Authors: Regina Kyle
“You mean you want to keep doing...whatever it is we’re doing?”
“Hell, yeah.” He grinned. It was damned adorable how she couldn’t quite bring herself to put a name to their extracurricular activities. “Don’t you?”
“Won’t it get...weird?”
“Not if we don’t let it,” he insisted. “And we won’t.”
“Now I’m confused.” She shook her head, her curls spilling around her shoulders. “If you’re not running from me, then why are you running?”
“I’m not.”
She started to protest, but he stopped her with a quick, hard kiss. “At least not voluntarily. Your brother called and asked me to meet him at Maude’s. Devin and your mom are talking shoes and rice, and he needed a break. I couldn’t very well tell him I’d rather spend the day in bed with his sister.”
“Hmm.” She nodded thoughtfully, one side of her mouth curling into a half smile. “I see your problem.”
“How about a do-over?” The hands on her hips tightened, pulling her flush against him. “Like maybe tonight?”
“A do-over?” She smirked. “What are we, back in middle school?”
“What I’ve got planned is way beyond the limits of my impressionable, prepubescent mind.”
“God, you’re incorrigible.”
“And by incorrigible you mean irresistible, right?” He waggled his brows at her.
“Yes, damn you.” She gave him a little push. “Go. Have breakfast with my brother. I should get to the nursery anyway. If someone’s not watching Dad, he’ll probably do something crazy, like try to move twenty cubic yards of mulch by himself.”
“So we’re good?” Cade asked, releasing her.
“We’re good.” Ivy started for her closet again but stopped after a couple of steps and turned back to him, the tiny creases in her forehead telling him something was still bothering her. He didn’t have to wait long to find out what it was. “We’re going to keep this between us, right? The last thing I need is my family thinking we’re an item.”
“Fine by me. I’m not sure I’d be able to look Gabe in the eye if he knew we’d been...” Cade scratched his chin, grasping for a more Ivy-friendly phrase than “doing the nasty.” Bumping uglies? Getting it on? “...intimate. Never mind your father.”
“So we’re agreed. We keep things quiet and casual.”
“Quiet and casual,” he repeated, sitting on the bed again and reaching for the sneaker he’d discarded.
Just what he needed after the mess with Sasha.
He hoped.
“M
Y
GOD
, I
VY
.”
Hank, the photographer Ivy had been filling in for, sat hunched over her laptop, clicking through the photos from the calendar shoot. “These are incredible.”
“Thanks.” She stood behind him and looked over his shoulder, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I had good material to work with.”
“I’ll grant you that.” He paused, his finger hovering over the mouse, a picture of a smiling Cade with Bilbo perched on his shoulder frozen on the screen. “But this is more than good material. This is good photography.”
“Again, thanks.” Ivy dragged her eyes away from Cade’s seminude image, her face heating with the memories of their sex-capades the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that.
Did Hank have to stop on that photo?
Mercifully, he clicked on to the next one before she started drooling.
“It’s me who should be thanking you for bailing me out.” He clicked again, pausing to take a sip of coffee from a mug that looked like it hadn’t seen the inside of a dishwasher in years. “You know, you don’t need me for this. You could have picked the final proofs yourself. I trust your judgment, and I’m sure the shelter board does, too.”
“I didn’t want to step on any toes. The calendar is still your project. You started it. I figured you should finish it, now that your back’s feeling better.”
“It’s getting there.” He sat up straight and stretched to one side and then the other. “But it’s not one hundred percent. Doctor’s got me on restricted activity.”
“What about your business?” She glanced around Hank’s cluttered studio, noticing for the first time the thin layer of dust on the equipment.
“See that pile of papers?” He gestured to a stack next to the cordless phone. “All clients I have to call and break the news that I’m out of commission for the time being.”
Ivy pulled a chair up next to him and sat, her mind spinning with half-formed ideas. “What kinds of clients?”
“The usual. Weddings, engagement photos, birthdays. A couple of family portraits. And one woman who wants me to take glamour shots of her cats.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Florian’s going to shit himself.”
“Who’s Florian?”
“Florian Rhodes. The only other professional photographer in town. Total hack, if you ask me. He usually gets my overflow business.” Hank took another sip from his ancient mug and grimaced, whether because of the coffee or the competition, Ivy didn’t know. “What the hell kind of name is Florian, anyway? I bet he made it up. He looks more like a Jake to me. Or maybe a James. I had an assistant named James once. Real pain in the ass. Refused to answer to Jim. He quit before I could fire him.”
“What if I cover for you for the next few weeks?” Ivy scooted to the edge of her chair. “Like I did with the calendar.”
“Why would you want to do that?” He scratched at his temple. “I mean, the calendar was for charity. But bar mitzvahs? Pet portraits? You’re used to working with professionals, not local yokels.”
She shrugged. “It’ll be a nice change. Except for the pet-portrait thing. I’m not touching that.”
“Can’t say I blame you. Might as well stick Florian with that one.” He grabbed the papers and handed them to her. “Here. Have at it. You might recognize a few of the names. Anything you book, we split fifty-fifty. Deal?”
“Deal.” She flipped through the stack. Hank was right. She did recognize a few of the names. More than a few. Earl Gibson, owner of the local grocery store, was looking for someone to photograph a surprise birthday party he was throwing for his wife. Maude wanted some new publicity shots for the diner. Even Jessie Pagano, who’d tortured Holly all through high school, needed a photographer for her son’s preschool graduation.
Okay, so maybe she’d pass that last one on to Florian, too.
Like Hank had said, the others were more of the same. Special occasions. Family reunions. Definitely not her typical fare. But the more she leafed through the pile, the more the idea appealed to her—capturing regular, everyday people at the happiest times of their lives, instead of moody models primped to the nines and posed for the camera.
What the heck? She’d be in Stockton for at least a few more weeks. She was usually done at the nursery by noon. She needed something to occupy the rest of her days besides counting down the hours until her next round between the sheets with Cade.
“I think I’ll start with this one.” She held up a slip of paper. “The mayor needs a new head shot.”
“Good choice.” Hank nodded. “I did her back when she was on the board of selectmen. She’s easy to work with.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “No one can be more difficult than a food-and-sleep-deprived swimsuit model forced to stand in forty-degree water to midthigh and keep her balance against strong waves and heavy wind.”
“You’d be surprised.” He pushed his chair back, pulled out the top drawer of his desk and hunted through the contents until he pulled out a key. “I suppose if we’re going to be working together you ought to have this. Then you can come and go as you please.”
“Thanks.” She took the key from him and slipped it into her pocket, making a mental note to add it to her key chain later. “You can trust me.”
“I wouldn’t have given you free rein if I didn’t.” He handed her the phone. “I’m going to head home, take some Motrin and fire up the heating pad. Let me know how you make out. And lock up when you’re done.”
With an awkward wave, he left. Ivy stood and surveyed the room. They’d rented a bigger space for the calendar shoot. Hank’s studio was small and somewhat cramped, but it had all the equipment she needed for indoor shots. Studio strobes. Light diffusers. Umbrellas. Reflectors. Tripods.
And of course she had her own trusty Nikon and enough lenses to cover pretty much every perspective, from wide angle to close up.
She ran a finger over one of the strobes. It came back covered in grime. She’d have to find where Hank kept his cleaning supplies and give the place a good going-over before she could even think about bringing clients in.
But first she had some phone calls to make.
* * *
C
ADE
MOVED
QUICKLY
and efficiently through his locker, checking his gear. His turnout was ready to go, his helmet, flashlight and the face piece for his breathing apparatus all in place. He replaced the battery in his radio, making sure it was set on the dispatch channel, and went to the engine bay to check the rest of his breathing unit on the rig.
“Hardesty.” O’Brien, the engineer, stuck his head out of the driver’s window. “Nice of you to join us.”
“Us?” Cade looked around the engine bay. “You got multiple personalities or something? Because I don’t see anyone else in here.”
“Sykes and Hansen are restocking the ambulance. Guess C Company had a rough day. Three MVAs, a couple of miscellaneous medical calls and a structure fire.”
“Any fatalities?” Cade held his breath for the answer. In a suburb the size of Stockton, he was bound to know the victims, or at least know somebody who knew them. It was like that six-degrees-of-separation thing, only closer.
“No.” Even O’Brien had the decency to look relieved. Maybe he had a heart under his asshole exterior after all. “Just some minor injuries. Nothing life-threatening.”
“Well, let’s hope it’s a quiet night.”
Then maybe he could head over to Ivy’s after his shift. Had it only been a week since he’d showed up on her doorstep with his version of a fire safety kit? How was it that in that short time she’d become as essential to him as breathing?
“You got plans with your girlfriend? Presuming, of course, she doesn’t get her fat ass stuck in any more tight places.”
So much for the heart theory. The guy was not only a prick, he was a mind reader. Dangerous combination.
Cade ignored him and concentrated on prechecking his gear. As much as he wanted to pound O’Brien into next week, he wasn’t stupid enough to get caught fighting on duty and risk an automatic suspension.
“O’Brien.” Cappy’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Report to my office. Stat.”
Cade gave a long, low whistle. “Someone’s in trouble.”
“Or due for a promotion.” O’Brien jumped down from the cab and leaned against the side of the engine. “I took the lieutenant exam last month. Results must be in.”
He sneered at Cade, who was trying his hardest to focus on testing his regulator. “Looks like I’m going to be your superior, Hardesty. Think you can stomach calling me ‘sir’?”
“When hell freezes over.”
“When hell freezes over, sir,” O’Brien mocked over his shoulder as he strode out of the engine bay.
Cade shook his head and continued his preshift ritual. He’d transfer to another station before he’d work under O’Brien. Or maybe take the lieutenant exam himself. It was past time—way past time, if he was honest with himself. Cappy had been bugging him to take it for years. But Cade had always put it off, claiming he was too busy or too tired or just happy doing what he was doing and didn’t want the extra responsibility.
Bullshit.
Truth was, he was too damn scared of failing.
He’d made it through high school thanks to Gabe and Ivy, who’d tutored him in every subject from physics to precalculus. College had been a haze of football and frat parties, and he’d passed the firefighters exam by the narrowest of margins. On his second try.
No wonder he was such a disappointment to his academic parents. Mom with her books on French romantic poetry and Dad with his encyclopedic knowledge of the flora and fauna of North America. They’d both been tenured professors at Wesleyan before their “retirement” to North Carolina’s research triangle. Never mind that they worked as much now between adjunct teaching, book signings and speaking engagements as they did then.
But he wasn’t stupid, no matter what his parents thought. He’d aced the practical-skills part of his firefighter training. He just froze when it came to taking tests. The words seemed to swim across the page, and the more nervous he got, the worse it got. After talking with Nick, who’d gone public with his dyslexia, Cade had started to wonder if he might have a learning disability, too. And he’d never gotten the help he needed because his parents had been too preoccupied—or too proud—to notice.
But the Nelsons had always been there for him. Especially Gabe and Ivy. Maybe she’d help him study now, if she wasn’t off photographing supermodels in some exotic locale by the time the test rolled around again.
“Hey, Cade.” Sykes strolled into the engine bay, his constant companion Hansen at his heels, their arms filled with medical supplies. “Up for a cutthroat game of Uno after dinner?”
“Sure.” With one last glance at his gear, Cade closed the doors of the equipment compartment and turned his attention to the paramedics. He didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to see those two clowns in his life. Anything to keep his mind off Ivy and her inevitable departure.
“Need any help?” he asked. If Yin and Yang weren’t enough of a distraction, maybe stocking meds would do the trick.
“Nah.” Hansen swung open the rear doors of the ambulance. “We got it covered.”
“Then I think I’ll squeeze in a workout before dinner.” Cade pushed his shoulders back and rolled his neck. “Who’s cooking?”
“Cappy.” Sykes grimaced and climbed on board after his partner.
“I’ll chip in for pizza.” Hansen stuck his head out of the vehicle and waved a bill at Cade.
“Me, too.” Sykes followed suit.
“I’m in.” Cade collected the money and stuck it in his pocket. “Bacon and onion okay?”
“Fine by me.” Hansen disappeared back inside the rig.
“Me, too.” Sykes pulled another bill out of his wallet and handed it to Cade. “And get me a sausage-and-spinach calzone for later.”
Cade shook his head. The guy was a bottomless pit. How he stayed within the on-duty weight limit was a mystery. “No problem. I’ll call Valentino’s when I’m done working out.”
“Thanks, man.”
Sykes vanished after his partner, and Cade headed for the fitness room. He hadn’t gone two feet when the alarm sounded and Cappy’s voice boomed over the speaker again.
“Engine Five, Rescue One. Ten thirty-seven, Code two. Victim trapped in a drainage pipe at 71 East Main Street.”
Cade sprinted for his locker. Heavy footsteps told him Sykes and Hansen were close behind. They met O’Brien and Cappy and the rest of B Company, who were already pulling on their turnouts.
“71 East Main Street. Isn’t that the Bag ’n’ Feed?” Sykes asked.
Cade toed off his sneakers and stepped into his bunker pants. “How the hell does a person get stuck in the drain pipe at a convenience store?”
“It’s not a person,” Cappy informed him. “It’s a cat. Employees said they heard it in there a couple of days ago. They hoped it would work its way out, but no dice.”
“We’re dispatching an engine and an ambulance to rescue a fucking cat?” O’Brien stopped with one suspender hanging off his shoulder.
Cappy glared at him. “You got something better to do?”
O’Brien silently threaded his arm through the suspender into his gear.
“Anyone else got any complaints?” Cappy looked from man to man, his expression daring someone else to object.
“No, Cap,” they chimed.
“Good.” Cappy slammed his locker shut and jammed on his helmet. “Then let’s get moving. There’s a feline life at stake. And contrary to popular opinion, they don’t have nine.”