Jodi Redford - Light My Fire

“You’re right. Raul can make a mean shepherd’s pie, whereas I’m lucky if I manage not to burn toast.”

“Damn it, that isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

Yeah, she did. But trying to assure Leo and everyone else that she was no less a charity case than any one of Emmaline’s motley stable of rejects was about as easy as convincing Raul not to wear white pumps after Labor Day. Instead of wasting her breath, she resorted to her only other option—changing the subject. “Speaking of burnt toast, is Jane still making her infamous bread pudding for the employee potluck?”

“Yep. Be sure and stock up on antacids before next weekend.”

“Will do.” Dana settled the two colas onto the tray and reached for another set of glasses. Her gaze momentarily journeyed across the room and landed on two men huddled behind their opened menus. Frowning, she scanned their upper torsos, the only parts she could readily see of them. What she did manage to make out looked suspiciously familiar.

No. It can’t be. Squinting, she stared hard at the guy in the black T-shirt. Wait…black. Nope, Aiden had been wearing a gray shirt. Shaking her head at her own paranoia, she quickly filled the remaining glasses and returned to the Landreys. She passed around the drinks, her mind wandering, circling around once again to Aiden and Jace. Without question, her encounter with them had been hugely weird. Which was saying a lot, considering her interesting track record where men were concerned. Still, most men didn’t make her feel all warm and shivery with a single heated glance.

Jen Landrey tapped Dana’s forearm, making Dana jump. Thank God she’d already set the woman’s iced tea down. Jen leaned closer, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with conspiratorial delight. “I hear you’ve got a booth at the Renaissance fair. Lucky girl. I’d be in heaven surrounded by all those beefcake men in kilts and armor.”

“Trust me, some of them shouldn’t be wearing kilts.” Remembering the flash of pimply butt cheek she’d been awarded from Lars, the ironsmith, Dana grimaced.

Mischief danced across Jen’s angelic features. “I wonder if it’s true what they say. You know, about a true Scotsman not wearing anything underneath his kilt?”

“In some cases, unfortunately yes.”

Jen giggled. “Well, I’m making a trip out there next weekend. I absolutely loved the cute flower fairy painting you made for my mom. Do you think you could do something similar for me?”

At the mention of Faye Landrey, Dana cleared her throat. “Of course. Umm…would you happen to know if your mom has deposited my rent payment for the gallery yet? I checked my bank balance yesterday and noticed the funds haven’t been withdrawn.”

The one thing Jen didn’t possess was a poker face. She tried to cover her flustered response by patting her frizzy black hair with one hand and inspecting her manicure on her other. Yeah, that was never a dead giveaway someone was about to utter a big fat lie. “Errm…uh…not sure. You know how absentminded my mom can be.”

Dana recognized a pile of horseshit when she smelled it. This was the third time in the past eight months Faye had conveniently forgotten to deposit the gallery rent. Sure, it was a sweet gesture, but if everyone continued treating her like a bum forced to collect loose change, her ego would shrivel to the size of a pea.

Little Frank Jr. tugged on Jen’s sleeve, gaining her attention. Dana used the opportunity to slink away. She headed toward the kitchen but stalled when she heard Emmaline and Raul’s raised voices. The idea of dealing with those two right now held about as much appeal as skinny dipping in a tank of electric eels. What she really longed for was some fresh air. Perhaps that’d slap her out of her funk.

Tiptoeing down the back hallway, she swung open the delivery entrance door, wincing when it squealed a rusty whine. “Note to self—pick up WD-40.” She ducked outside and slumped against the wall, a blissful sigh escaping her lips. It felt amazingly good having only the soft breeze for company. Short-lived as it would be.

She loved Emmaline. Would do anything for her aunt, including giving up every other weekend to help out at the restaurant, but days like this she’d give anything to fall mindlessly into her true escape—a blank canvas, a palette of paint and the giddy magic of her muse.

“Dana?” The dreaded voice that continuously popped up like a cockroach that refused to die shattered her idyllic moment.

Turning her head against the rough brick, she glared at Calvin. “Oh. My. God. What’s it going to take for you to get a freakin’ clue?” She shoved away from the building, her patience stretched beyond the snapping point. “I’ve had enough. Do you hear me? Enough. I’m giving you five seconds to leave before I go inside and fetch Leo.”

She’d expected the threat to slap some sense into Calvin, so she was justifiably startled when his fingers dug into her upper arms and pushed her forcibly against the wall. “Stop it,” she gasped. “You’re hurting me.”

“I would never hurt you.” Calvin’s pleading gaze bore into her, his face close enough she could smell the overly sweet mintiness of his breath. “You have to believe me.”

“Let go of me now, or I swear to God I’ll scream.” She tried valiantly to hide the tremor in her voice but failed. Despite her vast experience dealing with whack-job exes, nothing had prepared her for this. Before Calvin, no one had physically threatened her.

“Sweetheart…”

She sucked in a lungful of air and prepared to release it in a blistering scream. A flurry of motion came from the left and the next thing she knew, Calvin was hurtled into one of the dumpsters. Pretty damn mind-boggling considering the dumpsters were parked twenty feet away. Blinking, she dragged her focus from Calvin, who was attempting to wobble to his feet and looking as dazed as she felt. She gaped at the man who suddenly filled her line of vision.

Aiden’s jaw was rigid enough to crack open a coconut. “Are you okay?”

“Wha—?” She shook her head, trying to rattle the words free from the roof of her mouth.

“Did that son of a bitch hurt you?” Aiden’s fiery gaze returned to Calvin, spearing him in place.

Jace stepped into view, his expression equally lethal. “Say the word and I’ll pulverize the dick-for-brains myself.”

A hysterical bubble of laughter popped from Dana’s throat. “All right, I give up. Where are the hidden cameras?”

Aiden and Jace gave her a look that was usually reserved for the folks about to be locked in shiny, padded cells. She stepped forward and her shaky knees threatened to topple her in an embarrassing sprawl. Aiden easily caught her, his strong arms a steadying presence. Feeling like a clumsy doofus, she leaned into his rock-solid chest. His fingertips quested along her right arm and stopped at the angry red marks left behind from Calvin’s manhandling.

A low, dangerous growl rumbled from Aiden. “He did hurt you.”

“I’m all right.” She peered into the blazing intensity of Aiden’s stare. “Th-thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Does this mean you don’t want me to kick the dude’s ass nine ways to Sunday?” Jace sounded more than a little disappointed.

She quickly glanced at Calvin, who was still cowering on top of the garbage piled high in the dumpster. “I think he’s learned his lesson.” Hopefully .

His wary stare panning between Aiden and Jace, Calvin tumbled from the dumpster and sprinted across the parking lot. After some fumbling, he wrenched open the door to his Bonneville, jumped in and sped off. It’d probably take him weeks to rid his car of the stench from last night’s Curry Surprise.