"Uh..."

"Tell him it's his momma. And hurry up, honey, I don't have all night. This is a long distance call."

9.

Jake had done his physical therapy every day. It was time-consuming and not a little painful, but he wanted to get back to work-God, did he want to get back to work-so he'd been diligent.

But he hated the weight room. No doubt that was due to the humiliation of Callie's rescue there, but he'd been doing his exercises in the barn and been happier for it.

Tonight he walked between the stalls lining either side, watched by a curious Sierra. He stopped to pet her and check on her sides, which were healing. While he stood there Moe stuck his head over his stall, and before Jake could figure out what that meant, the horse opened his mouth and clamped his teeth on the back pocket of Jake's jeans, which held his cell phone. "Hey!"

Without letting go, Moe eyed him.

Jake broke free and clamped his hand over the spot. "What the hell is your problem?"

Moe snorted and turned away.

Jake rubbed his butt. "I could send you off to the glue factory. You know that, right?" He stared at an unrepentant Moe, then had to shake his head at himself for even caring that the horse hated him. Still muttering, he began his pull-ups on a hanging wood beam. He got to three before the muscles in his shoulder and bicep started trembling like a baby's.

He forced himself to five, then hung, panting. His physical therapist had demanded ten, building up to three sets of ten. He could no more do that than hop to the moon, and yet once upon a time he'd have been able to do them forever. Now, as he hung there, he tried to consider what life would be like without firefighting, but his heart took a slow roll in his chest.

No. He wasn't going there. Arms quaking wildly, he forced his sixth and seventh pull-up, then dropped to the floor.

Moe stuck his head out again, and snickered.

"Yeah," Jake said, flat on his back, his shoulder on fire. "Get a good look."

The door of the barn opened. Moonlight spilled in, as well as the silhouette of a woman holding a flashlight. "Jake?" She rushed forward. "What happened?"

"Nothing. You just go about your life, maybe even on another date with Michael, and I'll go about mine."

She stared down at him. "What is your problem?"

"No problem." Jake got to his feet even though he wanted to curl into a little whimpering ball.

"I wasn't on a date with Michael. Not a date date, anyway. Not that I need to explain myself to you."

"Whatever." Christ, listen to him. He was an ass.

"I thought you were painting," she said.

"Was. It got dark."

"We have a weight room."

"I remember." He looked around at all the horses watching them and let out a mirthless laugh. "This felt more private than the weight room."

"You have a phone call."

"All right." He followed her to the door, suddenly remembering another night-the night of his father's funeral service. He'd found her out here, staring around her with a lost, haunted expression on her face. They'd shared a bottle of whiskey because he'd wanted to see that expression erased, and in the process had ended up sharing far more of himself than he'd ever intended. "Remember the last time we stood in this very spot?" he asked her.

"No."

"You were crying."

"Was not."

"I hugged you, told you it would be okay."

"You were trying to get laid. You got me drunk."

He laughed. "Is that your story?"

She crossed her arms. "It works for me."

"You're the one who got that bottle going," he reminded her. "And you kissed me first."

"A gentleman wouldn't say so."

Looking down at her, with those luminescent eyes and those full naked lips that he wanted open and willing beneath his own again, not to mention her gloriously lush body and what he wanted to do to it, he didn't feel like much of a gentleman. "I'm sorry you had to grieve. I'm sorry you miss him."

She sighed and put her hand on his. "And I'm sorry that he never got to know you. You should have had him in your life."

They started back toward the house. There was such a stillness to the air now that darkness had fallen, and a starkness to the lines and shadows of the hills. Mars.

"She said to hurry," Callie said as they walked up the back steps of the big house.

"Who's calling for me on the house phone instead of my cell?"

Callie opened the back door and turned to face him, bumping into him on the threshold of yet another door. "Your momma."

"Why?"

"I have no idea." She pointed to the phone in the kitchen. "You can take it right there, or in my office if you'd like some privacy."

"Office," he muttered, then brushed in past her, shutting the door behind him.

Callie stood for a moment, then shrugged and turned away. Unlike the others here-Tucker, Amy, Stone, Eddie, Marge, and Lou-Jake wasn't one of hers. Not really. And yet he just kept reeling her in with that way he had, making her care.

Not smart. She turned to walk out the door but came to a startled halt at the thundering crash of glass from within her office. Without thinking twice, she whirled back down the hall and hauled open the door.

Jake stood behind her desk, wearing a mask of pain and holding his shoulder.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." He jerked his chin toward the glass shards on the floor against the wall. "Your glass isn't. I threw it," he said to her unspoken question. Clearly in agony, he turned away, but she rounded the desk and put her hands on his arms.

"Sit. Sit," she repeated in a firm demand when he tried to pull free. "Throwing the glass was stupid. I bet it hurt pretty good."

"Like a red hot poker through my shoulder," he said through his teeth.

She began to massage the area with her fingers, lightly at first, feeling the knots of tightened, abused muscles, then a little harder to try to loosen them up and get him some relief. He was holding his breath. "Breathe," she commanded, and kept at it.

The only sound in the room was his labored breathing and the ticking of the clock on her desk. After a long time she felt the knots give a little, and his slight relaxation. "Better?"

He rolled his shoulder carefully. "Yeah."

Taking her hands off him, she moved to the door. "Next time maybe you could stomp your feet, or just scream your head off."

"That's all?" He let out a low laugh. "I figured you'd have a longer lecture than that."

"I'm too busy resisting your sexy charms."

That caused a ghost of a smile to cross his lips. "You think I have sexy charms?"

"You know I do."

"Actually..." He pushed to his feet, and made his way close. Too close. The light from her lamp danced in the gray of his eyes. "I don't know any such thing." He lifted his hand, then winced and let it drop again.

"Stop using it, Jake."

"I was just trying to thank you."

"For what?"

"For putting up with whatever my mother said to you. For giving me a moment of laughter with my brother earlier. Or how about for letting me intrude on your life out here....Hell, I don't know, pick one."

"Your mother didn't bother me." She put her hand over his. "But she bothered you."

He turned away. "She's worried I'm going to be a bad influence on Tucker."

She tugged him around, not thrilled with the protective feeling that rose inside her. "As if Tucker would let anyone be a bad influence on him."

"Yeah."

"Isn't she worried about you? About your shoulder?" She ran her fingers over the spot.

His laugh was harsh. "We're not...close. She had me when she was just a kid." He mirrored her action, running a finger over her shoulder, too. "She never really forgave me for that."

"Right, because her getting prepared was all your fault."

He looked surprised for a moment, then laughed. "I'm sure it doesn't help that I remind her of my father, a man she hated by the time I came around."

"Again, totally your fault."

His smile slowly slipped away but he didn't take his eyes off her. His hand came up, cupping her face. "The way you barged in here, eyes hot, hair wild...what were you going to save me from, Callie?"

"I..." She laughed. "I have no idea."

"You're something."

"Something annoying, I'm betting."

"No. Sweet. Hot." He frowned. "Confusing as hell-"

"Jake."

"I don't want to fight with you anymore, Callie."

"You don't?"

He let out a slow shake of his head. "No."

Her breath caught. "What is it you want to do?"

"I think you know."

"Yeah." And damn, but it made her yearn and burn. Her arms helped themselves, getting comfy around his neck. Her fingers sank into his hair.

"Callie," he said hoarsely.

"You shouldn't say my name like that."

"Callie," he said again, and then one more time, even softer.

"Oh, damn." She slammed her eyes closed. "Just kiss me."

His mouth closed over hers so fast her head spun, while the feel of his lips, warm and soft and firm on hers, simply electrified.

"I was going to leave," he murmured, dragging hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. "A hundred times in the past week I've wanted to leave."

"Why didn't you?"

His tongue traced the pulse leaping at the hollow of her throat, and her eyes crossed with lust. She grabbed his hand and made him look at her. "Why, Jake?"

"Well, if you think things are complicated between us, you should see how it is at home."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't really want to know."