Chapter 3
Dozing in a hospital chair on and off for a few hours wasn’t Nate’s idea of a good night’s sleep …
or even a decent nap. There was a distinct kink in his neck from the way his head had dipped to the side.
His eyes felt like someone had poured sand over them and he couldn’t get the last grains out, and his throat was just about as rough.
Sophie’s must hurt like a mother. He didn’t regret for a second letting her use his air supply.
She’d still been out when he’d finally decided his sitting there in her room for hours on end had crossed over into the creepy zone.
He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, but it’d be better if it was a family member camping out and not some single dude who’d been struck stupid by her mesmerizing eyes.
Shit. He was even thinking poetically now. Chalk that up to the lack of sleep.
He’d done what he could, which hadn’t been jack shit other than sitting there snoozing and wearing out his welcome. He’d decided on his way out of the hospital that that was it. He’d been there for her, she’d known he was there, and now it was time to move on.
It was after five p.m. His dad was going on a date tonight, so the house would be empty. Of people and of food. Nate drove his Ford F-150 toward the gulf shore and parked in the lot of the Shell Shack. As home-away-from-home as a place without a bed could get.
As he got out of the truck, the life-affirming aroma of fried food and the din of good souls imbibing welcomed him. The patio adjacent to the thatched-roof bar was nearly deserted. Such was November on the beach. Today was particularly windy, and the indoor heaters were the only way to go.
Nate walked through the open doorway, glad to see the protective plastic over the windows on the far side of the open-air shack, blocking the wind coming off the beach.
“Rotten House, get your ass over here!”
Nate turned his head in response to one of his nicknames at the station. Dylan Long sat on the end stool on the far side of the bar, watching him and grinning like a dumb ass. Nate made his way over and took the empty seat next to him.
“Man of the hour,” Dylan said and slapped him on the back. “Order up, hero. Dinner’s on me.”
Jess, their favorite short, curvy waitress, flipped a towel over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Hey, Nate. Heard you’re a hero. Way to go.”
“Long time coming,” he said modestly. He’d heard other guys say they didn’t feel heroic after pulling somebody out of a fire, and now he understood.
All he’d been doing was his job. Rescues were more about luck …
finding someone who needed help before it was too late.
Being in the right place at the right time.
He just thanked Jesus, Mary, and all that was holy that it hadn’t been too late for Sophie.
“Beer’s on the house,” Jess said, “and I’d suggest a triple burger and a couple of sides if Dylan’s got your dinner tab.”
Nate smirked at Dylan, then nodded at Jess. “I like the way you think. Triple with cheese and a double order of chili fries, please.”
“Dos Equis draw?” Jess asked.
Nate nodded again and stole an onion ring from Dylan. “You the only one here from the station?”
“Clay and Evan said they might show up later. Couple medics were here when I came in, but they left.”
“The Shack would probably close down during the winter without the fire department,” Jess said as she slid a glass of amber liquid perfection in front of him.
“You’re an angel, Jess. Thanks.” He downed a third of it in one go, the sharpness on his tongue making his taste buds weep with joy.
Jess smiled at him, and then her eyes veered covertly to Dylan, making Nate suspect — not for the first time — that she had a thing for his colleague.
Dylan was either blind, gay, or dumb to not notice it.
Maybe all three. He hung out at the bar plenty when she was working.
They talked a lot and seemed to be buddies but nothing more.
Jess might be a few years younger, but she was pretty, had a superb rack, and was one hell of a bartender.
“I know,” she said. “Angel of beer. Heard it before.”
She disappeared into the back room, where the food was prepared.
Seconds later, Macey Severson, owner of the Shell Shack and wife of Derek, one of the other firefighters, peeked her head around the corner.
Nate lifted his chin and smiled in greeting.
She came out, wiping her hands on the apron at her waist.
“Hey, Mr. Hero. Heard you had quite the night.” Macey came around the end of the bar and hugged him. “Congrats on the rescue.”
Nate grinned, deciding to go along with all the to-do. “Dylan’s got my dinner, Jess picked up this beautiful cup of hops and barley … you gonna treat me to a gourmet dessert or what?”
“Or what. How ’bout if I cook your food?” Macey said.
“Guess I’ll take it. What are you doing here tonight anyway?” Nate asked. “Thought you were giving most of your time to your nonprofit.”
“Just here for the dinner hour,” she said. “Mike hurt his back and couldn’t make it in, so I’m covering.”
“Who’s got the princess? Big Daddy?” Dylan asked, referring to their daughter and Macey’s husband.
“Derek and Maddy went to a movie. A special showing of some My Little Pony feature.” Macey pursed her lips to hide her amusement.
“Excellent,” Dylan said. “Derek will be right in his element with the rainbows and stars.”
“He’s a good daddy,” Macey said with a wide grin. She straightened the salt and pepper and napkin holder on the bar and became serious. “He said they suspect arson?”
Nate’s empty stomach twisted into a knot. “In the office building fire? I hadn’t heard.”
“Where you been all day, man?” Dylan asked. “They think it was started right outside of the end unit where you found the woman.”
“Outside of Sophie’s office? What the fuck?” Nate clenched his fist, and rage boiled up inside him at the thought of some worthless piece of shit intentionally starting a fire.
“Sophie?” Dylan raised one brow as if Nate was one taco short of a combo plate.
“The woman. Sophie Alexander.”
“Didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis with her. How’s she doing?”
“Concussion and smoke inhalation. They’ll keep her for a couple days max. Is Grif on the case?” The arsonist bastard needed to be caught. Like, yesterday. Penn Griffin might be one of the newer investigators, but he wasn’t new to the fire service, and Nate trusted him implicitly.
“Yep.”
“Derek said she was lucky the wind carried the fire away from her office,” Macey said. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”
“I think she’d fallen before I found her,” Nate said. “That’d explain the head injury. The fire stayed just south of her suite. Had her office been more directly involved … yeah.” A spark of cold fear went down his spine. “Bad news. Suspects yet?”
Dylan shook his head, a grim expression on his face.
“Not the last I heard,” Macey confirmed. “It’s early though.”
Until they caught him, there was always the fear that he’d strike again. Nate couldn’t help but wonder if Sophie had been the target or it’d been a random hit. And there she was … alone in that hospital bed.
Jess came out of the kitchen with a basket of food and set it in front of him.
“Thanks, Jess. Guess I’m slacking in my duties,” Macey said.
“As the owner, you can get away with that,” Dylan said. “At least when you have Jess the Angel of Beer on the clock.”
Nate ignored the chatter. Ignored them. Just about ignored the food in front of him, but he figured that would get their notice. He shoved a distracted stream of fries in his mouth and rethought his decision on Sophie Alexander.
Looked like he wasn’t quite ready to walk away after all.