by Kathryn Shay
Jake plucked out a piece of the Godiva, popped it into his mouth and savored the chocolate. “He’s smitten, like all of them.”
Francey sighed. “I told him I wasn’t interested.”
Reaching over, Jake snatched the card peeking out from the sweets. Francey recalled the glib note. Isn’t the way to a woman’s heart through her stomach? Or does that just apply to men? As Jake read the missive, his dark eyebrows rose. “I guess he didn’t hear you.”
“He heard, all right, he’s just not listening.”
Her friend’s expression grew serious. He’d always understood her, certainly better than her brothers. “Want to talk about why you won’t see him?”
“Maybe.” She glanced into the den where her father lounged in his favorite recliner watching television with her grandparents, who were side by side on the couch. “Alex isn’t my type, Jake. For obvious reasons.”
Nodding, Jake tracked her gaze. “Has Ben said anything?”
“Of course. As soon as the gifts started to come, we had this heart-to-heart talk. He was more nervous than when he gave me the lecture on sex when I was fourteen. Which I’d already heard from you guys.”
“It killed him when Diana left, France.”
Francey noticed, but didn’t bother to mention, the switch of topics. She was glad to avoid talking about Alex. “I don’t remember much of the early years, but I know her desertion was brutal for him.”
“I remember some of it. I was thirteen when they split.” He rammed his fingers through his dark hair. “I couldn’t understand why. They were more in love than any couple I’ve ever seen in my life. I was shocked, like everybody else.”
“I guess after I was born she completely lost it—you know, about the firefighting and all. I heard Grandma call it a nervous breakdown.”
“Whatever the reason, she left. Ben was devastated. I don’t think he’s ever recovered.”
“Because he’s never remarried?”
“Yeah. And how he is when she’s around. Especially since she came back here to live.”
Frustrated, Francey sank into the pillows. “Diana is friends with Alex’s mother. And he’s dated Miss America.”
Jake chuckled at the unflattering reference to Elise Hathaway. When Diana returned to Rockford and opened a store in a wealthy east side suburb, her stepdaughter, Elise, had come with her. In the earlier years, Elise had taken an instant dislike to Francey—and vice versa.
“In any case,” Jake put in, “doesn’t seem like Prince Charming’s giving up.”
“Don’t you have that backward?” She tried to lighten the mood. “I saved him.”
Jake smiled at her. “Did I tell you how proud I am of you, kid?”
Francey returned the smile, basking in the warmth of her family. “Yeah, buddy, you did.” Shooting a quick look into the living room, she took in the sight of her dad and grandparents again. The homey, familiar scene made her even more determined to steer clear of Alex Templeton. Just as Diana’s return to Rockford had created havoc in their lives, letting Alex Templeton into hers would only cause trouble.
Francey opened her mouth to ask Jake about the station house’s firefighter trivia game when her phone rang.
Jake stood. “Get that. I have to go. Take it easy kiddo.”
Francey clicked into her cell. “Hey, girlfriend, I heard you got hurt.”
“Janey?”
Jane Phillips was a firefighter from down state. The world of New York Firefighters was small. The Hidden Cove Department and the RFD had formed a network of sorts, and many of their members knew each other. They met at conferences, when giving reciprocal presentations for each other’s line guys, and working together at their respective academies. Of course, some of the fifteen year veterans had bonded when they worked at the pile during 9/11.
Francey had met Jane at a one of those conference when they were both rookies and they bonded. They stayed in touch and Francey had gone to her wedding to Riley Gallagher.
“How are you feeling?”
“Morning sickness. And of course I’m off the line.”
“So what? You get a baby out of it. I’m thrilled for you.”
“Back to the patient. I want all the details. Did you really save the hunky CEO of a company there? I saw pictures of him.”
Francey groaned.
oOo
Two days later, Francesca sat across from Alex at Schaller’s devouring a jumbo cheeseburger, French fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake while he pretended interest in his grilled chicken sandwich and coleslaw. Broken arm aside, she ate with gusto. He was mesmerized watching that lovely mouth consume the food he’d persuaded her to share with him at Rockford’s popular lakeside diner. Talking her into this had been easier than he thought it would be…
“Schaller’s is open for the season?” she’d said when he’d identified himself on the phone last night and asked her out to a casual dinner.
“Yes. Just this week. Come with me, please.”
“I don’t know, Alex. I told you it wasn’t a good idea for us to go out.”
“Give me one chance to change your mind.”
She was silent.
“Please. I’m running out of places that deliver.”
In spite of herself, she’d chuckled. “The food’s been great. Thank you, but all this isn’t necessary.”
He pretended to take umbrage. “Are you saying that saving my life isn’t worth a couple of meals?”
“I wouldn’t dream of saying that.”
“Then let it be worth one more. Aren’t you ready to get out of the house?”
She’d practically moaned. Apparently that had done the trick, because she’d agreed…
“Alex? Where are you?”
He gave her his most charming grin. “Thinking about how glad I am that you came with me tonight.”
“We’ve got to discuss that.”
“I know. Not while we eat, though. We’ll walk along the shore after and get into it.” He frowned at her arm. “Do you have a sling?”
She cocked her head and stared at him. “Yeah.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Shrugging, she said, “Because you don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself. I always do.”
He filed that information away as he watched her bite into a French fry, her teeth sinking into the potato with relish. As she swallowed, he studied the graceful curve of her throat visible above her oversize denim shirt and dark T-shirt.
“Tell me why you came back to Rockford from Boston?”
Alex dug into his sandwich, and between bites, he answered. “To be with my family. Dad wasn’t feeling well, and he’d always hoped I’d take over Templeton Industries eventually. When he was diagnosed with a weak heart, it was time to come home.”
And we found out about Richard, he thought, but didn’t tell Francesca. His brother’s problems were private.
She wiped her mouth with the napkin, drawing his eyes to her lips. “Did you mind?”
“Truthfully, I was ready for a change. The job I’d had in Boston was interesting, but I wanted to do something different. I just didn’t expect to take over Templeton Industries so soon.”
“Why did you?”
“Dad had a heart attack after I returned.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is he all right?”
“I think so. Though the warehouse thing set him back some. But he was getting stronger every day.” After a pause, he added, “The fire’s been hard on us all.”
“Have they determined the cause yet?”
Alex tossed his napkin on the table. “No. The sprinkler system was deactivated, so there’re some questions around that.”
“There always are in warehouse fires.”
“So the fire marshal said. It’s nerve-racking, not knowing what happened. And I’m worried about Dad.”
Reaching over the table, she squeezed his hand. Her fingers were strong and beautifully formed, like the rest
of her. “I hope they find the cause soon.”
“Thanks.”
“Look on the bright side. You were lucky. Five minutes more and you would have been dead.”
“Zeleny told me that, too. Coming so close has made me…reorder my priorities.”
“I see a lot of that in my job.”
Alex leaned back against the leather-covered booth. “Are you ever afraid?”
She arched her delicate eyebrows. “Afraid? Of fire?”
He laughed at her incredulity. “A lot of people are afraid of fire, Francesca.”
“No. I’m not afraid. Fear would be the kiss of death for a firefighter. But I do respect the fire.”
“How can you not be afraid to walk into a burning building?”
“Because I know what I’m doing. So does my crew. We also get a healthy dose of adrenaline as we suit up for a blaze.” She drained her milk shake. “I do worry about Dylan sometimes, though.”
Dylan, is that you? he recalled her asking when he’d visited her.
“Dylan?” He tried to keep his voice even.
“One of the firefighters in my group. He takes a lot of risks.”
Hmm. Was this Dylan why she hadn’t wanted to see him? “Don’t all firefighters take risks?”
“Maybe calculated ones. But Dylan’s done some things that are too risky. He never endangers anyone else, but he’s gotten his hands slapped for jeopardizing his own life.”
“What’s he done?”
Francesca pondered his question for a minute. “The worst was last year when we were called to a fully involved fire.”
“Fully involved?”
“Where the building’s roaring—totally engulfed in flames. Firefighters have to knock it down from the outside.”
He nodded, remembering the term.
She stared over his shoulder, clearly back at the fire. “A family member who’d gotten out told Dylan a baby was in the house. Before anyone could stop him, Dylan smashed through the picture window and dove into the living room.” Her eyes were full of concern and a little bit of awe.
Though Alex was dumbfounded by the action, he was nonetheless impressed by the man’s courage and selflessness. “Did he save the baby?”
Francey shook her head, sending waves of dark hair into her eyes. “He was too late.” She bit her bottom lip. “Man, it’s hard to lose a kid. We’re not the same afterward.”
“I’ll bet.” He smiled gently. “You should concentrate on the ones you do save.”
“I suppose. But you always second-guess yourself. If I’d turned left instead of right. If I’d looked closer at the burn pattern, stuff like that.”
He waited. She shook off the regret. “Anyway, Dylan wasn’t hurt, thank God.” She smiled. “Though the Cap chewed him out something fierce. Threatened to put a reprimand in his folder the next time if he didn’t shape up.”
“Did he?”
“Nope. He got the official letter on his record, too. More than one, actually.” Francey clearly sided with Dylan. Damn.
“You done?” he asked, flicking a gaze at her plate.
“Yes.”
He paid the bill and escorted her to the foyer. She reached for her dark gray fleece-lined windbreaker from the coat rack. “Aren’t you going to put the sling on first?” he asked her.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, tugging it out of her pocket. Awkwardly she tried to loop it over her head one-handed. And winced. “Shit.”
“Here, let me help.”
Taking the sling from her, he slipped the cloth over her head and held the end while she slid her arm in. “Just a second, the material’s caught in your hair.” Dipping his fingers underneath the sling, he tugged her hair loose. The feel of the strands, combined with the way they smelled—lemony and fresh—made his body harden.
“Alex?”
He let go immediately. “Mmm?”
“Can you help me with my coat? I can’t get the thing around my shoulders.”
“I think I can force myself.” He held up the jacket. Once her good arm was in and he’d pulled the other side over her shoulder, he reached for the zipper.
“Um, I don’t—”
He grinned. “Hey, it’s windy out there, and you need this closed. It’ll fit over your sling and close in the front.”
He pulled the flaps together and attached the zipper. Tugging the tab up, he chuckled when he reached her breasts. Her gaze flew to his. He flushed. “I’m not getting fresh, honest. I just want to help.” And he meant that.
She nodded and looked away.
Alex loved the weather here in upstate New York, despite its severe winters, which could rival Siberia. In late April, it was about sixty-five degrees, and an unusually warm breeze blew off Lake Ontario. They headed to the shore and began to walk. The soft rhythm of the waves was soothing, but Alex was wired.
“Okay, shoot,” she said.
He smiled at her candor. No demureness for this lady. So he matched it. “What’s your relationship with Dylan?”
“Dylan? O’Roarke?”
“The hero.”
“I told you, he’s on my group. We’re all close.”
“How close are you to him, exactly?”
“What’s this about, Alex?”
“I thought maybe he was why you didn’t want to see me.”
She laughed. “Have you been turned down so few times that you assume there has to be another guy?”
Sticking his hands in his navy jacket, Alex tried to appear nonchalant. Her amusement rankled him. “I suppose so.”
“There’s nothing between Dylan and me except friendship.”
“Is there someone else, then?”
“No.”
He stopped walking and captured her gaze. “Did I offend you somehow? By flirting?”
“No, I find you very charming.”
“All right, then, tell me why you don’t want to see me.”
Francey studied him. The wind ruffled his hair, which blew boyishly over his forehead. The twilight accented his high cheekbones. God, he was handsome. She drew a deep breath and started walking again, and he matched her long stride.
“My father’s a firefighter. He married a woman from your world when he was twenty. The marriage lasted six years. When it ended, their three children, me and my brothers, paid the price for their foolishness. I…” She hesitated, unaccustomed to sharing her feelings. “My older brother, Tony, is as nice as a saint and as forgiving as a priest. But the situation was hard for me and for Nicky. He’s the most bitter—even blames his recent divorce on them. I learned a valuable lesson—oil and water don’t mix. My parents should never have gotten together.”
To his credit, Alex didn’t offer platitudes. They walked a few yards and he remained silent, thoughtful. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he said at last. “It must have been terrible for you.”
He couldn’t have responded better. She hated when men belittled a concern or tried to rationalize what had happened or worse, tried to fix it. Unfortunately, Alex’s reaction made him even more attractive.
“Was it money?” he asked.
“No, though there was never enough of that but she didn’t care. I guess the situation boiled down to her not being able to accept her husband being a firefighter. And not just the lifestyle. She lived in fear of something happening to him.” Francey shook her head. “Ironic, huh? She loved him so much she had to leave him.”
“Because she couldn’t stand his putting his life in danger.”
“Apparently she had a breakdown.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Is that why you stayed with your father?”
“Partly. But I think mostly because we’d always lived with Grandma and Grandpa. Right after I was born, Diana had to go to work to help support the family, and Grandma took over with us kids. When Diana left, it would have been worse for us to go with her.” She smiled. “Dad tried to play fair, even said he admired Diana for her selflessness. But I know he’s bitter, too, th
at she wasn’t stronger.”
“You call her Diana.”
“Yeah, so does Nicky.”
“Why?”
“We stopped visiting her regularly when I was about thirteen, and for some reason, we stopped calling her Mom then, too. Tony still does, though.” When he didn’t respond, Francey added, “Diana calls me Francesca, like you do.”
He looked at her blankly. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“No, after Diana left, my name got shortened to “Francey.”
“I didn’t realize. You’d told me Francesca when we first met.” After a moment he asked, “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.” In truth, the way the soft syllables rolled off his tongue sounded masculine as hell.
Unexpectedly, he stopped walking, reached over and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. The touch was butterfly-light and she felt the sensations right to her toes. “I can see where a little girl growing up without her mother might not have understood all of what happened.”
“Yeah, I guess. But I wasn’t Orphan Annie, Alex. I had a wonderful childhood. Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“I’m sorry you had that pain in your life, Francesca, that’s all.”
Francey gulped. Alex Templeton was a lethal weapon. Lethally good-looking, sure, but the understanding in his eyes was far, far sexier. And more dangerous. “My parents’ divorce is why I can’t start anything with you. We’re too different. You’d have problems accepting my job—both the danger and the lifestyle.”
“So you’ll never marry.”
“I probably will. But to someone who understands my world.” She smiled. “I’m sorry. It would have been…nice.”
His chuckle was very male, very confident. “Oh, baby, it would have been a hell of a lot more than nice.”
That one remark, and the raw, husky way he said the words, curled though her like a sip of good whiskey. She was tempted to take back her refusal to see him, tempted to throw caution to the wind that rumpled his hair. She thought of his big hands doing up her zipper and the jolt of awareness that shot through her when his knuckles brushed her breasts. For a brief moment, she knew exactly what made her mother marry her father.
But Francey had always been practical. “Yeah, I guess it would have been more than nice.”