When Shadows Fall (5 page)

"Sorry," she said immediately, stepping backward.

"You should be," he muttered, wincing with pain as he grabbed two fingers that were taped together on his left hand.

She hadn't hit him that hard, but she suddenly realized that the box had hit his hand, and he obviously already had an injury. "I am really sorry. Are you okay? Can I get you something?"

"It's fine," he grumbled. "I think the box got the worst of it."

"I wasn't looking where I was going."

"I wasn't, either," he admitted, leaning over to grab his phone off the ground. "I was checking a text."

She appreciated his candor, and now that he wasn't wincing she could see how attractive he was. His brown hair was thick and wavy, his eyes a deep blue that matched the color of the nearby sea. He had strong features with a defined jaw and chin, and she could see the same muscled definition in his body as a thin t-shirt clung to his broad chest and faded jeans hugged his hips.

Her heart was beating a little too fast, she realized, not knowing why she felt so shaken up. She was the one who'd knocked him over, not the other way around, but there was something about the way he was looking at her, something about his sexy mouth that made her feel lightheaded and dizzy.

She cleared her throat, realizing she was staring. It had been a long time since a man had made such an impact on her. Forcing herself to look away from the knowing smile that was now playing on his lips, she tucked her hair behind her ears and squatted down to collect the items that had come out of the box when it hit the ground.

A couple of small floral-covered journals had years written on them, the dates going back to the nineteen-fifties. Excitement ran through her. Maybe Molly had left her the story in these journals.

"Let me help you," the man said, reaching over to pick up a photograph that had flown down the steps. As he straightened, he said, "Wait a second, this is my grandmother. What is this—some kind of play?"

She got up and moved next to him to see the picture. The photograph in his hand was of three women standing on a stage. "Which one is your grandmother?"

He pointed to the blonde. "That's her. Eleanor Callaway."

"You're related to Eleanor Callaway?" she asked in surprise.

"I'm her grandson, Colton. Why? Do you know her?"

"I just met her. I'm Olivia Bennett. One of your grandmother's friends, Molly Harper, asked me to come and write down the stories of the women here at the center. I'm a biographer." It was the first time she hadn't called herself a research assistant, and it felt right.

"My sister mentioned something to me about a book. Is it going to be about my grandmother?"

"I'm not sure of the focus yet. I'm still gathering information, but this theater group seems to be the point where their lives converged."

He frowned as he looked back at the picture. "I didn't realize my grandmother ever acted on the stage."

"She didn't tell you about the community theater she was involved in back in the seventies?"

"I can't recall her ever talking about that time of her life."

"Maybe you just weren't listening."

"I'm very close to my grandmother, so I think I do listen to her," he snapped.

A different kind of spark sizzled between them now as anger and irritation moved through his deep blue gaze. His expression reminded her very much of his grandfather, Patrick Callaway. Apparently, she was not making a good impression when it came to the Callaway men.

"Okay." She took the photo out of his hand and put it back into the box.

"What is all that stuff? Are those diaries?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Molly Harper put together some things for me to look through in anticipation of my visit."

"I heard Molly had a stroke."

"Yes. I didn't know that until I got here. But I'm hoping she'll recover quickly. In the meantime, I'm going to talk to her friends and look through what she had already put together. Sorry again about running into you. I hope I didn't hurt your hand."

"It was already hurting."

"How did you break your fingers?"

"I got thrown on my ass when a building exploded."

Her eyes widened. "Seriously? Was it a bomb or something?"

"No, it was a fire. I'm a firefighter."

"Oh, that makes a little more sense. You were lucky not to break more than your fingers."

"So they tell me. But I would have been luckier if I hadn't broken anything at all. I'm probably going to miss at least one shift now."

"You're that eager to get back to work?"

"It's what I do."

"And getting blown out of a building doesn't make you reconsider your career choice?"

"Not for a second."

"How do you do it?" she asked curiously. "How do you choose to put yourself in danger every time you go to work?"

Her question seemed to take him by surprise. "I don't think about the danger. I just look at the job in front of me."

She nodded, thinking he'd repeated her father's answer to the same question pretty much word for word. She hadn't liked the answer when her father said it, and she didn't really like it now. But what this man did with his life was none of her business.

"Whatever," she said, moving past him.

"Hey, wait a second."

She paused on the bottom step, looking back at him. "What?"

"Why did you ask me that?"

"No reason."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe whatever you want," she said, turning her back on him.

As she walked to the car she couldn't help thinking it was just her kind of luck that the first man to make her heart beat faster had to be a firefighter, a risk-taker. She didn't go out with men like that. She'd watched her mom worry every time her dad put on his cop's uniform.

Her father had probably never known how much his wife worried about him, because to him he was just doing his job. But Olivia had seen the fear in her mother's eyes, the same fear she'd started to feel as she got older.

And they'd been right to be afraid—because one day her father had gone to work and never come back.

She opened the car door, put the box on the passenger seat and then slid behind the wheel, her pulse still racing way too fast.

She hadn't thought about her dad in a long time. She tried to keep those painful memories out of her head, but meeting Colton had stirred up the old feelings. He'd been so casual in his comment that he'd gotten blown out of a building, like it was no big deal.

It probably wasn't a big deal to him. He thrived on the danger.

Well, it didn't matter. She wasn't going to see him again. And he could be married or in love with someone, for all she knew. She needed to focus on why she was here, and that was to get a good story. She already had one Callaway breathing down her neck; she didn't need another. She started the car and drove back to her hotel, eager to dive into Molly's journals and find out why she was in San Francisco.

Chapter Four

Colton made his way slowly into the lounge of the senior center, his hand throbbing after the unexpected encounter with the beautiful brunette. God, she'd been pretty with her long, thick, curly brown hair falling almost to her waist. And those eyes—her light green eyes had reminded him of a cat, and like a cat, she'd snapped at the least provocation, apparently irritated with him for choosing to be a firefighter.

That was strange. Most women he met liked him even better after finding out he was a firefighter. There was something about the uniform that turned women on, and he'd used that to his advantage on many occasions.

But Olivia Bennett had not been at all impressed. Well, as she'd said—
whatever
. He had bigger problems than a hotheaded brunette wearing a short sexy dress, although that dress had been really nice, clinging to a great pair of breasts and some beautiful curves.

He felt a rush of heat at the thought of those curves. He'd told Adam a few days earlier that he wanted a woman who knocked him off his feet. He hadn't meant that literally, but he couldn't help thinking that fate or the universe had put Olivia Bennett in his path for some particular reason.

"Colton, it's about time."

He looked up as twin sister Shayla and her boyfriend Reid walked into the lobby. Shayla had traded her physician's white coat for a pair of jeans and a light pink sweater. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and there was a sparkle in her blue eyes. But then she always seemed to light up when Reid was around.

Reid was in his early thirties, a former military man who now did something with a private security company. Reid had dark hair and a sharp, commanding expression that set him apart from the crowd. There was a darkness inside Reid that came from his years in the service, but whenever Shayla was around, Reid had a smile on his face and seemed younger, happier.

"Hey, Shayla. Reid, how's it going?"

"Very well," Reid said. "Unfortunately, I have to take off. I just wanted to wish your grandmother a happy birthday before I left."

"Where are you off to?"

"Sorry—classified."

Colton grinned. "You know, I wish I could use that excuse when people ask me what I'm doing."

Reid smiled back. "It does come in handy." He turned back to Shayla. "I'll call you."

"You better."

Reid gave his sister a loving kiss, nodded to Colton and then headed out the door.

Colton laughed at the blush on his sister's face. "God, you look happy."

"I know, right? It's crazy that one man could make me feel so good."

"I'm glad."

Shayla had gone through some rough times a few months earlier, and she deserved all the happiness she could get.

"How's the hand?" she asked.

"It's all right."

"Don’t be a hero. Take some pain medication if you need it."

"I don't need it."

"I know you're bummed out about the injury and having to take time off, but it's important to let your bones heal. You're going to need that hand for a long time."

"It's frustrating."

She nodded with understanding. "I know. You hate to have nothing to do but relax. In fact, I don't think you even know how to relax."

"I take vacations."

"And those vacations usually consist of fifty-mile bike rides, climbing a mountain or shooting your snowboard down the steepest, iciest path you can find."

He smiled. "Those are fun trips."

"But not relaxing. You need to learn how to just be still."

"Look who's talking—when's the last time you took a vacation?"

"That's different."

"No, it's not. You may not love physical activity, but you're always in the lab or working on some project. Face it, Shayla, we both like to be overachievers, just in different areas of life."

"Well, I am starting to learn how to have some balance in my life."

"Balance or sex?" he teased.

She blushed and punched him in the arm. "I am not talking about sex with you."

"Good, because I do not want to hear about your sex life."

"Colton," his grandfather said sharply, interrupting their conversation. "I was looking for you."

That didn't sound like a good thing. His grandfather rarely pulled him aside for a private conversation, but he seemed intent on doing that now.

"I need to speak to Colton alone," Patrick said to Shayla.

"Okay."

Shayla sent him a curious look, but all he could do was shrug. He was as baffled as she was by his grandfather's sudden desire to speak to him.

"How are you feeling?" Patrick asked when they were alone. "I heard you had a concussion as well as some broken fingers."

"My head is back to normal. My hand will take a few days to heal."

"So you're off work for the next few days?"

"Yeah, you know I can't even get back to limited duty for five days after diagnosis."

"Exactly what I was thinking. You know my sister-in-law Helene recently passed away," Patrick continued.

That had not been at all what he'd expected his grandfather to say next. "Mom mentioned that." His grandfather had had two older brothers, both of whom had passed away years ago, and Helene had lived in Chicago for as long as Colton could remember. He didn't think he'd seen her since he was in elementary school. "Sorry."

His grandfather brushed his condolences aside. "I'm leaving tomorrow to go to Chicago for a few days. Helene named me as the executor of her estate, and it's a mess. I've got relatives fighting over property and money. I don't want to leave your grandmother, but I need to take care of Helene's estate. I promised her I would do that before she died."

"Okay," he said slowly, trying to make sense of what his grandfather was telling him. "Are you asking me to look after Grandma?"

"No. Don't be ridiculous. I've hired a day nurse and a night nurse to be with her when she's at home, and your mom is going to help out with anything else Ellie needs. I know she'll be well taken care of. But that's not my main concern."

Colton sensed his grandfather was finally coming to the point of this conversation. "What are you concerned about then?"

Patrick looked around the entry, as if to make sure they were alone. "There's a writer who wants to interview your grandmother. I don't want that interview to happen."

"Can I ask why?"

"It will upset Ellie. She doesn’t think it will bother her, but I know that it will. I know what is best for her, Colton. I have spent my entire life protecting that woman, and I will continue to do that as long as I am alive."

"I understand that," he said, a little surprised by his grandfather's dramatic words. Patrick Callaway was usually terse and gruff and rarely used two words if he could use one, but he seemed to be quite worked up by the arrival of Olivia Bennett, and Colton couldn't help wondering why.

"I want you to keep your grandmother away from that writer, or the writer away from your grandmother, whichever is easier."

"Uh…" He didn't know what to say. "Maybe Mom would be a better person for the job. She and Grandma are very close."

Patrick immediately shook his head. "Your mother thinks it's a great idea. She's encouraging Eleanor to get her life down on paper before she forgets everything. And your father doesn't want to go against either of them, so he's no help. I need you, Colton."