Slowly, with disbelief and confusion, Cassie inched back. “That sounds like something Gramma Finnie would say.”
“Nah.” The other woman gave a smug smile. “That was straight-up Agnes Mastros Santorini.” She looked up at the sky as if trying to deliver that news to someone far above them. “What do you think?”
“I think…” Cassie sighed. “I was wrong. You’ve changed. And I’m…impressed.”
Yiayia beamed, her dark eyes welling up. “Thank you, Cassandra.” After a second, she patted Cassie’s hand. “Now what is this advice you’re seeking?”
“Never mind,” Cassie said, pushing up, not wanting to force Yiayia to make some kind of decision between Jace and Braden. Her true colors had come out and, honestly? They were not ugly at all. Just the opposite. “It’s not important.”
Chapter Nineteen
“And…she finds it.” Braden shook his head, a mix of amazement and frustration in his voice as he and Cassie followed Jazz to the farthest, darkest, most out of the way back corner of the basement of Bitter Bark Books. There, he stood silently in front of the shelf where Cassie had hidden the scented towel on this, the fourth stop they’d devised for the scavenger hunt that afternoon.
And every time, Jazz had sniffed out the clue with ease.
“You don’t sound happy about that,” she mused as she backed up and looked at the books, trying to figure out what the challenge should be for the hunters who got to this spot.
“She’s a pro, is all.” He gave the dog a quick rub on the head, nothing like the affection he showered on Jelly Bean.
Turning to the books, Cassie pulled out a gold-embossed copy of The Canterbury Tales. “I bet you’ve read this.”
He glanced at the title. “Not a huge Chaucer fan.”
She smiled and looked for inspiration from the next book, but her real attention was on Braden and his poorly masked jealousy. “And not a huge Jasmine fan, either.”
“She’s a great dog,” he insisted. “I mean, she could smell her way out of a black hole.”
“And you hate that.”
He gave a guilty laugh. “Jelly Bean couldn’t do this once, Cassie. How many times in the last two weeks have we tried a test scavenger hunt—”
She spun around. “He did it this morning,” she insisted. “Give him a chance.”
“Yeah, I know.” He gave Jazz another pet, a little more enthusiastic this time. “It’s not your fault you’re smart and talented, Jazzer. And even know to stand at attention when you reach a target, like a good scent-detection dog.”
“There’s more to this scavenger hunt than the dog, though,” Cassie said, scanning the rows of books. “We’re in classic literature, so I need to give them a riddle, have them take a picture of the book that solves the riddle, then leave a clue for the next destination.” She grazed the spines and snagged one. “A Tale of Two Cities?”
“Great book,” he said enthusiastically. “A masterpiece.”
She turned, as amazed by him as he was by Jasmine. “Did you read it in college?”
“I read it on Easter Sunday when I was nine years old,” he said without hesitation.
“You read this? When you were nine? Einstein!”
He laughed. “Not that edition,” he admitted. “My dad put a kids’ version of it in my Easter basket.”
“Which would have caused mutiny in my house on Easter. You were a strange child.”
“He always gave me books,” he said, his gaze a little distant as he slipped into the memory. “Like your dad taught you to put things in writing? My dad was all about reading. Thought it made a well-rounded man.”
“He was probably right.”
Braden reached for the book spine. “I remember that year because I was sick with a fever, and everyone was going over to Waterford Farm for a big Easter celebration. My dad stayed home with me, and we read it together. It turned out to be the best Easter, even though I was sick.”
“Banished from Easter dinner? The very idea brings this Greek to tears.” She took a step closer, eyeing him. “But I love that image of you and your father reading Charles Dickens.”
“‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,’” he quoted, sliding into a sad smile. “And that was the best. I remember him closing the book that day and handing it to me, telling me to keep it on the condition that one day I would read it to my own son or daughter. He made me promise.”
She looked up at him, a strange pressure on her chest she recognized as the longing she’d felt for her father since he died. “And you promised?”
“Oh yeah. I have it on a bookshelf at home.”
She let that sink in, and felt her heart slip a little at the thought of him carting a children’s book around for almost twenty-five years to keep a promise to his father. “So what would he think of your decision to not ever get married and have kids to read to?”
“I…” He gave a dry laugh. “I wouldn’t have made that decision if he were still around,” he reminded her. “But I can tell you this. When he died, books were the only thing that kept me from curling up on my bed and crying nonstop. I read a hundred that summer, as Gramma Finnie likes to brag. The Bitter Bark librarians felt so sorry for me they let me take out ten a week. And a lot of times, when I had nothing to read, I read that kids’ version of A Tale of Two Cities again and again.”
She tried to imagine that boy, barely a teenager, burying himself in books because his father was gone.
“That’s all I did that summer. Read and…grieve.”
She slid her arms around him, washed with affection and charmed by this big, bright, incredibly sweet man. “You’re so much more than great shoulders, Braden Mahoney.”
He smiled, the sadness disappearing from his eyes. “We have a lot more stops to create on this scavenger hunt and only have Genius Dog for a few days. Better stay focused.”
“I am focused,” she whispered, pressing into him. “On you.”
“Yeah?” His brow flickered with interest. “I should bring you to the classic stacks more often, then.” He turned her around to face the books, keeping their bodies in total head-to-toe contact, sliding her hand across the row to another book. “Here. Go with War and Peace for the scavenger hunt.”
“Why?”
“It’s the ultimate classic.”
“I won’t tell Yiayia you didn’t say Odyssey.”
“Overrated and overwritten.”
She laughed. “Okay, then help me figure out a riddle that will lead people to War and Peace, but not too easily. Tell me something about it.”
He thought for a minute, planting a kiss on her shoulder, then straightening. “Well, the main themes are spirituality and love, and family, of course, since it’s kind of a warm, loving family and one that’s cold and calculating. So it’s about navigating a place in the world and society…” His words trailed off as she turned in his arms to look up at him. “What?” he asked at her bemused expression.
“You know, sometimes I forget that this…” She tapped his temple. “Is almost as sexy as this.” And placed her hand on his shoulder. “And maybe we could just go with who wrote it, what year, and where the author is from.”
He snuggled her closer. “Leo.” Then lowered his face to brush her lips. “Tolstoy.” Added some pressure. “Eighteen…” Slipped his tongue over hers. “Sixty-five.” And wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her all the way into him. “Russia.”
She dissolved into the warm, slow kiss, wrapping both arms around his neck to return all the affection. She breathed him in, dizzy for a moment as every sense overloaded with Braden.
“What else do you want to know?” He feathered some kisses on her jaw and ran his hands up and down the length of her back.
“Everything.”
Taking a step, he eased her against the bookshelf, kissing her again and sliding his hand under her T-shirt, making her suck in a breath at the heat of his palm on her skin. “Like a full book report?”
> She managed a laugh, but lost it to the next kiss, this one a little more frantic as heat and need ribboned through her. He leaned against her, the wood of the shelves jabbing her back and the whole of his body searing her front.
“Cassie.” His hand coasted up her stomach, his thumb grazing under her bra. “We should go home. Now.”
“Mmm. So far away.”
He broke the kiss, glancing left to right around the deserted, dusty bookshelves. Disinterested in their kissing, Jazz had assumed an off-duty snooze a few feet away where sun came through a window about six feet off the ground.
“It is a fantasy of mine,” he admitted with a smile. “Sex in the stacks.”
“Nerd.” She got up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth, tracing it with her fingers, then kissing it again. “But damn, Einstein. Who knew that could be so…hot?”
“I did.” He slid his hand over her breast, his smoky gaze as intimate as his touch. “But do we really want our first time to be in the basement of Bitter Bark Books?”
Right about then, she didn’t care. “How ’bout foreplay?”
“We could play.” He slipped one hand behind her, unhooked her bra, and lowered his head while he lifted her T-shirt.
All the blood in her body rushed to the place where his mouth came down, making her helpless and tense and suddenly desperate for release. And just as suddenly, his head shot up as if someone had punched him in the back. And Jazz barked once in the direction of the stairs.
“Someone’s on the way down here.” His voice was gruff as he reluctantly let go of her. “Let’s head home.”
“Yes. Home.” Barely able to string words together, she reached behind her to reclip her bra, and he helped, sliding a look at Jasmine when he did.
“Of course she’s also the perfect guard dog,” he muttered.
She smoothed her T-shirt back into place and poked him in the chest with one finger. “Jelly Bean is awesome and probably right this minute acing a scent-discernment test.”
Hooking his arm around her shoulders, he walked her to the steps, nodding to two older women who’d just reached the basement. At the top of the stairs, he stopped suddenly when his phone made a melodic ding she’d never heard before.
“Hang on.” Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen for a split second, then murmured something she didn’t get.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have to get to the station. There’s a warehouse fire out of control in Simon’s Mill Run. They’re calling in backup from multiple counties and asking anyone off duty to come in. Our engine’s leaving in less than five minutes.”
“Oh God, okay. Take your truck. I can walk home. I’ll keep Jasmine.”
He nodded, his whole face and body transformed as he mentally prepared to go. “Good. Thanks. I’ll…” He was already moving away, but stopped and took a breath. “Wait for me at my house. I’ll be home. I’ll…be home.”
She held his gaze and nodded. “I know you will, Braden. And I’ll be waiting.”
He closed his eyes as though grabbing hold of the words, then shot off, leaving Cassie in the middle of Bitter Bark Books with a dog.
Jasmine looked up at her with a question in eyes as blue as the ones she’d just gazed into. “Well, what do you know? Life with a firefighter. Want to keep working or…” She stepped outside and looked down the street, taking in the awnings, flower boxes, and warm brick buildings of Bitter Bark. In the distance, a siren screamed, tightening her gut just as her gaze landed on a dog bone hanging as a sign.
“Let’s go get a treat at Bone Appetit,” she said, tugging her leash in that direction.
Jazz seemed good with that plan, prancing down the street without even a sideways look at other dogs and people. As Cassie reached the entrance, she peeked in and saw Aunt Colleen behind the counter and Ella and Darcy playing with some puppies in the pen.
“Family and friends,” she whispered to her canine companion, a little surprised by how much the sight of them gave her a sense of hope and relief. “That’s something I wouldn’t have in Chicago. Along with the possibility of sex in the stacks.”
“Cassie!” Ella spotted her and rushed to the door, pulling it open. “Oh, and Jasmine! Come in here, you two.” She practically pulled Cassie in and hugged her with a little bit more ferocity than normal. “Did Braden leave?”
“Just now. An engine is leaving the station in—”
“Three minutes,” Aunt Colleen finished for her, holding up her phone. “Dec’s on that one, too. Connor was on duty, so he’s there already.” Her features looked a little drawn, but there was still a warm light in her eyes. “I’m glad you came here.”
She came around the counter to greet her and give Jasmine a treat.
“Where else would she go?” Ella asked, drawing her deeper into the store. “When there’s a bad fire, we always stick together.”
Cassie immediately felt some tension release from her muscles as she looked past Ella to the other women in the store. Darcy leaned in the doorway between the two businesses, and her sister Molly, in vet scrubs that showed off a decent-size baby bump, leaned on a stool near the pen where some dogs were playing with her daughter, Pru, who sat in the pen with them.
One scan of their expressions and Cassie had the sense that anytime there was a fire like this and the Mahoney men were involved, most of the rest of the family quietly gathered around Colleen.
“You can all help me finish the ideas for the scavenger hunt,” Cassie said brightly, guiding Jasmine to the pen to join the other dogs.
“I love scavenger hunts!” Pru called, opening the gate to let in the new arrival.
Aunt Colleen came back to Cassie, holding a glass of lemonade. “We start with this, and if the night gets long, there’s some Jameson’s in the back.”
She laughed and took the glass. “Of course there is, because you’re Irish.”
“We’re family,” Colleen said. “And you’re part of that now.”
Cassie lifted the glass in a toast. “I guess with my mom and your brother getting married…”
Aunt Colleen just smiled, and Cassie saw the hope in her eyes. Would they ever forgive her for leaving? And worse, would she forgive herself?
* * *
This wasn’t Braden’s first trip to Simon’s Mill Run, a town about a third of the size of Bitter Bark. With nothing but an understaffed volunteer department, it wasn’t unusual for Bitter Bark, Holly Hills, or Chestnut Creek stations to respond to a call out there.
But it was unusual for all three stations to show up, and that, Braden realized as the engine screamed toward a massive blaze in a warehouse section that abutted a recently gentrified section of the town, was because this was no simple job.
Two warehouses were scorched and engulfed in flames, with a sizable crew working. Next to those buildings, a small row of two- and three-story brick residences, not five feet apart, were clearly threatened by proximity to the blaze, but didn’t appear to have caught fire. Yet.
Sheriff’s deputies had cordoned off the buildings, and a small crowd of residents had gathered. From the radio calls in the front of the truck, Braden learned that all the structures had been cleared, including the homes.
Mike, the engineer driving this rig, zoomed along a row of pumpers and engines, taking them to the end.
“Bet we’re going to check the residences for fire,” Ray Merritt, the firefighter next to Braden in the back of the truck, said. “That blaze could jump easy.”
Cal, the young probie, dipped his head down to get a look at the situation. “Holy shit,” he muttered, squinting into the flames being hosed by a dozen firefighters on the ground. “There must be six lines stretched.”
“And four men on the roof,” Ray noted.
Braden looked up the row of ladders to see the group with axes, attempting entry by breaking through the roof.
“Ten bucks says your brother’s up there,” Ray added, giving an elbow to Braden, who barely smiled and knew better t
han to take that bet. Connor was the first up the ladder on any job.
That would account for both brothers, Braden thought, knowing that on every job where the three Mahoney men got separated, he didn’t fully relax until both Connor and Declan had checked in. Right this moment, Declan was up front in this truck, next to the chief who, like the rest of this engine’s crew, had been off duty when the call came in.
That meant Declan didn’t have the usual authority he would as captain, outranked by the chief. It also meant Declan would go in, which was good. There was no one he trusted in a fire more than one of his brothers.
From the front of the truck, Chief Winkler turned around to command their attention, a phone still at his ear.
“Indoor attack,” he informed them. “Command is sending us to the residence closest to the burn. Homeowner reported second-floor smoke, no fire, but it could have been coming in through a window. We need to find it.”
Everyone copied.
“Mike and I will stay with the engine and run the line, communicating with Command. Ray and Cal are on backup. Declan and Braden will carry the attack line. Braden, you got the tip. Take the TIC and a drywall hook ’cause you’re going to pull walls and ceiling if windows are closed, but for God’s sake, remember this is somebody’s home. Don’t destroy what you don’t have to.”
Once again, they copied, and as the engine stopped, they unloaded, grabbed equipment, and moved on instinct and muscle memory. And fast. Hustling toward the building, Braden got his mask in place, then the helmet, ear flaps down. He buckled up his gloves and didn’t touch the respirator, saving air for the moment he entered the house.
Cradling the fat nozzle with his left hand, his right poised over the bail that could release up to a hundred and fifty gallons in a minute if he had to, he shot a look at Declan.
Right then, Declan could have been Joe Mahoney’s twin brother, not his son. His eyes narrowed in determination behind the face shield. And he knew exactly what Dec was about to say.
Hot Under the Collar Page 21
