Sweet Southern Nights (Home In Magnolia Bend Book 3) (10 page)

“Yeah. Of course,” he said. What else could he say? She was right. He didn’t even know if there were restrictions on dating within the department. Never had to worry about that with an all-male team. And even if it didn’t violate policy, was it a good idea? Couldn’t be. He couldn’t fathom working beside the person he’d slept with the night before.

He swallowed at the thought of sleeping with Eva.

God help him, but he wanted her. All of her. Beneath him, around him, on top of him. On the bed. In the shower. Bent over the kitchen counter. All of her.

But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t let it happen. Bad, bad idea.

“So we’re making a...pact? No more kisses,” Eva said.

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean no. No more kissing.”

“Good.”

“I should go.”

“Yeah,” she said, looking out at his truck parked in the drive and then back at the door she’d closed. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“You’ll be in?”

“Yeah. Your mother’s letting Charlie stay with her when I’m on. She’s a lifesaver.”

“She is,” Jake agreed, moving down the steps, his ardor cooling in the night, cloaking him. “See you.”

“See you,” she said with a wave.

He climbed into his truck as she slipped back into the house, turning on the porch light.

Jake set his head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Every fiber in his body demanded he climb his ass out of the truck, trot up those steps and make Eva let him back inside.

Had to be the frustration he’d been feeling lately. He’d lived with his decision to stay in Magnolia Bend and be Jake the Firefighter for ten long years. So what had changed? Why did he hate his life? Why did the town he loved feel so oppressive now?

Some of it was Clint and the past that kept rearing its ugly head. His friend had pulled himself out of the deep depression he’d fallen into after the death of his mother, who, unlike his father, had always given him confidence that he could achieve a normal life. Clint had started working out and participating in local parasport races. His friend had even mentioned working on his MBA and started the process of applying for grad school. Instead of bellyaching or resigning himself to fate, Clint made it clear he was getting out. His friend had made the leap over his disabled state. And though it had taken a lot of time, therapy and work, Clint was managing to do what Jake could not—give himself a spot to land on the other side.

Jake was still mired in guilt, caked in complacency.

And he hated himself for not knowing what to do about it.

Christ, he felt like a pansy-ass, scared to move beyond what he’d decided long ago. Was it so hard to tell Clint and everyone in his life that he was done with the sentence he’d given himself? That he’d done his time, atoning for all he had taken away from Clint. From Angela’s family. Christ, even Angela’s parents had left Magnolia Bend. They’d done what Jake couldn’t seem to do—move on.

So Jake was near to certain that’s why this crazy attraction for Eva had appeared. She was a distraction from what he really needed to do—make a move in some direction. He couldn’t keep treading water, pretending happiness when he despised where he was, who he was. And he couldn’t use Eva to fill the emptiness, to counter the failure of his life with the comfort she could no doubt give him. But attributing a reason for his desire for Eva didn’t make him stop wanting her.

But she was right. They couldn’t let themselves fold to desire. That was how perfectly good friendships failed.

So where did that leave him?

How would he fight against this crazy desire to be with her?

He started the truck and backed out, pointing it in the opposite direction of his house. Usually a cold beer and a hot woman could do a lot to distract him. That was how he’d made it through the past ten years of his life—being the great pretender. But he didn’t want either tonight.

Just like always, Jakey. Do the things you’ve always done. Don the man you’ve always been. Life’s a helluva a lot easier when you don’t have to show the tears and fears...or the fact you want to bone your best friend. Pack a bag and find a new life.

CHAPTER TEN

E
VA
HAD
DREADED
coming into the fire station for three days, but surprisingly the first few hours back at work were pleasant...mostly because Jake wasn’t there. He’d volunteered to make a run to the grocery for supplies, not meeting her eyes, causing Dutch to lift his brows with an unstated question. It was fairly obvious that Jake, who hated going to Maggio’s, was avoiding her.

And when he came back laden with grocery bags, she returned the favor by burying her head in the fridge, cleaning out spoiled foods and expired salad dressings. After sponging down all the shelves and restocking, she stepped over Dutch’s long outstretched legs and headed to the office to file the stack of papers the chief had left sitting on the messy desk.

Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.

And she needed to stay away from the devil.

Her father used to say that, sending her out the back door into the jungle of their Metairie home to play. Eva had always loved her backyard, with the wooden playset her father had built her and the high wood fence covered with morning glory. Fat trees provided shade and pretend houses for the imaginative girl who had chestnut curls, dimples and loved fluffy costume dresses. Eva had been the quintessential girly-girl, with a streak of tomboy. Her daddy had doted on her...until he left.

Charles Evan Monroe hadn’t been the easiest of men to live with. Being the chief of a New Orleans fire district meant he worked long hours. He missed family meals, birthday parties and the fact that the women in his life didn’t appreciate being ignored. By the time Eva had reached middle school, her mother’s cold shoulder had become a permanent fixture, and when Eva was in the seventh grade, her father packed his bags and left. Six months later Eva said goodbye to their modest dogtrot with the magical backyard and hello to a cramped duplex on the West Bank. She saw her father every other weekend, but even then, he was often called away. Being a firefighter was his addiction. Charles stayed married to the job until he met a young reporter at an arson scene seven years ago. Then Claren, her father’s third and final wife, had been sucked in by Eva’s father’s dedication, bravery and mature good looks. Unfortunately, not even her gravity-defiant boobs could keep him from the job. The job had always been number one.

But Eva had adored her father, and so when it came time for her to graduate from high school and head off to college, she let her father in on the secret she’d kept buried for so long. It had been a Sunday afternoon and she’d just given her old man a hug for the new laptop he’d given her for graduation.

“So you know I’m thinking about getting my associates degree and going to firefighter school,” she’d said as she walked out to the car she’d parked on the street outside her dad’s condo.

“What?” he’d said with a laugh. As if it was a joke.

“I’m serious, Dad.”

He father had stopped and set his hands on his thickening hips. “Aw, you ain’t cut out for that,
ma chère
.”

“Why not?”

Her father shook his head, his dark eyes incredulous. “Baby, girls don’t make good firefighters. Just ain’t right.”

“Dad, how can you say that? You know there are women firefighters out there. I want to do what you do. I want to save lives, save property.”

Her dad had laughed and plucked one of her arms from where it hung beside her slight body. “Eva Marie, look at these arms. You can hardly do a chin-up. Firemen have to carry big hoses. They have to lift people out of burning buildings. That ain’t for you, sugar. Why not become a nurse or something? Or a doctor? Save lives
that
way.”

Eva had wrenched her arm away, shocked her father thought her so incapable of doing what he did. What an egotistical, ridiculous position to take. Hadn’t he always told her she could do anything? Hadn’t he always bemoaned the fact Chris had gone into botany, refusing to follow in his bootsteps? So what was wrong with his daughter putting her feet in the prints he’d trod?

“I can do whatever I want to do,” she said.

“Eva, be sensible. Women aren’t cut out for fighting fires. It’s a physical thing, honey, and maybe even a mental thing. It’s like being a soldier, the mind-set is different. Stick to what you can do.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

Charles had set his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, don’t be mad, Queen E.”

“I am mad,” she said, shrugging from beneath his arm. She didn’t say anything more on the subject, but in her mind she’d made a vow to herself—she’d go to fire school and prove him wrong. The next day she’d started on her quest, going to GNC and buying protein powder, joining a gym and ordering
Essentials of Firefighting.

No one told Eva she couldn’t do something.

Except herself.

Which is why she wouldn’t kiss Jake Beauchamp again. She’d told herself no, and she meant it.

“Hey, you want some cobbler? Mama sent some over.” Jake stood in the door, his blue eyes searching, almost pleading, for things to be normal.

She straightened and dusted her hands, jarred from the memory of the day her father had set her path for her...by telling her she couldn’t be a firefighter. “No, thanks. I’ve been eating some of Charlie’s snacks and don’t want to outgrow my clothes.”

Jake’s gaze lowered, brushing her body. “That would be a shame. You’re perfect the way you are.”

She snapped her finger at him. “Don’t. Remember what we said. No flirting. No looking at my...ah...”

“Assets?”

“Yeah, that.” She closed the filing cabinet drawer.

“Right,” Jake said. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Eva summoned a smile. Just be normal. “Because it’s in your nature. You’re a nice guy, Jake. You like people to be happy.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed, his bullshit meter obviously going off. “I’m not nice.”

Eva laughed. “You’re a Beauchamp. Being a good guy is part of your genetic makeup.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? Is this how you’re getting past wanting to rip my clothes off with your teeth?”

Eva laughed because he didn’t say it as if he meant it. He said it the way he’d always said outrageous things. As if she was one of the guys. Not that he’d ever joke that way with one of the guys. She was certain there wasn’t anyone in the fire house that would want to rip Jake’s clothes off...but her. “If that’s what you want to think, bud.”

“So no cobbler? It’s peach. Last of the ones Mom froze this summer.”

“The answer’s still no. Taking care of a kid means facing the temptation of mac and cheese and frosted cereals on a daily basis.”

“I thought you were supposed to feed them organic crap and carrot sticks,” Jake said, leaning against the doorjamb, his hair sticking out in eight different directions, his blue eyes bright against his tan. His casual sexiness was off the chart. She looked down at the folder she held and tried to remember what they were talking about.

Food and Charlie.

“Well, I gave him a break this past week. The carrot sticks and whole grain bread are waiting. Figured it was hard enough moving to a new place and starting a new school without taking away his fruity loops.”

“How was yesterday, anyway?”

“As expected. He didn’t want to go to school, he didn’t eat his lunch, he didn’t talk to anyone in class and he thinks the mascot is dumb.”

“What? Dragons are cool.”

“You’d think a six-year-old would think so.”

Jake stood there a minute. “Anything I can do to help? Besides babysitting?”

Eva snorted. “Well, I would love some ideas of what to do for his birthday next week. He wants a campout.”

“Now
that
I can help with. I have a tent that will sleep six. How many kids? Wait. Who are you inviting?”

“I’m hoping your nephews might come. Otherwise, I haven’t a clue.”

Jake shrugged. “I can come and bring the nephews as long as they aren’t with Mary Jane that weekend. They go to New Orleans some weekends, but I can ask Matt.”

“Charlie really liked Wyatt and said they ate lunch together yesterday. Or, in Charlie’s case, didn’t eat lunch. I’d appreciate your help with the birthday party. Fancy said she would help, but I hate to ask any more of your mother. She’s been such a blessing.”

“I think selflessness was in the contract for being a pastor’s wife,” Jake joked, pulling himself upright. “She likes managing everyone else’s lives. You and Charlie are fresh blood.”

Just as Eva was about to fuss at Jake for making light of having a caring mother, meddlesome or not, the alarm sounded.

Jake disappeared faster than a chocolate bar at a PMS convention. Eva dumped the folder on the desk as the adrenaline shot through her.

Two calls within ten days.

Rare.

She hurried out the door to the bay where the engines and her bunker gear stood waiting. She and the guys spent the first half hour of every shift making sure they could get in their equipment and out of the station in mere minutes, so it took her less than two minutes to slide into her protective gear.

“Grass fire,” Captain Hank Sorrento called as he slid into the driver’s seat of Engine Five, which meant there was likely no hydrant to catch. Engine Five had a larger water reservoir and was used for areas without water support.

Eva hoisted herself up, sliding onto the seat opposite Jake. Dutch climbed in, grumbling about the Velcro on his bunker coat. Jake rolled his eyes because Dutch had been grumping about his Velcro for the past year. Then he winked at Eva.

Just a regular run to put out a grass fire.

No sexual tension. No desire. No hippety-hop of her heart.

Easy-peasy normal.

“Dutchtown got the call. We got a call for mutual aid,” Hank called as he hit the lights and siren and maneuvered through Magnolia Bend.

Grass fires happened this time of year because Louisiana was often drier than normal in the fall. Burning the sugarcane fields before harvest started in late August, and the slightest mismanagement of ashes could cause small pop-up fires around the parish. Most farmers were very conscious about the controlled burns, but fire is unpredictable and can run away, causing unintentional damage. Just a few years ago the crossties of the railroad going through town had been burned when a fire jumped the tracks and burned a field not slated for burning.

By the time Engine Five arrived on the side of the rural parish road, the unit out of Dutchtown had already started knocking down the stringy fire that stretched along the highway. Their team provided support, making sure the smoldering, blackened areas were completely out. Seemed obvious this fire wasn’t a result of an uncontrolled sugarcane fire but rather a lit cigarette landing in dry scrub lining the sides of the road. Eva worked the hose, something she normally didn’t do, but since it was a small fire and they were only providing backup at this point, the captain didn’t say boo.

She suppressed the usual aggravation that welled in her gut at her being treated as subpar. She’d approached Chief Rinaudo before, relaying Hank’s propensity to assign her less-demanding jobs. The chief had looked at her as if she were bat-shit crazy, making her feel paranoid. So she kept her mouth shut, because though she hated feeling as though she was given special treatment for being a woman, she didn’t want to make her working environment needlessly difficult. Maybe she
should
kick up a fuss, but she’d rather work it differently, proving herself steadfastly through her efforts. Rome wasn’t built in a day...and female firefighters couldn’t expect automatic respect without proving themselves.

Just as she finished helping the guys load up the engine for the short ride back to Magnolia Bend, her phone rang.

“Hey, Fancy,” she said, recognizing the number, worried since Fancy had said she’d only call if it were an emergency.

“It’s me,” Charlie said.

“Oh, hey, Charlie. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to call you. But we’re on a run now, so I’ll have to call you later.”

“No. I want to go home,” he said. He sounded whiny.

“Hey, we talked about this. Your mom is getting better but you’ll have to stay with me until she’s fully recovered.”

“No, not my house. I want to go to your house. I don’t want to stay here.”

Eva glanced over to Hank, who had sent her a frown. Their captain didn’t prohibit personal calls but it was understood they didn’t engage on a scene. “I can’t talk now, Charlie. You have to stay with Fancy. She’s sweet. You’ll be fine.”

“Please, Eva. Come get me. I’m scared.”

Her heart twisted. “Charlie, I really can’t talk, sweetie. I’m at work. We talked about this.”

Charlie didn’t say anything. Instead, he cried.

She put her hand over the mouthpiece and muttered, “Shit.”

Walking away from the engine, she stared out at the pasture dotted with cattle. Small clouds scudded across the horizon ridged by the Mississippi River levee. “Look, Charlie, I know things are scary right now, but you are being taken care of by a sweet lady who will spoil you rotten. You’re fine and I can’t come home. I have a job and it’s how I afford hamburgers at PattyAnn’s and getting an Icee at the Short Stop.”

He didn’t stop crying.

“I have to go. Everything will be okay.” Then she hung up.

And felt like the cow patty sitting next to the fence line.

Sweet Jesus, she’d never known how crappy a person could feel by disappointing a kid.

“What’s wrong?” Dutch asked, passing by her as he lugged the blue hose they’d used.

“Nothing,” she lied.

“Doesn’t look like nothing. You never take calls.”

“Well, I had to take this one, and everything’s fine.” She turned, pocketing the phone, pushing her shoulders back. Not as if she could do anything about Charlie being scared, even if she wanted to flag down a car, hop in and force the driver to take her to Reverend Beauchamp’s house so she could scoop her brother into a hug and tell him it was okay.

Thing was she wasn’t certain Charlie would ever be okay. Losing your father and having a drug addict mother and an uncertain future weren’t things that were easily overcome. Sure, he was only six and she was trying to help him, but having such an unstable environment wasn’t good for a kid.