He’d rather be studying flame lengths and fire behavior. Even out on the fire line, trenching for twelve hours, hot, acrid air burning his throat.
Okay, maybe not entirely, but . . . if he had to look at another piece of painted birch bark . . .
“Cheer up. No one is going to make you paint, Picasso,” Ivy said.
Her smile could stop the constant, frustrated boil in his head, and for a second, it all washed away. He should simply enjoy his evening out with this beautiful woman who represented everything he needed. A fresh start. A mother for Tiger. A woman without guile.
“Just you wait. I took three years of art in high school,” he said.
“Really.”
He leaned close, catching her vanilla fragrance. “It fulfilled my art credits. My mother has a closet full of scary vases and ceramic plates.”
She laughed and it felt like a fresh breeze to his soul.
They cut across the sidewalk and into the harbor park, where a flautist played from a stage, the music soft against the breeze and the wash of waves on shore. Nearby, the children’s tent hosted various activities, one of them the rock-painting contest. He settled Tiger at a table while Ivy retrieved a painting kit for him: a bucket of rocks, brushes, and a tin of watercolors.
“Hey there, buddy, are you here to paint?” Caleb Knight came over, wearing a baseball hat and his Huskies football shirt.
“Hey, Caleb,” Darek said, catching his hand. Although he’d graduated long before Coach Knight came to town, he’d watched him transform the Huskies football program into a championship team. Some year soon, they’d win state. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“We’re fund-raising for the school,” Caleb said, pointing to a donation bucket.
Darek dug into his pocket, came out with a ten, and dropped it in.
Caleb tied an apron on Tiger and showed him how to dip his brush in the water, then the paint. Tiger reached for a rock and began to turn it green.
Darek stepped out of the tent, watching the waves. The water turned platinum in the light of the setting sun. A slight breeze bullied the collar of his polo shirt.
Conditions like these could be most dangerous on a fire line. Winds could be deceptive, lull firefighters into believing they had the upper hand. He’d known fire crews to take naps too near a line, nearly find themselves caught in a firestorm.
He’d have to stop by the forest service office and—
“You’re not really here, are you?”
Ivy’s voice cut through his thoughts and he turned, tried to focus on her. It was a moment before he found words. “There’s a fire north of Deep Haven, back in the BWCA. A bunch of hotshots from my old crew are in town, and . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “They’re staying at the resort.”
“And you’d like to be with them.”
He slipped his hand into hers. “No. I’d rather be here with you.”
She took a long breath. Didn’t smile. “I’m a lawyer. I know when people are lying.”
Oh yeah. His smile fell. “Okay. Yes. But that’s not my life anymore.”
“And you’re kicking yourself for still wanting it.” Her voice grew soft. “We can’t blame ourselves for wanting something. Just for what we’ll do to get it.”
She had such amazing green eyes, the way they shone in the sun, and for a long moment, he forgot exactly what he’d been pining for.
Yes. Right now he would rather be here, with her.
“Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” he said. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to call.”
She smiled, but that sadness touched her eyes again. Oh, he’d hurt her.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to; it’s just—”
“With Tiger it gets tricky.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I . . . don’t want him getting hurt.”
She had her fingers woven with his. “Me either.” Then she pulled away from him. Wrapped her arms around herself. “It was probably a good thing because I need to talk to you.”
He made a face. “Please don’t tell me I totally blew it. Really, Ivy, I wanted to call you, but I—”
She held up a hand. “It’s not that. It’s just, this town is so small. . . .”
Small. His chest tightened. Of course she had heard about him and Felicity. The kind of man he’d been, why he’d lost his wife, why he didn’t deserve a woman like Ivy. His hopes betrayed him when he said, “What did you hear?”
She frowned. “I didn’t—”
Behind him, Tiger laughed. And then he heard a voice lift above his son’s, deep and resonant, raking up memories.
He whirled around.