Slow Burn

Cale chuckled. “Don’t be too impressed. I pull in a decent salary, but not enough to afford something like this on my own. Thanks to my aunt, the lawyers handling my folks’ probate set up a trust fund for me and my brothers.”

So he had family. She wondered what these brothers of his would say about her living with Cale, albeit temporarily. If she’d brought home a total stranger…

If she’d brought home a total stranger—what? The answer faded away into the misty remnants of her mind before she had a chance to catch it, filling her with renewed frustration.

Cale snagged the plastic bag containing her few personal items before opening the door to the truck. The soothing scent of the sea instantly slipped inside. She pulled in a deep breath and waited, hoping for another spark of some distant memory, only to be further disappointed. Somehow she knew the sea comforted her. She only wished she knew why.

With yet another gusty sigh, she opened her door and slid from the truck to follow Cale up the turquoise steps. “What did your parents do?” she asked, as he slipped the key into the lock.

He looked back at her before pushing open the door. There was no mistaking the hint of sadness in his eyes. “They were both firefighters.” Had he been a child when his parents had passed away? Could that be why he’d taken her in so easily, because he had firsthand experience of suddenly finding himself alone in the world?

Before she could ask him, he abruptly changed the subject. “I hope you like animals,” he said as he opened the door.

No fear climbed up her spine at the thought of facing an animal, so she simply shrugged and followed Cale inside. The sound of clicking toenails on a newly finished hardwood floor greeted them and they were met by a very large, furry black dog of an indeterminate breed. The dog jumped around Cale, filled with excitement.

“Maggie, meet Pearl.” To the dog he said, “You be a good girl.”

Pearl immediately sat, tongue lolling out of her mouth with an expectant look in her enormous brown eyes as she stared at Maggie.

She took a hesitant step forward, her left hand extended for Pearl to sniff. Instead of a cold nose, a warm tongue lapped at her hand. Pearl’s oddly short bushy tail polished the floor with record speed.

“Oh, she’s sweet,” Maggie said, smiling up at Cale. That look was in his eyes again, the one that held a combination of awe and desire. Her pulse revved again. Needing a moment to remind herself that feeling all warm and fuzzy inside was not the wisest course, she flipped her attention back to Pearl. The canine’s lips were pulled back as she showed off a set of lethal-looking teeth.

“I don’t think she likes me,” she said, unsure whether or not to take a giant step backward.

Cale chuckled. “Of course she does.”

Maggie pasted a smile on her face and hoped the dog took it as a sign of friendship. “Then why is she snarling at me?”

“She’s not snarling, she’s smiling.”

Maggie frowned. “Excuse me?” Dogs did not smile, that much she did know.

“Smiling.” Cale closed the door and set the bag next to a lamp on a rustic pine sofa table nestled against the wall nearest the door. “She does it all the time when she’s happy.”

Maggie eyed the dog cautiously and slowly bent down to rub her chest. Pearl’s “grin” widened and her eyes took on a glazed look of deep pleasure. “And here I thought dogs only wagged their tails to show their emotions.”

“She’s kind of unique that way.” Cale cleared his throat and headed into the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

She stood and followed Cale. Pearl followed her. “How long have you had her?” When Maggie came to a stop, Pearl sat beside her as if waiting for a command of some sort. She wagged her tail so hard, her big body shook.

Maggie reached down to give the dog a scratch behind her long floppy ears. Pearl moaned in ecstasy seconds before she slid to the floor, her back leg scratching at nothing but air.

Cale opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea. “Since she was a pup. I was jogging on the beach one morning and suddenly there she was, running alongside me, dragging a string of barbed wire wrapped midway around her tail. After I took it off, she followed me home. No one bothered to claim her, not that I’d seriously consider allowing her to go back, given the shape the poor girl was in when she found me.”

Not only did Maggie now understand the reason for the odd length of Pearl’s bushy tail, but she’d discovered vitally important information regarding Cale. The man suffered from a hero complex. She didn’t need to be Sigmund Freud to understand why Cale had become a paramedic. The injured pup revealed a lot about him and explained his rescuing her from an unknown fate.

There had to be more to the puzzle, of that she felt certain. For reasons she didn’t understand, she couldn’t help wondering about the why behind his good-hearted soul.

“Shake it, baby!”

Maggie stared at Cale, not quite certain she’d heard him right. “Pardon me?”

He pulled a pair of tall glasses from the cabinet nearest the sink. “Cool it, Gilda,” he scolded on his way to the freezer for ice. “There’s a lady in the house.”

A wolf whistle came next. “Pretty mama. Yowza,” was followed by a high-decibel screech.

This time Maggie had no trouble discerning the species or the location of the voice. She walked past Cale, through the efficiency kitchen into a cozy breakfast nook painted a soft white that matched the wicker table and chairs covered with bright print cushions. Potted palms and hanging ferns were scattered around the room, adding to the charm. A wind chime made entirely of seashells hung directly in front of the east window, complementing the tropical decor. She instantly liked this room. It’d be the perfect spot to…to what? Frustration filled her as the whisper-thin, indecipherable impression floated out of her grasp.

“Pucker up, doll.”

Maggie turned toward the crude squawking. A large wrought-iron cage housing a predominately teal-colored parrot sat off to the side, away from the rays of streaming sunlight. “Hi there, Gilda,” she said to the bird.

Cale entered the bright nook, a sheepish grin on his face. “She has a very unusual vocabulary for a girl,” he said, wondering why on earth Maggie’s interest in his pets gave him such a feeling of intense pleasure. Maybe because most of the women he dated were either allergic, couldn’t be bothered or just plain disliked animals, period.

Maggie grinned. The way her eyes sparkled when she glanced his way sent a shot of warmth through him. A very dangerous kind of warmth. The kind that jump-started fantasies—he remembered the color of Maggie’s eyes when she was aroused and began to wonder if they’d become the color of the ocean if he kissed her pretty bow-shaped mouth.

“Where did you find her?” she asked, dragging him reluctantly out of his ocean-blue fantasy.

Gilda walked back and forth along her perch. “One of a kind. One of a kind.”

“You most certainly are,” she told the bird, her voice filled with a hint of laughter.

Gilda fluffed her brilliant feathers and squawked. The old girl knew a compliment when she heard one.

“Gilda’s a long story,” he hedged.

She gave him a sidelong look. “Sounds like an interesting one,” she prompted.

Cale let out a sigh. “I was at a bachelor party for one of the guys at the station,” he admitted sheepishly. “The owner of the place was looking for a home for Gilda, so I took her in.”

A mischievous grin tugged her lips as she took the glass of iced tea he offered. “A bachelor party, huh?”

Gilda bobbed up and down to a tune all her own. “What a pair!”

Cale took a long drink of his own tea and looked away.

Maggie glanced at Gilda. “Careful,” she scolded gently. “Uh, where exactly was this bachelor party?”

Cale rubbed the back of his neck, which had suddenly grown hot. “A place down the coast highway. You wouldn’t know it.”

“Shake it, baby.”

“Based on Gilda’s very unladylike choice of phrases, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Ride ’em, cowgirl,” Gilda belted, followed by a couple bars of the Lone Ranger’s theme song.

Cale cleared his throat. “She was a lot worse a few months ago.” Gilda still might be the linguistic equivalent of a dirty old man, but the swearing had begun to ebb…somewhat. Every now and then, however, she’d let loose with a string of curses so vile, she offended the neighbors.