Always Mine (10 page)

He swallowed his silent groan. Mad might be better. But this, her touch, her big, brown eyes, they only made him have other kinds of feelings, ones that were just as hot, but even more dangerous than anger. “I'm not mad,” he said, slipping his hand away from hers and curling his fingers into a fist that he placed on his thigh.

Away from temptation.

Their food arrived, and he applied himself to his meal, aware of the awkward silence between them. He wasn't going to break it. If anger wasn't in the air, awkward would do just as well. He would nurture anything that would keep the distance between them.

As they finished the food on their plates, the waitstaff arranged tables nearby, creating a long stretch that was soon filled by what appeared to be multiple generations of one family. One large, Italian family. Dark hair, dark eyes, a plethora of people whose looks reminded him of Izzy's.

The group attracted her attention, as well. As she pushed her nearly empty plate to the side, she watched them pass around menus and swap chairs. A small child began to wail and was instantly picked up by an older lady who could have been its grandmother or great-grandmother. She unearthed a package of
crackers from somewhere, and the child leaned against the lady's big bosom and contentedly munched, tears drying. Two older youngsters started a loud squabble until a man—their father?—reached over and cuffed them lightly on the tops of their heads.

Izzy looked back at Owen and their eyes met. They both smiled. “Look familiar?” he asked.

Her smiled died as a strange expression passed over her face. She hesitated, then stole another glance at the family next door. “Oh, uh, sure. The Cavalettis are like that. Big, happy, everybody with a place at the table.”

Owen stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth. He'd meant that the family resembled Izzy in appearance, not that her family had been a loving, happy group like this one. From what Emily had implied, that hadn't been the case at all. In fact, Izzy had spent most of her childhood on her own.

“There's nothing better than feeling part of a close-knit clan,” she continued.

Which, Owen realized with a jolt, explained why
Eight Cousins
had been her favorite childhood book. That had been her fantasy as a kid. A big, happy clan that made room for every member at the table. He laid his fork on his plate, his appetite gone, as he thought of how lonely she must have been and how she was still telling herself stories to fill up that old void in her life.

“Izzy,” he said. “Isabella.” He reached across the table to find her hand.

It curled in his, small and delicate, and something filled his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked down at her ring finger, remembered sliding that narrow gold band down the short slender length, and he replayed the moment in his head, recapturing just how he'd felt under the disco lights at the Elvis Luvs U Wedding Chapel.

A trio of emotions had bubbled inside him. Anticipation, exhilaration and a sense of inevitability that he'd not even attempted to escape. He'd not wanted to hesitate; he'd only wanted to hold her.

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Her eyes met his and he could see her pupils widen. He slid the pad of his thumb between her fingers, stroking over the silky inner skin. Her breath was moving faster, and he could see her breasts rising and falling beneath her sweater. His pulse started to throb in time with the movement.

Anger hadn't helped. The awkwardness between them was gone. That strong sexual pull was back, and he didn't think he had a chance of keeping distant from her now.

“Remember what I said about fresh air not helping?” he asked softly.

Her nostrils flared and she nodded.

Maybe if she wasn't so beautiful, he thought. Maybe if he didn't remember that the silken texture of the inner surface of her fingers exactly matched that of the inner surface of her thighs. But he really
thought it was that independent exterior of hers that he now knew protected such a vulnerable core that got to him.

She was bravado and beauty and loneliness and…lust.

Yeah, like him, she felt that, too.

He could see it in the flush of her face and the way her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. Any second thought he might have had evaporated as he stared at her plush, tempting mouth. Her throat moved as she swallowed.

“Owen…?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“The fresh air didn't help me, either.”

His hand tightened on hers. Then he smiled and released her fingers so he could reach for his wallet. He threw some bills on the table. “Let's go home.”

As he slowly limped toward the door, leaning on his cane, he decided they both deserved what pleasure they could find together. Yeah, it might be temporary, but they were grown-ups. Each of them had their reasons for agreeing to more human contact. Izzy, because she lived her footloose lifestyle that likely made connections few and far between. And him, because of that parade. Because—

“Owen.”

He halted, looking toward the sound of the voice. In the booth he was passing, a man rose. “Mick,” Owen answered. He shifted the cane to his casted
hand so he could meet the grip of his captain, Mick Hanson.

“It's good to see you,” Mick said.

“You, too.” Even though Owen felt guilty as hell for the way he'd been ducking the other man's calls in the past couple of weeks, he managed a smile that he directed to everyone in the booth. He recognized Mick's two school-age kids, Jane and Lee, as well as the young woman who'd been their babysitter since Mick's wife died five years before.

He remembered Kayla as a pretty college coed, but now he could see that she'd turned into a very attractive woman. For a second, Owen wondered if Mick had noticed that, too, though something told him it was unlikely.

“Nice to see you kids,” he said, then he smiled at the woman. “And I like the new haircut, Kayla.”

Mick's head whipped toward the babysitter. “You have a new haircut? Since when?”

Jane rolled her eyes in the way of daughters everywhere. “Since two weeks ago, Daddy.”

“Oh.” Frowning, Mick returned his attention to Owen. “I'm glad I ran into you. You need to come by the station this afternoon.”

“No.” He tried softening his instant refusal, even as his gaze strayed toward the restaurant's front door where Izzy was hovering. “I have a friend. We have plans….”

“Bring the friend. Postpone the plans,” Mick insisted. “There are people who need to see you.”

“But…”

“Bring the friend,” Mick said again, his tone of voice brooking no argument. “Postpone the plans.”

Sighing, Owen nodded, even though he realized that what he needed distance from, more than Izzy, more than anything, was what his boss had just ordered him to do.

I
zzy told herself she was glad that Owen wanted to stop by the fire station after lunch. Bryce had said he needed to visit his coworkers, and apparently his captain thought the same thing. Even better, it gave her head a chance to take control over her hormones. They'd been a short car ride away from ending up in bed again, and that would have been a big mistake.

They were nothing more than casual friends, when it came right down to it. And you didn't need to read a lot of books or listen to therapists on afternoon TV to know that turning casual into sexual opened up a can of worms. Sort of like marrying someone after a three-day acquaintance.

“Pull in over there,” Owen said, indicating a space in a parking area between the main fire station and the city's municipal building.

“It looks new,” Izzy observed, studying the attractive stucco building with its simple landscaping and three wide bays for emergency vehicles. Bunches of balloons waved here and there in the breeze, and the double front doors were flung wide open.

“It is new,” Owen said. “A recent bond issue provided the money. That's why there's an open house today. Not only because it's the hundredth anniversary of the department, but also to give the public a chance to tour the facilities.”

He didn't appear eager to visit himself, however. As they watched people wander in and out of the building, he stayed glued to his seat. Then, with a sigh, he reached for the door handle. “You ready?”

Um, no. Because watching him wage this little war with himself wasn't helping her head take control of the situation. Now her heart was getting involved, too, aching a little to see how hard it was for him to face the place and the people he'd worked with.

Each step across the asphalt only served to tighten her nerves. She'd asked him, while they were watching the parade, why he was a firefighter. He'd answered,
“I don't know, damn it. I don't know the why of anything anymore.”

The man was second-guessing how he'd spent the past years of his life and what he was going to do
with the next ones. She couldn't imagine, just from the way Bryce had reacted, that getting into the family business was something that would suit Owen. And she could easily see him bumping heads with the elder Mr. Marston on a daily basis.

Would that be as satisfying as the important work of a first responder?

She glanced around, realizing he wasn't beside her any longer. Instead of walking up the path that led to the front door of the facility, Owen was halted at the bottom of it, his jaw set, his expression grim. Her heart squeezed again and she retraced her steps.

“Owen?” She touched the back of his hand.

He shook himself and gripped his cane tighter. “Let's go in,” he said, starting forward.

“All right.” Without thinking twice about it, she wove her fingers with those of his sticking out of the cast. “Let's go in.”

Of course that gesture wasn't casual. Maybe it appeared friendly, though, because as they breached the threshold to the fire station, the first person they ran into by the front desk—Will—didn't even blink to see them so connected.

“Owen.” He grinned, but didn't reach out for the customary handshake.

She wondered about that for a second, until she realized that Owen wasn't stretching his palm toward his friend, either. No, he was still holding on to his cane and Izzy like lifelines.

He didn't even notice, she thought, glancing over. She didn't think he noticed Will, either, because his attention was focused exclusively on an enlarged photograph set up on an easel at the far corner of the building's foyer.

A photograph of Jerry Palmer.

There was a massive pile of flowers and stuffed animals and hand-lettered notes at the foot of the easel. As they watched, a boy, accompanied by his mother, placed a bear dressed in a firefighter's uniform beside a mass of autumn-colored chrysanthemums.

The child turned, and his gaze snagged on Owen. “Mom!” he said in a loud voice, tugging at her sleeve so he could tow her in their direction. “Look, it's Mr. Marston.”

The boy's mother was blond and shapely, in cropped jeans, sneakers and a V-necked T-shirt that revealed a little too much cleavage, if Izzy were asked to offer an opinion. Her glossy mouth turned up in a delighted smile as she and the boy surged forward.

“Owen!” she said, reaching out both hands.

Oh, so
now
he let go of his wife and allowed the blond cutie to squeeze his fingers. “I'm so glad to see that you're on the mend,” she said, beaming.

He smiled back, though it did look a tad automatic. “Better every day,” he said, and then he reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. “And thanks for the get-well card you sent, Ryan. The licorice, too.”

The kid glanced up at his mom and then back at his apparent hero. “It was Mom's idea.
I
wanted to lend you my game system, but she said with your broken arm and all…”

Owen held up his cast. “Just the wrist, but it does seriously affect my
Halo
score.”

“Can I sign it?” Ryan asked, looking at the bright blue plaster with the envy only a kid could have for such a device. “You don't have any signatures. You're supposed to have people write their names and stuff.”

“I suppose you're right.” Owen put on another of those forced-looking smiles. “Why don't you be the first?”

The boy's grin split his face. “Mom, do you have a pen?”

She shook her head, and then Will stepped in. “Ryan, come with me and we'll rustle up a marker.”

The two took off, leaving Izzy and Owen and Ryan's mom, who for the first time seemed to notice someone other than Izzy's husband. Her gaze ran over Izzy, from the top of her hair to the heels of her boots.

Straightening her spine a little, Izzy was pleased that while her jeans were on the battered side, her black boots were new and oh-so-much chicer than the other woman's soccer-mom footwear. Okay, Izzy wasn't all that proud of herself for the thought, but the blonde was, well, blond. And busty.

The busty blonde held out her hand to Izzy. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. I'm Alicia Ayers.”

Alliterative Alicia wasn't wearing a wedding band. “Izzy Cavaletti,” she said, shaking hands.

“I know Owen because, well, he saved our lives.”

“Did he?” Izzy turned to look at the man in question, who had been hailed by another firefighter and was slightly turned away.

“Ryan and I were in a rollover car accident a few months back. We landed upside down in a ditch and the first to arrive on scene were Owen and Jerry Palmer.” Her pretty mouth turned down. “They stayed with us and kept us calm until the right kind of equipment was brought to pry us out.”

“I'm glad you were both okay.”

“Me, too.” The blonde's gaze darted to Owen again. “We've been friends ever since. I'm divorced, and Ryan has taken a real shine to Owen.”

“I'll bet.” And Izzy bet that Ryan wasn't the only one who had taken a shine to the man who was now extending his cast for the boy to sign. She looked back at the divorcée, whose gaze was resting fondly on the—boy?—man? “Owen is surely easy to, um, like.”

“So…” The other woman looked back at Izzy, paused, then shrugged, as if she'd lost a debate with herself. “How are you two acquainted?”

Izzy glanced at Owen again. Someone had pulled up a chair for him so he could get off his feet. He had his cast propped on his knees and was watching while the youngster drew a picture along the plaster. His expression was open, easier than it had been
since she'd come to Paxton and found him lying in the hospital bed.

It reminded her of how he'd struck her in Las Vegas. A big man with a big smile, friendly and confident enough not to hesitate to greet his best friend's girl's best friend. He hadn't hesitated to dance with her, kiss her, make her crush on him just a little, and just enough to get her to go ahead and say “I do” when Elvis stood before them with his guitar strapped across his chest and a Bible in his hand.

So Izzy didn't hesitate now. Fully aware she could claim a casual friendship with him, or even “home health worker” status like she had with Mr. Marston, she instead looked the pretty divorced woman right in the eye and said, “I'm his wife.”

Hey, it was only the truth, wasn't it?

The woman's baby blues flared wide and then Izzy felt the heat of a stare on her backside. Uh-oh. She didn't think Owen was admiring her bottom, not at the moment anyway. He was more likely aghast at how she'd just complicated his romantic life with Alicia.

But had Cutie Pie been making him grilled-cheese-and-tomato sandwiches? Had she been pouring his milk over ice? Had she spent a night in his bed and—

Oh. She didn't want to go there. She didn't want to know if the woman's gratitude had been expressed in ways other than greeting cards and candy.

“Isabella?” The low note in Owen's voice did not spook her. It did not.

She just had a sudden hankering for some of those refreshments she saw stacked on a table across the foyer. “Excuse me,” she said, with a polite smile for the divorcée. Owen she didn't dare look at. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Just as soon as she got her emotions under control. First it was lust and now it was jealousy. Goodness. She needed to work on her perspective. She scurried away, heading for the bin of bottled water. As she reached for one, her hand collided with that of someone else.

“Oops,” she said, and looked into the face of another woman. Younger than Alicia. Younger than Izzy. She had red-rimmed eyes, and the tip of her nose was pink. Her belly stuck out like a beach ball.

And Izzy was assaulted by yet more emotions as she surmised the identification of the very pregnant person with whom she was playing tug of war with a bottle of water. Her eyes pricked in sympathy and her stomach rolled as she thought back to the tragic fire.

This had to be Ellie Palmer. Jerry's widow.

Izzy's head had no control over the knowledge that speared straight into her heart. This young woman had lost her husband that night, just as Izzy could have lost hers.

 

Owen looked after the woman running away from him, for a moment distracted by the upside-down heart shape of her cute, denim-covered butt. And Izzy thought boys hadn't noticed her in high school. That might only be because she wasn't looking behind her as she walked off.

“So, you're married?”

Alicia's voice jerked his attention her way. “Uh…”

“You never mentioned it.” Two lines appeared between her brows, and the sharpness in her voice had her son glancing up from the dragon/tiger/ eagle—it could have been any or all—he was penning on Owen's cast.

“It's sort of a recent thing.”

She was still frowning. “You didn't strike me as a man interested in marriage.”

Funny, because he'd never thought about the marriage deal one way or another. His parents had a great one, and he'd probably taken it for granted, because he hadn't considered how he would achieve such a partnership like that for himself. It wasn't that he was against it, exactly, but…

Alicia was right, before he hit Las Vegas and looked in the velvet-brown eyes of one Isabella Cavaletti, he hadn't thought about himself and marriage at all. But then he'd met her, touched her, smiled into her eyes, and there had been that connection. They'd instantly clicked in a physical way, and then there
was their mutual misheard lyrics idiosyncrasy—“Hold me closer, Tony Danza.” Which of course sounded like a damn stupid reason to wed a woman, but there he'd been, at the altar, a big ol' contented grin on his face.

“There!” Ryan crowed, straightening from the work he was doing on Owen's cast.

Owen looked down at the creature crawling across the plaster. “Looks great. Thank you.”

The boy grinned. “It's your warrior. With your arm broken and your legs not one hundred percent, this guy'll step up and do your battles for you.”

“Hey, I appreciate it.” Owen smiled, because the kid made him think of Bryce. And looking at the kid's towhead, it made him think of…himself.

Good God. It made him think of himself as a father. Damn. There was a completely new, completely baffling idea. A boy like Ryan. A mother, like…

Like…

His gaze lifted. A mother not like Alicia. And not that there was anything wrong with her. She was beautiful and a devoted mom. But when he thought about the next generation, his next generation, he could only think of one woman…

Hell. He was thinking of Izzy, of course.

And he needed to find her. Be near her. Now.

With a gentle hand, he ruffled Ryan's hair. “Thanks so much for what you drew.” His gaze lifted to Alicia. “Thanks so much for…”

He broke off. Because he couldn't articulate what she'd demonstrated. It wasn't fully formed in his mind, not yet. It still was a vague, amorphous…something.