No Damaged Goods Page 7

  “One for the ages.” He studies me discerningly. “You gonna write a song about that, too?”

  “Maybe.” I bite my lip, and I know I’m not being subtle, but... “So where does Blake fit into this?”

  He blinks, leaning back a little. “Blake Silverton?”

  “Um, I guess.” I grin nervously. “He does the radio show, right? I haven’t heard him on the air lately...”

  Something about the way Leo looks at me makes me feel like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “So you’ve been listening for him?”

  Crap. Crap. Crap!

  Wincing, I duck down into my shoulders. “Mayyybe. Can we keep that between us, though? Oh, God.” I drop my face into my lumpy purple hand-knitted gloves. “This is so high school.”

  “Don’t worry, Peace. I won’t tell the hunky fireman you got a crush.”

  “Leo!” I sputter.

  But I’m laughing, and he’s grinning, and it’s just nice.

  It’s cool making a friend out here when I’ve avoided putting down roots for so long.

  He lets out a hoarse laugh, then shakes his head. “He hasn’t been at the radio station all week because Andrea’s been grounded, I hear. Girl’s slipperier than her pet snake. If he takes his eyes off her, she’ll be gone like a cat in the night.”

  “Wowza.” I wince. “I feel like I might’ve had something to do with that. I was there the night she almost set the inn on fire. Hid her out in my cabin until he came to get her.”

  “Yeah? No wonder Blake hasn’t said a frigging word about you,” he laughs.

  Ouch. I deflate.

  “...Not even a little?”

  “Well, he usually doesn’t talk about things that get under his skin,” Leo says, stroking his stubble, and I almost want to kick myself for the way that makes my heart jump. “You looked after his kid? If you’re really into him, that’s a big favor. He ought to appreciate it.”

  I glance over my shoulder.

  No fooling, this really does feel like high school, making sure my secret crush isn’t eavesdropping.

  “He’s a good dad, isn’t he?” I ask tentatively.

  I can’t help but remember that night. He’d pulled Andrea close and wrapped her in a hug that could’ve stopped time.

  He’d been angry, sure, it wasn’t hard to see.

  But it was the kind of protective fury that comes from a man who’s afraid someone he loves has done something reckless that could take her away forever.

  And as he’d hugged her, the way his brows knit together and crumpled left an impression, all right.

  I’m melting just thinking of it.

  The warmth in his face was written so clearly, utterly real and unashamed, because he loves Andrea that much. That’s not something you find in most places.

  Maybe Leo’s right and he doesn’t talk much about his feelings, but when his guard comes down, they come pouring out like a rushing waterfall.

  “Hey. Earth to Peace.”

  “Uh?” I blink, then shake myself, warmth chasing the chill from my cheeks. “Sorry. I drifted a little.”

  “Somebody’s moonstruck.”

  “Am not!” I splutter. “I don’t even know him. Not really.”

  “Then you’d best get on that—”

  He breaks off, eyes widening, his entire body going stiff as he stares past me and then bites off, “Oh, fuck.”

  Too many things happen in the next ten seconds.

  Leo bolts to his feet, digging his hand into his pocket and grabbing his phone. My stomach clutches nervously tight as I scramble to my feet after him, turning so fast I almost slip on the icy sidewalk, whirling to see what he’s looking at.

  Then I see the thick plume of smoke billowing up from behind the candy shop.

  Oh, no.

  Oh, crap.

  It’s like fire follows me everywhere, I swear.

  But Leo’s already barking something into the phone, while I stand there helplessly, watching him charge across the street, waving his arm over his head. Inside the shop, several customers and the mahogany-haired woman and boy look up quickly before rushing to the door.

  Suddenly, the street’s pure chaos.

  People pour out of the candy store and every shop around, from the diner to whatever store is in the back. Looks like there’s a narrow alley, and the smoke could be coming from either building. Alarms shrill, doors fling open, people’s voices burst the quiet.

  It’s all happening so fast.

  I feel like I’m the only bit of stillness in the entire space, helpless and frozen, not knowing what to do.

  It’s a relief, though, to see Leo ushering his wife and the boy outside, getting clear, even as the fat plume of greasy-looking, thick black smoke thickens.

  Then the sound of sirens rips through the morning, drowning out the panicked voices. The crowd scatters like a flock of pigeons as a fire truck comes careening down main street, lights flashing.

  And there they are—Blake, Justin, Rich, alongside two other men I don’t recognize. They move like a well-coordinated unit as they slew the fire truck across the mouth of the alley, screeching it to a halt.

  In seconds, they’ve leaped down, Blake directing everyone with the commanding authority that makes him seem like he can handle anything.

  His smooth, rolling voice urgent, demanding obedience, but calming.

  Still promising everything will be okay.

  The morning light flashes off the smooth gleam of his hair and the stark line of his temple as he directs his men to connect the hose to the hydrant on the corner while others gear up, shrugging into thick fire jackets.

  The flames billow higher.

  I can see them now, rising up past the back of the shop, and there are screams from inside. Somewhere. I think the building behind it—Jesus.

  Horror knifes through me, making the cold of the day that much heavier.

  It sounds like people are still trapped inside.

  I hate this.

  Hate standing here, helpless, watching.

  I feel like I’ve latched on to Blake as this avatar of hope, straining toward him like I can reach out to him and push him just a little harder, a little faster.

  Like something my small, supporting hands could do would make him stronger, when I know the pain he’s hiding under that firm, broad stance.

  For the briefest second, it almost feels like he senses me.

  As if there’s this wavelength between us, this single struck chord vibrating to the same frequency.

  He turns his head, looking over his shoulder.

  One dark-blue eye locks on me.

  It’s like a piece of night cut out of the day. I feel that cool, soothing darkness folding me up, telling me everything’s going to be all right.

  Blake looks away, draws his helmet down, and leads the charge down the alley to the flames.

  Three men wrestle a giant high-pressure hose as if handling an anaconda. It’s like Hercules against the hydra, all strength and rippling muscle and grim purpose as they aim the bursting stream of water at the fire.

  Wild spray arcs out in rainbow-rippling droplets in the sun. They step closer, closer to the wall of fire I can see spreading past the buildings, blocking my line of sight.

  They’re so determined.

  So focused.

  So sure of themselves.

  And at their head is Blake, commanding them all with a militant confidence that captures and rivets me as much as the battle against the moving wall of flames.

  The smoke billows thicker, but the leaping tongues of fire grow thinner by the second.

  Though my heart skips, my throat clutches, just as Blake drops the head of the hose, barking at Justin to take it up.

  Then he pulls the collar of his coat up and dives out of sight.

  I can’t stand it.

  The next five seconds are too terrible, each one taking an eternity to grind out.

  I know I shouldn’t.

  I know I’m
risking myself.

  I know Blake will yell at me later.

  But I need to see him safe, like that odd wavelength between us has wrapped its chords around my heart and squeezed it too tight to beat when he’s out of sight.

  So I go darting down the other narrow alley flanking the opposite side of the building, pulling my shirt and coat up over my nose to filter out the acrid sting of smoke.

  Peering around the brickwork at the corner, I don’t see Blake—but I do see Justin and the others charging in while two more men aim the hose at the shop behind Sweeter Things.

  The door is an employee entrance in the back, and it’s not the only source of the flames.

  There are more contrails billowing from the other side of the building, thick and dark.

  The front entrance must be blocked.

  Oh—oh, God.

  Yet again that need to do something consumes me, but I know I’d only get in the way.

  Too bad I can hear him. Voice like a beacon, calling from inside, roaring orders, searching, questioning. Other voices, too, but I’m only listening for his.

  As long as I can hear him, I know it’ll be all right.

  It’s still too long, watching frozen while the firemen point the hose at the flames pouring through the door, then guide it inside. I can only guess how the battle’s going by the high-powered water blast, the steady hiss of flame.

  Then the slowing plumes of smoke pouring from front and back.

  But I can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe, not until it happens.

  That door bangs open again.

  And with his temples glistening and smeared with soot, his jacket pulled off and wrapped around a shaking, sobbing little boy, Blake steps out in all his glory.

  Steam rises off his shoulders. He’s drenched and scorched but whole. And just as courageously angry and focused as ever.

  I’m so relieved to see him I almost don’t catch the limp.

  But as someone else comes tumbling out behind him, a crying woman in the uniform of the clothing shop currently sinking into a smoldering wet pit, the door bangs against him, and he stumbles forward.

  His left leg starts going out under him.

  He catches himself, just barely, clutching at the little boy, standing a little taller like nothing ever happened.

  I start forward but stop myself.

  Then let out a cry as he tries to straighten.

  Too late.

  His body goes crashing to the ground in a slow, strained, broken mess.

  My pulse stops. I don’t even realize I’m moving.

  It’s just sneakers on pavement and then I’m there, catching the shrieking little boy before Blake can’t hold him up anymore and he hits the concrete. I’m just in time, gathering him up in my arms.

  “Blake,” I gasp, but he’s on his knees now, gripping at both thighs with white-knuckled hands, teeth bared in a grimace of agony and shame. His eyes are pinched shut.

  “Take him. Go,” he snarls through his teeth, deep and raspy with pain, the timbre cadence richer, almost velvety. “Oxygen mask!”

  “On it, Chief,” Justin says. And suddenly he’s there, relieving me of the little boy, juggling him against his hip as he clamps an oxygen tank under one arm and fits a mask over the boy’s face with his free hand.

  Leaving me free to focus on Blake, this feral beast-man laid low by an invisible arrow to his muscle.

  I step closer, then back, then stop, hands outstretched.

  “Here,” I whisper. “Let me help. What happened?”

  He actually flinches back.

  “Just a cramp.” He opens his eyes, glaring up at me, blue irises fierce and snapping, the faint hints of lingering embers floating in his gaze. “What the hell you doing here, Broccoli? It’s not safe.”

  “I...” I falter, swallowing. “I was worried about you. I was talking to Leo when the fire started. I just wanted to help and—”

  “Don’t need no help, woman,” he snarls. “It’s just a cramp, you hear?”

  It doesn’t matter how many times he says it.

  It doesn’t make it true.

  I know what deep pain looks like—the kind of brute agony that takes up root and never goes away, coiled like a serpent under the skin.

  But he doesn’t want my help.

  And I feel redundant as Leo thrusts himself around the corner and races to Blake’s side, approaching him with a certainty I could never feel.

  Blake doesn’t flinch back from him, at least.

  Leo grunts and loops his arm under Blake’s shoulders, hefting him up with his jaw clenched. “C’mon. Let’s get you on a stretcher.”

  There’s nothing I can do.

  Nothing but watch, while Rich joins Leo on Blake’s other side and together they guide him away, limping heavily.

  “Go home, Peace,” Blake grinds out, his voice exhausted, drifting over his shoulder. “Before you get hurt. There’s nothing for you here.”

  Ouch.

  Damn.

  I don’t need to read between the lines.

  I’m not wanted. I know it.

  But I can’t stop thinking about easing his pain.

  One thing’s for sure: I don’t believe him anymore when he says he’s not a hero.

  * * *

  Okay, so I haven’t left.

  Hear me out.

  It’s not because of Blake, I swear.

  I swear.

  I just...can’t walk away. Not without seeing that everyone got out safe.

  This town isn’t even my home.

  Even so, I can’t stand seeing innocent people suffer. It’s a relief when the last of the flames are doused and a final inspection declares the building empty, check-ins ensuring everyone’s accounted for and no one’s still missing inside the charred, waterlogged brick building.

  The back of the candy shop took some real damage, too, a strange-looking blast of black char that looks almost like it burst against the brick, but the worst of it is the clothing store by far.

  Good news: there were no lives lost today, and that matters.

  Bad news: a town that’s apparently already had some big fires recently just had one more.

  Oh, and I managed to make a royal freaking bonehead out of myself.

  Maybe it’s the hippie kid in me. Lack of attachment to material things. Flower on the wind.

  But things can be replaced. So can wounded pride.

  People, on the other hand, can’t.

  I’ve managed to find myself a corner farther down the alley, well out of the way of the work that’s being done to investigate the debris and figure out how the fire started. Rich and a few others duck in and out of the building, conferring with their heads held close.

  I’m still not supposed to be here.

  I’m trying to be invisible.

  And I’m ready to get chased off when Justin appears from the mouth of the alley and his gaze gravitates to me.

  He’s just as dirty and disheveled and scorched as Blake, but where it makes Blake look rugged and dark and so God-like I could just lick him clean...

  It just makes Justin look young, tired, and out of his depth.

  But he offers me a friendly smile, pushing his mop of curls out of his face as he steps closer. “Hey, Peace.”

  I hold both hands up.

  “I’ll go,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “Nah.” He tosses his head back in the direction he just came. “The chief wants a minute with ya.”

  I blink, doing a double take.

  “With me?” I ask, squinting one eye up. “Are you sure?”

  Justin grins wearily. “Nobody else here he calls Broccoli, is there?”

  “Fair point.” I snort.

  I shouldn’t be so nervous I’m barely even peeved over the stupid nickname.

  Blake probably just wants to give me a lecture on fire safety, the hazards of diving into an active scene.

  Honestly, I’d probably deserve
it.

  With my stomach leaping and fluttering like the flames they just put out, I square my shoulders and lift my chin.

  Then I march off to face my fate, leaving Justin pacing the alley behind me, taking photos of the blast marks on the wall with his phone.

  More for his album, I guess. Or maybe he’s trying to document stuff for the investigation, what with those strange marks.

  Fate, right?

  It’s waiting.

  My fate, however, is currently sitting on a stretcher with one leg hanging off and his bad leg propped up in front of him. He looks as grumpy as a bear with a burr up his butt, and his leg is so stiff it looks like a lump.

  That position isn’t good for you, I want to tell him, but I don’t think it’s something he wants to hear right now.

  Curling my hands in their gloves, I venture, “Listen, Blake, I’m sorry for being so reckless—”

  He cuts me off with a snort, almost amused. “Broccoli, since I found you down the side of the mountain next to a burning van, can’t say I’m surprised ’bout you being reckless,” he says dryly—but not without some warmth.

  God, I could bask in those lilting, deep rolling syllables like they’re a glowing hearth, even with the crackling edge of pain in them. “Am I really so obvious?”

  “Yeah, darlin’, you sure as hell are. And you don’t get to apologize when I’m trying to do the apologizing.”

  I blink, staring into flashing blue eyes shadowed by the sharpness of his brows.

  Laugh lines, I decide, tracing the furrows in his brow around his eyes, his mouth.

  Even if I’ve barely even seen him smile, I know that look.

  Blake looks like he’s got a face meant to laugh.

  Only, he’s not laughing now while I stare at him, dumbstruck. “Um. Why are you apologizing to me?”

  “’cause you keep catching me at a bad time, and I damn near chewed your head off. Again.” He grinds his teeth, jaw working back and forth, and looks down, hands gripping his thigh tightly to either side. He kneads himself so lightly it’s easy to see he’s struggling not to flinch at the slightest pressure. “You’re not the only one who’s obvious. I ain’t good at dealing with pain, lady. Especially not when I go ass over elbows in front of someone else. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like a pissed off wolverine. You seen the shit those things can do?”