Ready to Run Page 6

  “So you’ll get out of town?”

  Jordan pursed her lips. “Why would I do that?”

  His eyes flared. “You promised, City.”

  “To stop asking you about the show. I never promised to leave town.”

  He straightened, visibly pissed. “You little—”

  There was a thump, followed by Simon’s shout from upstairs. “Jordie! Where the fuck are your fucking towels? My balls are dripping water on this gorgeous flooring.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t bother,” Luke snarled, taking a last sip of his beer before setting the bottle on the counter and striding across the kitchen toward the front door. “I’m out of here.”

  “Wait, Luke.”

  He paused but didn’t turn around.

  “You know I’m right about everyone wanting you to do this show. Why is that?”

  His shoulders tensed even more than they already were.

  But the only answer she got was the slam of her front door shutting behind him.

  Chapter 8

  “The pleasure I’m getting from this grilled cheese should be illegal,” Jordan said, taking another bite of the perfectly buttered, crispy concoction.

  “Me having to watch you eat it should be illegal, and I’m not even straight,” Simon muttered around a reluctant bite of his own turkey club—he was still smarting over the lack of gluten-free bread options.

  It was Simon’s last day in Lucky Hollow, and Jordan had taken him out for a farewell lunch at the Café, so named because it was apparently the only one in town.

  From the outside, it hadn’t looked like much. More of a convenience store than a restaurant. Inside wasn’t that much better. A handful of uncomfortable-ish tables and chairs, one too many horse pictures on the pink-wallpapered wall, and a cash register that looked far older than Simon and Jordan combined. The girl behind the counter had been more interested in her cellphone than in her customers, much to the chagrin of the older woman in the kitchen, who kept hollering, “iPhones don’t make sandwiches.”

  Once the sandwiches had been put in front of Jordan and Simon, however, none of the rest had mattered.

  “What did they do to this?” Jordan asked, studying the perfect blend of cheese between the slices of bread.

  “My theory? The bread’s from my boy’s bakery.”

  “Oh yes, have we gotten any more info there?” Jordan asked, taking a sip of her Diet Coke.

  “No, that’s going to be your job while I’m gone.” Simon reached across the table and stole one of her homemade chips, even though he refused to touch his own for calories’ sake.

  “So you think you’re coming back?”

  “Depends,” Simon said, wiggling his eyebrows. “On whether or not you land your man and need my help on the particulars.”

  “Oh, I’ll land him.”

  Simon crossed both his arms on the table and studied her. “You want this badly. Why?”

  Jordan had been about to take a bite of the grilled cheese but set it aside irritably at his question. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

  Simon’s head tilted curiously. “Who else asked you that?”

  “Luke,” she muttered.

  “Interesting.” Simon managed to turn the word into about ten syllables. “What did you tell him?”

  “That it’s my job,” she said, her voice a bit testy in an effort to end the conversation. But Simon knew her too well. He waggled a finger at her.

  “Nope. Don’t get me wrong, you’re good at your job, but you’re not cutthroat, Carpenter. In fact, you know as well as I do that you’re frequently the one letting your boss go too far. So why are you pushing so hard for a guy who clearly wants no part of this?”

  It was a fair question. A good question. She just wished she had a good answer.

  She took another bite of grilled cheese as she considered, following it with a chip while Simon patiently waited.

  Finally, Jordan sighed and gave it her best shot. “He gets under my skin.”

  Simon merely smiled, telling Jordan he’d known all along. And his silence had the exact effect he probably intended. Jordan kept talking.

  “I’m not used to being ignored,” she admitted. “Having to tell the team that I had no response was more embarrassing than telling them I got a no. Then they sent me here, and he’s been nothing but a jerk, and—”

  “And you like him.”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  “Fine. He intrigues you. Is that safer for your commitment-phobe self?”

  Jordan frowned. “I’m not a commitment-phobe. I’ve had plenty of relationships.”

  Simon reached across the table. “I know, sweetie. You just don’t let people in is all.”

  “What does that have to do with Luke Elliott—” Jordan broke off as a commotion outside the window caught her attention. The Café was just off Main Street, on a primarily residential road that had been quiet when they’d arrived. It wasn’t quiet now. A crowd of people had gathered outside the house across the street, and the unmistakable sound of a siren was getting closer.

  “What do you know—not so unlike New York after all,” Simon said, as the wail of the siren grew deafening. A moment later a red fire truck came into view. Jordan’s heart gave a thump as she saw Luke drop down out of the driver’s seat the second it came to a stop, running to the back of the truck along with the rest of the crew. Wasn’t he supposed to be off today?

  “Jesus,” Simon muttered. “That is one hot firefighter.”

  She pushed her plate aside as she watched the scene unfold. “Tell me that wasn’t a deliberate pun.”

  “No, but…oh Jesus. Every last one of them belongs on a naughty calendar.”

  She gave him a look with a raised eyebrow. “If you don’t get ahold of yourself, they’re going to have to turn the hose on you.”

  Still, she had to admit that her mouth was a bit dry, her pulse a bit faster than it should be. And not just because of all the excitement, but because of…

  Luke Elliott.

  He and his crew were like a perfectly designed machine as they unloaded their equipment, and it seemed to her that he was at the heart of it. She watched as he calmly shouted orders to his men, watched as he gestured for the crowd to back up and give them room to work.

  People responded to him immediately, sensing he was in charge, trusting him to make sure everything would work out.

  He yelled something at Charlie, who was hooking up the hose to the fire hydrant. Charlie gave Luke the go-ahead wave, and Luke and his men disappeared behind the crowd, charging toward the fire.

  Toward danger, she realized.

  It hit her all at once that this wasn’t a movie, and this wasn’t just a bunch of hot guys worthy of being on a calendar.

  Without a word, she and Simon ditched the rest of their sandwiches to join the crowd outside, although Jordan remembered to toss a few bills on the table, tip included. The grilled cheese had warranted it, even if the girl who’d brought it to her hadn’t.

  The group was even bigger by the time Jordan and Simon joined the periphery, everyone straining to see the smoking house in front of them.

  “That’s Magda’s house,” said a woman with a toddler on her hip. “You don’t think she’s in there…?”

  “Her car’s not parked outside.”

  Jordan didn’t know Magda, but her heart pounded anyway. Partially for the woman who lived there, partially for anyone else who might be inside.

  Partially for the firefighters who’d disappeared inside the house.

  The crowd was silent as they waited. The small stream of smoke from the back of the home persisted, but it didn’t seem to be getting worse, and Jordan couldn’t see any flames.

  Simon reached down and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The smoke seemed to be diminishing—that was a good sign, right? A moment later, a figure came out of the front door. Too short to b
e Luke…The firefighter raised both hands to the crowd. “All clear.”

  She felt the sag of relief; Simon squeezed her hand once more, then released it.

  The firefighter turned his head, and she recognized Charlie, even with his helmet. He was making back-up motions at the crowd. “Go home, kids. We’ve got it under control, and if we hadn’t, your gawking would have made it worse.”

  “What caused the fire?” someone shouted. “Was Magda home?”

  “Not your business, and, no, the house was clear,” Charlie said. He turned his head slightly, caught sight of Jordan, and gave a small blink of surprise before winking. She couldn’t bring herself to wink or smile back. She was too busy watching the front door, waiting for Luke to come out….

  A second later he did, his broad shoulders unmistakable even beneath the heavy uniform. He turned his head toward one of the other guys, smiling at something his friend said, and finally, finally, Jordan could let herself breathe.

  Which was ridiculous. She had no reason to care more about him than about any of the others, but…Nope. There was no denying it. Though she was glad everyone was safe, it was Luke she was the most aware of.

  As though sensing her stare, his gaze swung around until it locked on hers. He gave the same jolt of surprise as Charlie had, but there was no friendly wink, just an angry glare.

  “Oh, honey,” Simon muttered. “You are in so much trouble, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

  She barely registered her friend’s words. She was too busy focusing on Luke. The angry firefighter marched toward her, wrapping fingers around her arm before dragging her away from the dwindling group of gawkers.

  She was acutely aware of his grip on her arm, of the way it took him a second too long to release her.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his hand falling away from her arm slowly, almost reluctantly.

  “Same thing as everyone else,” she said, crossing her arms. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  He shook his head. “They get to do that. They live here. Know Magda. You, on the other hand—”

  “Still care about people,” she snapped. “I was across the street having a heavenly grilled cheese; we saw the commotion and came over, because that’s what decent people do when there’s a fire truck. We worry.”

  “We?” he asked.

  “Simon and I.” Was it just her imagination, or did his eyes flicker in relief? “What, you thought I’d somehow found a boyfriend in the few days that I’ve been in town? Seduced one of your own with my city wiles?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he grumbled. Neither did he say that she’d seduced him. Which she hadn’t. Nor did she want to. It was just…

  “Nobody was inside?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Not even a pet?”

  He gave a little smile. “You were hoping to see me save a cat?”

  “Have you?” She smiled back. “Saved a cat?”

  He winced and looked away and she gasped. “Oh my gosh, you have, haven’t you? You’ve saved a freaking cat. You couldn’t be more perfect if you tried.”

  His eyes locked on hers, and Jordan backpedaled. “Not perfect for me. I meant for the show….”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  His smile disappeared. “Get out of here, City. It was a tiny fire caused by a candle Magda left burning. No tragedy to help the ratings of your show.”

  “That’s not—” She clenched her jaw in frustration. “I’m glad everyone’s okay.” Jordan turned on her heel, scanning the crowd until she found Simon, who was chatting with an older couple she didn’t recognize.

  He broke away from the conversation as he saw her. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, even though she could still feel Luke’s glare burning into her back. “We should get going if you’re going to make your flight on time.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” he said. “They have pretty good grilled cheese in New York too. We can find another guy for the show..”

  “Trust me, I’m tempted,” Jordan muttered as she stalked toward her car, pulling open the driver’s side door. But despite her words, she found herself glancing up, doing a quick scan of the crowd until she found the guy she was looking for. Luke was shrugging out of his oxygen tank, but he stilled as though sensing her stare and met her gaze.

  A silent, mutual communication passed between them. We’re not done here.

  And neither one of them was talking about the TV show.

  Chapter 9

  Jordan spent more time debating what to wear to Tucker’s Tavern on a Thursday evening than she ever had prepping for a Saturday night out on the town in Manhattan.

  For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out whether she wanted to fit in with the friendly people of Lucky Hollow or ensure that she didn’t.

  In the end, her lack of options did her a favor. She’d need to find a way to get a few more of her things shipped to her, but until then she had only the handful of outfits she’d packed when she thought she’d be in Montana a day or two at most.

  She settled on skinny jeans, an off-the-shoulder blue sweater, and the same black pumps she’d worn the first day.

  Jordan used a curling iron to twirl her hair into its usual tossed style, added some depth to her blue eyes with a Chanel eye-shadow quad, and finished the whole thing off with a dash of tinted moisturizer, bronzer, and a swipe of neutral lip gloss.

  Her rental home was an easy walk from the town’s main bar. Perhaps the only bar, although she hadn’t verified that.

  As Tucker’s came into sight and the sound of Toby Keith hit her eardrums, she smiled. She’d never admit it to her friends back in New York, but she missed country music. Missed the down-home cheerfulness—the moody sad songs too.

  Still, as she drew closer, she felt a little stab of regret that Simon wasn’t here. She understood, of course. The network needed Simon on site only if they were in actual negotiation talks with a potential candidate, and they were so far from that with Luke Elliott.

  To that end, she also felt mildly guilty for not being entirely up front with her boss about the firmness of Luke’s refusal. She’d told Raven only that Luke was reluctant, and she’d received her boss’s usual take-no-prisoners response: Break him.

  Raven was being hyperbolic—at least, Jordan was pretty sure. She had no intention of breaking Luke. Or even breaking her promise to stop asking him.

  But if she was going to lose the top contender for Jilted’s starring role, she at least needed to be able to look her boss in the eye and say she’d done her best.

  The producers who made it big around CBC were the ones who’d spent months in sub-Saharan Africa to get their reclusive poacher, the diehards who’d spent a full year on a navy submarine to determine whether or not there was enough material to warrant a reality show on life under the sea.

  If Jordan wanted to make it as a TV producer, she couldn’t go running off because Luke Elliott was stubborn as hell.

  Taking a deep breath, she hopped up the three steps to Tucker’s. It must have been a home at one point, because the worn-wood structure had a wraparound porch, with patio tables tucked against the wall, out of use until summer came around again. A few hanging flower baskets were clinging on for the remaining days before autumn settled in to stay.

  She opened the door to a wall of sound and laughter. It was more crowded than she expected for seven on a Thursday, but there were a couple of spots at the bar. Jordan started that way, thinking she could nurse a glass of wine and scope out the scene to figure out who might have the inside track on what made Luke Elliott tick.

  Maybe even see the man himself, if Vicky from the motel had been correct about his Thursday and Friday routine of stopping by the bar.

  She was pulling out a tired-looking barstool when she heard her name.

  Turning, Jordan saw Luke’s second almost-bride waving at her from a table.

/>   Stacey grinned and called her over.

  Jordan headed that way, pleased to see that there were a couple of other familiar faces at the table besides Stacey’s. There was Bree Henderson, the friendly hostess from the BBQ the other night, as well as pretty, feisty Hailey Withers.

  The other two weren’t familiar—a willowy redhead, and a cute sandy-haired woman.

  “Damn, Jordan, can you please stop making us look so dumpy?” Bree said, pulling a chair from the table behind them and shoving Hailey over to make room.

  “Oh, I don’t want to intrude—”

  Hailey reached up and tugged Jordan’s hand until she plopped down into the middle of small-town girl talk.

  “You like sauvignon blanc?” Stacey asked, holding up a bottle of white. “You know what, you do now. Izzie, tell Benny we need another glass here.”

  The redhead caught Jordan’s gaze and rolled her eyes, but she smiled and went to the bar, not bothering to ask “Benny,” instead just leaning forward until she could snag one of the clean glasses from the rack.

  “So,” Bree said, as Stacey filled a wineglass and shoved it at Jordan. “Stacey was just telling us that you’re here to stay, and we’ve decided it’s fabulous.”

  “Um—”

  “Don’t mind her,” said the woman with smiling hazel eyes and adorable freckles. “Although, for the record, we totally think it’s fabulous. You’re even hotter than my brother let on, by the way.”

  “Your brother?”

  Hailey made the introductions. “Jordan Carpenter, meet Tawny Danvers, formerly Tawny Elliott.”

  “Oh! You’re Luke’s sister.”

  They looked alike, Jordan realized, especially the color and shape of the eyes. Although Tawny’s were a good deal friendlier than her guarded brother’s.

  “And this is Isobel Keating,” Stacey was saying, pointing to the redhead. “Best friend since first grade.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jordan said.

  Isobel smiled in acknowledgment. Her smile was friendly enough, if a bit more reserved than those of the rest of the women.

  “So what did Luke say to you when he stopped by the rental house the other day?” Bree asked curiously.