Up In Flames (20 page)

Jules wanted to be proud of the work she'd done that day. She'd managed to channel the prickling, chafing mixture of emotions inside her and had painted two full rooms on her own. The old country-inspired front room was now stripped of its happy bovine border and boasted a fresh coat of inviting lemon-yellow paint. It looked cheerful, a damn sight more cheerful than she felt.

Because she'd just gotten off the phone with Kevin, and she was still reeling from what he'd told her. He'd been incensed. Had told her Shane punched him for no reason, and he wouldn't stand for it.

Jules knew Kevin well. Certainly well enough to read between the lines. As much as he maintained he hadn't provoked Shane, she knew the captain wouldn't have lashed out at him like that. Shane Gaskill didn't have a violent bone in his body. And despite the recent friction between them, he'd always been a true gentleman, and not just with her. It's one of the things she loved about Shane. He had a sweet, old-school charm about him.

The only time he'd ever admitted to getting “caveman-like” was when he'd told her about his protective nature towards women. Her heart leapt a little, wondering if he'd hit Kevin in her defense.

"Not that it matters,” she decided. “I've buggered things up so royally."

She wandered into Shane's bedroom. They'd had a quick, terse conversation that morning before he left for work. She'd wanted to paint his room and rid him of the awful cows, so she'd asked his permission to go in and he'd assented. It was such a stupid thing, but in her mind, removing those cows felt like a tiny peace offering.

She looked around the room, inspecting her work, making sure no paint drops had fallen on his things. She'd taken great care, ensuring she'd covered all his items with drop cloths, but didn't want him to come home to a sticky mess.

It looked good. The country motif had been replaced by a tranquil robin's egg blue color. She smiled a little, hoping he'd like it, but then realized he probably wouldn't stick around much longer. The knowledge pained her, but she did her best to swallow her misery.

She looked at the digital clock on his bedside table. “Lord, it's almost dinner time."

Shane was on a day schedule right now. He'd be home anytime now. And they would likely return to their routine of eating separately and ignoring each other, as they had for the last couple of days. She'd even taken to bringing food out to the police officers outside to alleviate the stress. Anything to distract her from the temptation of running to Shane and making him forgive her for being an emotional fool.

Blinking back tears, Jules proceeded to remove all the drop cloths and piled them in the halls. As she tidied, she gave Shane's belongings a cursory inspection, to ensure she hadn't knocked anything over.

It struck her at that moment. There were no photos of Alana. Not a single one. She'd never really thought about it until that second. Of course, it had been five years. She wondered if she would keep photos around, if the situation were reversed. Or if she would bury all mementos. He didn't wear a ring, as she'd painfully learned, but if he still grieved Alana, wouldn't he at least keep one little photo lying around?

Dismissing the thought as none of her business, thank you very much, she hurried out of his room and carried the drop cloths to the basement work room.

While in the process of washing her paint brushes in the basement sink, she heard the upstairs door slam. “Dammit,” she whispered.

They couldn't avoid each other forever. For the time being, however little it might last, he still lived under her brand-new roof. At some point, they would have to have an actual, adult conversation. Not the curt, emotion-packed snippets which had so recently become the norm.

She dried off her hands and smoothed down her rumpled, old T-shirt. The one now covered in lemon yellow and robin's egg blue. Rolling her eyes at her appearance, she plodded upstairs.

He was standing outside his bedroom, looking in, hands on hips. She approached quietly, observing him.

He had changed before coming home and was dressed in his favorite cargo shorts and a dark green Polo shirt. She could see how the fabric of the Polo stretched across the muscles of his broad back, highlighting each ripple of strength. Her eyes dropped, taking in his slim waist. His shirt was untucked, and made him look sexy and rumpled. Her intake of breath grew sharper as she checked out his firm backside. The cargo shorts may have covered up his fine glutes, but she remembered how they looked. Remembered how they felt under her eager hands, as he thrust into her heat.

God, she missed that feeling. Missed his whispered words of affection. Missed holding him and being held by him. Missed Shane, period.

Shane turned, noticing her, and she blushed. “Hi."

"Hey.” He was just as red, and he looked just as defeated. They stared at each other for a moment.

Jules finally broke the ice. “I finished your room. I hope it's okay.” She wandered into the bedroom, passing him at the doorway, achingly aware of his proximity and his gaze. “I hope you don't think it's too feminine a color. I'm trying to find colors which might appeal to both women and men."

He followed her in and stood next to her, gazing at her with awkwardness. And then he grinned down at her. She knew she looked an absolute sight, with her ragged canvas of a T-shirt, dotted with color. From her last inspection, she knew she had paint specks all through her hair. Not to mention a few long, dried-up patches on her bare legs.

And he was still looking at her as if she were a freaking goddess.

He cleared his throat. “I think you made good choices. I saw the yellow, too. It's really nice and bright. And I do like the blue."

She turned to him abruptly, her eyes showing the merest hint of the desperation she felt inside. “When I say I want it to appeal to customers, I don't mean you need to leave. I mean, I realize you won't want to stay, Shane, but please don't feel you need to rush off on my account either.” She threw up her hands, disgusted with her words. “Anyway, it's not as if the B&B will open anytime soon. There's still a lot of work to be done, and it's nice having ... the extra income."

The extra income? She wanted to hit her head. Now she was thanking him for his rent? She sounded like a complete moron.

His face creased with a small, crooked smile. “I think it's probably best I get out of your hair soon, Jules.” Then, as if unable to help himself, he reached out and tousled her hair. “Your very messy hair. You look like you've been through a paintball competition today.” She blushed again, and he smiled even wider.

Of course, he'd once told her he loved how she blushed.

"Gee, thanks,” she giggled humorlessly, running her own hand through her hair. But as she giggled, a searing stitch of pain shot through her. He was going to leave. What did she expect? That he'd hang around waiting for her to sort out her ridiculous excuse for a life? She ignored the cramp in her side. “So... I hear you and Kevin had an interesting chat today."

His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. The rumor mill here works fast."

"Actually, I got it right from the horse's mouth. Kevin called.” She drew closer, and dared to touch his right hand to inspect his bruised knuckles. “I heard you have a pretty powerful right hook. I can only imagine what Kevin looks like. You must have hit him on the hardest part of his hard head to cause this bruise.” She brushed a finger across his knuckles gently, wanting to take any of his discomfort away.

And before she could stop herself, she gently kissed his bruised fingers. It was the most natural reaction. The only thing her heart knew how to do.

But it was the wrong thing. Shaking his head as if assaulted by the not-so-slow burn of anger and desire, Shane deftly extricated his hand from hers, causing her to take a step back.

"Dammit woman,” he muttered, “don't."

She understood. She couldn't touch him like that. The flames were too hot for either of them to ignore.

Sensing his ire, Jules just watched him as he silently moved into the room and tossed his duffle bag down on the bed. From this angle, she got a good look at his scraped up face. It had healed quite well, even in such a short time, and the scrapes didn't look nearly as raw as they did a couple of days ago. Still, every time she looked at his cheek, she felt winded, hating he'd felt pain. He'd sworn up and down it didn't hurt anymore. And now, with the fading cross-hatched scars, he only looked more rugged.

If the women at the auction could only get a load of him now.

Swallowing the seed of jealousy which felt so firmly planted inside her core, she spoke. “Do you want to talk about what happened with Kevin?"

He turned, his eyes shadowed, looking darker brown than they ever had. “Really, Jules?” His voice was dry and hoarse. “You really want to have this conversation? Because I think you'll hear some things you don't want to hear.” He stared at her, defiant. More than mad.

She retreated, both physically and emotionally, and stepped towards the door. “Never mind. I just wanted to help. Have a good night."

She disappeared, faster than a rabbit running for its burrow. With a heavy heart, she tore into the bathroom upstairs, locked the door, and turned on the shower. And then she didn't move for a long time.

When she didn't come back down within the space of an hour, Shane decided he needed Chinese takeout. He asked the officers stationed outside to keep an eye on Jules, and headed out.

He found it extremely hard to get the sweet and sour chicken down his gullet. He just wasn't hungry. With his dinner not even half eaten, he plunked down some money and exited the little restaurant.

Not knowing where else to go, he decided to pay a visit to Tom Blanchard at the hospital. He'd spoken to the man on the phone once or twice since the accident, but had been meaning to visit in person. It was as good a time as any.

Given the altercation with Kevin and the scene with Jules, he likely wouldn't be in Riverbend much longer anyhow. He knew he couldn't leave until they'd found the arsonist, but eventually he'd have to go.

He poked his head into Tom's hospital room, expecting to find him asleep amongst the various bags and tubes. Or to be goosing a nurse. However, the old guy was sitting up, playing solitaire on his lap. “Hey,” said Shane, “you look a damn sight better than the last time I saw you."

Tom's eyes lit up when he saw Shane. “Chief! Come in! Please, relieve me of my boredom."

Shane sauntered in and took a seat, listening as Tom regaled him with a detailed account of his many injuries and his road to recuperation. As Tom spoke, Shane couldn't help noticing how bare the room seemed. It was the typical, sterile hospital room, but something seemed off.

And then it hit him. There were no flowers, no balloons. Only the large bottle of aged whiskey which the firefighters had sent as a group, the gift Shane had organized. It was sitting alone on a counter, next to the card they'd all signed. But that was it. He knew Tom was an old, confirmed bachelor, but he actually wondered if anyone had been there to see him at all.

Once Tom finished talking, he couldn't help commenting. “So, where are all your groupies? The ones who were hooting at you at the auction?"

Tom's face split with an awkward smile. “Oh, you know me, chief. No attachments. That's my motto. I guess the downside is no one really cares when you're down."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tom. People care about you."

"Oh, I have no doubt some of them do. But maybe not in the right way.” He paused, frowning. “Not like my wife cared."

Shane took him in, shocked. “You never mentioned a wife."

"Well, she hasn't been mine in a long time. We divorced when we were still kids.” He grew contemplative. “I made a mistake letting her go, and it was over such stupid stuff. I don't even remember now. I promised myself after the divorce I wouldn't go there again, but it's funny. It's at times like these when I wish I could see her again. Ask her to forgive me for being such a young dumbass.” He let out a hearty laugh, as if it didn't bother him anymore.

"You could still tell her."

"No. She remarried a long time ago. I wouldn't do that to her now. She's happy. Has a good man looking out for her. I made my bed. And now I'm sleeping in it.” He gestured weakly to the hospital sheets. “Besides, Captain Gaskill, haven't you heard all the good ones get taken?"

Shane stared at a spot somewhere over Tom's shoulder. “Yeah. I had heard something like that."

"You got yourself a woman?"

Shane blinked, not quite sure how to answer the question. “I think I might have lost myself a woman."

"Ah. I wondered about you,” Tom commented slyly. “You seemed so serious when you started working at the station. You never joined in when the other men shared their pathetic tales of female conquest. So, do you love her?"

Shane looked at him and swallowed the sick feeling in his stomach. The feeling telling him in no certain terms that he'd screwed up. “I think I've loved her since the first time I clapped eyes on her."

"And does she know?” Tom asked the question as if he were a teacher prompting a child.

He shook his head.

"Well then, there's only one thing to do. You should tell her how you feel, Shane."

"It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?” Tom peered at him through tired eyes. “Look, I've seen a lot and I've lost even more. Learn from my example. Believe me, there's nothing worse than being caught in a fire, unable to move, and realizing you were wrong. That you could have changed everything with a few simple words but let pride or fear get in the way.” He stared at Shane pointedly. “Go home, and tell her."

Shane watched as a nurse brought in a tray of food. He smiled at Tom. “Only if you eat your Jell-O, old man."

He thought again about Tom's plain words as he headed home later. Tell her. Just tell her.

What a novel idea.

His heart began to leap as he considered the prospect of talking to Jules, really talking to her. What if he'd had it wrong all this time? What if it was okay to take a chance? Sure, she was upset with him, maybe even irreversibly so. But could he really live with himself if he let that woman go?