Читать книгу Charming the Firefighter - Beth Andrews - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

LEO STARED AT Penelope’s empty seat, then craned his neck to look around the corner where she’d disappeared. Scrubbed a hand through his hair. Hell. What had he gotten himself into? He had a habit—a bad one other people liked to point out—of jumping in with both feet, trying to do what was needed to fix any situation. It made him a damned good firefighter and EMT, but sometimes, his tendency to leap first got him into trouble.

Or into a weird, uncomfortable predicament. Like now.

Nothing he couldn’t handle, though.

His phone buzzed. He checked the text from Forrest.

ETA?

Rubbing the bruise on his mouth, Leo considered his current circumstances, then typed in ten min knowing he could drag that estimate out another five minutes before Forrest got on his case about them needing to head to the station. But as long as they didn’t get any emergency calls, Leo wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Not until he’d made sure Penelope was okay.

Call it a personal defect, but when a woman ran from the room in tears, he had to find out what was wrong. Had to help her.

Telling himself he was just doing his firefighterly duty, and that his desire to somehow comfort her had nothing to do with the way his gut had tightened at the sight of her tears, he walked into the living room. No sign of her. He frowned. He doubted she’d gone outside. She didn’t seem like the type of woman to let others see her in a vulnerable state—let alone someone who’d step out her front door looking anything less than completely put together.

Then again, he had only met her. For all he knew, she ran down the streets of Shady Grove barefoot and disheveled on a nightly basis.

But he doubted it. She was too self-contained. Too uptight.

And he was rarely wrong when it came to reading people. Especially women.

The sound of running water made him turn. He approached the closed door tucked under the stairs and tapped on the wood. “Ms. Denning? Are you all right?” When she didn’t answer, he knocked again. “Ms. Denning?”

The water shut off. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He pursed his lips. Not exactly a confirmation that her physical and mental states were A-okay, but at least he now knew she was conscious and capable of communication. He’d give her two more minutes. If she didn’t come out on her own, he’d go in after her.

Deciding to give her some space and privacy, he returned to the kitchen. The counters were granite, the cabinets a glossy dark cherry, the tile floor Italian marble—or a really excellent facsimile—done in an intricate pattern. The walls were a soft yellow that carried into the bright and airy dining room. Splashes of green and blue accented both rooms in the form of knickknacks, wall hangings and a vase of cheerful flowers on the table. Whoever had done the remodeling did a good job—although his family would have done it better.

Just because he hadn’t wanted to be a part of Montesano Construction, had never wanted to spend his life pounding nails, hauling boards and installing windows, didn’t mean he wasn’t biased when it came to the work they did.