Putting Out Old Flames (10 page)

“That was rough.” Sharon shook her head. “Usually I'm all for showing a little underwear to get the boys to sweat, but”—she pulled a face—“not like that.”

Yanking off her shoes, Jane spit out, “What did you rub on the soles of these?” She waved them in Sharon's face. “Motor oil?”

Her friend's face fell. “It was just a little shoe polish rub I keep in my purse for emergencies. I didn't think it would make them that slick. Just rub the gunk off. I'm sorry.”

Jane took a deep breath, then another. Snapping at Sharon wasn't going to rewind time, undo what had occurred. It wouldn't keep her from looking like an idiot in front of Chance. He must be thanking his lucky stars that nothing more than a kiss had happened Sunday night. If his wife was any measure, Chance liked his women polished and elegant.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault I'm an idiot.”

Sarah leaned forward. “It wasn't that bad. Except for the guys in the next lane, I don't think anybody saw. Everyone's too busy having their own good time to pay attention to us.”

A waitress walked up to them, three shot glasses on the tray in her hands. “Bert and Clay send this round over with their compliments. Wanted me to tell you thanks. That was more action than they've seen from their wives in months.”

Two middle-aged men at the bar raised their glasses in salute. Jane's cheeks flamed even hotter. Could a person spontaneously combust from humiliation?

“No one else noticed, huh?” Pulling her street shoes from underneath her chair, Jane shoved her feet into them.

“Okay, so maybe those two did.” Sarah shrugged. “They're obnoxious and horny. It's no wonder their wives won't touch them. But in the grand scale of things, trust me, this wasn't a big deal. You're still the same Dispatch Jane we all know and love. Nothing's changed.”

“I don't know if I'd say that.” Sharon tried talking out of the side of her mouth, looking like she had a nervous tic. “Ever since your spill, your fireman hasn't taken his eyes off you.”

All three women looked across at Chance. He raised his beer bottle to his mouth, licked his lips after taking a sip, his gaze never leaving Jane.

“I don't think he's blinking at all,” Sharon whispered. “He's not even looking at me and his eyes are making me all”—she shifted on her seat—“flustered.”

Yep, he could do that. Most of the time Chance was easygoing. So laid-back he was practically prone. But every once in a while, something would flip a switch in him, give him a singular laser-like focus that was nothing short of intense.

Her stomach fluttered. It was those times that turned Jane into putty.

She threw back her shot, grabbed Sharon's and tossed it back, too.

“Hey!” her friend protested.

Jane staggered to her feet, the alcohol already sanding down the edges of her rough night. “You can't drink any more. You're driving me home.”

“What? Now?” Sharon replaced her bowling shoes with lime-green heels.

“Yes. I need to get out of here.” Before Jane did something really stupid. Like crawl into Chance's lap. It would be easy to pretend he was still the man who gave her comfort.

“I'll take care of returning the shoes,” Sarah said.

Jane gave her a hug. “Thanks. Sorry for ruining girls' night out.”

Sarah patted her back. “Get some rest. By tomorrow, your fall will all be forgotten.”

Nodding, Jane wobbled on her feet. Good thing she was wearing flats. God only knew what other damage she could wreak in heels. Chance stood up, took a step toward her, but Jane glared him back into place.

She didn't need his help. Or his soft married lips. Or his love-'em-and-leave-'em ways. She had her girlfriends. Slinging an arm around Sharon's shoulder, she shuffled to the stairs with her. “I love you, Sharon.”

“Good God, you've already got to that stage of drunkenness?” Sharon huffed out a breath. “I'm glad you live close. You know I don't do sloppy drunks.”

“I'm not drunk,” Jane said. At least not drunk enough. She could still feel Chance's eyes pinned to her back, burning her like a brand. They followed her all the way to the door. Once outside, she took a deep breath of the cool night air.

It didn't help. She still felt him.

His presence was following her.

Nope, she wasn't nearly drunk enough.

C
losing the door to Pins 'N' Pints behind him, Chance stepped into the blinding sunlight, squinted at his clipboard, and made a couple notations. Chief Finnegan had thought Chance, as the newest member of the Pineville Fire Department, should be responsible for making the annual inspections of the downtown businesses so he could “get to know his neighbors.”

He rolled his shoulders. Because there was nothing to make people more welcoming and friendly than showing up at their doorstep with the ability to ticket them or shut them down.

He hadn't been in the place since Tuesday night, bowling with his new coworkers. Since Jane.

He scratched his chest through his work polo. His skin had been feeling tight lately. Itchy. As though it wasn't quite sure they were in the right place. Heaving a sigh, he slid his sunglasses on, a shield against the sun's glare. Itchy skin or no, this was where he'd settled and he was determined to make a good life for his son here.

It hadn't always been like this. When he'd first arrived in Pineville, he'd felt great. The traffic was minimal, the air was clean, and the streets were safe. It hadn't been . . .

He ground to a halt on the sidewalk, letting a hurried pedestrian brush past him. It hadn't been until he'd run into Jane again that he'd started to feel, well, off. Like he hadn't quite found his home yet.

Except when he was with her. She'd knocked him off balance, but when he was with her, actually in her presence, he was centered. Content. It was as if his body hadn't known what it'd been missing until she'd come along and reminded him.

All that skin she'd shown him a few nights ago after her tumble reminded him of a few other things. A smile stretched across his face. His Janey-girl never had been very graceful. Remembering just who else had seen the bits of Jane that should have been private turned his smile into a scowl. He'd almost knocked Martinez's dimpled face off his neck after Jane had left the bar.

Chance turned onto Main Street. He didn't have time for mooning over a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Checking the map he'd made of the downtown area, he headed for his next target. Luckily, only five businesses were up for inspections this month. And the next one was owned by . . . he blew out a relieved sigh. At least there'd be one welcoming face this morning.

A basket overflowing with pink flowers hung from a light pole, and the trailing petals brushed against his shoulder as Chance paused at the edge of the curb to check for traffic. The morning was dawning warm and bright, and Chance was thankful that this spring was mild. Moving from California, he was unprepared to properly outfit his son if a snowstorm arrived. A trip for parkas and boots could wait until next winter.

His target was three blocks up. Chance walked under a row of American flags and wondered if the store owners kept them as permanent decorations to their storefronts, or if this was in anticipation of Independence Day, still more than a month and a half away.

The store he stopped in front of didn't have a flag out front, but it did have a chalkboard written in a looping scrawl, announcing an ounce of essential oil was free with every visit to the aromatherapy bar.

Smiling, he pushed in, the tinkle of a bell announcing his entrance. Edith looked up from the register where she was ringing up a sale.

Her face lit up. “Hi, Chance. Come for that male-energy-boost powder we talked about?” She couldn't control her smile as she pushed the handles of a small brown bag filled with purple tissue paper into her customer's hand.

The young woman flicked an assessing glance at Chance. With a murmured thank-you to Edith, she strolled past him, an eye-wateringly strong perfume making his nose twitch. He fought back his sneeze as the woman sashayed out the door.

“Thanks, Edith. I'm always so pleased when people greet me with an insult to my manliness.” Resting his clipboard on her counter, he scanned the room. Lots of dead plants hanging from the ceiling. Those would go up like tinder under a blowtorch, but would burn out quickly. He sniffed. They smelled pretty good, though. Reminded him of Jane.

She bobbed her head at the door that had just swung shut. “Just trying to save you from
that
. I hate to make judgments on anyone's sexuality, but trust me. You don't want that one coming after you. She chews up sweet men like you and eats them for dinner.”

“And if she thinks I'm, uh, having problems, I'll remain unchewed?”

“Exactly.” Edith floated to a reclaimed wood bar that held shelves of small brown dropper bottles above it. Pulling one down, she filled it with oil and added a couple of drips of something to it. “Here.” She pressed the bottle into his hand. “A couple drops of this on your pillow every night and you'll be right as rain.”

“You do know I don't actually have a problem in that area, right?” My God. He was defending his sexual prowess to Jane's mother. Something about that just wasn't right. “You just made that up, remember?”

“The oil isn't for that, silly. If you had that problem, I'd cook you up a mixture of ginseng and cayenne.” Edith's long skirt swished over the wood floor as she tidied up her store. “You just look tired, and that's for a restful night's sleep.”

Chance was about to protest. He didn't want to wake up smelling like a bouquet of flowers.

“And you know,” she continued, “fatigue can lead to that other problem we were discussing.”

Chance deposited the bottle in his pants pocket. A little aromatherapy never hurt anyone. Besides, he didn't want Edith having any reason to tell Jane he might not be able to perform satisfactorily.

He huffed out a breath. Jane and he weren't going to happen; she'd been all kinds of clear about that. He didn't need to worry about what she thought. He gripped the bottle in his pocket. Still, he didn't want to be rude to Edith and return her gift. He'd just hold on to it.

“So what brings you to the Apothic Garden?” Edith asked. “Looking for a gift for someone, or just wanted to say hello?”

“Neither. Although I always want to say hi to you,” he hastily added. “But I'm here for work. It's time for your inspection.” He held up his clipboard. “I have a list of things to check off and then I'll be out of your hair.”

Rising up onto her toes, she patted his cheek. “You're never a bother, sweetie. Do what you have to do and holler if you have any questions. I'll just be in back.”

Chance nodded, the tension he always seemed to carry in his shoulders slipping away. He'd always enjoyed Jane's parents, thought their carefree ways a refreshing change from his conservative upbringing. While Jane had been embarrassed by her mother's hippie ways, Edith had never failed to bring a smile to Chance's face.

Her wheat-germ granola cookies had been a baking abomination, but other than that minor flaw, Chance had been happy to enter the Willoughby house. He'd felt welcomed and respected, feelings not to be underestimated by a teenage boy.

Edith's presence in Pineville was another bonus to his relocation. Not as nice as if Jane had welcomed him with open arms, but a plus just the same. Chance looked at the wall of potions and wondered if Edith had anything to help a person forgive. He sighed. It would take time and hard work with Jane, but he'd get there.

He hoped.

Maybe after the inspection, he could convince Edith to put in a good word.

* * *

Jane opened her front door, and jumped back when her mom charged in. With a suitcase rolling behind her. “What's the matter, Mom? I think you woke up my upstairs neighbor with your pounding.”

“Mr. Chu is fine. I, on the other hand, am furious.” To emphasize her point, she kicked her suitcase. They both watched as it teetered and fell over.

Cyclops loped in from her bedroom and wound his body around Edith's ankles. She scooped him up, held him tight to her chest. “Hi, sweetie.”

It was a mystery to everyone but Cyclops, but he adored her mother, the only human to whom he showed any real affection. Butting his head against her chin, he purred loudly, shut his one eye tight with delight.

“What happened?” Jane asked. “And why do you have a suitcase?” Uneasiness spiraled through her stomach. Luggage couldn't be a good sign.

“Your boyfriend—”

“Leon?” Jane asked hopefully. There was nothing Leon could do that would be so bad.

“No.” Edith glared at Jane, kissing one of Cy's waving paws. “Your old boyfriend. The fireman.”

“I really can't be held responsible for what—”

“Do you know what he did?” her mother interrupted. “He kicked me out! Of my own home. My store. I'm shut down until”—she reached into the top of her bra and pulled out a folded piece of yellow paper—“‘the following infractions are remedied,'” she read. A lengthy list of safety violations followed.

Snatching the paper from her mother, Jane ran her eyes down the checked boxes until she reached the signature. T. Chance McGovern. “That rat! I can't believe he cited you.”

“And evicted. Don't forget about that.” Edith swung her legs up on the couch and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. “He said it wasn't, and I quote, ‘safe.'”

Jane sank down onto the armchair across from her mom. “You need to call Colt McCoy. When you bought the building five years ago, you hired him to remodel the space. If there are safety issues, he's responsible.”

“Well . . .” Her mother hugged Cy closer.

“Well what?”

“I might have told Colt not to bother with some of the electrical work. He almost refused to work in my space,” Edith added, looking bewildered at the thought, “until I promised him that I'd hire a specialist just as soon as I could afford it.”

Jane let her head fall onto the back of the chair. “And you never did.”

“The time was never right!” Edith sat upright, crossed her legs Indian style. “I was running a business. I couldn't just shut down.”

“Yeah, how's that working out for you now?” Jane held up a hand. “Sorry. I'm turning my anger on the wrong person. I can't believe he kicked you out instead of just giving you a fix-it ticket.”

Edith shook her head. “Somewhere along the road, that boy turned into a real stickler for the rules. So sad.”

Even though Jane
kinda
understood where Chance was coming from, her mom was now firmly on Team Jane, and that felt great. “I told you he was a jerk. People don't change their stripes.”

“I think that's zebras, dear. Of course people can change.” She stroked Cy's orange fur. “He was just so unreasonable, not giving me more time.” She sniffed. “The past inspector always did.”

Staring at the suitcase, Jane pursed her lips. “I only have the one bed, Mom. And that couch isn't comfortable to sleep on all night.”

“Don't be silly. You don't have to sleep on the couch.” Edith rose, stretched. “Your bed is plenty big for both of us.” Carrying Cy, she headed for the bedroom, rifling through the woven bag that hung across her chest. “Will you bring my suitcase in here? I'm going to burn some sage. My aura is out of balance.”

Jane wrinkled her nose. She hated burnt sage. It clung to her clothes, seeped into her skin. Chance would pay for this. She loved her mother, but one of her happiest memories was the day she'd moved out of her mom's house. They just weren't compatible roommates. And now they were stuck together in her one-bedroom apartment.

Oh yes, Chance would pay.

At least her mom would stop pushing her at Chance. Edith had finally realized that ship had sailed.

She walked into her bedroom to see her mother waving a bundle of smoking herbs in the corner of the room.

“Mom, you're going to set the fire alarm off.” Jane opened a window. “We don't need another run-in with Chance right now. I think one of us would probably kill him, and I don't want to go to jail tonight.”

Edith frowned. “You're right. I don't want to see that boy again anytime soon.”

Nodding, Jane heaved the suitcase onto the bed. Finally, they agreed on something. Chance had just become their common enemy. No more insinuations about how good she and Chance were together, or how much Edith loved his son, Josh. No more sly winks over how good-looking Chance had become, how pretty their babies would be. No more lectures on forgiveness for past sins. After this ball was over, he could be forgotten by both mother and daughter.

“He has a damn fine ass under that uniform, however,” Edith said, unpacking her clothes. “It might be worth a fire just to see that again.”

Jane threw herself face-first onto her bed and screamed into her pillow.