Putting Out Old Flames (14 page)

Jane hopped out of the SUV. “We have two wineries in the area. The chamber of commerce says if we get two more, they're going to declare a wine trail.” She looked down, eyes wide, when Josh grabbed her hand. “And the merlot is very good. You can grow grapes anywhere now.”

Chance took his son's other hand and Josh immediately started swinging between the two of them. He was too big for it, his knees nearly scraping the ground when he dropped to hang between the two adults. But Jane held her own, hefting her half of Josh's weight with little problem.

“I didn't mean to sound like a wine snob,” he said. “But I lived near Napa. I know what type of climate is good for grapes.” They passed under a lattice archway blanketed with bougainvillea. He stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the tasting room's dim light.

A woman behind a reclaimed-wood bar smiled warmly at them. “Hi, folks. You here for a tasting?” A man and woman stood across from her, noses deep in bulbous wineglasses.

Jane stepped forward, bringing Josh and Chance along with her. “We'd like to speak to someone about possibly renting out your new cave for an event. Are you the manager?”

“I wish.” The petite blonde gave the couple a generous pour. “I could do a much better job at it than the owner.”

“I heard that!” a disembodied voice bellowed from a back room.

The woman grinned.

A half-open door behind the bar banged open, and a large man filled the opening. “Hi. I'm Jim. Can I help you?” Tugging at the polo shirt stretched tight across his round stomach, he rounded the counter and stretched out a hand. “Did I hear that you have an event coming up?”

“Yes.” Jane shook his hand. “We're organizing the Pineville Fire Department's charity ball and we're in a bit of a bind. Our location fell through, and Judge Nichols said you had a space big enough to hold your daughter's wedding. Congratulations on that, by the way.”

Jim gave her a proud smile. Thirty seconds later, he and Jane were huddled over his smartphone, oohing and aahing over his daughter's engagement photos. Chance shook his head. Jane just had a way about her, got everyone to open up.

Josh tugged on his hand. “Daddy, can I have it?”

An automatic
no
rose to Chance's lips, and he looked where his son pointed. A basket of rubber chickens in a rainbow of colors had caught Josh's eye. Chance walked over and picked one up. It was odd, even for a tasting room gift shop.

“That's one of our biggest sellers,” Jim said. He strode over to Chance and flipped the bird over. “It's a corkscrew. You turn the chicken's head and the screw comes out of his . . .” He shot a glance at Josh. “Well, you know, and the wings act as the levers. Pretty fun, right?”

Chance murmured an agreement, hiding his chuckle at Jane's horrified look. If this chicken was Jim's style, Chance didn't hold out much hope that the cave would be nice enough to hold their ball.

But a couple of minutes later, Chance was surprised. The room wasn't technically a cave, but a lower level dug into the side of the hill. One long wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, giving the room plenty of natural light. The concrete floor was painted to look like slate, and the exposed wood beams of the ceiling were draped in strands of white lights. Wine barrels dominated the large space.

“For events, we roll most of the barrels into the storeroom, but keep some for character,” Jim said. “It can hold up to two hundred and fifty people, twenty-five ten-person tables, and along that wall is space for a stage.”

“Is two-fifty the permitted capacity?” Chance ignored Jane's eye roll.

“It is.” Jim flipped a switch and recessed lighting in the dark wood walls gave the room a warm glow. “And of course we have a wine and liquor license.”

Josh tugged on Jane's hand and whispered something in her ear when she bent down. He knew his son's hair would darken with age, but right now it was closer to Jane's whiskey-colored hair than his own. They looked like a matched set. Rubbing a knuckle across his chest, Chance turned back to Jim and asked a couple more questions.

Jane straightened. “Josh needs to go to the bathroom. Is there one down here?”

Jim nodded. “But the grout is still drying on the floor tiles. Both restrooms will be ready for business in a day or two, in plenty of time for your event. But for now, you can use the one up the stairs off the tasting room.”

Chance held out a hand. “I'll take him.”

“I want Jane,” Josh said. He pulled her forward a couple of steps before she regained her balance.

“Buddy, it's not Jane's job to—”

“It's okay. I can take him.” Jane led Josh to the staircase. “You finish up here with Jim. Be sure to ask about his rates. And Jim”—she paused and shot the owner a sweet smile—“remember, it's for a good cause.”

Jim watched the two climb the stairs, his brows drawn together. “I'm donating a basket for the auction worth two hundred dollars. I'm happy to give you a good rate, but I can't just donate the space. I don't want you to think I'm not civic minded.”

Smothering a grin, Chance nodded solemnly. Jane's comment had clearly put the poor man on the defensive. “Women. Nothing's ever enough.” He clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder and peppered him with questions and compliments on the winery until the man's good humor was restored.

After shaking hands on the deal, he emailed Jeremy with the new location so the volunteer could update their website and notify the ticket holders of the different address. Then Chance went looking for Jane and his son. He found them outside playing bocce ball, smudges of dirt marking their cheeks. Jane tipped her head back and laughed at something his son said, sunlight reflecting off her hair.

Satisfaction pooled low in his gut. Seeing the two of them together just seemed . . . right. They looked so natural together, like they fit. Like they were family.

Rubbing a hand up and down the back of his head, Chance blew out a disgusted breath. Just because his marriage had failed didn't mean he should start seeing substitutes wherever he looked. Jane squatted, grabbed Josh around the waist, and promptly fell over onto her butt. Josh squealed, and Jane burst out laughing.

Chance strode over to them, wanting in on the fun. He couldn't help but think that Annette had never gotten dirty with their son. She wasn't a bad mother, gambling addiction aside, but she wasn't the kind of mother Chance wanted for his son, either. No sharing milk and cookies and stories after kindergarten for Annette.

“Hey. Who's winning?” he asked, taking Jane's hand and helping her to her feet.

“I am!” Josh picked up the hard ball and chucked it shot-put style. It bounced across the sand until it butted up against the lawn.

“I'm impressed, Josh,” Jane said. She brushed sand off her pants. There was a line across her left butt cheek that she missed. Chance resisted the urge to help her out. “You can tell you're winning when we're not even keeping score.”

Josh missed the sarcasm. “Yep.” He ran after the ball and hurled it again.

“How do you play?” Chance asked.

Jane laughed. “Who knows? We were taking turns making up rules, but after Josh said the ball needed to bounce ten feet in the air before we rolled it, I decided that wasn't such a good idea.” She pursed her lips. “That ball doesn't really bounce.”

A smile pulled at his cheeks. “I love that you tried.”

Josh lay on his stomach and pushed the ball along the court. Military crawling to catch up, he pushed it again. “Dad, can we get this?”

Chance sighed. “My son has become very materialistic. Anything he sees he wants me to buy.”

“I'm sure that's normal.” Jane brought a hand to her mouth to cover her laugh when Josh somersaulted, kicking sand up in the air, only to have it land on his face. He spit it out and kept rolling. “He certainly has a lot of energy.”

“You have no idea.” Looking at the rectangle of sand, Chance considered his own backyard. Unlike the roller coaster his son wanted to put in, a bocce court might fit. It might be fun. Plus, less grass to mow.

He would have to find out how to actually play the game. Until then, Chance took Jane's hand and walked over to his son. “Do I get to make up a rule?”

“T
hat has got to be the tastiest thing ever.” Sharon licked her spoon clean, her eyes pinned to the large glass window of the Apothic Garden.

“The soup here is fantastic.”

Sharon shot her a disgusted look. “I'm not talking about soup. I'm talking about that hoard of delicious half-naked men pounding away in your mother's store.”

It hadn't taken much arm-twisting on Sharon's part to get Jane to take part in her reconnaissance mission. Spying on the men of Firehouse 10 was a hobby for the women of Pineville, and when her friend had heard the firemen were going to be hammering nails in her mother's store, well, it was on.

Behind her sunglasses, Jane darted a glance up and down the sidewalk. The pair sat under the umbrella of a sidewalk table at Soup's On, the hole-in-the-wall eatery next to her mom's store. Still no sign of her mother.

Jane tried to relax. She shouldn't be there. Her mom and the owner of Soup's On, Mr. Kane, had previously had some differences of opinion on Mr. Kane's contribution to the downtown society's beautification project. Or lack thereof. Every other business owner on Main Street had donated to the project. Her mother had decided to never patronize that “free rider's” restaurant again.

And she'd decided Jane should join the boycott. Jane lifted her spoon to her mouth and sighed, her stomach doing a happy dance. She'd missed the soup.

Fabulous food, a great show—two firemen held up a large section of sheetrock while a third hammered it to the studs—it was a perfect afternoon. If her mom didn't catch her supporting the enemy.

“Did you see that young one with the tattoo?” Sharon fanned herself with her hand. “Whoo boy. I wouldn't kick that one out of bed for eating crackers.”

“Martinez? He's barely twenty.” Jane swirled her spoon in her split pea. “Don't be that.”

“What?”

“A cougar,” Jane said. “There's nothing wrong with a little May-December romance, but Martinez is still a kid. Mentally anyway.” She wrinkled her nose. “That's just not right.”

“Cougars are in their forties.” Sharon pinned her with a glare. “Do I look forty to you?”

Shaking her head, Jane kept her mouth shut. Opening it now could be dangerous.

Her friend returned her gaze to the construction crew. “For a shot at one of those guys, I might admit to being a bobcat, though.”

Jane snorted. Sharon was beautiful, and any one of those guys would be lucky to spend time with her. She just didn't think her friend would appreciate a date of fast food and video games, something Jane knew from local gossip that Martinez specialized in.

“You need sunglasses,” Jane said. “Behind them at least you could pretend that you aren't drooling over our firemen. This is downright embarrassing.”

“Sunglasses mess up my hair,” Sharon said, her focus never wavering. Jane discreetly glanced at said hair. The bangs were still cemented two inches straight up. Only a sledgehammer could mess up that hair.

“Besides,” her friend continued, “I've noticed your eyes taking in the man scenery once or twice. Don't act so high-and-mighty.”

Jane sipped at her tea. “I only peeked to see what progress is being made.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “So I guess you wouldn't be interested in knowing that a certain assistant fire chief just took his shirt off.”

Whipping her head around, Jane zeroed in on Chance. He still wore a white tank top, but the Pendleton he'd discarded now hung off the back of a folding chair. The front of the tank top clung wetly to his chest, and when he turned and hefted a stack of plywood,
sweet Jesus
, his shoulders rippled and bunched.

Jane's spoon clattered to the table.

Sharon laughed. “Yeah, you're not interested at all.”

Heat streaked up from Jane's chest until she thought she could fry an egg on her forehead. “That's not . . . I wasn't . . .”

“Uh-huh.” Sharon picked up her cup of coffee. “Keep telling yourself that.” She ignored Jane's frown. “I don't know why you're embarrassed to ogle that fine piece of meat. He's one of the tastiest of the bunch.”

Jane shook her head. “What is it with you turning men into food? Tasty, delicious. Are you hungry? You should have ordered more than a cup of soup.”

“My hips can't handle more than a cup of soup,” Sharon grumbled. Pointing her spoon at Jane, she added, “And you're deflecting.”

“Not deflecting.” Jane settled back in her chair and adjusted her sunglasses. “Just not interested.” She held up a hand. “I'm not saying I don't find Chance attractive. You'd have to be blind not to. But a lot of men are attractive. I can admire them aesthetically, and move on. Besides”—she twisted in her chair to face Sharon, a metal spoke in the back digging into her side—“I thought you were anti-Chance.”

“That was before I got the full scoop.” Catching the waiter's eye, her friend made the universal
check, please
hand gesture. “He's legally separated, just days from finalizing his divorce, and his soon-to-be-ex is Bitchzilla. That man could use a nice woman.”

“How do you know she's Bitchzilla?”

Sharon peered into her empty soup cup and frowned. “She's gone into a couple of stores in Pineville. Let's just say the shopkeepers aren't fans.”

“While that makes me feel sad for Josh, I'm not going to throw myself at his father as a sympathy prize.” Reaching into her purse, Jane pulled out her wallet. “If you,
and my mom
, want to find Chance a nice second wife, look elsewhere.”

Breaking open a packet of crackers, Sharon munched on one and shook her head. “I'm not talking about settling down with the hottie. But that man is remodeling your mom's store. On a valuable day off when he could be off doing something fun. He's practically offering himself up on a platter to you. You could do a heck of a lot more than
admire
him. You could get down and dirty, have some fun.”

“That kind of fun leads to trouble.”

“That's the best kind of fun.” Crossing her legs, Sharon leaned back to enjoy the show.

Jane sipped her tea. Chance used to say that, too. But trouble with Chance now wouldn't consist of getting caught trespassing at Old Man Riley's pond. Now if he caused her trouble, it meant a broken heart. She wasn't willing to risk that again.

So she was decided. Definitely not interested in her former boyfriend. Didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the show. Turning, she sat side by side with Sharon, tilting her head to avoid the beam of sunlight reflecting off the window.

Chief Finnegan held up a section of wall while Chance hammered nails down its side. Chance's biceps flexed enticingly, and a faint tan line told Jane he spent most of his days in T-shirts. Finnegan wiped a bandana across his forehead.

Jane leaned her head toward Sharon. “You know how you said Chance was helping with the store because of me?”

“Yeah. I just said it like five minutes ago. Of course I remember.” She drained her coffee.

“Smartass,” Jane muttered. “My point is, why is Chief Finnegan so involved in this? He organized his guys coming down here. We saw him order Martinez to take down a section of wall that wasn't hung perfectly straight. What's his motive?”

Sharon put her elbow on the table. “You think Finnegan wants you, too?”

“What?” Jane looked at the neighboring tables, hoping no one had heard. “Of course I don't think that. I'm talking about my mom. Do you think the chief likes her?”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows drew together. “I don't think your mom is really the chief's type. She's a little more laid-back than he is. But who knows? Opposites can attract.” She scooted to the edge of her chair. “Tattoo boy took his shirt off. Red alert. That boy's got some guns. And a six-pack. I think I'm in love.”

Jane squinted. “How far down do you think that tattoo goes?”

Sharon just looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Why don't I go get us some dessert?” Jane asked. “It could take us at least another hour to eat it.”

Sharon grinned. “Who's drooling now?”

* * *

“So what do you think?” Chief Finnegan asked. “We added a trim of sage green that complements your wall color, but otherwise left everything how you had it. Now you just have a fresher coat of paint, and a safe building.”

Edith and Jane were touring the restored Apothic Garden, having already inspected the apartment above. Everything looked sharp and clean and Jane was eager to start restocking the shelves. The sooner her mother was moved back in, the sooner Jane would have her apartment to herself.

“I already have too much green as it is, with all the herbs and plants I sell,” her mother said. “The trim is a little much.”

The chief crossed his arms over his wide chest. Jane stepped between the two. “It looks great. I think what my mom meant to say was ‘thank you very much.' We both know how hard you and the guys worked, and we really appreciate it.” Turning to face her mother, she pinned her with a stare. “Isn't that right, Mom?”

Edith sniffed. “It was kind of you to do the work.”

Jane knew that was all the gratitude her mother was going to show. She still hadn't forgiven the firemen for kicking her out of her apartment, and the fact that the chief had supported Chance's decision hadn't endeared him to Edith.

Jane sighed. Whatever hopes she might have had for her mom and Chief Finnegan evaporated. Her mother seemed to turn up her nose when the man walked into a room, and any tender feelings the chief might have had couldn't survive such obvious disdain. It was a shame. The chief was one of the good guys, a steady influence someone like her mother could use.

“Well, it's safe for you to live in, if nothing else,” he said. “As fire chief, that's my only concern.”

“Is it safe for me to breathe in all these paint fumes?” Edith asked, tucking a lock of salt-and-pepper hair behind her ear. “Do you know how many chemicals go into one gallon of the poison you slapped on my walls?”

The knuckles curling around his biceps whitened. “You weren't using organic paint on your walls before, Edith. You survived that chemical attack just fine. You'll make it through my onslaught alive, as well.”

“My onslaught” came out sounding like “me onsloot,” and it took Jane a moment to interpret. Her mom must really be getting under the man's skin.

“It looks great, Chief. Really,” Jane said.

He gave her a tired smile.

“It smells like paint,” Edith said. “I can't live here or open to the public yet.”

“I'll open some windows,” Jane bit out. Putting action to words, she raced around the space opening every window she could reach, then took the stairs in the back two at a time and did the same for the apartment. When she came back down into the shop, it looked like her mother and the chief hadn't moved an inch in her absence. Or said a word to each other.

With a bright smile, Jane tried to ease the tension. “Well, that's all done. I'm sure by this evening it will be all aired out. And when we hang your lavender and burn some oils, it will smell great.”

“At least someone has a plan,” Edith muttered. The chief narrowed his eyes.

“Mom, didn't you say you had some things you wanted to pack up at my place?” Jane herded the two toward the front door. “Why don't you go do that and when you come back we'll get your store ready to open. It should only take us a couple of hours.”

The chief blew out a sigh. “I'd offer to help you, but I have to get back to work.”

“You've done enough, Chief.” Jane locked the door, and turned to look up at the man. The sun made her eyes water. She flipped her sunglasses down from the top of her head onto her nose.

“More than enough,” Edith said. Jane looked at her mother sharply, but the woman smiled sweetly.

“Miss Edith!”

The trio turned. Josh was running toward them down the sidewalk, dragging his father along behind, his small hand swallowed up by Chance's. “Hi, Miss Edith! And Jane. And Chief. Look, Dad, they're all here.”

“I can see that.” Chance smiled a hello at them, his gaze lingering on Jane's face. “Josh wanted to come by to see your place all fixed up, Edith. Maybe help you restock your inventory.”

“Is that right?” The look she gave Chance said all wasn't forgiven, but when she turned to Josh, her face lit up. “That's real sweet of you. I bet you're a good helper.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes widened, as if a thought had just struck him. “But not for cleaning. I'm not good at that.”

Jane bit the inside of her cheek.

Shaking his head, Chance said, “You only have to clean up messes you make, Josh. Not the ones I do.”

“So you admit you made a mess?” Edith asked. “That you should have handled this differently?”

“There are a lot of things I should have handled differently.” Chance stared straight into Jane's eyes, and she was glad she wore her sunglasses. He could read her too well. She still didn't know what she was feeling around the man. She didn't want Chance figuring it out before she did. Before she could make a decision on those feelings.

“A lot of things,” he continued. “But declaring your building uninhabitable until the wiring was fixed isn't one of them.”

“Dad says he saved your life, but you're too stubborn to rec'nize that.” Josh rolled up onto his toes. Jane didn't know whether he was proud of his dad or happy that he remembered some big words, but he was adorable just the same.