The Perfect Match (9 page)

He wanted to slap himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about kissing her. Not only would she fire him on the spot, but Ellie Karlson was the last woman he should consider for a wife. He gave a half chuckle, just thinking
about her trying to lead the women’s Bible study. . . . She’d probably make them do laps around the church if they didn’t memorize their verses.

“What’s so funny?” When she looked at him with those breath-stealing blue eyes, all his humor disappeared. Perhaps he was in more danger than he realized.

“Uh, nothing.” He sighed. “Well, I didn’t know the Loon was closed on weeknights.”

“Not much of a nightlife, huh?”

Was she teasing him? She did have the most beautiful smile, and she employed it now, rendering him . . . “Uh . . . no . . . I, ah . . .”

She laughed. “I’m kidding you, Pastor! Loosen up.”

“Right.” Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. “I guess I don’t know what to do. I wanted coffee.”

“And eggs. In fact, I think you promised.” She yawned, but her eyes twinkled behind her hand.

“I don’t remember promising.”

“Well, if you’re not going to feed me, then I’m going back to the ranch. Franklin is waiting.” She had a tweak to her smile, however, and for some reason he couldn’t get past the idea that she wanted to be here with him. That somehow he’d made a giant, don’t-pass-go leap from fiend to friend.

He suddenly felt very, very warm. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s go . . . well, okay, I don’t know if you’ll like it, but I’d like to show you something.”

She narrowed one eye. “The same something you wanted to show me a week ago without my badge?”

He shook his head. “I meant it when I said I was sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dan. I’m not wearing my badge today.”

“Not like you don’t have to. I mean, it’s up to you, but I don’t have a problem—”

He liked it when she laughed. It filled his car with the texture of happiness.

“Well, I was a little . . . touchy that day,” Ellie admitted. “It’s not every day that the fire chief needs to be rescued. My pride may have been a bit bruised.”

He smiled. How he appreciated a woman who could see herself from the outside and admit her weaknesses. “And now?”

“After your stellar incident report on how well your fire chief managed tonight at the crash site, I think my ego will fully recover.”

“Ah, the stellar incident report.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So this is an attempt at extortion. You’ll go with me in exchange for flattery?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled and sucked him right into her world. Grinning like a man cleared of all charges, he fired up his VW Bug and drove through the streets. Ellie watched the houses tick by without comment.

“Have you found a place to live yet?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I moved some of my gear over to the firehouse. I’m sleeping there most nights anyway. I know I should find someplace to rent before I go broke, though.”

“You know they say that the hotel could fall over with a big wind.”

She chuckled. “That or burn to the ground. I don’t even want to think about how many fire hazards I saw. I’ll have to meet with the manager and have him implement some changes before I book another week there. At least I’m next to the fire escape.”

“So you’re sleeping at the firehouse? with the guys?” He didn’t mean for that tinny, disapproving tone to emerge—he hoped she wouldn’t guess it was more personal than moral.

She scowled at him. “No. Not
with the guys
as you so delicately put it.”

“Sorry.”

She whacked him playfully, and he was relieved to see a smile on her face. “I’m in my office with the door locked; they’re upstairs in the bunk room. It’s almost like having my own apartment.”

“Then you don’t walk around in your long johns?”

She glowered at him. “No. I reserve that for my trips into town. The grocery store, the library, the bookstore. I have a rep now. The Jammie Girl.”

Pure glee rippled through him at her self-teasing. “Well, Jammie Girl, have you ever played any stick?” He pulled into the high school parking lot and drove around back to the ice arena.

“Stick?”

“Yeah. Hockey. Do you know how to skate?”

This time when she looked at him, he saw pure challenge in her fiery blue eyes. “My brother was a goalie for his high school team. He got good because he practiced against me.”

“Then let’s shoot some stick, Jammie Girl.”

A
re you sure you don’t want more pads? This ice is hard.” Dan circled Ellie as she pushed herself to a sitting position on the ice. She was going to have a bruise on her hip the next time she looked in the mirror, but she forced a smile.

“Nope. Not if you don’t check me again.”

He looked sufficiently offended. “I didn’t check you. That was a pure and simple arms-circling, feet-scrambling
oompah
right onto your . . . um . . . padding.” He skated by and hooked her under the arms, helping right her, then glided away, just as she got her footing.

Bummer. She wouldn’t have minded terribly if he’d helped her a smidgen longer. She rather liked the sensation of his strong hands holding her up.

“Okay, yes. I’ll admit it’s been a while since I skated, but these are men’s skates—nearly two sizes too big for me, I might add—and you . . . you
looked
in my general direction and sent me sprawling.”

“Two-minute penalty for looking,” he announced to
the unseen crowd. Then he grinned and she nearly fell again.

Dressed in a practice jersey—he let her wear his game jersey—he looked about seventeen years old, complete with tousled hair, teasing gray eyes, and a whiskered smile that spoke anything but mature or responsible. And when he skated by, he brandished his secret weapon—a part-masculine, clean-soap, mysterious, and very heady Dan fragrance that left her head spinning.

If she ever wanted to enjoy a man’s friendship, it was now. She felt safe laughing at his jokes and poking fun in return. Natural. Like they’d been friends for years.

“Tell you what,” he said, skating close now, “I won’t use my hockey stick. Just my blades. You have the advantage.”

“You’re on, pal. What’s the score?”

“Oh, a bazillion to one?” He smiled triumphantly and pumped his hands in the air, doing a hoo-yah victory chant.

She rolled her eyes. “I have at least two.”

“Oh, sorry. A bazillion to
two.”

She had to like a guy who didn’t let her win. No, he wasn’t trouncing her like he said—she’d managed to deflect more than one of his shots—but she’d seen enough of his slick moves on the ice to comprehend that he could skate circles around her. Still, he played a game that made her feel matched, not defeated.

She tapped her stick on the ice. “Face-off.”

He skated close, his hands behind his back. “Ready?”

“Drop it.”

The puck landed between them and she slapped it away, racing after it across the ice. The skates were loose and wobbly on her feet, but she felt as if she could
fly. Dan skated right behind her, gliding like a prince, looking like he was born on the ice. She reached out with her stick, hooked the puck, and maneuvered it behind the net. Dan lunged for it with his foot, but she whacked him hard on the shin.

“Hey!”

“You’re wearing shin pads!” she yelled and snapped the puck toward the goal. It bounced off the pipes.

Dan leaped after it, giving it a good kick. It sailed past the blue line and slowed to a stop ten feet in front of her goal. Scrambling after it, she heard Dan beside her, his skates cutting the ice, and reached out her stick, trying to wave him off.

He laughed and skated around her, letting her scoop up the puck and send it sailing back to his end of the rink. By the time she caught up to it, her pulse felt in overdrive, her adrenaline surging through her veins.

Dan skated all around her, in and out, kicking at the puck. She dodged him, her high school years on the rink returning to her in a rush. The crisp smell of ice, the wind filling her ears, the frozen breath of the air cool on her hot cheeks seemed an intoxicating potion. She was twirling, twisting, and . . . and suddenly it wasn’t Dan laughing, dodging at her—it was Seth. Tall, blond, wide-shouldered Seth.

“C’mon, sis, don’t let me get it!”

“Not on your life, pal!” she said and knocked the puck away from him, changing directions, weaving like a pro. She flew down the ice, then over the red line.

“Go; go!” Seth yelled, his breath over her shoulder.

She reeled back, shot—score!

“Way to go!”

Dan’s voice filled her ears, and she was back in the present. Dan punched the air, just as thrilled that she’d scored on him as when he pitched it in. He grinned, his eyes alight. “You
do
know how to skate. I’m totally impressed.”

She felt a blush creep up her face. “Thanks. Actually, my brother taught me.”

“Sounds like quite a guy.” Dan had a trickle of sweat coursing down his face. “Does he still play?”

And just like that, the fun died. Grief sucked out her breath, and her buoyant moment popped. She didn’t even try to fight it. “No. He . . . ah . . .” Tears filled her eyes. She turned away, skating quickly now, heading for the exit.

Why did sorrow ambush her whenever she felt poised on the edge of happiness?

Because she didn’t deserve it. No one should have a right to feel happy when another person died in their place. No one. Especially not a kid sister who should have walked away from danger when she’d had the chance. Before her brother was forced to save her life . . . and lose his.

She stepped out of the rink, blurry eyed.

Dan was a step behind her. “Ellie, what is it?”

She shook her head and kept walking.

“Ellie?” Dan grabbed her arm, then gently pressed her to turn. She wouldn’t look at him. He cupped her chin and raised her face. “What’s the matter?”

Clenching her teeth, Ellie fought to keep her emotions from crashing over her. “Seth was killed in a forest fire when I was nineteen.”

His groan was a ripple of pain that came from his
chest and found its way to her heart. The empathy and kindness in it pushed her pain to her throat and obliterated her last layer of defense. A wrenching sob tore out of her, one that even she had never heard, and nearly doubled her over. She clamped her hand to her mouth and began to shake.

“Ellie,” Dan whispered and put his arms around her. Without a muscle to resist, she tucked her head and leaned against him. He was wide and gentle and held her without reservation, his strong arms around her. Her body shook with the power of her loss, and even so, in the spasm of grief, within the envelope of his embrace, she had the faintest sense of discovery. Of something whole and fresh and alive seeping into the hollow expanse inside her.

Torn between wanting it and fearing it, she simply dug her fist into his hockey jersey, closed her eyes, and let the tears flow.

Ellie Karlson, sobbing in his arms.

As usual, being near the lady turned him to putty.

One second she was wiping the ice with him, gritting her teeth and growling like a wolf; the next she opened her heart and let him inside her private anguish.

If he thought about it long enough, he knew the paradox would tie him in knots. So he simply held on, brushed her hair, and rested his cheek on the top of her head. He didn’t try to shush her; somehow that didn’t seem right. But he could stand here in the dark and silent arena, the breath of ice misting the air, and hold her until she didn’t need him anymore.

He hoped it was a good, long time.

Too soon, he heard her exhale a shuddering breath, and then, with a sigh, she backed away. He loosened his hold slightly but left his hands on her shoulders so he could lean down and meet her eyes. “You okay?”

She nodded and tried a smile. Failed.

He ran a hand down the side of her cheek. “I’m sorry about your brother. I can tell you loved him.”

This time the smile took, and she nodded again.

“And however he died . . . I know he’d be proud of you if he saw how you skated today.” He tugged on her braid as he said it.

Something glowed in her eyes. “Tougher than you thought, huh?” Her voice wobbled.

“Oh no, Jammie Girl. I always knew you were tough. And fast. But now I know you can check me into the boards without an inkling of guilt.”

She wrinkled her freckled nose at him. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

He felt delight shoot through him. “Never.” Taking a deep breath and hoping it might clear this sudden muddle of his brain, he checked his watch. “It’s nearly 6 a.m. Want to see if the Loon Café is open?”

She yawned and stretched, raising her hockey stick above her head. “I guess I could go for a stack of pancakes. It’ll be better than cold oatmeal.”

He made a face, and she laughed appropriately. Leading her over to a bench, he bent to unlace her skates. For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He looked up. “What’s the matter?”

She’d gone pale. “It’s just . . . no one has ever done that for me.”

“Done what?” He continued to tug on her skate.

“That. Undo my skate. Make me feel . . .”

Cherished? Special?
Dan wanted to finish for her.

“Protected.”

Okay, he’d settle for that. He wanted to quip something like, “It’s about time” or “What’s so wrong about that?” But he’d learned his lesson the hard way twice, and this time he reacted with Ellie savvy. “Don’t let it go to your head, Chief.”

The color returned to her face in a nice glow and told him he’d scored points. “I won’t.” She let him finish her skate and produced the other one for his assistance.

The sun had sprinkled the parking lot with dots of rose gold, turning the scattering of oak leaves into bronze, the maple into copper. Ellie walked beside him, and when he held out his elbow, she looped her arm through his.

The smallest of smiles played on her lips, despite the red that still rimmed her eyes. He hadn’t realized how short she was. Despite her strong, compact body, she could probably fit under his arm well. He suddenly longed to find out.

But her hand on his arm was enough. Friends. He opened the car door. As she moved around the car, the wind caught the strands that had escaped from her braids, and she stopped to push them away. A small gesture, but in it he saw Ellie Karlson, fire chief, pushing away the things in life that stood in her way.

He must have had that revelation written in his expression. She stopped, stared at him with an odd half smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. How was he supposed to tell her
that she’d etched a tiny place inside his heart this morning? That being her friend was a thousand times better than he’d expected—and he’d expected a lot. That somehow, inexplicably, she seemed to fit into his life, and he hoped she wouldn’t push him away too. But those thoughts were too fresh, too vulnerable to speak aloud. He shrugged. “You play good hockey.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly, her gaze locked on his. “You do too.”

Ellie flew down the hill, the wind singing in her ears, bent low over the handlebars of her mountain bike. Dan, right behind, had finally quit yelling at her to slow down and had accepted the challenge of keeping up.

She couldn’t remember when her heart felt like it could take flight, but that ethereal feeling surrounded her whenever Dan called her up and asked her to “hang out” with him, as if they weren’t really dating.

Well, she couldn’t really call what they were doing dating. Dan had kept a respectable “friends only” distance since last week when she’d had a near breakdown at the hockey rink. But something about the way he looked at her, with pure sunshine in his eyes, made it
feel
like a date.

What was she thinking? She’d been the one to draw the line in the sand. Hadn’t she sketched out their “just friends” destiny on the beach? And she’d reaffirmed it in the car after breakfast at the Loon Café, informing him—well, okay,
hinting—
that she’d never dated a fireman and didn’t plan to. At least that’s what she had
intended with her, “Thanks, Dan. This was . . . unexpected. And . . . fun. You’re a good friend.”

If she were to take a close look, she’d admit that he hadn’t crossed any invisible lines. Every time they were together, from service calls to training, he didn’t even breathe that they’d spent more time together than apart, even calling her Chief Karlson or simply a curt Chief. But they’d had pizza twice, once sitting in a secluded enclave of beach, gone jogging once, and hiked up a river last Sunday afternoon. Two nights ago he’d cooked her an omelette that still made her mouth water, and then they’d watched a movie at the firehouse. Of course, he’d been on a twenty-four-hour shift at the time.