Firefly Mountain (15 page)

“Our gain.” Gini unlocked her back door. “What about your other sister? Raina mentioned you had another.”

Patrick’s heart drummed in his chest. Family talk was not an area he wanted to explore with Gini. “Yes, Julianne. She lives in Rhode Island still.”

“Won’t she miss you?”

“Probably not.” It just slipped out. The words, the tone, the emotion. He couldn’t rewind and take it back either.

“Ouch.” Gini flipped on a light to illuminate an oversized kitchen. Plenty of counter space spanning wall to wall, a deep sink under a set of wide windows, an old-fashioned stove, but a modern microwave. Greens, yellows, and a little bit of barn red mixed to add a country charm to the kitchen.

“Look, I—”

Gini held up a hand to stop Patrick. “You don’t have to tell me about Julianne, Patrick. I can see by that muscle right there in your jaw that you don’t want to talk about it. I won’t push.” She took a step closer to him, and he took a step back. The sunny gleam in her eyes faded a bit, but she quickly recovered. “If you do want to talk, I’ll listen.”

She walked to the refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen and waved a hand at it. “Use anything you want in here or in the pantry.” Gini pointed to a little room off the kitchen. “Pots are in the cupboard by the stove. Dishes and glasses above the pots. Spoons, forks, knives are here.” She pulled open a drawer under the island in the center of the kitchen.

Patrick wasn’t sure if he should say he was sorry for stepping back. Wasn’t sure if he should go ahead and unload the story of Julianne. Wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing.

Gini grabbed her camera from her bag. “I’ll be in the darkroom, two doors down on your left.” She pointed down the dark hallway. “Knock when the food is ready, okay?”

“Okay.” He couldn’t believe she was going to make it this easy.
She really isn’t going to push me?
He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He was used to people pushing then having to keep his distance from them so they wouldn’t uncover everything he kept locked up tightly. “Anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

“Surprise me.” That radiant shine was back in her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder then disappeared down the hall.

Standing in the kitchen with Midas at his feet, Patrick’s curiosity over Gini grew tenfold. What kind of a woman starts off demanding to take your picture, ends up tearing down walls in your house, photographs crime scenes, knows to back off on the family talk, and invites you to cook dinner for her in her kitchen?

The answer was simple in Patrick’s mind. A woman who was up to something.

No pictures. No family talk. Too many rules to Patrick Barre. So rigid and armored. And yet, when Gini had hugged him in the hospital, he was none of those things. He’d held her, taken her outside by the hand, sat with her, and kept her calm. He’d been soft, gentle.

In her kitchen, however, Patrick had locked down like a bank vault. No withdrawals. No deposits. See the next teller, please. What was he protecting so vigilantly, and why did she care? She’d gone this long staying out of relationships. Kept herself busy with work, the farm, community projects like the animal shelter, and family stuff. If there was no time for men, she couldn’t miss them, right?

Something about Patrick, however, made her notice her aloneness. The way he lingered in her mind had left her wanting things she’d decided she couldn’t have.

“And you can’t have them, idiot.” Gini clipped a photo on the drying line and shook the hair out of her eyes. “He’d leave the toilet seat up one too many times, and you’d scorch the bathroom over it.”

Living alone allowed her to manage her situation, and when she did have to make contact with people, she sought out the pleasant ones, people who wouldn’t try her patience, test her limits, and start fights. Her family screened people before introducing Gini too. In this manner, she’d avoided clashing with the world’s more difficult folks and had kept her ability under wraps. Only her family and Chief Warner knew, and Gini wanted desperately to keep it that way. She’d continue to pretend she was happy, that nothing bothered her.

That she wasn’t a freak.

The universe had made up its mind. She wasn’t allowed to fall in love and make a family of her own. What if her condition was genetic? Would she pass it on to her children? Would they have to hide and never be able to share all of themselves with another person?

Gini shuddered at that thought and hung up another picture. She’d eat the meal she’d foolishly asked Patrick to prepare and send him on his way. To Hell with his photograph too. He didn’t want his picture taken. Fine. The calendar would still be fantastic. She’d double up somebody. Maybe Jonah. Haddy would love that idea.

When a soft knock sounded on the door, Gini clipped the last photo and pulled off her gloves. She gripped the end of the counter in the darkroom and centered herself. She could maintain her balance, enjoy a meal she didn’t have to cook, and resist Burnam’s newest firefighter. She opened the door, and a little of her resolve slipped away.

Patrick stood in the hallway with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder and his hands resting on either side of the threshold to the darkroom. To Gini’s mind, his body filled the hallway—tall, muscled, and smelling faintly of tomatoes. She looked a little too long. She knew that. She couldn’t stop, but she knew.

“All done?” she managed to ask.

Patrick nodded. “You?” He gestured with his chin to the darkroom behind her.

“Just hung up the last photo. Let’s eat while they dry.” Gini waited for Patrick to move his hands so she could exit, but he didn’t. She didn’t trust herself to squeeze by him at the moment. Didn’t want to make accidental contact and scare away the control she’d summoned.

“This is where you make your magic?” he asked.

Gini glanced behind her. “When I’m working from home. You want to see?” Her stomach growled, and Patrick laughed. Damn, his face looked wonderful when he smiled.

“Maybe later,” he said. “Let’s get that growling bear hiding in your stomach fed first.”

Later? How long did he plan on staying? How long could she let him? “What did you make?”

He slid his hands away from the threshold and let Gini go first. “Sit and you’ll see.”

When Gini rounded the corner and arrived in the kitchen, she stumbled to a stop in front of the table. Two places were set opposite one another with bowls of bread, salad, and pasta between them. Wildflowers sprayed color from a tall, glass vase in the center of the table, and the radio on the kitchen counter was tuned to a jazz channel. The lights overhead were dim, and Gini was touched, confused, and scared to death all at once.

“Sorry.” Patrick’s breath was warm on her ear. “Midas gets carried away sometimes.”

Gini burst into laughter, so caught off guard by the humor. Patrick laughed along with her, and the next thing she knew, she was accepting the seat he slid out for her, placing a napkin on her lap, and holding her glass out as Patrick poured lemonade.

“I have beer or wine if you want it,” she said. The smell of wildflowers and tomatoes danced in the kitchen and made the tranquility Gini usually felt at home swell. Having that serenity while a virtual outsider was sitting across the table was all new terrain. Unexplored and unpredictable. Possibly dangerous. Yet, Gini couldn’t find the words to tell Patrick he had to leave.

“Lemonade is fine with me,” Patrick said.

“We wouldn’t want Midas to have to drive you home I suppose.”

Midas lifted his head from a cozy spot he’d claimed by the couch in the living room.

“I don’t think Midas plans on ever going home. Look at him. He’s as comfortable as can be.”

“Dogs have it easy.” Gini reached for a piece of bread. “They’re comfortable anywhere.”

“So are cats apparently.” Patrick pointed to the top of the refrigerator.

Gini looked up and stood. “Saber, get yourself down here right now.” The cat squinted his eyes then stretched out each one of his limbs, giant paws wiggling. He arched his back, jumped to the counter and finally to the wood floor. He padded over to Patrick, brushed his cheek against Patrick’s ankle, and slinked over to Midas. The two animals touched noses and sniffed each other. Saber circled three times and settled in a tight ball in front of Midas. The dog’s head slunk back onto his paws and his eyes closed.

“Well,” Gini said. “That’s not how I envisioned that going down. Saber doesn’t like dogs.”

“Midas doesn’t like cats.”

“He likes mine.” Gini sat back at the table and leveled her gaze on Patrick. He was still watching the animals, and Gini took in his profile. Strong jaw line with a dark, shadowy beard. Full lips, pouting a little as he considered the new friendship between Midas and Saber. Long, feathery eyelashes rimming lids squinted in contemplation.

Slowly, Patrick turned his attention back to Gini. “What?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You look confused.” Patrick parceled out salad to each of them.

“Just surprised, I guess.” Gini poured dressing onto her salad and offered the bottle to Patrick.

“Surprised that Midas and Saber are becoming friends, or surprised that I pulled this all together for you?” Patrick gestured to the table.

“Both.” Gini munched on a piece of bread. “You might not be the person I thought you were.”

Patrick’s eyebrows rose. “I might not want the answer to this, but who did you think I was?”

Gini laughed when his face scrunched up as if he were expecting a left hook to the jaw. “I thought you were a jerk after that first day at the station.”

“I had to be a jerk, because you wouldn’t let up.”

“About taking your picture.” Gini sipped her lemonade.

Patrick nodded. “If you’d accepted my polite no, I wouldn’t have gotten nasty.”

“I see that now,” Gini said. “You’re a private guy, and I can respect that. I’m just not used to people—”

“Saying no to you. There’s a word for that, you know.”

“What?”

“Brat.”

Gini laughed and hadn’t had to force it. It bubbled out, genuine and free. “I suppose I am a brat on some level. I’m just used to getting what I want.”

“Which also falls under the heading of brat.”

Patrick took their salad plates to the sink when they’d finished, and Gini liked how at home he appeared in her kitchen.

He twirled spaghetti onto her dinner plate then filled his own. The bright colors of tomato, broccoli, carrot, and pepper fancied up the pasta, and he’d drizzled a light pesto sauce over it all. When Gini took a bite, she couldn’t stop the satisfied hum that escaped her.

“One brat, thoroughly loving this meal,” she said.

“Better than crackers, yes?”

“Definitely.” Gini took a few more bites, wiped her mouth, and looked up at Patrick. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It was easy to make.”

“Thank you for back at the hospital too.” Gini focused her attention on the bottom of her glass as she took a drink.

“Also no problem.” Patrick fiddled with the fork in his hand. “It was easy to be hugged by you. And to hug you.”

Gini gazed at him now and forgot all the rules as she stared into his hazel eyes swirling brown and green like running through a forest. He smiled and dove back into his spaghetti. Gini resumed eating as well and enjoyed the companionable silence that hung between them, nothing but the sound of jazz on a piano filling the kitchen.

When the food was gone and the dishes washed and dried, Gini opened the freezer and took out a container.

“I’ve got dessert covered,” she said. “You’re not allergic to walnuts, are you?”

Patrick shook his head and leaned against the counter next to Gini to see what she had. “Ice cream?”

“Yep. Maple walnut. Made it myself.” She dropped three rounded scoops into a bowl and handed it to Patrick.

“Wow. Maybe you’re not the person I originally thought you were either.”

“You mean maybe I’m not a brat?” Gini smirked as she put the ice cream back into the freezer after filling a bowl for herself.

“Oh no, you’re still a brat,” Patrick said, “but you’re a skilled brat.”

“Thanks, I think.” She handed him a spoon.

“Actually, I was looking at some of the framed pictures you have up. Are they your own photos?”

Gini nodded. “Sometimes I fall in love with a picture, so I frame it and stick it up somewhere. I’ve got a couple up at the studio too.”

“You’re good. I especially like the one of your horses with the sunrise behind them.” Patrick pointed to the wall in the living room where the photo in question hung between two windows.

“That’s one of my favorites too.” Gini picked up her bowl and motioned to the porch door. “You want to sit outside?”

Patrick followed her, and Gini led him to the swing under the arbor.

“More of your skilled work?” Patrick ran his hand over the chains holding the swing.

“Yes,” Gini said. “My latest creation actually. I love to swing.” She sat and once Patrick was beside her, she pushed off the ground beneath them with one foot. The swing swayed gently as the warm summer air blew her hair back. Again, a relaxed quiet embraced them as they finished their dessert.

“That is probably the best ice cream I’ve ever had.” Patrick clanged his spoon on the bottom of his nearly empty bowl.

“It’s always a hit. Who doesn’t like ice cream?”

“Raina, actually.”

“Your sister doesn’t like ice cream? That’s just crazy. Is she lactose intolerant or something, because that I could forgive?”

“Nope. She just doesn’t like it. Never has. Won’t go near the stuff.”

“Man, I could easily accept an all ice cream diet.”

“Too bad you can’t carry it in that enormous purse of yours.” Patrick laughed when Gini’s mouth dropped open.

“Do not badmouth the purse.” She pointed her spoon at Patrick.

“What do you carry in there? It’s like a suitcase.”

Gini shook her head. “A woman’s purse is her treasure box. I’m not telling you what’s in there. It’s a secret.”

“I have toolboxes smaller than that purse.”