Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [143]
Steve rearranged a crutch and grabbed her hand. He turned the palm up and looked at its calluses, scrapes, and half healed burns. “I was there when your friend Javier from Houston said you had the best hands in the business.”
“All right, I’m fucking good at what I do,” she threw at him. “But I’m a mother, too, and from now on Devon won’t have to be afraid of me getting hurt or killed. I’m taking her home and quitting this business.” Saying it out loud cemented the decision she’d made in the waiting room.
“I’m not going to listen to that.” Steve propped his crutches against the wall and pointed a finger at her. “You think you can control your life by crawling into a hole. That you can protect Devon from what the world is going to throw at her by smothering her. Well, I’ve got news for you, Clare.” His mouth twisted. “Shit happens. If you don’t believe that, just ask a guy who’s been there.”
“Susan,” she said flatly.
“Susan,” he agreed “and Christa.” He looked at Devon. “You can try and run her life, but ultimately, she’s got to figure things out for herself, like we all do. Don’t make any quick decisions you’ll regret.”
Clare sighed. Who wouldn’t want to exert some control after watching the fires burn unchecked for months? After a summer in which two men had died on her watch?
A flicker of pain crossed Steve’s face. She touched his arm.
“You need to sit.”
“I need a lot of things.” His eyes lit with an awareness of last night’s stolen hours, and he lifted a hand to stroke the serrate haircut the fire had left her with. When he touched her neck, it made her aware that comfort wasn’t all she wanted from him.
Here come the tears, she thought, yet oddly enough, she didn’t feel a thing like crying. She thought he might kiss her, but she wasn’t ready for Devon to open her eyes to that. She fingered the front of his red shirt with western snaps. “You must have gone to the hotel.”
“Deering gave me a lift.”
“Is he still here?” She hoped Steve wouldn’t get the wrong idea again, but she needed to know that Deering was okay. “His wife came to take him home.”
“I hope they work it out this time.”
“They seemed pretty happy to see each other.” He spoke easily of the man he’d once wanted to fight. “Before he left he asked me to tell you goodbye . . . and thanks.”
Deering had found his home and life again, but what lay ahead for her? After she sold the house in Houston, what then? Although a job waited for her at the station with Javier and the others, she felt she’d moved beyond it.
Steve’s hand moved over her hair. With a ragged limp, he moved closer.
“I should have asked how’re you doing.” She gestured toward his knees.
He dropped his hand to his side. “They X-rayed me and said another round of scraping and washing the joints out might help if I want to do it this fall.” He lifted a shoulder. “Some things I’ve been living with a long time.”
Suddenly she couldn’t stand his steadfast grieving for Susan any longer. If he hadn’t been hurting, she might have shoved his chest. “You tell me how to live my life . . . you with your shrine in your bedroom. If we hadn’t been in a motel, last night would never have happened.”
“That’s not fair.” Gray eyes bored into hers.
“You don’t play fair telling me to buck up. Every time your knee hurts you think about the bum rap life served you.” Her breath came fast. “The doctor said Devon could leave in the morning. I need to make arrangements for our flight.”
“No.” Steve’s throat moved with his swallow. “Come here.”
If she let him hold her, how much harder it would be to leave. The worst part of going back to Houston would surely be the memory of last night.
“Please,” Steve said hoarsely.
With a glance at Devon, who still appeared to be sleeping, Clare went into his arms. It was as good as she remembered, better, for Devon was safe. She pressed her cheek against Steve’s chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.
If this was good-bye, then she was going to be a crybaby about it. The tears she’d not shed waited behind a dam about to break. She burrowed