An Accidental Family. Ami Weaver

heat flashed through him at the contact. He pulled back quickly. Hell.

      “Um, thanks,” she murmured.

      “You’re welcome.” He turned toward the garage. He needed to get away from her before he started to feel.

      “Ben.” Her voice—hesitant, a little husky—flowed over him. He turned back and she tipped the pizza box slightly toward him. “There’s plenty here if you want to join us.”

      “No, thanks.” The words came swift, automatic, but he caught a flash of hurt in her eyes. Damn it. “I’m in the middle of a project,” he amended. “I’ll try and grab some in awhile.” Why did he feel the need to soften the blow? Since when had big blue eyes affected him? Since last night, when she’d narrowed her eyes and told him she could change a tire.

      She shrugged. “Good luck. Rose and I love our pizza.”

      He slid his hands in his front pockets. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      She turned to go and he couldn’t tear his gaze off the sway of her hips as she walked up to the house.

      Double hell. He couldn’t risk forging any type of connection. No way would he allow himself the luxury. How could he, when he shouldn’t be the one alive?

      Turning, he headed back to his project, tried to ignore the feminine laughter floating through the kitchen’s screen door. Lainey’s throaty laugh carried, teasing at the edge of something he’d shut down after Jason’s death.

      His phone rang before he could start the saw. A glance at the display revealed the caller to be his boss. Nerves jolted through him, but he kept his voice steady as he answered.

      “Hi, Captain.”

      “Ben.” The concern in the older man’s voice carried clearly and Ben shut his eyes against the guilt it stirred up. “How are you, son?”

      “I’m getting by,” he replied.

      “Just getting by?”

      “Pretty much.” Ben paused. He didn’t need to paint a rosy picture for his boss. He’d already been ordered to take leave due to the stress of Jason’s death. It couldn’t really get any worse than that.

      “Still having the symptoms, I take it.” Not a question.

      “Yeah.” When the dream stopped, would he be free of the pain? Did he want to be? Wouldn’t that be disloyal to the friend he’d loved like a brother?

      After all, Ben was alive. Jason wasn’t.

      The Captain sighed. “It won’t do any good for me to tell you again that it was an accident and not your fault, right?”

      “With all due respect, sir, you’re wrong.” The words caught in Ben’s throat. “It was my call. I made a bad one, and a good man—a family man—died because of me.”

      “That’s not what the investigation found,” the Captain reminded him softly.

      It didn’t matter. The investigators hadn’t been there—in the inferno, in the moment. “I don’t give a damn.” Ben shut his eyes against the waves of guilt and pain that buffeted his soul, tried not to see Callie’s grief-ravaged face. “I know what happened.”

      “Ben—”

      “Please, don’t.”

      There was a pause, then another sigh. “Then I won’t. This time. Son, when you heal, come back and see us. There will always be room for fine firefighters such as yourself and I’d be honored to have you.”

      Heal. Ben swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn’t know if it was possible. “Thank you, sir. I’ll keep it in mind.”

      He disconnected the call and the emptiness he’d been battling for the past six months constricted his chest. He could never work as a firefighter again. He no longer trusted his judgment, his ability to read a situation and respond appropriately.

      Without those skills he was nothing.

      “Ben?”

      He looked up sharply, feeling exposed. Lainey stood in the open door with a plate, uncertainty on her beautiful face. He cursed silently. How much had she overheard?

      “Rose thought you might be hungry.” She lifted the plate slightly.

      He rubbed his hand over his face, afraid the rawness of his emotions showed too clearly. He needed to get them back under control—fast. “Thanks.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and walked over, not wanting to look at her and see pity. Or disgust. He’d seen plenty of both over the past couple of months. She handed him the plate wordlessly, then laid her hand on his forearm before he could move away.

      His muscles turned to stone even as the heat from her simple touch sought the frozen place inside him. His gaze landed on hers, despite his best intent. He saw no pity, only questions, and he couldn’t take the chance of her asking them. Not now, with everything so close to the surface.

      He cleared his throat and she stepped back quickly, taking her warmth with her when she removed her hand. It was a much sharper loss than he’d like. “Thanks for the pizza.”

      “Sure.” She hesitated and he held his breath, afraid she’d ask. Perversely, he was almost afraid she wouldn’t. She gave him a small smile. “Eat it before it gets cold.”

      Then she turned and walked into the night before he could tell her how very familiar he was with cold.

      And what a lonely place it was.

      CHAPTER THREE

      AN IMPERIAL SUMMONS was never a good thing.

      Lainey had long thought of her mother’s invitations to dinner as such a summons—and more often than not they included some well-meaning but completely off-base idea of her parents’ to “improve her life.”

      She’d met her ex at such a dinner. And apparently she was the only one who saw it for the farce it had turned out to be.

      Now, if Daniel had been a man like Ben maybe things would have been different. The thought wasn’t as shocking as it might have been, considering she’d been unable to get Ben and the haunted look on his face out of her mind for the past two days. She hadn’t overheard enough of his conversation to find out what was eating him alive, but she’d heard the pain layering his voice, each word laced with more than the last.

      Still, Ben struck her as a fundamentally honorable man, not one who would marry for money without dumping his long-time girlfriend first. Like, say, her ex-husband. The good thing was her heart hadn’t been involved—but her pride and self-worth had taken a beating.

      Lainey sighed and turned through the thick stone columns into her parents’ driveway. Since her parents were expecting her, the black iron gate stood open. She wound her way up the drive and parked in front of the massive log house that managed to be both rustic and majestic.

      Lainey turned the car off and got out. On the plus side Grace, the cook, always put together fabulous meals, so she’d make sure she enjoyed that even while avoiding the bombs that were likely to be lobbed over the table. The front door opened even before she made it all the way up the carefully landscaped walkway.

      “Lainey!” her father greeted her in his big voice.

      “Hi, Dad.” She allowed herself to be drawn into a hug. Tall and trim, Greg Keeler cut a handsome picture with his dark, youthful looks, a perfect foil to Jacqui’s petite blond paleness. Even in their late fifties, they looked every inch the power couple they’d been for as long as she could remember.

      “Come on in. We’re in the family room.”

      He turned and Lainey followed him into the large room off the foyer, with its high ceilings, thick carpet and fireplace. While the outside screamed North Woods, inside the only concession to the house’s rustic roots