You don’t have to turn off the sweet girl inside to be a firebomber.”
Gilly couldn’t look at her. “You’re not in my world. These guys depend on me—they nearly died last week.” She picked up a tray of freshly frosted white chocolate cupcakes.
“And you nearly died saving them,” Juliet said as Gilly returned to the front. Juliet walked over to the door, unlocked it, and turned the Open sign over.
The sun gilded the sidewalk, and across the street the diner, too, opened.
Gilly set the tray of cupcakes on a case shelf.
Juliet turned to her. “Being afraid isn’t a weakness. And neither is being pretty, or even letting someone sweep you off your feet. Especially if he looks like Reuben.”
Out front, a truck pulled up.
“Listen—it’s just easier for you, Juliet. You don’t look like you need defending.”
“You don’t either. Not with that permanent chip on your shoulder, the dare-me aura practically radiating off you. I can guarantee that the last thing the guys around you think is that they have to protect you.”
Yeah, well, that wasn’t the feeling she’d gotten from Reuben as he’d fallen—as he’d wrapped his arms around her, twisted his body as if to cushion her.
And yeah, she’d ended up half under his body, but even then he was pushing himself off of her.
Not to mention the look of horror on his face.
Except that could have been from the way she’d completely freaked out. She sighed, the echo of the past crashing over her. Raising gooseflesh.
Juliet put her hand on Gilly’s arm, jarring her free from her thoughts. “You’re safe, Gilly.”
Gilly found her eyes, her worried expression. “Yeah. I know.”
“No, really. I’m armed.” Juliet held up her chocolate frosting gun again. “But in truth, don’t let your fears—or your failures—tell you who you are or who you can’t be. Or who you can’t be with.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“Casualty of a lifetime in the second pew.”
Gilly grinned. Shook her head as she returned to the kitchen. “Listen, Jules, I’m happy being single. Just me, my plane, the teams, and fire. Except I won’t even have that if Miles doesn’t take me off the restricted list.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “I do not understand you. You are surrounded by cute firefighters and all you can think about is dropping them out of the sky.”
“Spoken like a girl in a pink T-shirt, the words Hot Cake written on the front. Pul-eeze.”
The buzzer went off, and Juliet retrieved the banana-nut muffins, set them on the counter. “What, you don’t like working here?”
“It’s not that—it’s just, well, as I’ve said, I’m just not a hot cake.”
A throat cleared behind her and she froze.
Turned.
And of course, there stood the man who’d swept her off her feet—and right onto the floor.
He’d clearly heard her, too, because a blush pressed his whiskered cheeks. He wore a black T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest, a pair of desperately faded jeans, boots, and a Stetson pulled low over his eyes.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” she said.
“I’
ll take six carrot-cake muffins,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
She pulled them out, boxed them, then put them in a bag. Rang them up.
He handed her a twenty, and she found change, dumped it into his hand.
Expected him to turn, leave. But he didn’t, just stood there. Then, “You okay, Gilly?”
And it was the soft drawl, the way he looked up, glancing fast to meet her eyes—his brown, dark and sweet—that had her suddenly realizing...
Maybe she did swoon.
Oh, boy. She managed a tight nod, however, and he turned, walked out the door.
“That’s a hot cake if I’ve ever seen one,” her sister said, holding a tray of the still-warm banana muffins.
“Oh, please,” Gilly said. But she watched as Reuben climbed into his truck, slid on a pair of aviators, and pulled out from the curb. He hung his arm out the window, his biceps thickening against the frame.
Yeah, she needed to put out a fire, and pronto.
He’d hurt her.
Reuben pulled away from the Hot Cakes Bakery, Gilly’s words like a boulder in his chest. I’m not a hot cake.
It wasn’t so much her words as the way she’d looked at him. Her blue eyes wide in shock, and then a shadow across her face, their disaster on the dance floor evident in the way she glanced away, couldn’t meet his eyes after that.
Embarrassed. Probably even a little afraid of him, if not repulsed by his bull-in-a-china-shop moves after his spectacular landing, trapping her on the dance floor.
Then there were her words—Let. Me. Go! Which would have been enough if not for the lick of panic, the flare of fear deep behind her eyes.
She’d practically run from the Hotline, her sister hot on her tail, and they hadn’t returned.
He’d wrecked their evening out, and worse, he’d trampled all over their fragile relationship with his impulsive decision. There was no going back. And certainly no way to fix it.
Now, at best, things would be awkward between them.
He braked at the light then turned toward the campground that bordered the Ember Fire Base. Conner had called an ad hoc meeting to unravel the ongoing mystery of who had stolen Conner’s experimental firefighting drones and dropped them in the forest like matches. The working theory was that the arsonist was igniting the northern forest in hopes of taking out the smokejumper team.
Burnin' For You: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 3) Page 5
