Where There's Smoke (3 page)
She dropped her hand lightly against the back of his head, stroked his hair soothingly, the knot of leather at the back of his neck that held his St. Florian medal, patron saint of firefighters. His hands fell to his lap, his broad shoulders drooped, and he closed his eyes, accepting her caress. After a few moments, after she'd appreciated the thick silkiness of his hair, the warmth of his skin, he turned just enough to look at her, not enough to dislodge her caress. Now there was something she hadn't seen in his eyes before, a sort of speculation she'd only seen when they were out in public, and never directed at her. Her breath caught.
"Miss Stokes? We'll take you to x-ray now,” an orderly announced, pushing aside the curtain of her cubicle.
Lauren snatched her hand away like she'd been lit on fire and Seth jumped up. Whoa. What had that been? Geez, she'd touched him before, playful smacks and brief commiserative touches, but she'd never caressed him like that. He'd never wanted her to stop touching him before.
Maybe he was overly sensitive after dealing with the little girl. He avoided the EMT assignment for this reason; it left him too open, too raw. He wanted to push the feelings back behind a wall, like his father had done, wanted to keep it impersonal, but today's incident caught him off guard. The holiday and being with Lauren intensified his reaction. He didn't want to show her that side of his life. He shook his head to chase the child's image, and her mother's, from his mind.
Maybe he had an overdeveloped sense of guilt for hurting Lauren, for dragging her into the game, for tackling her too hard. Yeah, he'd taken a little too much pleasure in taking her down. All he knew was, this was wild.
He gripped the handles of the wheelchair once the orderly settled her in. “Let's see what's going on here,” Seth said with forced cheerfulness and wheeled her out of the exam room toward x-ray. His step stuttered when he recognized the child's mother standing in the hall, staring out a window, hugging herself and rocking on her heels.
He wanted to speed past, pretend he didn't see her, didn't know her sad story. He wanted to push her pain away. But he found himself slowing, releasing Lauren's chair to approach her. This woman shouldn't be alone—why was she alone at a time like this?
He touched her arm. “Is there anything I can do for you?"
She jumped in surprise. Once she recognized him, she gripped his bicep like a lifeline. She raised her face, ravaged by pain and guilt, and unable to help himself, Seth opened his arms. She pressed her face to his chest, her hands fisting in his sleeves, and let the sobs rip through her. Her tears soaked into his t-shirt, the tremors of her body shook his soul.
Through his own tears he looked over the woman's head at Lauren, who wept silently watching them them. He wanted to go to her so they could cry together, share the woman's sorrow, comfort each other, and that desire touched him someplace deep inside, a place he didn't know he had, a place he was afraid to name.
Seth's hand hovered at the small of Lauren's back. She wobbled on the crutches making her way up the steps to her porch, her impatience palpable. Nothing in her knee was torn, but the doctor felt she'd be safest on the crutches for a week or two.
Both of them were silent with exhaustion after five hours in the ER, emotionally drained from dealing with the trauma of the little girl and her mother. She fumbled for her keys, sighing in frustration when they clinked to the porch. He picked them up and opened the door, shut off the alarm with his own code. She collapsed on the couch and closed her eyes. “I think I'll sleep down here tonight,” she murmured. “Stairs are too much trouble."
Seth eyed the high-backed sofa skeptically. It did not look comfortable. “I can take you up."
"Who'll bring me down? I'll be fine, really."
"Okay, then. I'll get you a cover and some pillows."
He walked up to her bedroom, feeling inexplicably jittery, like he'd been taken apart and put together just a little differently. The unease that had been with him all day would go away as soon as he got away from Lauren, he was sure.
He'd been in her bedroom before, even when she was in here a time or two, but not alone. This was more intimate, probably because her things were strewn about. Knowing her, she'd left in a hurry this morning. The bed was unmade but not too rumpled. Her pajamas—such as they were—were tossed on top of a colorful coverlet. He bet there was no man in her life if all she wore to bed was one of his old fire department t-shirts and jogging shorts.
No man in her life—why did he care? She was his best friend. He didn't give a damn if she was sleeping with anyone. Well, okay, he wanted her to be happy, but really, he'd just rather not think about her sex life. He dragged the pillows and coverlet off the bed with more force than necessary, bundling the pajamas in there too, and stomped downstairs, feeling out of temper. He didn't like this emotion.
She sat on the couch, her eyes closed, her face slack from exhaustion. He pounded back this new feeling of tenderness, instead threw the bedding at her. She didn't even open her eyes.
"Can I get you anything else before I go? Do you need me to go to the grocery store or anything?” He didn't want to sit down, only shifted from foot to foot, eager to be gone, to escape this edgy feeling by fleeing.
"It's Thanksgiving. Everything is closed."
"Oh, well. I'll check on you tomorrow, then."
"Aren't you on tomorrow?"
"Not till nine."
"Okay.” She slid slowly sideways on the sofa, her voice already soft with sleep. “Bring tacos."
"I will."
He headed toward the door, hesitated and turned back. She was nestled on the arm of the couch, disregarding the pillows he'd brought, a soft smile of contentment on her face. Her breathing was deep; she still wore her hospital bracelet. He bent and kissed her temple softly, then reset the alarm and left.
The smell of coffee woke Lauren and she lifted her forehead from the carpet. She took a moment to remember where she was and why. The couch, or rather the carpet, where she'd fallen. Her legs, strangely, were still up on the couch and as a result they had fallen asleep. They prickled painfully when she tried to move.
Coffee. Someone was making coffee and for that, she would crawl into the kitchen.
"Seth?” she called feebly, and reached for the crutches. Her hands didn't work so great either, numb from being pinned beneath her body, so she only succeeded in knocking the crutches over, toward her face. “Ow!"
Seth appeared in the doorway as she flung the crutches off her head. He wore his dark blue firefighter's uniform and held a cup of coffee. A sort of breathlessness overcame her and she forgot all about coffee. She'd seen Seth in his uniform dozens, maybe hundreds, of times. What was different about today? It was freshly pressed, maybe, and he looked like he'd just showered and he would smell—
No, no, no. She would not let her thoughts wander in that direction. It was a dead end path. Or a dead man's curve.
He set his cup on the end table and came toward her. She was suddenly, painfully, aware of her morning breath. To make it worse, she hadn't brushed her teeth last night. She turned away, wouldn't even look when he crouched beside her.
"Fall down?” he asked with a mixture of concern and amusement.
She pressed her lips together. “Mm-hm."
"Need some help?"
She shook her head. “Mm-mm."
He stepped back as she gripped the arm of the couch and tried to stand, a trick without bending her knee. She would have a hell of a time getting around the ad agency come Monday, and even if she had sick days left this late in the year, she couldn't leave Hilary and the rest of the team swamped. She'd finally found a great job; she didn't want to jeopardize it.
"Lauren, let me—"
She chanced a glance, ventured he was far enough back that she could open her mouth. “Do me a favor. Get my toothbrush and toothpaste and bring it to the downstairs bathroom."
A look of understanding came over his face that was almost as embarrassing as if he'd actually smelled her breath. He nodded and went upstairs. She wondered if any of his girlfriends ever worried about morning breath. She wondered if any of them ever made it to the morning.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the painful image of Seth sharing his morning routine with another woman. She'd bet the house that none of them woke up with a carpet imprint on their cheek. Seth liked women who knew how to be female all the time, who didn't have to think about it, who didn't chew their lipstick off in ten minutes. Someone she would never be.
She heard him coming down again and got to her feet.
Of course, once she stood, she realized the crutches were on the floor. She bent precariously to reach for them. Then Seth was beside her, bending. She pressed her lips together as he muttered something about stubborn women and thrust them at her.
"Thanks,” she said, making her mouth as small as possible as she adjusted the crutches, took her toothbrush and stumbled to the small bathroom under the stairs.
She wobbled into the kitchen feeling fresher. Seth sat at the laminate table with a greasy bag of tacos in front of him.
"Got any chorizo and egg?” she asked too loudly, and winced.
"A chorizo and egg and a potato and egg. Isn't that what you always get?” He stood to get her coffee.
Wow, did he know her that well? She doubted her father knew what to get her mother at Taco Cabana. Did Seth pay that much attention? God, did he care that much? In her whole life she couldn't remember being uncomfortable with him, couldn't remember a tense silence. Okay, no, not true. When he'd taken her to prom—a pity date for him, a social coup for her—he'd looked so handsome in a tux she'd been speechless. The icky taffeta dress her mother bought made her uncomfortable in her own skin and Seth's easy good looks intimidated her. They'd gotten past that initial awkwardness, though, and had a good time. She only hoped this new awkwardness would pass, and soon.
Now every time she looked over, he looked away. What was going on here?
"Look, Seth, my mom can come help me. I admit she's no Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, but you don't
have
to be here,” she said when he set a coffee mug in front of her. She hated the obligation vibe she was getting from him.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be.” He sat down and unwrapped the foil from his taco.
No, she didn't know this Seth. One thing they'd always had between them was honesty. So she challenged him on it. “You don't act like it. You aren't all guilty, are you?"
"No.” He dug into the bag for hot sauce, still not looking at her. “I mean, yeah, I feel responsible, but that's only part of the reason."
"Gee, great.” She dragged the tacos across the table toward her.
"Well, you're not blaming me?"
"No, not—” Her crutches slid sideways against the table and she groped for them. “I mean, yes, it's your fault but I'm not thinking about that."
"Gosh, it's great to know how you feel."
He stood abruptly, wadded the foil.
Great, she'd pushed too far. She didn't think Seth had a “too far.” What had changed that put him so on edge? “Seth, no, I-I mean, thanks for all you've done. You didn't have to—” She gestured to the tacos, none of the words coming out right. He usually gave her a chance to make herself understood, but apparently today he didn't have the patience.
"You're right. I didn't.” He tossed the foil in the trash. “I gotta go to work, I'll call you later."
Lauren stared as he charged out the back door, and wondered just who had picked that fight.
Seth was alone in the firehouse kitchen, the first time he'd been alone all day. He'd chased away most of the crew with his surly attitude, and was finally alone to brood. He hated the way he left Lauren this morning. When he'd called to check, she'd been coolly polite, not his Lauren at all.
His Lauren. Where had that come from?
He'd been wrong about last night. Leaving her hadn't ended that jittery feeling. If anything, he was more on edge being away from her. Maybe it was guilt at leaving her alone, hobbling around, but he wasn't convinced of that.
He reached for the pepper to sprinkle on the roast and checked himself. He'd heard often enough how he and his father both used too much pepper, so he'd leave it. They could bitch about why it had no flavor. At least they'd talk about something other than how alike he and his father were.
Oscar was something of a legend in the firehouse, something Seth hadn't known before following in his footsteps, or he might have chosen another path. It was hard being Oscar's son, with their every action compared. If he heard, “You're a chip off the old block,” one more time, he wasn't responsible for what he'd do.
Oscar walked into the kitchen. Seth looked up in surprise; his father was supposed to be off today.
"What are you doing here?"
Oscar set a bag of fresh vegetables down on the long, scarred table. “I came to see how Lauren is."
Seth looked around pointedly. “I don't know. She's not here. She's probably at home."
"Have you talked to her today?"
"Yeah, she said she was fine, that Hilary was helping out."
Oscar looked blank a minute. “Oh. No. So you haven't talked to her?"
Seth popped open the oven and slid his roast inside. “I just said I did."
Oscar sat at the table with a sigh. “You probably didn't notice all the tension yesterday at the house."
Seth shrugged. “The girls were fighting about the wedding, what's new?"
"Between Valerie and Mitch."
"No, uh-uh.” Seth didn't even remember seeing Lauren's parents in the same room together. “Are they upset with Lauren? Valerie yelled when we were messing around.” He colored at his choice of words, afraid of revealing too much about this recent realization. He couldn't let anyone know till he knew himself. “Fooling around. Playing around."
"I know what you mean,” Oscar said with a small smile. “No. Maybe I shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but Valerie and Mitch are getting divorced. They decided to tell Lauren this weekend."