Beth Andrews – Charming the Firefighter (страница 13)
Holding his pen over the paper, he raised his eyebrows. “You lost count?”
“Of course not. I’m an accountant. Counting is what I do,” she said in an aggrieved tone. “Counting and adding and subtracting and reading tax law among other things. The point,” she said, “is that I am not drunk.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
She sniffed. “You didn’t have to. I can tell by your face. You look all...smug. And amused.”
“Smug?” he murmured. “That hurts.”
“Let me tell you something,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “While I may not be completely, one hundred percent sober, I am
Compassion swept through him. Nothing new there. Taking care of others wasn’t just his job, it was his calling, one he was damned good at. He prided himself on his ability to sympathize with the people he helped, to understand what they needed most.
Penelope, with her sad eyes and that sexy mole, needed someone to make her day a little brighter, a little better.
She needed to know she wasn’t alone.
“Excuse me a minute,” he said before crossing to the French doors. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “Everything okay with the grill?” he asked Forrest.
“Hoses are still intact, no leaks or damage to them or the tank. Rhett and the rookie just left.”
“Good. Hey, can you give me ten minutes? Ms. Denning isn’t feeling well, but I think it’s only low blood sugar.” Low blood sugar. High alcohol content. Why split hairs? “I want to make sure she has something to eat, is feeling steadier before we take off.”
Forrest shook his head sadly. “You saving the world again, partner?”
“Not the whole world,” Leo corrected as he turned to go inside. “Just this one little corner.”
* * *
WITH HER HEAD resting on her folded arms on top of the island, Penelope shut her eyes. She needed a moment to get her bearings, to gather her thoughts, then she’d get on with her day.
Her awful, horrible day.
She could hardly wait.
A moment later, she jerked upright. Confused and disoriented, she glanced around, then frowned at the fuzzy image of Leo Montesano taking food out of her refrigerator. She must have dozed off. The thought of Leo witnessing her impromptu nap should have horrified her, but she had too many other things on her mind.
Such as why on earth he was still there.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting you something to eat.” He set the bowl of potato salad on the counter, reached back in for the caprese and taco salads. Carried them to the dining-room table, then crossed to her. “Let’s sit at the table.”
“This isn’t necessary,” she said, knowing she sounded ungrateful and prissy but unable to help it. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“That’s clear enough to see, but everyone needs help once in a while.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t have to know you. It’s my job to make sure you’re all right, and in a place like Shady Grove, we take care of each other.” He studied her and for some odd reason, it took all her willpower not to fidget. “Let me guess. You’re not from here.”
“No.” But she had been in town almost eight months. Long enough, she would think, to stop feeling like a tourist. An outsider. “But I lived here for six months when I was in middle school.”
Many, many eons ago.
Out of the dozen-plus places she’d lived during her lifetime, the six months she’d spent in Shady Grove had been, by far, the happiest. She’d felt a sense of peace, of belonging she’d never experienced before. She wanted that for Andrew.
Was it so wrong to want it for herself, as well?
“Since you’re new to town,” Leo said, “let me show you how we take care of our own.”
He helped her off the stool, kept his hand on her elbow, solicitous and polite, as he led her to the table. She sat, mainly because she had no idea what else to do. When he headed into the kitchen, she slid her hands to her lap, hid them under the table and pinched her forearm.
Yes, it hurt. This was real. She was wide-awake, sitting at her table while a man handsome enough to give a movie star a run for his money searched her cabinets.
What on earth had happened to her life?
“I hate to repeat myself,” she said, “but what are you doing now?”
“Looking for...ah...” He pulled a plate from the cupboard. “Found it. Silverware?”
“Are you certain you don’t want to open and shut every drawer?” she heard herself ask, then was appalled, not only that she’d say something so blatantly rude and antagonistic, but that she’d sounded so petulant doing so.
But she’d already had one stranger rummaging through her personal items—as personal as kitchenware could be. Her patience was threadbare.
“I could,” he said, not sounding the least bit bothered by her rudeness. “But it’ll save us both time if you just tell me.”
“Next to the dishwasher,” she muttered. Where else would they be? It was the most convenient place for them.
He pulled out a fork, knife and serving spoon, then walked toward her. He set the plate in front of her, laid down the silverware and began opening containers.
Maybe she was still in shock. Or tipsier than she’d originally thought, because she sat there like a helpless idiot and let him pile food onto a plate. Noticing that the potato and taco salads were touching, she grabbed the plate and pulled it out of his reach. Used the fork to separate her food.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “But you really don’t have to do this.”
“That’s what neighbors do. They help each other. Good neighbors, anyway.”
Which let Penelope know, in a quiet yet still scolding way, that she was not being a good neighbor. Or, at least, a polite one. Shame filled her. See? She was horrible at this, this whole...social interaction thing. “I prefer to handle things on my own.”
It was safer that way. No one could let you down if you didn’t depend on them. And you couldn’t disappoint them, either.
“Today,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to.”
A lump formed in her throat and she dropped her gaze. She was being rude. Rude and inconsiderate and, worse, ungrateful, while he treated her with nothing but kindness.
She shouldn’t want his sympathy. Surely she shouldn’t be soaking it in, but it wasn’t so horrible, letting someone else take the lead. Especially when she was so far out of her element. At work, she was fine dealing with people. She had her position and behaved accordingly. There were clear rules and guidelines of what was and wasn’t acceptable behavior.
Personal relationships—whether casual or intimate—were different. It was too difficult to discern her role.
“Why are you doing this? I mean, beyond the good neighbor reason. This—” she gestured toward the food “—seems to go beyond the boundaries of your job description.” She didn’t consider herself a suspicious person, but she was old enough, and wise enough, to realize good deeds often came with strings attached.
“Because I’m a nice guy. And because it really is my job to make sure you’re okay.”
Of course. What did she think? That he wanted to spend more time with her? That he was flirting with her?
She was way too pragmatic for such nonsense. While she didn’t underestimate her physical charms, she wasn’t a great beauty by any means. Nor did she possess the type of overt sexuality that inspired flirtatious banter, longing looks or heated seduction. Especially from a man several years younger and at least three steps above her on anyone’s looks scale.
Not that it bothered her. Much.
“Go on,” he continued with a nod toward her plate. “Take a few bites for me.”
Her eyes narrowed. She could do without that condescending tone, but if the only way to get rid of him was to eat, she’d gladly lick the plate clean.
“Would you care to join me?” she muttered, sounding about as ungracious and inhospitable as one could get. Sounding, she realized with an inner sigh, like Andrew.
Leo sent her a lethal grin and she couldn’t help but think he was laughing at her. “Thanks, but I ate earlier at my folks’ place.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the slight bruise at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, my jaw’s still sore. I’m not sure I’m up to chewing at the moment.”
“Were you injured in the line of duty?”
“Nothing that dangerous. Or exciting. My sister punched me.”
In the act of slicing a neat piece of tomato, Penelope froze. “Excuse me? Did you say your sister hit you?”
“Punched me,” he said, as if that made a difference. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t the first time, and knowing Maddie’s temper, it won’t be the last.”
She couldn’t wrap her head around his words—or how nonchalant he was about the whole thing. What sort of woman physically attacked her own brother?
“Do you have any siblings?” he asked.