It Had to Be You (55 page)

“Chief says he spoke to both in the middle of the night when the fire was still raging. They mentioned they have a vagrant who sometimes sleeps here. The old guy’s been known to leave odd things, or to try to start a campfire. Camille Abrams was reportedly pretty shook up, and didn’t stay long. But I’m surprised she hasn’t made another appearance in the light of day.”

Joe knew exactly why Camille had been shaken up, and why she hadn’t made another appearance. She’d lost her husband here. With a heavy heart, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number listed. She answered on the first ring. “Mrs. Abrams, this is—”

“Is this about the warehouse?” She sounded anxious. “Did you find my cat? She was there with me last night and then vanished, and finally I had to leave without her, but I’ve been worried sick—”

“I have Socks.”

“Oh, thank God. How’d you know her name?”

“I’m Joe Walker, Mrs. Abrams. Do you remember me?”

“Joe Walker…”

“I lived next door to you growing up.”

Silence.

He could have asked her if she remembered him sneaking into Summer’s window to escape his father’s fists. On the worst nights, Camille had brought him homemade healing tea and toast with cinnamon and extra butter. His first experience with basic kindness from a woman, and his first comfort food.

“Joe Walker?” she repeated softly.

“I’m a fire marshal now,” he told her. “I’m at your warehouse. With Socks.” If she gave any indication she found this as unsettling as he did, she gave nothing away. “The cat’s safe in my rig, though she appears to have a cut on her face. Your building—”

“I’ll have to get her to the vet.”

“Yes. Your warehouse—”

“I know. It burned again.” Her voice quivered, giving her away. So she did remember. “No one died this time.”

“No, ma’am,” he said gently, wishing he’d taken a seat to make this call because his legs felt a little wobbly. Whether from his own close call or the memories, he had no idea.

“Thank you, Joe.”

He hadn’t done much, but he wished he could. “Mrs. Abrams—”

She clicked off.

He stared down at the phone. “Yeah, and how are you? Me? Oh, I’m good. And Summer?
Jesus.
” The ball of memories lodged in his throat, he shook his head. “You fool.”

“So, fool. Who’s Summer?” Kenny handed over a first-aid kit, presumably for the scratches burning a slow path of fire down his chest.

“No one.”

Kenny eyed him thoughtfully. He was nine years older than Joe’s thirty, and he believed those years gave him license to know everything. They’d been partners for two years, and had grown close as brothers. Bickering brothers. That suited Joe fine, as he’d never had a smooth relationship in his life, starting with Summer. He rubbed his chest, not sure if it was the scratches or his heart that ached like a son of a bitch.

“You okay?” Kenny finally asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You look pale. Want to sit?”

“Do
you
?”

“I’m not pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Kenny said, sounding unconvinced.

“I
am.
”

“Whatever you say.”

A car pulled into the parking lot. A bright blue VW Bug with the windows down and U2 blaring out of the speakers. When the engine turned off, silence descended everywhere but within Joe, because he knew.

His heart took off again, just as Summer got out of her car. He’d heard about her career leading rafting, hiking, and biking treks all over the world for some big expedition company, but he hadn’t heard she was back. Why would he? He no longer lived next door to her mother’s house, and she’d never sought him out.

She stood there by the Bug, eyes covered in mirrored shades, head turned toward the warehouse. Twelve years ago she’d been a beanpole, long and too thin, with waist-length auburn hair Joe had thought looked like pure fire.

Now she wore some sort of gauzy sundress that clung to her body, still long and lean, but graced with the curves of a full grown woman. Her hair was reined in. Sort of. It was piled on top of her head in a careless, precarious knot with strands escaping to brush over her bronzed shoulders. The eyes he knew to be a soft, dreamy jade were hidden, but seemed to take everything in with disbelief, and even from his distance of twenty-five feet, he could see her breath catch.

Was she remembering the last time she’d been here? The smoke and flames and sirens wailing in the distance, in tune to her own screams?

She turned and unerringly caught his eye, and her sorrow shimmied through him so that he nearly staggered. He actually took a step toward her, with some idea of trying to comfort her, but a polite smile crossed her lips.

And if he’d thought Socks’s scratches had dug deep, it was nothing to this.

She didn’t recognize him.

Jesus,
what a day. It wasn’t often he felt eighteen again, leaving him stupid, pathetic, and yearning for a doughnut, but she’d done it to him in a blink.

“Who’s that?” Kenny wanted to know.

“Summer.”

“Summer, the No One?”

“In the flesh.”

At his flat tone, Kenny looked at him. “You know her.”

“She’s related to the owners.”

“But you
know
her.”

“We grew up next door to each other,” Joe said.

“Ah. She’s the one you were in love with. The one who loved you back but only as a friend.”

Joe shot him a long sideways look and shook his head. “Thanks for the recap.”

Kenny placed a hand on his shoulder. “No problem, buddy.”

Having clearly decided the two of them were the closest authority figures, Summer shut her car door and started toward them, marching into Joe’s world the way she’d once marched out of it; like a wild, magnificent, deadly twister, leaving awe and destruction in her wake. Her hips swung, the soft material of her sundress molding to her thighs and legs, her breasts.

Joe let out a grim smile as his heart skipped a beat, then turned his back, the burning scratches providing a welcome distraction. “I don’t want to do this. Not now.”

“I’ll see what she needs,” Kenny said.

Joe nodded gratefully, and Kenny moved to head her off at the pass.

Joe got into the MAST truck, and while stripping out of the coveralls, glanced at an equally miserable cat.

Socks hissed.

Joe sighed. “Yeah. I know just how you feel.”

New York Times
bestselling author Jill Shalvis has written over four dozen romance novels, including her acclaimed sexy contemporary series set in Lucky Harbor. The RITA Award–winner and 3-time National Readers Choice Award–winner makes her home in a small town in the Sierras. You can find Jill’s award-winning books wherever romances are sold and visit her website for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.

You can learn more at:

JillShalvis.com

Twitter @jillshalvis

Facebook.com/jillshalvis

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Welcome
Letter from Jill Shalvis: Introducing
It Had to Be You
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
The End
Letter from Jill Shalvis: Introducing
Blue Flame
Cover: Blue Flame
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
Epilogue
The End
An Excerpt from
Always on My Mind
An Excerpt from
Seeing Red
About the Author
Also by Jill Shalvis
Newsletters
Copyright