Ring of Fire (7 page)

Staring into her wine, she sighed. “When we had time to take a breath, I realized Tom had this thing about needing to feel superior. I think maybe he first fell for me because I was like his car. Different from what his buddies had. I'm not exactly flashy, but I'm too big to ignore.”

He couldn't imagine anyone ignoring Lark, and not only because of her height. She was one of the most beautiful, sexy women he'd ever seen, and she had presence.

“Tom worked in a bank and had a good career path, but it started to bug him that I was a firefighter. He'd rather I was a secretary or salesclerk. And he wanted to be the boss at home and manage the money and so on, and I was too independent for him.” She grinned. “Mary Cantrell's kid, all the way.”

Then her expression sobered. She glanced across the room to the hallway that must lead to the bedrooms, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower. “And then Jayden was born and it was clear early on that he had some problems. Tom couldn't stand having a child who was anything less than perfect.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah. It was like it was a bad reflection on him, having a child who was flawed.”

What a fucking loser. “Asshole. Jayden's a great kid. Any parent should be proud of him.”

Her face glowed and she nodded strongly. “Right on all counts. I realized that I couldn't have ever really loved Tom. It was lust, hormones, insanity, and I hadn't known who he really was. What an insecure jerk he was. So I told him Jayden and I were leaving. He said it was no doubt for the best. He was better than my dad, because he did offer child support, but he made it clear . . .”

She lowered her voice again, and Eric had to lean closer to hear her. He tried not to wince as his aching stump grated against his prosthesis. His reward was a whiff of a flowery scent, natural rather than perfumy, and intoxicating. God, but Lark turned him on in so many ways.

“He made it clear he didn't want Jayden in his life. And I didn't want Tom in our lives. So rather than taking a monthly payment, I made him set up a trust fund for Jayden.” Her lips quirked. “He had to sell his car to do it. Anyhow, it helps with some of the medical and equipment needs that government and charitable plans don't cover. But it's not a lot of money, and mostly Mom and I take care of the family.”

“You have a great family.” One of the best he'd ever come across.

“Thanks. I think so, too.” She rubbed the back of her neck like she was massaging an ache.

Eric's fingers tingled with the desire to touch her soft skin.

“I don't regret Tom,” she said, “because he gave me Jayden. But being with him did teach me my lesson. Like my mom and grandma, I'm better and stronger without a man.”

“I'm not going to argue with that. But does that mean you don't much like men?” He'd met women who thought men should be abolished from the face of the earth, but Lark didn't seem like that.

Something gleamed in her dark eyes. “I like men just fine. Which is good, because in my career, I work mostly with guys. Of course some are macho assholes and some are ‘good old boys' who can't handle dealing with a female firefighter.”

Eric nodded. “Same thing with female soldiers. It's crap—it's unfair to them and it's harmful to the entire team.”

She nodded. “I've always managed to deal with it. I don't take shit from anyone. Most of the guys I've known are good people. No better no worse than the women I've known.”

“Do you date?” If she did, he'd bet it was with strong, fit, well-adjusted guys, the male equivalent of herself. Not fucked-up guys like him.

She shrugged and mischief sparked in her eyes. “Not in the sense of getting to know someone in hopes that it might lead to a commitment.”

“Okay then, in what sense?”

The gleam turned into a grin. “In the sense of a good time was had by all, and no one slept over.”

Sex. Pure physical enjoyment. That was what she meant. At the thought of sex with Lark, his body heated, arousal overriding the pain in his stump. Before his injury, he'd had a number of casual relationships—with women soldiers, medical personnel, aid workers—always on the same mutually agreed basis Lark was talking about.

But since the amputation, sex had been the last thing on his mind. With a mutilated body and a messed-up brain, he'd had enough other things to worry about. Besides, what woman would find him sexually attractive now, with one leg covered in ugly scars and the other thigh ending in a stump? Especially a strong, vital woman like Lark.

She was exactly the kind of woman he'd always been attracted to: not only beautiful, but capable, determined, and self-sufficient. A woman who controlled her own life rather than shaping it around her spouse's the way his mom had. Not that he faulted his mom. His dad was a Take-Charge man, with a capital
T
and
C
.

Lark pulled her long legs up onto the couch, curling into the corner so she faced Eric more directly, and asked quietly, “What are you thinking about?”

Chapter Five

Eric's face was more impassive than expressive, but Lark noticed the tiny movements of muscles under his skin, the slight shifts in expression in his smoky gray eyes. She didn't know him well enough to be sure how to read the signs, but a moment ago she'd seen a tightening between his brows that suggested something was troubling him. And so she had asked her question.

When she did, his mouth tightened.

He was a self-contained man; she figured a soldier had to be. But he wasn't on duty now. Would he be willing to share with her? She waited to find out.

After a moment he said, “I' m thinking how different you are from my mom. Her life has always revolved around my dad's.”

“I guess that happens a lot when one spouse is in the military.”

Eric clasped his hands behind his neck and stretched back, the black Henley hugging his muscles as they rippled. The man really was mouthwatering.

“That's for sure,” he said. “Mom was young when they got married. She told me once, when I was ten or so and planning my own army career, that she hadn't had a clue what she was getting into, being a soldier's wife.” He paused. “I respect her for how she made the best of it. She held the family together all those times Dad was away. All the times when we were afraid he wouldn't come back safely.”

“That must have been really hard.” Firefighters' families had worries, too, but at least a firefighter didn't go into war zones for months at a time.

“She's served her country, too, just like Dad. The difference is, he signed up for it. All she did was get married.”

Lark liked his assessment of his mom, and his obvious respect for her. “She sounds like a strong woman who makes the best of what life throws her way.”

“Yeah, she is.” Again there was the slight tug of a frown between his brows. “She looked after the house and raised two kids, single-handedly much of the time. We moved a lot, and she made a home for us wherever we went.” He blinked. “She was studying to get a teaching degree, but dropped out of college when she married Dad. Sometimes I wonder what she might have done if she'd married a different guy, or not married at all.”

“The ‘what if' game.” Lark leaned forward to put her empty wineglass on the coffee table. “When I used to play that game—like in, what if I'd had a different dad—my mom talked to me about the different kinds of decisions in life.”

He cocked his head. “How d'you mean?”

“Well, there are ones you have control over that are pretty trivial, like what to have for dinner. And there are the nondecisions you don't even think about, like brushing your teeth before bed. Then there are the major decision points, like choosing a career, getting married, or having a baby, which will have a huge impact on your entire life.”

When he nodded, she went on. “Yet so many of us rush into those decisions without really thinking things through, or even having all the knowledge to make the decision wisely. Like Mom when she hooked up with my father. And me, when I married my ex and we decided to have a baby.” It had been Tom's idea that they try to get pregnant early on in their marriage. Later, she'd suspected it was his way of trying to control her, that he'd been hoping her maternal instincts would lead her to quit her job and stay home with her baby.
Their
baby, the one that Tom had assumed would be perfect in every way, and a credit to him.

“And like my mom when she married my dad.” Eric shifted position, winced, and ran a hand down the thigh of his residual limb. It must be aching, or maybe he suffered from phantom limb pain. It was no big surprise when he said, “And then there are the events we have no control over. But we're stuck with the consequences, like it or not.” He glanced at her. “Like that IED in Afghanistan, and Jayden's cerebral palsy.”

So it had been an improvised explosive device that had destroyed his leg. She'd guessed it might have been. “Yes, and no,” she said. “I mean, yes, we have no control over the event happening. But, to get back to the ‘what if' game, it seems to me that playing it is futile. However an event came about—whether it was a decision you made that maybe didn't turn out the way you expected, or it was something that happened to you that you never saw coming—what's the point having regrets or wondering about how life would have gone if that event hadn't happened? Life happens; we deal with it and move on. And in doing that, we do have control. We decide how we handle the consequences.”

He nodded firmly. “I hear you. It's a waste of time wishing something hadn't happened. You assess the situation, set goals, get on with it. You keep gathering information and adjusting your tactics. You learn whatever lessons there are to be learned and then apply them, moving forward. Always moving forward.”

“Exactly.” She was pleased they thought the same way. “Active. Proactive.”

“And focused. For me, every decision is aimed at one goal: getting back to combat-ready shape as quickly as I can do it.”

He was so driven, so single-minded. “Why is that so important to you, Eric? You've certainly served your country admirably. If you wanted to move on to something else . . .” She'd done research online and found that a small number of amputee soldiers had returned to active service, even to combat, so his goal was achievable for a man as fit and determined as Eric. But was it the best thing for him in the long run?

“But I don't want anything else. I'm a soldier. That's . . .” He hunted for words. “That's who I am.”

“Like your father.” The father who had married and had children, but apparently always put them second in his life.

Eric nodded.

“You're also a son,” she pointed out. “And a big brother.” She could understand his reasoning for not marrying and having kids, but felt sorry for what he'd be missing. That made it even more important, she'd think, that he have a good relationship with his parents and sister.

“Yeah. What are you getting at?”

“Just that it's possible to have more than one identity. I'm a firefighter and my career is hugely important to me. But so is being a mom and a daughter. My identity is just as tied up in those things as in my work.”

“I'm still not sure what you're getting at.”

That there should be more to life than a single identity. That a person should be well-rounded, that he or she should have a balanced life. That it was good to have family to love, and that family was just as important as—and to her mind even more important than—the people she and Eric tried to save and protect on their jobs. But that was pretty judgmental, and she had no right to talk that way to him, to try to impose her values. So she instead gave a wry half-laugh and said, “I'm not really sure. Sorry.”

He bent forward to tip the last couple of mouthfuls of wine into their glasses, and handed hers to her.

As she reached to take it, a siren sounded from next door. He jerked and so did she. “MVA,” she said. She hoped it was something minor, and no one was badly hurt.

“How do you know?”

“That's Rescue 5. I recognize the sound. We have different apparatus for different kinds of calls. Rescue 5 is first to roll for an MVA.”

He nodded. “Why did you choose firefighting, Lark?”

She smiled, remembering the day she'd found her passion. “When I was in third grade, my class went to a fire hall open house. Some of the girls were bored, but I was right up front with the boys. I was always a bit of a tomboy. Anyhow, we were so excited about the shiny red trucks, the turnout gear, and the cool equipment. They let us try on masks, hold axes and hoses.” She closed her eyes, savoring the memory. “It was like holding power in my own hands.” It still gave her a thrill each time she gripped the tools of her trade. As well as a huge sense of responsibility.

She went on. “The power to fight fire and save lives. Don't laugh, but to a child it was kind of like a superhero thing.”

“Totally.”

“Except that normal human beings could do it. Well, maybe not normal, but strong, capable, disciplined, determined human beings. I noticed that all the firefighters were men, so I asked if women could be firefighters, too. The guys said there wasn't any rule that they couldn't, but most just weren't big and strong enough. So I decided then and there that I was going to be one of the exceptions.”

“You're lucky you didn't inherit your mom's build.”

“That's for sure. My build was the only good thing I ever got from my father.”

“How did Mary feel about you wanting to be a firefighter?”

“Proud, mostly.” Lark had the best mom in the world. “She knew it could be tough, competing with men and dealing with sexism. And racism, for being half Indian. But she knew I was strong and could handle it. As for the job being dangerous, well, we have good training and our first concern is always for the safety of the firefighters. I won't say there's never any danger, but we know what we're doing.”

“Makes sense to me. I'd guess it's not so different from being a soldier. Ongoing training, periods of boredom when nothing's happening, bursts of activity where your adrenaline's pumping. Being part of a team, with each member knowing what he or she's supposed to do in each situation. And being prepared for the unexpected.”

She'd been nodding as he spoke, but his last words reminded her of the IED that had cost him his leg. Gazing into his eyes, now the troubled gray of storm clouds, she murmured, “And it's usually the unexpected that rises up and bites you.”

He met her gaze and gave a curt nod. “All those years of training, all the missions, and one moment of the unexpected is all it takes.”

There were all sorts of things she could say.
I'm sorry
.
Life's just not fair
. None would help, so she kept quiet. So did he, and it was a surprisingly peaceful, companionable silence.

It had been a strange evening from the moment she walked into the house and heard a man's voice. What she was doing right now, sitting in the family room with Eric while her mom and Jayden hung out in their rooms down the hall, was something she'd never done before. It felt surprisingly comfortable, and yet odd. She didn't have men friends.

In her life, men fell into categories. There were her fellow firefighters: she was their boss and, while she had a certain collegial affection for many of them, she maintained a professional distance. There were the townspeople: she protected and served them, and her fire department was funded by their tax dollars. There were the few men in Jayden's life—an occasional medical specialist or teacher; again, all to be treated on a professional basis.

And then there were sex partners. Usually they were men Lark met when she attended an out-of-town training course or conference. It was easier that way; she'd rather not run into a former one-night-stand when she dropped into the Gold Pan diner for lunch. Besides, she didn't want Jayden thinking she might get serious about a guy. Periodically, he whined about how he'd like to have a dad, not willing to accept that she had no plans to ever supply him with one.

So her hookups were few and far between. Fortunately, her life was so busy that sex was typically the last thing on her mind. Or it had been, until she met Eric.

It was hard to ignore the draw she felt to him. Maybe it was because he didn't fit one of her categories. He was Jayden's fellow student, but not one of his caregivers. There was no particular need for professional distance, except her own post-divorce belief that it was good to keep her sex life and her family life separate.

Even if she did want to have sex with Eric, she wasn't sure he felt the same way. Occasionally when he looked at her, she saw the heat of male appreciation in his eyes, but then he'd glance away. Maybe, like many men, he preferred his women to be smaller and more conventionally feminine, not a woman who could lug—and in Eric's case actually had lugged—him out of a burning building.

The silence had gone on long enough. “Why Caribou Crossing?” she asked. “You're on medical leave, are you?”

For the next ten minutes, he talked about being on unpaid leave, taking time off to rehab himself, and how government and military programs covered his medical expenses.

Down the hall, Jayden's door opened.

Eric broke off as her son came toward the family room with his walker. He had put on his pajamas by himself, the tan ones patterned with horses and cowboys. He alternated between those and the ones with images of firefighter turnout gear and axes.

She glanced at her watch, realizing she'd lost track of time. “It's Jayden's bedtime,” she said, standing up. “You don't have to go, Eric, but—”

He stood, too. “No, that's fine. I don't want to outstay my welcome.”

He'd risen awfully quickly. Maybe he, too, found this an odd situation. No doubt he was more used to dinner-out-and-sex-after dates, not hanging around chatting with a woman while her little boy and her mom were down the hall.

Jayden said, “You're going? Now? Already?” Frowning, he glanced from Eric to Lark. “Mom, I promised I wouldn't say anything, but . . .” Her son pressed his lips together, obviously upset.

It dawned on her, then, what he was thinking about. After the day Eric had shown him the pylon of his prosthetic leg, her son had gone on and on about wanting to see the whole prosthesis, especially the computerized knee. Lark had told him it would be rude to raise the issue, and he had obeyed. But clearly his patience was running out.

Eric snapped his fingers. “My leg. I promised to show you my prosthesis, didn't I?”