Bold and Brave-Hearted Page 5

  Frowning, he gazed at her with unseeing eyes. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “I’m ugly, Jay. That side of my face is—”

  He let go of the dog’s leash and framed her face between his big, gentle hands. The scarf was in his way, so he carefully slid it back and then with his fingertips traced every bit of her face. Her eyebrows, the shape of her nose. The cheekbone that had been shattered and the one that was whole. His fingertips skimmed across her lips, following the outline and sketching the seam. With infinite care, he measured the shape of her jaw. And the dreadful, jagged scar.

  Kim stood immobile. Afraid to breathe. Afraid of the revulsion she might see in his expression, hear in his voice. Her heart thudded painfully with that fear; a surge of adrenaline urged her to flee, to shut herself away again in total isolation. But her body could only respond to Jay’s tender touch, thick ribbons of heat fluttering through her.

  “Kimberly Lydell, you listen to me and you listen real good.” His rich baritone vibrated with conviction. “Even when my vision is twenty-twenty again, you’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the world to me. That’s how I’ll always see you.”

  Tears escaped to edge down her cheeks. She wanted to thank him but she didn’t have the words to express the depth of feeling that filled her chest and tightened in her throat.

  Her ego had been shattered along with her cheek, and whether it made her seem shallow or not, she’d needed to hear a man say she was beautiful—a man she cared about—even if his words were a lie.

  Chapter Four

  Jay treated himself to one last caress of her satiny cheek with the back of his hand. The loss of his eyesight had heightened his tactile senses. He relished the sensation of her smooth flesh, warm and vital, against his rougher skin. It hadn’t occurred to Jay that she might need him instead of the other way around.

  And, despite the courage she’d shown the night of the earthquake, the determination he’d seen in her blue eyes, she still did need him. Her tears proved that. And the gossamer bit of fabric—a scarf, he presumed—she’d been wearing to hide her face from others. Now he had to convince her she didn’t have to hide from anyone.

  “Hey, sweetheart, I’ve got another one of my great ideas.”

  She drew a shaky breath, audibly pulling herself together. “Spare me. Do you get these grand ideas often, or do you only hallucinate late in the day?”

  “Think of yourself as my inspiration.” Reaching down, he found Buttons and caught his leash. “There’s a bar about a block from the fire station that’s got the best beef dip sandwiches in the county. Let’s have dinner there.”

  “I don’t think so, Jay….”

  “You’ve gotta eat, don’t you?”

  “I don’t go out in public much these days. My face—”

  “But that’s the beauty of the place. The bar’s as dark as a tomb—which is probably why the beef dip tastes so good. God knows what kind of meat they’re using.” Taking her arm, he made a U-turn and headed back toward Paseo Boulevard. “Come on, Buttons. I’ll buy you a hamburger without the bun.”

  “You don’t like to take no for an answer, do you?” Kim complained as he ushered her along.

  He smiled. Not when something important was involved.

  KIM WASN’T at all sure going to dinner with Jay was a wise idea. Her nerves felt on edge, her emotions raw. After months of near-total isolation, she’d about used up her courage for meeting new people. Only the fact that the firefighters had been so unconcerned about her appearance gave her encouragement that she would survive a dinner in a dimly lit restaurant. And Smoke Eaters Bar and Grill was dark, she discovered. About two-candle power and very intimate with small tables and cozy booths, few of them occupied at the moment. At the very back of the room was a pool table, a shaded hanging lamp illuminating the green felt, and on the wall there was a cork dart board with a bright red bull’s-eye.

  “Hey, there,” the bartender shouted. “You can’t bring a dog in here.”

  “It’s okay, Curly,” Jay replied, keeping Buttons on a short leash. “He’s my Seeing Eye dog.”

  “You’re putting me on. That’s no guide dog. He’s a dalmatian!”

  Jay drew a sharp breath in mock surprise. “My God, I didn’t know that! Thank heavens they didn’t give me a dachshund!”

  Kim nearly choked trying to swallow a laugh. Jay was totally outrageous and made her want to join in the fun. “According to section 1202 of the equal access statute,” she told the bartender, “guide dogs have to be admitted anywhere the owner can legally be present.”

  Curly, who lacked even a single hair on his head, scowled at her.

  “Is that true?” Jay asked under his breath.

  “I have no idea if that’s the right section of the law, but it sounds pretty good.”

  Jay barked a laugh. “Find us the best table in the house, sweetheart. We’re going to have us some dinner.”

  TRYING TO AVOID curious looks from customers and employees alike, Kim selected an inconspicuous booth at the side of the room where the shadows were the deepest. She and Jay both ordered the beef dip sandwiches, and Jay covered his French fries with enough catsup to consider he’d had a full serving of vegetables with his meal. Kim opted for fresh fruit instead of fries.

  They lingered over dinner, Buttons quietly curled up at Jay’s feet. She discovered the bar was a favorite hangout of off-duty firefighters, Curly no stranger to Jay.

  Looking very much at ease, as if he always wore dark glasses in a bar, Jay drained the last of his beer and leaned back against the cushions. For Kim, the reflective lenses were disconcerting at best. She wished she could see his eyes, though she recalled their copper-brown depths had rarely revealed what Jay was feeling.

  “I’ve confessed all my dark secrets about why I became a firefighter,” Jay said.

  “Dark secrets?”

  “Well, maybe not all the reasons,” he admitted. “But it’s your turn now. How’d you end up as a news anchor?”

  Kim tensed. “Because I wasn’t smart enough to be a mathematician.”

  “That’s a pretty extreme range of occupations.”

  “And being in the broadcasting business is at the bottom of the range?” That’s certainly how her parents viewed Kim’s career. Why can’t you do something meaningful with your life, Kimberly? Not just entertain people over the supper table.

  “No, I didn’t mean that.” He leaned forward. “I meant for someone like you there had to be plenty of choices. You’re smart. Beautiful. And have the world’s sexiest voice.”

  She flushed at his compliment. “My parents are both tenured science professors at the university and my sister is getting her Ph.D. in some esoteric math modeling concept I can’t even pronounce.” Nor did she want to. “Don’t misunderstand me. My parents love me well enough, I suppose, it’s just that they don’t particularly value anything that isn’t pure science.”

  “So you’re the black sheep of the family.”

  She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see the gesture. “They don’t seem to understand their precious science doesn’t mean a thing except how it eventually affects people. I work hard…or I did before the earthquake…at making those connections for the viewers. Why a vaccine they’re using in Botswana to eliminate mad cow disease affects our lives here in Paseo del Real. Or the impact a new child safety law has on children and their parents’ pocketbooks.”

  Reaching across the table, he found her hand and covered it with his. His nails were neatly trimmed, his fingers long and tapered, his hand so large hers nearly vanished beneath it. Safely protected.

  She’d feel that way if he held her. Melting into his big, strong body. Secure in the face of an unpredictable world. As she had four months ago on the most terrifying day of her life. A day that had rewritten her future in an ugly, painful scrawl.

  He caressed his thumb along the length of hers. “You miss your job, too.”

  “Like being a firefighter
for you, being a reporter or newscaster always fascinated me. Probably due to a misspent youth with too many hours in front the TV.” She forced a laugh. “I worked hard getting where I was—after college I started at a tiny station in northern California, sweeping out the studio because no one else would do it, writing copy for reporters who couldn’t read above the third-grade level, reading everything I could find on international relations, finance, you name it. I was tickled pink coming home and getting the job at KPRX. Even my parents seemed marginally pleased with my success. But it was supposed to be a stepping stone to something bigger, eventually a network job. And now…”

  “You’ll have another chance. I know you will.”

  She sighed, shocked by the vehemence of her own outburst. “Sounds like you’re trying to replace Emma Jean as the resident psychic.”

  “No, I just know your voice can seriously turn a guy on when you’re talking about the rise in interest rates.”

  “I wh-what?” she stammered, flustered by his comment…and secretly pleased.

  “With your drive and ambition, nobody’s going to keep you out of the broadcasting business for long. As far as I’m concerned, Barbara Walters couldn’t handle being your understudy.”

  “Goodness, but you’re good for a woman’s ego.” Skilled at reawakening a woman’s libido, too, telegraphing messages that sparked along nerve endings that had been dormant for a long time.

  “Yeah, that’s what all the girls say.” Lifting her hand, he brushed a soft kiss to the back. “Tell you what, while you’re waiting to get the call from one of the networks, maybe you can help me out.”

  She shivered, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold. The ache she felt was of a far different sort. “Of course, if I can.”

  “You mentioned something about marking the canned goods in my pantry. I admit I am getting a little tired of dinner combinations like chili con carne and sweet peas.”

  She wrinkled her nose, though she was pleased she’d worn him down enough that he’d ask for her help. “I’ll pick up one of those Dymo markers that makes raised labels at the store tomorrow and come by in the afternoon.”

  “Great.”

  The front door of the bar burst open and three tall, good-looking men in jeans and T-shirts sauntered in. Buttons stood, stretched and left Jay’s side to trot over to greet them.

  “I think we’ve been invaded by some firefighters,” Kim said.

  Just then one of the men petting Buttons spotted Jay. “Hey, Tolliver, how’s it going?”

  “Is that you, Russ?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “’Bout time you guys from B shift showed up. I always said I could beat you at darts blindfolded.” Jay started to slide out of the booth. “Now’s my chance.”

  She snared his arm. “Are you crazy, Jay? You can’t play darts—”

  “Sure I can, blue eyes. Just point me at the dart board and stand back.”

  His fire-fighting cohorts seemed to think being blind and playing darts was perfectly normal—even when Jay’s darts missed the mark by three feet and they all claimed they had landed in the bull’s-eye.

  All Kim could do was watch in wonder at the depth of friendship and respect these men shared, and think about Jay calling her blue eyes. He couldn’t see so he must have remembered—from the night of the earthquake? Or from longer ago than that?

  Whatever the case, the husky sound of his voice calling her blue eyes had sent a ripple of longing speeding down her spine to curl through her midsection. Jay Tolliver was more potent now than he ever had been in high school and far more dangerous to a woman’s heart.

  THE DREAM started as it usually did—the tone propelling the members of C shift out of their beds, down the pole. A controlled surge of adrenaline pumping through Jay’s body as he stepped into his boots and turnout pants, pulled up the suspenders.

  This time he’d wake up in time, he told himself. There wouldn’t be an explosion. The burst of glass wouldn’t fly into his face, slice through his eyes.

  All the engines had rolled, but Jay could only hear one siren—Engine 61—as they raced through the nearly empty streets of Paseo del Real. The plastics plant, the dispatcher had said. Toxic chemicals. The team that specialized in hazardous materials was en route.

  Like a videotape on high speed, everything sped up. Smoke rising from the back of the plant. Flames licking the night sky. The battalion chief deploying his men. Jay ordered inside.

  Wake up! God, he wanted to wake up!

  He crawled on all fours through the smoke, moving so slowly it was as though he were caught in quick sand.

  Run! Go back! It’s going to explode!

  A victim appeared out of the gloom, his eyes wide. “Help!” he silently mouthed over the roar of the flames.

  I can’t! It’s going to explode!

  The man held out his arms in a plea for help. Nearby, glass jars glowed red like giant candles—the devil’s pulse. Sparks rained down from the roof. Frantic, the workman covered his head with his arms.

  Don’t give him your helmet. Not this time. Don’t be a fool! Your own safety comes first!

  Jay heard the pop of glass shattering, saw shards coming towards him. Individual pieces, like slow-motion darts, aimed at his face.

  Duck! For God’s sake, duck!

  Crying out, Jay sat up in bed, his hands covering the patches on his eyes. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his body clammy with fear. His heart slammed against his ribs.

  Why hadn’t he ducked? For God’s sake, why had he been so stupid?

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, the dream still haunting him, Jay paced the living-room floor, four steps from the couch to the TV, five steps from the wall to the hallway. In the kitchen he could hear Kim working, the clink of cans as she stacked and unstacked them.

  A part of him wanted to lure her down the hall and into his bedroom with sweet words and hot kisses, make love to her there on the jumble of bedding he hadn’t been able to sort out this morning.

  But an emotion deeper than lust kept raising its ugly head. Shame.

  Kim was doing for him things he couldn’t do for himself. He couldn’t read what it said on a damn can of sweet peas!

  As much as he wanted to rationalize that she needed to help him to boost her spirits, he was the dependent one. She’d see that clearly now. No joke he could think up or stunt he could pull, like turning Buttons into a guide dog or playing darts blind, would provide a smoke screen thick enough to hide that truth.

  As long as he was trapped in the black depths of his blindness, he couldn’t pursue Kim.

  He knew what it did to a person to be dependent on others, year after year, draining away their self-esteem, their desire to live. Being forced to rely on others for the simplest task. Begging for a few crumbs from bureaucrats to keep body and soul together. To clothe and feed a child.

  Every day he’d watched his mother struggle because she was dependent on the whims of others.

  Long ago he’d vowed he’d be self-reliant. Unless he could make that a reality again, he didn’t have a right to claim any woman as his own.

  Forcing his mired thoughts aside, he went into the kitchen, making his way to the refrigerator. “How’s it going?”

  Kim finished making the label with her Dymo marker and looked up at him. “Do you have any idea how many cans of chili con carne you have?”

  He lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug, the fabric of his T-shirt straining across his broad chest. “It’s an easy meal to fix.”

  “And catsup? You’ve got enough catsup and hot sauce to supply a restaurant.”

  “Wouldn’t want to run out unexpectedly. You want a beer?”

  “Sure.” He twisted open the bottle and handed it to her.

  “Thanks. I’m putting all the main-course kinds of canned goods on the second shelf, right at eye level. Chili, soups, corned beef. The vegetables—which are in short supply, I might add—are below that, along with the catsup. I’m not sure you’re exa
ctly getting a balanced diet.”

  “I get healthy stuff when it’s Logan Strong’s turn to cook. He’s a real stickler for three squares a day with all the appropriate servings of fruit and veggies.”

  “Good for him.” She picked up yet another can of chili, this one with a warning that it was extra spicy. “I saw a bunch of scuba gear on the back porch. Do you do much diving?”

  “Mike Gables owns a boat. When he’s not squiring the ladies around, he takes some of us guys out to the channel islands. We do a little spearfishing, that sort of thing.” He pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. “If you’d like, I’ll get him to take us out on his next day off.”

  She sipped the beer and set it aside. “Not me, thanks. I’d probably drown.”

  “You don’t like to swim?”

  “Let’s just say my childhood swimming lessons were a fiasco, with the teacher finally informing my parents I wasn’t buoyant enough to go safely within twenty feet of the shallow end of the pool, forget any prospects for the U.S. Olympic team.”

  “That’s a shame. It’s real pretty under water. You’d like it.”

  “That’s assuming I didn’t sink to the bottom and stay there.” She examined an open bag of noodles she’d found crammed at the back of the shelf. “I think your noodles are feeding a colony of little black bugs.”

  “Toss ’em. I didn’t even know I still had noodles in there.”

  “Right.” The bag under the sink was already overflowing. If nothing else, Kim’s helping hand was cleaning out Jay’s cupboard for him—and was making her feel ever so domestic. She probably ought to be doing the same thing at her house instead of hanging around with a man whose mere presence accelerated her heartbeat. “There are a lot of ropes on the porch, too. That’s not scuba equipment, is it?”

  “Nope. Rock climbing.”

  Kim shuddered. “You don’t do anything easy, do you?”

  “Hey, it’s great fun. After you finish with the canned goods, you can drive me out to Joshua Tree and I’ll let you lead me up some of those chimney rocks. The view from the top is terrific.”