Page 11 of Wildfire
I nod at her and leave, slowly walking toward Cole's.
When I get to his place, I grab my guitar and sit on the deck until my stomach rumbles again. All I have in my backpack is a protein bar and an apple, so I chow on those until I hear the gravel crunch under the weight of Cole's truck in the driveway.
I tear down the stairs to greet him when he arrives.
"You made it home alive."
He said home like this is where I belong.
I push the thought from my mind. "I did. Um, can you please drive me into town to get some groceries? I know I said I'd take care of it, and I'm sorry to bother you about it, but—"
"I've got plenty of food in the house, and I picked up a couple of steaks. You eat meat, right?"
I laugh at the thought of growing up with my family and not eating meat. My brothers hunt like it's going out of style. I've had more deer and bear than cow or pig meat. "I do. Thanks. But I still need groceries. I don't have anything for breakfast."
"I've got you covered. Let's get these steaks on the grill, and we can talk about setting you up later."
I help him unload a few things from his truck and carry them into the house. It's my first glimpse of his man-lair, and it's just as tidy as the garage—only the interior looks like it was plucked out of a magazine.
Everything is natural wood with raw edges, similar to his mother's but more masculine. There are the requisite mounted antlers on the wall over a mountain painting. A couch made of soft brown leather with Pendleton blankets draped over the back sits in front of a river stone-edged fireplace. The kitchen and dining area open to the living room, making the whole thing look like one giant, cozy living space. When we step inside, I notice a low wooden bench with boots underneath and coats neatly hung.
"This is nice. Did your mom make all the wood furniture?"
"I did. I learned from her, but I wanted to do it myself. Stubborn son syndrome, I think."
"Stubborn son syndrome?"
"Yeah, when you do something that you don't have to because you can't let go of control."
"So you're a control freak?" I poke him in the belly and am met with the resistance of some rock-hard abs. I draw my hand back with a start.
"Careful there, Wildfire. I might poke you back."
My heart skips a beat, and I turn away shyly, which is weird. I'm not shy with guys. I can usually meet them punch for punch.
Chapter Seven: Cole
I knew things had gone well with my mom and Renée when I got a few texts from mom this afternoon. What I wasn't expecting was how happy it made me that they got along.
Everything about this woman screams off-limits. She's in a vulnerable place, and now she's my mother's employee and my house guest. She's also leaving for Los Angeles when she gets her car back.
But I feel calm when she's standing in my kitchen humming a tune and cutting vegetables for the grill. I can let go of the thoughts that have been troubling me all day. Thoughts like hoping the fire this morning was just a coincidence and not the start of a pattern.
Even so, I have to visit Chief Johnson's widow tomorrow. She heard about the fire and wanted me to check her smoke alarms. I know she doesn't have anyone nearby looking in on her, and I don't want her to think she isn't safe.
I don't want anyone to think the fires over the last several weeks make them unsafe.
Renée hands me the bowl of sliced and seasoned veggies, and we head outside to put everything on the grill. Dusk is settling in, bringing out all the chirping insects. That's a song I'll never stop loving.
She's rubbing her arms as a breeze whips through the backyard, so I grab her a blanket and wrap it around her shoulders as she sits near the firepit. And how she looks at mewhen I bring her that blanket feels like a stab in the heart. It's like I'm looking into the eyes of someone who's never known kindness until now.
"Want a beer or something while we wait?"
"Sure. Or whiskey if you have it."
I should have known. She's all smooth and fiery, like the way whiskey feels going down.
"Coming right up. Rocks?"
