Blaze: A Texas Heat Novel Page 2

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He steered her to the gazebo. “For what?” he asked.

  “What you did for my friends.”

  Oh, that. He looked away self-consciously, uncomfortable with the praise. “I’m sorry for what Jake did, he doesn’t mean to be a jackass.”

  She smiled. He melted on the spot.

  “I wish I talked to you sooner,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked.

  They sat down under the gazebo draped in white Christmas lights in June. How could he possibly say she scared the hell out of him? What he felt just being in the same room with her made him avoid any close contact at all costs. They were in the same English Honors class and Advanced Placement Calculus. He was acutely aware of her presence whenever she came near. He rubbed her palm with the pad of his thumb. He felt her shiver.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No.”

  Then she felt it too, this intense attraction that could go nowhere. “I guess I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish,” he said.

  She nodded. “I understand.” And she did. Everything was easy and natural with Emerson. One hour with Amber had all the drama of a telenovela soap opera. He was sick of it and realized he had been for quite some time.

  “Have you decided on a college yet?” she asked.

  “Harvard,” he said, “You?”

  “Aberdeen Community College.”

  He frowned. “I heard you got into gourmet pastry programs.” Only the top culinary schools in the country and overseas. She was an amazing baker. Dylan felt a burst of pride in her accomplishments.

  “I did but…I can’t leave Gran.”

  He stared at her in absolute wonder. “You are the sweetest thing,” he whispered. She blushed. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment.

  “I’m going to kiss you before the night is over,” he whispered. “If I had a choice, I’d kiss you for the next fifty years but-”

  “We come from different sides of the universe,” she said. “My family are like alien life forms and yours are gods.”

  They both laughed.

  “Tell me something cool about your family,” she said.

  He did.

  Dylan looked at her tenderly. “Tell me your dreams.”

  She did.

  They talked for hours as if they’d known each other for years. Reluctantly, Dylan walked her home. He’d never been to this side of town before. The entire village of Aberdeen, a suburb of Austin, Texas was a historical landmark. The town had Victorian and Edwardian designed houses and buildings giving it a nostalgic aura.

  The home Dylan grew up in was featured in national architecture magazines for its soaring turrets, sweeping verandahs, manicured gardens and stunning décor. His bedroom was bigger than Emerson’s ramshackle house. It hurt him to know that she lived here, scraping for pennies, buying groceries with coupons and clothes from thrift stores. Dylan wanted to give her the world. But so much was expected of him. His life was meticulously planned before he was born. He would go to Harvard University and one day be elected mayor of Aberdeen and marry one of the other power families – The Drakes, Thurstons or The Saint James’. He had a plan. He never questioned the plan until now.

  Dylan slowly backed Emerson into the sagging porch shadows. Tenderly, he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her. As first kisses go this one was totally worth the wait. Emerson didn’t know what to expect. The heat of it shocked her. The drugging, deep sweep of his tongue made her tremble all over. Shyly, her tongue mated with his. Dylan groaned as the kiss went from sweet tenderness to wild passion within seconds. His lips and tongue were relentless. He savaged her mouth, licked and gently sucked her neck, kissed her forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, lips. His hands swept up and down her back, spanned her waist. They couldn’t get physically close enough.

  Gran discreetly turned on the porch light without making an appearance. The young lovers sprang apart. Dylan’s heart hammered just as loud as her own. Emerson tried to catch her breath.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, “What are we going to do?”

  They were in love – deeply, madly, truly, head over heels in love. He cursed under his breath. She touched his cheek.

  “Emerson,” he said as if her name were torn from him.

  “I know,” she said. She felt it to with an intensity that frightened her. She took a moment to memorize his beautiful face, spun and ran inside, bolting the door behind her. Gran took one look at her pale face and never questioned. That night,

  Emerson relived that kiss again and again. She cried herself to sleep and wept for what could never be. The next morning, Gran didn’t comment on her puffy eyes but she made her a chocolate cake for the heartbreak.

  Rumor had it, Dylan flew to Boston the very next day after prom. Guess he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Gran took her by the hand and led her to the porch swing. Somehow the sun shined on and the birds sang merrily. Didn’t they know? Her love was gone?

  “When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here,” Gran said.

  Emerson nodded miserably.

  “Young Chambers seems determined to move on, I think you should too.”

  “How?” Emerson asked with tears flooding her eyes.

  “My darling, if he can live without you, you can live without him,” Nell said with steel in her voice.

  “Yes ma’am,” Emerson said.

  “Good, now where are you going to college?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Gran raised a silver eyebrow. “I found the acceptance letters.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh.”

  Gran rocked the swing back and forth. It squeaked as they swayed.

  “I’m staying local, Aberdeen Community College has-”

  Nell’s expression was positively fierce. “Lookie here girl,” she huffed, “Now I know God gave you a brain for a damn good reason and talent to boot. It won’t be wasted, not on my watch.”

  “Gran, I can’t leave you.”

  Her grandmother’s face softened. “Oh my darling, you don’t have a choice in the matter. I got my big girl panties on, how ‘bout you?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “All right now.”

  Nell took the university acceptance letters out of her floral apron pocket. L’Academie de Cuisine, California Culinary Academy, Le Cordon Bleu, French Culinary Institute in New York, Yale, Columbia and Brown.

  “Whose it gonna be?”

  Emerson felt the wrenching pain of loss recede a bit as her attention focused on the future. “What if something happens to you and I’m not here?”

  “Have faith my love.” Emerson wiped tears away. “Aw sugar, nothing will give me greater happiness than to know my baby girl is out there doing her thang, I’m so proud, very proud of you.”

  “I’d be so far away.”

  “I won’t be lonesome if that’s what frets you.”

  Emerson raised an eyebrow. “I know you have the Ladies Book Club-”

  “Yes, I have a man friend too.”

  Emerson’s mouth fell open.

  “Girl, you’re gonna catch a fly.”

  “Who? What? When? How?”

  “Mister Hickman.”

  “Hickman? Owner of the hardware store? But he’s a hundred years old!”

  “Now be kind, he’s five years my junior.”

  “B-But I had no idea.”

  “Well we’ve been courting going on two years now. We have sex at least three times a week.”

  Emerson gasped. “You still have – but – oh my gosh, I’m getting a visual, make it stop.”

  Nell cackled. “After that steamy display last night I gotta ask, are you still a virgin?”

  “Yes ma’am that was my first kiss ever.”

  “Well you did mighty fine.”

  Emerson leaned her head on Gran’s shoulder. “It
hurts.”

  “I know.”

  “I love him so much.”

  Nell stroked her hair. “You’ll feel like roadkill for a hot minute but you’re strong enough to rally. Rise up, you hear? You’ll never forget him and that’s okay but you will move on, do you understand me Emerson Sophie Riley?”

  She nodded. Gran kissed her forehead. “Now, go get your dreams.”

  Chapter 3

  10 Years Later

  Emerson drove her ’65 candy red Mustang with the top down, sun shined on her face, Def Leppard blasted from the speakers. Her strawberry blond hair tumbled in wild curls about her shoulders. She cruised down Capital of Texas Highway Loop 360, through the winding roads of Great Hills to the vibrant green hill country.

  She tapped the steering wheel and sang at the top of her lungs, “Pour some sugar on me!”

  Emerson grooved along to the pounding music. A sweet breeze, vast blue sky and basking in the sunshine, made her one happy girl. The town was nestled in a stunning valley. Emerson caught her breath. Waterfalls, underground caves, limestone natural springs, rolling hills and bluebell flowers bursting with color across the country side, just a few miles outside Austin, her favorite city in the world. The sign said – Welcome to Aberdeen, Home of the BBQ Kings & World Lizard Race, population 6,542.

  Victorian cottages, bungalows and sprawling mansions dotted the hills. Downtown was like a gingerbread village. Tourists roamed the square, the shops were open, the farmer’s market in full swing. Emerson smiled. The poets were wrong, you can go home again.

  The campaign office for the re-election of Mayor Dylan Chambers was abuzz with patriotic idealism. Interns worked the phones, volunteers wore slogan tee shirts and canvassed neighborhoods, staff spoke to the press and took to Facebook and Twitter to promote their candidate. Dylan sat behind his desk facing what he privately called the firing squad.

  His grandmother, God bless her, had the instincts of a shark going for blood in the water. Menerva Chambers knew the political landscape, understood the players, and bent them to her will like chess pieces on a board. The matriarch ruled her family with an iron fist. Dylan adored the old battleax. He affectionately called her Grumpy. She stood six foot one, reed thin, her face chiseled to classical perfection. Her gun mettle hair cut in a stylish bob. She marched the length of the office in a power suit and cowboy boots.

  Dylan’s campaign manager, Jordan Winters had a cellphone in each hand putting out fires, setting up press interviews. Jordan was a lawyer who never lost a case. Dylan valued his sage advice and pit-bull loyalty. Dylan’s father, Senator George Chambers was an older version of him – tall, handsome and wickedly dynamic.

  “Think about running for Senator next term,” Menerva said. She had a way of making a request sound like a military command. Dylan took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his swivel chair. He nodded curtly. After a flurry of activity, Jordan finally got off the phone. “You’re up eight points in the polls but I want you to beat that smug bastard by double digits.”

  “It’s a comfortable lead,” Dylan said.

  “Double digits snuffs out all hope,” Menerva said, “You have to cut his throat Dylan, use the ammo I gave you.”

  “No,” Dylan said, “I’m not getting in the gutter, no negative ads. I win this on the strength of my agenda – to serve this town.”

  “Okay Pollyanna,” Jordan drawled, “Stop being a choir boy, get your hands dirty.”

  “Amen!” Menerva said.

  Dad was oddly quiet. “What do you think?” Dylan asked.

  George steepled his fingers in deep thought. “You won clean before, but I don’t want a result that’s too close to call. A single digit lead can vanish overnight. All it takes is a whiff of scandal and the tide turns in your opponent’s favor.”

  Menerva and Jordan nodded in unison.

  His father mused, “If you decide to run for Senate-”

  “He will,” Menerva said.

  “Voters trust a man with a family. If you give the town something to celebrate like a wedding perhaps.”

  Dylan groaned. Here we go again. Menerva clapped her jeweled hands with glee.

  “Social media would explode,” Jordan said. “Even an engagement announcement would be enough to clinch the victory, it’ll be a slam dunk.”

  Dylan ran a hand through his golden brown hair. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “What about that European heiress?” Dad asked. “I liked her.”

  “You liked her father’s billions,” Dylan said.

  “That too,” George said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Dylan shrugged. “She bored me.”

  “What about the actress?” Jordan asked.

  “We had nothing in common.”

  “Are you gay?” Menerva asked with all the subtly of a sledgehammer.

  Jordan and George chuckled. Dylan grinned. “Ah no.”

  “Didn’t think so,” Menerva said, “You’re twenty-eight years old. Now is the time to strike.” She pounded her fist in her palm.

  “Don’t hold back on the romance,” Dylan said. He winked at the old girl.

  “Don’t try to charm me boy it won’t work,” she said gruffly.

  Dylan knew better.

  “A wedding will turn out the soccer mom vote and your vision for the town will fire up the base.”

  Dylan came close to matrimony only once in his life. Ten years ago, he was only eighteen, but God – how he loved that girl. Of course, no one in the room knew about that.

  Dylan shifted uncomfortably. He slammed the door shut on that memory years ago. He had to, for the sake of his sanity. Emerson Riley had been a weakness, a momentary lapse of judgement on his part. Letting her go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Dylan shook his head as if to clear it.

  “I’ll get married,” he said, all business, “Make a list.”

  His grandmother whipped out a type written page. “I have a short list handy,” she said.

  “Of course you do,” Dylan drawled.

  Jordan peeked at the names before handing the list over. “Portia Langley, have you seen the tits on her?”

  “Yes,” his grandmother said, “My plastic surgeon did them, her perky D cups come with a money back guarantee. Her grandfather is Supreme Court Justice Edward Langely. Need I say more?”

  “Brittania Wentworth,” Dylan said with a shudder.

  “What?” Menerva asked, “She’s a beautiful young lady, her father is the Earl of something, her mother is-”

  “The White House Chief of staff, I know,” Dylan said, “But she’s dumb as a box of rocks.”

  “You’re being kind,” Jordan said, “She has a single brain cell, maybe two.”

  Grandmother Menerva was undaunted. “Even idiots need love.”

  “Who said a damn thing about love,” Dylan muttered.

  “Not me,” Dad said with a cynical expression.

  “I second that,” Jordan said.

  “Marriage is the ultimate corporate merger,” the matriarch said, her blue eyes aglow, “What about Lea Saint James? She’s my top choice, you dated her for ages, a proposal would hardly come as a surprise.”

  Dad grunted his approval. Jordan rubbed his jaw. “Oh yes, she will do, stunning beauty, brains, PhD.”

  “From the right stock,” Menerva said wistfully, “She has a president and a British royal in her family tree.”

  Dylan nodded. They dated off and on for years. Lea was the complete package – a blue blood, sophisticated, gorgeous and intelligent. “Lea fits the criteria.”

  “To a tee,” Menerva agreed.

  “Okay, call her people, invite her family for brunch,” Dylan said.

  “Consider it done,” his grandmother said eagerly. She rushed out the door to plot his love life.

  “God help me,” Dylan said. “I haven’t seen her that happy since that televised all night session of Congress.”

  Jordan shoo
k his head. “If I were you I’d say a few Hail Marys and pray to every Saint there is.” For good measure, Jordan did the sign of the cross over his chest.

  As political stunts go, an engagement was the ultimate. Dylan drew up a spreadsheet agenda for the dating period, detailed schematics for the engagement and the logistics for a society wedding.

  Chapter 4

  Emerson cruised down Grand Oak Avenue and sighed her contentment. The 80’s band, The Police blasted from her speakers as she belted out a song off key. Ironically, the real police flashed blue and red lights behind her.

  “Crap,” she muttered. She pulled over between the Children’s Museum and the Candy Emporium.

  The officer ambled by her side. “License and registration,” he ordered.

  “I’m sorry officer but um, what did I do?” she asked.

  He wore sunglasses that shielded his eyes. “Your music violated our noise ordinance.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes ma’am.” He took her I.D and did a double take. His jaw dropped. “Bookworm?”

  Emerson burst out laughing. “It’s been a while since anyone called me that.”

  He took off his glasses. “Thor?” she asked.

  Donavan McClain grinned. That’s what they called him back in the day. His laugh sounded like rolling thunder. “I don’t wear the cape to work.”

  Emerson had to look up, way up. Her friend, Harper Grant, hated Donavan’s guts. They fought all through elementary, middle and high school. Their arguments were legendary in a town this small. Harper gave him the nickname Thor. It wasn’t a term of endearment. She would say - “Em, I’d like to shove that hammer up his-”

  “Man alive girl, I haven’t seen you in years.” He had dimples. Oh my. The running back for the Aberdeen Prep football team was always easy on the eye. Oddly, Harper never saw his appeal.

  “I’m in town for my gran,” Emerson said.