Controlled Burn (Scarred Hearts) (7 page)

“It’s still burning though.” And he’d play with that fire as soon as he had more strength and some endurance.

“Fine. No more compliments from me. You ready to tackle that gown?”

No. “Yes.”

He reached for the snap at the base of his neck. She stopped him with a shake of her head.

“You’re going at that the hard way.”

“And pants were less exhausting.”

She smiled. “Instead of reaching up and over, which could pull at your grafts, scoot to the edge of the bed.”

He did as she said and hung his legs over the edge.

“Reach back on either side of your waist, find the seam at your lower back near the snap and pull.” She turned so her back was to him and demonstrated what she wanted him to do. “With the right leverage and a quick enough yank, you should be able to pop several snaps at once.”

Reaching back was easy enough. The move only pulled a little at the graft site on his shoulder. Searching for the seam of the gown, his fingertips brushed a patch of burned flesh. Ridges and bubbles beneath the pads of his fingers shocked him.

He’d seen the wounds that could be seen from the front, but he’d gone out of his way not to touch them. He worked at not even looking at them.

He pulled his hands back to his lap, flattening his palms on his thighs and closing his eyes. Focusing on the effort of breathing, counting slowly from one, he tried to dislodge the impression of what he still felt beneath his skin.

Delancey claimed he was in good shape and that she’d enjoyed the view. She couldn’t possibly have been talking about his burned side. There was nothing worth looking at there.

“Logan?”

He said nothing and kept his eyes closed. Delancey was quiet for several moments and then he heard the smack of her tennis shoe against the linoleum floor as she moved closer. She rested her fingers on his scarred hand. He jerked away, and she drew his hand back. “Look at me.”

He refused.

“Look at me,” she said more slowly and forcefully.

The playful Delancey seemed to be nowhere around, and he could have used the distraction of her. When he still didn’t open his eyes or raise his head, she stepped between his legs and lifted his scarred hand.

His body hummed. He swallowed.

She rested his hand on her body, her waist and then slid it toward her back. Ridged, bubbled skin brushed his fingers and palm. Skin that felt very similar to his.

Confused, he raised his head and then opened his eyes to find her watching him with her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. She was shirtless, wearing only a lacy bra that showed more of her small breasts than it concealed.

Puckers of skin ran down her side, curved around her stomach and disappeared in the waist of her pants. She’d made herself vulnerable for him not only by placing his hand on her but by revealing herself.

“I told you my fiancé was killed in a fire. And I told you I know what you’re going through.”

“You were with him.”

She nodded. “I don’t talk about it. Few people, two actually, know the extent of what I faced.”

“You going to tell me I’ll get past it?”

“You remember earlier? You remember our deal?” She moved her hand from his and placed it on his neck where her fingers brushed his burned skin. “This sucks and I don’t give a damn what the shrinks say, I don’t think you ever get past it. You can learn to accept it.”

When she’d pulled away from him earlier, she really hadn’t been pulling away from his scars. When she’d watched him put his sweats on, she quite possibly wasn’t repulsed. The weight of losing Ashley, the fact that he’d missed her funeral, that he hadn’t been there when she was buried, the effort of trying to meet the doctor’s requirements for a discharge, the impact of Delancey helping and now trusting him… It all became too much.

Tears filled his eyes and coursed over his cheeks. If there was a remaining opening in his wounds, the salt found it. The burning hell of the salt was nothing compared to the heaviness of the moment.

Trembling, he moved his other hand to Delancey’s back and drew her closer. She rested her hands on his head and encouraged him to lean on her. As soon as his burned skin touched the warmth of her body, he broke.

The dam burst and everything he’d held in poured forth. He held tight to Delancey and cried.

He cried over losing Ashley and missing her funeral.

He cried over losing his parents and the guilt he’d felt over their deaths.

He cried over the idea of starting part of his life over yet again.

He cried over the debt he was now in.

He cried over his burns and being suspected of killing Ashley.

He cried over the tenderness of the woman holding him.

He cried because Delancey held him close and stroked his hair, telling him things would eventually suck less.

He cried because he wanted it to be true.

He cried until his nose hurt and he couldn’t breathe.

He cried because Ashley could no longer cry for him.

When he thought he couldn’t cry anymore, he cried because he’d finally found what he’d always dreamed of. He’d found someone who made him feel safe. He’d found Delancey.

Chapter Seven

Delancey stopped by the grocery store closest to the station to pick up some provisions for shift. Most recently she’d done most of her cooking at home, taking the leftovers to the station. Since agreeing to help Logan, she’d spent her cooking time, most of it anyway, with him. The change resulted in fewer containers of precooked food, and the ones she had went to Logan.

He’d given up thinking she was the one cooking for him when a delivery had shown up during one of her visits. Playing along with his new belief suited her. The man had enough issues of guilt that made him think he owed people. She didn’t want him to think he owed her.

He didn’t want to practice walking in the hall until he was steadier on his feet, so she’d counted the steps from his door to the nurse’s station and then from the nurse’s station to the elevators. Once they’d gotten him dressed, and he’d purged himself of some of the darkness haunting him, he’d found a new strength and was just about ready to tackle the doctor’s challenge.

Needing to be focused on shift, she tried directing thoughts of Logan to the back of her mind. He wouldn’t be suppressed, which meant she was paying less attention than normal when she pulled into the station house’s parking lot.

She’d pulled out half the bags of food that she hoped would satisfy the uncontrollable food mongers she worked with when the doors of a van beside her Jeep opened.

A local reporter hopped out, calling orders to his cameraman to have the camera ready immediately.

The reporter was handsome in a too-perfect way. Brown hair colored blond, bleached teeth and an expensive suit made him look more like he belonged in a courtroom than in front of a camera. Or maybe it was the emptiness in his eyes that gave her that impression, because a journalist was supposed to be trustworthy. This guy just gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Paying him no attention, Delancey grabbed the handles of the last bag, bumped the door of the Jeep closed with her hip and turned toward the station. Mr. Suit stepped into her path while his jeans-and-T-shirt-wearing cameraman set a camera on his shoulder.

“Do you work here?” Mr. Suit asked.

Well accustomed to veiled aggression thanks to the countless society parties she’d attended at Mother’s insistence, Delancey glanced at the uniform she wore that clearly sported the station’s logo before looking back to his waiting gaze. She’d have tapped the logo on her chest if she had a free hand. Instead, she went for a professional and calm, “Yes.”

“Do you know the firemen who work here?”

No
sprang to the tip of her tongue and begged for freedom when she yanked it back at the last moment. She gave herself points for biting it back and for not tapping the logo on her shirt.

Reporters were supposed to be smart enough to connect dots and string facts together. This man couldn’t put it together that she knew the men who worked in the same building as her. That he didn’t bother to think she might be one of
the men
was an irritating side point.

All the years of training at Mother’s elbow kicked in and had Delancey smiling sweetly. “Yes.”

She should be annoyed that he dismissed her as unimportant or not credible and that he lacked the ability to think she could be more than a receptionist. And that was assuming he didn’t think she was just part of a cleaning crew.

“Do you know the man who pulled Logan Mathis out of his office fire? We understand it may have been arson.”

Her blood cooled at the mention of Logan’s name in connection with arson. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the theory. Facing a reporter who doubtfully possessed the sense of soul to cover the story with any sensitivity flat out pissed her off and challenged that social training she’d been almost grateful for a moment ago.

“Questions about an arson investigation are best directed to the arson investigators.” She unthinkingly embraced the unfamiliar protectiveness that reared up. Logan had enough darkness in his life without a reporter traipsing through it on the evening news. “Though I’m curious how a two-month-old fire can be newsworthy.”

“There’s been a second fire-related death recently. It looks like they could be connected.”

“How does that relate to our station?” Delancey’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to remain calm and modulate her voice to hide her concern. “We haven’t responded to another call like that.”

“It all depends. Maybe they’re connected. Maybe not. Maybe the woman two months ago didn’t have to die, or maybe Mr. Mathis didn’t have to be so badly burned.”

Rage, pure and simple rage, fired through her veins. This man, this reporter, showed no respect for what they did and no hesitation to suggest her crew had somehow failed. She’d played that fire over in her mind multiple times every day, especially on the days she saw Logan. There had been nothing they could have done differently. His sister couldn’t have been saved. He could only have been spared if he’d resisted the pull of his love for her.

“What exactly are you hoping to find here?” Delancey’s training slipped and a little of her anger bled into her tone.

“The truth. Was the scene handled properly? Did the men who pulled those victims out do their jobs quickly enough? Could that woman have been saved? Did the man have to be burned as badly as he was?”

She almost asked if he’d posed any of his questions to the people who’d built Logan’s office. Could the support beam that trapped him held out longer if its support had been made of a different material? Could Logan have been spared if the beam had had more supports?

She absolutely refused to join this reporter on his witch hunt. He was looking for someone to pin the fires on for the sake of ratings and had no care about the truth or the people he trampled along the way. Questions, even answers if they were found, wouldn’t change what had happened. They wouldn’t minimize the pain and agony Logan had faced and still had in front of him.

And not a single one of the plethora of retorts and reactions that came to Delancey’s mind would impact this man’s slanted view of the story. They would only reveal that she wasn’t impartial when it came to Logan or the firefighters she was coming to think of as a family. She would do whatever was necessary to protect any of them, and letting the reporter see that would only complicate matters.

“You’d need to talk to Chief Kroeger then.” Their battalion chief called the shots on the scenes and verified that all the reports were completed and filed. He also hadn’t gotten to know Logan, so he’d be able to answer any questions with a distance Delancey knew she lacked.

“Can you lead me to him?” The reporter pointed toward the house. “I’d like to get this interview done.”

And I’d like to kick your ideals so far down your throat they come out your ass. Sucks to not get your way.
Shifting her hand to redistribute the weight of the bags, she said, “Follow me.”

They were halfway across the parking lot when she gave up on keeping her mouth shut. “Do you really think Mr. Mathis wants his sister’s death or his injuries on the evening news?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the reporter said with a shrug. “Murder’s always news. Especially if it proves the brother didn’t do it.”

Damn. Logan had said something about Schneider suspecting him. A second fire, though not good news, could prove his innocence. “Would you feel that way if it were you in his place?”

“I don’t have a sister.”

Or a mother apparently.

“And if the firefighters responding to the scene know something but are saying nothing, it’s my job to get to it.”

He suspected a cover-up? Assholes never changed their stink, and this one, well this one topped the sewer pile. He would never mind cashing in on people’s grief, and that alone made him the kind of reporter that gave reporters a bad name. What could her crew possibly have to cover up?

The sheer suggestion of them being less than honorable enraged her and almost had her releasing the vileness spilling onto her tongue. In the mix was the truth that she was one of the
men
who’d pulled Logan and his sister out of that fire.

Reality stopped her. Reality said this journalist wouldn’t believe her claims, and if by some miracle he did, her life would become a circus and she’d have no chance of shielding Logan.

“Wait here and I’ll see if the chief’s available,” she told the reporter and his cameraman as she entered the lobby. With a wave to Jeanine, their receptionist, she headed toward the chief’s office.

She considered detouring to the kitchen to drop off the groceries. Then she did just that, because it meant the reporter had to wait longer. She’d said it often to Logan, because it was true, but she wasn’t always known for being nice.

Nice or not and detour aside, only a few minutes had passed before she stepped into Chief Kroeger’s office.

“Delancey?”

“There’s a reporter in the waiting area. He wants an interview about the Mathis fire.”

“The one from a couple months back?”

She nodded. “He’s looking to blame the sister’s death and the brother’s burns on us having a slow reaction time or handling the scene wrong.”

“Now?”

“Guess it’s getting around that Schneider suspects arson and there was apparently another fatal fire recently. Guess that proves the brother didn’t do it.”

Broad and burly with mostly gray hair, Chief Kroeger wasn’t always the most demonstrative man. His facial expressions were fairly easy to read for someone who paid attention though. Delancey had learned from her mother how to pay attention and read people, so she recognized his glance toward the door and his upraised brow for what they were.

Challenge. He would enjoy this confrontation. “How do you know the brother was a suspect?”

“I’ve been helping Mathis with his therapy.”

Chief’s expression changed from challenge to surprise. “You don’t think that could get complicated?”

“It was complicated the moment I found him in that fire.” More complicated than Chief could know. “Sometimes we can’t avoid it.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said as he stood from behind his desk.

“Me too. And Chief?”

“Yeah?”

“When you talk to this guy,” she nodded toward the reception area that was out of sight, “could you
not
mention that I’m on the truck?”

“You giving up on being seen as an equal?”

“No. But I only care that the men here see me that way. I want their respect to be based on the work I do, not on my ability to capture a reporter’s attention. Especially that man’s.” She used her head to gesture toward the waiting area again. “For someone who’s supposed to remain objective, he strikes me as someone incapable of swallowing his ignorance long enough to believe I’m more than some kind of servant to you men.”

Chief grinned a rare grin that emanated from his cheeks. “Then get to doing something domestic.”

“Like cooking?”

He shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I think TV viewers are smart enough to see the truth, and what this guy thinks or how he spins a story doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks.” She shrugged. “But I don’t want to see myself on the news any more than Logan Mathis does.”

“Gaining positive attention for the station is never a bad thing.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell the reporter he’s an asshole or that he could shove his mic up his ass until it disappeared in his colon. I’m sure you’ll be more diplomatic.” Diplomacy, and her desire to not be ruled by it, was a large factor in her choosing a life different than what Mother wanted for her.

“When I’m being diplomatic, who do you think should get the credit for saving Mathis?”

“Anyone but me.”

“You got it,” Chief agreed before he headed toward the waiting area.

Leaving him to it, she turned toward the kitchen to unload the groceries. Part of her was curious about the interview and how it would play out in the news. Mainly it was the part that was always thinking about Logan, but it wasn’t a big enough part to have her detouring to spy.

You don’t think that could get complicated?
Chief’s challenge came back to her.

Get? No. It
was
complicated and it showed no signs of smoothing out, because the more time she spent with Logan the more she wanted to be near him. The stronger his spirit pulled at hers until she couldn’t stay away and couldn’t go a day without thinking about him.

Complicated? Yeah, it was much too late to worry about that.

As a physical therapist she’d gotten well-versed in the importance of keeping a professional distance. As a firefighter she’d never expected to be tempted to follow up on a victim she’d never spoken to. Then there’d been Logan. One look into his eyes and she’d done more than follow up.

Her thoughts. Her dreams. Her off time. They were all consumed by Logan, and now that she was getting to know him they were all louder than ever. And more tempting, because she’d seen him at his worst and he’d only been kind.

He’d opened himself up, showed her his vulnerability on both an emotional and physical level. He’d chosen to share what had felt like a defining moment with her and wept in her arms. She understood his pain and loss, but beyond that was the connection that defied logic.

She was pretty sure she was falling for him, and she couldn’t stop herself from calling to check on him.

Lexi was chuckling when she answered her cell. “You calling to see how Logan liked his breakfast?”

“Why would I care about his breakfast?” She’d sent him pancakes and bacon cooked in a brown sugar glaze. Though neither of them admitted it verbally, he had to know it had been from her. Especially since he’d said it was a favorite. Still, she’d been unable to stop herself.

“Well, it was a hit. He’s officially the most-hated patient on the unit. But since that’s not why you’re calling, what’s up?”

Delancey couldn’t stop her smile. “I just wanted to check in to see how he’s doing today.”

“As his therapist?”

“As his friend who’s helping him.”

Lexi chuckled. “Sure. Because as his therapist you shouldn’t be thinking of him personally.”