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“It was likely raccoons.”
“What?” She blinked up at him. How could raccoons tip over a Dumpster? “No way. How could they knock it over?”
“The wheels look pretty wobbly.” They were. The thing leaned to the left most of the time. It was on the small side, old and rusted out and just as much a piece of garbage as what they stashed in there. “And there have been reports of a family of raccoons around here causing trouble. I’ve actually taken calls on them.” He peered inside the Dumpster and shook his head. “Your bowl is in here and there’s not a lick of cat food remaining.”
“Probably because the cats ate it all.”
“More like the raccoons ate it all. They love that stuff. You know this, Dee. You can’t leave a bowl of cat food outside all night. The moment it gets dark, raccoons and all the other critters are out looking for an easy meal.”
He was right. She knew this. But really, she’d figured kids had knocked over the Dumpster and broken her table. That had been a good little table. She’d had it since she was a kid and moved it into the studio when she first bought the place from her old dance teacher Lesandre. Once she became business partners with Wren, and they’d moved in another desk along with two giant file cabinets, the table had had to go. So she’d set it outside, a temporary fix.
Now it was gone forever. And like an idiot, she mourned the loss.
“Stupid raccoons.” She kicked at the broken table but only managed to stub her toe since she was wearing flip-flops. She cried out, more in frustration than pain, pissed that she’d forget all sense in the presence of stupid Lane Gallagher, and she was tempted to shake her fists at the sky and say why.
Just before she rained her fists all over Lane’s head, pummeling him senseless.
Clearly she had anger issues.
“You okay?”
His question, the concern in his voice, the way he looked at her, like he wanted to run both toward her and away from her, was the final straw.
“No. No, I’m not okay, Lane. Are you okay? Tell me the truth, because there has to be a reason why you’ve been avoiding me for the last week.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, ignoring the throbbing in her big toe.
The look on his face was nothing short of helpless, with a heaping dose of panic. This was the last conversation he wanted to have, she was sure of it.
Well, tough shit.
“I’ve been—busy.”
“Bullshit.” She spit the word out so fiercely he took a step back, as if she’d suddenly frightened him. Good. He should be frightened. “Stop making excuses. Did you panic? Was it so good between us you got scared? Is that your problem? Are you afraid of us being over before we really began?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Everyone’s afraid of something. It’s okay,” she added in a rush when he looked ready to protest. “Being scared means you’re human. Guess what? I’m scared of you. I’m scared of what I feel for you. How much power you hold and you’re not even aware of it.”
Lane frowned. “What do you mean? I don’t control you.” He sounded offended.
“I didn’t say you controlled me, but you do have power over me. My feelings for you make up so much of who I am.” The words left her in an almost whisper and the unfamiliar emotion she saw flash in his gaze made her knees wobble.
“It’s probably not healthy, you feeling like that. About me.”
Her jaw dropped open. “Are you saying I’m crazy for loving you? Then call me crazy. I’m tired of denying my feelings.”
His eyes nearly bugged out of his head at her admission. Well, good. He needed to hear the truth. And if it rocked his world, then maybe that’s what he needed.
“Does the truth hurt, Lane?” She was taunting him, which was rude, but she couldn’t help herself.
He blew out a harsh breath and looked away from her, his gaze focusing on God knew what. Damn, he looked good in profile, the hot summer breeze ruffling through his dark hair. It had been too long since she set eyes on him and she took her time studying him.
He was too beautiful for words. And so frustrating she didn’t know what to do with herself.
“Looks like a fire,” he said almost conversationally.
“What?” The rapid change of subject had her brain scrambling to keep up.
“Up there on the ridge.” He pointed and she followed the direction of his finger, focusing on a plume of smoke spiraling into the sky. It grew thicker as she watched, like a white round cloud in the distance. He grabbed hold of his radio and spoke into it, saying a few codes, asking about a fire and listening to dispatch relay the information back to him, his mouth tight, his gaze toward the mountain. “I should go,” he said once the dispatcher went quiet. “There’s a fire.”
