Mr. February Read online

  Becoming an auntie would be great, but wouldn’t change the fact that in October, a mere seven months from now, Jillian would be thirty.

  Her biological clock was ticking, and she was finally ready to settle down with one man and make a life together. Which was pretty amazing, considering a mere two years ago, she hadn’t imagined ever wanting kids or marriage. Not even with Douglas, her boyfriend of several years. Jillian had been sure she loved him. And yet, during the months they’d lived together, he’d proposed three times. She’d always turned him down.

  Finally, fed up, Douglas had moved out. After Jillian had gotten over the pain of losing him, she’d realized she hadn’t really loved him, after all.

  Chelsea’s eyes lit up. “I’d give anything to see Georgia. Let me go with you, Jill.” She bit her lip and glanced at JR. “Unless you need help with Pooh’s bath?”

  “I can manage. Go ahead, Chels.”

  Knowing Shannon wouldn’t mind, Jillian smiled. “Of course, you can come. But we won’t be staying long. Shannon’s worn out, and I really need to get back to work. After I shower, change into dry clothes, and grab a bite to eat, we’ll leave.”

  After dinner tonight, she’d run a load of laundry and wash Rafe’s jacket. Sometime tomorrow, she would drop it off at the fire station.

  And that would be the end of that.

  *

  Shannon gestured Jillian and Chelsea into her bungalow with the same dark circles as before under her weary eyes.

  Jillian handed her friend the gossip magazine she’d brought. “That’s for you to read when you have time. And this is my brother’s girlfriend, Chelsea.”

  Shannon smiled. “I finally get to meet the future mother of Jillian’s niece or nephew. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Grinning, Chelsea cupped her barely visible baby bump. “I’m due in September.”

  While the two women chatted about babies, Jillian excused herself to wash her hands in anticipation of holding Georgia.

  “I’m dying to see the baby,” Chelsea chirped as Jillian returned. “Where is she?”

  Intermittent infant noises punctuated the question, courtesy of the baby monitor on the coffee table.

  “Sleeping, but as you can hear, she’s just waking up.” Shannon gestured in the direction of the nursery. “Do you want to come with me while I get her up and change her?”

  “Yes, please,” Jillian and Chelsea replied at the same time.

  While Shannon deftly diapered the sweet little girl, Jillian marveled at her. “I swear, she’s grown in the last two weeks.”

  “Half an inch and a whole pound,” Shannon said proudly.

  Chelsea clasped her hands together. “She’s so tiny and so cute.”

  “Would you like to hold her?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then wash your hands, and we’ll see you back in the living room. Here, Jillian, you carry her.”

  Dying for the honor and still madly in love with Georgia, Jillian carefully transported the precious bundle to the sofa. “Are you enjoying motherhood?” she asked.

  Shannon’s smile radiated joy. “I’m exhausted, but I’ve never loved anyone this much in my life. Except Asher. You should see him with her. He’s crazy about her.”

  “It seems like yesterday you two got married.”

  “It’s only been a year, but when it’s right, it’s right.”

  A wave of longing swept through Jillian, for a husband and baby of her own. With a tentative hand, she smoothed Georgia’s light-brown hair over her little round head. “Her hair is so soft,” she said in wonder. “Don’t keel over and die, but I’m admitting here and now that I’m ready to settle down and have a baby, too.”

  Shannon’s eyes widened. “You met someone.”

  Jillian thought briefly of Rafe, but he was all wrong for her. “Not yet, but I’m ready to start working on that.”

  “Working on what?” Chelsea asked as she entered the living room.

  Giving her head a subtle shake, Jillian warned her friend not to mention what she’d shared. But Shannon’s attention had fixed on lifting her child from Jillian’s arms, and she didn’t notice. “Jillian is ready to fall in love.”

  Chelsea wore a sly look. “I knew you were interested in Rafe.”

  “Rafe?” Shannon frowned.

  “The guy on the firefighter calendar—Mr. February,” Chelsea clarified.

  “You know him?” Shannon looked intrigued. “You never said a word.”

  “You’ve been kind of busy. Besides, I only met him this morning, when I was out, chasing Pooh,” Jillian explained. “He isn’t my type.”

  “A man with his looks is any woman’s type,” Shannon murmured.

  Chelsea nodded. “For an old guy, he’s cute.”

  “Hey, watch it,” Jillian said. “He’s around the same age as Shannon and me.”

  Busy making baby talk to Georgia, Chelsea didn’t reply. As young as she was, Jillian had a hunch she’d make a good mom.

  The baby began to fuss. “She’s hungry, and I need to feed her,” Shannon said.

  Jillian nodded. “And I should get back to the studio.”

  They all stood. Jillian hugged her friend.

  “Good luck with your search for Mr. Right,” Shannon murmured in her ear. “Keep me posted.”

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Early Friday morning, Rafe parked off the dirt road a mile or so from where he usually parked when he visited his newest property acquisition.

  He exited the car and then leashed Calvin, his sixty-pound Vizsla. In contrast to the previous day, the sky was clear. Despite the chill air, leaf buds on the trees and trills from several hardy birds signaled the coming spring. A great day for a run.

  Calvin agreed, and when Hank and Gus, fellow crewmates, showed up, the dog woofed in excitement. He knew what lay ahead.

  Rafe was tight with both men, as well as the other nine firefighters and the captain and who worked his shift. Living together every week for forty-eight hours straight meant getting to know each other real well, warts and all. None of them was perfect, but Rafe knew without hesitation that no matter what, they had his back. Just as he had theirs.

  After they greeted each other and stretched, Hank glanced around. “I’ve never been out here before. It’s nice. Which way are we heading?”

  An avid runner who’d attended college on a cross-country scholarship, he usually set the pace at just short of torture.

  Eager to show his buds the site of his future home, Rafe gestured toward the west. “Straight for about a mile then head right. I’ll let you know when.”

  Hank nodded. “You jokers ready?” Without waiting for an answer, he took off at a fast clip.

  Rafe was in good shape, but dodging mud and puddles, tree roots and imbedded rocks, took its toll. Soon, his breathing grew labored and his leg muscles burned, urging him to slow down.

  Not an option. Relying on mindful observation, a tool of self-discipline he’d learned from his father and had honed with years of practice, Rafe concentrated on his breathing and let everything else fall away.

  A few yards shy of the turnoff, he lengthened his stride and caught up to Hank. “Turn here.”

  After veering right, the cross-country fanatic upped his speed to killer level.

  Soon they reached the edge of Rafe’s property. “This is it,” he called out, coming to a stop. Calvin plopped onto the grass, panting. “The site of my new home.”

  Hands on his knees, Gus gulped air. “Great view of the Siskiyou Mountains,” he said when he straightened. “I see Guff’s Lake in the distance, too. Sweet.”

  The town’s namesake was located in the foothills of the Siskiyou Mountain Range. Snowmelt kept its four-mile diameter waters sparkling and drew locals and tourists for fishing, hiking and camping. Or for luxury accommodations at the five-star resort and hotel.

  Hank wiped sweat off his face with the hem of his T-shirt. “I see why you decided to
use this part of your ‘vast empire’ for yourself. It’s about time you did.”

  Rafe’s holdings hadn’t exactly reached vast empire status yet, but he approved of the label. “I’m thirty-two,” he said. “It’s time I built myself a home.”

  A permanent place, where he could put down roots.

  “You hired Sonia to design the house, huh?” Hank asked.

  Rafe nodded. “She’s the best architect around.”

  “If she’s like the rest of the women you date, she’ll probably work for free to get you into the sack, stud.”

  Ignoring the nickname they used to get a rise out of him, Rafe shook his head. “I admire her work ethic, but otherwise, she’s not my type. She has I’m looking for love and the whole nine yards written all over her.”

  Rafe wanted no part of that. His buds understood. They knew what he’d suffered through as a kid, and what a mess he’d been until age ten, when he’d moved in with his dad. Thanks to the man’s discipline and structure, Rafe had straightened up.

  By the time his dad had married a few years later, Rafe had been on a solid path to success—good grades and a junior varsity position on the middle school basketball team. His stepmom, Lori, had brought her own two kids into the marriage. She hadn’t wanted Rafe around. But her acceptance of him had been a deal breaker for Rafe’s dad, and she’d learned to tolerate him. Still, she’d never shown him any real warmth, and when she and his dad divorced two years later, the only fallout Rafe had suffered stemmed from his father’s grief over the failed marriage.

  “I’m about ready for breakfast,” he said. “If we go a little farther, we can loop back to where we started. I’ll take the lead now.”

  Hank shrugged. “Go for it.”

  They were cutting through the woods at a more reasonable pace when Calvin woofed. Bred for hunting, he pointed and strained at his leash. In the distance came an answering bark. Rafe recognized that sharp-pitched sound. Pooh.

  He gave Calvin plenty of leash, and moments later, Jillian’s cottage and the woman herself, came into view. Wearing leggings and another long, baggy shirt, hair tucked into a baseball cap, she balanced on a folding ladder, wielding a long-handled paint roller over the weathered green siding of her studio. The new color, purple, was exactly what Rafe would have expected. The same hatchback sat parked in the driveway. He didn’t see the ancient van.

  “Get a load of those long legs,” Hank murmured appreciatively.

  Rafe didn’t like the way he and Gus looked her over.

  “Rafe. Hi,” she said, climbing down with a confused smile.

  “You know her? Of course you do,” Hank murmured. “Introduce us.”

  Rafe preferred not to, but hell, he wasn’t interested in her, so why not? “Jillian, meet Hank and Gus, two of my crewmates. And this is Calvin.”

  She greeted his dog with pats and friendly murmurs. When she straightened to her full height, the huge firefighters dwarfed her. They each shook her hand.

  Suddenly Calvin pulled hard on his leash. He sized up Pooh, and she did the same. They both growled.

  “Easy, boy,” Rafe warned in his no-nonsense voice. As soon as his dog obeyed, he allowed the animal to lead the way.

  “Pooh looks a lot prettier than she did yesterday,” he said. So did Jillian. Not that she’d looked all that bad dripping wet.

  “She smells better, too, thanks to a bath. What are you doing out here on a Friday morning?”

  “We need to stay in shape,” Rafe replied. “And with the weather finally starting to turn nice…” He shrugged. “Plus, I wanted to show these guys where I’ll be building my house. You’re painting your studio.”

  She nodded. “I decided to brighten up the place before my first class. You should see the gorgeous lime-green paint I got for the trim.”

  “That purple’s bright all by itself.”

  “What kind of classes?” Gus asked.

  “Pottery. I used to teach at the Artist Cooperative, but the school closed, and I decided to teach here. This will be a class for beginners. It starts in two weeks. I have openings, so if you know of anyone who’s interested… I printed flyers. Who wants one?”

  Both Rafe’s crewmates signaled they did. Hank hadn’t dated since he’d joined the department two years earlier. He was dealing with some heavy stuff and wasn’t ready. But Gus, currently single, looked interested. Rafe barely curtailed a snarl.

  Oblivious, the clown grinned at her. “Need help painting?”

  “I’ll be the one to do that,” Rafe volunteered. His own words and gruff tone pulled him up short. What had gotten into him?

  “I expected JR to help, but whenever I need a hand, he manages to be gone.” She blew out an exasperated breath.

  “Watch out for this guy,” Gus warned, jerking his thumb Rafe’s way. “We call him ‘stud’ for a reason.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe everything either of these fools tell you.”

  She didn’t comment. “Your jacket is in the dryer. I’d planned to drop it by the station, but since you’re here… I’ll see if it’s dry, and grab some flyers for the pottery class.”

  She disappeared inside.

  “Loaning her your jacket—nice move,” Hank said.

  Gus nodded. “No wonder you’re building a house here. Jillian’s hot.”

  That Rafe agreed bothered him. “She’s a free spirit,” he said.

  “Then she probably doesn’t want to be tied down any more than you.”

  Rafe narrow-eyed him. “I wouldn’t know, and who the hell cares?”

  “It’s just an observation,” Gus muttered.

  “Rafe has a point,” Hank said. “Dating her would make for a difficult neighborly relationship after the breakup. Because, sooner or later, he always breaks up with them.”

  Jillian returned with flyers and jacket, neatly folded. She passed out flyers and then handed Rafe the jacket. “Thanks again for letting me borrow this.”

  As he took it from her, his fingers brushed hers. Yesterday her skin had been cold. Today she felt warm, nice and warm.

  His body took notice and began to stir. Damn. “I need food,” he told the guys.

  He nodded at Jillian and took off.

  *

  The exterior of the studio wasn’t exactly huge, but Jillian’s aching arms thought so. Pushing the paint roller over the siding proved challenging—especially the area above her head.

  “Why couldn’t you stick around and help, JR, as you promised?” she grumbled.

  He and Chelsea had left this morning while she showered, the little sneaks. Jillian had no idea when they would return, but, knowing JR, it would be after she finished the job, probably just in time for dinner.

  She couldn’t take much more of this.

  Her empty stomach growled. As determined as she was to finish painting today, while the weather cooperated, she needed food, and her arms needed a rest. Lunchtime.

  Over a sandwich, she thought more about her brother. If he could find a job, he and Chelsea could move out. He wasn’t looking very hard, and Jillian was beginning to wonder if he even wanted to work. This worried her. Who would take care of Chelsea and the baby?

  Why couldn’t he be more responsible? Why couldn’t he be more like Rafe? Yes, Rafe was too meticulous and controlled for her tastes, but he had a good job and seemed a genuinely decent guy.

  Plus, he was yummy to look at. She let out a dreamy sigh. He and his two equally buff firefighter friends had no business jogging past her house in shorts and tees.

  Since the breakup with Douglas, Jillian had dated her share of men uninterested serious relationships. Until recently, she’d felt the same way.

  But now that she wanted a baby, she needed to find a man ready to settle down and start a family. Which meant steering clear of guys like Rafe. Labeled a stud by his own friends.

  Jillian didn’t expect to see him again, and there was no point in thinking about him.

  She finished the sandwich and r
eturned to the great outdoors to resume painting.

  She was maneuvering the roller and trying to hold her shaking arms steady when she heard a car pull up the driveway. The purring engine did not belong to JR’s rattling van. Glanced over her shoulder, she noted Rafe’s BMW pulling to a stop near her sedan.

  He’d come back. As she clambered down the ladder, her wayward heart lifted.

  In one smooth, graceful motion, he slid out of his car. Faded jeans hugged his muscular legs, and a faded T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and flat belly. Firefighters—Cool under pressure, the words on the shirt proclaimed. Feeling the opposite of cool, she mentally fanned herself.

  He leashed Calvin and let him out of the back seat, which he protected with a terry cloth seat cover. Tail wagging, the dog woofed and made a beeline for Pooh, who appeared to be grinning.

  “I never expected to see you again,” Jillian said.

  He looked surprised. “I said I’d help.”

  “I didn’t realize you meant it.” Most of the guys she knew didn’t have the time or interest in painting someone else’s building.

  As badly as she needed help, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted Rafe around. He was too darned attractive. “I don’t need any help,” she assured him. “I’m used to doing things by myself, and I’ll be fine.”

  “It’ll get done faster with an extra pair of hands. Is it okay to pen Calvin in with Pooh?”

  He had a point. She nodded. After Rafe let Calvin into the fenced area, he took the roller from her. “I’ll tackle the high-up places, and you do the window trim.”

  Not about to argue, Jillian stepped into the studio to get the trim brush and paint closeted there.

  Working with Rafe wasn’t half-bad. He didn’t talk much, and neither did she. The lime-green trim looked great with the purple siding and gave the studio the artsy feel Jillian wanted. She needed to replace the income she’d lost when the school at the Artist Cooperative had closed. Teaching pottery classes here would help.

  Before long, she needed another break.

  “I’m ready to sit down with a cup of tea,” she said. “How about you? If you’re not a tea drinker, I have pop or coffee.”