He gestured toward the thick, dark clouds pouring from the doorway. “Are you trying to burn my house down?”
“Who am I, Left Eye Lopes?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
Clayton entered his house. “Good Lord, woman. Ain’t you ever built a fire before?”
“No,” she replied, trailing him inside. “But I’ve seen it done in the movies.”
He laughed softly. “That was rhetorical.”
Clayton knelt and used the long iron poker to reach the flames. Then he pulled down a latch, allowing the smoke to escape into the chimney. They were saved.
“There.” He stood and shook his head. “You need to open the flue before you light a fire.”
“Who knew?”
“Everyone but you.” He reached up and pressed the button on the smoke detector, silencing the beeping.
“Sorry,” she said. “We don’t have wood-burning fireplaces in Vegas.”
“Don’t worry about it, darlin’.” Clayton picked up the poetry book from the couch, turning it over in his hands. “Lord Byron, huh? He’s my favorite romantic poet.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I found it on your desk.”
“Not at all.” He flipped through the pages, his fingers lingering over the worn edges. “Do you have a favorite?”
“‘When We Two Parted,’” she admitted, not mentioning it was the only one she’d read.
He hesitated for a second before saying, “Mine too.”
Jamie studied him, curiosity stirring. “Does it remind you of Tammy?” she asked, hoping he’d finally reveal something about his past. He knew plenty about her and Derrick, yet he kept his own history locked up tight.
“No.” He shook his head, his voice quieter now. “Someone else.”
Before she could press further he disappeared down the hall and returned moments later, holding a book. “Here,” he said, passing it to her.
“What’s this?” The cover readbattle cry of freedom.
“You asked about the Mason-Dixon,” he said, tipping his chin toward the book. “This here’s about the Civil War.”
“Thanks. I’ll read it if I get bored.” She fanned the pages. “I mean,whenI get bored.”
After Clayton left, Jamie opened the book. She wanted him to recommend more reads, but she didn’t want him to think she was an idiot. She already felt foolish for not knowing how to light a fire. Surprisingly he hadn’t given her a hard time about it—she would have roasted him to a crisp.
When the landline rang Jamie hesitated. Should she answer? There was no answering machine—it just kept ringing.
With a sigh she picked up. No caller ID. She took the chance anyway. “Hello?”
“James?” Ruth’s voice was tentative on the other end.
Jamie tightened her grip on the receiver. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I know,” Ruth said, sounding small. “I messed up. If you want to fire me, I’ll understand.”
Jamie exhaled sharply. “If anyone should be fired, it’s Shorty—for making you keep it from me.”
