Читать книгу With Courage And Commitment - Charlotte Maclay, Charlotte Maclay - Страница 11

Carrying his uniform on a hanger, Danny headed into the station house shortly before the 8:00 a.m. shift change. The wide doors to the bay area yawned open revealing two fire engines, a ladder truck and a paramedic unit gleaming bright red in the overhead lights.

No hose lay stretched out drying, there was nobody hurrying to wipe down the trucks after a run. It looked as though B shift had had a quiet night.

Maybe C shift would be luckier and catch a good fire before their twenty-four hours were up.

The fire department’s administrative offices occupied the first floor of the main station—a fairly new building in town—with sleeping quarters, the kitchen and dining area on the two floors above that.

Danny made for the stairs but the sound of jingling bracelets brought him up short. He winced, a premonition of doom settling over him.

“Danny, there’s something I want you to take a look at.”

Turning, he eyed Emma Jean Witkowsky, the station’s dispatcher and resident gypsy fortune-teller, with suspicion. As usual she was all decked out with dangling earrings and an armful of silver bracelets. Her long skirt swayed at her calves and she clanked with every step she took.

“I gotta get changed before the shift starts,” he said.

“This will only take a minute. There’s something strange going on with my crystal ball. I thought maybe you could make sense of it.”

“I’m not really into crystal balls. Or fortune-telling.” Particularly Emma Jean’s version, which was invariably wrong.

She ignored his objection, shoving open the door to Dispatch and stepping inside.

With a shrug, Danny followed her. How long could it take to look into a stupid crystal ball and duck back out again?

“I just bought this new ball via the Internet and I think there’s something wrong with it,” she said, slipping behind the counter that separated visitors from an array of computer terminals and phones. She placed a globe on the counter and slowly removed the blue silk hankie that covered it. “Tell me what you think.”

Disinterested, he glanced at the glass ball…and nearly choked.

Looking back at him was the image of a grinning hamster with big red lips and long eyelashes. Beside it a typed note read, “Your love life is on the upswing.”

Danny was torn between laughter and an urge to throttle Emma Jean. “Thank God you haven’t gotten a prediction right in the past five years.”

Affronted, she widened her eyes. “I foretold Logan Strong and Janice getting together, didn’t I? And Mike Gables and—”

“Enough!” He backed toward the door. “Leave me out of your fortune-telling. And for God’s sake, could everybody please forget about that hamster? Next time, I’ll let the damn thing suffocate.”

He wouldn’t, of course. Not when somebody like Stephanie made him want to revive a stupid rodent or die trying—all to impress a beautiful woman.

BY AFTERNOON, DANNY was bored out of his gourd.

Engine 62’s only action so far had been to tag along on a paramedic call to old Mrs. Trumblebird, who managed to have palpitations or a wastebasket fire every week or so. Today she’d been short of breath. Mostly Danny thought she was lonely but the ambulance hauled Abigail off to the hospital anyway. She’d be pampered for a couple of days and maybe her family would visit her.

Heck of a way to spend your golden years.

After logging an hour on the stationary bike, then showering, he wandered out in back of the station. Tommy Tonka was sitting in the driver’s seat of Big Red, a vintage 1930s fire engine the adolescent had helped the department restore. Today he looked glum.

“What’s up, kid?”

He lifted his bony shoulders. “Nuthin’.”

Danny swung up into the seat beside him. “Funny, from the look of things, I would have guessed your best friend died.”

Head bent, shoulders slumped, the sixteen-year-old slid his hands around the steering wheel. When it came to anything mechanical, Tommy was a near genius. Personality wise, he was definitely on the slow side.

“I got dumped,” he said.

“By that pretty redhead you brought to the Founder’s Day Parade last fall?” The two of them had ridden down Paseo Boulevard in Big Red with the Station 6 crew and their wives, Tommy looking so proud of himself Danny thought the kid might burst with it.

“Yeah. Rachel. She’s dating a jock now. Varsity basketball.”

“That’s rough.” Leaning back, Danny propped one foot on the dashboard. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“What can I do? Heck, he’s a big school hero, scores twenty points a game.” Mimicking Danny’s position, Tommy scooted lower in the seat and propped his size twelve tennis shoe against the dashboard. The laces were untied and the sole looked like it was about to come off.

“I’d bet you have a lot more between the ears than this other guy has. You can figure out a way to get her back—if you want to.”

His face flushing, which emphasized a bad case of acne, Tommy slid his gaze across to Danny. “You know how to turn me into a jock before the spring dance?”

“Uh, that’s kind of a hard one.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” Dejection drove his shoulders lower.

“But hey, you can’t just give up if that’s what it will take to get Rachel back. Nothing is impossible if you want it bad enough.”

Tommy didn’t look convinced.

Mentally trying to pluck a rabbit out of the hat, Danny said, “You could go out for the triathlon.”

The boy’s head snapped up. “You want me to do what?”

“You can swim, can’t you? And ride a bike? And I know you can run.” In each case, Danny gave a dispirited nod. “Then all you have to do is put them together. There’s a junior division in the upcoming firefighters triathlon. You could train with me.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been out for any kind of sport, not even Little League. My mom never had the money for fees or uniforms, stuff like that.”

“It’s okay. We’ve got weight-training equipment in the basement. We’ll get you some decent shoes, and I’ve got an extra bike you can use. At the very least, it will keep your mind off your troubles. What have you got to lose?”

The faintest spark of hope appeared in the kid’s eyes. “You think I could—”

“Damn right you could.” He grinned at the boy and got a tentative smile in return. “And if I know anything about women—which I do—Rachel’s gonna fall all over herself trying to get back together with you. Brains and brawn are a tough combination to beat.”

“Then, could I maybe start now?”

Suddenly the boy looked so eager, Danny almost laughed. Instead he clamped his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and gave a little squeeze. “Now sounds like a perfect time.”

Danny wasn’t entirely sure what he’d gotten himself into. But he did know what it was like to be raised by a single mom. There was never enough money to go around. Pinching pennies was a way of life. And it hurt like hell not having a dad like the other kids.

For Danny, Harlan Gray had filled some of that void.

He couldn’t help but wonder who would be the man Stephanie’s baby would turn to.

Silently cursing the guy who had gotten Stephanie pregnant, then dumped her, Danny jumped down from the fire truck. With an effort, he battled back old memories of anger and helplessness, and a fury that made him want to punch out that stranger’s lights.

“Come on, Tommy, my man. Let’s see a little hustle, a little en…thuu…siasm!”

He jogged off ahead of the boy, into the station and down the stairs to the basement. He’d pedal another hour on the bike to bleed off his anger while Tommy worked out. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to sleep tonight without worrying about Stephanie and her baby.

SHE HAD TO STOP PEERING out the kitchen window trying to catch a glimpse of Danny.

Through her adolescent years, Stephanie had logged hours upon hours puttering in the kitchen, just far enough back from the window so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of her. Assuming he ever looked in her direction. Which he probably hadn’t.

Nonetheless, she’d turned snooping on the boy down the street into an art form.

“Is something wrong out there?”

She jumped at the sound of her father behind her. “No, nothing.” Her voice squeaked.

“Good, then I’m hoping it’s about dinnertime.”

“Coming right up.” Chastising herself for her wayward thoughts, she used a hotpad to pick up the frying pan filled with Sloppy Joe mixture and carried it into the dining room where the family had always eaten their dinners when Stephanie’s father was home. When he was working, her mother had served her two daughters their meals less formally in the kitchen.

“C shift is on duty tonight,” her father commented idly from his place at the head of the table.

“Oh?” She went back to the kitchen to get milk for herself and water for her dad.

“I can get you a station schedule, if you’d like.”

Acting unconcerned, she placed the glasses on the table. “Did I ask?”

“No. I just thought it would easier for you if you knew when to bother looking out the window to see if Danny’s home.”

She glared at her father, which didn’t do an iota of good. The only redeeming merit of this conversation was the faint hope Danny would be too tired after twenty-four hours on duty to show up tomorrow at the preschool to help them paint over the fire and smoke damage.

By morning she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

At ten minutes after eight there was a knock on the door.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

Dressed in ratty jeans and an old T-shirt, he looked sexy as all get out. In contrast, her ballooning blouse and baggy shorts simply made her look fat.

“Go where?”

“To the preschool. It’s painting day.”

“You mean you’re not going to tie me to a chair and leave me here at home in order to protect me from those nasty fumes you’re so worried about?”

He cocked one eyebrow, an incredibly seductive mannerism he’d perfected during his adolescent years. “Darn, I hadn’t thought of that. You got any rope?”

“Oh, hush!” Barely able to suppress a smile, she swatted his arm with the back of her hand. “I could drive myself, you know.”

“I figured it didn’t make any sense for both of us to drive since I’ve gotta come back here tonight anyway. Better to save on gas.”

As if an eighth of a gallon would make much difference. “What? Saturday night and no big date? You’re slipping, Sullivan.”

“Some of us are willing to make huge sacrifices for the greater good.” He glanced past her as if expecting her father to appear. “Come on, Twiggy. Time’s a’wasting.”

She bristled. She really didn’t need to hear that nickname again, especially when this particular twig had swollen to proportions previously unknown to humankind.

And she wasn’t done growing yet.

They walked down the driveway together, and he halted at the passenger side of his SUV, blocking her way. “You did talk to your doctor like you promised, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

He cocked a brow. “And she said?”

“For the sake of my blood pressure, I should stay away from exasperating men like you.”

His rich baritone laughter wrapped around her like an old, familiar blanket on a chilly night and did something extraordinary to her insides.

And it irritated her like crazy that he could affect her so strongly after all these years.

“You don’t have to come at all, you know, since the doctor said I’d be fine.”

Ignoring her comment, he played the gentleman, helping her up into his SUV—which annoyed her even more.

ALICE HAD RECRUITED HER husband, Jeffrey Tucker, to help with the painting job. A grocery store manager by trade, he was long and lanky with a receding hairline that he’d covered with a white painter’s cap. Carrying a gallon can of paint in each hand, he greeted Stephanie and Danny when they arrived.

“Alice has the coffee brewing. Should be ready in a minute.”

“Sounds good to me,” Danny said.

“Is there more stuff in your van?” Stephanie asked, noting the familiar nine-passenger vehicle parked at the curb that the school used for field trips.

“Right. Ladders, drop cloths, rollers, the works.”

Danny angled toward the van. “We’ll get ’em.”

Stephanie followed him, making a concerted effort not to notice his tight buns. Either bicycle riding was an excellent firming exercise or men got all the genetic breaks when it came to avoiding cottage cheese derrieres. Probably some of both.

He handed her a bundle of old drop cloths. “I don’t want you climbing any ladders today.”

“Oh?”

“And you need to take lots of breaks, too. I don’t want you to get overtired.”

“Oh, you don’t, huh?” A spark of anger fed her rising temper.

“Nope.” He reached for an extension ladder to slide it out of the van. “We’ll have to be careful that the place is well ventilated so you—”

She clamped her hand on the ladder. “Daniel Sullivan, I have spent the past two years in a relationship with the bossiest man on the face of the earth. He told me where we would go, what I should wear and where I should shop. Half the time he ordered dinner for me as if I were a child who didn’t know my own mind. And the worst thing is, I let him do it.” She leveled Danny the sternest look she could manage. “No man is going to boss me around like that again. I’m a grown woman and I can decide for myself what I’m going to climb and what I’m not.”

His eyes held hers, the most sincere, most stubborn shade of blue imaginable. “Fine by me. Then I’ll assume you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t be climbing ladders in your condition.”

“I can climb—”

“For the sake of the baby.”

She wanted to argue but, of course, he was right. No way would she risk her unborn child. “As long as you know I’m not climbing ladders because you ordered me not to. Only because of the baby.”

“Absolutely.” A teasing smile threatened at the corners of his lips and his eyes began to sparkle. “You never did anything I told you when you were a kid. Can’t think why you’d start now.”

Rather than giving him the satisfaction of returning his smile—which she was sorely tempted to do—she sniffed with mock disdain. “See that you remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered as she whirled, bundle of drop cloths hugged to her chest, and marched into the preschool.

Danny watched her for a moment, taking special note of her long, firm legs, then hauled the ladder out of the van.

He’d discovered yet another reason why he’d like to get his hands on the guy who’d gotten Stephanie pregnant. He didn’t like the thought that she’d cared for the guy so much that she’d forgotten how to be feisty, to talk back. To argue until she was blue in the face.

In his view, that was one of her most admirable qualities. She didn’t take guff from anyone, including him.

Smiling, he carried the ladder up the walkway. Seemed to him that Stephanie was well on her way to being her old self again. She certainly seemed ready enough to give him plenty of grief. He was looking forward to sparring a few rounds with her anytime she gave him the go ahead.

Within hours, Stephanie was more than ready to take one of those breaks Danny had been so insistent upon. Alice and Jeff were struggling to paint in the close confines of the storeroom while she and Danny labored in the kitchen area. Her back ached. She had the troubling feeling her ankles had begun to swell.

Ah, the joys of pregnancy, she thought as she boosted herself up to sit on a worktable to watch the master painter.

“You missed your calling,” she said.

Perched on the ladder, Danny was cutting in a swath of paint where the ceiling met the walls to make the roller work easier. “How’s that?”

“You wield a mean paintbrush.”

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I have all kinds of talents you have yet to plumb.”

Stephanie suspected that was true—and many of those talents were no doubt related to his ability to seduce women. She wasn’t about to lead the conversation in that direction.

“I didn’t know you were a smoke jumper. Do you still parachute for fun?”

His brush stopped in midstroke and his shoulders visibly tensed. “No. Too many memories.”

Stephanie sensed she’d touched an emotional hot button. “What happened?” she asked cautiously.

He climbed down the ladder and moved it to the right a few feet, but he didn’t look at her.

“They were dropping us way inside the wilderness area. Two planeloads of guys. Hotshots going after lightning-started fires. Something happened—” Resting his hand on a rung of the ladder, he shook his head. “The wind shifted just as we were bailing out. It blew us right smack into the face of the fire. Two of the guys…”

Hopping down from the table, Stephanie crossed the room to him. His shoulders shook and she placed her hand on his back, soothing him.

Visibly struggling with his memories, he fought to pull himself together. “They drifted right into a couple of trees that were already on fire. The turpentine in a pine tree turns it into a torch, the flames going maybe a hundred feet high. Even with all their protective gear on—”

“Oh, God…” Her fingers trembled. She could see what he saw, feel what he felt. A firefighter’s daughter knew the awful realities of fighting a fire. The danger. The fear. What the red devil could do to a man.

“My damn canopy melted in the heat, and I hit the ground hard. And then I ran.” He looked up at the ceiling, the uneven border of new paint over old, his Adam’s apple working in his throat. “It’s not something I’m exactly proud of.”

“Shh.” Instinctively she took him in her arms. Tall and strong, yet as vulnerable as a child whose invisible wounds had never healed. How many other scars did he have? she wondered. His childhood hadn’t been easy. Yet somehow he’d found the strength to make the most of himself. “There wasn’t anything else you could have done. You couldn’t save your friends. There was no way.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gathering himself, he gave her a quick hug, then stepped away. “Gotta tell you, though. Seventy-five pounds of gear and I swear I set a new world’s record for the quarter-mile run. I’ve never moved so fast in my entire life.”

She recognized he was trying to lighten the mood and went along. “Maybe instead of the triathlon, we ought to sign you up for the next Olympics.”

“Not much chance of that.” With an easy shrug, he started up the ladder again, brush in hand.

Stephanie wished he’d hugged her a little longer. She liked the feel of his arms around her. She even liked the paint-tinged smell of him clashing with the lingering soapy scent from his morning shower.

But she reminded herself the most she could hope to have with Danny was a platonic relationship. Neighbors. Part of the extended family of firefighters. Friends who cared about each other.

Not that she’d want more than that, given her pregnant state. Or even if she wasn’t pregnant, she told herself.

But she really did like the way his arms felt wrapped around her. And how her head fit so neatly resting on his shoulder at the crook of his neck. And how her palms itched to cup that tight butt of his.

She sighed and mentally swore. Her hormones must be on the fritz. Pregnancy did that to a woman, or so the book said.

Picking up the roller she’d been using, she ran it through the pan of paint. “Dad says you’re the big gun on Paseo’s triathlon team.”

“Yeah, and every race I rededicate myself to those guys in Idaho.”

She shivered. No man could outrun such a terrible memory.

Just as she’d never forget she had once placed her trust in a man who was unable to love her…or her baby.

“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’VE BEEN infected by a severe case of white spotted fever.” Painting job completed and ready to head for home, Danny opened the truck door for Stephanie.

“I always looked forward to your compliments. They’re so…” She boosted herself into the seat. “…flattering to a woman’s ego.”

“Hey, on you, white spots are kinda cute. Like freckles.”

“Wonderful.” Rolling her eyes, she half turned in search of her seat belt.

Automatically Danny helped her out by grabbing the metal connector and reaching across her lap to snap it in place. For a moment, his forearm rested on her midsection, making him intimately aware of the swell of her belly. Then something poked him.

He froze and so did Stephanie.

“What was that?”

“The baby.”

“He kicked me?”

“She kicked you. I had a sonogram last week. It’s a girl.”

He wanted to move away, to ignore the sudden tightening in his throat, the twist in his gut. Instead he slipped his palm across her belly, cupping her. This was real. Not a shadowy, half-formed thought that Stephanie—the pesky kid who lived down the street—was someday going have a baby of her own. This was now.

Beneath his palm, the baby moved again. A tiny foot pressing into his hand or a tight little fist.

An unfamiliar emotion filled his chest. He could barely breathe and had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Feisty as her mom, huh?”

A sheen of tears filled Stephanie’s hazel eyes, dimming the flecks of gold hidden there. “With any luck, she’ll come out ready to arm-wrestle you.”

“Probably beat me, too.”

Her teary smile nearly undid him. Without removing his hand, he leaned forward and kissed Stephanie on her temple. She’d perspired during the day, making her natural waves frizz around her face, and the strands were soft against his lips.

“You’ll be a great mom, Stephanie. A great mom.”