Читать книгу Heatwave - Jamie Denton - Страница 10

NIGHT MIGHT HAVE FALLEN over Southern California, but the disappearance of the blazing sun didn’t mean the sizzling temperatures had bothered to follow suit by more than a degree or two. By the time Emily had walked from Drew’s black SUV to the brick steps of her grandmother’s house, her calf-length cotton floral dress was already starting to cling uncomfortably to her back.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she told Drew, for what had to be the fifth time since he’d returned to the hospital for her. Once she’d bidden her grandmother good-night, Drew had given her a choice: his place or hers. The devil had even tried to blackmail her, threatening to tattle to Grandy about the baby if she refused. His underhanded, and quite effective, tactic had worked like a charm, too. How on earth he’d known she hadn’t uttered a single word about the day’s events to Grandy was beyond her, but not wanting to upset her grandmother had Emily complying without much of a fight. Since she’d already informed the hospital staff they could reach her here if Grandy’s condition should change during the night, she’d reluctantly agreed to let him stay. Not that she expected anything to go wrong. Grandy might be in her twilight years, but the old gal was still as strong, and twice as stubborn, as an ox.

Drew’s hand settled on her sweaty back as she carefully made her way in the dark to the porch. The tingles chasing up and down her spine like the crazed lights of a pinball machine had nothing whatsoever to do with sexual attraction. No, those little pinpricks of excitement were merely caused by the surprise of an unexpected touch.

Could have happened to anyone. Uh-huh. That was her story. And dammit, she was sticking to it.

“Do you have the key?” Drew asked, tugging open the wood-framed screened door.

Thank heavens she’d only have to suffer his presence until morning, she thought. If the sound of that low, sexy rumble in his voice just asking for a stupid key had the power to put her feminine senses on alert, she hated to think what her reaction would be when he asked her where he’d be sleeping for the night.

She withdrew Grandy’s key ring from her purse and handed it to Drew. Within seconds, he held the door for her and she walked past him into the cozy and, she noted thankfully, air-conditioned living room. Warm light from the automatic-timed lamp bathed the area with the same welcoming sense of coming home she always experienced whenever she returned for a visit, which hadn’t been nearly often enough in the last couple of years. She’d been busy building her career.

And for what? she wondered with an unexpected stab of bitterness. Just to receive a pink slip and a somewhat decent severance package that would tide her over for a couple of months before she’d be forced to dig into her savings? A fat lot of good all those long hours had done her.

While Drew brought in her bags, which they’d left stowed on the porch during her unexpected visit to the emergency room, Emily tried to forget her employment status for the time being. Instead, she breathed in the familiar scents of lemon wax, the faint aroma of cinnamon from the big jar candle resting on the mantel of the small brick fireplace, and something that smelled suspiciously like fresh-baked cookies. Oatmeal-raisin cookies.

The ancient tole-painted wooden box nestled near the fireplace still housed various cars and trucks hand-crafted by her grandfather for her male cousins and half brother, along with a pair of well-loved baby dolls once shared by her, her half sister and a handful of female Norris cousins. The requisite coloring books and a fat round Christmas tin filled to the brim with crayons of every shade imaginable, now shared by the next generation, rested on top of the pile of toys. A generation, she suddenly realized, that would include her own child in a matter of months.

She needed time to come to terms with what had happened, which was why she hadn’t yet shared the news with her grandmother. Besides, if the state of disrepair around the property was any indication, Grandy had plenty enough to concern herself with and didn’t need to add worry over her unwed, pregnant granddaughter. Once Grandy was released from the hospital, and Emily assured herself that the time was right—when she had a firm plan in mind on exactly what she was going to do next—she’d tell her grandmother about the baby, about her loss of employment and all about Cheatin’ Charlie. So far, only she and Drew, along with Drew’s brother Cale, knew of her status as mother-to-be. In Emily’s opinion, that was already two too many people.

The screen door snapped shut, drawing her attention. “Where do you want these?” Drew asked her.

Her vocal chords refused to function at the sight of all that corded male arm muscle straining with the weight of her suitcases gripped in his large hands. She stared, fascinated.

“Emily? You’re not going to faint on me again are you?”

She shook her head, and pointed toward the hallway off the living room.

“Which room?” he called from the corridor.

“Second on the left,” she managed to answer. Apparently her capacity for speech worked just fine when she wasn’t staring at him like a loon.

Her tummy grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had a thing to eat since her flight.

She headed into the kitchen in search of sustenance. In the fridge, as she suspected, Grandy had stocked up on Emily’s favorites. She considered a bowl of cottage cheese with fresh sliced strawberries and some dry toast, but didn’t think her self-appointed guardian would consider her choices much by way of a real meal. She dug a little deeper, found some American cheese slices and set them on the counter.

“Have you eaten?” she asked Drew when he sauntered into the kitchen. She didn’t possess one iota of her grandmother’s culinary gene, but she’d been known to manage just fine with a grilled cheese sandwich and a can of soup. Occasionally. If she was really, really careful.

“Actually, no.” He pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his trousers. “I thought we could order in. Maybe some Thai or Italian.”

She appreciated the thought, but wrinkled her nose just the same. Besides, she didn’t trust her stomach with food quite that solid or spicy. “Something a little less exotic, please. How does grilled cheese and a can of soup sound?”

The sexy tilt of his mouth, combined with the charming glint in his eyes, had her pulse revving all over again. How was it possible for one man to possess so much blatant sexual magnetism? It was a test, she decided. She’d sworn off men and she was being tested by some unseen entity with a wicked sense of humor. Well, she’d never flunked a test in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Her life had become a disaster within a twenty-four-hour period. She shouldn’t even be lusting after some guy, no matter how hot and bothered just looking at him made her.

“Boring,” he said. That way-too-charming smile never wavered.

He started pressing buttons on his phone then reached for the pad of paper and pen her grandmother kept handy on the counter.

Emily stepped as close as humanly possible to the open refrigerator, hoping the cool blast of air would quell those hot, hot images spurring to life. A wasteful wish if one ever existed.

“Would a BLT be exciting enough for you?” Maybe she could even manage to convince him to fry up the bacon since she usually charred the stuff beyond recognition. The beauty of living in New York was that just about anything could be delivered practically every hour of the day, even a BLT. A service she took advantage of plenty on a regular basis.

While Drew continued to jot down phone numbers, she wondered if Cheatin’ Charlie’s new lady lawyer cooked for him.

Drew flipped his cell phone shut and slipped it back inside his pocket, then shrugged those incredible line-backer-wide shoulders. “Why not? Want some help?”

This man had to have angel wings hidden somewhere on his body. Too bad she wasn’t interested—much. Obviously her pregnancy-induced hormones were running rampant because she had a feeling exploring that heavenly body to find them could be a whole lot of fun. “You do the bacon, I’ll do the rest.”

While Drew started the bacon, she avoided anything to do with actual meal preparation and set the table. Her tummy grumbled again thanks to the mouthwatering scents floating on the air. Thankfully Drew’s good manners kept him from commenting. Her own good manners fled the scene when she caught sight of the notepad on the counter.

She counted. Thirteen telephone numbers? And the names of thirteen different women.

Thirteen?

She glanced over her shoulder at Drew. Thirteen?

“Excuse me?”

“Uh…” She hadn’t realized she’d even spoken out loud. “You always this popular, or are you running a sale?”

He turned his head slightly to the side, a bewildered expression on his handsome face. “What are you talking about?”

She rolled her eyes. What had her first impression of him been? Oh yeah. A charmer. The kind of man incredibly dangerous to women who made a habit of picking the wrong guy. The kind she’d never be so foolish to ever fall for again. Especially when he was the kind who collected messages from thirteen different women.

She picked up the pad of paper and started reading. “Leanne, Karenna, Dora, Elise, Sophia and, oh—please—Tiffany?” She laughed and continued reading. “Wendy, Frenchie? Gee, I wonder what she’s known for. Debbie, Amanda, Tilly, Nina, and…”

She peered closer, but the last name was nearly illegible. “H.B? What is that? Code for hot babe?”

A true scoundrel’s grin curved his mouth, and heaven help her, she almost found him irresistible.

“No,” he said, his voice coated with humor. “It’s shorthand for Hannah’s Bakery.”

She dropped the tablet back on the counter, pretending disgust. “I don’t think I want to know what baked goods and a baker’s dozen of women have in common.”

“Since you asked—”

“I didn’t.”

The teasing glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Debbie is my aunt,” he explained. “Amanda is my brother’s fiancée and Tilly is my best friend.”

She pulled plates and soup mugs from the cabinet. “Strange name for a guy.”

“Probably because she’s a woman.”

Now why wasn’t she surprised to learn a sweet-talking, drop-dead gorgeous specimen of male perfection had a woman for a best friend?

“Debbie called to see if I could pick up the cake for Amanda’s bridal shower at the bakery by noon on Sunday,” he said.

“You really don’t have to explain.”

“Tilly,” he said, ignoring her, “wanted to let me know she’d taken care of Cale and Amanda’s wedding present, and my future sister-in-law wanted to know if I’d been able to find the gift she wants to give my oldest brother to celebrate his promotion to lieutenant.”

Emily handed him the dishes then crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically. “Let me guess. You want me to believe you’re really related to the other women on that list, right?”

He shrugged and his grin turned sheepish.

What did she care anyway? She’d sworn off men.

Well, she had!

Fifteen minutes later they were seated at the round oak table in the corner of the kitchen. Drew had unearthed sliced turkey in the fridge, and rather than BLTs, they shared the best turkey Newburg on toasted English muffins she’d ever tasted, expertly prepared by Drew. Which sure beat anything she could’ve created in the kitchen. Almost anything was preferable to her cooking, a term she used loosely.

Emily looked across the table at Drew. The man really was way too sexy for her own good, but she couldn’t think about that now. Or ever, and she firmly reminded her wayward hormones of that telling list of women. There were questions that had been simmering in the back of her mind all afternoon that required answers. With everything that had gone on, there hadn’t really been an opportunity to talk to him privately and when she’d had the chance, she’d allowed herself to be sidetracked by that harem of his.

“Why would a garbage-can fire necessitate an arson inspection?” she asked him suddenly.

He took a bite of his meal and chewed instead of giving her an answer, making her wonder if he’d even heard her.

“I noticed some charred crates, too,” she continued. “And soot stains near the exit. The fire today wasn’t the first, was it?”

Drew let out a sigh and set his fork on the delicate china plate. He’d expected her questions sooner or later. He’d just wished it’d been later, when he had some solid answers. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“No. I’m…” She paused and let out a short huff of breath. “I was an advertising executive.”

“Was?” he prompted, attempting to steer the conversation into a more personal direction. Emily intrigued him, but then most women did on one level or another, so he wasn’t overly concerned.

“Corporate downsizing.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “The fires?”

So much for a redirection of topic, he thought, although he planned a revisit shortly. He wanted to know more about this absent father of her baby, which should be reason enough to ignore the faint stirring of need in his gut whenever he looked into Emily’s big brown eyes. Only he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Today was the third incident,” he told her.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “The third?” She shook her head as if trying to absorb the information. “Grandy never said a word to me about the fires.”

Maybe because she was guilty as hell. “Maybe she didn’t want to worry her family,” he said instead.

Emily set her plate aside and rested her arms over the oak table. Her frown made a reappearance. He’d known plenty of women in his lifetime, and not a single one of them looked half as tempting as Emily Dugan when they frowned.

“What else has happened?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on?”

“Maybe you should talk to your grandmother about it.” He wasn’t concerned with putting his investigation at risk by sharing information with her, but he did feel she should be talking to Velma rather than to him. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t even be having this conversation.

“And let Grandy excuse the incidents as insignificant little nuisances? Not a chance.” Her big soulful eyes filled with determination that matched the firmness of her tone. “Besides, any investigation performed by the fire department is a matter of public record. Which translates to you not being in danger of breaching confidentiality laws by telling me what’s been going on around here. If someone is trying to hurt my grandmother, then I have a right to know.”

She had him there. “What makes you think someone else is responsible?”

Her mouth formed a perfectly shaped “O” before her gaze narrowed. “You can’t possibly believe an eighty-year-old woman is responsible for setting those fires? That’s absolutely insane.”

He leaned back in the chair, enjoying the heat in her voice a whole lot more than was prudent. She was, after all, carrying another man’s child, which classified Emily as strictly taboo, no matter how much she intrigued him. A guy did need to have his standards, and lusting after another man’s woman went against his own set of values. Unless the guy had indeed pulled a disappearing act.

“Is it?” he asked. “Have you taken a good look around? This place is falling apart.”

“That does not mean my grandmother is an arsonist!”

He shrugged and bit back a smile. Too bad such an exciting woman was off-limits. Maybe off-limits.

“Yes, it could, especially if the property is heavily mortgaged and she wants out. Believe me, Emily. People start fires for a variety of reasons, and a huge pay-off by their insurance company to get out from under a large debt is right there at the top of the list.”

“Well, not in this case,” she retorted. “Grandy and Pop paid off the property years ago.”

“Do you know for certain she’s never mortgaged it?”

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t. Not for certain, but it’s highly unlikely. Grandy would never risk the school or her home.”

Deep down, he agreed with her. Velma Norris hardly came across as the criminal type: she appeared to be quite sharp and seemed to be a savvy businesswoman despite her advanced age. Yet, the subject still required a thorough investigation, if for no other reason than to clear her of any wrongdoing.

“Drew, would you please tell me what’s going on?”

He sat forward and braced his arms on the table. “As I said, today was the third incident. The first fire happened about two weeks ago and looked to be nothing more than a grease fire that had flared out of control in one of the classrooms. No one was hurt, but according to your grandmother, the classroom was deserted when the fire started. It looked like someone had accidentally spilled grease beneath the top of the range and it was ignited by a faulty pilot light.”

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Emily said as she began to stack their dirty dishes. “Grandy has those ranges checked by the gas company once a month to prevent something like that from happening.”

He filed that information away for later, and made a note to contact the gas company to check out the service records.

“Last week the department received a call from a neighbor who spotted smoke billowing from the back of the school. Those charred crates you noticed behind the building? They were filled with old newspapers. A lit cigarette was the cause.”

Emily stood and carried the dishes to the sink. “Grandy doesn’t smoke,” she said, turning on the tap. “Couldn’t it have just been an accident? A careless student maybe?”

Drew pushed away from the table and joined Emily at the sink. At least standing next to her he wasn’t quite as prone to sit and ogle the seductive curve of her derriere. “I might believe that if the cigarette had been tossed on the top. But this was tucked inside in a way that leads me to believe it was intentional.”

He took the dish towel Emily handed him before she sank her hands into the soapy water. “The fire today was the most obvious. Someone took the time to coat the trash bin with cooking oil then set a rag on fire and toss it inside. Your grandmother didn’t realize there was something smoldering inside the bin and when she opened it, oxygen fed the flames. She could’ve been seriously injured.”

Emily glanced up and handed him a plate to dry. “All of which should eliminate her as a suspect, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “Unless she’s the one responsible.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Off the record, I have my doubts.”

“Doubts?” Her expression said loud and clear what she thought of his doubts. “Whatever happened to common sense?”

He set the dried plate on the counter, then lifted another from the drain board. “Every possibility has to be considered, Emily. She refuses to close the school despite my recommendation to do so. Someone is setting these fires, and until the firebug is apprehended, no one is above suspicion. Not even your grandmother.”

She let out another little breath and shifted her attention back to washing dishes. “I just can’t imagine who would do such a thing. Or why, for that matter. Grandy has to be one of the most generous, kindest people on the planet. Why would anyone want to hurt her?”

Any number of reasons, he thought to himself. Firebugs didn’t do things that made sense in the logical scheme of things, except in their own twisted minds where their actions were justified. So far only Velma had been present on the property when the fires started.

For obvious reasons, he didn’t like the idea of Emily and her grandmother staying alone with an arsonist on the loose, if Velma wasn’t the one responsible. He couldn’t very well move in with them until the culprit was apprehended. Besides, he didn’t get involved. Period. Saving damsels in distress had been Cale’s gig until Amanda had come into his life. Just because he had retired his white charger, didn’t mean it was Drew’s job to pick up where Cale had left off. Not a chance. Drew was only staying the night because he’d been rendered temporarily insane.

Emily drained the sink and started putting the dishes he’d dried into the cabinets.

He crossed his ankles and leaned against the counter, enjoying the delectable view of her backside. “Mind if I ask how long you’re planning to visit?” he asked her.

She drew in a deep breath, effectively drawing his gaze to the rise and fall of her breasts. Her very full breasts.

“Initially, only one month.” After closing the cabinet, she turned to look at him. “Suddenly I find myself in not much of a hurry to return to New York.”

He nodded slowly, struggling to ignore the itch in his palms to feel the weight of her breasts against his hand. “The corporate downsizing?”

She braced her hands behind her and leaned against the gleaming countertop. “For starters. I think there’s a black cloud following me around.”

He chuckled when she wrinkled her nose in that cute way of hers. “It can’t be all that bad.”

A wry, self-deprecating grin curved her lips. “It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor because I definitely hit the double trifecta today. Not only am I out of a job, I got dumped—at the airport of all places—and since I gave up my rent-controlled apartment six months ago to move in with my now ex, I’m out of my home.”

She folded the dish towel and draped it over the drain board. “If that’s not enough to heap on one person within twenty-four hours,” she continued, “I also discover I’m going to have a baby, my grandmother’s in the hospital and now you’re telling me that someone is trying to burn down her life’s work.” She shook her head and managed a short burst of laughter that held little humor. “I’m almost afraid to ask, what’s next?”

He wondered if she had any idea how her eyes brightened when she laughed. Or how his gut just tightened with need at her announcement that there was no longer a man in her life. Which could very well be a temporary situation for all he knew. Besides, once she told the guy about the baby, in Drew’s opinion, there was a pretty strong chance the guy would be back in her life again, provided he had any sense of responsibility.

“Wanna talk about it?” He resisted the ridiculous need to look out the kitchen window to see if a white steed was grazing nearby.

“And spread around my doom and gloom? Thanks, but no thanks.” She pushed off the counter. “I’ve had about as much as I can stand for one day.”

He flipped off the light switch and followed her out of the kitchen into the living room. “It’s not healthy to keep things inside.”

He’d bet his trust fund he’d just heard the clank of armor.

She sat in a wooden rocking chair near the fireplace and looked up at him. Curiosity filled her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me. Obviously you’re not short on dates, so it’s not as if you’re hard up for female companionship.”

He winced at the reminder of his overloaded voice-mail box. No answer—at least none he cared to admit—sprang to mind.

He shrugged, then took a seat on the sofa. “I made a promise,” he answered evasively. Not exactly the truth, but he sure didn’t want to tell her that, in his opinion, she far outranked those other women on the intelligence scale. And then, of course, he did enjoy her sense of humor. Better yet, she didn’t appear to want anything from him, either. From what he knew of her thus far, she didn’t strike him as the type of woman to play games and she most certainly said whatever was on her mind. Traits, he realized, that were downright refreshing.