Читать книгу Falling for the Fireman - Allie Pleiter - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Chad couldn’t help but stare at Jeannie as she walked across the street. Her back was ruler-straight, her jaw tense even as she talked—to whom? Plug? The woman was quite obviously frightened to death of something. Was she terrified of dogs? She had the look of a soul walking into doom itself, forcing her feet into stiff, hesitant steps and clutching Plug’s leash as if it were a lifeline. Her eyes locked on her destination—his door at first, and then on him once he opened it.

Those eyes made part of him want to rush out to meet her, but the sheer terror in them froze the other half of him to the spot. He had to do something, so Chad held out a cautious, encouraging hand as he called Plug. It seemed best to let Plug pull her across rather than going out to meet her.

“Almost there.” She was close enough to be heard now as she squeaked the words. “Here we go, back to the firehouse where you belong.” Chad couldn’t rightly say if she was coaxing the dog or herself. He called to Plug again, hoping to hurry the dog, but Plug merely ambled along as if nothing were out of the ordinary. As if the hound were granting Jeannie the pleasure of a leisurely walk.

Searching for some way to help, Chad suddenly remembered he’d tucked a dog biscuit in his pocket five minutes ago when he’d discovered Plug was gone. Food was the only thing sure to quicken Plug’s steps. He squatted down to Plug’s eye level, pulled out the biscuit and waved it enticingly. “Come on, old boy, pick up the pace. I’ve got a biscuit just waiting.” Plug sniffed the air, gave a hearty “woof” and perked up his ears.

Chad was thinking it worked, until a metal scream split the air.

Plug had realized it an instant before Chad did, he always did. As if he remembered what Chad had momentarily forgotten: the school fire drill. And not just any drill, but a full test of the volunteer company’s response time so that the firehouse roared to life behind him and Plug surged out of Jeannie’s grasp. She made this awful sound, a gasping sort of yelp, as the bay doors lifted and the siren continued to signal the test run.

Chad was supposed to be observing the company’s departure while George stood at the school observing their arrival. Despite the fact that it had been planned for weeks, this was the absolute worst scenario for someone like Jeannie. Plug galloped past him, nearly knocking him down while Jeannie stood rigid with fear right in the path of the engines.

She couldn’t stay where she was; the engines would be pulling out any second. Chad bolted out into the street, ignoring the sound she made as he grabbed her shoulders. She actually resisted him, stunned as she was with fear, but he pulled her off balance and threw an arm around her torso, dragging her away from the thunder as the firefighters started the engines. She was so small in his arms, and she was shaking fiercely—her chest heaving. More volunteer firefighters would be swarming over the station within seconds, and he would have picked her up and carried her out of the way if she fought him further.

As it was, Jeannie stumbled a bit but clutched at him as he dragged her out of the street. Forgetting his supervisory duties, Chad pulled her away from the bay doors and into his office, kicking the door shut behind him in a futile effort to muffle the sound. That sound. Even when he knew it was coming, the shriek of the siren could still send ice through his veins. “It’s a drill,” he shouted above the roar. “There’s no fire.

“Just a drill, Jeannie,” he repeated loud enough for her to hear. “You know the school has them every September. Everyone is safe.” At the mention of the word school, Jeannie whipped her face around toward him. He didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to go wider. Around him he heard the sound of volunteers climbing into gear and radio chatter. He was shirking his duties, but she mattered more right now. The siren’s pitch finally descended as he guided her to his office chair, and as she collapsed into it. Once the siren fell silent, he heard her pulling in gulps of air like she’d just been dragged from the river. He’d never seen her undone like this; it made him crazy with worry that she’d faint. Getting down on his haunches in front of her, he kept his voice low and steady. “Jeannie, are you all right?”

She just shook her head, looking down.

“It’s the middle school fire drill. We’re using it this year to evaluate the company’s response time. That’s why everyone’s running out.” Suddenly, Chad put the pieces together. She was afraid of the station. Since buying the building, she’d never once crossed the street. And Jeannie Nelworth visited everybody. Despite Nick’s many visits and even the baskets he knew she sent over, Jeannie herself had never set foot in the firehouse. Until today. How cruel was that? “I’m sorry you had to be here for this, Jeannie. I…”

“Why didn’t I know?” She cut in, looking up with anger. “Someone should have told us. Nicky isn’t ready for fire trucks to come screaming into the school parking lot. He needs to be ready.”

“If everyone knows it’s coming, it’s not much of a test.”

The fear in her eyes turned to fire. “So it’s okay to scare my son out of his wits on account of procedure? Did you have to plan that test for that school this year? Oh, Nicky.” She clutched a hand to her chest. Her fingers were actually shaking.

Chad heard the metallic rumble of the huge equipment doors shutting. In the distance, the engine sirens died down and Chad could envision firefighters climbing out of their trucks calmly while teachers and students stood in lines on the school field. And he could just as easily imagine Nick standing, breathing hard and wide-eyed like Jeannie had just been, fighting to look calm while his insides were going off like firecrackers. George had suggested moving the company drill to the high school, but Chad had declined. He, who of all people knew what this might do to Nicky, had tried not to single the boy out in any way but had chosen wrong. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed weak and too late, the quieting firehouse a condemnation of all the commotion and noise he’d sent Nick’s way.

Jeannie rose, then squinted her eyes tight and let out a breath. “Ugh. No, wait. I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault.”

He was impressed that she was trying to smooth this over, and it only served to make him feel worse. “No, this is my fault. George wanted to move the drill to another school, or even pull this test off the school drill, but I thought it would be worse to do anything special to single Nick out.” It sounded like the worst decision ever when he said it out loud. “And I was wrong.”

It was a funny thing; he could see her apply that parental control thing mothers had, could actually see her pull herself together for Nick’s sake. Normally he didn’t see those things in people, but her emotions were obvious to him somehow. “I should go over there right now.”

Chad put a hand out, knowing instantly what she was up to and certain it would only make things worse. “You know, I’m not so sure that’d be a good idea.”

Jeannie huffed and stepped around his hand. “Of course it is. He’s probably panicked out of his mind right now.”

Chad had never been a parent, but he had been a thirteen-year-old boy. Despite not having enough sense to move the drill, Chad did have enough sense to remember that someone’s mom coming to the rescue would be instant humiliation in middle school. He owed Nick the only thing he could still do—delay the boy’s mother until she calmed down enough not to make a scene. Maybe even keep her from showing up at all. He grabbed the doorknob before she could reach it. “Even if he is upset—and yes, it’s my fault if he is—you rushing in to scoop him up is only going to make things worse in front of his friends.”

Any fear in her face was now replaced by a fierce, protective glare. “That’s out of line. You’re not his mother.”

“No, I am not his mother. I botched this, but let’s leave it at that. If you go over there and make any kind of scene, you’ll just make my bad call a worse situation.”

“I wouldn’t make a scene.”

He looked at her. She was a loving mother. She’d most definitely make a big scene. It was what loving mothers did. It was part of what made being thirteen so wonderful and awful at the same time—that much he remembered vividly. “You wouldn’t? Really?” He pointed down at her clenched fists.

“Okay.” She unclenched her hands, a tiny bit of the tension easing off her shoulders as well. “I might make a bit of a scene. I mean, look at me, I’m a mess already.”

He couldn’t help but smile just a bit. “Yes, but you know it’s a drill now and you’re less of a mess. I expect the same is true of Nick. We threw him a curve, but he seems like a strong kid. Maybe we need to let him figure out a way to get over it on his own.” He gestured toward the chair, and she sat down again. “If you like,” he went on, grasping for any idea that might help, “I can call the guidance counselor in ten minutes. You know, see if everything went okay. I can casually mention Nick and see what she says. You and I can get a cup of coffee in the meantime and think of ways to punish Plug for his thoughtless escape.” When she hesitated, he was surprised to hear himself add, “And maybe think of some way to reward you for making it across the street under dire circumstances.” His tone of voice seemed to be coming from some other man. Some warm, friendly guy he didn’t recognize. He disliked her stalwart optimism, but she fought so hard for it that he couldn’t bring himself to fault her. “Coffee and ten minutes. Then you can boast to Nick about having made it across the street and into the firehouse for a whole ten minutes. Sirens included.”

Her hand flew to her chest again, flattening up against the big, cream-colored fisherman’s knit sweaters she wore. The thick weave made her seem even smaller, made the flush in her cheeks stand out all the more. “I don’t think my pulse has come back down to normal yet.”

Chad felt a grin take over his face before he could stop it. “In that case, maybe you shouldn’t drink George’s coffee.”