How to Tame a Wild Fireman (19 page)

She drew away, wounded. “I wasn’t ‘groping’ you.”

He snagged the sleeve of her T-­shirt and tugged her back to his side. “I didn’t mean it that way. I like the groping. I could grope you all day. I just mean that maybe we ought to mix in more talking. More getting to know each other.”

She pushed his hand away. “You’re not making any sense. We’ve known each other forever. What are you really trying to say?”

His eyes flared vivid blue. “Okay. I’m really trying to say that I’m not some ‘stud.’ That’s insulting.”

Horror-­struck, she stared at him. Her “stud” comment came back to her in all its stupidity. She hadn’t intended to hurt Patrick with those words, but she could see in his eyes that she had. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Of course he wasn’t just a stud. He was a glorious, complicated, fascinating man, one she couldn’t stop thinking about. And that was the most terrifying thought of all.

“Sorry,” she said again, louder.

Blindly, she spun around and pushed her way through the crowd, past ­people balancing paper plates loaded with ribs, potato salad, and corn. The heavy aroma of roasting meat made her stomach clench. Before she could make it out of the park, Annabella stepped in front of her.

“What’s going on,
querida
? You can’t leave yet. There’s a drama taking place.”

“A drama?” As if she needed more drama right now. Unless it came with a chaser of tequila, she’d skip the drama. She tried to tug herself away from Annabella, but the older women only held on tighter.

“Look over there.”

Lara glanced in the direction Annabella was pointing and could barely believe her eyes. Tall Janey had one long arm wrapped around Candy Callahan. And Mrs. Callahan was . . . crying. Not polite, discreet tears, but big, heaving sobs. Megan hovered behind them, dancing from one foot to the other, wringing her hands.

“Did Janey say something to her?” Janey had a tough-­love way about her that struck some ­people the wrong way.

“No. Mrs. Callahan drew her aside and asked to speak privately. I think they took computer classes together a ­couple of years ago. Janey went over there with her, and then . . .” Annabella gave a graceful wrist gesture. “This!”

Just then Janey released Candy, who turned into Megan’s waiting embrace. Janey, determination written all over her face, strode toward Lara and Annabella. “We need to open up another bedroom. Candy’s going to stay with us for a while.”

Lara’s mouth fell open. Her gaze flew back to Candy, who was now delicately wiping her tear-­soaked face and talking, more calmly, to Megan and Patrick , who was now with his mother and sister. He looked up, meeting Lara’s gaze, then put one hand to his ear in a “Call me” gesture, his eyes burning into hers.

Chapter Eighteen

P
atrick pulled up in front of the Haven a few hours later. His mother, jaw set, eyes dried, immediately stepped out and began unloading her bags. “Your father’s probably thrown the rest of my stuff in the fireplace by now.”

“Megan’s there. She’ll talk some sense into him.” He got out to help her, but she waved him off.

“If something like that was possible, don’t you think I would have done it by now? No, instead I have to uproot myself from my home to make my point. Stubborn, impossible man.” Irritated, Candy yanked out the handle of her roller bag. “Thanks for the ride, Patrick.”

“Are you sure this is—­”

“Am I sure?
Sure?
You
haven’t been here, Patrick! Until you’ve lived with that man, slept in his bed every night for thirty-­five years and squeezed his babies out of your body, you have nothing to say about this.”

That
pretty much put him out of the running. “I get it, but what am I supposed to say to him?”

“I. Don’t. Care.” She stomped toward the Haven, then tossed over her shoulder, “Tell him I’m getting some sexual and spiritual healing, that’ll show him. Oh look, there’s a porter for my bags. Yoo-­hoo!”

A grinning Vader was coming toward them. “That’s not a porter, Mom, that’s . . .”

But Vader was already picking up both Candy’s bags and swinging them onto his flexing shoulders. “Mrs. Callahan, the Goddesses are waiting inside. We’re happy to have you here at the Haven.” He winked at Patrick.

Patrick watched in bemusement as his mother followed Vader to the nymph-­adorned front door. “Need a ride, Vader?” he asked.

“Nah, I’m going to camp out here tonight. Got a lot of ground to cover before I leave tomorrow.”

They disappeared inside the front door. For a moment Patrick longed to follow them in. What seemed more fun, the Goddesses, Vader, and Lara, or his father and an obsessed llama?

He sighed and turned the key in the ignition. Not that he begrudged his mother her show of independence, but she’d left him in an awkward position. The brush-­clearing was almost done, but how could he leave Megan to deal with his enraged father all by herself? He’d have to stick around until the crisis passed. Worse still, he’d probably have to actually communicate with his father, something he’d managed to avoid so far.

On the bright side, this would give him more time to figure out what this strange thing was with Lara.

Back at the ranch, Goldie lurched to her feet as soon as he drove up and trotted to greet him with a flurry of head movements and bleats. He gave her some love, scratching her behind the ears and murmuring to her, then headed inside the big house. He found Megan, barefoot in cutoffs, in the kitchen, chopping carrots into the tiniest imaginable pieces.

“That’s going to take you all day,” he said, lifting the knife from her hands.

“Patrick! What are you doing here?”

“Came to see if the house was still standing.” He set to work on the carrots. “Where’s Big Dog?”

“He storms in and out now and then. He’s been on the phone a lot. I don’t know who he’s talking to. Probably his lawyer.” She sighed. “He can’t disinherit Mom, can he?”

“Not likely. Don’t worry about Mom, she’s fine.”

“He hates the fact that she’s at that place. Why couldn’t she just stay at a bed and breakfast or something?”

Patrick shrugged. “She said she wanted some sexual healing.”

Megan put her hand to her mouth, then giggled. Then, surprising him so much he nearly dropped the knife, she gave him a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. It makes all this so much more bearable.”

“Don’t say that,” Patrick muttered. “Makes me feel like an ass.” He didn’t deserve her affection. Hadn’t he abandoned her along with his brother?

“Megan!” Big Dog snapped from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

Megan jumped away from Patrick. “Nothing. Just hugging.”

“You said you were going to cook dinner since your mother’s run out on us.”

“I am. Patrick’s helping.”

Patrick turned and leaned against the kitchen counter, folding his arms, daring his father to object. Big Dog looked terrible, as if he’d aged five years in one day. His white hair bristled from his head. His jaw stuck out as he met Patrick’s gaze, but he said nothing. Just turned and left.

“So nice to have those father-­son talks every now and then,” said Patrick as he turned back to the cutting board. “What are we making, anyway?”

Megan stared at the carrots and burst out laughing. “I have no idea. I just came in here and started chopping. What can you make with teeny tiny bits of carrots?”

He slung an arm over her shoulder. “I’ll figure it out. You want to go do something else? Nap? Listen to some music? Make a phone call?”

“No. I want to stay here with my big brother.”

It was as if she’d reached inside his heart and plucked a deep, hidden chord. He made a face to hide his emotion. “Fine. Then you’ll have to tell me all about Pedro the Fireman.”

She instantly went pink. “Only if you tell me about you and Lara.” She leaned both elbows on the kitchen counter next to him. “Because rumors are flying.”

Patrick opened the refrigerator and took out a package of chicken breasts. “Lara and I are old friends getting to know each other again. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Megan plucked at the frayed edges of her cutoffs. “Big Dog won’t like it, you know. He hates that place, especially now. And he never liked Liam being friends with Lara. He wanted him to have male friends instead. He used to rant about how Lara was trying to worm her way into Liam’s life so she could take his money or something. And if he finds out you’re seeing her—­”

Patrick slammed the package of chicken onto the counter. “That’s it, Megan. Big Dog has nothing to say about what I do or don’t do with Lara. Is he really so pigheaded he doesn’t know that Lara was the best friend Liam ever had? She never wanted anything from him. She learned sign language so she could help him out in school. How dare he? Big Dog isn’t fit to kiss her hand. If he says so much as one word to me against Lara, so help me I’ll—­”

He broke off. Megan was staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips. “Oh my,” she sighed. “You
do
like her. I bet you’re in
love
with her. Ohhhh.” She drew in a long breath. “What would Liam say if he knew?”

The package of chicken suddenly felt clammy in his hands. He stared at it dumbly.
Liam
. Would Liam hate him for sleeping with Lara? For getting involved with his closest, most loyal friend? He swore under his breath. No matter what, he had to treat Lara right. With the respect she deserved. Not like a hook-­up, or some casual thing between two ­people with incredible chemistry. No more screwing in open-­air fields, or ripping her clothes off at the drop of a hat.

For Liam’s sake, he’d behave himself.

And then a lightning bolt of sheer longing nearly brought him to his knees. Where was Liam? Where was his sweet little brother? What was he doing, all on his own out there?

He and Megan finished making dinner, then brought a tray up to Big Dog, who seemed to be deeply wrapped up in some kind of project on his computer. He barely grunted as he accepted the chicken pot pie Patrick had made.

“At least he’s working,” whispered Megan. “He doesn’t work all that much anymore. Mostly he holes up in the barn and paces around.”

Patrick stared for a long moment at his father’s bent head, his white hair a bright punctuation mark in the dark-­leather-­appointed study. He’d never forget the many times he’d been dragged in here for a lecture, or the roof-­raising shouting matches between them. From that desk, his father had continued to dabble in Nevada politics, had acquired properties, sold them, played the stock market, and badgered his oldest son.

With that many fingers on the levers of power, how could he have any trouble tracking down one wayward deaf son?

They closed the study door and headed back downstairs. “What did they do to find Liam?” Patrick asked softly, remembering the rule about not mentioning Liam around Big Dog.

Megan gave a nervous glance back up the staircase, as if their father might be listening through the door.

“I think they hired a detective. Mom was totally freaking, but Dad was mostly just mad.”

“For a change.”

She gave him a sly look. “He said that his sons kept kicking him in the balls.”

“Okay, fine.” Patrick was sick of Big Dog’s crap, even secondhand. “Can you find the name of the detective?”

“Why? You want to find Liam?”

“Why not? He’s our brother, and he’s missing.”

“Maybe he likes it that way. He’s a grown man.”

“Yeah well, I don’t like it that way.”

Megan skipped down the stairs ahead of him. “You didn’t even know he was missing until you came back.”

“I get it, okay?” he said, more sharply than he meant to. “I left. I haven’t been part of the scene here. I’m an irresponsible brother and son. I’m going to rot in hell. But fuck it, Megan, I want to find Liam.”

“Okay, okay.” Megan waited for him at the bottom of the stairs, her hands shoved in the back pockets of her cutoffs. “It won’t be easy to get the name, but I’ll do my best.”

“Cool. Sorry.”

She shrugged.

On his way out the door, he slammed the side of his fist against the doorjamb. Did he have to be such a goddamn ass? Megan hadn’t done anything wrong, and here he was, yelling at her. Being home made him completely nuts.

Home? Loveless wasn’t his home. Home was San Gabriel. Not this freaking ranch filled with family crap. He needed to get the fuck away from here. Hop on a motorcycle, jump in a car, or fucking
run
all the way back to San Gabriel. Six months ago he probably would have done exactly that.

But now . . .

He needed to see this through. Ripping off his shirt, he headed for the toolshed to grab a machete. Might as well take out his frustrations on some brush.

That night, under
a blanket of crystalline stars, Lara tapped on the door of Patrick’s guesthouse. She’d spent the evening scolding herself for being such a coward and practically fleeing the barbecue. He deserved better than a half-­assed, whispered apology. He deserved a face-­to-­face explanation.

When he opened the door, he looked half asleep and knee-­weakeningly sexy in boxers and nothing else. She steeled herself; she was on a mission, after all. “I didn’t finish apologizing at the barbecue,” she began, then stopped as he drew her into his arms.

He murmured into her hair. “Did I dream you? Because I swear you were in my head, right before you knocked on the door. Please tell me you’re real.”

“Real as you are. And I came to try to explain.”

But he didn’t seem to be listening as he ran his hands all over her body.

“What are you doing?” she asked, already breathless.

“Seducing you.”

“But you said we should get to know each other and . . . well, I came here to apologize again . . . I shouldn’t have said what I did. I don’t see you that way, I promise. That was me being an idiot. It happens. Some might say it happens a lot.”

“Shhh.” He shaped her body to his, and she melted against him. “You’re not an idiot. I’m glad you’re here.”

Little shivers of pleasure swam through her like fish riding the currents. A warning bell sounded in the back of her mind. This was a new side of Patrick, tender and sleepy and tousled, and, just like all the other sides she’d discovered, it was drawing her in, deeper and deeper.

“I need you,” he breathed into her ear.

Oh God.
“I need you too.” And heaven help her, it was true.

He filled his hands with her flesh, pushing aside shirt, bra, anything in his way. She eagerly pressed into him, and then they stopped talking, except for a few words here and there. “Come,” as he led her to his bed, “Beautiful” as he undressed her, “Oh God” as he spread apart her knees.

In his dark, starlit bedroom, she abandoned herself to his touch. Maybe he’d been right all along and it was a dream. The best dream ever, in which he stroked her, enflamed her, teased her until all the boundaries between them melted away. Everything disappeared but the moans and cries they stifled in each other’s necks, and the suction of flesh on flesh, and the roaring of blood in ears.

He didn’t let her up afterward, not that she made any effort to escape. With his heavy arm draped across her, securing her at his side, she drifted into a deep, utterly contented sleep.

Lara stole away
from the guesthouse while it was still dark. The last thing she wanted was to run into Big Dog Callahan after a night of dreamlike sex with his son. She ran down the driveway to the outer gate, where she’d left her car. Somehow that encounter had gone all wrong. She’d intended to apologize. She’d intended to talk about favorite movies or worst med school experiences or whatever he wanted.

Instead, they’d ended up in bed. Again.

Damn the man. He managed to confuse her every single time.

The next night, he surprised her again. Sometime after midnight she heard a tapping at her window. She opened the casement to find him perched on top of an aluminum ladder leaning against the outer wall. Still blinking in confusion, she watched him drop lightly into her room. The wicked gleam in his eyes rivaled the starlight outside.

“My firefighting experience sure comes in handy sometimes. I always wanted to sneak into the Haven.” He advanced toward her, lustful intent written in every line of his body. Her mouth went dry.

“What about the Goddesses . . . your mother . . . Vader . . .”

“The only Goddess I want is you.”

He was on her now, nuzzling her neck as though looking for a place to make his mark. Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you sure about this?”

“Don’t turn me away. I’m here to worship you. What’s this you’re wearing?”

“Pajamas.” Silk pajamas, as a matter of fact, so filmy the heat of his touch transmitted instantly to her skin. His hands curved around her hips, then skimmed lower, sending enchanted sparkles everywhere they went. She closed her eyes as her body turned to stardust in his hands.