Always on My Mind Read online

  “He’s not a hoodlum,” Lucille said.

  “Really?” Mrs. B asked snidely. “I take it he didn’t rearrange your Christmas reindeer lawn ornaments every year so they were…copulating.”

  Lucille fought a grin and lost. “No, he didn’t.”

  Jack sighed, gestured Mrs. B ahead of him, and waited while she curtly snapped her order at Leah.

  “And make sure the cannoli is vanilla,” Mrs. Burland told her. “You don’t make good chocolate cannoli.”

  “Yes she does,” Jack said.

  Mrs. Burland turned an eagle eye on him. “She’s already yours, Harper. No one likes a kiss-ass.”

  “I’m not his,” Leah said. “I’m my own woman.” She thrust a bag of baklava at Mrs. Burland. “It’s made with phyllo dough, which is much lower in fat than the cannoli.”

  “I want cannoli. I am paying you for the cannoli.” Mrs. Burland waved a few bills.

  Leah pushed them away. “And Dr. Scott paid me to give you something low-cholesterol instead.”

  Mrs. Burland snatched the baklava and huffed off.

  Leah turned to Lucille, who smiled. “Jack can go first,” she said.

  Leah gave Lucille a look. “So you can eavesdrop?”

  Lucille grinned. “Well, of course. But also the good men don’t wait around. You don’t know that yet because you’re still a spring chicken.”

  “You’re not worried about him waiting around for me,” Leah said. “You want your daily dose of gossip.”

  Lucille had the good grace to look slightly guilty. “People like to know what’s going on, that’s all.”

  “What’s going on,” Leah said, “is that you’re both holding up my line.”

  Both Lucille and Jack turned and looked behind them.

  There was no one else in line.

  Lucille looked up at Jack. “Seriously,” she said. “You can go first.”

  “Seriously,” he said. “No thank you.”

  “Because you and Leah have to talk?” Lucille asked hopefully.

  “If I say yes, will you get the hell out?”

  “Jack,” Leah said admonishingly.

  Lucille didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. She pointed to a coffee éclair. “Anyone ever mention that those look like a one of them toys you can buy at the dirty stores? What are they called, dildos?”

  Jack laughed, but Leah looked horrified. “Lucille!”

  “Hey, this is the modern ages, honey,” Lucille said. “Women don’t have to hide the fact that they buy devices for themselves. After all, that’s what a nightstand drawer is for, right?”

  Jack didn’t want to know what Lucille kept in her nightstand drawer, but the thought of looking in Leah’s was giving him a whole bunch of fantasies.

  Leah packed up a bag and thrust it at her.

  Lucille just grinned. “You’re my favorite,” she said to Jack.

  “Favorite?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, you’ve got some competition, you know.” At Jack’s expression, she laughed. “So you don’t know…”

  Jack looked at Leah. “That host guy?”

  Leah blinked. “Who?”

  “I noticed that too,” Lucille said. “The whole town noticed. What?” she said at Jack’s long look. “We gather to watch it at the bar. Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Lucille,” Leah said, “I think your phone is ringing.”

  “Oh, I don’t have my phone on me.” She looked at Jack. “And you. You have no one to blame but yourself. You haven’t put a ring on it, so she’s got some real good options.”

  “Lucille,” Leah said again, more tightly. “How much do you like my pastries?”

  “More than George Clooney’s sexy tushie.”

  “Then you’ll stop talking now,” Leah said.

  “Honey, a man should know what he’s up against.” With that, she patted Jack’s arm and left.

  Jack met Leah’s gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “No worries. I can’t think past wondering what’s in your nightstand drawer anyway.”

  “You’re bad.”

  “So bad I’m torn between begging you to let me watch you use whatever you have in there or offering my services to replace it.”

  She went pink as Lucille poked her head back into the bakery. “Oh, and don’t forget about the Facebook poll, Jack. You might want to round yourself up some votes. Tim’s out in front right now, with Ben right behind him.”

  Jack looked at Leah, but she was suddenly very busy wiping down counters. “A poll,” he said.

  “Honestly, don’t you ever go online?” Lucille shook her head. “You young people.” She vanished again.

  Without a word, Leah began loading up a box for the fire station. She closed the box and handed it over. “I added a few old-fashioned glazed donuts for Tim. I was out of them the other day, and he had to help me change some fuses and said I owe him.”

  “Tim’s on your list of options?”

  “Not my list,” Leah said. “Facebook.”

  “And Ben’s on it too.”

  “Apparently.”

  “And I’m…third.”

  “Actually, I think you’re fifth,” she said. “Someone put Rafe on there.”

  “Rafe.”

  Leah shrugged.

  Jack wasn’t actually worried that she was involved in something with Rafe. Six months was a long time, and long-distance relationships weren’t Leah’s strong suit. Plus, one of the very best things about her was how loyal she was, to her very core. If she’d had something going on with anyone else, she wouldn’t have slept with him. Logically, Jack knew this. But he wasn’t feeling all that logical at the moment. “Where would you put me on the list?” he asked softly.

  “Does it matter?” She met his gaze, her own suddenly hooded. “No promises, remember? And this is just pretend.”

  Well, hell. He’d walked right into that one. Reaching over the counter, Jack settled a hand on her wrist.

  Quicker than he, she pulled free. Then she vanished into the kitchen.

  He looked around. No one was paying them any mind at all. Outside on the bench, he could see Kevin, sitting in Mr. Lyons’s lap now. Since Mr. Lyons had his bony arm wrapped around the huge dog, Jack assumed they were both amenable to the arrangement, so he hopped over the counter and followed Leah into the back.

  She was hauling a fifty-pound bag of flour to her work station, arms straining. He reached for it, and she gave him a don’t-you-dare look. Ignoring that, he took the bag and carried it for her, setting it down where she pointed.

  “Leah,” he said to the back of her head as she worked at getting the bag open. “We need to talk.”

  “So talk.” She was struggling, dammit, and he reached around her to help just as the bag opened and flour poofed out in a big white cloud.

  She went still, then slowly turned and faced him, face and hair and chest covered in flour. “Look what you did.”

  “Me? I was trying to help you.”

  “Then why aren’t you white?”

  They both looked down at his firefighter uniform. Navy-blue BDUs, navy-blue T-shirt with the firefighter logo on his left pec. Radio on his hip. Not a speck of flour on him. He solved that by hauling her up against him and wrapping his arms tightly around her. He felt her freeze for a beat, then her arms came around him with a soft sigh of acquiescence that made him instantly hard. Lowering his head, he took a nibble of her neck, absorbing her quiver as she rocked against him. “And good enough to eat,” he murmured.

  She laughed, the sound music to his ears even as she pushed him away. “Now look at you,” she said.

  He had a full imprint of her down his front, including two round white spots on his chest where her breasts had been, and then there was the patch of flour right over his crotch, where hers had pressed nice and snug like it belonged there. He grinned, his first of the morning.

  “You’re a nut,” she said with a shake of her head a