Rescue Me(16)
Her stomach roared as she got back into the truck.
She stared out the window as they drove toward Mercy Falls, passing the local VFW and out in the distance the glimmering lights of the PEAK Rescue ranch. Beyond that, Ian Shaw’s place remained dark—he’d been out of town searching for leads on his lost niece most of the summer. Last she’d heard, he’d been placing missing person ads in the paper and was trying to get his now-twenty-one-year-old niece listed on the national missing person’s registry.
“I have to know, Pete. Why isn’t Tallie your type?”
The padding of darkness had made her brave.
“Tallie? Oh, she’s nice. I supposed she might be my type. I just wanted to get out of there.”
Oh.
Well, what did she expect him to say? That he only liked—
“But if you must know, I’m partial to blondes. Grimy, sort of feisty ones with no real social life. The kind I can beat in a game of horse.”
Her mouth opened. “I have a social life!”
“Right. You and your Skil saw.”
“I happen to like home repair.”
He was grinning, and as they passed under streetlights, his eyes were so blue they shimmered. Her heart skipped one beat, two.
“Good thing you’re not talking about me,” she said then, finding her voice. “Last time I remember, I kicked you up one side of the court and down the other in one-on-one.”
“I let you win, Speedy. You whine when you lose.”
“I don’t lose.”
“Because I let you win.” He reached over to the pizza. “Gimme one of those pieces. I could eat a grizzly.”
“That’s not funny.” She dug into the box, pulled out a piece. The pizza was soggy, a little overcooked, but she too could eat a large animal.
Maybe not a grizzly.
He folded the pizza in half, eating it like a sandwich, one hand on the wheel.
“Besides, you’re not exactly my type,” she said.
“Which is?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The kind of guy who won’t let me win, maybe? Who can simply acknowledge that I’m better than him?”
“Right, honey. Okay, we’ll have another go. When and where, name it.”
She liked how he said it, with a little growl to his voice.
“Anytime, Michael Jordan.” She dug a piece of pizza out of the box, took a bite. “This isn’t terrible.”
“The Hotline Grill over in Ember makes awesome pizza.”
“That’s where you were based when you were smoke jumping, right?” She caught a piece of dripping mozzarella, tucked it in her mouth. “Do you miss it?”
“A little. But it’s better that I’m home. For Mom, you know? She’s still pretty weak from the chemo.”
She had to admire a guy who came home because his mom needed him.
Her mother might speak to her again someday. But Jess wasn’t exactly waiting by the phone.
They wove their way through town, along the side roads, until he pulled up in front of her house.
Her glorious, ramshackle, someday-gorgeous 1907, three-story house, with the front porch, gables, clapboard siding, formerly crumbling foundation, and a stripped and dilapidated interior.
A house that no one could ever kick her out of, and paid for in full, thank you, for the grand sum of $1.00 from the city of Mercy Falls.
Formerly condemned, and now with a little help from her team, sporting a new roof, new insulation, and new windows.
Although, granted, she was still sleeping on the floor and generally living like a squatter. At least she had a working kitchen and plumbing.
Most important, it was hers. Bought and remodeled with her own hard-earned money.
As far from her father’s influence as she could get.
“It’s late, so maybe painting can wait. But . . . I’m walking you in.”
He grabbed the box of pizza and got out.
“What’s with the chivalry? You’re suddenly worried about my safety?”
Although, come to think of it, he’d been here most evenings, fixing the roof, porch, siding, adding insulation, repairing the plumbing, re-ducting the heating system, even rewiring a couple rooms for electricity. Frankly, he spent more time at 303 Sycamore than he did at his mom’s place.
“I can take care of myself,” she said as she climbed up the steps.
“I know.” He held out his hand, waggled his fingers.
“Fine.” She handed him the keys, and he opened the heavy vintage door. It creaked on its hinges, and she could admit that any time after 2:00 a.m. was a creepy time of night. He flicked on the overhead light, and the newly washed leaded glass fixture sprayed light down the hallway and into the family room.
Three sleeping bags atop air mattresses lay on the floor in front of the hearth. Beside them snaked cords that plugged into outlets for their chargers and lamps.