Heating Up (2 page)

“Aid, isn't that partly why you moved here? Because you knew it was over?”

“We just have stuff to settle, that's all.” He felt responsible for her and wanted to make sure she was okay.

“Like what?” Sloane asked.

He slid his plate down the granite top of the center island. “You want some of this?”

“I'm going back to bed.” She started to head out of the kitchen and stopped. “Did Dana have a place to stay?”

“The cap said she went to the Lumber Baron.”

“Really?” His sister frowned.

“What? The place is plush.”

“It's gorgeous. But she should be with people, not alone.”

“Jake and Cecilia offered to take her home . . . her partner too. Apparently, the woman has cats and Dana's allergic to them. Maybe she wanted to grieve in private. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Maybe,” she said. “'Night, Aid.”

“'Night, Sloane.”

“Oh.” She stopped in her tracks, “I forgot to tell you. Brady and I are getting married.”

He pulled back in surprise. “When did this happen? Shit, am I interrupting your big proposal night?”

“Nah. I kind of feel like we're past that. Our big romantic thing was when he shocked me by buying this house . . . roses, champagne; it was awesome. We're just legalizing it is all.”

“No wedding?”

“Hell yeah! Big party. We just have to figure out where and when. But don't worry, you're invited.”

“Gee, thanks. Mom and Dad will be happy. They were starting to think of you as a tramp.”

“That's because I am.” She slid her arm up one of the pine pillars and feigned a little pole dance that made him want to wash his eyes out with bleach. “See you in a few hours.”

Aidan put away the fish and potatoes and rinsed and loaded his plate into the dishwasher. Sniffing himself, he decided to jump into the shower. He stunk like smoke and char and sweat. Thank goodness Sloane had grown up with those smells or she would've kicked him out of her pristine kitchen.

She'd been the only one of his three siblings who'd failed to follow in their father's firefighting footsteps. Hell, their legacy in CFD went all the way back to both their maternal and paternal grandfathers. But his rebel sister had to become a cop.

After his shower, he checked his phone; an exercise in futility, but he couldn't help himself. It was four in the morning and he needed to get at least a couple of hours of sleep. Sloane had turned down the blanket on his bed; all that was missing was a little chocolate. Wow, she was getting married. The first of the McBride kids to take the plunge. Arron, the second oldest after Aidan, was always off-and-on with his girlfriend, and Shane, the youngest of the boys, was a manwhore. It had been Aidan who everyone had expected to settle down, not the baby of the family.

Good for Sloane
, he thought as he slipped off to sleep. She'd snagged herself a good man. And they would take good care of each other.

Too soon, sunlight filtered into his room. “Christ, morning already?” he muttered to himself, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Aidan.” Brady knocked on the door. “Sloane said you need to get out early. You want an omelet?”

He probably should make his own breakfast, or grab something in town, and not take advantage, but Brady seemed to like cooking for company and his food was out of this world. “If it's no trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Okay, I'll be right out.”

He took another quick shower just to wake up and dressed. By the time he made it to the kitchen, Brady had all kinds of things popping on that mammoth range of his. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the island.

“You working today?” He watched as Brady fried up a pan of bacon.

“Yep. I've gotta streamline some things at Gold Mountain.” He referred to the nearby resort that was part of the hotel group where Brady was executive chef. “At the end of the week I have to go to headquarters in San Francisco. Sloane's planning to take a few comp days and come with me.”

“You miss cooking at the Lumber Baron?”

“I'm still in charge of the kitchen there,” Brady said. “Occasionally, I'll fill in, test a few recipes. And of course orchestrate the food for the gigs we have with Lucky's cowboy camp.”

“Hey, I hear congratulations are in order.”

Brady grinned. “We're getting the ring in San Francisco. You wanna be best man?”

“Seriously?” Aidan reeled, a little stunned. It wasn't like Brady knew him that well, but Aidan supposed it was to make Sloane happy. Which put another check in Brady's box. “Of course. I'd be honored.”

Brady grinned again and served Aidan an omelet big enough to feed two people. “Dig in before it gets cold. Sloane said Dana's house is a goner.”

“Afraid so.” Aidan glanced at the clock. He had to get a move on. Luckily, he ate fast.

“That's too bad. I think she's on her own here.”

Aidan got that impression too, although she seemed to have people who cared about her. “I hope she has a good, honest contractor.”

“To rebuild or for insurance purposes?”

“For both, depending on what she wants to do.”

“I'm betting she wants to rebuild. An empty residential lot in Nugget isn't worth a whole lot, not like if it had a house on it.”

Aidan shoved a few more bites into his mouth before taking his plate to the sink. “I'm supposed to be at Nugget Realty and Associates in fifteen minutes. You know where it is?”

“Main Street. Across from the Nugget Market. You better head out; it'll take fifteen minutes to get there.”

It actually took twelve. This wasn't Chicago during rush hour. He locked up his truck—which he probably didn't need to do, but old habits died hard—and was halfway to the door when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the screen and then the time. Apparently, Sue wanted to have their heart-to-heart two minutes before his appointment.

He'd waited seven weeks, she could wait an hour.

T
he jeans were a little snugger than Dana was used to. She hoped that with a couple of hours of wear they'd stretch. But the yellow sleeveless blouse fit beautifully and was perfect for the heat.

At eight in the morning, the front desk had called, saying there were packages for her in the lobby and someone would bring them up. She'd opened the door to find a pile of shopping bags filled with clothes, shoes, boots, underwear, even a few silky scarves. Brand new, all from Nugget Farm Supply.

She barely knew the owners, Grace and Earl Miller, and had only been in the feedstore a handful of times. Yet, Grace—she presumed it was Grace—knew all her sizes. And her taste. Because the things she'd sent were adorable. After spreading out everything on the bed, she'd sat on the floor and cried. No one had ever been this thoughtful. No one. And she couldn't imagine how she would ever return their kindness.

Dana searched through the drawer of the writing desk, found a stash of hotel stationery, and made a list. When she got into the office, the first thing she intended to do was send the Millers a thank-you note. Then she planned to call Tawny Wade and rent her old house. Tawny had just listed the lease with Dana and Carol. They hadn't even put an ad in the
Nugget Tribune
yet.

The house was only two miles from Dana's old home, so she could easily keep tabs on the new construction. Plus, it was conveniently located near her office. Unlike most of the other rentals here—seasonal cabins tucked away in the surrounding Sierra mountains—it was winterized. And best of all: affordable. Dana had no idea how much her insurance would pay for rent. Although she had savings, as a real estate agent she worked on commission and never knew when her next sale would come. Right now the market was good, but it fluctuated like the New York Stock Exchange.

Griffin, bless his heart, had offered her any of the vacant homes in Sierra Heights. He'd heard about the fire, which by now had to be front-page news, and had tracked her down at the Lumber Baron. But living there and seeing him with Lina every day would be a special kind of torture. Plus, she couldn't afford one of those houses and wouldn't take charity, especially from a man she still had feelings for. She'd rather sell the vacant homes and make fat commissions than live in one of them.

She took one last look at herself in the full-length mirror, locked up the room, found her car in the small lot, and drove the four short blocks to Nugget Realty and Associates, thinking about all she had lost in the fire. Her grandmother's needlepoint that hung over the fireplace, the leather jacket she'd splurged on just last month for her thirtieth birthday, Aunt Roe's Franciscan Ware, and the old Calloway candy tins she'd collected from her family's factory. All gone. The pictures of Paul, too. At least those she could scan from her parents' albums. Like everything else of Paul's, they'd kept them in museum condition.

There was a Ford Expedition parked in the lot when Dana got there. For a minute she worried that she was late for an appointment. Without her phone—another casualty of the fire—she'd have to check the calendar on her work computer for her daily schedule. But she was pretty sure she didn't have anything today. Dana hoped Pat Donnelly and Colin Burke would be able to meet her later at the house and tell her what she was looking at money wise to rebuild. Before the insurance folks tried to lowball her.

She checked her face in the rearview mirror. Maddy had made sure there was a basket of necessities in her room, including mascara and lip gloss. The woman was a true angel. It was funny; Dana had always kept to herself in this town, not because she was a bitch or anything, but she was shy. Perhaps reserved was a better word for it. It was easy on the job; she just slipped into her agent persona, hiding behind the façade of an outgoing salesperson. Yet, when her house burned down, the townsfolk had rallied, treating her like she was deeply woven into their tight-knit community.

A blast of heat hit her the minute she stepped out of the car. Only June and the temperature already had climbed into the nineties, a sign that it would be a hot summer. And dry as cotton mouth if the drought persisted. As soon as she entered the office her skin prickled from the sudden change in climate. Carol had the AC cranked up cool enough to need a sweater.

“I didn't expect you in so early . . . or at all,” Carol said, and Dana noticed a man sitting at her partner's desk. Must be the owner of the Expedition. “Don't you want to take the day to get situated?”

“That's partly why I'm here.” She let out a sigh, remembered they had a client, and flashed her most professional smile at the man.

“This is Aidan McBride, Sloane's brother, the new firefighter,” Carol said, and Aidan stood up.

“I was the guy with the blanket, remember?”

Now that she was paying attention, she felt her face flush. “I'm sorry. You look completely different without all that gear.” Like Clive Owen in the
King Arthur
movie. He was . . . like . . . Just wow! After Dana got her tongue to work again she said, “Shopping for a home?”

“Just got one,” he said.

“He signed the lease on Tawny's property.” Carol beamed, ecstatic.

Dana silently cursed. They hadn't even listed the damn place yet. “Oh . . . wow . . . that's terrific.” She tried to sound enthusiastic, but she was pretty sure her face had fallen to the floor.

Carol, not one to miss cues, saw her mistake instantly. “Tawny showed it to him and they worked out a deal. Oh boy, I screwed up, didn't I? The fire . . . you need a house.” Carol looked at Aidan, obviously hoping he'd tear up the contract.

“It's fine,” Dana quickly interjected. What kind of reputation would they get if they reneged on their clients' deals for personal gain? Finders keepers . . . “I have lots of options.”
Liar, liar
.

“You sure?” Aidan asked.

“Of course. I'm a real estate agent, Mr. McBride.”

“Okay.” He appeared hesitant. “There doesn't seem to be too much for rent around here, though.”

“I assure you, I have two other places I'm considering.” Maybe she could live in one of Lucky Rodriguez's barns. “The house is perfect for you . . . right down the street from the firehouse.”

“If you're positive, then yeah, it's perfect for me. My stuff's coming at the end of the week and I thought I'd start moving in today.”

“Great,” she said, and plastered on another fake smile. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few phone calls to make.” She needed to get Pat Donnelly and Colin Burke to rebuild her house . . . today, before she was homeless or spending her entire life's savings on a room at the Lumber Baron.

As she headed to her desk she heard Carol give Aidan the keys to the house and the packet they gave newcomers with numbers for local utilities, cable, and such. She pulled up her own contact list on the computer, focused on her to-do list, and wrote out a thank-you to the Millers. Later, she'd bring them flowers or some other token of her appreciation. Unfortunately, Nugget didn't have a florist or she'd have an arrangement delivered. She had so much to do she didn't know where to start and wanted to leave herself time to drive by her house to see if there was anything that could be saved.

She looked up to see Carol walking Aidan to the door. He sure was tall—had a good two to three inches on Griffin. And muscular, like he spent a lot time in the firehouse working out. Although he seemed nice enough, Dana suspected he thought pretty highly of himself. Guys who looked like him usually did.

“I am so, so sorry,” Carol said as Aidan drove out of the parking lot. “It didn't even occur to me that you'd be interested in Tawny's place. Oh, Dana, we need to find you a house.”

“I was thinking that maybe one of the units in the police chief's duplex might be available.” It was up on Donner Road, a short drive to town. It had belonged to the chief's late father and his son now used it as rental property.

Carol shook her head. “Both units are taken. What about Griff? Perhaps he'd let you rent one of his houses until you figure out what you want to do. There's a chance your house isn't as bad as it looked last night and could be rehabbed in a few weeks.”

That was Dana's greatest hope. “The market is red hot now. I'd hate to occupy one of those houses when we could be selling it.” She and Carol had the listing on the entire planned community: fifty-five houses total, with an average asking price of eight hundred thousand dollars. Nothing to sneeze at commission wise.

Carol fixed her with a look, knowing how Dana felt about Griffin. “You're being ridiculous. This is an emergency.”

“I'll figure out something, and if I don't, I'll cave and take one of Griffin's. Okay?”

“You know you're welcome to stay with us.” Carol said. “You could get allergy shots for the cats.”

Carol lived with her husband and three teenagers in a lovely Victorian on the other side of town. Between the kids' activities, Vance's home business—he ran a landscaping and snowplow service—and their menagerie of pets, their lives were chaotic enough without an extra person underfoot.

“Thanks, Carol. Let's see what Pat Donnelly says I'm looking at here.”

Two hours later, she jetted over to her house to meet with the contractor and Colin Burke, a carpenter who worked with Pat and owned a furniture-making business. She'd already called the Lumber Baron and reserved her room for the rest of the week. Maddy had immediately called her back to say it was on the house, but Dana wouldn't hear of it. Summer was prime season for the inn. Reminded of how kind everyone was being, she pledged to be more outgoing in the future. She'd lived in Nugget for more than a year, and except for Carol and Griffin, she hardly knew anyone. Her fault, not the town's residents.

Harlee, Colin's wife and owner of the
Nugget Tribune
, and Darla, who ran the barbershop with her father, Owen, had repeatedly reached out to her to join their monthly bowling parties at the Ponderosa. She'd always made an excuse for why she couldn't go.

As she swung into her driveway, a couple of firefighters waved. She supposed they were back to make sure what was left of the structure was safe and sound to go inside. Seeing the house in daylight, the damage looked even worse than last night. The remainder of the wooden siding was charred so black it resembled pictures Dana had seen of war zones. There was an empty hull where the garage once stood—nothing but a concrete pad and splintered piles of wood. Her beautiful bay window had been taken down to the studs. And the roof: completely gone.

Dana took a deep breath, focused really hard on not crying, and got out of the car just as Pat and Colin pulled up. Time to face the music, which she presumed would be to the tune of a complete rebuild. At least she trusted Pat, who she'd recommended to a number of clients who'd bought acreage and wanted to build. In return, Pat had given her listings on a couple of his spec homes in the area, which she'd sold for a tidy profit. His reputation and workmanship were stellar. And everyone vouched for Colin Burke, whose carpentry was artistry.

Pat, a fatherly gray-haired man with a paunch, gave her a weak smile, gazed out over the burned-out shell of her house, and grimaced. “I didn't realize it was this bad.”

Dana nodded, and for the second time tried to hold back tears. There was no time for crying. Colin walked up to where the front door used to be and was stopped by one of the firefighters from going any farther.

“You got a hard hat?”

Colin went back to Pat's truck and grabbed two from the bed, tossing one to the contractor before turning to Dana. “We don't have another one.” Then he eyed her yellow blouse. “Pat has some coveralls back there. After we do a walk-through, you can suit up, use one of the hats, and one of us will take you through.”

“Thanks, Colin. Take your time.”

Captain Johnson waved her over. “The house is stable enough for your workers to go inside. But for safety purposes we'll need you to put up a fence, or at the very least post ‘keep-out' signs until Pat either tears down the remaining structure or secures it.” He gave her a gentle pat. “I'm sorry, Dana, but I'm afraid there's not much in there that's worth recovering.”

She nodded because she couldn't speak; her throat was too constricted. Sitting on Pat's tailgate, she waited for them to finish going through the rubble. Sometime today she'd need to run to Reno, get a new cell phone, and check in with her parents. Then she'd have to figure out what to do about a permanent living situation.

She felt eyes on her and looked up to see Aidan McBride.

“Those your contractors?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He sat next to her. “You gonna rebuild?”

“What choice do I have?”

“Sell, buy something else.”

She let out a breath. “There's not much available in Nugget proper. Lots of ranches, farms, and land for sale on the outskirts, and there's Sierra Heights. But I was lucky to find a home in this neighborhood that I could afford. There are a few things for sale in your new neighborhood, but this part of town is a better investment.”

Quite frankly, his side of town was shabby, a neighborhood developed in the 1920s for the town's heavy influx of railroad workers. And while vintage homes were extremely marketable, the bulk of them were small, rundown, and too close to the railroad tracks. As a result, she'd always had trouble selling over there.

Nugget, forty-five minutes from Reno and four hours from San Francisco, had always been a blue collar town, made up mostly of train employees, ranchers, and farmers. Her neighborhood, though, felt middle class. The yards were landscaped and the homes—mostly ranch style, built in the 1970s and '80s—freshly painted.
Pride of ownership
is what they called it in real estate lingo.