Never Too Hot (Hot Shots: Men of Fire #3)(40)
Author: Bella Andre

He should already know it, damn it, had made God a promise two years ago when his youngest son had ended up in the ICU, unconscious and burned, that if only Connor would be all right, if he would walk out of the hospital in one piece, Andrew would do anything. He would become a better husband. Spend less time at the office. Get close to his sons.

But it hadn’t worked out like that at all. Connor was a survivor through and through, thank God, but Elise had served him with the divorce papers practically the same day Connor left the hospital. And although he’d reached out to Sam and Connor again and again, neither of them had wanted anything to do with him. Not until last year, when Sam had fallen in love with the beautiful TV personality from San Francisco. Suddenly, the lines had opened up.

Andrew knew he had Dianna to thank for it, that she’d encouraged Sam to return some calls, to accept a couple of dinner invitations.

Connor, on the other hand, was a much tougher nut to crack. Through Sam, Andrew had learned just how much they identified with their jobs. Being a hotshot wasn’t just something that paid the bills, it was who they were, all the way to the core. Which was why Andrew had repeatedly offered to help Connor with the Forest Service appeal process, but his son had never taken him up on it.

And then yesterday, Sam had told Andrew the bad news. The Forest Service thought Connor’s accident was too extreme. He would never fight fire again.

Andrew picked up the phone and bought the first ticket out to Albany. Connor needed him. For once he wouldn’t fail him.

The car drew closer to Poplar Cove and between the cabins, the lake shined so blue he almost thought he was imagining it. Even with sunglasses on he had to squint. Thirty years he’d spent in San Francisco, not once taking a long weekend to go hiking, to throw a fishing pole into the back of his car and find a well-stocked lake.

His chest squeezed. God, how he’d missed this place. He slowed the car so that he could take in the water, the mountains, the familiar old camps.

For a moment, he forgot everything except his intense pleasure at being back at Blue Mountain Lake.

But even as he sat in his car in the middle of the road, it struck him, powerfully, that although he’d been experiencing a major sense of dйjа vu since landing in Albany, the fact of the matter was that nothing was the same as it had been thirty years ago.

Sure, the drive was mostly the same. The camps were still just as they always were. The lake was full of boats.

But all of Andrew’s dreams were buried down so deep that he could no longer say what it was that nineteen-year-old boy he’d once been had really wanted.

All he knew was that he hadn’t gotten it.

A car honked behind him and he put his foot on the gas pedal, the gravel lot behind Poplar Cove finally coming into view. Pulling in, he saw a car and a truck. During the short chat he’d had with his parents, they’d told him they were renting the cabin out to a young woman. He assumed the truck belonged to Connor who, evidently, was working on the cabin for Sam’s wedding.

Getting out of the car, he took the stairs to the screened porch and knocked on the door. When he looked in he could see a pretty young woman standing in front of an easel. She seemed to be dancing along to something, but he couldn’t hear any music.

“Excuse me,” he said, but she didn’t look over, didn’t seem to have heard him. “Excuse me,” he said again, louder this time, and this time, she turned just as Connor walked out onto the porch.

“Dad,” he said, not exactly looking pleased to see him.

But Andrew couldn’t help smiling. To go from where his son had been, lying there under a thin white sheet hooked up to machines to this strong, young man… it was a miracle.

“Connor, you’re looking great,” he said, still standing on the other side of the screen door.

The woman moved past Connor and opened the door. “Hi, I’m Ginger. Why don’t you come in?”

He stepped inside and shook her outstretched hand. He thought about walking over to his son and hugging him, but they hadn’t hugged since Connor was a little boy. Andrew quickly dismissed the idea as a bad one.

“How was your flight?” Ginger asked him as the silence drew on several beats too long.

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Great.”

She shot a glance at Connor, and even from this distance, Andrew could feel a strong connection between the two of them.

“You must be exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine. Managed a couple of hours on the plane.”

Ginger’s wristwatch beeped and she looked down at it in obvious consternation. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to head into work.” Another quick look at his son. “If you’d like something to eat, Connor knows where all the food is. I’m sure he could heat something up for you.”

She turned to head into the house, brushing against Connor as she walked past. Andrew saw his son’s reaction, the way his fingers stretched out to brush against hers.

Andrew remembered what it felt like to be with a girl that could take him down with nothing more than a glance, with the soft touch of her fingers on his skin. It had been the greatest feeling in the world.

“Want a Coke?” Connor asked.

“I’ve had enough caffeine already to last me the week.”

Connor raised both eyebrows. “Okay. I’m going to get one.”

Had he already put his foot in it, over nothing more than a soda? He should have taken whatever his son offered.

While Connor walked to the kitchen, Andrew looked around the old log cabin. It looked almost identical to the way it had when he was a kid. Some new furniture, a lighter shade of green on the porch, but otherwise like time was standing still.

Ginger came down the stairs, went into the kitchen, said something to Connor that he couldn’t make out. Not wanting to be a peeping Tom, he moved back, but not before he caught a glimpse of her going up on her toes to kiss his son.

“I hope to see you later,” she said to Andrew as she walked out the screen door.

Connor sat down with his Coke and Andrew dearly wished he had something to do with his hands, even if it was just opening the pop tab.

He’d been like this the day Connor had been born, his hands trembling as he went to pick him up. Newborns scared him. They were so small, so helpless, and every moment they depended on you. And although Connor was a couple of inches taller than him now, Andrew felt just as awkward, just as unsure of himself.

“How’s the work on the cabin going?”

“The wiring was a mess. The logs are rotting. The roof is shot.”

Andrew nodded, tried to think of what to say next. “Are you staying in town or-”

“Here. I’m staying here.”