Hearts on Fire Read online

  “These must be expensive.” His gaze darted to the back of her stall where the smallest of her looms added authenticity to her booth.

  “The value is in my time, and I’ve got lots of time.” Nothing but time. Endless time.

  He stared at Shannon until his daughter’s dancing drew his attention. Wrapped in the color-blocked swath of fabric, Megan Rankin looked like a sprite on Midsummer’s Eve, her face alight with laughter and the spirit only a child possesses. Shannon fought to remain detached even though she knew the fight had been lost the moment she saw fear in the little girl’s eyes from across the way.

  “Please, let her accept the gift.” Shannon turned away rather than let him see the tears in her eyes.

  “What do you say to Ms. Perry for the gift, Meggie?”

  “Thank you so much!”

  Shannon patted her face dry with a handkerchief she’d rescued from a flea market then turned. “You’re welcome, Meggie. I hope the scarf brings you years of joy.”

  The sprite danced away from the booth, her gaze coming back to her father every few seconds. Shannon thought her heart might split in two, watching the precocious child spin and jump as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Thank you.” The deep voice broke into Shannon’s thoughts, bringing her crashing back to reality. She had the impression the two words were meant to say more, but nothing about the man’s expression backed up her thoughts.

  “You’re welcome.” Shannon wrapped her arms around her midsection and moved to the deep shadows in the back of the booth.

  The father and daughter duo disappeared from view a few moments later, taking the sunshine with them.

  ~~~

  “Be good for Grandma.” With one last hug, Steve lowered Meggie’s feet to his mother’s kitchen floor. “Maybe she’ll bring you by the station later.”

  “Can we, Grandma? Please?”

  Working thirty-six hour shifts was difficult, but having his daughter visit, even for a short time, helped get him through. Meggie loved the firehouse, or maybe she just loved his co-workers. Every time she came by, they spoiled her rotten, letting her do everything from helping wash and polish the fire engines to baking cookies. They extended the favor to all the firefighters’ children, but none seemed to appreciate the attention the way Meggie did.

  “You have to help me in the garden first. Then, if there aren’t any emergencies, we’ll stop by later.”

  He could always count on his mom to put balance in his daughter’s life.

  “Call before you come. I have a few things to follow up on today, so I’ll be out for a while.” He didn’t usually follow up on fires, but he couldn’t get a certain earthy woman out of his head. He’d been too harsh on Shannon Perry the day before. In retrospect, he decided she’d acted responsibly, sheltering his daughter from what could have turned out to be a dangerous situation. If the faire goers or, God forbid, the horses scattered around the area had panicked, Megan would have been in real danger. He owed the woman an apology.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He located the fortune teller’s booth easily enough. Pending a determination of the cause of the fire, the charred remains were untouched. As he stood there assessing the damage, the older woman he recognized from the day before approached.

  “Such a tragedy.” Her thick accent sounded as fake as her fortune-telling skills. “I’ve lost everything.” She shook her head in dismay, her springy black hair swinging from side to side like a cloud of smoke.

  “Not everything,” he said, pointing to the one object still recognizable in the rubble. “Looks like your crystal ball survived.”

  “Oh! I see it!”

  Steve grabbed her arm, stopping her from wading into the ashes. “Wait! You can’t go in there dressed like that.” He waved a hand at her velvet slippers embroidered with gold thread.

  “But I must have my crystal ball,” she cried.

  He’d read the report this morning. There would be no more inquiry into the cause. The old woman admitted to leaving an illegal candle burning inside the tent while she went to a nearby bank of portable toilets. The official cause was negligence, which in his mind proved the booth owner a fraud. If she could tell fortunes, wouldn’t she have foreseen the tragedy and done something, like extinguish the candle, to prevent the fire?

  “Stay here,” he admonished. “I’ll get it for you.”

  The glass orb was covered in soot, but otherwise appeared untouched by the flames. Using a rag from his backpack, he cleaned the object as best he could before handing it to the owner.

  “Thank you, sir.” She held the heavy piece of glass in the palm of one hand while rubbing it reverently with the other. “You are the young man who came to help yesterday.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

  “You tried, and for that, I am extremely grateful. It could have been much worse.”

  “You’re right. You shouldn’t have had a real candle burning, and you really shouldn’t have gone off and left it unattended. The whole faire could have burned to the ground.”

  She had the good sense to appear contrite. “I know, but those flameless candles don’t provide the same atmosphere as real ones. It’s hard enough getting people to believe. Providing the right ambience makes people more receptive.”

  “I just bet it does,” he muttered. What little tolerance he had for the charlatan wore thinner by the minute. He turned, intending to escape before he said something that might get him in trouble if it got back to the department.

  “Wait!” A wrinkled hand on his arm stopped him. “Don’t go. Let me read your fortune—as a way to thank you for what you did yesterday. You weren’t able to save my booth, but you kept the fire from spreading. I owe you a great debt.”

  Silently praying for patience, he faced her again, hoping he would find some polite words to replace the ones running through his head. The pleading expression on the woman’s face made him feel like a jerk for thinking bad thoughts about her. Hell, she was probably someone’s grandmother, looking for a way to supplement her Social Security check. He could afford a few extra minutes to humor her.

  “Okay. You tell me what your crystal ball says about my future, and we’ll call it even.”

  He followed her to a sprawling oak tree behind the row of vendor booths where she’d spread a rug that looked to have been around longer than the century-old tree shading it. She sat, motioning him to join her. When he did, sitting cross-legged in front of her, she placed the glass orb between them.

  “Concentrate. Focus on the center of the crystal ball.” She demonstrated, bending over to peer directly at the heavy object.

  “Don’t you need to know my name or something?”

  “No. You’ve touched the ball. It knows all there is to know about you.”

  “Too bad it didn’t know your tent was going to burn down.”

  “Perhaps it did, sir. Everything happens for a reason.”

  “What’s the reason for a fire that could have caused massive damage and loss of life?”

  “Ahh, but the only damage occurred to my tent,” she reasoned. “Perhaps the fire was necessary to bring you to me. You wouldn’t have come otherwise, would you?”

  And expose Megan to a transient liar and cheat? Hell, no. “No, I wouldn’t have stopped at your tent.”

  “There’s your answer. The message the crystal ball holds for you must be very important.” She took a deep breath before placing her hands on the ball. “Focus on the crystal, sir. Open your mind to possibilities.”

  Steve glared at the fortune-teller. Her eyes were closed while she made woo-woo sounds and waved her hands around. He barely contained his laughter. Absolutely ridiculous, but entertaining. He could see why people paid for a reading. The spectacle was worth a few bucks.

  “You aren’t concentrating.”

  “I am,” he lied. Tearing his gaze from the show, he leaned down and stared into the
ball.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her hands stilled in midair. “Do you see it?”

  “See what?”

  “Your future.” Suddenly, she bent over, cradled the ball in her hands, and stared at it as if it were the most interesting snow globe ever. “There’s a woman—”

  “Oh, no, there’s not.” He had a few female friends he thought of as fuck buddies, but there was no woman, and there never would be. Been there, done that, have the daughter to prove it.

  The charlatan continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “She needs you. She’s been wandering for a long time, but she wants to come home. She desires you, but she isn’t sure she can settle. The freedom of the road comforts her.”

  Theresa.

  “You must convince her to stay, to put down roots again, to trust, to love.”

  No way in hell.

  “You need someone to love you, to make a home with you and your daughter. You desire this woman. Open your heart to her, and you will see she is everything you want and need.”

  “Wait.” Steve snapped out of whatever spell she’d woven over him. “How did you know about my daughter?” He had buddies on the police force. If this crazy woman had been anywhere near his family, he would have her locked up for good.

  “The crystal showed her to me.”

  “Like it showed you my ex?” He stood, not caring who witnessed his angry outburst. “Stay away from me, and stay away from my daughter!”

  The old woman struggled to her feet. “The woman…she is not your former girlfriend. I know nothing about this person you speak of. This woman is in your future. She is very important in your life. You must not let her get away.”

  “Lady, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but the last thing I need or want in my life is a woman.” He towered over her, his patience and goodwill dissipating like summer rain on hot concrete. “Did Theresa put you up to this? Is she here?”

  As the idea occurred to him, he looked around, expecting to see Megan’s mother stroll out from behind a tree.

  “I do not know this Theresa you speak of.”

  “You described her—flighty, wanderer, can’t settle. That’s Theresa.”

  “This Theresa…she needs you?”

  “Hell, no. Theresa never needed anyone but herself.” Not even her daughter.

  “Then she is not the woman the crystal showed me. The woman in your future needs you. She has traveled many miles, searching for love. You must find her before she is lost to you.”

  Steve rubbed a hand over his face. She’s nuttier than a fruitcake. And you’re crazy to be listening to her. He swung his backpack off his shoulder, digging until he found the paper he wanted.

  “Here.” He handed her the citation for violating city code by having an open flame in her booth. “Pay the fine at City Hall before you leave town.”

  “I will, but you must listen—”

  “Save your show for someone who cares,” he said, walking away.

  Reaching the interior of the faire once again, Steve paused with his hands on his hips. Since the event wouldn’t open until later in the afternoon on this weekday, only a few people milled about. At the far end of the mock medieval village, a man dressed in jeans and a cowboy hat groomed one of several horses tethered to a makeshift hitching rail. A few craftspeople arranged their stock while food vendors opened their carts in preparation for the tourists expected later.

  He nodded at a guy pushing a cart loaded with boxes of frozen french fries—anything to avoid looking toward the one place he didn’t want to see.

  He sensed her presence, and it was darned annoying the way he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Volunteering to deliver the citation had been a convenient justification for doing what he really wanted to do. See Shannon Perry again.

  After a near-sleepless night recalling the sound of her voice, the shape of her body, and the allure of her scent, he realized the apology he owed her was nothing more than an excuse to see her again.

  Giving in to the impulse that brought him to the fairgrounds, he let his gaze wander toward the weaver’s booth. Knowing she was there hadn’t been enough warning to keep his body from responding to her earthy sensuality. Unaware of his scrutiny, she straightened her inventory, rearranging the brightly colored items, folding and refolding until she had everything laid out in perfect rows and columns. The precise display didn’t mesh with the type of woman he knew her to be—flighty, unfettered, carefree. The dichotomy of her personality drew him closer until he stood behind her.

  She’d gathered her long hair at her nape with a jeweled clip that screamed understated elegance and would have been appropriate in any boardroom or fancy party. His daughter would toss every ribbon and plastic beaded clip she owned for such a hair accessory.

  Shannon stretched on tiptoes in order to smooth a blouse hanging from the front edge of the tent support, giving him an excellent view of her torso. Her sleeveless blouse, crafted from some sort of thin fabric, clung to her curves like a second skin. Her skirt, coarser, though of obvious quality, flowed from her trim waist to swirl around her ankles. Her sandals were standard hippy-issue Birkenstocks that overpowered her tiny feet. The flash of red he glimpsed on her toenails seemed more seductress than earth mother. Another conundrum he had no intention of solving. He knew all he needed to know. She was a transient vendor, traveling with a bunch of crazy folks who dressed in velvet and leather and pretended to live in medieval times. The entire concept was beyond him, but to each his own.

  “Ms. Perry,” he said.

  With a startled cry, she turned to face him. One hand covered her heart while the other grabbed at the table behind her to keep her from falling. “You scared me!”

  God, she was beautiful, her skin glowing from within—like he imagined she would look after an orgasm—minus the frightened expression. “I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”

  She shook her head. “No.” She straightened, smoothing a stray hair back into place. “You’re Meggie’s father. The fireman.”

  He smiled. “Yes. I came to deliver the final report on the incident, so the owner can begin the cleanup.” Suddenly feeling a fool, he looked at his feet. “I owe you an apology for yesterday.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” she said with conviction. “I’m just glad I was there when your daughter needed me.”

  Her heartfelt tone made him look up. The startled expression and accompanying color had left her face. She looked…sad…and pale. So pale he thought she might faint. His rescue training kicked in.

  “Are you okay?” Grabbing her by the elbow, he steered her around the table to the dark interior of the booth. He guided her to the nearest seat, a bench in front of a loom, and insisted she sit.

  “I’m fine. Really. I just need a minute.”

  He looked around, spotting an insulated cooler in the corner. Seconds later, he pressed a cold water bottle in her hand. “Drink.”

  She didn’t argue. Lifting the plastic container to her lips with one hand, Steve pressed his fingers to the pulse on her other wrist. It felt strong and regular enough to ease his concerns, but obviously something had upset her.

  “I think we’re even now.” He pulled a folding camp chair near and sat.

  “How do you figure?”

  “I scared you, and you scared me. I thought you were going to pass out.”

  “I don’t know what came over me. The heat, I guess.”

  Steve swept an assessing gaze over her face. Her eyes were clear, reacting to the change in light from the sunlit front of the booth to the shadowed rear where they sat. Her color was returning, and her speech lucid, not slurred. He’d bet his bottom dollar she knew exactly what had come over her, and it hadn’t been the heat. If anything, she should have been wearing a sweater. The sun hadn’t had time to remove the early morning chill.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “No!” He was glad to see the flush of color her swift answer b
rought back to her cheeks.

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I don’t need to see a doctor.” She stood. All traces of distress were gone, replaced by imperious resolve. “I am not pregnant. I am not ill. I am, however, sick of you.”

  Steve eased to his feet. His brain got the not-so-subtle dismissal, but his body refused to go along with the program. She was nothing more than a sprite compared to him, but she was a sprite with nerve. Looking down at her upturned face, he could see how much her bravado cost her. She trembled, and he desperately wanted to make her shiver for a different reason.

  Slowly, as if reaching out to a wild mare, he lifted his hand to her nape, giving her all the time in the world to tell him to fuck off before he slid his fingers beneath her hair to caress the silken skin of her neck. With a patience and desire he hadn’t experienced in his life, he held her still while he closed the distance between them, one inch at a time.

  She could get away. He only had a hand on her nape, and there wasn’t anything sinister about his touch. If she stepped back, he’d let her go. She felt certain he wouldn’t force her to do anything. If he planned to molest her, he’d just get on with it instead of taking his time.

  Time she needed, time she hated. All I have is time. Endless, lonely days. Endless, lonely months. Endless, lonely years.

  It had been so long since she’d felt any desire for a man. She didn’t know what to do with the hunger inside her for this one. If she let him kiss her, would he want more?

  Could she give him more?

  I don’t know if I can give him even this much.

  His lips brushed hers, warm and…alive. Her heart raced like it was hooked up to an adrenaline pump.

  “Tell me to stop.” The words, spoken against her lips, were rough, mirroring the turmoil inside her.

  Stop. Stop. Stop. Ignoring the mantra in her brain, she followed the insistent urging of her body instead, rising up on tiptoe to press her mouth against his.