Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday Family\Sugar Plum Season\Her Cowboy Hero\Small-Town Fireman (68 page)

Her hand slipped around his neck, and he could feel the instant when she chose to kiss him back, feel the sensible side of her fall away and indulge in the moment they were sharing. It was so much more than attraction, it was romance—that pure, heart-to-heart thing he was pretty sure he'd killed off. He took a deep breath as he kissed her, the scent of her and the summer night and his own heart beating again pouring over him in lush, sparkling waves.

He didn't even notice that the music had stopped; his own happiness was roaring in his ears. He was holding almost all her weight, tipped over as she was, but he felt none of it. He wasn't even sure he felt the ground under his own feet. As a matter of fact, when she made this little sound—this tiny, blissful mewling sound—it shot through him so fast he thought he might drop her. Only he didn't. He hung on tight, and she clung to him. The sensation was dazzling. Heart-stopping. Unforgettable. Really, really dangerous.

He pulled her back upright, restoring their vertical balance but feeling completely off-kilter in every other way. When she took the smallest step back, breathing as hard as he was, he felt the space between them too keenly. As if it were a mistake to be far from her.

And she was leaving. He'd known all along she was leaving, they'd talked about it on the
High Tide
, they'd even planned for it, but it suddenly felt all wrong. He could sit down right now and list a dozen reasons why he'd never want to pull her from her dream of Rooster's in Chicago, and still gladly defy all of them for another moment like the one he'd just had. Not exactly an honorable sentiment, was it?

Karla hugged herself, cheeks bright pink, eyes wide, lips that memorable shade of burgundy he could never quite get out of his head. A lock of her hair—dark and glossy in the lamplight—fell across her cheek, and he swallowed the urge to tuck it behind her ear. “Um...wow.” Her voice held the startled spark he currently felt igniting in his chest.

“Yeah.”
Should I apologize?
He couldn't genuinely do it—he couldn't bring himself to regret kissing her. It'd been such a gift to kiss her and feel that way again.

“So...what do we do about
that
?” She sat down on the wall, and he wondered if she felt as dizzy as he did.

He sat down next to her. Not touching her, but still close. “I'm not sure I know.” He looked at her, glad she held his gaze. “Do we have to do anything about it?”

“I need to leave. You need to stay here. That kind of calls for something to be done, doesn't it?”

Suddenly it was important to say, “I'm not sorry I kissed you. Not at all. It was—” having started, he now found he had no idea how to finish “—amazing. And I have to tell you, I wasn't sure I could do amazing ever again.”

She knit her fingers together. “It's all wrong, you know? All the details, the circumstance, the timing. It's all off. Mixed-up.”

He shrugged. “I thought it all lined up perfectly with Yvonne, and look what happened. I don't think you can go by how easy it feels.”

She stared at the river. “This part feels easy. I mean not the tango—you're right, that's much harder than it looks—but this part. Only there are other pieces that don't fit together.” She turned to look at him. “Pieces I'm not ready to give up.”

“And you shouldn't.” Much as he wanted to hit the pause button on this summer, to freeze these moments right where they were, he didn't want her to stop being the tenacious woman determined to open her own place. “You're great at Karl's, but you're supposed to be more than just your grandfather's replacement. I'd never want to keep you here.” He sighed. “And I'd never want to go back. Not to Chicago.”

“It's not like we can meet in Rockford,” she mused, citing the city roughly halfway between Chicago and Gordon Falls.

He knew, even as she said it, that there wasn't a compromise to be had here. Feeling the possibility slip sadly between his fingers, he leaned over and kissed her gently again. “So that's what you'll be.”

“What?” she said, blinking up at him, breaking off a piece of his heart that had just come back to life.

He tucked that wayward strand of hair back behind her ear. “The one that got away.”

Chapter Thirteen

“M
cDonald, you're an idiot.” Jesse glared at Dylan over the top of the fire truck as they were washing it Monday afternoon.

“I knew you'd say that.” Already sorry he had given in to his friend's relentless demands to know what happened after he and Karla were seen leaving the wedding reception together, Dylan braced for a lecture.

“She's perfect for you.” Jesse began working a rag around a fixture as if it fed the words. “She's smart, she's pretty, she catches monster fish on your boat, she makes coffee that keeps your customers happy, and you're hooked on her. Even I can see it. For crying out loud, half the town can see it.”

Dylan tossed a rag into the sudsy bucket at his feet. While Jesse was known to exaggerate facts as easily as he breathed, this was precisely why he hesitated leaving the reception with Karla. Tongues in Gordon Falls wagged at even the slightest encouragement. If the wedding festivities hadn't been grating on his nerves so much, he would have never left with Karla, never opened her to that kind of small-town speculation. Still, he couldn't bring himself to regret the moments he'd shared with her two nights ago out on the riverbank. The “Scottish tango song” had been running through his mind nonstop for the past forty-eight hours. “Half the town? Or just Violet and her buddies?”

“Oh, yeah, the kidnapping. I suppose the pump was primed long before Hot Wheels tied the knot, huh?” Jesse was referring to Max Jones's nickname, a favorite of Violet's and Karl's and a few other Gordon Falls residents. Jesse leaned on one elbow on top of the truck. “It's not such a big deal, Dylan. I mean, it's not like you were kids kissing out back behind the school dance or anything.”

Dylan froze, even though he told his limbs not to give anything away. He'd deliberately left the kiss out, hoping the spontaneous dance would be enough to satisfy Sykes's relentless curiosity.

Too late. Jesse practically climbed up the truck to point a finger at him. “You did! You kissed her, didn't you? It's all over your face, buddy.” He laughed, annoyingly pleased. “Oh, man, she's even better for you than I thought.” He planted his chin in one hand, ready for a long story. “And?”

Dylan was not of the “kiss and tell” variety. He didn't want to say anything at all—the wonder of that kiss was still working its way through his system. He didn't know himself yet what it all meant, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to work it out with the likes of Jesse Sykes, soon to be a newlywed. Jesse had proposed to Charlotte the day after Max and Heather's wedding.

That gave him a perfect diversion: “So when's the wedding?”

“Oh, no you don't. I already told you all about that.” It was true. As they'd started cleaning the truck, Jesse had launched into a detailed, play-by-play account of the proposal and Charlotte's “yes.” Of course, that only made things worse for Dylan. “This conversation is about you,” his pal countered, “not about me.”

“Sykes, even the conversations that aren't about you are about you.”

Jesse hopped down off the truck and came around to Dylan's side. His face grew serious—well, as serious as his friend got, which wasn't very. “It blew you away, didn't it? You're totally hooked on her, and it's driving you crazy, isn't it?”

Maybe it would be better to admit it to someone. Dylan was just hoping for someone less drastic than Jesse. “Sort of.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

Dylan threw up his hands. “Isn't it? She has this whole life planned back in Chicago, this amazing job that starts in a matter of days, and I have everything all set up here. I'm in no mood to do a relationship on a 150-mile commute.”

“She's running Karl's like a natural. Her grandfather needs to retire, someday if not now. This is a no-brainer as far as I can see.”

Dylan rose up to his full height. “She's already got a job. A prime job that will take her exactly where she wants to go. I will not ask a woman to settle for me. I'm nobody's backup plan, got it?”

Jesse had struck a raw nerve, and he had the good sense to know it and back off. “Hey.” His tone changed. “No one wants that for you. Or Karla. You're a catch, always have been. If she doesn't opt for you, then it's her loss, buddy.”

Dylan didn't offer a reply, more like a grunt of acknowledgment. Jesse was just being Jesse; the guy had fallen for Charlotte hook, line and sinker, and wanted to see the whole world matched up as happily. The trouble was all with Dylan, and he knew it. It wasn't on Jesse that this morning it felt as if the fireman was the last in a long line of Gordon Falls residents conspiring to send Dylan into another heartbreak.

They worked for a while in tense silence, cleaning and rinsing in the warm afternoon sunshine. Then, as if he'd been trying to hold it in and just couldn't any longer, Jesse came back around to Dylan's side of the truck. “What I can't get,” he said, tossing a wet rag to the floor at Dylan's feet, “is why you're not even trying. Karla's worth the effort. Yvonne's never been my favorite person, but if you let what she did keep you from fighting for a chance with Karla, well, then she just went to the top of my most hated list.” He grabbed Dylan's shoulder. “Come on—you're better than that.”

“Look, we talked about it, okay? We both agree it won't work.”

Jesse leaned against the truck. “Oh, I can just imagine how you ‘talked about it.' You probably even apologized for kissing her, didn't you?”

Dylan refused to answer that.

“You know what your problem is?”

It didn't matter what answer Dylan gave to a question like that, so he remained silent.

Jesse kept right on, determined to finish his lecture. “Your problem is that you think you're being noble.”

That wasn't what Dylan was expecting. “Noble?”

“You've got it in your head that you're putting Karla's goals ahead of yours. The whole noble heroic sacrifice bit. Not getting in the way of her chosen future.”

Dylan went back to scrubbing a set of dials. “Thanks for making me sound like a doormat of chivalry. I knew I could count on you.”

“It's convenient, as far as emotional excuses go. Feels safer to take yourself out of the game and all.”

This was starting to get annoying. “Got me all figured out, do you?” Normally he let Jesse get away with a lot, but the guy was toeing up to a line Dylan didn't want him to cross. He was in no mood for one of his “I have matters of the heart all figured out” speeches. He turned his back to Jesse in the futile hope that Sykes would get the hint.

The ornery fireman simply came around to the other side. “Look, I can't think of anyone who fought harder for a different future than you did when you left Chicago. You kicked and scratched and remade your whole life into exactly what you wanted. I admire that.” He ducked his head into Dylan's line of vision even when Dylan looked away. “What I don't admire is how you've decided—how you've let Yvonne decide—that you're second-rate somehow. You've let that woman knock all the fight out of you.”

“So I should put it all on the line for a chance with Karla. Pour on the charm and sweet-talk her out of her own life's goals and stage a one-man campaign that Gordon Falls could be the perfect home for her.” Dylan picked up the bucket of sudsy water and started walking back to the edge of the garage floor. “Because what have I got to lose? In six months there's
no chance
she'll figure out all she's given up and walk right on out of here. No chance
whatsoever
that if we keep up the Coffee Catch, I'll be the one to personally introduce to her some fancy high-priced tourist fisherman who'll fit perfectly back in Chicago.”

Dylan hurled the soapy water out of the bucket, sending it splashing halfway across the driveway. “Come on—you said it yourself. That Jim Shoe guy would have been hitting on her if he were ten years younger. I can't keep her here. I don't want to be the only thing keeping her here. It
won't work
.” He glared at Jesse, no longer worried about offending his friend. “And that means this conversation is over.”

“Hey, Dylan, come on, it's...”

“Over.” He stopped himself just short of shouting.

Jesse pushed out a breath and held up his hands in surrender. “Loud and clear, buddy, loud and clear.”

* * *

Karl had declared his official return to Karl's.

Karla would have thought her grandfather had come back from the dead, the way the coffee shop erupted in cheers and applause as he walked in the front door Tuesday morning. Dad, Violet and even Dr. Morehouse had all expressed concerns, but Grandpa wasn't hearing any of it. Once Karl Kennedy set his mind to something, he was an immovable force. No, his gait wasn't steady, but he wasn't using a walker, either. In fact, the time it had taken him to haul himself up the few front steps had only added to the anticipation of the encouraging crowd. If he'd faltered, Karla was convinced the townsfolk would have surged forward and carried him in on their shoulders.

Dad threw her a look. It didn't take much to connect the dots—Karl was launching himself back into the shop as his way of handling the news of her return to Chicago. Dad's look wasn't so much of blame as it was of worried acceptance of an unavoidable consequence. Karl had to know she was leaving, and evidently he felt he had to be back here if she was.

“Welcome back, Karl.” Oscar managed a smile for the occasion. “We sure have missed you.”

“I missed even you, Oscar.” Grandpa turned to look around the room, choking up a bit. “I missed all of you.”

The room was packed, but parted like the Red Sea to allow Grandpa a clear path to the corner booth, specially decorated for the occasion. “I do believe,” Karl laughed as he eased himself carefully down into the booth, “this might be the first time I've sat here in years.”

“You've earned it, Pop.” Dad clasped a hand on Grandpa's shoulder as he ceremoniously placed a cup of coffee and a slice of pie on the table.

“Does everyone get coffee and pie?” Grandpa asked, his face flushing.

“Today,” Karla answered, pulling a cloth off the chalkboard to reveal a festive, illustrated sign Charlotte Taylor had drawn saying Karl Day—Free Pie for All!
“everybody gets all the coffee and pie they want.”

Jesse Sykes turned on the music system he'd brought, filling the air with the '40s swing jazz that was Grandpa's favorite, and the party began.

Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be, Karla thought. She'd prayed hard for Grandpa after he'd announced to the family his intended official return to Karl's Monday night at dinner. Perhaps all the happiness in the room was God's answer to those prayers. It seemed as if everyone was offering to pitch in and help. It was heartwarming to see a man so loved, so tied to such a large group of friends.

Dylan came up beside her, shaking his head and chuckling at some joke someone had just made about Karl's “superman bionic hip.” He stared for a moment at the crowd around Grandpa. “I think he's going to be okay.”

Karla looked up at him. “I sure hope so. I can't help thinking this is my doing.” She swallowed the lump in her throat for the hundredth time since Grandpa's announcement.

“You did what you needed to do, and now Karl is doing what he needs to do—there's no blame in that. He may not be able to see it now, but he'd never want to be what stood between you and Rooster's—you know that.”

Karla nodded, thankful that Dylan had found the right words to soothe her guilty conscience. She blinked back a tear. “Thanks, I needed to hear that.”

Dylan held her gaze for a moment, and she saw the “one that got away” look in his eyes that had pierced her heart back on the riverfront. If only she had met Dylan even one year ago while he was still back in Chicago, how different things might have been. Only, was that true? If they had met in Chicago, then he would never have launched his charter business, and it was clear Dylan belonged on the river as much as she belonged behind the counter of Rooster's someday. The weight of “what if” pressed against her heart, as sad as it was certain.

“Your grandfather's a rich man, Karla. Rich in all the ways that matter.” So much hung unresolved and unsaid in the air between her and Dylan.

Karla slid the last slice from a pie tin and set it on the counter in front of Dylan, a hopeful peace offering. “That sounds like a line straight out of
It's a Wonderful Life.
”

“It probably is.” Dylan swiped his baseball cap from his head and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Look at that guy. A million friends who all wish him the best. That's the way to go through life, isn't it?”

Did she have a million friends who wished her the best? She had Bebe and others from school, even one or two from her high school days, but nothing like Karl's crowd of supporters. “I hope my customers think as highly of me someday.” After all, Karl had built up his following over forty years, and she hadn't even started yet. “If I do it right, Rooster's clientele would be as much its own community as this—with maybe a bit less gossip.”

Dylan laughed as he dug into his pie. “That'd be nice.”

“Will you come visit me at Perk? Once or twice, maybe, if business brings you to Chicago?” It felt like a hollow offer—there was little reason to think business would ever bring him to Chicago. A trade show, maybe, but then again that was
marketing
, and he'd made his disdain for the city pretty clear.

Dylan stopped his forkful of apple pie midair. “Sure, why not?”

Karla wasn't convinced. It wasn't that he was lying—she thought he meant it at the moment, but she was equally sure he'd somehow never find the chance.