Where the Heart Is (3 page)

Then she'd called her insurance company and filed a claim. Getting those wheels in motion had given her a small bit of satisfaction. After that, she'd tracked down the bed-and-breakfast she'd actually called the night before—the Blackbird, not the Blackberry. She'd explained what had happened and they'd graciously offered not to charge her for last night. However, while they'd booked her a room for tonight instead, they were full for the weekend, so Chloe had to find something else fast. Plus, she had yet to hear from the fireman, whose name she hadn't bothered to ask amidst last night's commotion, and recover her kitten. She wondered how Ashley was doing and whether she'd been to the vet.

First, though, she had to start her job at the Arch and Vine Pub.

She walked into the pub at 11:15, wearing exactly what she'd worn yesterday, which still smelled vaguely of smoke despite her applying a few coats of Febreze from the Blackberry Inn's bathroom. And stopped short when the firefighter from last night walked up to her.

At least she thought it was the guy from last night. He was dressed completely differently: black V-neck t-shirt that fit his muscular frame to a T, dark-wash jeans, and scuffed leather boots. She hadn't been able to make out the color of his hair because he'd been wearing his fire helmet, but now saw that it was as dark as his shirt. And his eyes—she hadn't been able to see their color last night either—Lord, they were gorgeous. Deep, dark blue, like cerulean mixed with midnight. If her art supplies hadn't burned up, she would've gone home and tried to recreate that color.

“Chloe!” he said, sounding as surprised to see her as she felt upon seeing him.

“Um, hi,” she said, at a loss for his name.

As if reading her mind, he said, “Oh geez. I didn't actually introduce myself last night, did I? I'm Derek. Sumner.” He held out his hand and she put her palm to his. A shock of warmth rushed up her arm and spread into her chest.

She withdrew her hand before she could become officially tongue-tied. “How's Ashley?” she managed, trying to ignore the sensations just shaking his hand had wrought.

He put his hands on his waist, accentuating the slim line of his hips. If their touch had affected him, she couldn't tell. “Actually, Emily—she's uh, a really good friend—just called a little bit ago to say Ashley is doing well. She had a viral infection in her eyes. After a course of antibiotic drops, she'll be seeing as well as you or I. Or better, I guess. Cats see better than humans, don't they?”

“In the dark, at least.” Chloe fixated for a moment on this Emily person. His description of her stuck out for some reason. Friend or girlfriend? Oh, why did it even matter? She was in no position to flirt with or date some hot firefighter.

She noticed the short, off-white apron tied around his hips. “Wait, do you work here?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “From time to time. I said I'd help out today because Mike's shorthanded. But he left a note that he hired a new server. Is that you?”

“It is.”

“Great,” he said, smiling, but then quickly frowned. “No. You shouldn't work today. We'll manage. You should go . . . uh . . .”

His words trailed off as he realized what he'd been about to say. She surprised herself by smiling. “Home? Right. Wish I had one.”

“Actually, I can help you there, at least temporarily if you're interested.”

Her mind immediately leapt to staying with him. On his couch. Or wherever.
Pull yourself together, Chloe!
“What do you have in mind?” She hadn't meant for that to sound flirtatious, but thought it probably did. Oops.

“My friend—Emily—has a furnished apartment over her garage. You're welcome to stay there until the fifteenth. Maybe you can find another place by then?”

“Maybe.” Though she doubted it. That was only ten days away, and she'd performed an exhaustive search of rentals in the area before moving there. The cheapest rent was in Ribbon Ridge, as opposed to the larger towns surrounding it, and the most affordable property—by a lot—had been the little house that had burned to the ground. Given what she knew now about the condition of its wiring and the behavior of her landlord, she understood why it had been affordable. “In the meantime, I'd love to take your . . . friend up on her offer.”

“Great. You can move in today, if you like. Although, I suppose you don't have anything to really move in.” He peered at her from between half-closed lids, appearing sheepish. “Sorry.”

All this talk of where she was going to live and the reminder that she had no belongings—save the toothbrush and other necessities she'd picked up that morning—was threatening to kill her optimism, and she desperately needed to cling to it. She glanced around. “So, where do I start?”

“You can't possibly think of working today,” he said, looking at her like she'd sprouted another head.

“I really want to. It'll keep my mind off things. I've done everything I can. Plus, I need the money more than ever. Just let me call the Blackbird and cancel my stay.”

“The Blackbird? I thought you were at the Blackberry.” His forehead crinkled in an adorably confused way.

“Funny story.” She related her mistaken reservation shenanigans. He laughed, and she surprised herself again by laughing with him. Then he offered her one of their Archer Pubs t-shirts advertising Will Scarlett, their raspberry ale, to wear instead of her smoke-laden top. She went back to the break room, where she stashed her purse in a locker, hung up her coat, and found one of the t-shirts to change into.

When she returned to the dining room, she saw that the first patrons of the day, two middle-aged men, were sitting beneath the mural she'd admired the night before. It had been painted to look like windows facing out onto a medieval English street. The detail was amazing and incredibly lifelike. She paused a moment to look at it, hoping she possessed even a tenth of that talent.

“You like the mural?” Derek asked as Chloe approached him at the bar, which was situated in the center of the pub.

“It's beautiful.” She'd studied the trompe l'oeil—as best as she could from the bar—while sampling the beer last night after Mike had hired her.

“Rob's uncle painted it.”

Chloe pulled her attention from the painting. “Rob?”

“Archer. He owns the pubs. And he's your new temporary landlord.” Derek pulled a pint of the seasonal beer from one of the ten taps. “He and his wife, Emily.”

Oh.
Emily really was just a friend. Or an employer who was a friend? “And she's taking care of Ashley?”

Derek pulled a second pint. “Yeah, she's great. She'll mother you too, if you let her.”

“Should I?”

He grinned at her. “Most definitely. Be right back.” He took off to deliver the beer to the two men.

The door to the pub opened then and a fifty-something-year-old man with glasses and buzzed gray hair came in. He strode directly toward the bar, then stopped short when he saw Chloe standing behind it. “What're you doing behind my bar?”

“George, it's not your bar,” Derek said, returning, but there was zero heat to his words. “This is our new server, Chloe. Chloe, this is George, our daytime bartender. He's a bit of an OF—that's old fart—so don't take him seriously.”

“Show me some respect, young man. I was an officer in the United States Marine Corps!” He pushed past Derek and went to a corner of the bar, pulled an apron from beneath it, and tied it around his waist. “Where's your apron, Chloe? Hasn't Derek shown you a darned thing?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but the smile on his lips indicated this was a friendly ribbing between two men who'd likely spent a lot of time working together. “She just got here, and we have customers. I was about to tell her about the beer.”

“Lucky I showed up.” George's brown eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed bifocals. “No one pulls a more perfect pint than I do. Let me show you.”

George spent the next ten minutes telling her about all the varieties and showing her how to pull a pint with just the right amount of head. He was so into his tutorial and his delivery was so engaging that Chloe didn't bother telling him she'd learned all of this from Mike, the pub manager, the day before.

“Have you had any beer, then?” George asked.

“I tried them all.” She'd sampled one or two sips of everything, and maybe a little more of a few of them.

George leaned against the bar. “Which one's your favorite?”

“I like the Nock.” The winter seasonal was a dark stout with a smooth, chocolate finish.

“Good choice. Derek here's a Crossbow lad through and through.”

Chloe had learned that Crossbow was their signature ale. “I liked that one too, but I'm a beer girl and I liked them all. In fact, it's one of the reasons I chose to move to Oregon. Great microbreweries.” She turned her gaze to Derek.

His lips spread in a toe-curling grin. “And ours is the best.”

“So far, yes.” And as she took in his movie-star good looks, she realized she wasn't just talking about the beer. She hoped he didn't realize that too. The last thing she needed was a workplace flirtation on top of everything else. This job was more important than ever.

The day flew by as Chloe worked to stay on her toes. She welcomed the busy atmosphere of the pub, and chatting with the customers took her mind almost completely off her woes. By quitting time, she was too bone-tired to care that she didn't have pajamas to sleep in. Though maybe she could swipe another shirt from the pub's stock.

Derek approached her as she wiped down a table. “You should go. Here,” he handed her a slip of paper, “these are directions to the Archers'.”

Crud, she'd forgotten to call and cancel her reservation at the Blackbird, and she didn't feel right about doing it this late in the day—it was past 7:00. “You know, I think I'm going to stay at the B and B tonight. I'm exhausted, it's close. Win-win.”

“I could drive you to the Archers,” he offered, “but I'm not quite ready to leave.”

“It's okay.” She smiled at him reassuringly as she tucked the paper into her pocket. “You've already done so much. But, I
am
taking another shirt. I need pajamas.”

His gaze dipped down her body briefly, but she caught it. Heat swirled in Chloe's belly. She'd opened herself up to any number of cheesy pickup lines with that comment. Strangely, she wanted to hear every single one of them from Derek Sumner's lips.

“Take whatever you like.”
Such a gentleman.
Chloe liked him even more. “Mike won't mind. And Emily texted me a little while ago to report that Ashley is doing well, so you don't need to worry about her. Though, if I were you, I'd claim that cat A-S-A-P before you can't pry it away from Emily's motherly grip. And not because Emily won't let her go, but because Ashley won't want to leave.”

Emily sounded delightful. Chloe could hardly believe she was taking care of a sick, stray kitten for a woman she'd never met, and she'd offered to let that woman—Chloe—live in her apartment. Everyone in Ribbon Ridge had been so wonderful, her landlord notwithstanding, but then she reasoned that he didn't actually live in Ribbon Ridge. Despite him and the fire, she just couldn't bring herself to regret moving here.

“I'll go over there first thing tomorrow.” Right after she got a good night's sleep. God, she hoped she had one.

“How about I meet you there? Introduce you to Robert and Emily, help you settle in.”

Since she didn't require “settling” of any kind, she wondered at his motive. Then decided she didn't care, that she'd take any excuse to hang out with him, her first real friend in Ribbon Ridge.

“Sure.”

He smiled. “You a coffee or tea girl?”

“Either, really. Though I love the chais from that coffee drive-through over on Acorn.”

He nodded with a knowing smile. “Beaker's is everyone's favorite coffee place. See, you're a Ribbon Ridger already.”

Ribbon Ridger.
She doubted that, but decided right then that she'd like to be. “Thanks, Derek. For everything.” She turned and took off toward the break room before she could say or do anything to let on that she was into him. There were a dozen reasons why they should keep things platonic, but after spending the day with him, she was beginning to wonder if any of them mattered.

She could just hear her mother now, “You're dating a server in a pub?”

“Actually, he's a firefighter, Mom.
And
a server.”

“What?! Haven't I always told you never to marry a man who wears any kind of uniform? They'll always break your heart.”

Right, but marrying a status-obsessed workaholic would've been just fine.

As she pulled on her coat, she thought she really ought to call her folks and tell them about the fire, but they'd only say it was proof she should come right back to Pittsburgh. They'd hated that she'd moved out here. No, hated wasn't a strong enough word. They'd hated that she'd broken up with Ed months after their “save the date” cards had gone out. They
despised
that she'd moved away. To become an
art teacher
.

She might as well have jumped on a train and decided to be a hobo.

Smiling in spite of everything, Chloe swiped a Crossbow tee (and tried not to analyze whether she'd grabbed that particular shirt because it was Derek's favorite beer) and left through the back door. Amazingly, things didn't look as bleak as they had that morning. And she had Derek Sumner to thank for that.

 

C
HLOE DROVE
up to the Archers' house and tried not to gape. She'd been raised in an upper-middle-class family and had spent plenty of time in beautiful, museum-perfect houses, but none of them came close to this. It was clearly a mansion, with a tall stone archway over the front door and a dozen paned windows sparkling across the wide expanse of the front of the house, but there was a homeyness to the design that made it very welcoming instead of imposing.

The driveway led to a turnaround with a water feature in the center. It was built like a natural waterfall and was surrounded by trees and evergreen shrubs. Derek's directions indicated that she should drive past the waterfall and turn right through a porte cochere into a courtyard. Ahead of her was a huge garage with six bays and a tall, arched door at the far right end. She saw a black SUV parked in front of one of the bays and wondered if it was Derek's.

As she pulled her car to a stop in front of the arched door, Derek jumped out of the SUV and came toward her. He rushed to open the door for her, but Chloe just stared at her new, albeit temporary, home. It wasn't just a boring garage. No, the building that stored cars looked like its own separate house with stonework, windows across the front, and a high, arched roof.

She finally looked up at Derek—and he had a good six inches on her five-feet-eight. “You didn't tell me this was a palatial estate. This is amazing.”

“The Archers don't do anything by halves,” he said, grinning. “Come on, let me show you upstairs.”

Chloe grabbed her purse and the small bag filled with toiletries she'd bought yesterday and climbed out of the car. He closed the door behind her and led her to the arched doorway.

“Rob said you can park in this garage bay closest to your door. The remote is upstairs.” He opened the door for her to enter, and she preceded him into a narrow entryway. A small, square window on the right at about head level let natural light in.

Light from recessed cans in the ceiling flooded the staircase in front of them. “After you,” he said.

Chloe climbed the stairs, studying her new place. It was just a staircase, but they'd painted the walls a warm, comforting caramel color, and she already felt at home. At the top of the stairs was a small landing and another door. This one was open a sliver, so she pushed it wide. A rush of happiness washed over her as she beheld the space. A small kitchen done in granite and dark wood stretched across the left-hand wall, with a slender pantry at the end. A peninsula bar with two stools separated the kitchen from the living area. She moved into the room and immediately wanted to curl up on the overstuffed chocolate-colored couch or one of the cozy, butter-colored chairs. She realized she was thinking of every color as a food and decided she must be hungry. That was her own fault for leaving the Blackbird before partaking in breakfast. But she'd been too excited to hang around.

A small wood table with two chairs sat in front of the wide window that overlooked the courtyard below. To the left, next to the kitchen, was a bathroom. It was small but elegant, with a tiled shower and a tiled counter. Fluffy pecan—or khaki, not everything had to be food!—towels hung ready on the shower door. With a contented sigh, Chloe turned and walked back into the living room. On the opposite wall was a door to presumably the bedroom. Chloe went to check it out and almost squealed with delight at the wrought-iron king-sized bed covered in a scrumptious green and beige quilt and decorated with a good half-dozen pillows. A closet was carved into just half of the opposite wall, leaving an alcove in the corner, which housed a comfy chair. Chloe caught her breath. Cast artfully over the back was a sage green blanket, the same color as her favorite, which she'd lost in the fire. She smiled, amazed at how
right
everything seemed.

“Will it do?” Derek asked.

Chloe turned to see him lounging in the doorway of the bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest. She suddenly felt very hot just looking at him with a bed only a few steps away. “It's perfect. What do they usually use it for?”

Derek shrugged. “Family who come to visit or whoever else needs it. Rob Archer has a lot of business interests, so he sometimes invites people to stay. As you can probably tell, they have plenty of rooms in the house.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Derek turned from the doorway and strolled back into the living room. “Notice anything?”

Chloe looked around and then her gaze was arrested by the painting over the gas fireplace. “That's my canvas!” She rushed over to it and smoothed her fingertips along the unframed edge of the landscape she'd painted a few months ago. “Where did you get this?”

“Your garage. And three more over there.” He gestured to a box in the corner with three smaller canvases. “They were a bit water-logged, but they seem to have dried out pretty well. Unfortunately one of them is a bit bowed, but maybe we can restretch it over a new frame.”

We?
Chloe's eyes burned with tears at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she said softly, unable to give her words more volume.

She heard Derek moving behind her, but kept looking at her painting until she'd gotten her emotions back under control. When she turned around, Derek was in the kitchen opening a large box of pastries. Chloe joined him at the bar.

He handed her an insulated cup with the Beaker's logo on the side. “Here's your chai.”

She smiled gratefully. “Perfect, thanks.” She turned and took in the wall of windows opposite the fireplace. They offered a ton of natural light. She could see herself painting here—as soon as she replaced her art supplies. But she wouldn't be here that long, probably. She had to find a new place in less than ten days.

She shoved the thought away, wanting to focus on how awesome this morning was and how wonderful it felt to be taken care of after the fire. With everyone's kindness and generosity, she actually felt as though she was finally home. Then her stomach growled and she realized she needed to get some groceries to truly make it one.

Derek chuckled. “Hungry? Me too.” He moved behind the bar into the kitchen. “Lucky for you, Emily stocked the place.”

“She did?”

“I told you she was a great mother.” He glanced at the door. “I imagine she'll be over in a bit. She's anxious to deliver your cat, whose vision is already improving, by the way.”

“Really?” Chloe grinned. “That's great!” Her stomach growled again.

Derek chuckled. “Let's get you something to eat.” He inclined his head toward the large open box in front of him on the counter. A half dozen baked goods—Danish, croissants, and doughnuts—taunted her. “Pick a pastry, any pastry.”

After an agonizingly indecisive moment, she pointed at the cheese Danish drizzled with dark chocolate. “That one.”

“Good choice. Have a seat and I'll bring it over.”

She picked up his chai in her other hand. “I've got your tea.”

As she set the cups on the table, she heard him moving about the kitchen, getting plates out of the cupboard.

“So tell me about your art. Why aren't you doing that for a living?” he asked.

Chloe sat in one of the ladder-backed chairs. “I sort-of am. I'll be teaching art at the Cascade Children's Academy starting after the winter break.”

“Really?” He came around the bar carrying two plates, which he set on the table. “Waiting tables is just something extra you do?”

“Yes, a part-time teaching job makes things pretty tight.” She noted that he'd chosen the raspberry-filled croissant. “I almost picked that.”

He froze with the croissant halfway to his mouth. “You want me to save it for you?”

“No, please, you have it.” She took a gleeful bite of her Danish and was delighted to find it tasted even better than it looked. They ate in silence a moment before she said, “Where did you get these? They're heavenly.”

“Eloise's Bakery. It's actually over in Dundee.” That was a ten-minute drive east of Ribbon Ridge. He'd gone out of his way to be impressive and amazing.

“I'm glad it's not in Ribbon Ridge or I might gain ten pounds in my first month here.”

He rolled his fabulous blue eyes. “Tell me about it. Our town might be small, but it's surrounded by great restaurants, fine wineries, and of course it has the best brewer in the state. If not for my trainer, I'd be three hundred pounds.”

She doubted that; he was clearly very athletically fit. He had to be in order to control one of those high-pressure fire hoses. Though over six feet, he was a lean 175 pounds, she'd guess. She wasn't in terrible shape, but she was sure his abs were far more discernible than hers.

He set his croissant down and took a sip of tea. “So I have to ask, did you move all the way out here for a part-time job at a private school?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, putting her Danish on her plate. He'd brought napkins, and she used one to dab at her mouth. “And to answer your next question, sure, I could've gotten a similar job back in Pittsburgh, or at least closer to it, but I wanted a change of scenery. I wanted to live somewhere more . . . laid-back.”

He laughed. “Oregon's definitely that. Did you spend any time in Portland? It's a lot of fun. I'll take you up sometime. I know some great bars.”

A pub guy would know that, of course. “You like working at the pub?” she asked, wanting to know more about him.

“I do. I did it all through college.”

It was silly, but Chloe had assumed that he hadn't gone to college. Neither one of his professions required a degree, but that didn't mean he hadn't gotten one. Ugh, she hated that she'd jumped to that conclusion, as it was something her mother would do. And really, Derek could make a similar assumption about her. Maybe she was just some hippy-dippy artsy girl who painted and waited tables. She smiled internally and loved that whole scenario: artsy barmaid dating a hot pub server/firefighter. Yes, this was the life she'd been looking for.

Spontaneously, she leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, before moving away. “For breakfast, for finding me a place to live, for . . . everything.”

He turned his head and caught her lips in a kiss. Chloe nearly jerked back in surprise, but she'd started it. Heat spread from where their mouths were joined and she had to grab the edge of the table for support.

He tipped his head slightly, his lips moving over hers with soft precision. The man had skills. Then the abrupt sound of the White Stripes's “Seven Nation Army” broke the moment and they both pulled away. He pulled his iPhone from his back pocket while she resituated herself in her chair and took a bite of Danish to occupy her mouth now that he'd abandoned it.

“This is Derek,” he said into the phone. “Oh, hi. Yeah, I'm aware of that. K. Oh. Well, crap. I didn't realize. I'll be there in a few.”

He tucked the phone back into his pocket and gave her a sheepish smile. “I have to go. I forgot I'd promised someone else I'd help them today.”

She wiped her mouth again and smiled at him. “See what happens when you try to do too much good?”

“Heh, right. I'll endeavor to embrace my inner bad boy more often.”

Heat swirled in Chloe's belly. She could think of exactly how she'd like to meet that bad boy. And the sultry way he was looking at her certainly didn't help.

She stood. “Well, I appreciate the breakfast and everything else. You're my knight.”

He stood up too, though she sensed reluctance in his posture and in the fact that he didn't immediately go toward the door.

“Your knight?” he said, finally turning.

She joined him to walk him to the door. “In shining armor. Though I wouldn't mind it if you brought the bad boy out to play some time.”

He pivoted at the doorway and faced her, his blue eyes vivid and alluring. “You got it.” He looked at her mouth. “Do you mind, that is—”

“No.” She curled her arms up around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. But this one wasn't soft and sweet like the first. No, this time he unleashed his inner bad boy and slid his tongue along her lips until she let him inside. Then his arms were around her, crushing her into his chest and his mouth slanted over hers. This was a movie kiss, the kind that made you sigh and weep and feel hot all over.

After several wondrous moments, he pulled back and gave her a regret-filled smile. “I really have to go. Oh, I almost forgot. Any chance you want to be my date at the Archers' Christmas party tomorrow night?”

A ginormous chance. But she had nothing to wear. Literally. Luckily, Mike had insisted on giving her the weekend off so that she could restock her wardrobe and look for a new place. Step one: find a killer party outfit. “I'd love to.”

His answering smile was broad and sent every part of her into a quivery mass. “Great. I'll stop by to get you at six, okay?”