Never Too Hot (Hot Shots: Men of Fire 3)

“Don't you get it?” Connor growled. “I've got nothing to give her. She deserves a whole man who can give her everything she deserves right now. Not in five, ten years. She shouldn't have to wait for me to figure out my future. To see if I even have one.”

“Those are all just excuses, Connor. You know that as well as I do. Of course you're good enough for the woman you love. She wouldn't love you if you weren't.”

Connor didn't respond and as a thick silence hung between them Andrew told himself he'd tried. That he'd done all he could do. He was about to walk away, give his son some space, when Isabel's words came at him.

“Try again. And keep trying. Because that's what parents do. Stop worrying about how you feel for once. And justdo what you need to do for him.”

He'd come back to the lake to prove to everyone — especially himself — that he had it in him to be a better man.

He'd been so sure that all he needed to do was decide to do the right thing and it would be so simple. He'd expected all of the relationships it had taken him thirty years to screw up to be tied up with little bows by now.

That first day back in Isabel's bedroom, he'd told her that he was a changed man. But he hadn't been. He'd still been looking out for himself first.

It was long past time to change that.

“You don't need to be a hotshot, Connor. You don't even need your hands. Life is what you make it. And you've still got the world at your feet. Along with a beautiful young woman to love. And the only thing I know for sure is that if you let her go, you'll never forgive yourself.”

And then, as his strong son stood beside the sailboat looking utterly lost, Andrew knew what he needed to do.

It was one of the most frightening moves he'd ever made, taking those first steps toward his son, and only got worse the closer he got. But he wasn't in it to see what he could get right now. Andrew's happiness was already lost.

He'd do anything he could to help Connor save his.

Andrew put his arms around his son and refused to feel the slightest bit embarrassed by the tears running down his cheeks as he spoke.

“I know I haven't told you this nearly enough times, but I love you. I know I was a shitty father, that I screwed up a hundred different ways, and even though I didn't know how to show it, I always loved you. And I always will.”

Chapter Twenty-four

GINGER GROANED as the phone woke her up out of a rare patch of sleep.

The past week had been utterly exhausting. Worrying about accidentally touching Connor every time she walked past him, knowing that was all it would take to throw herself in his arms, to forget everything she was trying so hard to remember. Trying so hard to be mature, to not be spiteful in the little things by making only herself a sandwich at lunch.

Every night she'd waited for him to come up the stairs, her heart pounding like a lovesick fool. No matter how hard she tried to turn over and go to sleep, she'd lie there wide awake hoping and praying that tonight would be the night he'd turn the knob, walk in, and get down on his knees to beg her forgiveness, to tell her he was wrong, that he loved her after all.

But he never had.

Why did it have to hurt so much to try for happiness?

And why did moving forward after loving Connor have to be so damn hard?

Grabbing the phone off the table, she'd barely grunted out a hello when Isabel said, “Ginger, I didn't wake you up, did I?”

“Don't worry about it,” Ginger said. She went to sit up in bed, but when she moved her stomach began roiling with nausea.

“I swore I wasn't going to call you — I know how much you need this week to focus on your painting — but can you come over? I asked Scott to cover for me at the diner. I'll make you breakfast.”

The thought of eating anything made bile rise in Ginger's throat, but she said, “Of course. I'll be right there,” anyway.

So many times since arriving at Blue Mountain Lake, Isabel had been there for her. First with a job and then with friendship. So even a sudden attack of the stomach flu wasn't going to keep her from helping Isabel.

But as soon as she walked into her friend's house and smelled eggs frying in the kitchen, she had to run to the bathroom.

Isabel found her there, throwing up.

“Oh my God,” her friend said as she pulled her hair away from her face, wound it into a knot. “The only time I had that kind of reaction to breakfast was when I-” She paused, finished in a gentle voice. “Ginger, could you be pregnant?”

Ginger hadn't even had a chance to wipe her mouth off yet when round two hit her. A couple of minutes later as she sat back against the cool bathroom wall, wiping her face with the wet hand towel Isabel had handed her, she found she couldn't say anything.

Not even to tell her friend it couldn't possibly be true.

How many times had she and Connor been too rushed to use a condom? Nearly all of them, she realized now. She'd been so hungry for his touch, so desperate to be with him, that apart from their one stilted conversation about using protection, she hadn't given it another thought.

“I'm going to buy you a test,” Isabel said. “Next town over so no one thinks anything.”

Something pinged in the back of Ginger's brain. Slowly, as if the thought was being dragged through the mud by its hair, she said, “You needed something. Tell me what it is, Isabel. I came here for you.”

But her friend had already grabbed her keys and purse. “My deal can wait. Finding out about yours can't. Don't go anywhere until I come back,” she pointed a stern finger at Ginger, “especially not Poplar Cove. I'll throw the eggs away outside on my way to the car. Go take a shower in my bathroom and then try to relax. I'll drive fast. I promise.”

Ginger was glad to have Isabel's directions to follow. Staying in the shower until it went cold, she wrapped herself in a towel, put her clothes back on, then went back downstairs to sit on Isabel's living room couch to wait. There were plenty of magazines and books she could have thumbed through, a hundred channels on cable to watch, but her spinning thoughts were already providing more than enough stimulation.

She'd wanted a baby for so long that she couldn't help but pray Isabel was right, that she was pregnant.

But at the same time, she wasn't living in a fantasy world. Not anymore, anyway.

o;Don't you get it?” Connor growled. “I've got nothing to give her. She deserves a whole man who can give her everything she deserves right now. Not in five, ten years. She shouldn't have to wait for me to figure out my future. To see if I even have one.”

“Those are all just excuses, Connor. You know that as well as I do. Of course you're good enough for the woman you love. She wouldn't love you if you weren't.”

Connor didn't respond and as a thick silence hung between them Andrew told himself he'd tried. That he'd done all he could do. He was about to walk away, give his son some space, when Isabel's words came at him.

“Try again. And keep trying. Because that's what parents do. Stop worrying about how you feel for once. And justdo what you need to do for him.”

He'd come back to the lake to prove to everyone — especially himself — that he had it in him to be a better man.

He'd been so sure that all he needed to do was decide to do the right thing and it would be so simple. He'd expected all of the relationships it had taken him thirty years to screw up to be tied up with little bows by now.

That first day back in Isabel's bedroom, he'd told her that he was a changed man. But he hadn't been. He'd still been looking out for himself first.

It was long past time to change that.

“You don't need to be a hotshot, Connor. You don't even need your hands. Life is what you make it. And you've still got the world at your feet. Along with a beautiful young woman to love. And the only thing I know for sure is that if you let her go, you'll never forgive yourself.”

And then, as his strong son stood beside the sailboat looking utterly lost, Andrew knew what he needed to do.

It was one of the most frightening moves he'd ever made, taking those first steps toward his son, and only got worse the closer he got. But he wasn't in it to see what he could get right now. Andrew's happiness was already lost.

He'd do anything he could to help Connor save his.

Andrew put his arms around his son and refused to feel the slightest bit embarrassed by the tears running down his cheeks as he spoke.

“I know I haven't told you this nearly enough times, but I love you. I know I was a shitty father, that I screwed up a hundred different ways, and even though I didn't know how to show it, I always loved you. And I always will.”

Chapter Twenty-four

GINGER GROANED as the phone woke her up out of a rare patch of sleep.

The past week had been utterly exhausting. Worrying about accidentally touching Connor every time she walked past him, knowing that was all it would take to throw herself in his arms, to forget everything she was trying so hard to remember. Trying so hard to be mature, to not be spiteful in the little things by making only herself a sandwich at lunch.

Every night she'd waited for him to come up the stairs, her heart pounding like a lovesick fool. No matter how hard she tried to turn over and go to sleep, she'd lie there wide awake hoping and praying that tonight would be the night he'd turn the knob, walk in, and get down on his knees to beg her forgiveness, to tell her he was wrong, that he loved her after all.

But he never had.

Why did it have to hurt so much to try for happiness?

And why did moving forward after loving Connor have to be so damn hard?

Grabbing the phone off the table, she'd barely grunted out a hello when Isabel said, “Ginger, I didn't wake you up, did I?”

“Don't worry about it,” Ginger said. She went to sit up in bed, but when she moved her stomach began roiling with nausea.

“I swore I wasn't going to call you — I know how much you need this week to focus on your painting — but can you come over? I asked Scott to cover for me at the diner. I'll make you breakfast.”

The thought of eating anything made bile rise in Ginger's throat, but she said, “Of course. I'll be right there,” anyway.

So many times since arriving at Blue Mountain Lake, Isabel had been there for her. First with a job and then with friendship. So even a sudden attack of the stomach flu wasn't going to keep her from helping Isabel.

But as soon as she walked into her friend's house and smelled eggs frying in the kitchen, she had to run to the bathroom.

Isabel found her there, throwing up.

“Oh my God,” her friend said as she pulled her hair away from her face, wound it into a knot. “The only time I had that kind of reaction to breakfast was when I-” She paused, finished in a gentle voice. “Ginger, could you be pregnant?”

Ginger hadn't even had a chance to wipe her mouth off yet when round two hit her. A couple of minutes later as she sat back against the cool bathroom wall, wiping her face with the wet hand towel Isabel had handed her, she found she couldn't say anything.

Not even to tell her friend it couldn't possibly be true.

How many times had she and Connor been too rushed to use a condom? Nearly all of them, she realized now. She'd been so hungry for his touch, so desperate to be with him, that apart from their one stilted conversation about using protection, she hadn't given it another thought.

“I'm going to buy you a test,” Isabel said. “Next town over so no one thinks anything.”

Something pinged in the back of Ginger's brain. Slowly, as if the thought was being dragged through the mud by its hair, she said, “You needed something. Tell me what it is, Isabel. I came here for you.”

But her friend had already grabbed her keys and purse. “My deal can wait. Finding out about yours can't. Don't go anywhere until I come back,” she pointed a stern finger at Ginger, “especially not Poplar Cove. I'll throw the eggs away outside on my way to the car. Go take a shower in my bathroom and then try to relax. I'll drive fast. I promise.”

Ginger was glad to have Isabel's directions to follow. Staying in the shower until it went cold, she wrapped herself in a towel, put her clothes back on, then went back downstairs to sit on Isabel's living room couch to wait. There were plenty of magazines and books she could have thumbed through, a hundred channels on cable to watch, but her spinning thoughts were already providing more than enough stimulation.

She'd wanted a baby for so long that she couldn't help but pray Isabel was right, that she was pregnant.

But at the same time, she wasn't living in a fantasy world. Not anymore, anyway.