Taste the Heat (11 page)

She hadn’t been overly close with either of his parents, but she’d known them all
her life. Because of Cane, the Landry family became fixtures around their house early
on. They came to holiday parties, tagged along during a trip to Florida one year,
and they were Robicheaux’s most loyal customers. His parents had always gone out of
their way to make her feel comfortable, and Colby hated the thought of disappointing
either of them.

This
thing
with Jason kept getting stickier and stickier, and technically it hadn’t even started
yet. But Colby was too far-gone to think about backing out. Even in the packed room,
her entire right side tingled with awareness of the sexy captain. With the entire
summer still stretched before them, all she could do was follow her heart—or in this
case, hormones—and vow to keep in touch with Emma when their arrangement ended.

The choir members returned to their seats, certificates in hand, and Principal Levet
reached for her bottle of water. As she uncapped the top, Emma caught Colby’s eye
and grimaced. Colby grinned. Emma’s group must be up next.

Setting the bottle on the podium, the principal cleared her throat. “Our student council
has been extra active this year,” she said, confirming Colby’s suspicion. “Our class
presidents banded together to raise money for our tutoring program, earning enough
to purchase two new computers and a slew of reference materials for the library. Emma
Landry, our sixth grade president, also chaired a baked goods drive for our literacy
program.”

Irrational pride bloomed in Colby’s chest as the row of class presidents stood to
a round of applause. Emma’s drive and ambition had absolutely nothing to do with her,
but it didn’t stop her from practically gloating on the girl’s behalf. When Emma neared
the front of the line to receive her certificate, Colby even joined the Landry family
in catcalls. Jason let out an impressive whistle. His parents screamed her name. And
Colby stamped her feet and whooped. Jason caught her eye and winked.

“Way to go Em!” Sharon cheered beside her as Emma posed for the school photographer.

“That’s my peanut,” the Chief called out.

Around them, people laughed good-naturedly at the attention, and Emma’s face turned
beet red. But from the mega-watt smile on her face, there was no mistaking that she
was pleased.

Colby took in the scene with a heart split straight down the middle. It was awesome
seeing Emma so happy. She was glad to be here and honored to have been asked. But
the same question kept repeating in her mind: what kind of signal was she sending?
To Emma, to Jason, to his parents…to herself?

Up and down, back and forth. Her emotions were like a freaking roller coaster. She
wasn’t a member of the Landry family, but she was for damn sure acting like she was.
Colby drew a series of short breaths, suddenly feeling like she couldn’t inhale any
deeper.

It was too much. Too fast. She’d only been in Jason’s life again for, like, two
weeks
.

What was going on with her?

By the end of the assembly, Colby had barely managed to get her breathing back under
control when Emma came barreling toward them. Jason scooped her up and squeezed her
tight against his side.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, mussing her hair as he jostled her back and forth.
During the last hour, Emma had racked up additional certificates for library helpers,
peer tutoring, and volleyball, and if Colby had to wager a guess, she’d had the loudest
cheering section of any other recipient. Emma buried her face in his chest and wrapped
her arms around his waist, regardless of the fact that Brad and her classmates were
all around. “By the time you graduate from this place, they’re not gonna know what
to do without you.”

Emma blushed. “I didn’t really do anything that special.”

“Em, your dad’s right.” Putting on a smile, Colby began counting on her fingers. “Chairing
a bake sale, tutoring, working in the library,
leading
the volleyball team in assists—as someone who has zero coordination, let me just
say that I’m very impressed.”

The girl laughed, but not before beaming even brighter. Pushing her bangs out of her
face, she widened her eyes and asked, “You
are
coming to eat with us at Honey and Pop’s, aren’t you?”

Colby scrunched her nose at the abrupt subject change, and the strange names. Jason
chuckled, seeing her confusion and explained, “Honey and Pop are my parents. We’re
going over there for dinner. And yes, we’d really love it if you joined us.”

She hesitated—which was a feat in the face of Emma’s fresh-faced eagerness. But she’d
been looking forward to a quiet night alone to freak out. And wouldn’t tagging along
lead to more of the same confusion? The deal she made with Jason wasn’t about sweet
family moments. It was a night between the sheets, not dinner at mom and dad’s. Unless
said dinner included a night of babysitting services and a green light for hooking
up.

But before Colby could come up with a halfway decent excuse, Sharon squeezed her shoulder.
“You know I have enough food to feed an army,” she cut in with a twinkle in her eye.
“And it would be an honor to serve a renowned chef. Well, as long as you don’t turn
into one of those judges on
Iron Chef
. Those people can be brutal.”

Even the Chief jumped in, saying, “Yes, you should join us,” which actually only proved
her point. Colby knew what he was thinking, what he thought was happening between
her and Jason.

All four of them were looking at her with such hopeful expressions that Colby couldn’t
help feeling a strange tug. Of belonging, of feeling as though she fit into their
sweet family unit. And
wanting
to fit into it even more.

That desire scared her.

This was only a fling. It was all it could ever be. And she needed to remember that.

Then Jason tilted his head to the side and a spark entered his eye. She didn’t know
where it came from, didn’t know what it meant, but it
felt
like a challenge. A challenge she wanted—no, needed to meet. Turning to Emma and against
her own better judgment she asked, “So what’s for dinner?”

…

“Everything all right in here, Dad?”

Jason knocked on the partially open door to his father’s study. The women were huddled
together in the kitchen, cooking up a storm and outnumbering him with estrogen. He
prided himself on being a decent cook, but the expression “too many cooks in the kitchen”
existed for a reason. So he and his Y-chromosome had left.

When his old man hadn’t been glued to the television set in the living room, he’d
headed here. And now that he’d found the man in his favorite hiding spot, Jason knew
something was wrong.

By nature, Robert Landry was outgoing and talkative. He had a way of pulling anyone
around him into a conversation, and he could go on forever about almost anything.
Anything except his feelings, that is. Other than anger, emotions of any kind, in
his father’s opinion, were strictly women’s territory. But after the assembly, he’d
been uncharacteristically quiet.

“Huh?” His father spun his leather executive chair away from the window, looking up
with an expression that said he’d been somewhere else entirely. “Oh, sure, sure.”

Jason nodded, not for a moment believing it. Wisps of the man’s hair stood on end,
as if he’d raked his fingers through it without thought, and his mouth was set in
an inscrutable line.

Gesturing from behind a desk cluttered with fishing knickknacks, a bowl of hard candy,
and framed pictures of Emma, he said, “But close the door and sit with me for a spell,
will you?”

Warily, Jason turned around and did as asked, his palm lingering on the stained wood.
The last time his dad asked him to “sit for a spell,” he had been nine and about to
be reamed for pantsing his cousin at a crawfish boil. The same feeling he got then—and
the one he still got right before he ran into a burning building—began churning in
his gut. But this was why he had sought his father out. To see what was going on in
that noggin of his. So he took a seat on the armrest of a wingback chair and asked
again, “You sure everything’s all right?”

His father nodded wordlessly, focusing on a point just above Jason’s head. He pinched
his pursed lips between thick fingers. The second hand on the mounted trout clock
tick
ed ten times, then in a thoughtful voice, his father broke the silence.

“I loved Ashleigh like she was my own daughter.”

The muscles in Jason’s back tensed. And the churning feeling in his stomach escalated.
Of all the things that could’ve come out his old man’s mouth, he never would’ve expected
that
.

It’s not that he doubted his father’s sincerity—he
had
treated Ashleigh like a daughter. But in the last four years, Jason couldn’t recall
a single conversation his father had initiated about her.

Where is he going with this?

His father’s clear eyes met his. “She was a good woman, son. A strong woman. And this
family will always miss her.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to nod, his throat closing like it did every time talk turned
to his wife. Swallowing past the emotion, he said, “I know, Dad. And Ashleigh would’ve
loved being there today.” His lips tugged into a smile, picturing it.

His wife had been the proudest, most involved mom he’d ever seen. And that was saying
a lot, since his gave the mother on
Everybody Loves Raymond
a run for her money. But from the day Emma had entered kindergarten, Ashleigh had
been the class mom. She’d been the go-to helper when the teachers needed anything.
A story reader, field trip chaperone, class play organizer. She’d made it a priority
to enroll Emma in every activity their daughter showed a remote interest in, and she
never missed a single class, game, or performance. When she died, along with leaving
him with a broken heart, Ashleigh had left behind impossible shoes to fill, especially
for a single parent. But Jason had done his best to fill them. And he’d done a damn
good job, too.

He
never missed a game or performance, either. He signed up for more than his share
of field trip duty. And he even learned how to sew so he could add Emma’s Girl Scout
patches to her uniform. Sure, his mom could’ve done it, but he wanted to. He hated
asking for more help than was absolutely necessary. His parents already pitched in
enough, watching her during his all-day shifts, driving her to and from school, and
helping with her homework. It was hard enough being a firefighter with two parents
at home much less with only one, but somehow he and Emma had made it work.

But now, Jason was ready to move past simply making it work. He was finally ready
to give Emma the life that a drug addict stole from her four years ago.

Suddenly eager to be back in the kitchen, cooking beside his daughter and staring
into Colby’s smoldering eyes, Jason stood and gestured toward the door. “Well, I just
wanted to check in.” He took a step in the direction of the exit. “But we have company
so I guess I should—”

“Son, wait a minute.”

Jason exhaled. Apparently, there was more to the man’s strange mood than thoughts
of Ashleigh. His father rose from the chair, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. As
he walked around the desk, Jason sank into the worn out cushion of the upholstered
chair. “All right, Dad. Something is obviously bothering you.” He swiped a Wild Cherry
Life Saver from the glass candy dish in front of him and propped his ankle on his
knee, feeling like a skipping track on Emma’s iPod as he asked again, “What’s going
on?”

Snatching a Butter Rum candy from the bowl, his father popped it into his mouth and
chomped loudly, breaking it into tiny pieces as his fingers played absently with the
plastic wrapper. “You know your mother worries about you,” he said, dropping the bomb
as if it was common knowledge. Actually, Jason hadn’t known that. But he probably
should have. The woman worried about everything. Then the old man scratched the side
of his neck and added gruffly, “We both do.”

His father coughed and looked away—but not before Jason saw the unmistakable sheen
in his eyes. It would’ve been less jarring if the man had punched him, though the
effect would feel about the same. He watched his father push to his feet and stride
toward the window overlooking the backyard.

Centered in the blind-covered frame stood a large oak tree, his dad’s favorite hammock
swaying below it in the late spring breeze. His childhood tree house was perched high
above that. Jason still remembered everything about the summer he and his dad built
it. For weeks, they’d poured over design books, choosing the perfect model and then
selecting just the right wood. They had gathered materials, talked strategy, and set
to work putting it together. While they labored, they’d discussed “manly” things:
the correct tool for the job, LSU and Saints football, girls, and even school—but
never anything deeper than that. In fact, other than the time his father held his
newborn granddaughter in the hospital or slapped Jason’s back at Ashleigh’s funeral,
this was the most emotion he’d ever seen his father express.

“When you and Ashleigh first came to me, saying you wanted to get married and raise
Emma, I had my concerns.” He flicked a slat of the blinds, for all appearances consumed
with the blades of grass in his lawn. “I knew you were doing the right thing, but
in many ways you were children yourselves. A marriage needs more than just attraction.
It takes commitment and love. The kind of love that can endure a hurricane and still
stand come morning. To be frank, I wasn’t sure the two of you had it. But you proved
me wrong. That girl loved you, and I know you loved her.” He released the blind caught
between his fingers. “I could see it when you looked at her.”

When his father turned, the cloud that had overshadowed him all afternoon lifted as
a relieved smile broke across his face. “That same look was in your eyes today.”