Every Little Kiss (14 page)

“You think Carter started the Robot Lit fire?” she asked after a moment.

Abe blew out a breath. “Well, I caught him mid-blaze at Leroy's, and he ran here.”

“In other words, it was him.”

There was concern in her brown eyes. “It would make sense based on all the things that confused us before,” he said. “It would mean the blaze here was amateur. Young. A kid messing around, versus a seasoned arsonist. Same next door.”

She reached out and put her fingers on his forearm. The contact, even through layers of clothing, had his every muscle tightening.

“Carter's a good kid. As far as I can tell, anyway. He's here a lot, and I just wanted to say—you know, go easy on him.”

Abe glanced down the hallway to the frosted conference room door. The dark shapes of Ingrid and Carter moved on the other side. In the distance, he could hear sirens wailing. No doubt the cops, since Quinn and the other firefighters would have put out the tiny auto shop blaze in moments. In his mind, he could still see the smoke wafting up from Leroy's, could still feel the air burning in his lungs as he chased Carter into Robot Lit.

“There are programs for kids like Carter,” he said. “He's all of what—ten?”

Casey nodded. “He was recently placed in foster care,” she said quietly. “Rolf told me his mom went into rehab. He'd been coming here off and on before that happened. Now, it's like he's here every minute he can be.”

Abe clenched his jaw. He knew that feeling. He knew firsthand what an oasis Robot Lit could be when it felt like nothing else was going right.

“The cops won't—take him away, will they?” Casey's forehead wrinkled. Abe imagined kissing away all the fine lines.

“No, nothing like that. They'll talk to him. Get a statement from me. They'll want to talk to his foster parents or his social worker. Maybe both.”

“But someone will help him?”

He thought briefly that her concern for the kid should have bothered him—he had just lit a blaze and run, after all—but it did the opposite. It moved him.

“We've got specialists we can refer through the fire department. Sometimes, though, depending on the case, a bunch of us just sit down with the kid in question and try to get to the bottom of why they did it. Try to help them see there's other ways to manage their feelings.”

Casey nodded. The sirens were close now, wailing in the Robot Lit parking lot. The cops would be on them in a few moments.

“I can keep you appraised, if you want,” Abe said, surprising himself. He wasn't one to share information about a case. But he found he wanted any chance he could get to talk to Casey again. “Probably makes sense to keep Robot Lit in the circle of adults who are informed and trying to counsel him.”

She brightened. “I'd be grateful. Ingrid, too.” For a second she looked like she was going to throw her arms around his neck, maybe even kiss him, but the moment passed, and she stayed rooted to the spot.

Damn. Had he done something on the date to offend her and cool things off between them? He hoped not.

At least he had an excuse to contact her again, though.

He could hear footsteps and voices in the stairwell. “I should go meet the officers before they head into the conference room. I'll be in touch.”

Casey smiled. “Good,” she said, and if Abe didn't know better, he'd say she sounded excited about the prospect of hearing from him again.

Which left his brain more rattled than he'd like to admit. His head suddenly ached. He was good at reading women, dammit. So why was Casey Tanner throwing him for a loop? Irritation flared. He reminded himself there were other fish in the sea, and he didn't have to sit here getting worked up about someone who had him off his game so thoroughly.

But the idea rang hollow. He wanted to know what was going on with Casey. He wanted to know where they stood.

He ground his jaw, determined to think about it later. For now, he had police to talk to—and a young boy to deal with.

I
need a plan to get Abe Cameron into bed with me,” Casey whispered to her sister the next evening. They were in Audrey's kitchen trying to perfect a meat-and-potatoes hot dish for the upcoming fund-raiser at the Lutheran church. Local cooks could enter dishes, and then community members paid a small fee to taste and vote on the recipes. The proceeds went to buy toys for kids who otherwise wouldn't get them at Christmastime. The entire Knots and Bolts crew was participating in lieu of their meeting that Thursday, and Casey had begged her sister to help her make something that wasn't overcooked or flat-out disgusting.

Audrey arched a brow as she blended sweet corn with cream and butter on the stove. “Wow. I take it that means your date went well?”

“Shh,” Casey said, glancing toward the living room, where Kieran was reading a book of poetry. Turns out the Harley biker had a soft side for verse, which was one of the many things that Casey had been surprised to learn about him. It had also been one of the many things that had made her feel even worse for trying to keep Kieran and Audrey apart for so long.

Audrey left the stove to turn up a small set of speakers that were plugged into her phone. The sound of “Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree” filled the small kitchen.

“That should do it,” she said with a smile. “Now, spill.”

Casey set down the potato she was peeling. “The date was good. Really good, actually.”

“So why not have another and see what happens?” Audrey said, tossing a pinch of salt into the creamed corn. “Why do you need some big plan?”

“Because of the list our group came up with the other night. I mean, I want to make sure Abe is up for it. For
all
of it.”

Audrey turned the burner down and wiped her hands on her apron. Her movements were confident, secure. The actions of a woman who was happy and loved her life right here, in this very house. Casey felt a twist of envy. She wanted happiness, too—just a different brand.

“Don't you want to make sure you like him first?” Audrey asked. “Like,
really
like him if you're going to sleep with him?”

“I like him well enough,” Casey said, thinking of Abe's brawny shoulders, his hard jaw, his uncanny nose. “I just need a way to approach him with the list. Something that's not ridiculous and that doesn't make him run for the hills.”

“What list is this?” Kieran Callaghan leaned in the kitchen doorway, his wide mouth grinning at Casey like he'd just overheard everything and was pretending not to.

“Casey's got the hots for Abe Cameron,” Audrey said, sidling up to Kieran. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, but he grabbed her apron and pulled her in for more. Casey marveled at their playful ease, even as she fumed at her sister for blabbing about her attraction to Abe.

“Stop playing tonsil hockey already and help me, will you?” she asked, picking her potato back up. Brown ovals flew off her spud as she tried not to pay too much attention to Audrey and Kieran's make-out session. She was delighted her sister was happy, but she wished they could tone it down once in a while

Finally, they broke apart. Kieran walked over to the sink and picked up an unpeeled potato. His dark red hair glinted under the kitchen lights as he stood next to Casey. The potato looked small in his massive hands.

“You ever think about throwing yourself at Abe and seeing what happens?” he asked, grabbing an extra peeler and setting to work beside her.

Casey frowned. “Not really. I think the parameters should be clear from the start.”

“Oh? And what parameters are those?”

Casey bit her lip. She couldn't really tell Kieran about her five things, could she?

“We helped Casey make a booty list,” Audrey chimed in.

“Audrey!”

“Well, we did. And it's good. It's five things she wants this Christmas. And let me just say, you can't get these things at the mall.”

“Ah. And you think all-American firefighter Abe Cameron should know about said list before you do…anything.”

Casey nodded. She didn't want Abe thinking if she slept with him she was pining for a relationship—or anything close to one. She just wanted some fun. She also wanted to make sure he stuck around long enough to give her
all
five things and not just a one-night stand. It was a fine line, and how to walk it, never mind say any of it, was beyond her.

“I still don't get it,” Audrey said. “Why not just let nature take its course? If you get the five things on the list, great. If not, you go your separate ways.”

“I guess I'm trying to calculate the odds,” Casey confessed.
What if he says no? What if he doesn't want anything to do with the list? What if I look stupid?
“I guess I just want a high probability of success.”

“Jeez, talk about spontaneous,” Audrey said.

Casey's heart sank at her sister's dry tone. The whole thing
was
a series of computations, it was true. Her efforts to be more fun-loving and free were coming up against her accountant's personality. Still, she
was
trying. More than that, she was beginning to lust after Abe so much that if he said no, she was beginning to worry it might sting more than she wanted it to.

“You could just tell him,” Kieran offered. “Give him the list and say, ‘Here. I want to do these things. You?' And then see how he responds.”

“Seriously?” Audrey asked. “But what does Abe get out of the deal?”

Kieran smirked. “Other than sex with a hot woman with no strings attached? You mean
apart from that
?”

Casey blushed and kept peeling, unsure what to say.

“All right, but does she slip him a note?” Audrey asked. “Send him a text? Ask him in person?”

“The less of a paper trail the better,” Casey said, dumping the now-peeled potatoes in boiling water. “At least that would be my preference.”

“I agree,” Kieran said, nodding. “Ask him in person. Do you have another date set up?”

“Not yet. But he's sent me a few texts about Carter Weaver, this kid he caught at a fire yesterday at Leroy's. Carter confessed to setting the Robot Lit fire, too. He's only ten years old, so it's not like they want to lock him up or something. The kid needs help.”

“So the next time he texts you about Carter, say something along the lines of ‘Great. Let's discuss this in person at my house over drinks.' And when he comes over, you proposition him.”

Casey blinked. Kieran made it sound so simple. Just invite Abe over and—wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. Ideally, anyway.

Audrey left the potatoes to stand next to Casey. She linked arms with her sister. “I still don't understand. If you like Abe, why don't you just
date
him? See where it goes? You might get a lot more than just what's on your list.”

I don't want more than what's on the list. I don't want a relationship.
Casey bit back the words. Casey would never want her sister to think she didn't want these things because of Audrey. “I think the best thing for me is to just live a little. For now.”

“You know,” Kieran said thoughtfully, “I think Thursday's panel of judges includes a certain local fireman.”

Casey nearly dropped the knife she was holding. “You mean Abe Cameron is going to taste what we're making right now?” Even with Audrey helping her, the idea of Abe downing her cooking was mortifying. There was still a high probability it would congeal into a tasteless blob and she'd have to serve it, red-faced and humiliated.

“Don't freak out—it's going to be good,” Audrey said, handing Casey a block of cheddar cheese to grate.

“Even if it's not,” Kieran said, “you'll both be in the same room, and that will give you a chance to talk. You can invite him over to your place afterward. Tell him you have something to discuss. Carter What's-his-name. Either way, you'll get him inside and you can tell him what you want. Boom. Done and done.”

Casey grated a mound of cheese, thinking it sounded like a decent idea. Or, if not decent, then passable. A lot like her hot dish.

It might not win first place, but if it did the job, then she'd call it a victory.

“You think I can pull this off?” she asked them both.

Kieran popped a hunk of cheese into his mouth and smiled his lopsided grin. “I think we're as anxious to find out as you are.”

Casey sprinkled the cheese on top of the casserole pan, into which Audrey had dumped the potatoes, the corn, some browned hamburger, sautéed onions, and a can of cream of mushroom soup.

“This had better work,” she said, not sure if she meant the recipe, or what she was about to ask Abe on Thursday.

It would be a small miracle if she could pull off both.

A
be stared at the wrinkled face of Evelyn Beauford. “You want us to what?” he asked, certain he'd misheard the elderly woman.

“Take your shirts off,” she said. “Except you, dear.” She nodded to Quinn. “You can keep yours on.”

Abe shifted in his metal folding chair in the basement of the White Pine Lutheran Church. The room was filled with the smells of baked goods and casseroles. Christmas lights twinkled along the edge of the ceiling, and a tree with a large, golden angel was shining from the corner. His stomach rumbled, even as his brain tried to process why Evelyn Beauford was asking him to strip in the house of God.

“We thought we were judges,” he said, kicking Reese under the table as the probationary fought back laughter. “We didn't think we were—on display.”

“You're not, sweetheart,” Evelyn said, patting Abe's tough hand with her own padded one. “But we sold far more tickets to this thing when we said some of the judges were shirtless firefighters. I'm sure you understand. It's for a good cause.”

He had to kick Quinn next. She was laughing so hard she was losing her breath. Lambeck tossed a wadded-up paper napkin at him. “Come on, Lu. You heard the lady. It's for a good cause. Don't you want your new girlfriend to see how hot you are?”

“I'm just trying to save everyone from seeing your man boobs,” Abe fired back. Lambeck grinned, and pulled his shirt over his head. His toned chest hardly sported man boobs. The ridges of his six-pack were as well defined as the sturdy casserole pans all around them. He could have sworn he heard Evelyn Beauford utter a tiny squeal of delight.

Abe shook his head. He wasn't opposed to going shirtless—he had a body he'd chiseled out of a whole lot of hard work and sweat—but he wasn't much for surprises. And he certainly didn't like things being sprung on his
crew
. But since the three other firefighters seemed game—Lambeck was already letting Evelyn's friend Freida pat his biceps—he shrugged it off. He was just glad the mayor sitting at the far end of their judges' table, Robert Mackelson, hadn't been asked to go shirtless as well. In that case there
would
be man boobs.

Knowing Evelyn's eyes were trained on his chest, Abe pulled off his navy blue T-shirt with Station One emblazoned on the front. “Feel free to flex while you chew,” she said, winking at him.

Quinn sat back in her chair, smug. “For once, I'm glad I'm a girl.”

“You mean because that bartender wanted into your lady parts?” Reese asked, miming sex by putting his index finger through an O of fingers on his other hand.

“Haven't seen
that
move since middle school,” Abe said to Reese.

Quinn snapped straight up. She poked Reese's bare chest, which was pale and lean compared to the other firefighters'. “Cut it. I don't want to hear you say one more word about him.”

Turned out Abe wasn't the only one catching shit for being seen with someone new.

“Why, because you banged him and then walked away, and now you don't have anyone to have sex with?”

Quinn's face went so dark Abe was worried she was going to erupt. He knew that look. It usually happened when someone took her last yogurt from the fridge, but occasionally he'd seen it on a call, when they'd exhausted themselves and just couldn't save someone. It was the tender side of the bear, and this bear didn't like getting poked.

“Can it, Reese,” Abe said. “No trash talk in the house of the Lord.”

“Yes, Lu,” Reese mumbled.

Abe made a note to ask Quinn about the bartender later, to see if she wanted to unload anything. In private. In the meantime, Evelyn Beauford placed herself in front of the panel of five judges—four firefighters and the mayor—and slid her eyes over the firemen's bare chests every chance she could get. “We're just about ready to open the church doors to the community,” she said. “Some of their dishes are already here, dropped off in advance. But most of the food will be coming down those stairs with the cooks themselves. They will serve the judges first and then leave the rest for the townsfolk to eat. Pencils and scorecards are there on the table. You will decide together which dishes get third, second, and first place. Sound dandy?”

Everyone nodded. “Wonderful!” Evelyn said, and turned on her white sneakers to go unleash the community on the unsuspecting judges.

Within minutes, the basement was packed with people, loud voices echoing off the white-bricked walls. Abe had five small plates shoved in front of him before he could think.

“That's a key lime pie,” said a raven-haired woman who leaned her hip on the table just so, to angle in. Sherri Sheridan. Her eyes swept unabashedly from Abe's face to his bare chest, and then lower. “It's made with real limes, not the imitation stuff.”

“You raid a pirate ship for fresh limes in the middle of winter?” Abe asked, taking in the woman's long lashes, her full mouth. He'd been on the debate team with Sherri once, and thought he remembered that mouth. He thought she'd gotten married and moved away for a while. Apparently she was back now. No ring that he could tell. He speared the pie but didn't bring it to his lips.

“No ships, but I drove up to Minneapolis for my fruit. Lots of booty involved either way.” She winked then, long and slow, and Abe felt a grin start to spread on his face.

“Sherri, dessert is supposed to arrive at the judges' table
last
. You didn't wait your turn.” A frowning Evelyn had elbowed into the tight-packed table. Reese was shoving food into his face like he hadn't eaten in a month, not even writing anything on the scorecards.

“Sometimes you want the sweet things first,” Sherri said. “Yolo and all that.”

“Yo what now?” Evelyn asked.

“Nothing,” Sherri said, waving a hand that sported long, lacquered nails. “I'll remember the rules next time. And for the record, it's what's at the
bottom
of the pie that's sweetest.” She glanced pointedly at the edge of the plate, where her initials were written. All the other entrants' initials were written on their dishes, too.

S.S.
, Abe read, thinking that was appropriate. She was like a ship all right, cutting through the chop to get what she wanted. Then he saw it. Sticking out from underneath her initials was a small corner of paper.

A note. For him.

With a final grin she walked away, her ass moving like it still had things to say. Abe watched appreciatively for a second, then pulled out the piece of paper from underneath the plate. The old adrenaline was back—the rush of meeting someone new and wondering if he could get her into bed. Wondering how long it would be before he tired of her. He stared at her number, at the heart that was round and bubbly enough to have been drawn by a twelve-year-old, and the rush went cold. It turned to ash somewhere deep in his gut.

A picture of Casey was suddenly in his mind.

Shit. Why did she have to be everywhere, when a couple weeks ago she hadn't been anywhere? He tucked the number quickly away, muttering under his breath.

“I saw that number at the bar,” Quinn said between bites of food, “on a bathroom stall.”

Abe ate the pie so he didn't have to reply. Quinn was giving him a hard time, and he didn't feel like taking the bait. A few weeks ago, he would have thrown a smart-ass remark right back at her, then jumped over the table and taken Sherri back to his place without thinking. He would have peeled off Sherri's skinny jeans and let those long nails rip tracks up his back. He would have worked his
Ninety-Eyed
name with pride.

Now, though, the idea was tinged with a gray edge, colorless and empty. What he wanted to do was see Casey. He pushed the pie aside and dug into a macaroni salad instead.

He chewed, thinking about his texts with Casey over the last few days. Mostly, they'd been about the situation with Carter. Abe had told her how the boy's social worker had been firm but sympathetic after the fires, asking Carter questions about his feelings, his foster family, and his school—all to try to get at what was behind Carter wanting to see things burn. Abe and Officer Niequist had headed down to talk with Carter's school counselor, Amy Strand. She'd indicated Carter was a good student whose only parent, a single mother, had recently checked herself into rehab for prescription pill addiction. Without any family close by, she'd agreed to let Carter go to foster care temporarily. Carter's mom was slated for reevaluation at the end of the month, when her stint in rehab ended. In the meantime, both Casey and Ingrid had made sure to say that Robot Lit's doors were still open to Carter, and that they wanted him to keep writing. That it was a safer way to express what he was feeling than fire.

The texts hadn't been exactly flirty. Or playful. But Abe hadn't minded. He'd felt as though he and Casey had been trying to solve a problem together, and he liked that. Their communication was substantive. Meaningful. He glanced at the key lime pie. His communication with Casey was the opposite of an empty dessert.

The question was, where was any of this headed? Abe swallowed the last of the macaroni salad, rating it a four out of five on the scorecard. Then he pulled in a plate of casserole that looked like someone had dumped melted cheese on one of Reese's hamburgers.

Women like Sherri were easy to figure out. They were simple. Casey was a lot more complex, but he found he didn't mind. He'd never shied away from a challenge, after all.

Like this hot dish.

He took a small forkful. He stared at the lumpy mess for a moment. Then he thought
What the hell
, and swallowed it down. To his surprise, it had a sweet and salty undertone to it—some kind of corn thing—and it was seasoned with a hint of spice, just a tiny whisper of heat. Damned if this hot dish wasn't
good
. Abe almost smiled, thinking the casserole was just like him. A little rough in some aspects, but all right if you give it a chance.

Like him, if
Casey
would give him a chance.

He shook his head. What a ridiculous thought. It was the chest pains talking. They'd made him desperate to settle on someone, when in reality he probably just needed to lighten up.

He slid the plate aside, but not before writing 5 on the scorecard.

Quinn elbowed him. “Careful,” she muttered, “everyone here is going to think you've reformed.” She blew her bangs off her forehead.

“What are you talking about, Puffy?” Abe asked, reaching for asparagus soup next.

“You blow off the cougar and then rate your girlfriend's dish the highest? It's textbook.”

“I don't have a girlfriend. And what do you mean?”

“Duh, Einstein,” she said, pointing to the edge of the paper plate. And that was when Abe saw the initials.
C.T.

Casey Tanner.

And right then, he felt it. More precisely, he felt
her
. In the hot-packed room with all the overpowering food scents, it was hard to find her, hard to know where exactly to look. More than anything, though, he knew she was here, and he wanted to see her.

He stood, leaning his hands on the judges' table as he peered over the heads of the crowd.

When a pair of molasses-brown eyes near the Christmas tree found his, something locked into place. He grinned. She was wearing a bright red off-the-shoulder shirt, with a thin little belt around her middle. More color on her than usual, but it made her look like a present he wanted to unwrap.

Her eyes were big and round, staring at his shirtless chest. He flexed, and swore she swallowed. He flicked his head in a come-here motion. As she wove her way through the crowd, his stomach rumbled.

He wanted more of her hot dish.

And then, when that was done, he wanted more of
her
.

Casey had watched Abe flirt with a black-haired bombshell and swore to herself that propositioning him was off the table. What was she thinking, trying to snag a firefighter with abs you could grate cheese on? She might want Abe, it was true, but so did lots of other women.

Disappointment had needled her. But so had something else. Frustration, maybe. Not at Abe, but at herself. Was she really going to give up on her list so easily? Was she really going to get knocked off her game by a pie-serving floozy in skinny jeans?

That was right about the time she'd caught his eye and he'd motioned her over. She'd started across the floor on unsteady feet. What would she say once she got to the table? Would she actually follow through with inviting him to her place?

Now, Betty elbowed into her side as she made her way through the crowd.

“Somebody liked your casserole,” Betty sing-songed, a ring in her voice like triumph, like she'd bet on the underdog and come out with a pocketful of winnings.

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I saw him eat it. Devour it, really. Wasn't much to look at, but he sure licked his plate clean.”

Why was it that every time Betty talked to her, she felt like she was being teased? No fair that a pastor's wife could be the saltiest one of them all. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

Betty smiled so big her whole face crunched. “I'm proud of you, kiddo. You have a look on your face like you're going to go get something you want. I hope it includes letting Abe check a few items off your Christmas list?”

Casey stared. Betty's eyes were too warm for her to be teasing. It was more like Betty was asking her if she was going to fish or cut bait.

“You never mince words, do you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Casey stopped. Bodies jostled around them. Abe was mere feet away. She was close enough to see the contours of muscle underneath his tight skin. It brought to mind terms she'd learned in grade-school geography.
Moraine. Caldera. Fault line.
She bet she could find an example of every one of those things on Abe.