Hold Me

He stepped off the curb and felt the pull in his back and down his leg. Remnants of what had happened. Of the accident.

It had happened so fast—as they always did. He didn’t remember much. Just waking up in a world of hurt. He could have been paralyzed. He could have died. So he couldn’t ski. Big deal.

Only some days, it was. Some days he thought about how the best part of him had been lost and would never be found again.

He passed a family out for a walk, a little girl flanked by her parents. Dad pushed a stroller.

There were a lot of families in town. Couples. People in love. He’d always thought he would get there someday, only he’d never been able to get past the truth. That saying you loved someone didn’t mean a thing. Not when love couldn’t change anything. Heal anything. Fix anything.

His father had claimed to love his daughter. And then he’d beat her. Shelby’s love for her dying mother had put her right in front of the old man’s fist. What good had love done any of them?

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love. He did. He knew it existed. He loved his sister. He would die for Shelby. But if she was in trouble, he would get off his ass and do something about it. Not just sit back and love her. Or claim to, as their father had.

He saw other couples all around him. Happy people who made it look easy. Who didn’t seem to be working so hard. But he’d never been able to simply believe. To know it was right. That any particular woman was “the one.” He couldn’t figure out what was different for him. So he stayed with what worked.

He liked serial monogamy. Maybe he should just go with it. And for the most part, he was happy. But every now and then, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more.

* * *

IF SEX WAS the root of all evil, then men were holding the watering can and making the root go deeper.

Destiny groaned. That didn’t even make sense to her, which sort of proved her point. Look at her. A sensible woman with a responsible job spending twenty-five minutes wondering what to wear to a meeting. Talk about a waste of time. She knew what to wear. She would put on work clothes, which meant jeans or cargo pants and a shirt. It wasn’t like she had much choice. No way she was going to prance into her business meeting in some frilly dress and high heels.

This was all Kipling’s fault. He’d kissed her. And while she’d been kissed before, something had happened this time. A part of her brain had come loose, or she’d had an influx of unusually powerful hormones. Or she needed to be on anti-Kipling medication, but she doubted that had been invented.

She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Or tried to. Because when she opened her eyes, she still wanted to look pretty for the meeting.

No, she told herself, determined to be honest. Not for the meeting. For the man.

If only she had someone to talk to, she thought as she pulled out her skinny jeans and shimmied into them. A sensible person who could tell her how to shake off the grubby remnants of lingering sexual attraction. But there was no one. She didn’t really stay in touch with people she’d met on previous jobs. Asking her mother for advice was like calling a pyromaniac for tips on how to avoid fire. And for once, recalling the many words of wisdom from Grandma Nell wasn’t the least bit helpful. Because her thoughts on the subject were incredibly clear.

If he’s single and rings your bell, then go get a good ringing.

“I don’t want anything to do with bells,” she muttered as she chose a tight T-shirt and pulled that on.

She’d already washed her hair and, damn it, used a blow-dryer and round brush to add fullness and a slight wave. Worse, she’d put on mascara. She was pathetic. Kipling was not for her. While he had many excellent qualities, he wasn’t sensible. And apparently, she wasn’t sensible around him.

The fact that a single kiss could throw her so far off her game only proved her point. No sex. Not until she was ready to have children. It was the slick, steep road to trouble.

She grabbed her backpack, made sure she had her notes for the meeting then left her bedroom. She found Starr in the living room. The teen looked up from her book.

“I’m heading out,” Destiny said. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”

“I’m fine.”

The words were right, but there was something in Starr’s eyes. Sadness, maybe. Or maybe Starr was still mad at her about lying. Destiny wasn’t sure. Once camp started, Starr would be happier, but that was still a few days away.

“We can talk when I get home,” she offered. “I could show you some chords.”

Starr shrugged and returned her attention to her book.

Destiny wished her sister had come with instructions. Not even a manual. A pamphlet would have helped. But there was nothing.

“I won’t be late,” she said.

Starr didn’t say anything, and Destiny left. She promised she would figure out what to do with Starr when she got back. But between now and then, she had a meeting to get through.

It was after six in the evening, but still warm and sunny. She walked quickly, heading for City Hall. Apparently, there was a small auditorium they would be using for the volunteer meeting.

While the HERO program would have a few key permanent staff, the majority of the search crew would be made up of volunteers. A percentage of those would need to be trained to use the equipment. The purpose of tonight’s event was to discuss the program with the community and, ideally, to get people to sign up. Or at least show some interest.

Given the personality of the town as she’d seen it, Destiny didn’t think there would be a problem getting people to show up. The plan was to pull the majority of the volunteers from local police and firefighters, who already had the necessary training. She was curious as to how many other people would be interested in signing up for the HERO program.