Slow Burn. Jamie Denton
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alongside me, dragging a string of barbed wire wrapped midway around her tail. After I took it off, she followed me home. No one bothered to claim her, not that I’d seriously consider allowing her to go back, given the shape the poor girl was in when she found me.”
Not only did Maggie now understand the reason for the odd length of Pearl’s bushy tail, but she’d discovered vitally important information regarding Cale. The man suffered from a hero complex. She didn’t need to be Sigmund Freud to understand why Cale had become a paramedic. The injured pup revealed a lot about him and explained his rescuing her from an unknown fate.
There had to be more to the puzzle, of that she felt certain. For reasons she didn’t understand, she couldn’t help wondering about the why behind his good-hearted soul.
“Shake it, baby!”
Maggie stared at Cale, not quite certain she’d heard him right. “Pardon me?”
He pulled a pair of tall glasses from the cabinet nearest the sink. “Cool it, Gilda,” he scolded on his way to the freezer for ice. “There’s a lady in the house.”
A wolf whistle came next. “Pretty mama. Yowza,” was followed by a high-decibel screech.
This time Maggie had no trouble discerning the species or the location of the voice. She walked past Cale, through the efficiency kitchen into a cozy breakfast nook painted a soft white that matched the wicker table and chairs covered with bright print cushions. Potted palms and hanging ferns were scattered around the room, adding to the charm. A wind chime made entirely of seashells hung directly in front of the east window, complementing the tropical decor. She instantly liked this room. It’d be the perfect spot to…to what? Frustration filled her as the whisper-thin, indecipherable impression floated out of her grasp.
“Pucker up, doll.”
Maggie turned toward the crude squawking. A large wrought-iron cage housing a predominately teal-colored parrot sat off to the side, away from the rays of streaming sunlight. “Hi there, Gilda,” she said to the bird.
Cale entered the bright nook, a sheepish grin on his face. “She has a very unusual vocabulary for a girl,” he said, wondering why on earth Maggie’s interest in his pets gave him such a feeling of intense pleasure. Maybe because most of the women he dated were either allergic, couldn’t be bothered or just plain disliked animals, period.
Maggie grinned. The way her eyes sparkled when she glanced his way sent a shot of warmth through him. A very dangerous kind of warmth. The kind that jump-started fantasies—he remembered the color of Maggie’s eyes when she was aroused and began to wonder if they’d become the color of the ocean if he kissed her pretty bow-shaped mouth.
“Where did you find her?” she asked, dragging him reluctantly out of his ocean-blue fantasy.
Gilda walked back and forth along her perch. “One of a kind. One of a kind.”
“You most certainly are,” she told the bird, her voice filled with a hint of laughter.
Gilda fluffed her brilliant feathers and squawked. The old girl knew a compliment when she heard one.
“Gilda’s a long story,” he hedged.
She gave him a sidelong look. “Sounds like an interesting one,” she prompted.
Cale let out a sigh. “I was at a bachelor party for one of the guys at the station,” he admitted sheepishly. “The owner of the place was looking for a home for Gilda, so I took her in.”
A mischievous grin tugged her lips as she took the glass of iced tea he offered. “A bachelor party, huh?”
Gilda bobbed up and down to a tune all her own. “What a pair!”
Cale took a long drink of his own tea and looked away.
Maggie glanced at Gilda. “Careful,” she scolded gently. “Uh, where exactly was this bachelor party?”
Cale rubbed the back of his neck, which had suddenly grown hot. “A place down the coast highway. You wouldn’t know it.”
“Shake it, baby.”
“Based on Gilda’s very unladylike choice of phrases, I think I have a pretty good idea.”
“Ride ’em, cowgirl,” Gilda belted, followed by a couple bars of the Lone Ranger’s theme song.
Cale cleared his throat. “She was a lot worse a few months ago.” Gilda still might be the linguistic equivalent of a dirty old man, but the swearing had begun to ebb…somewhat. Every now and then, however, she’d let loose with a string of curses so vile, she offended the neighbors.
“She sings, too,” Cale told her. “Presley, Sinatra and Buddy Holly are her favorites.” Maggie’s soft gentle laughter, combined with the sensual curve of her lips had him thinking some very nonplatonic thoughts about his newest roommate.
“Any other critters I should be aware of?” she asked before taking a sip of her tea.
Cale led her away from Gilda before the bird started swearing. When Gilda had a live audience, anything was possible.
“Only Frankie and Johnnie,” he said as he ushered Maggie back through the kitchen and into the living room. Pearl lay in the corner between the sofa and recliner on her bed, a large blue pillow stuffed with cedar wood chips.
“And they would be?”
“A pair of cats I got talked into adopting not long after I moved in here.” He set his tea on the pine table and snagged the bag holding her things, preparing to give Maggie the nickel tour and show her to her room. The doctor had insisted she get plenty of rest over the next few days, and Cale had no intention of ignoring those orders, especially if it would help her with the return of her memory.
“They’re all very lucky to have you.” An odd expression filled her eyes. A hint of sorrow, naturally, but something deeper, more empathetic, reminding him that for the moment, he was the only person in the world who cared about what happened to Maggie With-No-Last-Name.
He knew what it was like to feel alone, sort of. Sure, he’d had his brothers and his father when his mother had died in the line of duty at a time when women firefighters were extremely rare. And then his aunt had stepped in when his father had simply given up on life after Joanna Perry had died. Although Cale hadn’t been completely alone, he still had known a deep sense of longing for something familiar and comforting, something that remained elusive until eventually it faded with time. The perfume his mom used to wear when she was off duty, for instance, or the sweet, gentle sound of her voice as she read stories to her sons. Now he could barely remember the feel of his father’s firm hand upon his shoulder or the deep rumble of his laughter.
His intent only to offer consolation, he dropped the bag at his feet before taking the glass of tea from Maggie’s grasp. The moment he pulled her into his arms, she stiffened. A half second later, she let out a warm sigh and slid her arms around his waist. The heavy weight of her cast pressed into his side as he held her close. She smelled as warm and fresh as a summer day.
“You’re not alone, Maggie,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re free to stay until you decide it’s time for you to leave. Okay?”
He felt the slight nod of her head against his chest as he smoothed his hand down her back as if soothing a small child—except Maggie was no child. She was a full-grown woman with curves in all the right places. Curves he’d had the agonizing privilege of seeing when he’d walked in on her at the hospital. Curves he’d had the excruciating pleasure of touching as he’d helped her dress. Curves he was certain would haunt not only his dreams, but his waking hours, as well.
She pulled back to look up at him. Her eyes filled with moisture. “Cale,” she whispered.
“Shh,” he murmured, slipping his hand through her long cinnamon hair to cup the back of her neck in his palm. Comfort, that’s all he was offering. It was all he had to offer.