After she barged into the coffee shop, she stopped just inside the door, barely avoiding squashing her nose against the back of the last person in a long line. Not only was every chair in the place occupied, but Callum had taken his usual position on the stool closest to the wall. Her plan for a conversation with Lou was blown to bits.
“Rory!” Lou shouted as she poured steamed milk into a cup. “Get over here and sit.”
Eyeing the occupied stools, Rory didn’t move.
Handing over the drink and taking the proffered money in the same gesture, Lou said, “Gary, you’ve been on that stool for three hours. It’s time to go home and face Veronica.”
“But…” the occupant of the seat next to Callum whined.
Shaking her head, Lou pointed toward the door with the hand not pulling change from the register drawer. “Home. Apologize. She’ll yell and then forgive you. It’s a ding in her car door, not a visit with a hooker. Go.”
Although his face was sullen, he slid off his stool and headed for the door. When an early twenty-something man in skinny jeans sidled toward the vacated seat, Lou turned her pointing finger toward him. “Don’t even think about it. Keep your hipster ass off that stool. Where are your manners? Stealing a seat from a lady? Didn’t your mother ever teach you better?” When the man slunk away toward the other side of the shop, Lou grinned at Rory. “Hurry up before someone else tries to grab it. That’s prime real estate next to Caliente Callum here.”
Although Callum just looked slightly pained, Rory blushed as she slid onto the stool. “Thanks, Lou, but I shouldn’t stay long. I have to get the chicken coop closed up for the night.”
Lou hurried away to take the next person’s order. As she bustled around making drinks, Callum leaned a little closer so she could hear him. “No shift tonight?”
The mention touched a little close to a very raw nerve, and she moved her gaze to the top of the counter. There was an empty plate and a napkin folded with extreme precision. Even if it hadn’t been in front of him, she’d have guessed it was Callum’s work. “No.”
“Heard you were the one who cleaned the storage room.”
She had to smile a little at the deep satisfaction in his words. “Yeah. It was slow last night, and I had some nervous energy to spare.”
“Thank you. I saw it today. A huge improvement.”
“What he means,” Lou broke in as she pulled a large cup from the stack, “is that he can actually step foot in there now without curling into a whimpering ball.”
It was still strange to see someone brave enough to tease Callum. When Rory glanced at him, though, he was calmly sipping his coffee, eyeing a grinning Lou over the top of his cup. He even looked a little amused. Their easy interaction made her feel even more inept. She couldn’t imagine a conversation between the two of them disintegrating into whatever had just happened between her and Ian.
“You okay?” Callum asked, and her eyes jerked to his. She hadn’t realized she’d been projecting her feelings onto her face for everyone and his mother to see.
“Yeah.” Although Callum just sipped his coffee, Rory couldn’t meet his gaze. She felt strangely guilty for the lie, tension building in her chest until she felt like she had to say something or her lungs would explode. “No. I don’t know.”
There was more silent coffee-sipping on Callum’s part. Rory reached for the folded napkin, needing something to do with her hands, but Callum slid it out of her reach.
“Sorry.” Grimacing, she knotted her fingers together to hold them in place. “I’m not usually so fidgety.”
“It’s okay. What’s up?”
“I think…” She paused, unable to believe she was about to confide in Callum, of all people. Lou was busy, though, and Callum was there and listening as if he was really interested, and Rory was pretty sure her brain would explode if she didn’t figure out what exactly had just happened, so Callum it was. “I think Ian and I broke up. Maybe. Or we might have had a fight. Or I might have just refused to obey him, so he’s cranky, but everything will be fine once his shift is finished. Or maybe I won’t ever see him again.”
“I doubt that last one,” Callum said evenly. “You both live in Simpson, after all.”
“You’re right.” Horror-stricken, she stared at him. “I won’t ever be able to go to Station One or the grocery store or the post office without being worried that I’ll run into him. When he starts dating someone else, they’ll be together, and then I’ll run into both of them. I bet she’ll be gorgeous. It’s going to be so awful and awkward.” With a groan, she let her forehead rest on her stacked hands.
“You probably need to figure out if you have actually broken up before worrying about the aftermath.” His voice was so matter-of-fact, it calmed her panic, and she raised her head. Rory could see how he’d be a good dive-team leader.
“I know.” Taking a deep breath, she prepared to expose her secret humiliation. “I just haven’t done this before, so I don’t know if this is just a normal spat, or if we’re done.”
“What was the fight about?”
“He wanted me to go with him to Station One tonight.” When Callum nodded, she continued. “But I need to reopen the shop, so I told him I was staying home. He didn’t like that, so we argued about it for a while, and then he wanted me to promise to hide and call the sheriff if anyone tried to break in again.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
She stared at him. “Hide and call the sheriff? Could you do that if someone broke into your house?”
After considering this for a moment, he said, “No.”
“So why would you expect me to be able to do that?”
A small smile played at the corners of Callum’s mouth. “Good point. But I can understand why Ian would be concerned, too.”
Lou snorted. With a half-prepared drink in her hand, she leaned over the counter toward Rory and Callum so she didn’t have to yell over the chatter of the crowd. “What he’s not saying is that he refused to let me stay alone when my stalker was”—she winced a little before smoothing out her expression—“well, not dead. Not that I complained.” At an eyebrow lift from Callum, she amended that. “Too much.”
“So,” Rory said after Lou returned to finish the latest drink order, “what do I do? Wait for him to call? Call him? Apologize?” She scrunched her face. “There’s not really anything I’m sorry about, though, except that we fought—or argued or broke up or whatever we did.”
Callum was looking a little uneasy. “I don’t think I’m the best person to be giving relationship advice.”
There was a snicker from the vicinity of the cash register. With all the noise in the shop, Rory wasn’t sure how Lou was hearing their low-voiced conversation, but she didn’t seem to be missing a word of it.
“You’re not going to help?” She stared at him, panicked. “But I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“Fine.” He placed his travel mug on the counter and aligned it perfectly with his empty plate. Rory wondered what his closet looked like, but then she decided she had a pretty good idea. Callum’s closet would definitely have the floor space for a makeshift bed. “Have another conversation with him after his shift—actually, after he sleeps after his shift. Just tell him straight out what you told me, and then ask if that means you two are done. Right now, you’re guessing, and he’s probably guessing, and it’s nothing that can’t be solved by ten minutes of talking.”
Rory studied her clenched hands as she considered this. The thought of him saying that they were definitely over made her stomach twist like a wet towel. On the other hand, not knowing was horrible. Could hearing the confirmation that they’d broken up be any worse than that? She suspected yes, but she still wanted to know for sure. “Okay.”
“Really?” Callum sounded surprised.
“Yes. It makes sense.”
“It does?”
Reaching across the counter, Lou squeezed his hand. “Look at you. Cal, the relationship sensei. You’ll need to start an advice column in the Simpson Star newspaper.”
He made a scoffing noise, but still looked a little pleased.
Hopping off the stool, Rory started for the door.
“Are you going to call him now?” Lou shouted after her.
Pausing with one hand on the door handle, Rory said, “Chickens first, then feed Jack, and then I’ll stop by the station. I’d rather do this face-to-face. Listening to long pauses on a phone call will make me lose my nerve.”
Lou approved. “Good idea. Serious conversations should be face-to-face. Besides, that way, he’ll be right there so you can make up afterward.” She lifted her eyebrows in a goofy gesture that made Rory laugh, despite her blush.
“Thanks,” she called as she pushed open the door and stepped into the cold night.
* * *
During the drive home, the roads were dry, but small snowflakes whirled in front of her truck’s headlights. The chickens had tucked themselves into the coop already, so she just had to close the door and collect Jack. After he ate, she loaded him into the pickup and started for the station.
The flurries were thickening, and snow was sticking to the road in random patches. The traction was still good, but she slowed anyway, telling herself it was because she was being careful rather than because she was delaying her conversation with Ian. The drive was short, however, and she reached Station One much too quickly for her peace of mind.
When she let Jack out of the truck, he bounded to the door. Rory followed more slowly, although the small bits of snow stinging her face kept her from dawdling too much. As she entered the station, bringing Jack and a gust of cold, snow-filled wind with her, she quickly shut the door behind her. The warm air was a relief, and she felt her shoulders relax a little, only to seize up again at the sound of male laughter coming from the break room.
Jack had already disappeared, galloping toward the smell of food and his new favorite group of people. She followed, poking her head inside to see the usual nightshift crew sitting around the table, the remains of a mostly eaten cake in front of them.
“Rory!” Soup was the first to greet her. “We got you something.” He leaned back in his chair until he balanced on its two back legs and could reach something on the shelves behind him. Rory, like the big chicken that she was, kept her eyes on him so she wouldn’t have to look at Ian.
“You’re going to break your head,” Al scolded, although without much heat. “Don’t let the safety officer see you doing that.”
“Joe ruins all our fun,” Soup sighed, straightening so all four chair legs connected with the floor. He held out a box to her. “Here.”
Rory accepted it, eyeing it cautiously. “Gloves?”
“Extra-small for those tiny doll hands of yours.” Tipping back in his chair again, he grinned and winked at her. “Now, for me, I take extra-large…in all my latex coverings.”
Steve reached past Al to slap the back of Soup’s head, knocking him forward so his front chair legs clattered against the floor.
“Ha!” Junior crowed. “For once it wasn’t me.”
The rest of the guys laughed, and then Al turned to Rory. “Want some cake? We’re having a little ‘we’re glad you’re out of jail’ celebration.”
“We were going to put a metal file in the cake,” Soup said, not seeming too ruffled by Steve’s reprimand, “but the only one we had was really dirty, so it didn’t seem hygienic—or tasty. Who wants a grease-and-dirt flavored cake?”
“No, thanks,” Rory said. “I was just…ah, hoping to talk to Ian for a minute?” She finally managed to work up the nerve to glance at him, although his expressionless face didn’t reveal anything. Her stomach twisted tighter.
Without a word, Ian stood and made his way around the table toward her. As he escorted her out of the break room, he stayed close behind her, although he didn’t touch her. Rory wasn’t sure if this settled her nerves or wound her tighter.
As they made their way down the hall, she heard Junior whisper in a voice meant to carry, “Did any of you guys notice the tension? Are Mom and Dad fighting?”
“Mind your business,” Steve said gruffly.
The other men’s chuckles followed them until they entered the training room. When the door closed behind them, an awkward silence fell.
Rory glanced at the closed door they’d just passed through. “Can we maybe go to a different room? I just have this feeling that Junior and Soup already have glasses pressed to the door so they can listen.”
With an amused snort, he moved toward the storage room she’d just reorganized, herding her in front of him. It was a little unnerving to have his silent, possibly angry bulk looming behind her, so she hurried into the room.
“Did the chief mind that I cleaned up a little?” She glanced around the space. Even though she’d done the work, it was still odd not having the mountains of gear piled everywhere.
“From what Al told me, the chief stared at it for a long time when he got here this morning. All he said was that he needed to have a little chat with you.”
Nibbling on the inside of her lip, Rory sent him an apprehensive glance. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“Probably not.”
They both grew quiet.
Rory knew she needed just to get this done. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “I talked to Callum.” That wasn’t how she’d intended to start, but at least she wasn’t silently staring at the shelves anymore.
After opening his mouth and closing it again, he finally responded, “Okay. I didn’t expect that. Why were you talking to Callum?”
“Why?” The question threw her a little. “Um…I guess because I went to see Lou at The Coffee Spot, since she’s really the only person in a solid relationship who I know well enough to talk to about this.” After a pause, she amended her statement. “She’s really the only person I know well enough to talk to about this, solid relationship or no solid relationship.”
Ian looked confused. “Okay.”
“She was really busy helping customers, but Callum was there.” Since she wasn’t exactly sure how she’d managed to dump the entire mess in Callum’s lap, she fumbled her words a bit. “He…uh, well, he had this look—not the scary one, but the calm, I-can-handle-anything one—and he asked if I was okay. Since I wasn’t, I told him why.”
“And why weren’t you okay?”
For some strange reason, it was so much easier to tell this to Callum. With Ian, the outcome seemed to matter so much more. “Because we argued. And you left.”
His expression unreadable, he watched her silently.
“And I didn’t know if that was normal, or if it was a huge fight, or if we were broken up.”
That cracked his impassive look. “Do you want to break up?”
“No.” She frowned. “I really don’t. I just don’t know the rules.”
“We could add them on the whiteboard with the timeline.”
Shooting him an irritated look, she snapped, “Don’t make fun of me. I know I’m stupid when it comes to this.” She waved a hand between the two of them. “Everything else has been easy for me—lessons and guns and drills—so I’m having a really hard time not knowing what to do. I feel dumb.”
A genuine smile curved his mouth as he took a step closer. Reaching out to touch her face, he tucked a loose strand of hair back under her hat. “You’re not being dumb. You’re actually being up-front and mature about this. I shouldn’t have stormed out of there earlier. I was just”—the smile faded, and he blew out a hard breath—“frustrated.”
“Frustrated?”
He started to pace. “I’m not trying to take away your freedom. It’s hard being here when I know you’re home alone, when there’s someone out there who wants to hurt you. Billy’s pissed at you—and me—and he’s a vengeful fu—guy. I love this job, but right now, all I can think is that I’m out helping strangers instead of protecting you. It makes me absolutely crazy sitting here, imagining your pretty head getting blown off by Billy’s shotgun.”
Rory blinked. “I’ve trained all my life to deal with situations like that. Well, that and others, like a nuclear winter and deadly viruses and zombies. But you have to trust that I know how to handle myself.”
He took three quick strides until he was right in front of her, moving so fast that she jumped. Cupping her face in his hands, he said, “I know you can. But you can’t win every fight. It takes just one bad day—one bad second—and then you’re gone. I’ve been chasing you for years, and I’ve barely grabbed hold of you. I can’t lose you now.”
Staring at him, mesmerized and terrified in equal parts by his words, by the intense, almost desperate look in his eyes, she opened her mouth. “So, we’re not broken up.”
His hollow expression eased, and he gave a short laugh. “No. Definitely not.”
“Good.” The knots in her stomach eased for the first time since their argument. “Do you need me to stay here for your shift? So you can eat cake without imagining splatters of my brain matter?”
“No.” Leaning closer to her, he kissed the corner of her mouth. “But thank you for asking. You’d never be able to ignore the calls”—he kissed the other side of her lips—“and then you wouldn’t get any sleep”—his mouth touched her upper lip—“and you’d be useless in the shop tomorrow.” He scraped his teeth gently over her bottom lip.
By this time, she wasn’t comprehending any of the words that came out of his mouth. “Uh-huh,” she murmured blankly, staring at him. His brown eyes were so sweet and warm, and just wicked enough to put off any Bambi references. “Are we making up now?”
“Yeah.” His thick fringe of eyelashes lowered halfway as his gaze turned scalding. “We’re definitely making up.” With that, he kissed her for real. This time it was even more explosive, even more consuming and addictive than before. His hands roamed, changing the feel of the kiss, like dialing the oven temperature from three-fifty to broil.
His fingers found her sides beneath her coat, and then one hand slipped behind her, running up the length of her spine and back down to the small of her back. His touch, even with several layers of fabric separating them, made her skin tingle. With a shiver, she tried to burrow closer.
Her own hands reached around him, gripping handfuls of his thermal shirt so she could tug him closer. With a groan she felt more than heard, he took the kiss deeper. He was getting rougher, nipping at her lips with enough force to sting. At first, she was a little startled, but each soft bite flared with heat, that tiny pain morphing into a sweet pleasure.
With a moan of her own, she closed her teeth on his bottom lip, hoping to give him the exact amount of pleasurable pressure he was giving her. When he sucked in a quick, startled breath and then attacked her mouth with renewed urgency, she was pretty sure she’d done it at least halfway right.
Her hands flattened so she could feel the contours of his back through his shirt. Although she knew he was muscled, the unyielding flesh beneath her palms surprised her just as it had the last time they’d done this. It was like caressing a marble statue—a warm, moving statue who could kiss really well.
Ian seemed to appreciate her tentative exploration, his breathing quickening and his kiss becoming almost frantic. His excitement made hers flame even higher, building with each touch and kiss and press of his body against hers. They were fully clothed, with their hands restricted to the PG zone, and even so, Ian was acting like this was the sexiest experience of his life. It truly was the most intense and wonderful thing to ever happen to her, and she didn’t want to stop touching him.
Rory burrowed closer, seeking his heat and touch, even while mentally cursing all of their layers of clothes. She forgot where they were, forgot about the group of firefighters eating cake just a few rooms away, forgot everything except for Ian. As he dropped a line of biting kisses down the side of her neck and then back up again, she closed her eyes and groaned. The sheer carnality of the sound would have startled her if she hadn’t been so caught up in Ian’s spell. By the way he tightened his grip, her groan affected him too. With a pleasurable shiver, she tilted her head back so he’d have easier access to that spot under her ear—the place that was quickly becoming her favorite.
She didn’t know how long they would have continued—or how far they would have gone—if the radio hooked to his belt hadn’t blared. They both jumped and let out simultaneous disappointed groans.
“Of course,” he muttered, adjusting the volume on his portable as the tones sounded. “No calls when Junior was telling that stupid story about his friend’s first visit to a strip club for the fortieth time. No calls when Soup was showing me how he could hang a spoon on his nose. But now, of course there’s a call.”
“Can’t everyone do the spoon-on-nose trick?” Rory asked, then quieted as the dispatcher’s voice replaced the tones.
“We had a report of a structure fire on Goat Hill Road in Liverton. The caller believes the residence is occupied.”
They both froze.
“Goat Hill Road?” Rory repeated. “Isn’t that where…?” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. From the look on Ian’s face, she didn’t have to.
“Julius.” He whirled and ran for the door.