Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (10 page)

Ruby did move in her sleep, having kicked off the blankets that are now twisted around her legs. Her hands are tucked under her cheek, and one leg is stretched, while the other is pulled up to the side. Both modest and wanton at the same time, much like the contradiction that she is.

My eyes follow the lines of her legs, from her small feet and narrow ankles, to the muscular calves and soft, thick thighs. I don’t allow myself to linger on the dark hint of pubic hair behind the white cotton of her panties. The sight of a mark on the tender inside of her leg has me lean in a little. A tattoo is my first thought, but as I get closer, I can see the skin is raised. A circle with on the inside two elegant  letters: C and D.
Jesus.

I must’ve said that out loud, because the next thing I know Ruby is scrambling for the covers.

“He branded you?” I grind out between clenched teeth, as I jump out of bed and glare down at her. It’s no surprise to see fear on her face. “Like cattle? He marked you as his?”

Recognizing my anger is not directed at her, she pulls herself into a sitting position, carefully keeping her bottom half covered. She looks me straight in the eyes as she nods. “At first, every year to keep it from healing,” she says in a soft but steady voice. “For protection, he said. All the girls in his stable have this.”

I sag down on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. Every year? All the girls in his
stable
? Holy fucking hell.

“All his whores,” she states bluntly. When I look at her, there’s a challenge in her eyes. Daring me to react. I can’t help it, I can feel the twitch of my face before I can stop it, but it’s too late.

Her eyes turn down as she flips back the blankets, gets up from the bed, and walks into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

Somehow I feel like I’ve been tested. I failed miserably.

-

“V
eldman! My office in five.”

The last few days of this week haven’t gotten any better, and my boss calling me into his office at the end of the afternoon on a Friday, does not bode well for my weekend. Call it the cherry on top.

Yesterday morning, I’d sat stupidly on the side of Ruby’s bed, waiting fruitlessly for her to emerge from the bathroom where she’d holed up. When after ten minutes of silence I’d heard the shower start running, the message was clear. Already cutting it close for the site inspection scheduled for that morning, I got dressed and beelined it home for a shower and change. By the time I parked my car across from the lot, I could see the team already assembled on the other side of the street. A car door slamming shut behind me drew my attention. I almost groaned out loud when I saw Brenda walk toward me, a takeout coffee in each hand, and a predatory little smile on her carefully made-up face.

“Well, hello, handsome,” she virtually cooed, sending an involuntary shiver down my back.

“Morning.” I tried to convey a business-only attitude, but I don’t think she got the message. She pressed the coffee into my hand, making sure to drag her fingers along the backs of mine.

“Just the way you like it.” If I had any doubts about her intentions, her suggestive voice and words would’ve taken care of those. The lady was determined, I had to give her that.

Shaking my head, I’d followed her exaggerated sway of hips across the street where Steve Cletor, my boss, was closely observing our approach.

“Glad you could join us,” he said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from his voice, as he looked pointedly at the twin Starbucks cups we were holding.

Things had gone downhill from there.

After inspecting the site and discussing a proposed construction schedule, we walked back to the parking lot. I’d been distracted by the memory of the sad resignation on Ruby’s face, as she disappeared into the bathroom this morning, and the sharp pang of regret in the pit of my stomach that resulted.

“No thanks, I’ll just get a ride with Tim.”

Brenda’s annoying voice pulls me out of my head, and I’m surprised to see her turn away from Steve and march my way.

“My car won’t start,” she explains.

It was a load of crock. I knew it, she knew I knew it, but with my boss watching our interaction closely, I waved to the passenger side. “Get in.”

By the time I dropped her off at her hotel, I’d told her in no uncertain terms that whatever she was hoping to accomplish—I was not interested. It was obvious she wasn’t happy in the way she slammed my door. Back at the office, Steve had cornered me, coming out of the elevator.

“Anything I should know?” He didn’t need to explain what he was talking about.

“Other than that I’m not looking forward to spending the next year working with that woman? No. There is absolutely nothing for you to know.” I could tell he was taken aback. I’ve always presented an even keeled, almost laid back attitude, but this time my temper got the better of me.

The entire rest of my Thursday was spent buried under a pile of work, with clear instructions not to disturb me for anything. It wasn’t hard to put the scene with Brenda out of my head but much harder to forget about certain chocolate brown eyes, openly reading my face in the dim light of dawn. Not to mention the recollection of that ugly mark on those soft, creamy thighs. And all that implied.

I stayed in the office late, but I spent most of my time thinking.

By this morning, after a rather restless night’s sleep, I’d come to the conclusion that taking some distance from Ruby and The Skipper might not be a bad idea. I needed my life to be predictable, organized, and safe. That’s how I designed it. Growing up with parents, who were just two aging hippies, still living the seventies free love movement, even within their marriage, had made for almost constant emotional chaos. That’s why instead of pursuing dreams, which is what my folks existed on, I opted for a dependable existence. Regardless of any emotional involvement I might feel, any physical attraction I might have, Ruby’s life and history screams chaos. No, I was going to have to keep her firmly in the friend zone.

Of course the rest of my day was spent reconsidering.

-

“S
teve,” I announce myself, as I walk into my boss’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

The older man lifts his head and indicates the chair on the other side of his desk. “Sit,” he says, folding his hands in front of him on the desk.

Twenty minutes later, I am escorted to my car by a security guard, with a box of my belongings in my hands. Numb, I drive my brand new Audi off the lot, after handing in my badge and parking pass at the gate. I hesitate only for a second, before turning in the direction of the water.

I’m not quite sure how I got here, but one thing stands out in the blurred haze of my mind as I push open the door to The Skipper.

“Do you want to see the menu?” A tight, tremulous smile greets me when I sit down at the bar.

Ruby.

R
uby

I should be hurt. Disappointed at the very least, but the moment Tim walks in with confusion in his eyes, and the weight of the world resting on his shoulders, all that disappears.

Hurt had been my first reaction Thursday morning. But then Viv had shown up, checking in on me. I’d hurried to the door, thinking perhaps Tim had come back. Hoping maybe the connection I’d felt to him in the early hours of the morning, had not just been one-sided. I had to fight to keep the disappointment from my face when I found Viv on the doorstep, coffee and a bag of pastries in her hands.

She asked how my night had been, to which I simply answered it had been fine. With a pronounced lift of her eyebrows, she asked about Tim. Without going into detail, I told her he’d slept on the couch and left first thing this morning. She almost seemed disappointed, but quickly covered it by offering me the day off.

I took it and ended up spending some time at Florence House that afternoon, filling Pam in on all that had happened. I didn’t hold anything back from her. Talking it through helped put some things in perspective. Pam pointed out it was hardly fair to Tim to expect him to embrace my background without thought. That it was completely normal for him to react with shock.

Today I’d come into work at my regular time. Did my regular things. Part of me felt that everything should’ve changed somehow, that with all the revelations of Wednesday night, people would certainly look at me differently. I was surprised, no one did.

Matt’s, “Hey, Ruby,” was the same as every other day, as was Viv’s, “Morning!” Only when Dino walked into the kitchen, took off his coat, and walked over to pull me in a tight hug, did I feel a shift.

“You good, girl?” he rumbled, with his chin on my head.

“I’m good.” I smiled into his chest, surprised to find his embrace comfortable. Brotherly.

“Are you gonna help out here again?” he asked as he released me.

“Let me check with Viv.”

She had no problem with me working dinner prep in the kitchen, which is what I’d been doing all afternoon, listening to Dino’s deep voice explain cooking techniques and recipes.

When the door opens, and I see the familiar blond head walk through, all emotions come rushing back. My first instinct is to hide out in the kitchen, but I remember Viv’s off to the store to pick up some limes we’ve run out of. I can’t leave the bar.

I’m shocked when Tim lifts his face. I see deep lines and grooves carve his face into a mask of hurt. What the hell happened to him?

His eyes flit around the pub until they find me and settle there.

“Do you want to see the menu?” I stupidly ask. He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head no. Without thinking, I grab the half-full bottle of scotch from Wednesday night, and pour him a drink. He barely registers the glass when I set it down in front of him.

“What happened?”

His mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out. Instead, he grabs the tumbler of scotch and tosses the contents back, slamming the glass back down on the bar—empty. “More,” he instructs me, his voice raw. I do as he says and pour another, but when I try to put the bottle back, he grabs my wrist. “Leave it.”

Oh boy. I know what that means. With a quick glance at Matt, who is observing Tim’s odd behavior from the other end of the bar, I leave the bottle and slip down to the kitchen. If the man is going to tie one on, he won’t be doing it on an empty stomach.

“Do you have anything ready?” I ask Dino as I walk in.

“Like what?”

“Food. Anything that would give a good base to a bender,” I suggest to him, pulling open the fridge to see what I can put together.

“Who’s going on a bender?” Dino asks, his hands on his hips.

“Tim. Something’s wrong with him. Something’s happened, he’s acting strange. Aiming to finish up that bottle of scotch, by the looks of it.”

“You get back out there,” he waves me to the door. “I’ll get a plate together. I’ll be right out.”

I don’t waste time and head back to see if there’s any way I can stop what seems to be a runaway train.

One look at the bottle, Tim is keeping uncapped in his hand, tells me he’s had at least one or two more in the short time I was gone. Determined, I step up to the bar, grab the discarded cap, and screw it back on the bottle.

“Don’t bother,” he says, his eyes on me dark with emotion. “It won’t stay on long.”

I hold his eyes, searching for something, anything, I don’t know what. Answers? An explanation to why he blows in on a Friday afternoon at three o’clock, when he would normally still be at the office, intent on getting plastered? Just before he lowers them, I see his clear blue eyes start blurring.

“Do me a favor?” Dino’s voice sounds behind me, as he reaches around me and puts a wooden board with slices of cold cuts, cheeses, and a little bowl of olives in front of Tim. “I’m trying out some things to go on the after-hours bar menu Gunnar wants me to prepare. Antipasto. Give it a whirl.” Without waiting for an answer, he returns to the kitchen.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tim says, his eyes now back on me. I opt not to answer and leave him, his bottle of scotch, and his platter of protein to tend to customers on the other end.

Clever Dino. Even though Tim shoved the board aside initially, I notice he’ll occasionally snatch a piece of cheese or some meat, until the food is almost gone, save for the dish of olives. I keep my eye on him, while holding court with Arnie, and more often than not, find him looking at me. When I see him pop the last of the cheese, I casually walk over.

“Don’t like olives?” I say, as I pinch one and pop it in my mouth. His eyes follow the olive as it disappears between my lips before looking at me.

“Not particularly, although I have newfound appreciation for them,” he admits, as he leans forward and with his thumb, brushes a drop of oil from my bottom lip. My tongue unconsciously slips out to follow the tingle left behind. Slowly Tim drags his gaze up from where it’s been fixed on my mouth. The darkness in his eyes is replaced with unexpected heat.
That
, I recognize, having seen it all to often in the eyes of nameless faces hovering over me. I just didn’t expect it to find it in Tim’s.