Callie shoved her hair out of her face, and let out a breath. "I was in my office, and heard the clang of the weights. I thought it was a guest, and nearly didn't come check." She shook her head. "You could have killed yourself, you idiot."

Idiot? Did he call her an idiot when she got hurt? "I'm not paying to stay here to be insulted."

"You're not paying to stay here at all," she pointed out. "I mean it, Jake, that was the stupidest thing-" She broke off when he sank back to the bench, lifting his left hand to rub his shoulder. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Yes, he hurt like hell, and was damn tired of it, too. "I'm fine. Thanks for the lecture. You can get back to work."

"Let me see."

"What? No."

"Take off your shirt."

A laugh choked out of him. "Didn't we do this in reverse a week ago?"

"Here-" Impatient, she unbuttoned his shirt herself, her tongue caught between her teeth with concentration.

Jake stared at that tongue while her fingers brushed his bare skin, sweeping the material off his chest and shoulders. "I decided sleeping with you again would be extremely detrimental to my mental health. So I'm begging you, put that tongue away."

Ignoring him, she touched his scar, from armpit to the tip of his shoulder. "You didn't split anything."

"No." Apparently his lower body didn't get the memo about not sleeping with her, because it was reacting to her touch. "The incision's closed."

"But it hurts?"

"Only when I breathe."

Her fingers kneaded lightly, in a motion that was both torture and pleasure. "You're not massaging it enough. The scar tissue is stiff." She dug in with her fingers, stopping when he sucked in a pained breath. "Too hard?"

"Nah." Sweat broke out on his brow.

Shaking her head, she let out an irked mutter and continued to massage his shoulder and scar, manipulating it much the same way his physical therapist had. "You hanging in?" she asked a few minutes later.

He decided not to answer that because he wasn't sure. Eventually she stopped and pushed him back to the bench when he would have risen. "Stay," she said, and whirled away, only to come back a moment later and set an ice pack on him, making him yelp at the cold. "Ten minutes, you big baby."

"Damn, such a bedside manner. Are you this kind to all the men in your life?"

"You could ask my ex. I once held his own shotgun on him."

He shuddered. "And here I thought you were so sweet. Why did you get married so young?"

"Besides being stupid?" She lifted a shoulder. "It's a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She touched his ice pack. "It's a little pathetic, actually."

"Well, I'm feeling a little pathetic myself. Tell me."

"It's just the same old poor neglected kid story. You know, where no one looks at the girl twice, so when a guy finally does..." She shrugged again, looking embarrassed. "I fell for Matt hard. Hook, line, and sinker."

"You got your heart broken."

"I lived." She smiled grimly. "I'm tougher than I look."

"Yeah, you are," he said. "And softer, too."

She looked at the weights that had nearly strangled him. "I still can't believe what an asinine move that was."

"Gee, don't hold back."

"I never will." She looked at his shoulder. "Your father fell off the barn roof once. He'd been up there fixing a leak, insisting he knew what he was doing-he didn't, by the way, but he was so stubborn. I guess I know where you get that."

"I'm not like him."

"How would you know?" she asked softly. "I mean, in all the years I was here before he died. I never saw you here. How come?"

"Did he talk to you about that?"

"Never."

"Well, there's your answer."

"You mean he never asked you to come?"

Pride dictated he change the subject, but he decided to tell her the truth instead. "Not since I was twelve and told him I wanted to be a big city firefighter."

She looked at him for a long moment. "His loss then, for believing a twelve-year-old could possibly already know what he wanted in life."

"I did know what I wanted. I wanted him to work a little harder at wanting me." The minute the words slipped out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. They were too open, too raw, and far too revealing.

"His loss," she repeated gently, and adjusted his ice pack again. "I remember being twelve. I'd see other kids getting rides to school. They'd have a sack lunch, or money. A hug if they wanted. It all seemed so normal." Her wistful tone and soft breath brushed over his skin. "I used to wish for that."

Him, too. Knowing he'd missed out, he'd tried to give a sense of normality to Tucker, though he'd failed miserably.

"When I landed here, I felt as if I'd come home for the first time in my life." Her fingers danced over his skin lightly. He wasn't even sure she realized she was doing it; he just didn't want her to stop. "Richard was everything to me," she said. "He taught me so much, accepted so much."

Was she waiting for him to say he'd made a mistake in not coming here sooner? Because he wasn't going to. That street had gone two ways, and as she'd said, he'd only been a kid. Richard could have reached out, too, and the age-old resentment balled up in his gut. "Yeah, he was a real saint."

"Oh, Jake." Her smile was so sad. "He was so much more than I'd ever had before, yes, but I wasn't blind. He loved this place over and beyond all else."

"Including his own flesh and blood."

"Including his own flesh and blood," she agreed. "It was just who he was. Stubborn as a bull, hard-headed to boot, and God forbid anyone not agree with him. He knew what he wanted at all times and didn't understand why everyone else didn't want the same thing. He could be"-her smile was wry-"curmudgeonly. Difficult."

"An ass."

"Well, that's a matter of opinion," she said loyally. "But the truth is, most of his employees worked hard for him because he paid well and fair, but he wasn't loved by any stretch of the imagination."

Off-kilter and off balance, he looked at her. "At his funeral service, you were furious with me for not grieving. Why tell me all this now? What's changed in me?"

"Maybe it's not you who changed."

"And maybe it's both of us," he said quietly. "Maybe I'm rethinking things, too."

"Your life has changed."

"Drastically."

"And it makes you sad."

"Extremely."

"I'd say I'm sorry but I don't want you to think I'm pitying you." She smiled softly. "But have you thought that maybe changing your life's path could turn out to be a good thing? That you can find something just as rewarding as firefighting?"

"I'm not that evolved."

Her radio chirped and she rose. "Lie still and cool your shoulder down."

After she'd gone, he tried to stay still, which he managed for five minutes. Restless, he tossed aside the ice pack and stood, carefully rolling his shoulder, telling himself he didn't hurt any worse than usual. A lie. Fire burned all the way from his throat to his fingertips. Buttoning his shirt, he walked down the hall of the house, which was quiet. Too quiet.

Now that he'd nearly killed himself in the weight room, he'd exhausted all options of self-entertainment. He wished for something to occupy him, to take his mind off everything. At home that want would be sex. Sex on the lunch table. Sex for dessert. Sex, sex, sex.

Now he'd be happy to have someone to sit with and talk to.

Christ, he was getting old. He needed to sell and get out of there. Go back to his life.

But his stomach dropped a little because deep, deep down he was afraid of the truth-that the life he wanted to get back to no longer existed.

He stepped out of the house into the warm spring day.

Goose rushed to the edge of the grass, neck out, prepared to attack. Jake actually imagined the obnoxious thing as the spirit of his father, cursing him, waving his fist. "Honk, honk," Goose said, and Jake heard "Loser, loser." He shut his eyes and ears to the image and turned away from the grass, stepping instead onto the driveway.

Goose let him go, but watched carefully.

Callie's red Jeep was still parked on the driveway. The hood was up, and from beneath it came an exceptional pair of jean-clad legs topped with well-worn boots.

She was talking, either to herself or the Jeep or the old dog lying prone at her feet. "You big, worthless piece of shit."

Lifting a brow, Jake moved closer, coming to a stop just next to the hood. Shep didn't waste the energy to lift his head. How he'd ever managed to get another dog pregnant was a big mystery to Jake.

More swearing from Callie.

"Problem?"

Jerking upright, she smacked her head on the hood. With another impressive oath, she rubbed the top of her head and glared at him. "Don't sneak up on me."

"I didn't sneak. What's up with your Jeep?"

"It won't start." She kicked the tire. "And Lou's on a job interview in Boca. Damn it."

"I saw Lou right here only a little while ago. He had his tool box out."

"He was giving the Jeep a tune-up. You'd think he'd have noticed it wouldn't start."

"Maybe I can help."

"Oh no. I'm working on evening out the score between us, not adding to my debt." She vanished beneath the hood again.

"What, you think I'm keeping track?"

"Oh, stop with the insulted, wounded warrior tone. This isn't about you." Her words echoed beneath the hood.

Wounded warrior? "Look, I worked as a mechanic after high school while I was training to become a firefighter. I could probably-"

"I've got this handled, Jake."

She wasn't even looking at him. Damn, he was even lonelier than he thought to be bugged by that. He glanced around him.

Still just wide open space. He was going to lose his ever-loving mind out here. The last two visits hadn't been this way, but they'd been short and quaint and, even better, he'd had a woman with him, tending to his every need.

He didn't know what he'd expected this time, but it sure as hell hadn't been this soul-deep loneliness. He turned back to Callie, buried in her Jeep, and wished she'd look at him, talk to him some more, even if it meant hearing more about his father and his life out here, which made him worse off than he'd even thought. "Callie-"

"Honestly. I've got this."

"Right. Because God forbid you actually need anyone."

She started to jerk upright again, but slowed down just before she hit her head. Looking greatly vexed, she eyed him. "What does that mean?"

"I think I scare you." He had no idea why he was pushing this. Maybe it was the pain. Or sheer perversity and frustration. Pick one. "You've been burned and now you're protecting yourself. I get that, but you still have to put it on the line and live."

"And you're the resident expert on this?"

"I'm not afraid, I'll tell you that." Just lonely as hell.

She slapped a screwdriver against her thigh as she studied him. "You know, as fascinating as this conversation is, I have work." She stepped around the lazy dog and hopped up into the driver's seat, slamming the door.

"Please start," she whispered to her beloved Jeep. "Please." Because then she'd be able to drive away and forget the look on Jake's face.

The look that had seemed an awful bit too close to desperation.

She didn't want to think of him as being vulnerable. Hurting. She wanted him to remain as she'd conveniently filed him in her head-arrogant, conceited, and a pain in her ass, not to mention on the verge of selling the Blue Flame, her heart, her home. That's how she wanted to think of him.

But she couldn't stop thinking about the night before, and how he'd taken her right out of herself while he'd worshipped her body. And then there'd been his expression in the weight room, when she'd talked about Richard. He'd looked starved for the information, angry at wanting to hear more, and terrified he might feel something other than that anger and resentment for the father he'd never known.

He missed his life, and she knew he was afraid he'd never get it back, that he wouldn't heal, that he couldn't perform. That had softened her, when she hadn't wanted to be softened.

Jake reached under the hood.