“You okay?” His voice was gentle as he came to a halt next to her at the rail.

She shrugged her slim shoulders, turning her attention back to the view. For some reason, she looked particularly delicate beneath the oversized navy hooded shirt. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe that for a minute. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m really fine.”

“You’ve just lost everything you own.” Mitch couldn’t imagine every treasure and memento of his entire life, his childhood trophies, the faded football jerseys, certificates, photographs, letters, gifts from his parents’ travels around the world, going up in flames before his eyes.

She turned to look at him, tone going a bit brittle. “Thank you so much for pointing that out.”

“Jenny.”

“No, really. I’d almost forgotten.”

He set his jaw. He could take this. She deserved to be upset. And if she needed to rail, it might as well be at him.

But she fell silent.

“Go ahead,” he invited.

“What?”

“Get it out. Yell at me.”

Her tone had returned to normal. “How would that help?”

Now, he was the one feeling frustrated. “Quit being so damn logical and analytical. You do what you have to do.”

She glanced down at the baggy clothes. “What I have to do is go shopping. I may be a little late for work tomorrow, boss.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I meant emotionally. You deserve to be angry, to rail at the universe. Let it out, Jenny.”

Nobody, not even logical, practical, two-feet-firmly-planted-on-the-ground Jenny could go through a disaster like this and not feel distraught.

“There’s nothing to let out,” she told him.

“Yes, there is.”

But instead of answering, she got a faraway look in her green eyes. Moments ticked by. But, finally, she spoke. “I know you must find it odd.”

Since he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, he waited for her to elaborate.

“Emily said I should rebuild.” Jenny leaned back, holding herself steady with a firm grip around the top rail. “That sounded good to me. I rather like the idea of starting from scratch, building a life that reflects who I am today, and not…” Her voice trailed away.

He waited.

“What must I find odd?” he finally asked.

“I hear what you’re saying.” She seemed to wander off on yet another conversational tangent. “A normal person would be a little upset that everything she owned had just turned to ashes.”

“A little upset?”

Jenny did have a gift for understatement.

“Thing is,” she continued. “I don’t really care.”

“Of course you care.” Clearly, the woman was in shock. Or maybe she was in denial. Was there something he ought to do about either of those conditions? Or did they simply work themselves out over time?

She shook her head. “I don’t care. It’s stuff, Mitch. I can get new stuff.”

“It’s not the stuff itself,” he felt compelled to point out. “It’s stuff as the representation of your life, your achievements, your milestones.”

“I guess I have no achievements.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Jenny was one of the most accomplished people he knew. The TCC couldn’t run without her. Mitch wouldn’t even want to try.

She gave a little shiver. “Maybe this isn’t the best time-” Then she laughed. “Or maybe you’re not the best person.”

He reflexively reached for the propane heater switch, flicking it on, causing three tall, strategically placed heaters to glow to life. He sure didn’t like thinking that he wasn’t the best person to help Jenny.

“We should drop it,” she told him.

“You have dozens, maybe hundreds of accomplishments,” he told her. “Ask ten other people in Royal, and they’ll tell you exactly the same thing.”

“You’re not dropping it,” she pointed out.

“Because you’re not making sense.”

“My house just burned down. I’m allowed to not make sense.”

“Are you in shock?” He scanned her face. She wasn’t pale, and she wasn’t shaking. In fact, all things considered, she looked remarkably calm.

“Just because I don’t have a stash of silly little life mementos that are vulnerable to loss or destruction, doesn’t mean I’m in shock.”

Mitch tried to figure out what she meant. “Everybody has mementos.” Whatever they were, she had to be upset at losing them.

She gave a cold laugh. “Hard for the all-American kid to understand, huh? We didn’t all live that storybook childhood, Mitch.”

Mitch hadn’t lived a perfect childhood. Far from it. “Are you angry with me?”

“No. I’m not angry with anyone.” She backed away from the rail and plunked down on one of the couches. “Let’s talk about you instead.”

Mitch hesitated. But he knew people reacted to stress in different ways, and he should probably humor her. He took the chair across from her. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your mementos. What would it absolutely kill you to lose in a fire?”

Besides Jenny?

Not a good answer.

He gave it some thought. “My Fitzpatrick Trophy.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re hard to win. And it’s the rookie of the year award. It’s not like I’m ever going to be a rookie again.”

“So, it reminds you of something good?”

“Yeah.” Well, sort of. It mostly reminded him of his hard-ass dad, and how Mitch had finally stuck it to the old man by proving that he wasn’t a complete screwup. Still, who wouldn’t hate to lose the Fitzpatrick in a fire?

“Winning it was immensely satisfying,” he said to Jenny.

She gazed at him for a long moment. “What else?”

“I don’t know. The usual stuff. Pictures, certificates, ribbons, my college diploma. Why are we talking about me?”

“Because it’s more fun than talking about me.”

“No, it’s not.” Mitch would rather talk about Jenny any day of the week. In fact, now that the subject had come up, he found himself with a burning curiosity. “What, exactly, did you lose tonight?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t any rookie of the year trophy,” she finally offered.

“Other things are just as important as sports trophies. Pictures of your tenth birthday party, for instance. Or that stellar report card I just know you got in first grade and every other grade after that.” He’d be willing to bet that even back then, Jenny had been pretty much perfect, always punctual, always neat, all work complete and in on time. In short, a teacher’s dream.

He smiled encouragingly, but Jenny’s eyes had clouded to jade. Had he just reminded her that she’d lost all her childhood photographs?

What a complete cad.

Impulsively, he moved to the couch beside her.

“No tenth birthday pictures,” she said.

Not anymore. Mitch could have kicked himself.

“No report cards.” Using both hands, she raked her fingers through her damp hair. “Funny thing about my mother.” She leaned back and tipped her head against the couch.

Mitch wanted to reach out to her, but he forced himself to stay still. Something important was obviously going on inside her head.

“She liked to clean,” said Jenny.

Okay, that wasn’t what he’d expected. “Clean?” he prompted.

“A lot.” Jenny stifled a small laugh with the back of her hand. “You’ve heard of hoarders?”

“Of course.”

“Mom was the opposite. It was some kind of an obsessive-compulsive disorder. She’s on medication now. But, well, let’s just say I’m pretty accustomed to starting over when it comes to worldly possessions.”

Mitch found himself moving closer. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying she got rid of things. Every year or so, in a fit of psychological confusion, she would throw out every single thing in my bedroom.”

Mitch was struck silent.

“I tried so hard when I was little,” Jenny continued, a faraway look coming into her eyes. “I thought if I kept everything in my room just so.” She gestured with both hands. “Neat as a pin, dolls lined up by size, their clothes ironed, pictures alphabetical, socks in the top drawer, underwear next, pajamas, tops and skirts and slacks.” Her voice faded away.

“You ironed your doll clothes?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his tone.

“It didn’t help. She cleaned them all out anyway.”

Mitch felt as though he’d been given an astonishing window into Jenny’s makeup. “Is that why you’re so meticulous and efficient?”

“In small doses, it’s a good thing.”

“But do you like being meticulous and efficient?” It had never once occurred to him that she might not. Did she get satisfaction out of running a tight ship at the office, or was it a leftover compulsion from her childhood?

Laughter wafted out from the raucous poker game, as Emily accused Cole of being a jinx.

Jenny didn’t answer, and Mitch realized he didn’t know her nearly as well as he thought he had. Was she unhappy? Did she struggle emotionally?

“You can change, you know,” he told her.

“I have changed.”

“I don’t mean putting on a sexy dress for a wedding and getting all gorgeous-”

She laid her index finger across his lips, but it was too late. The image was already coursing through his brain. And the touch of her finger put a physical element into the fantasy.

He was going to kiss her again.

Unless lightning struck him dead, he was going to lean in, capture her lips and drag her into his arms all over again.

From the poker table, Cole gloated in triumph, reminding Mitch that they were in full view of five other people. But he didn’t even care.

He captured her hand, holding it tight against his cheek. When he spoke, his voice was strangled. “What am I going to do about you, Jenny?”

A beat went past.

“Take me to a hotel.”

For a split second, he misunderstood and desire roared to life. But then he got it. “You meant without me.”