Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) (13 page)

Dale chuckled, stopping for the light at the intersection of Shawan and Falls. "Not quite, no. Just a bar. The best honky tonks are in Nashville, anyway. At least, that's what I hear."

"Oh." She leaned back against the seat, looking out the window as the dark landscape whizzed by them.

"I think you'll like it. It's Nick's band and they're really good."

"Who's that?"

"Nick is Mikey's fiancé. You met her last night."

She nodded but didn't say anything and for a brief minute, Dale wondered if she really wanted to be there. To be with him. She would have said no if she didn't, right? Of course she would have.

Maybe.

He pulled into the gravel lot, easing his car to the end and nosing it in beside Jay's truck. The night was quiet, filled with the sounds of early insects brave enough to venture into the chilled air. Good, the band hadn't started yet.

He opened the door for Smurfette, taking her hand and helping her out. She gave him an odd look, her head tilted to the side, studying him. His eyes met hers, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

He'd probably have a better chance at figuring out which numbers would pop up in tomorrow night's lottery drawing.

They walked inside, music from the jukebox greeting them. Dale placed his hand in the middle of Smurfette's back, guiding her across the floor to their customary table in the corner. Dave was already there, along with his girlfriend CC. Pete had claimed the chair on the far end next to the wall and was straddling it backward, leaning across the table in deep conversation with Jimmy. Adam was on the other side, his attention on the phone in his hand, a frown on his face.

Dale introduced Smurfette to CC then greeted everyone by name, in case she didn't remember from last night. He slid a chair out for her then took the empty one next to her, reaching for the pitcher of beer and the stack of plastic cups in the middle of the table. He poured the first one and held it out for Smurfette. She shook her head, her lips pursed.

"No, thank you. I don't drink beer."

Dale hesitated, something about the way she answered catching him off-guard. He sat the cup in front of him then pushed away from the table. "Did you want something else? I can go get some wine—"

"No, thank you. I'm fine." Her voice was a little strained, her gaze not quite meeting his. Dale leaned forward, lowering his voice so he couldn't be overheard.

"Is everything okay? I can get you something else, it's not a big deal."

"No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look like something's bothering you."

Her eyes darted around the table, settling on CC before moving back to him. She leaned closer, her hand resting on his arm. "You did it again."

"Did what?"

She looked around once more then frowned at him. "You didn't use my name."

"Yeah I did."

"No. You called me Smurfette. Again. That's not my name."

Was she serious? That was why she was upset? He looked into her eyes, really looked. The ocean blue had turned gray, the shade reminding him of an angry sea just before a storm. But it wasn't just her eyes. It was the way she held herself, her shoulders a little too tight even though she was leaning toward him. Even her hand was a little stiff, her fingers pressing into the skin of his arm.

He closed his hand around hers and leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss against her pursed lips. Then he banged the table with his fist, catching everyone's attention. Conversation around him drifted away, fading into the surrounding noise. One by one, heads turned, curious gazes fixing on him.

He looked around the table, his eyes finally landing on CC, and cleared his throat. "Guys, let me introduce Melanie."

Pete and Jimmy stared at him like he'd just started speaking a foreign language. Adam looked up from his phone, frowned, then went back to whatever he was doing. Even Dave and CC seemed a little confused, although CC, at least, was smiling, like she understood what he was doing and why.

Yeah, of course she would. Didn't women stick together?

"Better?"

She nodded, a bright smile on her face. Dale almost rolled his eyes but stopped himself at the last minute. He draped his arm across the back of her chair, his hand lightly brushing her shoulder as he leaned closer, keeping his voice low. "So why does that bother you?"

"What?"

This time he did roll his eyes. "Me calling you 'Smurfette'?"

"Because it's not my name and I can't tell if you're making fun of me."

"Making fun—?" Is that what she really thought? He frowned, trying to understand why she would think that. He'd never meant to make fun of her. Yeah, maybe he liked to tease her, but he thought the name was cute. He was ready to tell her that, to explain it, when she started talking again, a small pout on her face.

"You don't like it when I call you a Neanderthal."

"There's a big difference. I'm not insulting you when I call you 'Smurfette'."

"And I wasn't insulting you when I called you Neanderthal."

"Really?" His voice was gruff, a little too harsh. "Sweetheart, you were nothing but insulting the first day we met. If I remember correctly, you even compared me to a gorilla. Told me I had no manners. And let's not forget last night, when you called me a barbarian. And primitive and prehistoric and authoritative and—"

"And you called me 'Smurfette'."

He felt his temper rising, creeping up his chest like a dormant animal slowly rising from a deep slumber. Dale pulled his arm away and slid the chair back, his jaw clenched. "For the last time, it's not an insult. It's nothing more than a damned nickname."

He stood up fast enough that the chair tilted backward. He caught it before it fell then stepped around it, resisting the urge to shove it away. Several pairs of eyes watched him as he walked away, heading to the bar. Screw them. Screw this. Screw the whole fucking night. Let them think whatever they wanted to think. He needed to get away, to cool down, just for a minute.

Jay greeted him at the bar, a silent question in his cool gray eyes. Dale frowned then slid onto the empty barstool and asked for a glass of water. Not that water would do him any good, not unless he poured it over his head to cool off.

What the fuck was he doing? Why was he being such an ass? Arguing over a stupid fucking name. How could she not know he liked calling her Smurfette? How could she even think he was trying to insult her? Christ, anyone who had ever seen the stupid show would know he wasn't being insulting.

And it sure as hell didn't come close to being compared to a barbarian.

"We've got some empty boxes in the back if you want to hit something."

"I'm good." He grabbed the glass Jay slid across to him and took a long swallow, wishing it was something stronger. "And what do you mean, 'we'? You act like you actually work here."

Jay shrugged, a grin on his face. "I just like hanging with Angie."

Dale snorted. Yeah, sure. They were living together, spent all their free time together, and yet Jay still wanted to help out on the occasional nights Angie was tending bar.

Dale couldn't imagine being with someone all the time, not like they were. He glanced behind him to the small stage where the band was setting up and saw Mikey lean closer to Nicky, a smile on her face as she leaned in for a kiss. His eyes drifted over to their corner table, where Dave was sitting close to CC, his arm draped around her.

Fuck. How did they do it? Make things work like that? He couldn't even manage one night with someone without it blowing up in his face.

And all because of a stupid, silly name.

He really was an ass.

Jay propped his elbow on the table and leaned in. "So what's going on with you and your neighbor?"

"Not a damn thing." Except, apparently, for sex. Which, apparently, was nothing more than a one-time deal. Because, apparently, he was an ass.

"You sure about that?"

"Apparently. Why?"

"Because she just walked out."

"What?" Dale swung around on the stool just in time to see the door close behind Smurf—behind
Melanie
. "Fuck." He jumped off the stool and pushed his way through the growing crowd, the first strains of music filling the small space as the band started to play.

What the hell did she think she was doing? And where the hell did she think she was going? She didn't have a car, didn't have a way home. And it was too damn far to walk. Damn her.

No, damn him.

He pushed through the door, the cool night air slamming him in the face as he looked around. Sure enough, she was heading toward the road, not even hesitating as she turned left.

In the wrong direction.

"Melanie!" She must have heard him but she kept walking, not even hesitating. "Melanie!"

Still nothing. He shook his head and hurried to catch up, calling one more time. "Smurfette!"

She stopped, her back stiffening. What the hell? She'd stop for that, but not when he called her real name?

He caught up to her, stepping in front of her in case she decided to keep walking. "Why didn't you stop when I called you?"

"I did."

"No you didn't."

"I did! I'm stopped, aren't I?"

"I called you twice before that—" Dale snapped his mouth shut, stopping before the conversation got even more out of control. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Home's that way." He pointed behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, frowning, then lifted her chin a notch and turned and started walking again. Dale mumbled under his breath and caught up to her again, once more stepping in front of her.

"Why are you walking?"

"Because I want to go home."

"Why?"

She looked away, but not before he saw the shadows clouding her eyes. "Because this isn't as fun as I thought it would be and I'm tired and have a long day tomorrow at the gallery and I want to go home."

Regret and anger filled him.

Anger at himself, for ruining what should have been a fun night. All he had wanted was to take Smur—Melanie—out. To spend time with her, get to know her more. To have fun and listen to music and maybe even dance, to hold her close in his arms as they swayed to the soft strains of some rock ballad.

Regret because he knew he'd never get another chance. Regret because—no matter how much he might make fun of Mikey and Jay and Dave—he knew he'd never have what they did. What a kick in the ass that was, because he never even realized he might want what they have.

Yeah, well. What the hell. It wasn't meant to be. He wasn't destined for anything like that and he knew it. That didn't mean he didn't regret what could have been a fun night. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her to head to the car, that he'd take her home. But she spoke before he could get the words out.

"Is this a date?"

Is this a date?

Where the hell had that question even come from? Totally out of nowhere, with nothing to do with anything they had been talking about. And what the hell kind of question was that, anyway? A date. No, it wasn't a date. Not really. Maybe. No. No, of course it wasn't. He wouldn't bring a date to hang out with his shift. Would he?

"Well? Is it?"

"It's—I—" He narrowed his eyes. "Do you want it to be?"

Her head tilted to the side, her own eyes narrowing. "I don't know."

Not quite the answer he'd been expecting, or even the one he hoped for. Asinine. He hadn't been hoping for anything except a relaxing night out, hanging with friends.

Dale ran a hand through his hair then dragged it down his face, feeling the rasp of stubble against his palm. Should he try to salvage the night or just take her home? He didn't know. He didn't even know what she wanted. Her face was carefully blank, her eyes giving nothing away.

"How about we just go back inside and listen to the music and try to have some fun? Just hang out and enjoy ourselves." It was a lame attempt at…something. He knew that. But that didn't stop him from hoping she'd say yes.

"Can I ask you something before we go back in?"

Dale almost said no, afraid of what might come out of her mouth. He nodded anyway, surprised that she suddenly looked away. She seemed to be studying the cracked asphalt and gravel beneath her sandals.

A minute stretched by and he wondered if she was going to say anything else. Or if she was just going to stand there, her hands twisting in front of her, and keep staring at her feet. She finally took a deep breath, her shoulders rising with the effort, and peered at him through her thick lashes.

"Why can't you call me by my name?"

"Why does that bother you so much?"

"I told you why. I can't tell if you're insulting me or not. Or if you even remember my name. And if you can't remember my name, then I don't want to go back inside."

Christ. Were they really going to have this conversation again? He didn't know why it upset her but it obviously did. That much was clear on her face. In the way her brows pulled low and in the tiny little furrow between her eyes. Didn't she understand it was just a silly nickname?

"I know your name. Melanie. Smurfette is just a nickname. That's all. I told you that before."

"But you didn't even say my name when we…" She looked away, shuffled her feet and twisted her hands some more. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Earlier. When we were together."

"Yes I—" He slammed his mouth shut. Fuck. Now he understood. Maybe it didn't make sense and maybe it was foolish—to him. But she was right, he hadn't used her name. Or maybe he had, but only that one time. He thought. Hell, maybe he really hadn't, at all. Had he called her Smurfette? He couldn't remember. Christ, it wasn't as if his brain had been in any condition to form rational thought, not when he had been completely lost, drowning in the sensation of her touch, her body, her heat.

He cleared his throat and stepped closer, tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. "Melanie."

Her eyes widened just a fraction, the blue suddenly deeper in the shadows of the night. He said her name again, his voice just above a whisper. "Melanie."

Then he dipped his head and lowered his mouth to hers, the kiss soft and gentle. She sighed, her hand sliding up his chest. But she didn't push him away, just held her hand there, the warmth of her touch seeping through the woven material of his shirt.

He dipped his tongue inside her mouth, seeking, reassuring. And God, it would be so easy to lose himself. To let desire sweep him away once more. Not here. Not now. He pulled away, her soft moan mingling with his.

"Melanie." He said it one more time, the name coming out rough and needy. He cleared his throat and stepped away, tried to grin in an effort to hide just what the too-short kiss had done to him. "Are you ready to go inside now?"

She stepped away, a small smile on her face. Did she look a little stunned as well? Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, because she nodded and turned around, heading back to the door. He hurried to catch up to her, calling himself every kind of fool as he followed her inside. He was overreacting from nothing but a kiss. It hadn't even come close to the kisses they shared earlier. Deep, passionate, hungry. Nothing like that.

Maybe it wasn't the kiss. Maybe it was the fact that it didn't seem to effect Melanie at all.

And maybe he just needed to sit down and have a drink and shut up and stop thinking. Now that the band was playing, that should be easy to do. Just like it should be easy to avoid conversation, since you had to shout to be heard.

"You okay?"

He glanced over at Mikey then took a seat, nodding. So much for avoiding conversation. "Yeah. Fine. Why?"

"You look a little dazed."

"No. I'm good. Just preoccupied." He reached for the pitcher of beer and poured a fresh cup, glancing over at Melanie. She was turned to the side, away from him, talking to Jimmy. Again.

He pushed away the surge of irrational jealousy. They were just talking, that was all.

Dave leaned forward, raising his voice. "About next week?"

"What?" Dale frowned before understanding sunk in. Next week. Hell. Why had Dave even brought that up? He took a long swallow of beer, brushed the back of his hand across his mouth, and shook his head. "No, something else."

"You sure about that?"

"What's next week?" Pete shouted the question across the table. Great. Now everyone was looking at him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to concern.

"His sister's trial date." Dave answered the question, not even looking at Dale. "Unless they reschedule it again."

Adam looked up from his phone, his blue eyes curious as he finally focused on the conversation around him. "I thought she was going to take a plea."

Dale shifted in the chair, aware that Smurfette was watching him too closely, more than curiosity in her gaze. He looked down at the cup in his hand and forced a smile to his face, trying to ignore the sudden knot in his gut. Why the hell had Dave even brought it up? Especially here? Now? Yeah, everyone at work knew about it. But the woman next to him didn't, and he didn't want her to know.

Embarrassment? Something else?

He looked around the table, noticed they were waiting for answer. Couldn't this have waited until day work? Instead of now, when everyone had to shout to be heard? "No plea. She's still convinced she didn't do anything wrong."

Of course she was. That was Lindsay. Innocent. Always innocent. Everything that happened was someone else's fault. Their parents' fault for not paying tuition after she got kicked out of college twice. Lauren's fault for expecting her to help with expenses when she moved in with her. His fault because he wouldn't defend her. His fault because he hadn't been there for her, because he'd been a shitty big brother.

Everyone's fault except Lindsay's.

A hand closed over his arm, the fingers long and slender, the touch trying to be comforting. The muscles in his arm tensed and he had to stop himself from pulling away to dislodge Melanie's hand. "What happened?"

She may have meant the question to only be for his ears but her voice was too loud, carrying so that everyone at the table could hear it. Why wouldn't it be? It was too loud to talk, too loud to carry on a conversation in a normal voice. He couldn't fault her for that, couldn't fault her for asking a normal question born of nothing more than curiosity. That didn't mean he intended to answer her.

He shook his head, ready to tell her it wasn't anything, to tell her it didn't matter. But Jimmy leaned in and Dale could see he was ready to tell her everything.

"His youngest sister tried to—"

"Jimmy—"

"—kill Lauren."

The band stopped playing at that exact second, so that Jimmy's voice carried to the tables surrounding them. A few patrons turned to look their way, shrugged and turned back. Dale wasn't paying attention to them, though; he was focused solely on Smurfette.

Her eyes widened, a look of horror and disbelief flashing in the deep blue of her eyes. Her lips parted on a gasp of surprise. The horror and disbelief were quickly replaced by sympathy. Her hand tightened around his arm but her question was directed at Jimmy.

"That's awful! What happened?"

"She, uh…" Jimmy's voice faltered as he caught Dale's scowl. He shrugged and reached for his beer. "I'm, uh, not sure."

"She poisoned her. Or tried to, at least." Pete answered the question, oblivious to Dale's glare, oblivious to the awkward tension that hovered over their table.

Mikey finally broke the silence, tossing a damp cardboard coaster in Pete's direction, hitting him square in the chest. "Smooth move, Pete. Smooth."

The music started up again, a slow rock ballad this time. But it was too late to save Dale from the embarrassment, from the shame that filled him. He stared into the full cup, willing the floor to open beneath him, willing himself to disappear.

What the hell must Melanie think? He didn't want to know. It was too easy to remember the horror that had flashed in her eyes. Too easy to imagine the contempt she must certainly feel, wondering what kind of man he was. Wondering what kind of brother he was, to have let something so terrible happen.

"I'd like to dance please."

He looked up, expecting to see Melanie leaning over to Jimmy. But her hand slid down his arm and closed over his, her fingers threading through his. She tugged and he finally looked at her, surprised to see she was standing up, pulling him with her.

She led him onto the crowded dance floor and stepped close, wrapping her arms around his waist. He stood still for a heart-stopping second then finally slid his arms behind her, afraid to hold her too close as she started swaying to the music.

"That's why you were so upset."

Dale finally met her eyes, surprised to see understanding in their depths. "Upset?"

"This morning. When I said you were trying to poison me."

His steps faltered. He hesitated, not sure what to do, then slowly started dancing again. "I wasn't upset."

A smile, small and sad, briefly touched her lips. "You were. But now I understand why."

"There's nothing to understand."

She didn't say anything, just rested her head against his shoulder and snuggled closer as they moved in a small circle on the dance floor. Another couple jostled them from behind and he looked over his shoulder, ready to say something. Melanie's hand curled around his cheek, forcing him to look down at her. She pushed up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss against his mouth, her smile easing some of the tension knotting his insides. "Just dance with me."

"Melanie—"

She tilted her head, a tiny frown marring her smooth face. "You sound mad."

"I'm not mad."

"No. I mean when you say my name. It makes you sound mad."

"That doesn't make sense—"

"I think I like it better when you call me 'Smurfette'. You smile when you say it."

Damn if he didn't grin. He couldn't help it.

"What happened?"

His grin disappeared. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." She rested her head against his shoulder once more, long enough for them to complete one slow circle in place. Then she looked up at him again. "You can talk to me if you want to."

"I don't want to."

"Okay." Thirty seconds went by before she raised her head for the third time. "But you can if you want to."

"Smurfette—"

"See? You're smiling."

The song ended but she didn't step out of his arms, even as other couples moved past them. Nick announced the band was taking a break and the jukebox kicked on, the music nothing more than background noise. Yet they still stood there, in the middle of the floor, their arms around each other. Dale thought that maybe she wanted to dance again. There were other couples on the floor, doing just that. But it wasn't a slow song, so she shouldn't be standing so close, wrapped in his arms, if she wanted to dance.

"Smurfette, what are you doing?"

"Holding you."

"Um, did you want to dance?"

She shook her head. Some of her hair fell from the loose knot at the back of head, long tendrils escaping to brush against her smooth neck.

"Did you want to go back to the table and get a drink?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

Her smile was sweet, radiant, powerful enough to knock the breath from him. She looked around then leaned close, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I want to go home with you again."