"I was only five, you were nothing to me."

A lie. They both knew that. They'd been everything to each other. "You know I had to go," Jake said softly. "Mom-"

"I don't care."

"She was jealous of us. She had all the control then, and she used it-"

The front door slammed shut. Before Jake could lie back, it was whipped open again. "You going to help with chores or what?" Tucker demanded.

"I'll help."

"I know you don't want to get your hands dirty, so maybe you could just show up in the tack room and help organize the gear for our day trip."

"I don't give a shit if my hands get dirty. I just wasn't used to trying to direct a damn cow-"

The door slammed again and Jake was left alone. He got up slowly, shoulder stiff, feeling twice his age. A hot shower didn't help.

He stepped outside and glanced at Callie's cabin. He could still be in there right now, holding her gorgeous body and getting lucky again. But no, he'd had to run out like a bat out of hell rather than talk. He hated talking, especially about what she'd wanted to talk about-himself and his feelings.

He made his way to the barn. Moe gave him the evil eye as he entered. "Okay, listen," he said, stopping at his stall, extending a hand to pet him. "How about a peace treaty?"

Moe bared his teeth.

Jake yanked his hand back. "Or not," he muttered and went to the tack room. A few days ago he and Eddie had moved the puppies and their mother there, onto a soft bed of hay. They'd named the brown dog Tiger, for her fierce protective tendencies, and she seemed proud of it. Now the dog raised her head and sniffed at him, and then let him pet the puppies, which sent them all into wiggle, mewling mode.

At least somebody here liked him.

Living alone and working twenty-four hour shifts didn't suit a dog's life, so he didn't have one. But he stroked the belly of a warm, chocolate brown puppy and felt a yearning inside him.

Knowing he couldn't take one home, he sighed and went looking for some sign of what Tucker needed done. He had no idea, and no one was around, so he left, walking up to the big house in the early-morning sun. He didn't hear a sound. No planes, no cars, no honking trucks, nothing. Just the occasional snort of a horse, the clucking of a hen or two.

The sky yawned wide in front of him, as vast as the land around him. Towering rocky canyons surrounded them, outlined by thick oaks and sycamores. Nowhere to go, no fires to put out, no purpose. Even more depressing was the little niggling voice inside saying, What if this is all you have? What if you can never go back to firefighting?

Outside, Lou kneeled before a toolbox in front of Callie's Jeep and Eddie's truck. They'd upped his hours at the ranch because he and Marge needed the income, but the truth was, the man kept all their equipment running smoothly and was damn handy. Just yesterday he'd made a hero out of himself when he fixed both the fussy hot tub and the microwave in the big kitchen.

Lou nodded to Jake but didn't say a word. Eddie stood in the corral working with one of the horses. He nodded to Jake, too, but also kept to himself.

Everyone had a purpose, a reason for being there. Everyone but him.

Jake shoved his hands in his pockets and headed inside. Still no sign of Tucker. In the kitchen, he pilfered one of Amy's excellent banana nut muffins off the stove. He could hear the guests conversing in Japanese in the dining room so he wandered into the weight room and over to a weight bench. Lying down, he reached up for the bar. There was only thirty pounds on it, and his left hand gripped just fine but his right...he couldn't even get it to the bar. He had to physically maneuver it with his left hand. Ridiculous. He'd been doing his exercises, including a brutal set of thirty push-ups a day, and he still couldn't reach for anything. Lifting the weight was out of the question, he knew that, and yet out of apparent stupidity, he tried anyway.

And nearly strangled himself when his right arm collapsed and the bar landed across his windpipe. He fought with it for a moment, but couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Good one, Ace, he thought as his vision swam. Nice way to go- "Ohmigod." He caught a whir of fiery hair, which hit him in the face, and then the weights were lifted.

Callie glared down at him, looking more furious than he'd ever seen her. "You have a death wish?" She put a hand to his chest, holding him down when he would have risen. "Don't you know your own damn limitations?"

Grabbing her hand in his, he pushed it aside and sat up, trying not to gasp for breath or look like he hurt like hell. "I would have been fine." This was spoken in a thin, hoarse voice that didn't fool either of them.

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."