Blue Star

Blue Star by

Jennifer Greene Chapter One On the drive home from Daytona Beach to Ormond, the night had turned dazzling, with a mesmerizing full moon mirrored in the ocean and sleepy little waves foaming at the shore. The beautiful July night was a good omen, Carolina Pruitt was determined to believe, even if her hands were trembling so badly she could barely open the door. "Come on in, Ed," she said. "Just wander around while I pour some wine. You're the first one to see the condo since the remodeling. I'm anxious to hear what you think." She slipped off her out-to-dinner heels and headed for the kitchen, but when she reached for the wine glasses, her palms were so slippery she almost dropped them. Darn it, she was more nervous than a virgin with her first lover. Her nerves were so ironic, when at 42, Carolina finally felt in full control of her life. So many dreams had become reality these past couple years. She'd finally been promoted to chief financial officer at Skyline — a major player in the travel business, catering to executive needs. She loved the work, really loved the money, and then last year she'd found the condo on Ormond Beach. Initially the condo had been a fixer-upper, but that god-awful remodeling work was finally done. For the first time in her life, she had a place that was totally hers. Naturally, she fiercely missed Georgia, her daughter who was thriving at Rollins College — but they still saw each other often. Carolina gathered a tray and napkins, musing that so many women suffered hell and a half after a divorce. Not her. The divorce had honestly opened her life. The only emotional bridge she hadn't been able to cross since divorcing Huck three years ago was sex. But then, she was about to take care of that tonight — if she could just get her nerves to settle down. Ed showed up in the doorway. "The place is gorgeous, Carolina. Tasteful and beautiful. Just like you." He chuckled when he saw her battling with the corkscrew. "Here, let me do that." When his hand brushed her arm, she dropped a glass — and could have kicked herself. Enough was enough with these nerves. She not only wanted to sleep with Ed. She was going to sleep with Ed — even if it killed her.

"I'll be right back," she said, and escaped to the bathroom. It only took a few moments to brush her teeth, pee yet again, wash her hands and analyze her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She wasn't usually a vain person. Maybe she wasn't still a fresh, beautiful l7-year-old, but she still had good skin and nice bones and the same general slim build. She even had the same blond hair, even if it took some doctoring to keep that color these days. The problem wasn't looks. The problem was exposing those naked looks to a stranger. Not that Ed was a stranger, Carolina mentally corrected herself. He was one of the travel staff. Their jobs weren't dependent on each other, but they crossed paths often enough to become friends. He had a reputation for being allergic to commitment, which suited her perfectly. All she wanted from Ed was a night of pleasure. Darn it, she was becoming a sexual dinosaur. She liked sex. She wasn't about to give up that whole part of life forever. The only thing that had been holding up the Main Event all this time was her. "There you are." Ed handed her a glass as soon as she stepped into the living room. "Wasn't it a great dinner?" "Couldn't have been better." He'd treated her to a fabulous dinner — lobster and crab — which was now tumbling in her stomach like jumping beans. Ed wasn't usually perceptive, but he caught her in the lie. "I wasn't expecting nerves from you," he said wryly. "They'll go away." "They're becoming," he assured her, which was the right thing to say, and yet somehow made her want to smack him upside the head. Of course her nerves weren't "becoming." Neither of them were going to have any fun if she ended up dryer than the Sahara, but hey. She was the one letting herself get all jittery about this. She took a good gulp of the Merlot and then firmly set her drink down. "You're not really thirsty, are you?" "Nope." He put his drink down, too, and reached for her. His mouth found hers with unerring skill. Because he closed his eyes, she tried to close hers. The kiss was nice. Ed knew what he was doing. His arms roped around her without being constrictive. His lips were smooth and experienced. Abruptly, she noticed that a lampshade was tilted — the blue silk one, on the table by the balcony. And then she noticed the single blinking light on the answering machine. After that, for no apparent reason, a sudden itch developed on the back of her right calf. Easy enough to scratch with her bare left foot. Ed tilted his head and kissed her again. Deeper. Longer. More ardently. Man, I love what I've done with the condo, she thought. She'd done the whole living room in pale, pale blue. No mug of beer had ever touched her beveled glass tables. There was no remote control anywhere in sight. A single white rose sat in a sterling vase by the mail — a ridiculous indulgence, but she really

loved… Ed dropped his mouth to her neck. She caught his quick frown. "You're into this?" he murmured questioningly. "Oh, I am," she assured him. She promptly quit scratching the back of her calf and mentally kicked herself in the keester. It wasn't as if she didn't know how to do this. She smiled at Ed, slowly, deliberately, and then reached for the hem of her black silk top. Before she could even remotely consider panicking again, she pulled the top up and over her head. Her chin-length blond hair flew back around her face in a gently disheveled tumble. "Aha. We are in the mood," Ed said with more satisfaction, and started easing her toward the bedroom. By the time they'd made it down the hall, he'd unbuttoned and jettisoned his shirt. That was fine, but when he reached for his belt, her gaze dropped to the bulge at his zipper. She felt a hiccup start halfway down her esophagus, make its way up, push into her throat like an air bubble the size of Texas, and then erupt in a noisy, inelegant, "hic!" He smiled. She smiled back. And then she jumped him. Obviously she had to take charge or the Main Event was never going to happen. It wasn't Ed's fault she kept spooking. He obviously intended to take his time and do the seduction right. Heaven knew she'd bought black lace underwear and dressed the bed with 400 thread count sheets because she had the same intent, but now she knew: that cause was hopeless. She just wanted this whole darn thing over with. And Ed had the look of a fast trigger man once he was primed.… "Whoa, honey," Ed murmured. "When you turn on…you really turn on." As stubborn as a hound, she reached behind to unsnap her bra. The bra went. Then her black silk shirt. Another hiccup threatened to emerge when she tried to remove her lace underpants, so she had to ease up and change direction. She kissed. She touched. She rubbed. With relief she realized she'd been right about Ed — he was going to be fast on the trigger, and he was heating up lickety-split now. Dinner was suddenly churning in her stomach like a washing machine on the heavy agitating cycle, which infuriated her all over again. Ed was a nice guy. A really nice guy. It shouldn't be so hard to fake this. She'd been married too many years to think a woman could always be all-engines-go. It didn't matter. Everything wasn't about orgasms. She just wanted…the closeness. To know she could do this. And finally it started going reasonably well. That is, until Ed reached for his belt buckle — and she suddenly smelled smoke. Because she'd been sabotaging the success of this event every step of the way, she assumed she'd imagined the smell and ignored it. Ed pulled off his belt, meeting her eyes. Pulled down the zipper, still meeting her eyes. Before removing his pants, though, he suddenly stopped dead. "What on earth is that smell?" He turned his head. "Damn it, Carolina! Your place is on fire!"

She heard the sound of a soft, ominous woosh. So did he. All color drained from her face when she glanced at the doorway…and saw flames.

Chapter Two Carolina watched the fire from the beach wrapped in a bedsheet, wearing nothing beneath it but a pair of black lace underpants. She kept thinking that this just couldn't be happening — not to her, not to her brand-new condo. Behind her, waves peacefully spewed bubbles on the shore. The full moon looked like a priceless bowl of white gold. It was one of those lovers' nights when diamonds danced on the wave tops. How could there possibly be a terrible fire on a night like this? It all happened so stunningly fast. From one second to the next, a whiff of smoke had become thick choking clouds of it. Neither she nor Ed could seem to open the bedroom window. He'd broken it with a chair. Climbing out, she'd cut herself, then collected more bruises and scrapes when she'd landed on the cactus bushes. Thankfully, her condo was on the first floor. Ignoring all that, she'd run pell-mell for the beach, with Ed racing just behind her. Initially, flames shot straight to the sky. She'd heard the scream of sirens while she was still gasping for breath. One fire truck arrived, then a second and third, then cops. Her neighbors piled outside in various stages of undress, although her unit was the only one on fire. Her front door had blown out. So had at least one window. She didn't know what time it was now. It had to be past midnight. Maybe 1:00 a.m. She had no idea how bad the damage was, not yet, but she knew it couldn't be good. No one had ever told her before fires stunk. In the movies, fires looked yellow and bright. The reality was endless amounts of that black, stinking smoke. She'd dreamed of living on the ocean for so long. It seemed impossible that she could lose that dream so fast, so mercilessly.… "Carolina." Ed hadn't left her side. He still had on suit pants, even if he was shirtless and shoeless. "When the fire's finally completely out, I want you to come home with me." "Thanks, but no." "You can't stay here. Even if any part of the place is savable, the smell and water mess alone would make it completely unlivable for tonight, at least. I can't leave you here." "Yes, you can, Ed." Only a few hours before she'd been determined, so determined, to seduce him. She knew now that had been a mistake. Ed was a nice guy. A good guy. But she felt no closer to him than to a casual friend. Hours before, that had seemed precisely the idea — to choose a lover who made her feel safe. She'd been celibate for three years, for Pete's sake. Since the divorce, she'd rebuilt her life from the ground up. Zoomed up the corporate ladder at Skyline,

made CFO. Bought her dream condo on the beach, had the place gutted and redone her way. Got Georgia through her high school senior year and then on to Rollins College. Traded in her sturdy Honda for a nicely wicked yellow Mazda RX-8. She'd done everything to remake her life — except find a bedmate. She'd gone out — sometimes misjudging a piker, but mostly choosing serious contenders. Good men. Bright men. Men who should have made ideal partner material — both in bed and out of it. Yet she'd balked every time at the bedroom door. Ed said, "Carolina, you're being stubborn as a stone. Come on, this is crazy. You can't stay here. And I can't leave you." "Of course you can." She reached a hand out of the cumbersome sheet to pat his. "Look, you're being wonderfully kind. And I don't want you to feel bad. It's just…this is my place, with all my stuff. It's completely open to looters now. There's no way I'm leaving —" They both saw a fireman in full turnout gear wend his way down the beach stairs toward them. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her," Ed muttered to the tall, husky man. Bart was his name. He'd introduced himself before. His hard hat was off now, his jacket flapping open. He glanced at Ed politely, but his attention focused quickly on Carolina. "We hope to have it completely out in another fifteen minutes." "Can you tell what caused it?" she asked. "Not yet, I'm sorry." "It's so hard to understand. All the reconstruction — I didn't skimp on anything. I wanted security, quality. I hired Barker." She named the most reliable contractor in the area. "Can I go up to see yet?" "No, ma'am. It's still too hot. We let your neighbors back in their units, once there was no more danger of the fire spreading. But I'm afraid your place'll have some hot spots for a while." He went on, filling her in on a few more details. "I realize you'll worry about someone getting in, so we'll have a police car stationed here through the night. So if you need a ride to a motel or a friend's —" "Several neighbors already asked, so I won't need any help, but thanks." Once Bart tromped back up to his fire crew, Ed stared at her incredulously. "Yeah, you had neighbors invite you to stay over, but you turned down every one of them." "Ed?" "What?" "Please, please, go home," she said, this time more firmly. "You have work tomorrow, and this isn't your problem. I honestly want to be alone." It was hard for men to listen, of course. They all had male ears that had an automatic block button when a woman said something they didn't want to hear. Ed just didn't want to seem like a dishonorable creep, deserting a woman in trouble. But this wasn't medieval times. This was now. And Carolina, all her life,

had handled crises better alone. Eventually, she talked him into leaving, but he tromped up the beach with temper in his step. She'd have to make it up to him, but not tonight. Right then, she was finally alone on the beach, could finally let down. She tried to breathe, but she seemed to suck in more of an aching sense of loss than oxygen. There were other beach houses, other condos. It's not like this one was totally irreplaceable. It was just…this was the first place she'd ever had that was totally and completely hers. Naturally, she'd given her daughter total freedom to do whatever she wanted to with her bedroom. But everything else, Carolina had chosen with such care. She'd picked one piece at a time, from the silverware to the washcloths. All those pale blues. Her oil paintings. Her Mikasa stemware. Her salmon bedroom. Her ivory Corian counters. All of it. Every darn inch. She'd chosen everything solely because she loved it, and savored the sheer luxury of not having to cater to anyone else. She'd get over it. She'd rebuild. She'd survive. It was just that right then she wanted to weep a river. She hadn't felt this vulnerable in a blue moon and then some. Above, in the condo parking lot, a car suddenly pulled up near the last fire truck. A man stepped out. She couldn't recognize him in the dark and certainly wasn't trying to; she couldn't care less…until the man suddenly hiked to the top of the beach stairs. For a night that couldn't possibly get more stressful or traumatic, it suddenly did. The man was Huck. Her ex-husband.

Chapter Three Her ex-husband hiked down to the beach with a lithe, light step full of energy — making Carolina want to smack him. She wrapped the sheet tighter around her. Trust Huck to show up when she was half naked and traumatized and at her absolute worst. More humiliating yet, she could feel her pulse zoom at the look of him. Wearing old jeans and a frayed T-shirt, he looked as virile and vital and strong as he'd always been. Even his ruffled dark hair was more wiry than soft, and his deep, dark eyes still had the same snap and awareness. Years ago, Carolina had figured out that Huck's animal magnetism reflected his true character — which was prehistoric. She knew all the reasons they'd divorced, and a lack of love — or chemistry — wasn't one of them. Trying to live with a caveman was. So darn it, why did she still feel that stupid kick in her pulse? "How'd you know about the fire?" she asked before he'd even reached her — but then could have kicked herself. Maybe he was a detective in Daytona and not Ormond beach, but the cop grapevine picked up more chatter than the CIA. Huck would always be clued in on any event that could affect their

daughter. So how he'd heard about the fire was obvious — but since Georgia was off at college, she still had no idea why he'd come. Surely not for her? He didn't waste time answering the rhetorical question. "It's still a mess up there, but they're winding down. Let's head up." She walked next to him, but at the top of the steps, had to suck in a breath. Structurally, the condo was still standing, but the damage was heart-stabbing. Moonlight glowed on the scorch marks, the broken glass, the missing front door. Two of the fire trucks had left, proof the fire was safely out, but the stink of smoke still tainted the air. She thought of the fresh, soft-scented rose in her kitchen and wanted to cry — but, of course, she squelched that impulse. Not in front of Huck. He neither expressed sympathy nor commented on her attire of a bedsheet, just kept talking to her in that low, easy baritone of his. "Georgia doesn't know about this yet, does she?" "No. I couldn't call her. My cell phone's in the condo. Along with everything else." Before that thought could overwhelm her, she asked, "Did the guys tell you anything? About what caused the fire?" "No. It's too dark, too soon, even for guesses." He glanced at her. "But believe me, I'll find out." "Thanks." It didn't bite to say it. But on the inside, it bit like a hornet, knowing she trusted Huck more than anyone on the planet. "There's no staying here tonight, Carolina. It'd seem the best idea for you to stay at my place." "Over my dead body," she said cheerfully. "Don't get your liver in an uproar. I won't be there. I'll be here. We'll take your car, so you'll have wheels in the morning. Once we get you settled, I'll get a cop to pick me up. If I hole up here, you won't have to worry about your stuff. The place is wide open — but you know no one's going to loot it if I'm here, and I'll have a chance to look around at first light." She hated feeling massively relieved…but she did. The fireman had already mentioned that a cop would guard the premises, but Huck — whatever his faults — was like having a personal army on her side. "But —" He turned to face her. "Carolina, our daughter's going to hear about the fire shortly. Then she's going to give me hell — and worry herself sick — unless she knows for sure you're in a safe place and taken care of." He paused. "Unless you want me to call Georgia and tell her that I left you half naked on the beach?" She scowled. "That was an ugly threat. Even for you, Huck." "You could go to a motel, but it seems pretty dumb. At my place, you'll have a phone. You'll want to call your work, insurance, get your paperwork going — lots easier to do from a land line and a comfortable chair. The kitchen's got the usual coffee and breakfast stuff, so you won't have to do the restaurant thing.

And until you get some clothes, you can at least put on some sweats or a shirt of mine. I think you're going to be hard-pressed to shop in a bedsheet." He stated the plan as if it were already law, then moved on. "Let's get you in the car. I'll talk to the guys, let them know where you'll be, what's going on." He handed her into the passenger side of her yellow RX-8. She told herself she was annoyed at his bossiness, but she was exhausted — and there was no point whistling in the wind. It was Huck's job. Managing emergencies. Knowing what to do. Dealing with people in crisis. Why yell because he was great at it? Alone in the dark car, she felt suddenly engulfed by the massive mess confronting her. Right now, the only things she owned for sure were her car, her black lace underpants, and the soot-stained bedsheet. Toothbrush. Shoes. Keys. Credit cards. My God…she wasn't sure if she had anything. Huck returned, slid into the driver's seat. "I got your spare key behind the license plate, so don't let me forget to give it back. And man, this is 'gonna be painful, driving this baby compared to my beat-up Ford." He grinned at her — the old devil Henry Pruitt grin that she'd first fallen in love with. It was such a normal thing to say that the panic receded for a few minutes. It was only a short drive to his place. She knew it well, from all the times she'd picked up their daughter here. His house was small and tidy with a giant backyard pool. Huck could swim like a porpoise. Her memory flashed on their first date — swimming together, the ocean, a hot summer day. She'd worn a pale pink bikini, hoping to both impress and entice Henry Pruitt — she'd been a lowly freshman, where he'd been a cool senior. Somehow she'd wormed out of him that his real name was Huck, an old-fashioned Southern name passed down by the guys in his family for generations. She'd started teasing him, calling him Huck, and he'd chased her through the knee-deep surf…until he'd caught her and suddenly pulled her to him and they'd kissed for the first time. Abruptly, Carolina realized they'd pulled up in front of his house. Huck managed to get her inside, but exhaustion was sucking her under. She was stumbling-tired, crazy-tired. Vaguely, she was aware of entering a bedroom. She heard him say something about toothbrushes and blueberry muffins. She felt a cool pillow on her cheek, a light blanket tucked around her shoulders. She wanted to slap him for taking such good care of her. She didn't miss being married to him. Marriage had been hell. His pride never let up. He'd resented her ambition, her earning more money, her higher education, her so-called privileged background. Eventually, they couldn't have a conversation without fighting…and she'd given up trying. Divorce had been a thrilling relief, so God knew why she was so annoyed with him now. He was being good to her, yes. But Carolina had known for a long time that she'd trust Huck with her life. Just not her heart. Ever again.

Chapter Four

At 8:30 a.m. the next morning, her insurance man met Carolina at the condo. A relentlessly cheerful Florida sun beamed down on the destruction from the fire. Even being there the night before — even remembering the flames, the fire trucks, everything — Carolina had to gasp when she first walked inside. "Don't panic," he said reassuringly. "This is exactly why you paid for a good policy." "I just thought…hoped…it wouldn't be this bad." "I know. It's a heartbreaker. And it'll take time to complete all the paperwork, but I'm going to start you off with some help right now.…" Her insurance guy, an angel in another life, had a check in hand. It wasn't the full amount she was owed, but enough of a chunk to get her functioning in life again. He hadn't commented on her wearing a pair of men's shorts, tied with a rope to keep them up, and a large man's shirt. She'd borrowed her ex-husband's clothes. There had been no choice. One of her first priorities today had to be shopping for underwear and shoes and start-up clothes. Yet when her insurance representative left, she wandered around the wreckage and tried to analyze the damage — or that had been the plan. A neighbor stopped by. Then another. Onlookers peeked by who'd seen the fire trucks the night before. And then midmorning, as she continued to sift through her belongings in one of the undamaged areas of the condo, she saw a white Lexus pull up. John Manning, the CO of Skyline and her boss, stepped out. He wasn't a warm, fuzzy kind of guy, but his eyes filled with compassion when he saw the scene. "Good grief, Carolina. Just tell me what I can do to help." She shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but honestly, I just need to sort this out myself. I'm just sorry to take time off work." July was a pressure cooker, because luxury executive trips were at their peak — and in an ultra-competitive travel climate, Carolina's control on the purse strings could make the difference between profit and loss. "No one could have helped this," John said. "As I'm sure you could have guessed, Victor stepped up to take the ball." They exchanged glances. Victor and Carolina had competed for the CFO promotion, and he hadn't taken it easily when she'd won the job. "I hope I won't need more than a week off," Carolina said. "But I definitely need a few days." "You and I both know he won't do the same job you would. But that's just the way it is. We'll cover for you as long as you need." When he left, Carolina took off, as well. There seemed no end of things she absolutely had to do, but she couldn't even start without some basic essentials. She returned in a few hours, carting in fast food, wearing new shorts and shoes and carrying bags. As soon as possible, she'd hire a cleanup crew, but first, she simply had to examine what was salvageable.

She didn't need an insurance report to realize she'd never live here again. The smell was horrendous. Gaping holes in the walls revealed where the fire had attacked wiring. Broken window glass lay everywhere. Carpet had been both burned and soaked by water. Still…everything wasn't completely destroyed. The heat of the day soared as she searched and probed. The living room was a complete wipe, so she didn't dwell there. The kitchen was a dark cave of soot and broken glass, but her grandmother's silver — a precious heirloom — had been protected in a sealed container. Glasses and dishes on the top shelf were smoky but cleanable. Small appliances, the ones kept inside cupboards, were filthy but seemed unharmed. Without power, the refrigerator was already starting to smell, but Carolina had to stay on track. There were only so many daylight hours. She still had no place to stay tonight, and she wanted the savable items in her car before leaving the property again. Several times tears welled in her eyes so thick she could hardly see, but this was a time to get tough, not give in to weakness. The only thing functioning in the bathroom was running water in the sink. Her bedroom had been more ruined by water soaking the mattress and furniture than fire, but it was still mostly a wipe. The long hall closet where she kept most of her clothes…that took another big gulp of strength. Everything was flame and smoke seared. Every outfit. Every suit. Her favorite dresses, her favorite clothes. Losses heaped on losses. She'd called her daughter that morning and it was all she could do not to call Georgia again — but that was just weakness trying to get the better of her. Carolina knew her daughter would come and help in a blink, but then Georgia would miss school, and right now there was no place to even stay. The smartest thing was just to bluster through this and get it done. The spare room — Georgia's bedroom — was the least damaged, yet ironically it was this room where Carolina finally lost it. In the back of a room was a slanted storage closet, the space where she'd stored seasonal things, photograph albums, luggage — all of life's "stuff" that could be stashed out of sight. The closet hadn't escaped the smoke smell. The wiring had burned here, too, so most things had scorch scars or charring…but the boxes in the far back seemed untouched. She pulled out a box of Christmas ornaments…not the new ones, but the old ones — the ones family had donated the first year she and Huck were married to get them started. She opened the lid and immediately saw the blue star…the first ornament she'd ever put on their first tree. The star wasn't particularly expensive or beautiful, but she found herself clutching it. So suddenly, so clearly, she remembered making love with Huck under that first Christmas tree. Beyond that box, she pulled out another. Inside, she found a pair of outdated red heels, a blue satin nightgown, a pink bikini. All reeked of smoke. All reeked of memories. She didn't even remember saving it all…and then she found the album. After the divorce, she'd thrown out tons of photographs, but she'd saved the wedding album — heaven knew why. The bottom edge of the album was charred. She crouched on her knees, turning page after page, unable to stop herself.

She told herself she wasn't sad. She was mad. She told herself her eyes weren't brimming from tears of loss, but tears of fury. Damn Huck and his pride. It didn't matter how many wonderful memories they had. The bottom line was still the same. He'd stifled her. He just couldn't seem to get past her family pedigree and education. She'd had to fight constantly for things that should never have been a battle…ust to do the work she loved, to earn the money she was capable of earning, to be who she was without apologizing or tiptoeing. But damn. It should be the loss of all the new, wonderful things that hurt her. And instead it was this stuff. Half-burned photographs and a cheap blue star Christmas ornament. "Carolina?" She was so engrossed that the sudden sound startled her. And then she wiped her eyes, fast, and hustled out of the closet — because, of course, she recognized the voice. She hurried out to find out why on earth Huck was here this time…unaware that she was still clutching the blue star.

Chapter Five Huck saw the blue star ornament in her hand. He vaguely remembered his mom giving it to her their first Christmas. It was such a cheap thing that it had embarrassed him, but Carolina had thought it was sweet. Seeing her touched him. My God. He saw her often because of Georgia, but usually her blond hair was snugged back, her makeup flawless. She'd always been the kind of woman who turned her collar just so, who could make a pair of shorts look classy. She woke up dazzling. At least to him. Sometimes, she looked so damned gorgeous he was afraid to touch her. Not today. His pricelessly classy Carolina actually smelled. Her knees had soot stain, her clothes were streaked with water and dirt and her bare face had smudges on the neck and cheek. But the worst…the damn worst…was seeing her eyes all red and stingy from crying. How many times could the same woman break his heart? "I didn't expect to see you," she said. "I didn't expect to stop by, but I figured you had to be here, and I had some news." "What?" No way he was spilling bad news in the shape she was in. The place was hot and airless and depressing, and she looked beyond whipped. "Come on," he urged. "I can't leave." "We're not leaving. Let's just sit outside where there's a breeze. I brought Coke."

"Coke?" There. Once he thought it'd take diamonds to win her — and she was worth diamonds. But right then, she was even willing to consort with the devil for a cold drink. She tried to hide the blue star behind her back, put it by some things she had saved near the door. Then they both sat outside on the curb, in the shade. She guzzled one can, then begged for another. For a while they talked about their daughter — always a safe topic between them. It was late afternoon, and surfers were catching the waves. Kids were chasing up and down the beach, teenagers doing the strut, babies carrying plastic pails and slathered in sunscreen. The tang of sand and salt were cleansing after the smoky smells inside. "Naturally, she was upset when I called her," Carolina admitted. "I hated having to tell her how many of her things were ruined." "At least she has stuff at college. And over at my place. She didn't lose as much as you." Carolina gestured, as if that weren't important. "She wanted to rush home. I insisted she stay. I can hire people to get the cleanup done, and there's no point in her missing school, which I told her." "I expect she'll show up by the weekend, no matter what you say." "Yeah. I expect that, too. But in the meantime…you didn't come over here just to chat about our daughter. And the news must be bad, or you'd have told me right away." No way to soft-soap it. "That's right. The news sucks. It wasn't an accidental fire, Carolina. It was arson." She almost dribbled a mouthful of Coke…and Carolina was no dribbler. "You can't be serious! I mean…arson? I'd have to have enemies to do something like that. Or someone who really, really wanted to hurt me. That's just impossible!" He could see her struggling to swallow it. The fire in itself had been devastating. Realizing exactly what she'd lost today had to be even more devastating. But knowing someone had willingly gone this far to hurt her was an assault of a whole different kind. Carolina could look cool on a canoe on the equator, but just then she looked damn well shattered. "There's nothing conclusive, but from the look of the fire last night, the guys figured — so did I — that a flammable substance was planted in the wiring. The fire pattern doesn't make sense, otherwise. I took some prints last night. All those people around figured it was a waste of time, but still gave it a shot, like on door and window moldings, that kind of thing. The thing with prints, though, is that you can't track people who aren't registered somewhere, and it's not as if you regularly invite over a lot of known criminals." He meant it as a joke, but she couldn't even try smiling yet. So he went on. "But there are lots of sources of prints. Like people in the armed services. People who'd had certain government jobs. People —" "For Pete's sake, Huck. I was married to you. You can cut some corners when you're talking to me. I know the talk. What prints did you find?"

"What I need you to understand is that nothing could possibly be conclusive this soon. There were prints I couldn't identify. And the prints that were there might mean nothing — you had a ton of workmen running around here while the place was being remodeled, so don't be counting on answers. All I've got are a few names I'd like to run by you." "So shoot." He watched her face as he shot off the few names. "Juan Ortez." She shook her head. "Lowell Winston." Another shake. "Ed Mohr —" "It's not Ed. He was the man who was with me the night of the fire. He was in the military, that's probably how you got the prints —" "Uh huh." Huck didn't want to dwell there. After three years of divorce, there was no reason in hell his wife shouldn't have been in black lace underpants with another man. But he didn't want to think about it. For damn sure, he didn't want details. "Stan Wojiewski —" "He's the carpenter. A darling." "A darling," Huck echoed. "Okay, just two more. Rod Ulrich." She shook her head. "Victor McCauley." She blanched whiter than the pavement. "You can't mean it." "You know this man? He's been to your place?" "I know this man. And no, he's never been to my place. At least he's never been invited here. Oh my God." He knew in a blink they'd identified the arsonist. But that didn't explain why Carolina suddenly looked as if she'd been betrayed. "Tell me," he said quietly. "I work with him. When the chief financial officer retired, Victor and I both applied for the job. I won it." Her eyes were swimming. "I knew he resented my getting the promotion, but I just thought it was sour grapes. He wanted the job, but he also knew I had the credentials, the education and background. He wasn't cheated out of it or anything like that…" "Keep talking." "If some lowlife criminal did this, it wouldn't…hurt the same way, you know? But this is a colleague. Someone who knows me. We see each other every day. Share coffee often enough. Attend the same meetings —" Hell. She was half choking on the words. He made a c'mere gesture with his fingers, not really expecting her to fold into his arms…but she did. He never intended to kiss her. She was just so shaken and vulnerable that he didn't know what to do but hold her, try to comfort her. The kiss was completely accidental. His mouth just seemed to…find hers. Only then…damnation. Fire rose between them faster than lightning — and so did a yearning so fierce it tore at his heart. The basic need burned…to have her again. To have her in his arms, in his life. To have

her love him…to have the right to love her. How could he possibly have known that combustible chemistry was still there?

Chapter Six Carolina slid into the passenger seat of her ex-husband's Ford and had to laugh. "I'd know this was your car if I were blindfolded." "Because it's older than the hills?" "Because it smells like cop coffee and French fries." She didn't expect Huck to laugh, but it'd have been nice if he smiled back. This morning was already doomed to be tough; it'd only be worse if they were uncomfortable together. She guessed Huck was extra stiff because of those wild kisses from two days ago. He wasn't the only one who wanted to forget them. Darn it, she hadn't kissed him in three years — or ever planned to. And for darn sure, she resented discovering that the chemistry between them was hotter than ever. Impatiently, she put that problem out of her mind. As Huck pulled into the parking lot of Skyline, she braced herself for a difficult meeting. If anyone asked, the other staff would be given the impression she was here to talk to John Manning, her boss and the CEO, about the status of her work projects since the fire. In reality, Huck was going to talk to John about the arsonist on his payroll. "There's no way this is going to be easy," Carolina said. "That's because you're not used to dealing with creeps. Just try to relax, C. This is my baliwick." But when Huck parked between a BMW and a Mercedes, Carolina could almost see his shoulders tighten up. She knew her ex-husband well — well enough to guess his pride was itching at the row of expensive cars — and even more so at the elegant furnishings in the lobby. Everyone stopped to greet her. She hadn't been here since the fire, and so typically, people were sympathetic and caring. Still, because Skyline's clientele was high income, employees tended to maintain a tasteful dress code. She saw Huck poke a thumb in his collar, walk with a clipped step — all signs, all the old signs, that his blue-collar pride was on high alert. Once John Manning ushered them into his office and closed the door, though, Huck dropped that nonsense. "We don't have the complete case made on Victor McCauley yet, but it will be," he told John. "He's the arsonist. I'm absolutely sure of that. But I don't want him chased to ground before we've got cuffs on him, and Carolina wanted you to know what you were dealing with." John's face, through the whole talk, turned as ashen as Carolina's had. "This is just so hard to take in. That anyone would go this far. All over a promotion he didn't get. Someone we all talk to every day, work with every day —"

"I know," she said from the heart. "And that he'd attack you, Carolina. Everyone thinks the world of you. And there was nothing in Victor's background, his references —" Eventually Huck intervened, directing the conversation back to the reasons the police wanted John included in the situation. "If Victor gets an inkling we're onto him before we're in a position to make an arrest, I believe he could fly. Since he's working in a position of trust with you, I suspect he must have some access to your company funds. And if he's thinking about disappearing…" "You think he'd steal from the company." John filled in the blank. "I think desperate people do desperate things. And he's already done something damn desperate to Carolina. So…" Huck outlined what he wanted John to do, then summed up. "Ideally, you want to treat him no differently than you did before. You don't want to let on that anyone's watching him. And especially, you don't want to let on that Carolina knows what he did." John shot her a look of concern. "You think Carolina is still in danger? That Victor might try something else?" "I think it'd be best if your staff believed that Carolina came in here today to ask for a much longer leave of absence. That everybody thinks the company's financial affairs are being handled well by Victor, so there's no reason for Carolina to hurry back. Ideally, she won't return until we've got Victor behind bars, and everything we can do to keep him feeling safe and secure in the meantime is to everyone's benefit." Carolina stared at Huck. They'd discussed this meeting beforehand. She'd understood his strategy about Victor, how he wanted to approach John — everything, except for that last note. She'd never intended to ask for a longer leave. For darn sure she'd never intended to stay home from work until Victor was apprehended, because that was totally an unknown period of time. "I don't understand," she said, once they left the building. "You don't understand what?" "I get it — why it's a good idea for the staff to believe I'm going to be gone longer, that Victor's doing fine on the job. It's a way to keep his defenses down and all that. But I need to return to work pretty soon, Huck." "Now don't get stubborn on me." He started the car, zoomed out of the parking lot. "Excuse me?" He shot her a quick glance. "Come on, Carolina. This guy dropped a gear when you were promoted over him. We don't totally know why he lost it. Maybe the sole reason was you getting the job he wanted, but maybe it was more. Maybe he has something special against you — because you're a woman, or because you're some symbol to him. Or just for some other reason we don't know yet." "You know what? I figured that out all by myself." She was simmering. It used to be Huck who had the

short fuse, but not this time. She didn't tiptoe for anyone. Not any more. "I wasn't about to put myself in danger, for God's sake. Victor's scary. But there are always people around at work, and I can't just sit home until he's behind bars. Who knows how long that could take?" "I hope it won't be long. But the length of time doesn't matter." He stopped the car at a red light, turned to look at her. "Carolina…I want you to be safe. I want to be sure that guy can't do anything to you again, and there's no way we can know for positive how many screws he has loose. I'm not trying to be bossy. I'm just trying to take care of you." "Damn it, Huck. That's exactly the kind of talk that landed us in divorce court," she said lowly. "What? What'd I say?" "And that's exactly the point. That you don't get it." He pulled up to the Seafarer's Motel, where she'd stayed the last two nights. She didn't slam the car door. Just got out and aimed for her room. Then fumed. The problem of her arsonist was real. She'd have to be stupid not to be scared until Victor was behind bars. Until that time, she'd be happy to be protected by the entire Florida State Police — including Huck. But for a few brief hours, she thought her ex-husband had changed. She hadn't realized he still cared — until that hornet's nest of kisses the other night. She hadn't realized how much she still did — until that same hornet's nest. But Huck's pride was still the same unclimbable mountain between them. He wanted a "little woman" he could protect. She never wanted a knight. She wanted a mate — a mate who respected the woman she was and wanted to be, or else she wanted nothing. Ever again.

Chapter Seven Carolina rubbed the back of her neck. In the past few days she'd outworked any three men — not that that was exceptionally challenging — and now the real-estate agent had come through for her. It was practically a miracle to find a place this fast, much less a place with an ocean view where she could move right in. Yet somehow she felt fiercely like crying. Stupid. She'd been walking around inside for over an hour, somehow unable to settle down. It was a great place, super windows, a little farther from work but a bigger floor plan. The living-room carpet was green, not her color, but complaining was downright churlish and crazy. The place wasn't just livable; it was terrific. She could change cosmetic stuff such as carpet. "Mom?" She whirled around, stunned to see her daughter in the doorway. Georgia flew straight in her arms, tears splashing out of her huge dark eyes — which, of course, made Carolina immediately stop crying herself.

"Hey, you, what a great surprise!" "I couldn't stand it. It was bad enough I didn't come to help right after the fire. But then when you called about finding this new place, I just couldn't leave you to do it all by yourself." "It hasn't been that bad. I'm just so glad to see you!" She hadn't realized how much until that instant. She stroked her daughter's thick dark hair, feeling a wave of love. Georgia, dressed for summer, wore a skinny halter top and short shorts. The hair, the beautiful eyes, were so like Huck's. "It'll all get done." "Yeah. But what a mess, huh?" Georgia was already getting over the tears. "Okay. I've got all day today, and I don't have to drive back until tomorrow late. So what's first?" "Are you kidding? While you're here…shopping." "Aw, damn. Do we have to?" It was the first time Carolina had laughed in days. Just being with her daughter lifted her spirits, and shopping together was gravy on the roast. No matter how great her insurance was, getting set up in a new place was overwhelming. Some things would wait — but others were immediate priorities. The first list included a bed, bedding and towels, TV, hair dryer and basic small kitchen appliances to replace those that had been ruined. By noon, Georgia's old used van was filled to the hilt. They stopped for lunch, then went clothes shopping. Carolina only wanted a few work outfits, a few things for play — just enough to get her started in life again —and it was the kind of shopping the two had always loved to do together. At sundown, the two were sprawling on the living-room carpet with pizza and pop. "So let's plan tomorrow," Georgia said. "The fridge has been plugged in long enough now, right? To buy some food? We need to get a computer set up. And a TV stand and the TV hooked up…" Carolina froze. "Can you do that?" "Me?" The two stared at each other. Neither had the electronic ability of a bat — but neither wanted to stall all the positive forward momentum they'd gained. Her daughter said quickly, "No matter what, we can get a ton done before I have to go back to school tomorrow night. You still need dishes and silverware. And glasses. You've got to have a table to eat on…and at least one chair…and —" "Georgia?" Carolina said. "What?" She just held out her arms and hugged her daughter fiercely. God knew they fought now and then — especially about boys and money. But she and Huck had always agreed that Georgia was unquestionably the joy of their lives. They'd loved being parents from the beginning. Still did. Her daughter had grown up so much, though, and was so obviously enjoying the role of coming through for her that Carolina carefully never said, "It's okay, I can do it." She could. But letting her daughter take charge seemed to be good for both of them. She crashed like the dead, woke the next morning to the unexpected sound of voices. When she walked

in the living room, she found Huck sprawled on the carpet, with a huge, petrifying looking box of tools and the new TV — and parts — strewn everywhere. From the kitchen came the smell of fresh doughnuts, and Georgia was pouring good Joe from a long, tall thermos. "Dad's 'gonna do the electronic stuff. So I think we should skip the shopping, get him working on setting up a computer right after the TV," Georgia said enthusiastically. "But we'd better go out and hustle up a TV stand. And maybe a bookshelf. You know, anything like that that has to be put together?" "Hey! How much do you think I can do in a single day?" Huck grumbled. "That'll teach you to make your daughter think you're God," Carolina teased. "She doesn't think I'm God. She thinks dads exist to jump for their daughters." "Yeah, well, where's the news there, Dad?" It was like that all day. Someone fetching, someone cleaning, someone putting something together — a lot of work, but even more laughter. Initially, Carolina felt uncomfortable that Huck was stuck giving up his Sunday for her, but he didn't act as if it were work. He clearly enjoyed teaching Georgia how to run a power drill and screwdriver, and even conned her into reading a direction now and then. Carolina brought in deli sandwiches for lunch and chicken for dinner. They kept going until dusk, when she started fretting about Georgia getting back to school. "I'm going to worry if you don't get started. It's too long a drive, especially after working all day." "Mom, try to remember I'm in college. Nobody goes to bed until two in the morning." "But you've been working nonstop for two days. You have to be exhausted, honey —" Huck said, "I'll let you two argue this out, and in the meantime, I'll head outside and make sure everything's been carried in from both cars." He returned minutes later, carrying a box Carolina had left in the back of her Mazda. Georgia said, "Mom must have meant to throw that stuff away, it's all trash." But it wasn't trash. It was the box of memories she'd saved from the fire, and maybe the items weren't strictly salvageable…but she wasn't ready to part with them. Not yet. The other old Christmas ornaments she'd thrown out — but not the blue star. Beneath that was the scorch-edged photograph album, and beneath that peeked a scrap of blue satin nightgown. Huck looked at her. For the first time all day, there seemed a moment of silence between them. Total silence. And then he said, "Do you want me to throw out this box, Carolina?" "No," she said, thinking: he knew. He knew they were memories of him. Of their first years together. Of the fire they'd brought to each other…once. Georgia said blithely, "Well, I don't get it. Sure looks like junk to me. Anyway…" By then she'd changed to fresh shorts and yet another halter top. She kissed Carolina, kissed Huck, expressed monumental boredom at all their chitchat about driving safe and thanks and all. "Mom, I'll be back next weekend. Or sooner or if you want me."

"I always want you, love bug, but you've gotten me over the hump. I'll be functioning tomorrow thanks to you." Another hug and kiss, and then she was off. When Carolina suddenly turned around, she realized for the first time that she was alone — completely alone — with Huck.

Chapter Eight "Why did you save all that stuff, Carolina?" Huck asked softly. She didn't want to answer. She knew the minute Huck came in the door with that box there was going to be trouble. Who'd think an old, glass Christmas ornament in the shape of a blue star would kindle all that emotion in his eyes? Who'd think he'd recognize that satin scrap of nightgown she'd worn their wedding night? When she didn't immediately respond, he pressed, "I'd have thought that you'd have long thrown out the wedding pictures. And I can't fathom at all why you'd try to save them now, when they're half-burned up…" He repeated, "Why'd you save that stuff, C?" He could have asked when their daughter was still there, but no. He'd waited until their daughter was gone. Until the Sunday night sunset had turned the whole world jeweled and soft and quiet. And when she failed to answer yet again, he said lowly, "You want me to try answering those questions for both of us?" She knew darn well he was going to pounce. She just didn't know how soft his mouth was going to be. How warm and evocative his arms were going to feel around her. How wild and willful his kisses were going to taste. Okay, she thought desperately. Okay. Maybe this was what it was going to take to get him out of her system once and for all? She'd bought a new bed, but it wouldn't be delivered for days…yet Huck unerringly found the air mattress on the bedroom carpet, found the lock on her bedroom door, found the catch on her bra. He'd always been good at finding things. He always knew the critical places to find — at least on her. Coming together was as comfortable as a reunion between friends…as terrifying as a dance with fire. He knew what moved her. She knew what moved him. And as if they cared, deeply and irrevocably, they both brought their secret arsenals of knowledge to please each other ruthlessly, relentlessly…exquisitely. For no reason, she woke up in the middle of the night, her heart suddenly pounding. It was her first night in a strange place, of course. And her sleep had been restless ever since the fire. But neither was the reason for her waking up. She was alone. Huck had left — and she fiercely told herself that she shouldn't be surprised. There'd never been a question in her mind about loving him. They just couldn't live together. And his leaving would seem to be a measure that he'd come to the same conclusion. If her heart ached, she knew better than to build her life around a man — any man — even Huck, ever

again. And she still had her hands full since the fire. So many chores were time-consuming nuisances, like filing for a new driver's license and credit cards, insurance reports, getting her business email set up again. The new place didn't have a single curtain. And every time she turned around, she needed something she'd taken for granted before — kitchen towels. An alarm clock. Pens. A vacuum cleaner. Two nights later, she carried a sandwich and drink outside. It was that hot, still time of evening when barely a breath of air stirred. The soothing sounds of surf and gulls relaxed her. It'd be weeks before she was completely settled in, but the frantic killer pace of the last week had finally eased. She deserved a few minutes to just…sit. When she heard a car door open, she glanced back instinctively. Maybe her heart sensed it was Huck even before she saw his dark head and brisk smile. "Hi, you," she said, friendly but careful. There was nothing in his face to indicate memories of making love. He spotted her immediately on the lawn chair, hunkered down beside her. "Good news," he said. "I wanted to tell you myself. They put cuffs on Victor about an hour ago." "That's great!" She felt a huge sigh escape from her lungs. She hadn't known until that moment that she'd still felt a lick of fear as long as her arsonist was loose. "Your boss was told, but I doubt any of your co-workers will hear wind of it until morning. You're the one I figured needed the heads-up." "I appreciate it. A ton. You can't imagine…" Vaguely, she heard another car door slam, yet didn't glance at the parking lot until she recognized Ed striding toward her, still wearing a suit, obviously fresh from work. He'd called her several times since the fire. She knew that given the slightest encouragement he'd pick up where the fire had so rudely interrupted them. "Ed, how nice of you to stop by," she greeted him. But she knew — had known since that very night — that Ed was never going to be more than her almost-lover. Not that she didn't care about him as a friend. "Just wanted to see how you were doing." Ed turned his head to acknowledge Huck. Huck had immediately bounced to a standing position. "I'm on my way. I just stopped to give Carolina some news." "You don't have to leave," Carolina insisted, but beyond flashing her a swift smile, he was gone — no temper, no fuss, no expression at all — just in his car and gone, faster than lightning. The old Huck, she mused, would have bristled near another guy. The old Huck would never have concealed his feelings — whatever they were. For that matter, the old Huck would have a lot to say about her friends, her job, the choices she was making since the fire — as if she needed advice or protection from a guy. She had no idea why he was behaving so differently, but it suddenly mattered.

Once Ed left, she took a long walk on the beach to think, and then drove to Huck's house. When she knocked on his door, he answered in two seconds flat. "I owe you a thank-you," she said promptly. "For what?" "For taking on the investigation of my fire. For helping me out. For strategizing about the meeting with my boss. For taking the time to tell me immediately about Victor being behind bars." He didn't respond to her comments, just said, "I wasn't sure if you wanted to be with that guy." "I don't." "You were with him the night of the fire." "Not like I was ever with you." She cocked her head. "Of course, a lot has changed since the old days." "Yeah. I lost you. In the old days." Just inside the door, he leaned against one cool wall while she leaned against the other, not touching, just talking. Just looking at each other the way, possibly, they'd failed to for a long time. He continued, "When I heard your place was on fire, it hit me like a bullet of barbed wire — that I really had lost you. And I left you the other morning because I realized something else. That I love you, Carolina. For the woman you are. Not the woman I wanted you to be. Not the woman you used to have to hide from me." He said quietly, "I'd like another chance. To prove I've changed." She looked at him, imagining a Christmas tree with blue stars. Then not. She was too old to think she could "have it all" or to believe that problems between them suddenly didn't exist. But the fire had changed her, too, and reminded her of what really mattered. "Maybe," she said quietly, honestly. And reached for him.

The End