Читать книгу Tall, Strong & Cool Under Fire - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 6

“Are you a fireman?”

The high, exuberant voice caught him by surprise, lifting him out of his realm of preoccupation. Turning away from the newly washed fire truck he was facing, Bryce Walker saw her. All three foot one of her. Completely adorable and most assuredly completely out of place.

The glib response on his lips, reserved for ladies far older than this little blond visitor obviously was, died away unspoken. Instead he smiled at her.

The little girl, decked out in soft pink coveralls with white daisies scattered throughout the body of the fabric, stood on the threshold of the fire station, obviously accepting the silent invitation the wide-open doorway extended to wayward travelers. She rocked slightly forward on the balls of her feet, her small hands shoved into her pockets like someone intent on doing nothing more with her morning than shooting the breeze. Her eyes watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Why yes, I am.”

Amused, Bryce crossed to her and then got down on one knee in an attempt to lessen the huge difference in their heights. He glanced to either side of the little girl, expecting to see a parent or at least an older sibling hanging back somewhere in the near vicinity.

But there was no one close by, not even any stragglers coming out of the library located directly to the right of the fire station, or eagerly flowing out of the summer school classes being given at the high school located in the center of the long block.

His visitor was apparently alone and very obviously fearless.

On occasion, Bryce gave talks on fire safety at the various local elementary schools located in Bedford, California. The little girl before him looked too young to be attending school. Bryce guessed her to be around four, or perhaps a very small five, though he doubted it. Intelligence shone in her cornflower-blue eyes, opened as wide as the daisies she had on her rompers.

The way she was regarding him told Bryce she thought of him as her equal in every way but height and opportunity. Her eyes darted past him to the truck that was just behind. “Do they let you drive the truck?”

He heard the hopeful note in her voice mingled with a touch of hero worship. The appeal of fire trucks had long since crossed the gender line. Bryce bit back a laugh, thinking of Alex. With three years seniority, the firefighter acted as if the truck was his own private property and would sooner walk over hot coals than allow someone else to touch the steering wheel.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

The little girl nodded her head in a commiserating manner that seemed far older than her obvious tender years. “Mommy won’t let me drive, either.”

It seemed to Bryce the perfect opportunity to initiate a reunion between the wayward child and her mother. “And where is Mommy?”

Leaving him in her wake, the little girl made her way to the fire truck in small, cautious steps, as if the truck wasn’t simply metal and gears, but a living, breathing thing that could be frightened into running off at any second if she wasn’t careful.

“At home.”

Bryce had a feeling that his unannounced visitor was going to be a fetching challenge when she got a little older. He wished any man who lost his heart to her luck. They were going to need it.

Getting up, he followed her slow progress around the vehicle. “And where’s home?”

Pausing, she looked over her shoulder, her expression momentarily sad, as if she was mourning something that had been lost. “Not Dallas anymore.”

He’d thought he’d detected a slight twang to her voice. But knowing her origins didn’t exactly help him at the moment. “And why’s that?”

The sigh she released was enormous. Slowly she made her way around the perimeter of the truck, studying every detail more closely than the fire chief during an impromptu inspection. “We moved.”

She was too young to be coy, though that would have been the word he would have used had she been a teenager. Bryce began to feel as if he was trapped in a children’s program. “To where?”

The little girl ran her hand along the front of the truck and he got the distinct impression she was petting it. “Here.”

Playing along, Bryce looked around, pretending to be mystified at the information. “You live here? In my fire station?”

He was rewarded with a giggle that was so infectious, he had a hard time not laughing along with her. She turned to look at him, her eyes crinkled with humor. “No, silly. In Bedford.”

He’d assumed as much, but it was nice to receive confirmation. At least she wasn’t visiting from out of town. It looked as if he just might finally be getting somewhere. “Do you know where in Bedford?”

She paused, considering his question. “Our house, of course,” she told him as if it were silly to think that there could be any other answer. “Mommy’s and G-mama’s and mine. Mommy said it belongs to all three of us. Equally.” She wrapped her tongue around the last word very slowly, as if careful to get it right.

Bryce noticed she didn’t mention a father and wondered if that meant that Missing Mommy was divorced, or possibly widowed. Or if she’d never been married in the first place. He doubted if the omission was an oversight. The little girl seemed to have an almost incredible grasp of her situation. He knew adults who were less aware of their surroundings than she appeared to be.

Following her as she made her way back to the side of the truck, he tried again. “Do you know your address?”

This time, the expression that met his question was a pint-size composition of frustration. The little girl shook her head. “No. It’s new.”

She seemed so upset that she couldn’t remember it, Bryce felt it best to gloss over the detail. No sense dwelling on it. If Mommy didn’t show up soon to claim her, he had friends on the police force who could help track her down.

“Sometimes,” he commented, “new things are hard to remember.” Holding her hand, he helped her up the steps of the fire truck so that she could get a closer look inside the cab. “Do you know your name?”

She looked at him with just a touch of impatience bringing her small, wheat-colored brows together in a puckered furrow. “Of course I do. My name’s not new. It’s as old as I am.”

“I see.” He pretended to nod his agreement. “My name is Bryce Walker. What is your name?”

She tossed her head, sending soft swirls of blond hair bouncing back and forth. “CeCe Billings. I was named after my G-mama. The first part.”

“The first part,” he repeated, not quite sure that he followed her.

“Yes. CeCe.” She held her arms out for him to help her down. “Except her name’s really Cecilia. Mine is, too, but Mommy calls me CeCe so she doesn’t mix G-mama and me up.”

Bryce set her down on the ground again. “I see.” Though it didn’t actually have anything to do with finding her mother or her home, he couldn’t resist gleaning just a little more information about this diminutive blonde chatterbox who had wandered into his station. “And what does your daddy call you?”

“Nothing,” she told him with a matter-of-fact air worthy of someone five or six times her age. “I don’t have a daddy. Mommy says we’re doing just fine without one.”

“Uh-huh.” Mommy was obviously rather adamant about the subject, he thought, given the verve he heard in CeCe’s voice. “Well, I don’t think she’s doing just fine right now,” he speculated, more to himself than to the tiny intruder. “She’s probably out looking for you right now.”

His visitor shook her head with feeling, sending her blond curls flying back and forth again. “I don’t think so. Mommy’s busy.”

“Doing what?” He had a very low opinion of a mother who was too busy to notice her child was missing. In his mind, he envisioned a woman neglecting her child for any one of a half-dozen reasons, none of which were acceptable.

Like someone on a deliberate, savored odyssey, CeCe’s inspection of the fire truck was taking her to the rear of the vehicle. “She’s gotta tell all those men what to do. They’re all confused.”

They weren’t the only ones, Bryce thought. “What men?”

“The men who are helping her.” She frowned. “You’re not listening. Mommy told G-mama men don’t listen.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Mommy obviously didn’t have a very high opinion of men. Which made them equal, because he didn’t have a high opinion of women who misplaced their children.

But, in the absence of the appearance of a frantic woman searching for her wandering gypsy of a child, he had no recourse but to keep the little girl occupied. On a hunch, he tapped her on the shoulder and when she turned around to look at him, he extended his hand to her. “Would you like a tour of the fire station while we try to figure out how to find your mommy?”

CeCe took his hand readily, but she cocked her head and looked at him, as if that would help her understand his meaning better. “Why? Mommy’s not lost.”

He smiled at her. If he had chosen a different path for himself, a child like Cece might have been his by now. But that was all water under a bridge he had crossed over voluntarily a long time ago.

“No, but you are.”

“No, I’m not.” The smile that came to her lips was so bright, Bryce found himself instantly charmed and very firmly captivated. How could anyone not notice that a little doll like this was missing? “I’m right here. With you.”

He found he had a difficult time arguing with that, so he didn’t even try.

Lisa Billings felt as if she had taken exhaustion to a new high. Or low, depending on the point of view.

All she knew was that right at this moment, she felt more drained than a riverbed during a prolonged draught. For the last six months she had been flying between her former home in Dallas and the city she had decided to resettle her family in, trying to find the perfect locale for both her store and her new home. A new home where she intended to make a new life for herself and her daughter. The appeal of a fresh start was strong.

Her requirements weren’t many, but they were nonnegotiable. She wanted someplace that was bright and clean and safe, somewhere with a wonderful school system that would benefit a daughter as bright and eager to learn as CeCe was. The hundred and twenty some-odd details that went into making the transition had finally led her to Bedford, which was as near-perfect as she could hope for.

Looking back, she couldn’t remember a time in the last six months when she hadn’t been busy enough for two people. As busy as she was, she couldn’t spend too much time thinking and that was a blessing. She didn’t like to have too much time to think, or reflect.

But somehow, amid all that busy-ness that was taking place, she had just about “busied” herself out and lost sight of the most important thing of all. CeCe. CeCe, the reason she had undertaken owning and running a toy store that catered to a child’s fertile imagination and not to noise, chaos and the advertising toy craze of the moment. CeCe, who was, quite simply, the reason she drew breath every day.

Somehow, amid the rush of movers who were bent on testing the durability of every breakable item she owned and the confusion of getting everything reorganized again, she had misplaced her daughter.

One minute, CeCe was playing in the new front yard, doing her best not to get underfoot. The next, when Lisa looked back to check on her, CeCe was gone. A quick search of the area told Lisa that her daughter wasn’t in the front yard, or the back. Or anywhere else in the house, either. Tired of exploring it, CeCe had obviously gone on to conquer other areas.

Lisa tried very hard not to give in to the panic that was swiftly filling all the empty spaces left inside of her. Praying she had somehow missed seeing her, Lisa made another, faster pass through the two-story house, looking behind boxes and any place CeCe might have decided to turn into a temporary play area.

When this go-round proved to be as fruitless as the first, she hurried out to the front yard again. There she found her mother. Cecilia Dombrowski was directing the movers like one of the field marshals who had existed in her family tree.

One look at her daughter’s face had Cecilia halting in midcommand. “What is it?”

Years of taking on too much, of trying to be invincible, had brought Lisa to the brink of collapse and had her tottering there now. She felt herself very close to crumbling and hated herself for having the feeling. “I can’t find her anywhere, Mother. I can’t find CeCe.”

The older woman set her mouth grimly. Moving quickly, Cecilia did an about-face and placed herself in the center of the movers. Raising her hands, she immediately captured their attention.

“My granddaughter is missing. You all know what she looks like. Please stop what you are doing and look for her. Now.” The movers, four burly men of varying heights, looked at one another, somewhat bewildered and confused. “Now,” Cecilia repeated. She pointed first to the left of the house and then to the right. “There are houses on both sides of this one. Knock on doors. Ask. She was here a few minutes ago and her legs are short. She could not have gone far. Your legs are much longer, you can cover more distance. Please.”

The last word was issued as more of a command than a plea. Cecilia’s look was unwavering as her eyes swept over the four men’s faces.

The men quickly scattered, doing as she asked. The furniture could wait.

With a semisatisfied sigh, Cecilia turned to her daughter. She placed hands on Lisa’s shoulders and Lisa could feel warmth and encouragement in the very contact.

“You do the same. Go. Look. We will find her. You know that we will.”

There were times Lisa felt that even God wouldn’t argue with her mother and she certainly wasn’t about to. Just hearing Cecilia’s reassurances that this would all be resolved shortly and satisfactorily heartened her and gave her something to cling to. Never mind that it was intangible.

“Yes,” Lisa answered with more conviction than she felt. “We will.”

“Good, I will remain here, in case she returns home on her own. You know how CeCe is,” Cecilia said, smiling.

Lisa blew out a breath, telling herself she was just overreacting. CeCe knew better than to go far.

Then where was she? she demanded silently.

Nodding at her mother’s words, Lisa began to walk to the house on the left, the last one on the corner of the development. A car passed by on its way out, its windshield catching the sun and instantly flashing it all around like a sunburst intent on illuminating the immediate surrounding area.

The glare hurt her eyes. Shading them with her hand, Lisa squinted.

And that was when she saw it.

The fire station across the street on the corner. She’d only paid marginal attention to it when she’d driven past it before, taking notice of it the way she had the library and the high school beyond, as part of the scenery, nothing more.

Now it registered with glaring lights. A fire station.

It wasn’t as if it was immediately accessible. Between the house and the fire station was a wide street with three lanes of traffic going in either direction and a small island in between for pedestrians who weren’t quick enough to take advantage of the traffic signal.

CeCe loved fire trucks.

Oh, please, let her be there.

Her heart in her throat, not waiting to tell her mother her hunch, Lisa paused only to glance at the flow of immediate oncoming traffic and to take in the traffic light that was, for at least this moment, green. Taking advantage of it, Lisa sprinted across the street like the high school track and field team member she’d once been.

She made it across the entire street, eschewing the island, before the yellow light had a chance to slip into red.

He didn’t know exactly what made him turn just then. Maybe he’d been half waiting for the approach of a frantic parent, maybe it was nothing more than chance that had made him look through the window facing the street just then. Whatever the reason, he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and then found himself mesmerized as he watched the woman sprint from one corner to the next.

The woman moved like a gazelle.

She moved, he realized, the way the wind would, if it had taken on the form of a young, shapely woman with hair the color of sunshine just after sunrise. Dressed in white, cuffed shorts that brushed against her upper thighs as she moved and in what could only be termed as a skimpy red tank top that clung to the swell of her breasts with each breath she took, she was definitely a sight to behold. He was surprised that some of the other firefighters on duty weren’t hanging out of the upper story window, cheering her on.

Bryce sobered as she made it to the opposite corner. This had to be CeCe’s mother. The concerned look was a dead giveaway.

“Honey,” he said to the little girl who was holding his hand as if they were old friends, “I think I just spotted your mommy.”

CeCe pressed her lips together in deep concentration, as if she was trying to remember something or reconcile a new fact with the ever-growing data base that was expanding in her mind. “Mommy doesn’t like spots on her. She’s very clean.”

He bit back a laugh. “Right now, I’d say she was very angry.” He drew CeCe over to the doorway just as the woman ran up the walk.

“Excuse me,” Lisa called out the instant she saw Bryce’s movement, “have you seen a little girl go—CeCe!”

CeCe looked mystified by both Bryce’s observation and by the strange look on her mother’s face. She thought she saw tears shining in her mother’s eyes. Tears made her feel sad.

Mommy didn’t cry very often, but when she did, CeCe always felt that there should be something she could do to make her mother feel happy again.

CeCe put on her brightest smile. Mommy always said she liked seeing her smile. “Hi, Mommy. Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

There had been very few times in Lisa’s life when she had felt like laughing and crying at the same time. This was one of them. Fears she had refused to allow loose were now throbbing in her head like so many explosive puffs of steam expanding within a pressure cooker.

Completely ignoring the man with her daughter, Lisa dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around CeCe. Pulling her close to her, Lisa hugged her daughter while fighting a losing battle with her overwrought emotions. It took everything she had not to burst into tears and sob her relief.

Only after she had assured herself that her daughter was real, safe and unharmed did Lisa lean back and, still holding on to her, look at the small face. “Oh God, CeCe, how could you do this to me? How could you run off like that?”

The answer seemed perfectly logical to the four-year-old. “He has a fire truck. A real one.” She pointed to the vehicle in question behind her.

But Lisa wasn’t looking at the fire truck.

She had suddenly become aware of the fact that she was on her knees in front of a very tall, very blond man wearing a navy blue fireman’s uniform. Moreover, she was kneeling before a man who was looking at her as if he’d just come off an enforced seven-week fast and she was a piece of fried chicken prepared just the way he always liked it.