Charming the Firefighter (6 page)

“And sex,” he couldn’t help but add.

Her flush deepened, but she held his gaze, her chin lifted as if to prove he couldn’t fluster her. “Yes, naturally they should also have similar views about sex. What they shouldn’t believe is that simply because they have a satisfying physical relationship, they can work through other problems. For a relationship to succeed, a couple should have similar intellects in order for them to enjoy scintillating conversation, as well as interesting and intriguing debates. If they have similar tastes, they can share hobbies and enjoy the same types of film, shows and music. All of which will make it easier for them to want to spend time together.”

“That’s quite the theory,” he said, wondering about her romantic relationships. Was she in one? His gaze flicked to her left hand. No ring. No signs of a husband from what he could tell. But then, he’d seen only the hallway and kitchen. For all he knew, there could be a spouse lurking around somewhere, but something told him there wasn’t. “Most women believe in love and forever and happy endings.”

She snorted, then looked appalled, as if unable to believe the sound had actually come from her. “I’m all for love and forever. I also realize that happy endings require an immense amount of work and sacrifice, and if both people aren’t willing to pull their weight, none of it will be enough to make a doomed relationship last.”

She made relationships sound like a job, not something to be cherished and revered.

Like he’d said—fascinating.

She shook her head. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with why you’re here.”

“Not a thing.” But she was right. He needed to get back to work, focus on getting the details for his report, and make sure she really was as okay as she seemed and move on to the next case. He pulled out his notebook and pen. “Can you tell me what happened exactly?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He tapped the notebook. “Gives me something to write in here. If I come back with blank pages, my captain gets cranky.”

She slumped back and crossed her arms. “I had a glass of wine.”

He waited, but when she didn’t elaborate, he asked, “And the wine made the grill explode?”

She sent him a bland stare. “I was simply explaining the events leading up to the...the...incident.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she cleared her throat. “I may have had more than one glass, but definitely less than three. I think.”

Holding his pen over the paper, he raised his eyebrows. “You lost count?”

“Of course not. I’m an accountant. Counting is what I do,” she said in an aggrieved tone. “Counting and adding and subtracting and reading tax law among other things. The point,” she said, “is that I am not drunk.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She sniffed. “You didn’t have to. I can tell by your face. You look all...smug. And amused.”

“Smug?” he murmured. “That hurts.”

“Let me tell you something,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “While I may not be completely, one hundred percent sober, I am
not
inebriated.” She spoke with the slow enunciation of the drunk, but she handled the word with impressive skill. “I’d realized I should eat something and that was why I lit the grill in the first place. I’m not drunk,” she repeated, though way less vehemently. “I’m just...” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes taking on a sadness that tugged at something deep inside of him. “I’m just having a really bad day.”

Compassion swept through him. Nothing new there. Taking care of others wasn’t just his job, it was his calling, one he was damned good at. He prided himself on his ability to sympathize with the people he helped, to understand what they needed most.

Penelope, with her sad eyes and that sexy mole, needed someone to make her day a little brighter, a little better.

She needed to know she wasn’t alone.

“Excuse me a minute,” he said before crossing to the French doors. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “Everything okay with the grill?” he asked Forrest.

“Hoses are still intact, no leaks or damage to them or the tank. Rhett and the rookie just left.”

“Good. Hey, can you give me ten minutes? Ms. Denning isn’t feeling well, but I think it’s only low blood sugar.” Low blood sugar. High alcohol content. Why split hairs? “I want to make sure she has something to eat, is feeling steadier before we take off.”

Forrest shook his head sadly. “You saving the world again, partner?”

“Not the whole world,” Leo corrected as he turned to go inside. “Just this one little corner.”

* * *

W
ITH
HER
HEAD
resting
on her folded arms on top of the island, Penelope shut her eyes. She needed a moment to get her bearings, to gather her thoughts, then she’d get on with her day.

Her awful, horrible day.

She could hardly wait.

A moment later, she jerked upright. Confused and disoriented, she glanced around, then frowned at the fuzzy image of Leo Montesano taking food out of her refrigerator. She must have dozed off. The thought of Leo witnessing her impromptu nap should have horrified her, but she had too many other things on her mind.

Such as why on earth he was still there.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting you something to eat.” He set the bowl of potato salad on the counter, reached back in for the caprese and taco salads. Carried them to the dining-room table, then crossed to her. “Let’s sit at the table.”

“This isn’t necessary,” she said, knowing she sounded ungrateful and prissy but unable to help it. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“That’s clear enough to see, but everyone needs help once in a while.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t have to know you. It’s my job to make sure you’re all right, and in a place like Shady Grove, we take care of each other.” He studied her and for some odd reason, it took all her willpower not to fidget. “Let me guess. You’re not from here.”

“No.” But she had been in town almost eight months. Long enough, she would think, to stop feeling like a tourist. An outsider. “But I lived here for six months when I was in middle school.”

Many, many eons ago.

Out of the dozen-plus places she’d lived during her lifetime, the six months she’d spent in Shady Grove had been, by far, the happiest. She’d felt a sense of peace, of belonging she’d never experienced before. She wanted that for Andrew.

Was it so wrong to want it for herself, as well?

“Since you’re new to town,” Leo said, “let me show you how we take care of our own.”

He helped her off the stool, kept his hand on her elbow, solicitous and polite, as he led her to the table. She sat, mainly because she had no idea what else to do. When he headed into the kitchen, she slid her hands to her lap, hid them under the table and pinched her forearm.

Yes, it hurt. This was real. She was wide-awake, sitting at her table while a man handsome enough to give a movie star a run for his money searched her cabinets.

What on earth had happened to her life?

“I hate to repeat myself,” she said, “but what are you doing now?”

“Looking for...ah...” He pulled a plate from the cupboard. “Found it. Silverware?”

“Are you certain you don’t want to open and shut every drawer?” she heard herself ask, then was appalled, not only that she’d say something so blatantly rude and antagonistic, but that she’d sounded so petulant doing so.

But she’d already had one stranger rummaging through her personal items—as personal as kitchenware could be. Her patience was threadbare.

“I could,” he said, not sounding the least bit bothered by her rudeness. “But it’ll save us both time if you just tell me.”

“Next to the dishwasher,” she muttered. Where else would they be? It was the most convenient place for them.

He pulled out a fork, knife and serving spoon, then walked toward her. He set the plate in front of her, laid down the silverware and began opening containers.

Maybe she was still in shock. Or tipsier than she’d originally thought, because she sat there like a helpless idiot and let him pile food onto a plate. Noticing that the potato and taco salads were touching, she grabbed the plate and pulled it out of his reach. Used the fork to separate her food.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “But you really don’t have to do this.”

“That’s what neighbors do. They help each other. Good neighbors, anyway.”

Which let Penelope know, in a quiet yet still scolding way, that she was not being a good neighbor. Or, at least, a polite one. Shame filled her. See? She was horrible at this, this whole...social interaction thing. “I prefer to handle things on my own.”

It was safer that way. No one could let you down if you didn’t depend on them. And you couldn’t disappoint them, either.

“Today,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to.”

A lump formed in her throat and she dropped her gaze. She was being rude. Rude and inconsiderate and, worse, ungrateful, while he treated her with nothing but kindness.

She shouldn’t want his sympathy. Surely she shouldn’t be soaking it in, but it wasn’t so horrible, letting someone else take the lead. Especially when she was so far out of her element. At work, she was fine dealing with people. She had her position and behaved accordingly. There were clear rules and guidelines of what was and wasn’t acceptable behavior.

Personal relationships—whether casual or intimate—were different. It was too difficult to discern her role.

“Why are you doing this? I mean, beyond the good neighbor reason. This—” she gestured toward the food “—seems to go beyond the boundaries of your job description.” She didn’t consider herself a suspicious person, but she was old enough, and wise enough, to realize good deeds often came with strings attached.

“Because I’m a nice guy. And because it really is my job to make sure you’re okay.”

Of course. What did she think? That he wanted to spend more time with her? That he was flirting with her?

She was way too pragmatic for such nonsense. While she didn’t underestimate her physical charms, she wasn’t a great beauty by any means. Nor did she possess the type of overt sexuality that inspired flirtatious banter, longing looks or heated seduction. Especially from a man several years younger and at least three steps above her on anyone’s looks scale.

Not that it bothered her. Much.

“Go on,” he continued with a nod toward her plate. “Take a few bites for me.”

Her eyes narrowed. She could do without that condescending tone, but if the only way to get rid of him was to eat, she’d gladly lick the plate clean.

“Would you care to join me?” she muttered, sounding about as ungracious and inhospitable as one could get. Sounding, she realized with an inner sigh, like Andrew.

Leo sent her a lethal grin and she couldn’t help but think he was laughing at her. “Thanks, but I ate earlier at my folks’ place.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the slight bruise at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, my jaw’s still sore. I’m not sure I’m up to chewing at the moment.”

“Were you injured in the line of duty?”

“Nothing that dangerous. Or exciting. My sister punched me.”

In the act of slicing a neat piece of tomato, Penelope froze. “Excuse me? Did you say your sister hit you?”

“Punched me,” he said, as if that made a difference. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t the first time, and knowing Maddie’s temper, it won’t be the last.”

She couldn’t wrap her head around his words—or how nonchalant he was about the whole thing. What sort of woman physically attacked her own brother?

“Do you have any siblings?” he asked.

“A brother. Patrick.” She couldn’t imagine ever resorting to violence against him. She and Patrick respected each other, gave each other their space. Easy enough to do when they hadn’t seen each other in two years...or was it three? She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d spoken. Knew she hadn’t talked with her parents since Christmas.

Did they ever miss her? Did they regret not having her in their lives?

She stabbed a chunk of potato, any appetite gone.

“Hey,” Leo said, frowning at her in concern. “You okay?”

She couldn’t even muster up a decent lie. Just shook her head. “I had all these plans for today,” she heard herself admit, and blamed her uncharacteristic desire to confess on the wine. “And they’re ruined.” She swallowed, but it still felt as if she had a pebble stuck in her throat. “Everything’s ruined.”

Leo touched the back of her hand, a gentle, reassuring brush of his fingers. “I’m sorry your day didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

The sincerity in his tone undid her. Her throat closed as tears threatened.
Tears
. She hadn’t cried in years and had welled up several times today. But tears were useless. They didn’t solve anything, only left her blotchy, red-faced, and feeling silly and pathetic. Giving in to them, in front of a stranger no less, was a weakness she couldn’t afford. She had to stay strong. Control, of her life and her emotions, of her actions and reactions, was all she had.

She couldn’t give it up. Not even for a moment.

Her lower lip quivered and she stood quickly, pushing back her chair with such force it wobbled precariously before settling on four legs again. “Excuse me, please,” she murmured, already hurrying toward the small bathroom around the corner.

She’d just flipped on the light when the first tear escaped. Locking the door, she sniffed, tried to hold on to her composure, but it was no use. So she slid to the floor, hugged her knees to her chest, lowered her head and gave in.

CHAPTER FIVE

L
EO
STARED
AT
Penelope’s empty seat, then craned his neck to look around the corner where she’d disappeared. Scrubbed a hand through his hair. Hell. What had he gotten himself into? He had a habit—a bad one other people liked to point out—of jumping in with both feet, trying to do what was needed to fix any situation. It made him a damned good firefighter and EMT, but sometimes, his tendency to leap first got him into trouble.

Or into a weird, uncomfortable predicament. Like now.

Nothing he couldn’t handle, though.

His phone buzzed. He checked the text from Forrest.

ETA?

Rubbing the bruise on his mouth, Leo considered his current circumstances, then typed in
ten min
knowing he could drag that estimate out another five minutes before Forrest got on his case about them needing to head to the station. But as long as they didn’t get any emergency calls, Leo wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Not until he’d made sure Penelope was okay.

Call it a personal defect, but when a woman ran from the room in tears, he had to find out what was wrong. Had to help her.

Telling himself he was just doing his firefighterly duty, and that his desire to somehow comfort her had nothing to do with the way his gut had tightened at the sight of her tears, he walked into the living room. No sign of her. He frowned. He doubted she’d gone outside. She didn’t seem like the type of woman to let others see her in a vulnerable state—let alone someone who’d step out her front door looking anything less than completely put together.

Then again, he had only met her. For all he knew, she ran down the streets of Shady Grove barefoot and disheveled on a nightly basis.

But he doubted it. She was too self-contained. Too uptight.

And he was rarely wrong when it came to reading people. Especially women.

The sound of running water made him turn. He approached the closed door tucked under the stairs and tapped on the wood. “Ms. Denning? Are you all right?” When she didn’t answer, he knocked again. “Ms. Denning?”

The water shut off. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He pursed his lips. Not exactly a confirmation that her physical and mental states were A-okay, but at least he now knew she was conscious and capable of communication. He’d give her two more minutes. If she didn’t come out on her own, he’d go in after her.

Deciding to give her some space and privacy, he returned to the kitchen. The counters were granite, the cabinets a glossy dark cherry, the tile floor Italian marble—or a really excellent facsimile—done in an intricate pattern. The walls were a soft yellow that carried into the bright and airy dining room. Splashes of green and blue accented both rooms in the form of knickknacks, wall hangings and a vase of cheerful flowers on the table. Whoever had done the remodeling did a good job—although his family would have done it better.

Just because he hadn’t wanted to be a part of Montesano Construction, had never wanted to spend his life pounding nails, hauling boards and installing windows, didn’t mean he wasn’t biased when it came to the work they did.

He put the food in the refrigerator, then cleared the dishes—never let it be said all those lectures from his parents about responsibility and manners hadn’t stuck with him.

“You’re still here.”

He turned as Penelope walked into the room, her eyes dry and clear, her chin lifted. No signs of distress or the tears he’d spotted earlier.

“Yes, ma’am.” He set the plate in the dishwasher and tried to ignore how resigned she’d sounded. How disappointed. As if she couldn’t wait to get rid of him when most women did everything in their power to keep him around.

He stuck a glass on the top rack of the dishwasher.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said as she rushed over and snatched the bowl from his hand, held it against her chest as if it were some precious treasure. “Really.”

“Just helping out.”

“Yes, well, I’m fine. And more than capable of doing my own dishes.” And she proceeded to take out the items he’d put in and reloaded them herself. She shut the door, dried her hands on a towel, then faced him. “You can be assured that something like this will never happen again. I will be much more careful in the future.” She picked up a pile of papers from the corner of the island, turned as if searching for somewhere to put them, only to set them on the spot where they’d been. Using the back of her hand, she brushed her bangs from her face. “I never should have let the gas build up like that, especially with the lid down. And then to ignite it? Well, that was just careless. Not to mention extremely dangerous.”

“Even the most careful people can make a mistake sometimes.”

That didn’t seem to reassure her. Guess she didn’t like being lumped in with regular folks.

“It’s unacceptable to take such chances around something as dangerous as a propane grill. Before use, one should always check the level of propane left in the tank and make sure that tank is properly hooked up to the grill and that there are no loose or leaky hoses. With the lid open, then and only then should ignition be attempted. If it doesn’t light, the propane should be shut off for a few minutes before trying again.”

“You ever think about making a video and putting it up on YouTube?” he asked, fighting a smile. “Because you’re really good at the safety tips.”

She’d certainly captured his attention.

She flushed. “Of course not. I just wanted you to know I will be vigilant about grill safety from this day on.”

Vigilant
. Christ but she was adorable. He let his smile loose. Winked. “Glad to hear it.”

The wink seemed to throw her. She stepped back, then straightened. “Thank you, again, for coming all the way out here.”

He was being dismissed. Another new experience. The day had been full of them so far, most of them courtesy of the woman in front of him. He got her not-so-subtle hint—he wasn’t an idiot. But he didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“That’s what the SGFD is for.” To take care of people. And answering this call had helped him, more than Penelope would ever know. It had given him a reprieve from the memories of last night’s accident. A few minutes without his guilt. And his anger.

He should be the one thanking her.

Still, he couldn’t stand here all day, not when he had no valid reason to stay.

“Don’t hesitate to call your doctor’s office or the Shady Grove emergency room if you’re not feeling well,” he said, gathering his gear. “Or if you experience a headache or nausea.”

“I won’t,” she said so solemnly, he half expected her to cross her heart and hope to die. She held out her hand, polite to the very end. “It was nice meeting you.”

He slung his coat over his left arm and shook her hand, holding on two heartbeats longer than necessary. She swallowed, her throat working, her eyes wary.

He edged closer, amused when she took a quick step back. “You take care of yourself.”

Nodding like a bobblehead, she pulled her hand free and tucked it behind her as if afraid he’d reach for it again. “Goodbye.”

He sent her a salute, grabbed his helmet then went out the patio door, jogged down the deck’s steps and walked toward the ambulance. Behind the wheel, Forrest started the engine while Leo stowed his gear. He climbed into the passenger seat.

“You forget something?” Forrest asked as they idled in the driveway.

Buckling his seat belt, Leo glanced through the windshield at the house. “Nope.”

Forrest leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel. “You sure? Because the way you keep looking at the house it’s like you’re searching for something.” His grin turned way too smug for Leo’s peace of mind. “Or someone.”

“Again...nope.”

“I bet you were hoping to see our pretty patient with her nose pressed against the window, her eyes all starry and glistening and longing as she watched you walk away.”

“If you’re not capable of driving and talking,” Leo said, keeping his tone bland, his face expressionless, “I’d be more than happy to switch seats with you.”

Forrest laughed and shifted into reverse. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s in there, peeking out from behind a curtain as we speak, sighing and mooning over that pretty face of yours.”

Leo couldn’t help but check the house’s front window, hating that Forrest was right about his wanting her to be standing there. Not because Leo’s ego needed stroking.

But because he wouldn’t have minded seeing her one last time.

* * *

A
NDREW
SAT
ALONE
at the picnic table, the setting sun warming the top of his head and bare shoulders as he hunched over his plate. The table had been set up on the edge of the yard away from most of the action.

Exactly why he’d sat there. He needed a few minutes of peace.

Everywhere he turned, there were more people, the Sapkos’ yard filled with their family, friends and neighbors. He’d done the whole socializing thing, had played basketball with a couple of the guys, then messed around in the swimming pool for an hour.

He was getting better at it. Bullshitting and joking around with a group, being a part of it. He’d relax, pretend it was no big deal to have people wanting to talk to him, wanting to hang out with him. Then he’d remember all the years he’d spent alone and start worrying he was going to say something stupid.

Or worse, that they’d all somehow find out he actually liked reading the books assigned in English class. That he’d watched all the
Lord of the Rings
and
Star Wars
movies—even the prequels—so many times, he could quote them word for word. That he’d spent the first two years of high school in California as a social outcast.

That was when he’d duck out of whatever they were doing, take a few minutes to remind himself things had changed.
He’d
changed. He wasn’t that kid anymore. He wasn’t the dork who’d been too skinny, too awkward and weird to have any friends.

He’d never be that loser ever again.

“Hey,” a girl said from behind him, trailing her fingers across his shoulders.

Whipping around, he about choked on his burger, but managed to swallow the bite in his mouth without coughing and spitting food all over Kennedy Hearst.

Thank God.

“Uh...hey.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

His heart pounded.
Easy. She doesn’t mean it the way you want her to
.

“You up for a game of Wiffle Ball?” she asked. “We could use you on our team.”

“Sure.” He sounded squeaky so he cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

He ducked his head to hide a wince.
Great?
Jesus, could he get any more lame?

He started to get up, but she put her hand on his shoulder and swung one long, bare leg over the bench of the picnic table. “Finish your burger,” she said, keeping her hand on his shoulder for a moment while she used him to balance herself before she sat next to him.

As in, right next to him, so close their thighs touched. Her skin was warm. And incredibly soft. His leg muscles tensed. His throat felt funny, but if he cleared it again, he’d sound like an idiot. Like he had some strange tic. So he sipped his soda, nodded. “Okay.”

She nudged him with her hip and smiled, giving him a look from under her lashes. “I’ll keep you company.”

His palms started to sweat and he wiped them down the front of his shorts. “That’d be cool.”

Cool.
Yeah, that was one way to describe having the hottest girl he knew “keeping him company.”

Act like it’s no big deal,
he ordered himself.
Do not be a spaz
.

And whatever you do, don’t stare at her boobs
.

Easier said than done when they were there—right there—in a tiny black bikini top.

A bead of sweat slid down his back. He focused on his burger, ate it, though it no longer tasted like anything. Which sucked since he didn’t often get real hamburgers made of real beef and loaded with extra cheese. His mom would have a fit if she knew this was his second one—and that earlier he’d inhaled three hot dogs, plus as many side dishes as he could pile onto his plate, the cheesier, greasier and fattier the better. Not to mention he was on his third soda. The way his mom viewed soda, you’d think it was crack.

She was such a freak.

“God, you are like, so tan,” Kennedy said, dragging the tip of one bright blue nail up his forearm. His skin prickling, he curled his fingers into a fist. “I laid out all summer and look.” She stretched her arm out next to his, which meant she stopped touching him—damn it. “I barely got any color at all. Are you sure you’re not, like, Hispanic?”

He stared at their arms. Next to him, hers was extremely pale and slender, her wrist delicate. He wanted to link his fingers with hers, feel her palm against his. “Uh...not that I know of. Just some Italian and even a bit of Cherokee.”

“You are so lucky.”

Lucky? He’d never thought so before. His DNA was just bits and pieces of genes brought in from people he’d never even met—except for his parents and grandparents, obviously. A body that had betrayed him once, had turned on him and almost killed him.

But, hey, if she thought he was lucky, who was he to argue?

“Meanwhile,” she continued, “I got stuck with my father’s pasty complexion. I mean, thanks a lot, right? I look like a ghost.”

She didn’t. She was a goddess. Her hair, a dark red, fell straight and thick past her shoulders. Her eyes were a light blue, her mouth full. She was taller than most of the girls in school, her legs long and toned from running cross-country.

She was everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d dreamed of.

She was also Luke’s girlfriend.

Luke, who’d become the closest thing to a best friend that Andrew had ever had.

“You don’t need a tan,” he mumbled, sounding like an idiot, like a kid who didn’t know what to say, how to act in front of a girl. “You look beautiful the way you are.”

But it must have been the right thing because Kennedy smiled. Brushed her fingers over the back of his hand, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You’re sweet.”