Fight From The Heart (Heart Collection #4) - L.B. Dunbar Page 0,27

I continue.

“You need to set wood in there and start the fire with kindling and newspaper.”

“Thank you.” His sarcasm is warranted. We’re both on edge, but he still doesn’t move. Instead, he glances toward the window, which we can’t see out. “You’ll be stuck here again for the night.”

His tone has me questioning if this upsets him or concerns him. Either way, he has nothing to worry about. We will not be having a repeat of what happened while I was sick. I’ll sleep on the fricking couch by the fireplace.

The thought of a fire reminds me of my dad and being a kid on camping trips. “Did you ever go camping as a kid?” The question pops out as I’m curious.

“My dad didn’t believe in camping. It was dirty and for people without money for hotels.”

Yikes. That’s rude, and one of the first real mentions of his father. Jacob never talks about his parents while Ella has spoken of them on occasion.

“Okay. Newspaper and kindling.” I glance up, and Jacob stares back at me. He has neither of these items. “Cardboard?”

“Maybe some frozen pizza boxes in the recycling bin,” he suggests. That will have to do.

“If you could go get more wood from your garage, I can look for cardboard and get this started.” Giving him something to do other than building a fire seems to please him, and I grumble my way through his bin, finding some scraps of paper and the boxes he suggested. A set of matches rests on the mantel, and I set up the fire, recalling how my father taught me from nights of camping as a kid and bonfires on the beach as a teen. Jacob makes several trips, really piling up the wood in his living room and accepting the reality of things.

As he dumps his third stack, the lights give a final wink and go off. “Your furnace runs off electricity,” I remind him.

“Yes, Mrs. Electric Company. I know,” he grouses, and I smirk. This means the only heat source is this fireplace, so we’ll both be camping on couches tonight.

“Did you back up what you were working on?” With the electricity flickering, I’d hate for him to lose whatever he was writing on.

“You were holding in your hand what I was working on. I was waiting on you.” The undercurrent of attitude in his tone is not appreciated. “Let’s pull one couch closer to the fire.”

If it were anyone else, the setup might be romantic, but knowing all I know about his dislike of romance, this is not going to be a romantic evening. This is necessity, and it looks like we’re sharing a couch for the time being.

Once we rearrange the furniture, placing one couch only feet from the blazing fire, I settle back on the cushions in a corner while Jacob falls into the opposite corner. Somehow, a bottle of scotch appears near the leg of the couch. Jacob pours himself a glass, not offering me one. I assume I’m to keep reading, which I do as best as I can under firelight and the diminishing light of the day.

“Why didn’t you introduce me to your friend the other night?” The question startles me from reading.

“I did introduce you.”

“But only after I asked you to do it.” There’s something in his voice I can’t read.

“I signed an NDA, remember?”

“Are you embarrassed to work for me?” The genuine concern in his tone surprises me.

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? You’re a famous author. I was respecting your privacy.”

He sniffs and takes a sip of his drink. His body slouches back on the cushions, his head resting on the back of the couch.

“When I was a kid, my father was embarrassed by me. He rarely introduced me to people as his son. He was very proud of Ella because she was such a beauty, but not so proud of me, his flesh and blood.”

I’m stone still as he speaks, astonished by the admission, especially as it’s more than he’s ever told me about himself in relation to his dad.

“So you weren’t close to your father.”

Jacob rolls his head to look at me. “Only as close as his fist could reach.”

Horrified, I bite back a gasp. “That’s awful.”

He takes another heavy gulp of his drink, looking away from me while my eyes beg him to turn back. His focus fixates on the fire, and I’m worried for half a second he’ll toss the alcohol at the flames and set the house