Firefly Mountain (21 page)

“Gini?” He felt stupid calling her name. He knew she wasn’t out there.

Her body appeared in the doorway along with Midas, and Patrick’s breath caught in his chest.

“Yes.”

“You’re still here.” He cleared his throat and gripped the black mug so that crushing it into hundreds of ceramic shards was a definite possibility.

“Do you want me to go?” Gini already had her gargantuan purse hanging on her shoulder.

Now that was
the
question, wasn’t it? “No. I don’t want you to go.”

Raina’s voice echoed in his head. Maybe she was right. Maybe Gini could handle his damaged skin. Maybe she would be able to look at it without thinking him repulsive. Maybe Gini was someone he didn’t have to hide from.

Gini stepped into the kitchen, and her purse thudded as she dropped it by one of the kitchen chairs. The noise reverberated in the nearly empty room, and Midas came over to investigate.

“Maybe it’s time you cleaned that thing out.” Patrick nudged Midas away from the purse.

“I cleaned it out yesterday.” Gini laughed. “Unloaded about a pound of stuff I’d collected in my travels. Now it’s ready to collect more.”

“What could possibly be in there that you need?”

“Okay,” Gini said. “Because you had to endure my daddy’s death threat, I’ll give you a glimpse. Just a glimpse. No more than that.”

Patrick put the mug down on the counter and came to the table. Gini sat in the chair, hoisted her purse onto the table, and dug around in it. She kept the edges close to her hands so Patrick couldn’t peek inside.

“Don’t pull out a camera or crackers,” he said as he sat across from her. “I already know you have those in there.”

“Fair enough.” Gini fished around for a few seconds, and when she pulled out her hand, she held a calculator. Not a small, pocket-sized calculator, but a desk-sized one with enormous number buttons.

Patrick opened his mouth, but Gini shook her head. “Don’t say it. I know full well they make key chain-sized calculators, but I had one of those, and I could never find it in here.” She thrust her free hand toward the purse. “This one I can find every time, and when I’m ninety, I’ll still be able to see the display.”

“Logical.” Patrick tried for a serious face, but couldn’t quite get past his smile.

Gini plunged her hand back into the purse, mumbled a few things to herself as her hands must have landed on items she didn’t want to pull out. Patrick had a growing urge to dump the entire sack out onto the table, catalog its contents, and analyze this magnificent creature sitting across from him. What could he learn about her from what she had hidden in that purse?

The next thing Gini held up was a roll of toilet paper. “For emergency purposes. Can’t count the number of times I’ve needed this.” She set the roll down next to the calculator.

“Also a practical piece of equipment.” Patrick nodded his approval. “I want to see something not so…useful.”

“Not useful? Everything in here is useful in some way. Useful to me, anyway.”

“Okay,” Patrick said. “Keep going.”

Gini only rummaged around for a second this time. She extracted her hand with her fist closed. When she opened her hand, a plastic seagull figurine perched in her palm. Patrick picked it up and turned it around in his own hand.

“I got that in Rhode Island when I started at RISD. I was feeling lonely in my dorm room. It was the first time I’d been away from my family. So I went for a walk around College Hill and ended up in this funky shop that sold Rhode Island artwork. By the register was this bin of seagulls. Something compelled me to buy one. As if I would have a friend if I took this stupid plastic bird back to the dorm with me.”

“Suppose it’s easier than buying a German Shepherd puppy and training it to investigate fire incidents just to have a friend.” Patrick motioned to Midas, who had settled in the doorway between the kitchen and the master bedroom.

“Couldn’t carry him in this purse,” Gini said.

“Are you sure? I’m waiting for you to pull out Nyx or Moon next.”

“I wouldn’t subject them to such an undignified mode of transport.”

Patrick placed the seagull on the table between the calculator and the roll of toilet paper. “What else?” He arched his neck, trying to see inside the cavernous bag.

Gini bunched up the material, protecting her treasures. “One more and that’s it for tonight.”

Would there be other nights after tonight?
Patrick wanted to think so even if he was fooling himself.

The last item Gini produced was a Super Soaker water gun, compact model. Patrick barked out laugh when she pumped the small gun and aimed it at his chest. It couldn’t be loaded. Who carried a loaded water gun in her purse?

The stream that sprayed out made a slapping noise as it soaked his T-shirt. Patrick put his hands out in front of him, but Gini kept on shooting. She aimed higher and hit his neck. Water droplets dribbled down his skin and into the collar of his shirt.

Patrick lurched out his hand and cupped his palm over the barrel of the water gun. Gini kept the trigger depressed, and water rolled down Patrick’s wrist to his elbow. Finally, the gun was empty.

“Out of ammo,” Gini said.

“Out of your mind,” Patrick added.

Gini’s shoulders did a quick bob up and down. “No doubt, but imagine walking down a deserted street and some thug tries to jump you. You whip this out and two things will happen. One, if it’s dark enough, he’ll think you have a gun and bolt. Two, if you shoot him with it, he’ll be so stunned and confused, you’ll have plenty of time to run for your life.”

“Make many trips down deserted streets?” Patrick grabbed the dishtowel from the sink and wiped himself off. He hung the towel over his shoulder.

“This is Vermont, Patrick. All the streets are deserted after five o’clock.” Gini gathered her revealed junk and tossed it back into her bag.

“Would you like me to reload that for you?” Patrick motioned to the water gun. “My street is a deserted street.”

Gini nodded and held out the gun.
Too easy.
Patrick grabbed it and filled it at the sink. He turned around quickly and smiled when he saw Gini was still organizing inside the purse.

“Gini,” he said.

“What?” She looked up as water arrowed at her head. The spray rained over her right ear and down her cheek. “Patrick!”

She got up from the chair and ran for the door, but Patrick was right behind her. He chased her through the master bedroom into the great room and to the floor-to-ceiling fireplace. Gini hugged the stones, her back to Patrick as water trickled down her neck into her tank top.

“Patrick!” she squealed again, although this time, laughter mixed with the yell of his name.

The gun finally emptied, and Gini turned around. Water had slid along her shoulders, dampening the ends of her hair. Some of the curls tightened their form, golden coils resting on her glistening skin. She held out her hand.

“Relinquish your weapon, sir,” she said.

“Let me refill it.” Patrick turned but didn’t get far. Gini’s hands gripped his arm, and he allowed her to spin him around to face her.

“I’ll take my chances out there with it unloaded,” she said. “Hand it over.”

Patrick pouted but slid the water gun into her hand. Her fingers closed around it, and she ran her other hand through her wet hair. Patrick stepped closer and pulled the towel from his shoulder. Without thinking, he turned her around and wiped the back of her neck, her shoulders, her curls. The towel absorbed the droplets, leaving smooth, flawless skin behind. Skin so perfect it didn’t seem real. Gini was a painting, a masterpiece, all skilled brushstrokes and vibrant colors.

Gini slowly swiveled around. She was only inches away from him. Close enough to reach out and taste. One step and he could have his mouth on hers again. Feel the silken press of her lips. Savor the kind of touch he never allowed himself to have. One step, and he could slip into Heaven.

But then he’d have to leave Heaven. Better not to cross that gate. Better to stay on this side of the line he’d drawn such a long time ago.

“I’d say thanks,” Gini motioned to the towel, “but I wouldn’t have gotten wet if it weren’t for you.”

Patrick took a handful of his shirt—careful not to lift it too far from his body—and squeezed the water out of it. A small puddle collected between his boots then he tucked his shirt back into his jeans. “You started it.”

“You wanted to see what was in my purse, big shot.” Gini took the towel from Patrick and wiped the puddle on the floor.

“I’m afraid of what else is hiding in there.” Patrick studied the streaks of light blonde that started at the part in Gini’s hair and disappeared into the browner blonde of her curls. His fingers itched to touch that softness.

“I think the water gun is the most dangerous item I’ve got.” She stood and tucked the Super Soaker into the waistband of her shorts. Shaking out the towel, she closed the distance between them and pressed the towel to Patrick’s chest. “It wasn’t fair of me to shoot an unarmed man.” She draped the towel over Patrick’s shoulder.

“Next time, I’ll keep my safety glasses on.” What else could he use for protection against what he was feeling right now?

“If I promise not to shoot, can we have those muffins we were going to have?” Gini looked up at him. She was so right there, her face a tad lower than his, her lips reachable if he’d only bend down slightly. “Patrick?”

“Yes.” He blinked several times. “Muffins. Yes.” He led the way back to the kitchen and focused on the tea bags. “Regular or green?”

“Green.” Gini sat at the table and waited for Patrick to microwave the tea. He placed the Rhode Island mug in front of her and took the black one for himself.

Gini picked up the mug and studied the lighthouse. “I think my seagull would like this.” She blew on the hot tea and took a tiny sip. “Jonah looked tired today, didn’t he?”

Patrick nodded. “He probably didn’t sleep well. He’s got to be uncomfortable.”

“You ever break anything on the job?” Gini asked.

“No.”

“Off the job?”

“Yes.” He held up his hand. “Fingertip to wrist working on my grandparents’ roof.”

“Ouch.”

Not half as bad as being burned,
Patrick thought. His hand had healed perfectly. His skin, not so much.

Gini accepted the blueberry muffin Patrick held out to her. “I hope you like these.”

“They look and smell amazing.” Patrick examined the one he’d selected for himself. “Is this a crumb topping?”

“Uh-huh. Brown sugar, maple sugar, and cinnamon.”

Patrick took a bite and his taste buds—his entire mouth—rejoiced. He finished a whole muffin before he could speak. “I’ve never had a muffin quite like that.”

“Mama is an artiste when it comes to baking. You’ll have to visit the bakery and try one of everything.”

“Maybe two of everything.” Patrick threw back a shot of his tea and eyed another muffin in the basket.

“Go for it,” Gini said.

“You too. Help yourself.” Patrick started on his second muffin.

Gini shook her head. “I don’t need another muffin.” She patted her stomach. “Being the daughter of a baker is not an easy life. Temptation is all around.”

“You don’t look like you give in to temptation often.”
You look like a goddess sent to tempt me.

“Thanks.” Gini cast her gaze down, bashful-like, and Patrick nearly choked on muffin bits. He reached for his tea and washed down crumb topping. He wished it were iced tea, because suddenly the kitchen felt as if he had all his firefighting gear on. Layers of gear weighing him down and heating him up.

“You don’t make a habit of eating desserts either.” Gini’s blue eyes rested on his face, and his temperature rose higher.

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t have a sweet tooth. Blueberry muffins are the exception.”

“And I’ve often classified them as fruit considering Mama makes sure there are berries in every bite.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said slowly, “I was trying to figure out what made these muffins the best blueberry muffins I’ve ever tasted in my life. Berries in every bite. That’s it.”

“She’s got you under her spell now. You won’t be able to eat another blueberry muffin without wishing it was one of Mama’s.”

Patrick couldn’t argue with that. He would definitely be satisfying all his muffin needs at Liz’s bakery. What other needs could a Claremont satisfy?

“What did you do today?” Patrick asked as a way of getting his mind off Gini naked.

“Haddy and I worked on the calendar.” Gini’s voice was quiet, careful. “It’s going to be awesome when it’s finished.” Patrick made a pile of the crumbs in front of him. “Patrick?”

He looked up, palms on the table, ready to fight about picture taking.

“You can relax.” Gini traced the outline of one of his hands with her index finger. The sensation made Patrick everything but relaxed. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed you won’t be a part of the calendar,” she said. “I’m pretty sure the women of Burnam would pay large sums of money to see their newest fighter on display.” She paused in her tracing and brushed her fingers instead over the back of his hand. If this simple touch could make his heart thud wildly in his chest, what would more than touching do?

“Or they might want their money back,” Patrick said.

“Why would you say that?” Gini rested her full hand over his now.

God, he wanted to tell her. Show her and have her say it didn’t matter his body was ruined. That she wanted him anyway.

“Just being humble, I guess,” he said.

“You have no reason to be humble, Patrick.” Gini leaned forward. “You’re an attractive man. That’s just a fact.”

Patrick had trouble swallowing. Attractive was not the word to describe him. Maybe it could have been had things gone differently when he was sixteen. Maybe that boy could have grown into something beautiful. But that boy didn’t get the chance. Instead, that boy had become this man, an elephant man.

She should go home now. She should get up, grab that ridiculous purse, and head on home.