Chapter 4 #3
If Joe’s heart skipped as well, he hid it.
His hair fell in waves over his forehead, brushing the collar of his slightly wrinkled white dress shirt, the sleeves of which were shoved up to his elbows and had some official patch on the pec.
It wasn’t tucked into his soft, faded Levi’s, which sported a frayed hole over one knee.
Looking just a little edgy, a little dangerous, he had one hand in his pocket, the other holding an iPad, which he tapped against his thigh as his eyes checked off the details of his surroundings. Always alert.
There was something about his mouth that suggested the slightest of smiles when his gaze landed on hers, but then again, it could have been a grimace at having to see her again.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself.”
Startled at the old familiar greeting, and at the ease with which they’d slipped into it, they stared at each other. And for a single beat, Summer didn’t feel lost at all. “What are you doing here?”
He shoved his free hand through his wavy hair, making some of it stick up. Instead of making him look rumpled, it somehow seemed…endearing. “I have some interviews,” he said.
“For the investigation?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at the unmistakable bulge of the gun at his hip beneath the drape of his shirt. Wondered at all it implied, at all he’d seen and done since they’d been kids. “With my mom?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What do you need to know?”
“Quite a bit, actually.”
She sighed. “You’re being obtuse.”
“I don’t mean to be.”
Damn, he’d gotten good at not giving anything away.
Apparently the long years of fighting fires and then investigating them had taught him a lot about control.
He seemed so rough and ready standing there, so absolutely unflappable, body relaxed, eyes watchful, with a confusing mix of temper and passion humming just beneath the surface.
She felt almost helplessly sucked in by that—utterly, morbidly, erotically sucked in.
She wondered if he ever felt as out of place as she did right now, then remembered that if he did, he had his girlfriend to go to. Cindy.
Had they had sex on his desk that day after she’d left?
“Is Camille in her office?” he asked.
“Yes.” That brought her back. “But she’s feeling fragile. Be gentle, okay?”
“And here I was hoping to use my torture rack.”
His eyes had cooled, his smile gone. She’d insulted him. “This has been hard for her, that’s all.”
He tapped his iPad against his thigh again. His only sign of agitation. “Do you remember me as being particularly insensitive or cruel?”
“No, of course not.”
“So have I changed that much?”
Now that was a tough one. It would have been impossible for her to describe what seeing him did to her.
His eyes were the same, and so, she suspected, were his heart and soul.
Such incredible memories were stirred up by just his face, and yet new things were stirred up too.
He’d grown a few inches over the years. Summer was five-ten, but she had to tip her head back a little to see into his eyes.
That gave her an entirely inappropriate shiver of appreciation, as did the sheer physical presence of him.
“Some things have definitely changed,” she murmured.
“Right. The outer package.” And that clearly vexed rather than flattered. “That’s fairly obvious, Red. And it’s the second time you’ve mentioned it. I guess that’s what’s important to you.”
“That was never important to me.” But she flushed at his long stare, and she had to admit as she remembered the dazzling but empty-hearted Danny, that once upon a time, Joe had had every reason to believe that appearances were what was important to her.
How the hell had she gotten off on the wrong foot with absolutely everyone? “All I meant,” she said, “was that if anything’s different—on the inside—it’s how carefully controlled you are. That’s very different, Joe.”
“Maybe I only show my feelings to the people I’m close to.”
Touché. “Because what right do I have to know anything about you at all, is that it?”
He said nothing.
Another new trait.
She turned back to the seascapes on the wall. There was a young couple, smiling, arms flung around each other. So happy, so carefree. She’d always thought of herself as happy and carefree too, but she felt neither at the moment.
There’d been ties over the years, with coworkers, clients. Other men. She’d enjoyed every one of them and had amazing memories, but none compared to the tie she’d once had, and then given away, with this man.
“Do you ever think about it?” she murmured, still staring at the joyful couple who’d lived one hundred years ago. “About us?”
He was silent for so long she tipped her head up and looked into his face. His lean jaw hadn’t been shaved today, maybe not yesterday either. His mouth, wide and firm, was unsmiling. And yet in those light eyes flickered a few memories as he gave her a long, considering look. “Sometimes.”
“I do too,” she admitted, but not the rest. That the old Joe had drawn her because he represented everything that had been wonderful about her childhood.
That the new Joe, with his laugh lines and knowing eyes, with his matured low voice and confidence in his own skin, with his badge and gun, drew her too, yet in a very different manner.
The decidedly unexpected sexual tension—at least on her side—was new enough to shock her into silence.
He turned from the pictures and slid his eyes to hers, revealing nothing of his thoughts. “It was all a long time ago.”
And people moved on. She knew that. She’d moved on first, in fact, but she’d never regretted anything more. “I wanted to see you on the few trips I made here. I…didn’t know how.”
“If it was that hard for you, you did the right thing.”
She smiled past her regrets, determined not to spill her guts as she once would have done. “You’re probably right.”
“Yeah.” He lifted the iPad. “I have to go find your mother.” He paused. “I’ll be easy on her, I promise.”
A reassurance. A kind one, and grateful, she put her hand on his arm. Under her fingers, his muscles tensed. She stared up at him, registering, without meaning to, that beneath his shirt his body was muscular and hard.
Once she’d been out on a winter snowshoe trek in Alaska. She’d stood too close to the campfire trying to get warm and had singed her fingertips. They felt singed now too, though she didn’t pull back. “Thanks,” she whispered.
He stared down at her hand on him, then back into her eyes. “This is new.”
So he felt it too. “Yes.”
“It’s not going anywhere.”
“Joe—”
“It’s not.” Slowly, with only a speculative and quietly unnerving look, he walked away.
Okay, she got it. She’d given up their deep, abiding friendship without looking back, and she was paying the price for that.
She was no longer a priority of his. He had his work.
And Cindy. Let’s not forget Cindy, with the hungry eyes and sharklike smile.
And oh how she hated the unwanted stab of jealousy, and yet she watched him go, a yearning rushing through her so strong she had to bite her lip rather than call him back and give herself away.
With a sigh, she went to find the linens she’d promised to fold. The small alcove was decorated like a formal sitting room/dining room. Surprising her, her mother was already there, going through a small stack of new afghans.
Summer pulled one from the box, a soft chenille in golds and auburns and purples like a sunset, and attempted to fold it as effortlessly as her mother. “Joe’s here. He wants to talk to you.”
“Yes. Tina’s going first.”
Summer set the afghan over the back of a light blue chair and smoothed the edges. “I think he suspects arson.”
Her mom’s hands went still for a beat. Then she picked up the afghan Summer had just folded, redid it, and draped it over an oak blanket stand. “Doesn’t go with the blue.”
“Yes, but I’m talking about the fire.”
“Well, I’m talking about your horrible sense of color scheming.”
Frustration bubbled from deep within Summer. “Mom. Why do you do that? Hide what you feel from me?”
She looked genuinely surprised. “Do I?”
“Yes. Always. Tina and her daughters don’t hide a thing from each other.”
In fact, from the main room came the sound of Chloe and Tina yelling over a phone message, and her mom smiled wryly. “They certainly don’t.”
“Please tell me what you’re thinking about,” Summer said. Let me in.
“All right.” Her mom clasped her fingers together. “I’m thinking about things that I don’t normally think about. The first warehouse fire. Your dad.” She stared down at her hands and sighed. “He was was my life.”
Summer’s heart tripped, and she moved closer. “It’s only normal to think about him, since the warehouse burned again.”
“The first time was an accident.” Her mother grabbed another afghan and began folding. “They ruled it an accident.”
“Yes.” Summer’s throat ached. “It was a terrible, tragic accident. But then, it was a long time ago.”
Her mom tossed the afghan onto a high-legged end table, messily folded. Her only sign of distress. “With you here, it feels like yesterday.”
Summer didn’t know how to respond to that.
The last thing she wanted to do was cause her mom more pain.
Leaving would help both of them, but leaving was what had caused this distance in the first place, and besides, she’d promised not to go.
She might be confused, lonely, hurting…but she still had her word.
“I know Joe suspects arson,” her mom said. “But there was nothing in that warehouse that couldn’t be replaced. There’s no one else on any of the papers except Tina and me. No one but us would gain from an insurance payoff.”
“It doesn’t have to be insurance fraud. Maybe you made someone mad. A boyfriend?”
Her mother adamantly shook her head. “No.”
“The unhoused person?”
“No. He’s a very nice man. Just homeless. He’s very careful.”
“Another family member then? Diana? Madeline? Just kidding,” she said when her mom eyed her acerbically. “I’m just thinking a little juvie hall wouldn’t hurt their attitude.”
She actually let out a laugh. Socks came into the room and wound himself around her ankles. She scooped him up and buried her face in his neck. “It’s not arson.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Summer said slowly, not wanting to argue.
Her mom closed her eyes. “And at least this time, thank God, no one—”
She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t have to. Because they both knew.
At least this time, no one had died.