Part-Time Fiance. Leigh Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ bedroom and made up the futon, pulling it around till it sat directly in front of the fireplace. Then she found the bundle of firewood where she’d set it down right inside the front door and carried it into the living room.

      The bundle was tightly wrapped in plastic, and the carrying strap had been stapled into the wood itself. She broke a fingernail, went to the kitchen to open a box to look for a knife, and cracked the tip off the knife blade before she finally managed to pry the staples loose.

      “Tools,” she muttered. “I’m going to have to buy some tools.”

      She knelt down to stack the wood in the fireplace, crisscrossing the splintery chunks as she’d seen others do. It was difficult to keep the wood from shifting and rolling, and even when she’d put it all in, it didn’t seem like much of a fire. It was only a small pile. She took a deep breath and struck a match.

      The wood caught fire instantly, and moments later a cloud of smoke billowed out of the fireplace and engulfed her. Coughing and choking, Delainey staggered to the atrium door at the back of the living room, fumbled for what seemed endless minutes before she figured out the lock, and finally flung the door open.

      Cold air and snowflakes flooded in and swirled around her. Smoke surged from the fireplace, and Delainey grabbed the plastic that had been wrapped around the firewood and tried desperately to fan the fumes toward the door.

      A shadow loomed in the doorway. “What in the hell are you doing? Trying to burn the whole place down?”

      It was the cretin-next-door, still in the faded jeans but without the leather jacket. Instead he was wearing a sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed to the elbows. And his voice no longer sounded like cashmere but more like canvas—rough and abrasive.

      Just what I need.

      At the moment, however, Delainey was desperate enough to accept help from any source. “The fire just flared up all of a sudden,” she said. “I got all the plastic off the wood, I’m sure of it, so I don’t know why it’s smoking like that.”

      He glanced at the fireplace, shot a look at her, and set her briskly out of his way as he headed for the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he said, “Of course it didn’t occur to you before you lit the fire that a poker would be a useful thing to have on hand.”

      Delainey bit her lip. There was no sense in answering something that so obviously hadn’t been intended as a question.

      Drawers rattled, paper rustled, and she heard a muttered curse. Then he came back with her silver sugar tongs in his hand and dropped to his knees by the fireplace.

      Delainey put out a hand to stop him. “You can’t use those! That’s silver—”

      “Watch me.” The tongs gleamed red in the firelight as he reached over the flames, up into the chimney, and pulled. There was a metallic thud, and he sat back on his heels.

      The air was still thick and gray, but instead of rolling into the room now, the smoke was going up the chimney.

      “A fireplace works better when you open the damper before you strike the match,” he said.

      “I guess I should have known that.” Delaney watched as he patted out a spark which had settled on the front of the sweatshirt. “I hope you didn’t get burned.”

      “Singed the hair on my arms a little.” He stood up. “Those bundles of so-called firewood are pretty useless—and that’s a good thing. If the wood hadn’t been dry as cardboard, you’d have had smoke so thick you’d have had to knock a hole in the roof to vent it.”

      He was right about the firewood, Delainey realized. The blaze was already dying down; the half-dozen sticks were little more than embers. It hadn’t even been a hot enough blaze to melt the few snowflakes that still clung to his hair.

      “Thanks,” she said. “ I’m sorry for yelling at you about the tongs. And I’ll replace the sweatshirt.”

      “No need. It’s been exposed to worse things than sparks.” He handed the tongs to her. “Don’t close the damper till the fire’s completely out.”

      She nodded, but she was thinking, As if I’m actually going to touch that fireplace ever again!

      “Is there anything else you’d like me to do for you?” he said pleasantly.

      Delainey bit her lip as she recognized her own words quoted back at her. “No, I think that takes care of it.” What had he said his name was? Wagner, that was it. “Thanks again, Mr. Wagner.”

      “Sam,” he said.

      “What?”

      “It’s just a quirk of mine, but I think a lady who entertains in her pajamas should be on a first name basis with her guests.”

      Delainey gritted her teeth and brushed feebly at a sooty streak on her satin sleeve.

      He smiled and turned toward the French door. “Want me to close this, or are you planning to just stand in here and freeze?”

      Damn the man; he had the memory of a tape recorder. “I think I’ll let the place air out a little more first.” She looked down at the silver tongs in her hand, now smudged with smoke, and added tentatively, “Honestly, I’m not incompetent in general. Just inexperienced with fireplaces.”

      “Well, that’s good,” Sam said. “Because I was really starting to worry about what might happen when you tried to take a shower.”

      He was whistling as he crossed the patio toward his own back door.

      I’m buying a poker tomorrow, Delainey thought. But not for the fireplace. Just so I’ll have it handy to use as a murder weapon.

      The doorbell rang as Delainey was coming down the stairs the next morning, still tightening an earring. She peeked out to see a woman on the doorstep, every gray hair in place and a basket in her hand.

      “Welcome to the neighborhood,” the woman said when Delainey opened the door. “My name’s Emma Ashford and I live right around the corner.” She held out the basket. “Muffins for your first breakfast in your new home. Actually, I tried to leave some for you last night, but your moving men seemed to think I was taking pity on them and by the time I’d explained, they’d cleaned up every crumb.”

      Delainey inhaled the rich fragrance of vanilla and cinnamon which rose from the folds of the napkin which lined the basket. “So you baked these this morning? I’ll have to thank the moving men for being greedy, because I get muffins straight from the oven…. Won’t you come in?”

      Emma hesitated. “I don’t mean to be a pest. I know you working girls keep a ferocious schedule.”

      “Actually, I have all the time in the world this morning, because I’m stuck here while I wait for a delivery.” Delainey led the way to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

      “Only if you’re making some for yourself.”

      “It’s no trouble at all.” Delainey took two plates from the cabinet. One was white plastic with fake gold trim; the other was blue pottery. “Not very elegant, I’m afraid. China that actually matched was never a priority when I shared an apartment.”

      “Of СКАЧАТЬ