Seeing Red (6 page)

Chloe smiled. “Excellent. What does Summer’s say?”

Madeline pushed close again and flipped the page to search it out. Diana read it out loud. “It says, and I quote,
follow your heart.
Hmm. Where will that lead you, I wonder? Not here, its never been here.”

“Things change,” Summer said, trying not to be insulted. “And I’m staying until the warehouse fire report is filed. That could be a few weeks.”

“Weeks? Good,” Chloe said with selfish glee. “I just happen to have some work I’ll happily share. You can start by folding the new tablecloths and napkins. I suck at it.”

“You definitely do,” Tina agreed, her crystal earrings a perfect match to Camille’s. “But we all have our faults. Now girls, I mean this in the most loving way possible, but get your sweet asses to work.”

Summer braced for an argument, because for as long as she could remember, Tina’s relationships with her daughters had resembled a roller-coaster track. Up and down, and then back up again, never a calm moment, rarely common ground, and yet there was always emotion: huge, passionate, wild emotion.

And also for as long as Summer could remember, she’d envied their relationships with all her heart. Not that Camille wasn’t wonderful, and always kind, but there hadn’t been huge emotion, passion, or much of anything in a very long time. “I can fold.”

“Really?” Chloe beamed at her. “I just got officially happy to see you.”

Tina just shook her head. “Summer darling, you’re too sweet.” She shot Chloe a look that said
take notes
.

Chloe gave her a mock saccharine smile back, complete with salute and Tina laughed. “Oh, go on with you. Go be free and let me be.”

“Gladly.” Chloe scooted close to Summer as Tina drifted off. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“See that guy over there?”

There was only one guy in the place. The
GQ
-handsome one who’d just moved behind the counter. He’d slouched on a stool, and was working on a laptop. Summer knew he was the infamous Braden, the new bookkeeper. “I see him.”

“Good. Now
stop
seeing him.”

“Why?”

“He’s mine.” At Summer’s long, appraising look, she caved. “Okay, maybe not yet, but I intend for him to be. So hands and mouth off.”

“It’s hard to take you seriously with green hair.”

“I mean it, Summer.”

Summer eyed Braden again. He wore loose black cargo pants and a black collarless shirt on his slightly too-lean body, and an expression that said back off. And though he was scowling at his computer, his long dark hair in his eyes, he
was
pretty. In a caged tiger sort of way. “Consider my hands off. But—”

“No. No warnings from you,” Chloe said with an adamant shake of her green-tipped hair. “You do as you want. You do
who
you want. You always have. Hell, you graduated from high school two years early, then skipped college to roam the planet. Do you know how cool that is? Now it’s my turn to do what I want, so go away before he sees how gorgeous and curvy and irresistible you are. Go save my hide and fold the new kitchen linens. They’re that way.” She gestured to the first alcove, decorated like a beach kitchen, complete with sand on the floor.

Summer didn’t go. “I’m irresistible?”

“Oh, please. Like you don’t know it. Now go.”

“Chloe?”

“What?”

“Just so you know,
all
the women in our family are irresistible.” She smiled. “Even your bossy, cranky hide.”

That got a smile. “Just remember, he’s still mine.”

Summer lifted her hands in surrender and moved through the store. Not exactly a warm family greeting, but she’d take it. She’d come because she’d been asked. She’d committed to staying because once she’d gotten here she’d been overcome by a desire to fit in.

But she clearly didn’t, not really, a thought that made her feel just a little lost. She stopped at the back wall, distracted by a long row of interesting photographs from the turn of the last century. Her mother loved such pictures, and had been collecting for years. Summer felt drawn to them too, though she’d never given it much thought as she’d rarely stayed in one place long enough to unpack her clothes, much less pictures. This particular series had been taken at the seashore, depicting the interesting bathing suits and the quaint lifestyle of the time, but it was more than that that made them a set. It was the people, and the warmth and affection and love pouring out of the frames. They were connected, deeply, and it seemed so simple. Sweet.

She stared at the frames as a yearning went through her. She wanted a simple but deep connection, she wanted that with all her heart. She’d had it once, she just had no idea how to get it back, and that she felt so lost right here at “home” disconcerted and confused her.

She heard the footsteps then, just behind her. Work boots, but with a light, sure gait. Looking up, she met a pair of unbearably familiar whiskey-colored eyes and her heart skipped a beat.

If Joe’s heart skipped as well, he hid it. His hair fell in waves over his forehead, brushing the collar of his slightly wrinkled white dress shirt, the sleeves of which were shoved up to his elbows and had some official patch on the pec. It wasn’t tucked into his soft, faded Levi’s, which sported a frayed hole over one knee. Looking just a little edgy, a little dangerous, he had one hand in his pocket, the other holding a clipboard, which he tapped against his thigh as his eyes checked off the details of his surroundings. Always alert.

There was something about his mouth that suggested the slightest of smiles when his gaze landed on hers, but then again it could have been a grimace at having to see her again.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey yourself.”

Startled at the old familiar greeting, and at the ease with which they’d slipped into it, they stared at each other. And for a single beat, Summer didn’t feel lost at all. “What are you doing here?”

He shoved his free hand through his wavy hair, making some of it stick up. Instead of making him look rumpled, it somehow seemed…endearing. “I have some interviews,” he said.

“For the investigation?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at the unmistakable bulge of the gun at his hip beneath the drape of his shirt. Wondered at all it implied, at all he’d seen and done since they’d been kids. “With my mom?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you need to know?”

“Quite a bit, actually.”

She sighed. “You’re being obtuse.”

“I don’t mean to be.”

Damn, he’d gotten good at not giving anything away. Apparently the long years of fighting fires and then investigating them had taught him a lot about control. He seemed so rough and ready standing there, so absolutely unflappable, body relaxed, eyes watchful, with a confusing mix of temper and passion humming just beneath the surface. She felt almost helplessly sucked in by that—utterly, morbidly, erotically sucked in.

She wondered if he ever felt as out of place as she did right now, then remembered that if he did, he had his girlfriend to go to. Cindy.

Had they had sex on his desk that day after she’d left?

“Is Camille in her office?” he asked.

“Yes.” That brought her back. “But she’s feeling fragile. Be gentle, okay?”

“And here I was hoping to use my torture rack.”

His eyes had cooled, his smile gone. She’d insulted him. “This has been hard for her, that’s all.”

He slapped his clipboard against his thigh again. His only sign of agitation. “Do you remember me as being particularly insensitive or cruel?”

“No, of course not.”

“So have I changed
that
much?”

Now
that
was a tough one. It would have been impossible for her to describe what seeing him did to her. His eyes were the same, and so, she suspected, were his heart and soul. Such incredible memories were stirred up by just his face, and yet new things were stirred up too. He’d put on height over the years, as well as lost those inches. Summer was five ten, but she had to tip her head back a little to see into his eyes. That gave her an entirely inappropriate shiver of appreciation, as did the sheer physical presence of him. “Some things have definitely changed,” she murmured.

“Right. The outer package.” And that clearly vexed rather than flattered. “That’s fairly obvious, Red. And it’s the second time you’ve mentioned it. I guess that’s what’s important to you.”

“That was never important to me.” But she flushed at his long stare, and she had to admit as she remembered the dazzling but empty-hearted Danny, that once upon a time, Joe had had every reason to believe that appearances
were
what was important to her.

How the hell had she gotten off on the wrong foot with absolutely everyone? “All I meant,” she said, “was that if anything’s different—on the
inside
—it’s how carefully controlled you are. That’s
very
different, Joe.”

“Maybe I only show my feelings to the people I’m close to.”

Touché. “Because what right do I have to know anything about you at all, is that it?”

He said nothing.

Another new trait.

She turned back to the seascapes on the wall. There was a young couple, smiling, arms flung around each other. So happy, so carefree. She’d always thought of herself as happy and carefree, too, but she felt neither at the moment.

There’d been ties over the years, with coworkers, clients. Other men. She’d enjoyed every one of them, and had amazing memories, but none compared to the tie she’d once had, and then given away, with this man. “Do you ever think about it?” she murmured, still staring at the joyful couple who’d lived one hundred years ago. “About us?”

He was silent for so long she tipped her head up and looked into his face. His lean jaw hadn’t been shaved today, maybe not yesterday either. His mouth, wide and firm, was unsmiling. And yet in those light eyes flickered a few memories as he gave her a long, considering look. “Sometimes.”

“I do too,” she admitted, but not the rest. That the old Joe had drawn her because he represented everything that had been wonderful about her childhood. That the new Joe, with his laugh lines and knowing eyes, with his matured low voice and confidence in his own skin, with his badge and gun, drew her too, yet in a very different manner. The decidedly unexpected sexual tension—at least on her side—was new enough to shock her into silence.

He turned from the pictures and slid his eyes to hers, revealing nothing of his own thoughts. “It was all a long time ago.”

And people moved on. She knew that. She’d moved on first, in fact, but she’d never regretted anything more. “I wanted to see you on the few trips I made here. I…didn’t know how.”

“If it was that hard for you, you did the right thing.”

She smiled past her regrets, determined not to spill her guts just because once she would have. “You’re probably right.”

“Yeah.” He lifted the clipboard. “I have to go find your mother.” He paused. “I’ll be easy on her, I promise.”

A reassurance. A kind one, and grateful, she put her hand on his arm. Under her fingers, his muscles tensed. She stared up at him, registering, without meaning to, that beneath his shirt his body was muscular and hard.

Once she’d been out on a winter snowshoe trek in Alaska. She’d stood too close to the campfire trying to get warm and had singed her fingertips. They felt singed now, too, though she didn’t pull back. “Thanks,” she whispered.

He stared down at her hand on him, then back into her eyes. “This is new.”

So he felt it too. “Yes.”

“It’s not going anywhere.”

“Joe—”

“It’s not.” Slowly, with only a speculative and quietly unnerving look, he walked away.

Okay, she got it. She’d given up their deep, abiding friendship without looking back, and she was paying the price for that. She was no longer a priority of his. He had his work. And Cindy. Let’s not forget Cindy, with the hungry eyes and sharklike smile. “You’re crazy,” she whispered to herself at the strange stab of jealousy, and yet she watched him go, a yearning rushing through her so strong she had to bite her lip rather than call him back and give herself away.

With a sigh, she went to find the linens she’d promised to fold. The small alcove was decorated like a formal sitting room/dining room. Surprising her, Camille was already there, going through a small stack of new afghans.

Summer pulled one from the box, a soft chenille in golds and auburns and purples like a sunset, and attempted to fold it as effortlessly as her mother. “Joe’s here. He wants to talk to you.”

“Yes. Tina’s going first.”

Summer set the afghan over the back of a light blue chair and smoothed the edges. “I think he suspects arson.”

Camille’s hands went still for a beat. Then she picked up the afghan Summer had just folded, redid it, and draped it over an oak blanket stand. “Doesn’t go with the blue.”

“Yes, but I’m talking about the fire.”

“Well, I’m talking about your horrible sense of color scheming.”

Frustration bubbled from deep within Summer. “Mom. Why do you do that? Hide what you feel from me?”

Camille looked genuinely surprised. “Do I?”

“Yes. Always. Tina and her daughters don’t hide a thing from each other.”

In fact, from the main room came the sound of Chloe and Tina yelling over a phone message, making Camille smile wryly. “They certainly don’t.”

“Please tell me what you’re thinking about,” Summer said.
Let me in.

“All right.” Camille clasped her fingers together. “I’m thinking about things that I don’t normally think about. The first warehouse fire. Your dad.” She stared down at her hands and sighed. “Tim was my life.”

Summer’s heart tripped, and she moved closer. “It’s only normal to think about him, since the warehouse burned again.”

“The first time was an accident.” Camille grabbed another afghan and began folding. “They ruled it an accident.”

“Yes.” Her throat ached. “It was a terrible, tragic accident. But then, it was a long time ago.”

Camille tossed the afghan onto a high-legged end table, messily folded. Her only sign of distress. “With you here, it feels like yesterday.”