out of the grocery bag.
“Beer.”
“It’s not the right kind of beer. That’s not what I wrote on the list.”
“They didn’t carry that imported brand. The liquor clerk told me this one would taste the same.”
“Well, he lied. It doesn’t. One is ale, this is just a pale imitation.”
“Fine—” she snatched the six-pack back from him “—I’ll pick up your imported beer tomorrow.”
“And these aren’t the right kind of beer nuts, either,” Jack grumbled, eyeing the can he’d removed from one of the plastic bags still littering the floor. “These are honey roasted. I wanted salted.”
“I had no idea I was dealing with such a gourmet.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I know what I like. Do you have a problem with that?”
“I’m not the one with a problem,” she muttered under her breath.
“Implying that I am?” he retorted,
“You’re the one with the broken leg.”
“What a brilliant observation.”
She’d observed plenty of other things about him, like the way his dark hair tumbled over his forehead as it dried, the intensity of his smoky eyes, the breadth of his shoulders—swimmer’s shoulders. And then there was his mouth. When he’d grinned at her a few minutes ago, it had been like watching the sun come out. Crinkly laugh lines had suddenly appeared at the corners of his lips and his eyes. The gleam of devilish humor in his gray eyes made them seem even more awesome than usual.
Belatedly realizing he’d caught her staring at him, she hurriedly said, “So exactly how did you break your leg?”
“I told you, I broke it in the line of duty. You didn’t seem too interested in hearing the details this morning.”
“That’s because you rattled me.”
“Really?”
“Who wouldn’t be rattled when a madman comes at them, waving a crutch and shouting like a banshee?”
“Why do I get the feeling that there isn’t much that rattles you?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And you still haven’t answered my question about how you broke your leg.”
“Would you believe I broke it falling out of bed at the firehouse?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not that’s the truth.”
“It’s one version of it.”
“Truth doesn’t have versions.”
“Sure it does. Ask any cop. You get three witnesses and you’ll get three different versions of the truth.”
“So what’s your version?”
“I got clumsy.” Fighting fire left no place for being clumsy. “Fire is a jealous taskmaster,” he murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself. “She doesn’t like it when you take your attention off her, even for a second.”
“So fire is a female?”
Jack nodded.
In exasperation, she said, “Why is it that anything disastrous is female—hurricanes and now fires?”
“Hurricanes are named after guys now,” he pointed out. “But something as beautiful and powerful as fire has to be female. She’s like a living thing that eats...and hates. And in her eyes you’re nothing more than fuel. That’s all you are. Fuel.”
Kayla shivered. There was just something so matter-of-fact in his voice. “How can you talk about it that way? So calmly?”
“Because I fight fire. It’s what I do.”
“And doing it broke your leg?”
He shrugged. “I told you, I got clumsy. You’ve seen me on these crutches and you’ve got to agree, I’m not the most graceful guy you’ve ever seen.”
Not the most graceful, no—but certainly the most powerful. Yet for all of his strength, she experienced this sudden need to look after him. “Did you get your cast wet when you took your shower?”
“Nope. I put a garbage bag around it because the doc said to keep it dry.”
“What other orders did the doctor gave you yesterday?”
“Hey, no one gives me orders outside of the firehouse.”
Kayla sighed. Her instincts were right. This guy definitely needed a keeper. “Meaning you probably ignored whatever orders the doctor gave you, right? That was real bright. Do you enjoy being in pain?”
“Want me to tell you what I enjoy?” Jack countered, his gaze focused on her lush lips.
“I already know.”
“You do?”
She nodded and held up a bag of corn chips. “Junk food.”
“Among other things. Lots of other things.”
Kayla refused to be distracted. “Did the doctor give you a prescription?”
Jack nodded.
“Let me guess. You didn’t get it filled, did you.”
The look on his face said it all.
“What is it about men that makes them so stupid?” she demanded in annoyed exasperation. “Are they born that way or is it learned behavior? I think they’re born that way,” Kayla answered herself. “It’s some sort of defective gene, the same one that makes men refuse to ask directions or read instructions.”
“What do we need to read instructions for?”
“To get the job done faster.”
“There are plenty of times when slower is better,” he murmured, the look he gave her making it clear what those times were.
“Oh, I see. So slower is better when you’re in pain from a broken leg? Sure, that makes sense. Why take medication to make you feel better, right? I mean, that would be admitting that you’re human. That once in a blue moon you might need some help. Heaven forbid that should ever happen!”
Jack glared at her. His humor wasn’t helped by the fact that his leg was really throbbing in earnest now.
Seeing the pain etched on his face, Kayla felt remorse for yelling at Jack, even though he did deserve it. “If you’ll give me the doctor’s prescription, I’ll
