All Summer Long

“We enjoy looking at an attractive man,” Eddie told him with a grin. “We’re shallow that way.”

The mayor sighed, but Gladys gave her a high five. Those two must have been hell on wheels when they were younger, he thought.

He passed out the printed version of his business plan and then connected his laptop to the cord for the screen.

He clicked on the first slide and began to talk about Haycations. He showed pictures of the land he’d bought, a diagram of what would be planted where and a few stock photos of people driving tractors for general interest. He outlined the number of families he hoped to attract, extrapolating about how much they would bring to the local economy. He had a rough idea of what kind of advertising he would do, along with about how many local people he would be employing.

Twenty minutes later, he finished with a request for the three small zoning permits.

“Impressive,” Mayor Marsha told him. She smiled warmly. “We all appreciate how you’ve taken the town’s needs into account as you’ve written your business plan. I believe there are several local business owners who would like to hear about this. They might have some helpful ideas for you.”

“That would be great.”

“You’ll be settling here permanently?” she asked, her blue gaze steady.

“That’s the plan.”

“We’re not exactly New York.”

Something Charlie had mentioned. “I’m ready for a change.”

“You know,” Gladys said, her wrinkled face bright with amusement, “if you really want to help the town, I know a way.”

“Don’t,” Mayor Marsha said, her tone warning.

Gladys ignored her. “You could loan your butt to a campaign we’re planning.”

“Stop it right now,” the mayor said forcefully. “That’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

“He’s got a famous butt. I’ve seen it in the movies. We all have. Work with your strengths, I say.”

Clay was used to faking any expression a client wanted. It was why he’d become so successful. Now he made sure he looked amused rather than angry and uncomfortable.

Gladys slapped a tabloid magazine on the table. The headline was clearly visible. Famous Model Insures Butt for Five Million Dollars.

“Why waste money on something like a Haycation when you only have to flash the real deal to make a mint?” she asked.

The mayor winced. “Clay, I’m so sorry. There was some discussion about asking you to be in our campaign.” She glared at Gladys. “We were going to use your face, however.”

“A waste of resources if you ask me,” Gladys mumbled. “Everybody would rather see his ass.”

CHAPTER THREE

CLAY TOSSED HIS computer case into the passenger seat of the truck, then started the engine. But instead of driving away, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and told himself not to take it personally. He’d been a model for a lot of years. He understood being talked about like an object rather than a person. He’d had his appearance dissected a thousand times before. He’d been told he was too tall, too short, too big, too small, too young, too old, too handsome, not handsome enough. When a client wanted a “look,” he either had it or he didn’t.

He’d made millions, he’d gotten an education, he’d invested well and he’d moved on. Now he was ready for act two. The problem seemed to be escaping what he’d been in act one. He hadn’t expected to be blindsided by a bunch of old ladies.

“Hell,” he grumbled under his breath, not sure what to do with the frustration boiling inside of him. He didn’t want to go back to the ranch. Putting his fist through a wall would create other problems. Finally he put the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot.

Five minutes later he pulled into Fool’s Gold Fire Station number one. He could see into the engine bay. The aid car and engine were gone, out on a call. As he watched the Quint—an all-purpose vehicle with a pump, a water tank and various ladders—started up. Seconds later, it pulled out, sirens blaring.

Clay followed, staying back far enough not to get in the way. He stopped at a light and watched the Quint turn into what he remembered as one of the older residential areas. When the signal turned green, he went north, and then east. Two blocks later, he could see smoke rising. As he approached the scene, he pulled over and parked.

A crowd had already collected. Clay joined them, watching several firefighters finishing up what looked like a garage fire. Hoses lay across the driveway. White smoke and steam escaped through the open garage door.

He studied the various firefighters. They wore turnout pants and jackets, and helmets. He was able to pick out Charlie right away. She was one of the tallest firefighters, but he also recognized her confident stride and the way she took charge.

On the other side of the driveway, a mother stood with two boys. They were watching anxiously and Clay figured they owned the house. He wondered if one of the kids had started the fire. If so, someone was going to be in big trouble.

Charlie and her captain approached the family. The woman listened intently. Suddenly her body relaxed and she smiled, nodding. Good news, he thought. A sedan pulled up at the curb and a man jumped out. He rushed to the woman and kids and drew them against him.

The cleanup went faster than he would have expected. Hoses were rolled and stowed, equipment picked up. Charlie continued to talk to the family. Finally she shook hands with everyone, had a word with one of the kids and started toward the engine.

Clay stayed back with the dwindling crowd as he considered what he’d seen. The idea of doing this—helping where it was really needed—appealed to him. He wanted to come in, make a difference, then disappear. Let the folks get on with their lives and forget he was ever there. He wasn’t interested in being a hero. He wanted to get the job done.

Charlie and her captain walked toward the engine. The captain spotted him, said something to Charlie, then approached.

“You must be Clay Stryker,” she said, holding out her right hand. She held her red helmet in her left. “I’m Olivia Fargo. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They shook hands.

Olivia was probably pushing forty, with short red hair and blue eyes. She was tall, nearly as tall as Charlie, and had a no-nonsense air about her.

“I hear you’re thinking about becoming a volunteer firefighter,” Olivia said.

“I’m going to be putting in my application later today.”

“There’s a class starting soon.”

“I heard.”

She looked him over. “It’s a lot of work. You might find the training too time consuming.”

“I’m committed to doing what it takes.”

“You really want to help out?” she asked.

He had a feeling he didn’t like where the conversation was going to go, but nodded anyway.

“We’re always short on money,” she said. “We do a big fund-raiser for new equipment. The extras the town can’t afford to provide.” Olivia smiled. “We were thinking of a calendar this year. You could be in it. That would help a whole lot more. A lot of people can volunteer. Not that many have your...” She paused. “Natural talents.”

* * *

CHARLIE STOOD BY the engine, waiting on Olivia. She could hear everything being said. Nothing about Clay’s expression changed, but she would swear he wasn’t happy. Not about Olivia’s comments or the request he do the calendar. From their brief conversation the other day, she knew he was ready to put his old life behind him...so to speak. But there was a long road from being a model to wanting to put his life, and perfect ass, on the line fighting fires. Why would a guy like him want to take the risk?

There was only one way to find out, she reminded herself. That was to ask the question.

She walked over to the two of them. Olivia glanced at her. “I was telling Clay about the calendar. I don’t think he’s convinced.”

Clay’s dark eyes gave nothing away, but she felt the tension in his body.

Olivia pointed at the Quint. “You left a nozzle,” she said. She turned back to Charlie. “Give me five?”

“Sure.” Charlie waited until she was out of earshot. “I take it the calendar isn’t your dream job.”

“Not exactly.”

“I’m covering a partial shift for a friend until noon.” She glanced at her watch. It was twelve-thirty. “Once we get back to the station, I need to take a quick shower. I’ll meet you at the Fox and Hound in an hour and you can tell me all about it.”

* * *

CHARLIE LIKED TO go to Jo’s Bar for lunch. They cooked her burgers the way she liked and the place catered to women without being too girlie. But she knew that showing up with Clay would lead to more questions than she wanted to answer. Which made the Fox and Hound more neutral ground and therefore safer for her.

She arrived right on time and stepped into the cool interior. It was late enough that there was only one person waiting.

Clay stood when he saw her, uncoiling his long, honed body. He wore gray trousers and a button-down shirt. Sex god does business, she thought, aware that after her shower, her total nod to fussing with her appearance had been to make sure her T-shirt was clean. At least she had on jeans instead of her usual baggy cargo pants. In honor of Heidi’s recent wedding, she’d gotten a pedicure. She couldn’t remember ever wearing polish before, but kind of liked the way the deep pink color looked. Yesterday she’d scrounged up a pair of sandals to show off her toes. She’d worn them to the station at the start of her shift, which meant she was wearing them now.

As testament to how screwed up she was when it came to men, she was actually torn between being pleased she at least had a decent pedicure to show off and being afraid Clay would think she was trying. Most likely the best solution would be years and years of therapy. However, she had neither the patience nor the bank account for that path. She would have to find another way to flirt with normal. A quest for after lunch, she told herself. She always problem solved better on a full stomach.

The hostess could barely keep her mouth from hanging open as she gazed at Clay. The college-aged woman batted her eyes at a rate that made Charlie wonder if she would need medical attention later for a muscle strain.

“Table for two?” the hostess asked breathlessly, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder.

“Please,” Clay said, then stepped back to let Charlie go first.

The polite gesture caught her off guard. Even more unsettling was the hand he put on the small of her back, as if helping guide her to the booth along the side of the restaurant.

She was aware of the touch, of his palm and every finger. Not in a oh-let’s-have-sex kind of way. But just because she honest to God couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her like that. Or, excluding shaking hands, anywhere.

They slid onto the seats and settled across from each other. The hostess leaned toward Clay, offering a flash from her low-cut blouse. She smiled.

“I could give you my number,” she whispered, although the words were still loud enough for Charlie to hear.

Clay didn’t even look at her. “Thanks, but, no.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

He picked up the menu, then put it down. “I thought I would be someone else when I got here,” he said when the hostess had given him one last lingering look before flouncing off.

Charlie leaned toward him. “What are we talking about?”

“Sorry. I was thinking about the captain inviting me to be in a calendar to raise money.”

“Not the girl?”

“What girl?”

“The hostess who practically stripped in front of you ten seconds ago?”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I didn’t notice.”

“She offered you her number.”

He shrugged.

The gesture was so casual, so dismissive, Charlie had to believe Clay honestly hadn’t been paying attention. Because it happened so much, she thought.

“Phone numbers are the new rose petals,” she said absently, picking up the menu and wondering if she should order the London chicken wrap or try something new.

“Phone numbers are what?”

She put down the menu and grinned. “Sorry. I was thinking out loud. Rose petals. You know, like in Roman times. Throwing petals before the emperor. Now you get phone numbers thrown at you. All Hail Caesar. Or Clay.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly the same ring to it. You might want to change your name to fit in a classic ‘all hail’ better.”

“I’ll suffer with people stumbling through it,” Clay muttered. “What’s good here?”

“Everything,” Wilma said. She’d appeared at the side of their table. Wilma was at least sixty, was a champion gum snapper and had worked at every incarnation of the restaurant since it had first opened its door decades ago. Now she stared at Clay, her penciled brows raised.

“So you’re the pretty one everyone’s been telling me about. Nice. I saw your ass in that movie a while back.” She looked at Charlie. “You with him?”

Charlie did her best not to flush or choke. “We’re friends.”

“Too bad. You make a cute couple. Not as cute as me and my Frank, but that’s a high bar.” Her friendly gaze sharpened. “You eat, right?” The question was addressed to Clay. “If you’re not going to eat, then don’t order.”

Charlie opened her mouth, then closed it. Apparently, Jo’s Bar would have been a safer choice.

Wilma turned back to Charlie. “Diet Coke?”

Charlie nodded.

Wilma faced Clay. “And you?”

“Iced tea.”

She scribbled on her pad. “Charlie usually gets the London chicken wrap. It’s more a Baja wrap but what with this place being called The Fox and Hound, that would look stupid on the menu. It’s good. Get that.”

Clay handed her the menu.

“Fries?” Wilma asked no one in particular.

“Yes,” Charlie told her, passing over her menu, as well.

The older woman patted Clay on the shoulder. “You’ll never be as good as my Frank, but you’re not half-bad, kid.” With that, she walked away.

“Sorry,” Charlie said when they were alone. “I’d forgotten how Wilma could be.”

“Bossy and outspoken?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

Clay surprised her by smiling. “I like her. She seems like she suffers no fool.”

“She’s an institution. This restaurant has gone through several changes and Wilma has been here for every one of them. She’s one of the first people I met when I moved to town.”

Wilma returned with their drinks, slapped them down on the table, then left.

Charlie pulled the paper off her straw. “You’re not happy about the calendar thing,” she began.

“No, but it’s how my day has been going. I met with the city council this morning. I told them all about my Haycation idea.”

“They must have been happy. It’s going to bring in money. Every town wants more of that.”

“The mayor seemed interested. Some of the others were more intrigued by the idea of me being in an advertising campaign for the town. Starring my ass.”

Charlie winced. “That sounds like Gladys.”

“Are she and Wilma sisters?”

“No, but they share some personality traits. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I expected this to happen in New York. Given what I do, it was inevitable. I thought it would be different here.”

Charlie studied him. “I guess I’m like everyone else. I would have assumed your life is perfect.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Right. Shut up, cash the check and be grateful. I’ve heard that before.” He leaned back in the booth. “Whatever. I can do the calendar.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No.”

“Then don’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m trying to fit in. I want to be a part of what’s going on in town. Get accepted into the volunteer program. Saying no isn’t going to help.”

“I agree, but the ultimate end is to have a successful fund-raiser. It’s not to make you uncomfortable. Don’t you have model friends? Couldn’t you get a couple of them to be in the calendar?”

He stared at her. She had to admit that all that intensity was a little unnerving. That stomach-clenching thing returned and with it the smallest hint of pressure between her thighs.

She shifted on her seat.

Uncomfortable with the silence and her physical reaction to Clay, she found herself entering dangerous territory. That of speaking without thinking.

“The thing is,” she told him, “if you want people to take you seriously, you have to take yourself seriously first. Agreeing to do the calendar yourself reinforces the stereotype. You’re more than what they think you are. It’s a cliché but you’re going to have to work harder to prove yourself. It’s a very strange kind of discrimination.”

One she’d seen with her mother. People reacted to Dominique first because of how she looked and later because of who she was. Charlie had also seen the dark side of being judged on physical appearance. Most strangers staring at her with a “Really? You’re her daughter?” look in their eyes.

Clay leaned back in the booth and swore softly. “You’re right.”

She blinked. “I am?”

“Yes. About all of it. I’ve had a manager taking care of the crap in my life for the past ten years. I’ve gotten lazy about taking responsibility for what I’m doing. Thank you for being honest.”

“It’s what I do best. Say what’s on my mind. Give me thirty years and I’ll turn into Wilma.”

He gave her a slow, sexy smile. One that nearly turned her tummy upside down. “There are worse fates.”

She grabbed her drink and gulped down some soda.

He leaned toward her again. “I’m going to call some guys I know about the calendar. I don’t know how to fix things with the city council, but I can solve that problem, too.”

“You might wait a little on the town issue. Mayor Marsha has a way of smoothing things out. I’m sure she’s pleased by your Haycation idea.”

He was staring at her again. As they hadn’t eaten yet, she was fairly confident she didn’t have anything in her teeth.

“What?” she asked after a couple of seconds.

“I just keep thinking that somebody I knew would have liked you.” His expression turned serious. Almost sad.

Charlie felt the stomach clench again, but this time for a totally different reason. “Your girlfriend?” The one he’d left behind in New York and missed desperately?

“My late wife.”

“You were married?”

The words burst out before she could stop them.

“Not a tabloid reader, huh?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so shocked. You just don’t seem like the marrying kind.”

She groaned and slapped her hand across her mouth.

He stretched out his arm and pulled her hand away. “It’s okay. You can say what you think. I won’t be offended.”

Wilma appeared with lunch. Charlie grabbed a French fry, thinking that maybe her blurting problem was because of low blood sugar. Perhaps in addition to food, the best solution would be not talking so much.

“Tell me about her,” she said, then reached for the first half of her wrap.

He picked up a French fry, then put it down. She could practically see the tension leaving his body as he relaxed. Something she wanted to call contentment softened the sadness in his eyes.

“She was brilliant and funny,” he began. “A photographer.” The smile returned. “She hated models, especially male models. She used to say we were all vapid and useless.” His smile broadened. “We met at a party and she was not into me.”

Charlie chewed and swallowed. “I would have liked her.”

He chuckled. “She would have liked you. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was twenty...she was thirty-four and when I asked her out, she laughed for a good two minutes straight. I got her number through a friend of mine and wouldn’t stop calling. She finally agreed to meet me for coffee, but only so she could tell me all the reasons it would never work.”

She heard the affection in his voice, saw the pleasure he took in the remembering. Lately her friends had been busy falling in love, so she recognized the symptoms.

“I convinced her to give me a chance at a real date. She surprised both of us by agreeing. At the end of that first night, I was completely in love with her. It hit me like lightning. It took her a lot longer to come around.”

“The fourteen-year age difference would be difficult for most women,” Charlie said. “It’s stupid, but it’s been pounded into us that the guy should be older.”

He nodded. “She had trouble with the age difference, with the fact that I was so young, my career. But I was determined to win her.” He paused. “I proposed six times before she said yes. We were married within a week. I didn’t want her to change her mind.”

Charlie laughed. “A man with a plan.”

“I wasn’t the only one. Diane talked to me about my future. She pointed out I couldn’t be a model forever. She’s the one who suggested I go to college. Think about my future.” His smile faded. “She was killed five years ago in a car accident. I was on a shoot when I got the call. She was a force of nature and then she was just...gone. I never got to say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” Charlie put down the second half of her wrap.

“Thanks. I still miss her. The pain is different now. Not so sharp. But it’s still there. She was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Charlie knew better than to offer some stupid promise that things would get better, or that he would be fine. Sometimes a person simply had to sit with the pain and deal. That was probably healthier than what she’d done, which was try to pretend it had never happened.

While loss and betrayal were different, they both left scars.

Clay picked up his wrap. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get into all that with you.”

“I’m happy to listen.”

Maybe it was an illustration of how twisted she’d become, but she almost envied Clay. At least he’d loved once. She never had and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Loving someone meant engaging in a level of trust she wasn’t comfortable with. But belonging like that sure sounded nice.

“Part of the reason I wanted to settle here when I retired was to be near my family,” Clay said. “In the past couple of years, I’ve wanted to be closer to them.”

Charlie couldn’t help grinning. “Retired? You’re what? Thirty?” She grabbed a fry then held it up in the air. “I know, I know. Being a butt model is a young man’s game. You told me.”

“Beauty fades.”

She took in the dark eyes, the firm set of his jaw, the broad shoulders. His was still in full force.

Conversation shifted to more neutral topics. They finished their lunch arguing if the Dodgers would ever make it to the World Series again and whether or not the L.A. Stallions had a chance at a winning season.

“Stallions not Raiders?” Clay asked. He took the last bite of his wrap and waited.

“I know Oakland is physically closer, but I’ve always been a Stallions fan. I can’t explain it.”

Wilma appeared with the bill. Clay grabbed it before Charlie could.

“I’ve got this,” he said.

“Make sure you leave a big tip,” Wilma told him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The old lady grinned, then ruffled his hair. “You’re not bad, kid. You can come back.”

When she left, Clay leaned toward Charlie. “Does she really get a say in that?”

“This is Fool’s Gold. There are very strange rules in play.”

He’d left a couple of twenties for what she knew to be a twenty-five-dollar tab, then stood. “Thanks for lunch,” he said.

“Thank you. With a tip like that, Wilma is going to be sending you personal invitations to return.”

“The food was good.”

She rose. “If you want, I’ll go over the application paperwork with you. To make sure everything is correct.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He pulled out his cell. “Want to give me your number?”

She nodded and rattled it off, knowing the hostess would be spitting nails if she knew. The difference was, Charlie wasn’t interested in dating Clay. But then maybe the hostess didn’t want to date, either.