Putting Out Old Flames (4 page)

“Press the up arrow,” he told his son.

Pique forgotten, Josh poked the button repeatedly, then hit the down button for good measure. Josh loved it when the buttons lit up.

Chance ruffled his son's hair. Kids were so cool. They got over their anger so quickly, never held a grudge longer than their next smile. Unlike a certain adult he knew.

The elevator dinged and opened its doors. The car was thankfully going up, not down to the parking garage, and Chance herded Josh inside. “Press the button for two.”

Josh got it on his first try. Chance felt a bit embarrassed that such a small accomplishment made him proud. God help him if Josh turned out to be a football star.

With the help of the information desk on the second floor, they found Katie's room. She was propped up on three pillows and looking as happy as a cat getting a bath. Her brown hair lay tangled around her shoulders, and her eyes, almost the same color as Chance's, were flinty with anger. Seven years separated the McGovern siblings, but their features were similar enough they could be mistaken for fraternal twins.

Katie's thinned lips relaxed into a smile. “Josh! How are you, buddy?” She held out an arm and Josh scrambled up on the narrow bed to sit beside her.

“I'm bored. Hos'pedals are no fun. They didn't have my 'toons on the TV even.” Josh gave the pout that had garnered him sympathy and sweets from many an adult before Chance had gotten wise to the manipulation.

“I'm bored, too,” Katie told him. “I'm trying to get out of here tonight so I—”

“Not going to happen.” Chance pulled a tan recliner up to the bed. It squealed as he dragged it against the polished wood floor. “The doctor wants you to stay here tonight for observation and that's what you're going to do.”

Her jaw jutted out in a manner very similar to what his son had pulled minutes earlier. Must be a McGovern family trait. “I feel fine now. It was just low blood sugar.”

“When was the last time you checked your glucose levels?” Chance's voice was harder than a woman lying in a hospital bed deserved, but damn it, he knew she wasn't taking proper care of herself.

She ignored him. “Pretty exciting day, huh?” Katie asked her nephew. “I hear I owe you one for calling for help.”

Josh rubbed a fist beneath his nose. “I hoped Dad would answer the phone, but he came later.”

Chance picked his son up from the bed and sat him across his lap. “I know you don't want to face your medical condition, but you can't keep pretending that your life hasn't changed.”

“My life hasn't changed.” Katie crossed her arms across her chest, careful not to bump the IV poking out of her right hand. “I have to make a couple of modifications, but no major changes.”

“Right. Which is why we're having this conversation with you in the hospital.” Chance shook his head. “You're supposed to be watching out for Josh. He's not supposed to be taking care of you.”

The skin bunched around Katie's eyes, and she gave Chance a pained stare. “He doesn't. . . . This was just a mistake today. It won't happen again.”

Josh did another one of his backbends. It was like the kid didn't have a spine. Chance tightened his grip. “You can bet your behind it won't.” Glancing at Josh, Chance wished he didn't have to censor himself. Katie probably wouldn't pay attention to the PG version of this lecture. “I'm not going to be taking a passive role in your health anymore. I'm going to be on you like white on rice.”

“That was you being passive?”

“Yep.” He stared her down. It was a look he'd had a lot of practice with. He'd given it to her when she used to try to tag along with him and his friends as kids, when she'd wanted to join the big kids jumping off a twenty-foot boulder into a lake, when he'd caught her bringing back their parents' car at age fourteen. He'd never told their parents about that particular escapade, but he'd hoped the patented big-brother glare had gotten his point across.

Katie fiddled with the thin blanket covering her legs.

“You sleeping here, Aunt Katie?”

She sighed. “Just for tonight, kiddo. I'll be back home tomorrow.”

“You get 'toons on your TV?” Josh had found the flat-screen television bolted onto the wall across from the bed.

She picked up the remote control. “Let's find out.”

They spent an hour watching cartoons together. Chance knew he needed to hammer his point across harder, but the dark smudges beneath his sister's eyes sucked the will right out of him. When those eyes grew heavy, Chance picked his son up, kissed his sister on her cheek, and headed for the elevators.

“We didn't see the end,” his son whined.

“The rabbit comes out on top.” The elevator dinged before the doors slid open. Chance stepped inside. “Aunt Katie needed to sleep. We can watch a bit more TV when we get home.” Shifting Josh around to balance on one hip, Chance pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts. He hadn't formed a tight relationship with his coworkers yet, but he hoped that one of the guys would be able to switch shifts with him until his sister was well enough to take care of Josh.

The collision was all his fault. Without looking up from his phone, he stepped out of the elevator. A startled cry was the only warning he got before he bumped into a slight form and a flood of water drenched his left leg.

“Oh my God. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you.” The familiar voice sent a current of electricity through Chance. “This bouquet is so big . . .”

Jane shifted what had to be the biggest vase of flowers Chance had ever seen. Shock rounded her face when she spied him.

“It was my fault.” Chance shot her the aw-shucks grin that had never failed to make her heart melt when he'd been late for a date in high school. “I wasn't looking where I was going. I don't know how I missed seeing that forest you're holding.”

Arms straining, she hefted the glass vase until it rested on her hip. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was frosty. She'd obviously become immune to his smiles. A crease furrowed the skin between her eyebrows. “I mean, I hope nothing's wrong.” Shifting on her feet, she darted a curious glance at his son. “Since this is the hospital and all.”

The skin above the V-neck of her plain white tee turned a lovely shade of pink, a sure sign that Jane was flustered. Chance rocked onto his toes. She hadn't lost all of her tells. Jane looked from his son, to him, to his son again, and Chance decided to put her out of her misery.

“We're visiting my sister, who took a fall today. She's going to be fine,” he added when her eyes widened in alarm. “And this is my son.”

“You have a son?” A flurry of emotions washed across her face, too quickly for Chance to interpret. Her grip on the vase slipped, and she readjusted her load.

Chance frowned. Even with half of the water now covering his pants, the three-foot stems and accompanying glass vase and water still must weigh a lot. He nodded his head toward the front desk, and she followed him over, resting the vase on the counter and rolling her shoulders.

Smiling at the older woman who volunteered at the information booth, Chance asked, “Would it be possible to get a cart for these flowers? And we'll probably need a mop to clean up the water that spilled before someone hurts themselves.”

The tight curls on the volunteer's steel-gray head bobbed. “I'll call maintenance right away.”

“I can carry the flowers.” Jane pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I'm sure you can, Jane. But why carry something heavy when you don't have to?”

His son popped his head up from his shoulder. “Jane? You're Jane?”

Chance's stomach dropped. Crap. Had Josh overheard more of Chance's fights with his mom than he'd thought? When things had started to go bad, Annette had started accusing Chance of still holding a flame for his first love. A woman Chance had mentioned a grand total of two times to his wife.

Jane stuck out a hand. “Yep, that's me. And you are?”

His son looked excited to be offered a handshake. The weight on Chance's chest lifted when he saw his little guy acting like a little man.

“I'm Josh.”

Chance didn't expect that information to have an effect on Jane. He was wrong.

“Josh.” Her lips, a pretty shade of peach, stretched into a wide grin. “Sweetie, I'm so glad to meet you. I was wondering how you were doing all day.”

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “You answered my son's 9-1-1 call.”

“I did.” She held out her fist and waited for Josh's small one to bump it. “And your son did an awesome job. He was cool, calm, and collected. A real pro.”

A handshake and a fist bump? His son bounced up and down with excitement. “I tol' her Aunt Katie was still breathing, and opened the door for the ociffer.”

“Officer,” Chance explained to Jane.

“Yeah, I talked with Officer Davis later,” Jane said. “He told me you did really well. He just might nominate you for the junior officer program.”

“He will?” Josh's eyes got bigger than his open mouth.

“Yep. Your dad should be real proud of you.” She bit her lip. “And your mother—”

“Not here.” Chance hugged Josh closer.

“Mommy's gone.”

“I see.”

Chance could tell by her eyes that she didn't see. By the way she was looking at his son, like she just wanted to gather him up and smother him with kisses, he knew she assumed Annette was dead. There were times in the past when Chance might have hoped that, and he wasn't proud of those times, but last he'd heard she was still alive and kicking up shit.

His shoulders sagged. Every worry he had crawled onto his back and decided to go for a ride. He was exhausted, and he didn't want to get into the details of his marital status with his first girlfriend. He just wanted to take his son home, curl up on the sofa together, and watch cartoons.

“Well, we've got to get going,” he said. “Are you visiting someone?”

“No.” She turned the vase on the counter. “Once a week I deliver flowers here for the Flower Rangers.”

Chance raised an eyebrow.

“It's a group of volunteers who take donated bouquets, you know, the leftovers from weddings, funerals, parties, then rearrange them and give them out to people in the hospital,” Jane said. “This bad boy”—she patted the large vase—“is the result of us running out of time, so we just threw all the remaining flowers into one huge arrangement. We heard there was an eight-year-old girl here who just had her appendix out, so I'm heading to her room.”

Of course she was. His Jane had always been bighearted. In high school, she'd been a candy striper for two years. Chance scratched his chest. Damn, he'd loved that little uniform.

Two men, one wearing a janitor's uniform and the other wearing a volunteer badge, walked up. The janitor pushed a rolling cart and mop, and the volunteer an empty cart. He stopped in front of Jane. “You need a ride for those flowers?”

“Thanks, Jerry.” She reached for the vase, but Chance beat her to it, settling the heavy cylinder in the corner of the hand cart so it wouldn't topple over. She gave him a tight smile. “Thanks. Well, I'll see you later?”

“We still need to meet for the fundraiser,” he reminded her.

“There's going to be a meeting tomorrow at noon at the Pantry with some of the volunteers.” She shifted in her sneakers. “I, uh, was going to tell you about it when you were at my apartment Saturday.”

Sure she was. She was going to tell the stranger she'd been expecting to work with, but she'd probably debated long and hard about telling Chance.

“I'll try to stop by.”

She nodded, flashed a big smile at his son, the lucky kid, and walked toward the elevators, a wheel on the cart squeaking with each turn. The sweatshirt tied around her waist blocked his view of her sweet ass, but Chance's memory filled in the blanks.

His pulse kicked up a notch.

With a view like that, he'd try very hard to make the meeting. He'd missed that view for the past nine years. Life had thrown them back together. He didn't have to miss it anymore.

C
hance paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. A bite of meat loaf slid to the edge before he dropped the utensil back on the plate. Jane stood in the open doorway to the Pantry, a popular downtown coffee shop, scanning the crowded restaurant. The temperature had shot up to a balmy eighty degrees, and she was taking advantage of the pre-summer weather in loose linen pants and a tank top.

A clingy tank top that highlighted her every curve.

Chance smiled. His move back to Michigan was looking better and better. He couldn't wait for bikini weather.

Catching sight of their group wedged in the corner, she headed over. “Hi, Mom. Everyone.” Jane dropped a quick kiss on her mother's upturned cheek before settling in at the only available seat. The one next to Chance.

His smile widened.

Jane scooted her chair in. “How's your sister?”

“Doing better. She's back home, but I wanted her to get her rest, so that's why I brought—”

A mop of brown hair leaned over the table on Chance's other side. “Hi, Jane!”

“Hey, Josh.” She reached out and gave his son the fist bump he was waiting for. “You here to help out with the fundraiser, too?”

“Uhh . . . no?” Josh darted a quick glance at Chance before bringing his gaze back down to his paper placemat, gripping a blue crayon in his hand. “I'm drawing.”

Leaning over, Chance whispered in Jane's ear. “He's not a big fan of the words ‘help out.'” He inhaled. The eucalyptus was gone, replaced by the feminine scent of lavender. “Whenever he hears that, it's usually followed by us cleaning his room, the kitchen, my car. Josh isn't a fan of cleaning.”

The edges of her eyes crinkled. She opened her mouth, but Judge Nichols interrupted before she could speak.

“Great. We're all here now.” Nichols took a sip of coffee. “Jane and our new assistant fire chief, Chance McGovern, are the cochairs of this committee, and I know Jane has a lot of ideas to help us meet our fundraising goal. Jane?”

“Yes. Well.” She cleared her throat and looked around the assembled tables. “You all know how important it is to contribute to the widows' and orphans' fund. I don't need to waste time trying to convince anyone of that.” A chorus of agreement proved her point. “So, we'd agreed to a black-tie ball and auction. It's scheduled four Fridays from now. Martha, how are you coming on the invitation design?”

A plump, middle-aged woman with large, sparkling eyes spoke up. “I've narrowed it down to two possibilities. I thought I'd email the two options to all of you this afternoon for a vote, and then send it to the printers tomorrow. They said it wouldn't take but a day, and then Jean and I will start mailing them out.”

Jean, a twenty-something Chance recognized as the sister of one of his fellow firefighters, started describing the invites, giving Jane time to whisper her lunch order to the waitress.

“Sounds great,” Jane broke in after the waitress hurried off. “We can't wait to see them later. Mom, you're in charge of decorations. What do you think you'll need?”

“Well, that will depend in large part on the space you get for us. If it's the Regency, their ballroom is fairly plain. I've talked with Party Rentals and we're set for tables for the auction items, ten large potted plants, and they have a stage we can use. Since the ball is going to be formal, I thought we could do black, white, and silver colors, maybe have the ceiling covered in helium balloons.”

Jane wrote something down on a small spiral notepad before clearing the way for the plate the waitress deposited. She dipped the end of her sandwich into au jus, took a large bite. “Good,” she said, the word muffled. She swallowed. “I know the rest of you are looking for silent auction items, and Judge Nichols is in charge of coordinating that, so if you have any questions about what is appropriate, direct them his way.”

“Anything that brings in money is appropriate,” the older man said.

“I'm discussing the menu right now with a caterer.” Jane flicked her pen against her list. “So I think that's it for the actual event.” She took another bite of food and reached for an untouched glass of water across from her. Her bare shoulder brushed against the sleeve of Chance's polo shirt, and the neckline of her tank gaped. Chance forgot the mouthwatering meat loaf in front of him. What was on her bra? Ducks? Flowers? It was dotted with something yellow, but before he could solve that mystery, she sat back up.

Chance sighed. “What about ticket sales?” he asked. He was a cochair. He should say something to contribute, not just ogle his fellow cochair.

Jane wiped her mouth. “Jeremy, do you have the website up and running yet?”

“It's up.” Jeremy, a young accountant Chance had met at game night, picked up his phone and tapped at the screen. “I'm sending you a link right now. It still needs to be beta-tested to make sure the ticket sale links all work with the credit card processor. Also, I talked to several store owners downtown and most have agreed to help. I'm going to give each store where tickets are available for sale a poster to stick in the window.” He sucked on his straw, making a slurping noise when he drank the last of his soda. “If everyone can send me photos of the auction items as you get them, I'll upload them to the site.” He looked at Jane and waggled his eyebrows. “That includes—”

“I know,” Jane said. “I'm on it.”

“On what?” Chance asked.

Cheeks pink, Jane didn't raise her gaze from the notepad. “Just items for the auction I said I'd organize,” she said in a low voice Chance had to strain to hear.

He wanted to ask what exactly that was, but she moved the meeting forward.

“Okay, good.” Jane wrote down a couple more notes. “I guess that just leaves me to lock down the Regency Hotel.”

“Us.”

She snapped her head around. “What?”

“That leaves us.” Without taking his eyes off Jane, he reached down and grabbed his son by the back of his shirt, pulled him out from under the table. “I'm your cochair. I should help with something.”

“Oh, I'm sure we could find something else—”

“Great!” Edith clapped her hands, the sleeves on her tunic billowing. “You two should get on that. Today. We need to have a confirmed ballroom.”

Jane glared at her mother. “I'm sure Chance is busy right now. He and his son—”

More excited clapping. “I'd love to watch Josh while you two get to work. If you're okay with that, Chance.”

Josh crawled onto his lap. “Can I get pie, Dad?”

“No.” He smiled at Edith. “If you're going to watch him, you don't want him to eat any sugar. He can get wild.”

“I'm sure he'll be no problem.” Edith clasped her hands together, the large silver rings she wore on several fingers glittering under the lights. “So, we good here? I watch Josh while you two go check out the hotel?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chance said. Jane's miserable expression brought his enthusiasm down a notch. “But if Jane's too busy . . .”

“Her shift just ended. She's free the rest of the day.” Edith raised an eyebrow. “Isn't that right?”

Jane's shoulders sagged. “Yep. Free as a bird.” Her words said one thing, but her tone pounded home that she was acting under duress.

He gritted his teeth. How long was she going to give him attitude? When she'd swung open her front door and Chance had seen the first woman he'd ever cared about, joy had ballooned up in him. Yes, it hadn't ended well. And yes, that was entirely his fault. But beyond their teenage romance, they'd been friends. Good friends. And if they were going to be living in the same town, he wanted her scowl to disappear.

An image of Chance pressing his mouth against those hard lips until they softened beneath his, darted through his head. She probably wouldn't appreciate that. Remembering just how riled up his Jane could get, he figured she'd try to punch him in the nuts if he tried.

He'd have to think of some other way. Some way to remind her of their friendship. That he'd been the only one who could make her smile when she'd learned of her dad's cancer diagnosis. That he was basically the same guy.

Some way that didn't put his family jewels in the line of fire.

* * *

Chance clambered out of Jane's small Mazda and stretched, his cotton shirt rising to reveal a bronze strip of abs. The skin above his hips indented in two lines of pure muscle. Jane's jaw dropped. Snapping it shut, she turned toward the hotel. She needed to minimize her time ogling Chance. Being cochair with him wouldn't make that easy, but she had willpower. She could be strong.

He caught up with her halfway across the parking lot, his long legs eating up the pavement. Something fluttered deep in her stomach. Damn, he'd filled out into one fine man. The past two days she'd made several trips past the fire station, just to pick up odds and ends she kept forgetting, but hadn't caught a glimpse of him.

Not that she'd been looking. And if Firehouse 10 had stopped its practice of making the newbies wash the firetrucks in the station's driveway, covered only by water, soap, and a pair of skivvies, then good for Chance.

She swallowed. Wasn't there a little park across from the station? Sitting on a bench catching up on her reading was something anyone in Pineville might do. Not suspicious at all. Did he still wear briefs or had he graduated to boxers?

“So this is where you want to hold the charity ball?” Reaching in front of her, Chance grabbed the door and held it open. They stepped into the lobby, the burgundy and gold carpeting muffling their footsteps. “It's nice.”

She paused on her way to the front desk. “You don't like it?”

“I just said it's nice.”

She snorted. “Your words said nice. Your tone, not so much.” She walked up to the counter and nodded when the receptionist, phone receiver tucked up between her face and shoulder, held up one finger. “What's wrong with this hotel?”

“Nothing's wrong with it.” He shrugged at her continued stare. “There's just not much personality. It's . . . generic.”

Jane scowled. “This place is very nice. And there aren't any other hotels in the area that have a space the size we need.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and heat seared her bare skin. “Like I said, it's fine. And I'm sure when your mom gets done decorating the ballroom, it will be great. If anyone can make a boring space look fun and interesting, it's Edith.”

The receptionist hung up the phone. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

Jane stepped closer to the counter. Chance's hand slid off her shoulder, and she resisted the urge to step back into his warmth. “Yes. Hi. I'm Jane Willoughby and I'm going to be holding a fundraiser in a month. I'm interested in renting out your ballroom. I was hoping I could get another look at the space and maybe talk to the manager about a contract afterwards.”

“Of course.” She picked up the phone again and pressed a button. “Let me just find someone to show you the ballroom.”

Jane nodded, turning to look out at the lobby as she waited. Her lips pursed. It was true. This hotel didn't have any character. It looked like any other three-star hotel trying hard to work its way up to four. A large chandelier dominated the room, similar to the ones in the ballroom, if her memory served her correctly. The glass prisms didn't have the same shine as crystal. The artwork adorning the walls were inoffensive abstracts, their subdued colors asking for nothing more than an offhand perusal.

“Miss Willoughby?” The receptionist hung up the phone. “Our manager, Mr. Yu, will meet you up in the ballroom. Do you know how to get there?”

“Yes, thanks.” Walking over to the bank of elevators, Jane pushed the up button. Chance rocked on his heels beside her, his thumbs looped in the front pockets of his faded jeans. He started whistling, and Jane ground her teeth.

How could he be so relaxed about this? Didn't it churn his guts to be around her? Just seeing his slightly crooked smile, hearing his deep baritone, made her heart feel like a pincushion. The fact that he was totally unaffected by her presence made her ache.

She hadn't meant anything to him at all.

The doors slid open and they walked inside. The elevator was roomy, the far wall covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, but when the doors shut, the air felt close, the area tight. Chance's broad frame dominated the space.

She punched the button for the second floor. A grinding squeal erupted when the car began its climb. That didn't sound good. “I hope they grease the wheels before the fundraiser.”

Chance frowned and looked at the ceiling, as if he could see through it to the gears above. “It doesn't need grease. It—”

The elevator lurched to a stop. The lights flickered, and Jane reached out a hand to brace herself. Chance gripped her elbow, steadied her.

She looked over at him, her eyes stretched wide. “Holy crap. Are we stuck?”

Guiding her a step back from the control panel, Chance smiled. “Don't worry. We'll be fine.” He pressed the door open button. Nothing. The button to go back to the lobby. The elevator groaned but didn't move.

Jane sucked in a deep breath. She hadn't thought she had a problem with enclosed spaces, but she'd never been trapped in an elevator before. How long did it take to run out of air? The box appeared to be about six feet by four feet wide, eight feet high. So the square footage was . . . oh, who was she kidding? She sucked at math.

Chance punched another button.