Ring of Fire (6 page)

“Yeah, Mom,” Lark teased. “You're so good at that yourself.” She turned to Eric. “My mother's the most self-sufficient person in the world.”

Her mom shot back with, “I'll have no qualms asking you and Jayden to do the dishes after dinner.”

“Ask?” Jayden said. “You'll tell us to.”

“There's company. I'll be polite and ask.” Mary winked at her grandson. “Of course you'll know you don't really have a choice.” Turning to Eric, she said, “Everyone pulls his weight in this house.”

“Roger that, ma'am.” He snapped off a salute. “I'll help with the dishes, too.”

She chuckled. “That wasn't what I meant. Company's different. But I'm sure no one will turn down your kind offer.” She sipped her wine. “There are situations where it's good to be self-sufficient. There are others that require teamwork. At home, this family's a team. Like Lark with her firefighters. And you, Major, with your soldiers. Every individual needs to be strong and capable, but you also need to work together as a unit. You rely on each other.”

Into Eric's mind flashed the image of Danny Peller, bleeding out with his fucking leg blown off, his eyes pleading with Eric. And Eric, his commanding officer, had failed him. He hadn't been able to get Danny out of there, hadn't been able to save him. His heart raced and cold sweat sprang out on his skin. Hell, not another flashback, not now.

Lark must have noticed something, because her hand touched his thigh, warm and reassuring. Her voice cut through the haze. “Riding's a kind of teamwork, too, isn't it? Between the rider and the horse. Jayden, what is it that Sally says about the two-way communication?”

Her hand and her voice grounded Eric, pulling him back from where his brain wanted to go. As he listened to the boy's bright chatter, those words chased away the memory of Danny's last ones. Eric rested his hand on Lark's in a silent thank-you, and she shot him a quick glance, a soft smile, and then withdrew her hand.

His thigh felt cold and he mused over what had just happened. It didn't reflect well on him. Again, he'd lost control and this woman had rescued him. He drank some wine and finished the food on his plate, though now he barely tasted it. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea.

Caught up in what he refused to label as self-pity, he wasn't paying a lot of attention to what Jayden was talking about until the boy announced, “Eric says there's one thing men can do that women can't.”

Lark frowned at Eric. “Oh, does he? And what might that be?”

“Jayden, I don't think that's appropriate dinner conversation,” Eric said quickly.

“No, I'd like to hear this,” Lark countermanded him. “Jayden?”

“Pee through a hole in a fence!” her son announced triumphantly.

“Oh, honestly,” Lark said. “You two need to grow up.” But he could see she was struggling to hold back a grin.

Her mother let out a soft chuckle.

And suddenly, Eric felt better. Good enough that when Mary offered seconds, he accepted enthusiastically.

“Did you have any trouble finding a new place to live?” Lark asked Eric.

“I got a furnished apartment in town. Nothing special, but it works for me. It's closer to the fitness place where I exercise. By the way, did you figure out what happened to the house on Tannen? It wasn't my fault, was it?”

“Didn't your insurance adjuster tell you?”

Embarrassed, he said, “I didn't have insurance. It didn't even occur to me to get it since I have so few possessions. Never thought about the prosthesis. Believe me, I got flack for letting that expensive piece of equipment go up in smoke. And yes, the new one is insured.”

“Live and learn,” she said. “Anyhow, no, you didn't cause the fire. It was an electrical fire in the kitchen, the result of faulty wiring. Old wiring. And the smoke detector was broken.”

“I should have checked the smoke detector.” He felt a little guilty for not paying more attention to his surroundings.

“Yes,” Jayden said. “People need to have them checked regl . . . reg-u-lar-ly. Right, Mom?”

“Right,” Lark agreed. “The people who rented the house to Eric should have done that.” She turned to Eric. “But it's always a good idea for a tenant to double-check.”

“Okay, you've both convinced me,” Eric said. “When I get back to my apartment tonight, I'm checking the smoke alarm and all the electrical plugs and cords.”

Mary shook her head. “Stop lecturing, Lark and Jayden. Let the poor man enjoy his dinner.”

They all chuckled, and resumed eating. A couple of minutes later, Lark said casually, “It's warm in here.” She unzipped her hoodie, peeling it off to reveal a red tank top.

Eric's blood pressure jolted. The skimpy top showed off a rack as fine as any he'd ever seen, not to mention strong, toned shoulders and arms.

But the thought that it was her powerful body that had tugged his own helpless one down the stairs of a burning building was enough to put a damper on his arousal and make him concentrate on the food rather than the perfection of her body.

For dessert, there was fruit salad and homemade raisin oatmeal cookies, and when the meal was finished, Eric said, “That's the finest dinner I've had in a long time. Thank you, Mary.”

“You are very welcome.” She studied him for a long moment. “Seeing as you're here to help with the dishes, perhaps we'll excuse Jayden tonight. I know he has homework to do.”

Lark shot her a surprised look, but said, “Fine.”

After the boy had left, using a walker, and Mary had followed him, Lark stood and stacked plates. “It'll be faster this way. Jayden's painfully slow, but it's important that he learn life skills and that he believe he's pulling his weight.”

Eric took the remaining dishes from the table and brought them to her at the sink, admiring her curves in the snug red top and black pants. “I was raised the same way. We were a military family, and we all had our duties.”

“One of your parents was a soldier, too?” She began to rinse plates, handing them to him to place in the dishwasher.

“My dad, and he still is.”

The closeness of her body and the occasional brush of their fingers sent a hum of arousal through his blood, making it difficult to concentrate on the conversation. “He went into the army as a teenager,” he told her. “You can retire with a pension at various points, like after twenty or twenty-five years' service, but he's a career soldier. He's fifty-eight now, and compulsory retirement is at age sixty.”

Finished with the plates, she brought the serving dishes from the table. “What will he do then? Hang around and bug your mother?”

“Can't imagine that.” Just trying to, he gave a snort of laughter. “Can't imagine Dad taking up golf or some other hobby either. My bet is he'll volunteer with a veterans' organization.”

“Hmm.” She scooped leftover lasagna into a storage container. “You take after him?”

“Yes, and no. The career soldier part, yes. But I don't plan on marrying or having kids.”

“No?” Lark closed the fridge door and gazed at him. “You sound very definite.”

She hadn't phrased it as a question, but he knew it was. The answer was no big secret. “I am. Growing up as an army brat, I saw how tough the military life was on the stay-at-home spouse and the kids. I don't think it's fair on them.” Fortunately, he'd never met a woman who even tempted him to rethink the decision he'd made as a teen when he planned his future.

She put the lasagna pan in the sink, squirted detergent on it, and ran hot water. “I see your point. Serving your country is a wonderful thing to do. But I do believe that if you have kids, they should come first. And that caregiving should be shared, not left to one parent.”

Not for the first time, he wondered what had happened to the man who had fathered Jayden. “Agreed.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“A younger sister, Quinn.” She was his opposite in many ways, as unfocused about her life as he was focused. He'd spent much of his life helping her out of jams, but he loved her and would do anything for her.

“Feel like a cup of coffee, or shall we finish off the wine?”

“You're taking the night off, and I'm on foot.”
On foot
. Every time he used that expression, he thought how true it was. Foot, not feet. One foot; one prosthetic limb. “Let's drink wine.” He gathered that she drank rarely, and the same was true for him. A beer now and then. The last time he'd had wine was at that dinner with his parents.

Lark took two fresh glasses from the cupboard, collected the wine bottle, and led him into the family room. He was happy to hang back a few steps, enjoying the rear view of her in that skimpy red top and the figure-hugging pants.

The family room was homey, with a couch and a couple of upholstered chairs, a small gas fireplace, bookcases full of books and games, some attractive First Nations art on the walls, and a box overflowing with LEGO fire trucks and firefighters. Despite all the evidence of Lark's family, neither Jayden nor Mary was in the room.

Eric glanced out the front window, noting that it was dusk. It was the middle of September, and the days were definitely getting shorter.

Lark had flicked on the fire and turned on some music, something classical and relaxing. “Is this okay?” she asked. “Or are you a hard rock or heavy metal guy?”

“They have their place and time, but this isn't it. I'm surprised you're not playing country music. I thought that was all people listened to around here.” He took a seat on the couch, hoping she'd sit beside him. She had put the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, and he poured wine.

“It is ubiquitous.” She came over and picked up a filled glass, and then wandered over to the window and closed the drapes. “And I do like it—but like you said, in its place and time. Mom's a fan of classical music, so I grew up with it. In fact, that's where I got my name.”

“Really? I did think it was an unusual one. Pretty, though. No”—he shook his head—“scratch that. Not the right word.” For the name or for the woman. “Distinctive and striking. And it suits you.”

“Thanks.” She sat down, choosing the couch but not sitting close to him. “It's from a piece of music called ‘The Lark Ascending,' composed by Ralph Vaughan Williams. Mom heard it on the radio when she was pregnant, and loved it. She bought the tape—back in the days of cassette tapes—and listened to it over and over. That was a hard time for her and she said the music was beautiful, poignant, and uplifting. It always made her feel good.”

“That's nice, though I'm sorry she had a rough time.”

“My biological father was an asshole,” she said bluntly. “Drank too much, thought too highly of himself. White guy. Fell for my mother but didn't treat her like she was his equal.”

He reflected on that. “The woman she is today wouldn't put up with that kind of sh—uh, treatment.”

“No. But she was a teenager, and inexperienced. She thought she was in love, and believe me, that can blind you to someone's faults.” Lark's sour expression made him wonder if that had happened to her, with Jayden's father. “When she told him she was pregnant, he kicked her out of his apartment.”

“Jesus. But he was such a jerk, it sounds like you guys were better off without him.”

“Mom figured that out, too.”

“She raised you on her own?”

Lark nodded. “She could've gone after him for child support, but she didn't.”

Was Lark and Jayden's story similar? Subterfuge and games weren't Eric's style. So he came right out and said, “If I'm out of line, tell me to take a step back. But I'm wondering about Jayden's father. He said today that he doesn't have one.”

Lark wrinkled her nose. “The Cantrell women have a curse. They fall for the wrong men. Mom's mother did it, Mom did it, and then I repeated the pattern. I even married the guy.” She raised her wineglass and took a slug.

Despite the serious topic, Eric couldn't help but admire the picture she made sitting beside him, not quite close enough to touch. Her bare shoulders and arms gleamed in the warm light; her neck was long and elegant as she tipped back her head to swallow. Her breasts pressed firmly against the soft cotton of her top, the wine in the glass matched the red of the fabric, and her dark hair and long, black-clad legs made a dramatic counterpoint. He'd never been much of a guy for art appreciation, but this was one work of art he could look at for a very long time.

But Lark was so much more than just an attractive picture, and he wanted to know her better. “What went wrong?” He sure as hell hoped she hadn't been with a man who abused her.

“Turned out he had low self-esteem. I should have known when I first saw his car. It was one of those outrageously flashy sports models. The kind that's only owned by drug dealers or guys who are trying to compensate for having a tiny . . . ego, or whatever.”

He grinned. “Know what you mean.” And he was damned glad he drove an old Jeep, not some stupid muscle car.

“But in the beginning,” she went on, “we were carried away by hormones and rushed into getting married, and I got pregnant.”

He nodded, reaching for his wineglass and feeling the ache in his stump. Wearing his prosthesis all day could be painful, and often he took it off in the evenings—which he sure wasn't going to do in front of an attractive woman. He just hoped he didn't suffer phantom limb pain—or, even worse, a flashback—in front of Lark. A guy could only take so much humiliation.