RUNAWAY (14 page)

“Oh, Owen.” She smiled over at him. “It must have been great.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “But the city has its pluses, too. If I go to work for the family company, I’ll probably move there to avoid a long commute.”

“You’re still considering that?”

He hedged. “I’m reading all those boring reports.”

“But—”

“I remember you commenting a couple of days ago it wasn’t your business,” he said, scowling.

“Yes, but—”

“And it
isn’t
your business, Izzy.”

She scowled back. Fine, then. They might not have a discussion about what he should do, but she still had a little demonstration up her sleeve. With a twist of her wrist, she restarted the car.

“Where now?” he asked.

“I’ll head downtown. See what’s up.”

The Paxton “downtown” was three blocks of small shops and restaurants with the city administration building and the central fire station at the northern end. As they neared the main thoroughfare, they found that the road was barricaded and people were lining the sidewalks.

“What’s going on?” Owen asked aloud.

He’d still been ignoring the local newspaper, but she hadn’t. “Parade,” she answered. She swung into the parking lot of a bank, digging into her purse to give the attending Boy Scout the five bucks the troop was charging for a prime location. Just as the first marching band passed them, she was turning off the engine and setting the emergency brake.

She snuck a look to her right. Owen had gone expressionless again, his face betraying nothing as the
groups marched past. There was the junior high jazz band playing something—pretty badly—from their places in the back of a pickup. Tiny gymnasts came next, in spangled leotards and carrying a banner that read “Paxton Pixies.” Next up was the obligatory horse riders in flashy chaps and silver-studded finery, their animals’ hides gleaming.

Then a mixed group of Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, carrying a sign:

Paxton Fire Department: 100 Years of Service 100 Times That Many Thanks from Paxton Citizens!

The crowds on the sidewalk cheered, then cheered louder as a fire-engine-red fire engine slowly rolled down the street. Firefighters, including Will, Izzy noted, leaned out of the vehicle, throwing candy at the parade watchers.

“Let’s go,” Owen ground out.

“Don’t you want to enjoy—”

“For God’s sake, Izzy, give me some credit,” he said. “I know what you’re trying to do. But surely you realize I didn’t do the job for the parades.”

“Why did you do the job?” She cleared her throat. “Why do you do the job?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then he ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, damn it. I don’t know the why of anything anymore.”

The words tore at her heart. Dangerous territory, indeed. She twisted the key in the ignition and blinked away the sting of tears in her eyes before backing up and leaving the parking lot. Though she was pretty sure no matter how many miles they put between themselves and this place, there was no getting away from the uncertainty he’d just shared.

Owen didn’t protest when Izzy made another stop before returning to his place. Privacy wasn’t what the two of them should risk right now. He was equal parts angry and horny, and she’d been rubbing against him in both the right and wrong ways all morning.

They were either going to get into a full-fledged fight or they were going to get into bed. Neither was a good idea, and before meeting Izzy he would have thought he had enough control over himself to make sure what he didn’t want didn’t happen.

But she added points to his blood pressure just by the way she looked in a pair of old jeans and black boots.

And he was the one who prided himself on his calm demeanor and his cool under pressure.

“I thought we could have some lunch,” she said, pulling into a parking space of the lot beside a small Italian restaurant. “Every time I drive past this place the smell makes my taste buds start crying.”

It did smell delicious, he had to admit as he limped into the restaurant, using the cane that it still annoyed
him to be relying upon. He knew the food tasted just as good as it smelled; he’d been there a time or two with a date, though he decided against admitting to that. Frankly, when he slid into the booth opposite the woman he’d married, he couldn’t picture any other woman’s face across the table.

They both ordered. When the waiter was gone, she toyed with the stem of her water goblet. “Owen…”

His attention was focused on her fingertip, the one that was ringing the base of the glass. He remembered her small fingers caressing his chest, the way they stroked the back of her hand against his jaw, how she’d gripped the ends of his hair as she rode him in sweet, cowgirl style.

God, he’d loved to see her do that again, while still wearing those shiny black boots…

“Owen?”

He blinked, bringing himself back to the moment. Oh. Right. Lunch.

“What?” The word came out rough.

She blinked, blushed. “About earlier…about at the parade…”

His temper shot up again. “Damn it, Izzy—”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” She reached across the table and touched his hand with those seductive fingertips of hers. “You were right, I was wrong. I had no business putting that in your face or asking you any kind of questions at all.”

Her apology deflated him. He slumped against
the back of the banquette. “Izzy…” Without a clue where to go next, he let the word die.

She curled her fingers around his and tightened them. “Don’t be mad.”

He swallowed his silent groan. Mad might be better. But this, her touch, her big, brown eyes, they only made him have other kinds of feelings, ones that were just as hot, but even more dangerous than anger. “I’m not mad,” he said, slipping his hand away from hers and curling his fingers into a fist that he placed on his thigh.

Away from temptation.

Their food arrived, and he applied himself to his meal, aware of the awkward silence between them. He wasn’t going to break it. If anger wasn’t in the air, awkward would do just as well. He would nurture anything that would keep the distance between them.

As they finished the food on their plates, the waitstaff arranged tables nearby, creating a long stretch that was soon filled by what appeared to be multiple generations of one family. One large, Italian family. Dark hair, dark eyes, a plethora of people whose looks reminded him of Izzy’s.

The group attracted her attention, as well. As she pushed her nearly empty plate to the side, she watched them pass around menus and swap chairs. A small child began to wail and was instantly picked up by an older lady who could have been its grandmother or great-grandmother. She unearthed a package of
crackers from somewhere, and the child leaned against the lady’s big bosom and contentedly munched, tears drying. Two older youngsters started a loud squabble until a man—their father?—reached over and cuffed them lightly on the tops of their heads.

Izzy looked back at Owen and their eyes met. They both smiled. “Look familiar?” he asked.

Her smiled died as a strange expression passed over her face. She hesitated, then stole another glance at the family next door. “Oh, uh, sure. The Cavalettis are like that. Big, happy, everybody with a place at the table.”

Owen stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth. He’d meant that the family resembled Izzy in appearance, not that her family had been a loving, happy group like this one. From what Emily had implied, that hadn’t been the case at all. In fact, Izzy had spent most of her childhood on her own.

“There’s nothing better than feeling part of a close-knit clan,” she continued.

Which, Owen realized with a jolt, explained why
Eight Cousins
had been her favorite childhood book. That had been her fantasy as a kid. A big, happy clan that made room for every member at the table. He laid his fork on his plate, his appetite gone, as he thought of how lonely she must have been and how she was still telling herself stories to fill up that old void in her life.

“Izzy,” he said. “Isabella.” He reached across the table to find her hand.

It curled in his, small and delicate, and something filled his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked down at her ring finger, remembered sliding that narrow gold band down the short slender length, and he replayed the moment in his head, recapturing just how he’d felt under the disco lights at the Elvis Luvs U Wedding Chapel.

A trio of emotions had bubbled inside him. Anticipation, exhilaration and a sense of inevitability that he’d not even attempted to escape. He’d not wanted to hesitate; he’d only wanted to hold her.

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Her eyes met his and he could see her pupils widen. He slid the pad of his thumb between her fingers, stroking over the silky inner skin. Her breath was moving faster, and he could see her breasts rising and falling beneath her sweater. His pulse started to throb in time with the movement.

Anger hadn’t helped. The awkwardness between them was gone. That strong sexual pull was back, and he didn’t think he had a chance of keeping distant from her now.

“Remember what I said about fresh air not helping?” he asked softly.

Her nostrils flared and she nodded.

Maybe if she wasn’t so beautiful, he thought. Maybe if he didn’t remember that the silken texture of the inner surface of her fingers exactly matched that of the inner surface of her thighs. But he really
thought it was that independent exterior of hers that he now knew protected such a vulnerable core that got to him.

She was bravado and beauty and loneliness and…lust.

Yeah, like him, she felt that, too.

He could see it in the flush of her face and the way her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. Any second thought he might have had evaporated as he stared at her plush, tempting mouth. Her throat moved as she swallowed.

“Owen…?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“The fresh air didn’t help me, either.”

His hand tightened on hers. Then he smiled and released her fingers so he could reach for his wallet. He threw some bills on the table. “Let’s go home.”

As he slowly limped toward the door, leaning on his cane, he decided they both deserved what pleasure they could find together. Yeah, it might be temporary, but they were grown-ups. Each of them had their reasons for agreeing to more human contact. Izzy, because she lived her footloose lifestyle that likely made connections few and far between. And him, because of that parade. Because—

“Owen.”

He halted, looking toward the sound of the voice. In the booth he was passing, a man rose. “Mick,” Owen answered. He shifted the cane to his casted
hand so he could meet the grip of his captain, Mick Hanson.

“It’s good to see you,” Mick said.

“You, too.” Even though Owen felt guilty as hell for the way he’d been ducking the other man’s calls in the past couple of weeks, he managed a smile that he directed to everyone in the booth. He recognized Mick’s two school-age kids, Jane and Lee, as well as the young woman who’d been their babysitter since Mick’s wife died five years before.

He remembered Kayla as a pretty college coed, but now he could see that she’d turned into a very attractive woman. For a second, Owen wondered if Mick had noticed that, too, though something told him it was unlikely.

“Nice to see you kids,” he said, then he smiled at the woman. “And I like the new haircut, Kayla.”

Mick’s head whipped toward the babysitter. “You have a new haircut? Since when?”

Jane rolled her eyes in the way of daughters everywhere. “Since two weeks ago, Daddy.”

“Oh.” Frowning, Mick returned his attention to Owen. “I’m glad I ran into you. You need to come by the station this afternoon.”

“No.” He tried softening his instant refusal, even as his gaze strayed toward the restaurant’s front door where Izzy was hovering. “I have a friend. We have plans….”

“Bring the friend. Postpone the plans,” Mick insisted. “There are people who need to see you.”

“But…”

“Bring the friend,” Mick said again, his tone of voice brooking no argument. “Postpone the plans.”

Sighing, Owen nodded, even though he realized that what he needed distance from, more than Izzy, more than anything, was what his boss had just ordered him to do.

Chapter Ten

I
zzy told herself she was glad that Owen wanted to stop by the fire station after lunch. Bryce had said he needed to visit his coworkers, and apparently his captain thought the same thing. Even better, it gave her head a chance to take control over her hormones. They’d been a short car ride away from ending up in bed again, and that would have been a big mistake.

They were nothing more than casual friends, when it came right down to it. And you didn’t need to read a lot of books or listen to therapists on afternoon TV to know that turning casual into sexual opened up a can of worms. Sort of like marrying someone after a three-day acquaintance.

“Pull in over there,” Owen said, indicating a space in a parking area between the main fire station and the city’s municipal building.

“It looks new,” Izzy observed, studying the attractive stucco building with its simple landscaping and three wide bays for emergency vehicles. Bunches of balloons waved here and there in the breeze, and the double front doors were flung wide open.

“It is new,” Owen said. “A recent bond issue provided the money. That’s why there’s an open house today. Not only because it’s the hundredth anniversary of the department, but also to give the public a chance to tour the facilities.”

He didn’t appear eager to visit himself, however. As they watched people wander in and out of the building, he stayed glued to his seat. Then, with a sigh, he reached for the door handle. “You ready?”

Um, no. Because watching him wage this little war with himself wasn’t helping her head take control of the situation. Now her heart was getting involved, too, aching a little to see how hard it was for him to face the place and the people he’d worked with.

Each step across the asphalt only served to tighten her nerves. She’d asked him, while they were watching the parade, why he was a firefighter. He’d answered,
“I don’t know, damn it. I don’t know the why of anything anymore.”