by Kathryn Shay
The memory spurred her to hurry out and flee down the stairs. She yanked open the front door and stepped onto the porch, then stopped when she got to the railing, leaned on it and took in a deep breath.
She felt a strong hand grip her arm.
Ben said. “I want to talk to you.”
oOo
Ben held on tight to Diana. She’d put on a little weight over the years. Unfortunately, he always liked her best when she’d been well-rounded, the way she got during and after a pregnancy—and now.
She pivoted and gazed at him, those violet eyes wide and surprised. “About what?”
Slowly he eased his grip on her and dropped his hand. She stepped back, and the distancing gesture made him angry. He remembered when she used to try to crawl inside his skin. “That was a pretty chummy scene I walked into. What are you up to?”
“Up to?” Her voice had turned cold, something else he hated.
“Yeah, up to. What do you want from us?”
Diana adjusted the strap of her purse over her shoulder, then tossed her head. She reminded Ben of a probie gathering his courage to face a fire. “I don’t want anything from you, Ben. Except maybe some forgiveness. My children are another story.”
“What do you want from them?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted. To be part of their lives.”
“Yeah, well, are you sticking around this time?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, sweetheart, that the last time you said that, I let Francey visit you, encouraged her to build some kind of relationship with you, and she got hurt.”
He could still see his daughter at thirteen, teary-eyed and trembling, getting off the plane. I don’t want to go back, Dad. Please don’t make me.
“Things were working until she refused to come visit.”
“And why was that?”
Diana’s shoulders slumped. He had her cornered, and he knew it. She swallowed hard. “Because of Elise. I couldn’t control that, Ben.”
The catch in her voice defused his anger. He leaned against a porch pillar. His ex-wife looked at him with those kiss-me-senseless eyes and that don’t-be-mad expression that had always won arguments quicker than any words. “I know, Dee.”
The wind picked up and whipped the scarf she’d looped around her neck into her face. The material looked silky and smooth, just like her skin. He stared at her throat a minute. Which was a mistake, because he was bombarded by memories of planting kisses up and down it.
“Listen, I can handle you seeing her, like you do Tony. It’s probably good for Francey to have some sort of mother-daughter relationship with you.” He hesitated, then added, “I think Nicky’s another story. You’ll never get through to him.”
Diana raised her chin. “I’m not giving up on either one of them.”
“All right. Just don’t encourage Francey with this Templeton thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guy’s sniffing after her big time. Pulling out all the stops. I don’t want her to get ideas about a romance between them. So don’t go telling her he’s got good taste or he’s a nice guy.”
“He is.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
She arched a brow.
“Goddamn it, Diana. Don’t you see what could happen here?”
“Francesca could fall in love and live happily ever after.”
“What the hell’s the matter with you? There’s no happily ever after. Especially not between two people who are so different.” He reached out, grasped the ends of her scarf and pulled her closer. “Or have you forgotten?”
He expected her to cower.
She didn’t.
Instead, she lifted her hand and ran her palm down his cheek. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
He wanted to lean into her touch, let her soothe away all the years of loneliness. Because of that, he summoned images he knew would stop him—Francey getting her period, and how he stumbled through the whole thing; shopping for her first prom dress and having no idea what was too old for her; watching her graduate from the fire academy without a wife by his side.
He yanked on the scarf. “You better remember it all, Mrs. Hathaway. Because we gave each other nothing but grief. We paid a high price for being hot for each other, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let my daughter make the same mistake.” He let Diana go.
Again she surprised him. She stepped back, and her gaze was confident. “Being married to you was the best part of my life, Ben. I was a fool to walk out on you. Especially since I worried about you, anyway. As far as Francesca is concerned, she’s a totally different person from either of us. She’s stronger than I ever was. And she’s more flexible than you were capable of being. If she wants a man who’s different from her, she’s woman enough to handle him. Even if I wasn’t.”
With that, his ex-wife turned and gracefully descended the steps. Ben watched her until she got into her black Mercedes and pulled out of the driveway.
A swift wave of sadness enveloped him. He sank onto the porch swing and buried his face in his hands. So much lost. He thought he’d gotten over her.
Apparently not.
oOo
If nothing else, Alex thought, knowing Francesca Cordaro was an exercise in humility. First she’d rejected his offer of a romantic relationship. Now she outshone him at the gym where he’d gone with her to work out three times this week. As he gulped for breath on the treadmill like an out-of-shape old man and struggled to keep his arms in motion, she did leg squats across the room. Forget about her broken arm, which peeked out from a ragged fire department T-shirt. She ran circles around anything he could do.
“Winded?”
Alex looked up to find Chelsea next to him. The gym owner wore snappy hot pink shorts and a matching tank top under a zippered sweatshirt emblazoned with The Weight Room logo. Francey had told him Chelsea gravitated toward unusual clothing. Though blondes weren’t his type, he could nonetheless appreciate her beauty.
“Yeah, I’m winded.” He scowled. “Still.”
“You can’t recoup quickly, Alex. Forgoing your exercise routine lost you a lot of stamina and quite a bit of strength.” She reached out and pinched his waist. “At least you didn’t go to flab,” she added, smiling to take the sting out of her words.
He’d come to like Chelsea the few times they’d met. She was a serious and sensible trainer and set up a practical but demanding program for him; he’d followed all her advice.
Why wouldn’t he? She was in great shape. Francesca said
Chelsea was a competitive weight lifter, and her lithe muscles attested to that. Hell, was everybody Francesca knew in terrific shape? A few of the male firefighters also came to this gym to work out, and they made Alex feel like a slug.
Across the room, Francesca finished the squats and sat at the universal to do leg raises. She handled the weights like they were toys.
“How much can she do on that one?” Alex winced at his petulant tone.
Chelsea bit back a smile. “About one-fifty.”
He shook his head.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
Tearing his eyes away from Francesca’s nicely muscled thighs, Alex looked at Chelsea. “Of course.”
“Are you serious about this friendship thing with her?”
“Absolutely.” He cocked his head. “Why?”
Chelsea shrugged. “Because sometimes you look at her like you want to eat her up.”
“Sometimes I want to,” he said lightly. “But she’s not interested. So I’m settling for friends.”
“I’d hate to see her get hurt.”
“How could I hurt her?”
“It has something to do with the way she looks at you, too.”
Alex slowed his pace on the treadmill, feeling the sweat soak through his T-shirt. “Chelsea, Francesca and I have both admitted to the attraction between us. She’s against pursuing that kind of relationship. I think we’r
e both bound to wish the circumstances were different, but I don’t want to give her up because of something that might happen.”
Chelsea nodded, watching Francesca’s face redden. “No more than twenty, Cordaro,” she yelled across the room. “You’ve only been back a week.”
Francesca saluted Chelsea like an obedient soldier and smiled at Alex. His heart rate spiked over the target Chelsea had set for him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think she’s right? To shy away from anything more than friendship with me?”
“For her she is. Francey was devastated by her mother leaving. And, if you ask me, Ben Cordaro still suffers over the split. I don’t blame Francey for avoiding a similar heartbreak.” She smiled at Alex, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’d go for it, though.”
“Why?”
“Life’s too short to be so cautious. As a firefighter, I’ve learned that.” Her gaze was snagged by another customer. “Oops, I’d better go help Esmerelda. She’s got the wrong weight. See you later, Alex.”
Alex wound down his treadmill stint, dismounted the equipment and crossed to Francesca, who’d just finished her leg raises.
“Hi.” She grunted out the word.
“Hi.”
Sweat trickled down her cheek. She’d tied her hair in some kind of knot, but several strands had come loose and framed her lovely face. He looked away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. But could you go to the other side of the room while I do the bench press?”
She chuckled. “Alex, you’re not still upset that I can lift more weight than you, are you?”
“Fifty pounds more.”
Reaching out, she tweaked his arm. “Hey, you’ll get there. Dylan can bench more than me now.”
Dylan, again. “Is there anything Dylan can’t do?” he asked irritably, stretching out on the bench.
She grinned and lifted her eyebrows. “According to the women he dates, there isn’t.” She scanned Alex’s supine body. “I imagine you could keep up with him just fine in that department.”
“Now, Francesca,” he said, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through him at the compliment, “rule number two…”
“Of course, I forgot myself,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the treadmill.
Twenty minutes later she was covered with perspiration and chatting with Esmerelda, who’d come to use the machine next to hers. Alex was about done with his workout, so he wandered over to them. The two women were deep in conversation. He plucked a free weight from a rack behind the machines and halfheartedly attempted some bicep curls as he eavesdropped.
“It ticks me off that they can eat so much and not gain an ounce.” Esmerelda’s face was beet red.
“Slow down, Ezzy. Yeah, it ticks me off, too.”
“Women have it tough in every way.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Esmerelda eyeing Francey’s body. “Don’t you get tired of eating salad and yogurt just to look like you do?”
“Uh-huh.”
Alex dropped the barbell, and it clanged against the other weights. Francey glanced at him. The conspiratorial wink she gave him made him smile. She turned to her friend. “But, Ezzy, I don’t watch what I eat to look like this. I do it for my health, not vanity.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve said that before.”
“You’re doing great on this program. But this should be for yourself, not for how you look to others.”
Alex wiped his face with the towel he’d roped around his neck. He crossed to the women. “I’m heading for the showers. You almost done?”
Francey nudged his shoulder with hers. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at the desk in ten minutes.”
Alex ambled off toward the men’s locker room. For the first time since he’d asked Francesca to be friends, he wondered if he could hold up his end of the deal. Something inside him had shifted when he’d heard her lie outright to Esmerelda just to make the overweight woman feel better. Francesca was beautiful on the outside, but more importantly on the inside, where it counted.
He was startled at the strange sensation he felt in his belly. The longing to have more from her than friendship was painful. He hadn’t bargained on that. He hadn’t foreseen that. Probably because the emotion had never happened to him. All his life, he’d rarely hurt for something he couldn’t have, because he usually got what he wanted.
Maybe he needed a date, he thought as he opened the locker-room door. His accountant had been showing a lot of interest in him these days. Maybe now was the time to try to get his mind off the beautiful firefighter who’d saved his life.
Alex wasn’t a masochist, and he didn’t like the pain he experienced tonight at all.
oOo
Francey swung her pickup truck into the parking lot of Pumpers and let the engine idle for a minute. There’d been an odd sound in it since she’d left The Weight Room. She smoothed her hand over the restored leather interior of the Red Devil, as she’d dubbed her truck because the tag was what firefighters called a fire. “Come on, baby, stop making that sound. I can’t work on you with this arm.”
The truck quieted, and Francey sighed. She switched off the engine and silence surrounded her. But she didn’t get out of the cab immediately. Instead, she laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, thinking about Alex.
She’d come out of the locker room to find him helping Esmerelda into her coat…
“Do you really mean that, Alex?” Esmerelda asked him.
“Of course I do. I told you we’re looking into new cafeteria facilities for my company.” He’d pulled out his wallet, withdrawn a business card and handed it to her. “Call me.”
Esmerelda flushed. “All right. Thank you.”
Francey had grasped his arm and leaned close for a minute as they walked out of the gym together. “That was nice of you.”
He peered down at her. “Why? I am thinking about revamping the food service at Templeton Industries.”
“You made her night. She was practically swooning at your feet.”
“I hardly notice when women do that anymore,” he said dryly.
Francey bet women did swoon over Alex. As they stood by their cars, his hair damp, his cheeks ruddy from working out, a dark green thermal shirt peeking out from under a light jacket, he looked healthy and very male. “Watch it. There won’t be room for you and your ego in your Porsche.”
He smiled, but the smile was tinged with melancholy.
She said, “Are you all right?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to stop at Pumpers. Want to come?”
“Pumpers?”
“It’s a bar about three blocks from here.”
“Don’t tell me, it’s a firefighters’ bar.”
“How’d you guess?”
Again he smiled with the same sad tone.
“I’ll buy you a beer,” she said.
“I don’t drink beer.”
“Ah, well, nobody’s perfect. I could probably spring for a—what? Jack Daniel’s?”
“Johnny Walker.”
“Okay, I’ll buy you a Scotch.”
“No, I don’t think so.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got some calls to make.”
“At nine o’clock at night? A little late for business.”
His gaze sober, he reached over and snapped the top two buttons on her jacket. “Who said it was business?”
Her heart lurched a little. “A date?”
“I think rule number five should be that we don’t share details of our love lives.”
She’d ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach and swallowed hard. “Oh, sure. Okay…”
“He’s calling a woman right now,” she said aloud into the interior of her truck. “I wonder if it’s Miss America.” The thought of Alex with Elise made her want to puke, so she shoved the image away. Like most firefighters, Francey was very good at blocking things. She’d done it all her life. She repressed
the pain of growing up motherless. Of losing a victim in a fire. Some things shouldn’t be dwelled on.
Exiting the truck, she made her way into Pumpers. Long and narrow, it was a neat little bar. Pictures and fire memorabilia covered every inch of the walls. Francey’s recruit-class photo was on the left near the doorway, and one of Dylan’s many commendations was framed above one of the booths. Laminated newspaper articles were scattered throughout. The owner, Jimmy McKenna, mopped up the long mahogany bar. He kept the place as spotless as the firehouse he once worked in.
At the end of the bar, her father sat on a stool talking to Jake Scarlatta. She made her way toward them. “I’m glad this year’s recruit class at the academy is almost over,” she heard her father tell Jake. “It’s been a tough one.”
“Like you always said, if you didn’t want a recruit at Francey’s back, then he shouldn’t graduate the academy.”
“Talking about me?”
Her father swiveled and Jake smiled at her. She gave Ben a peck on the cheek.
His face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot; he was more dressed up than usual, in a navy sports coat and gray slacks. Jake wore a casual taupe linen blazer over a brown T-shirt and slacks. “Going somewhere, you two?”
“We just got back from Jessie’s concert,” Jake told her. After Jake’s divorce five years ago, he’d gotten joint custody of his daughter, Jessica, and moved back into his childhood home next door to the Cordaros. Jessie spent more time there than with his fussy ex-wife. She was a bright spot in Jake’s life, just as Francey was in Ben’s.
Francey glanced at the drinks on the bar. Each man had a beer in front of him. Next to her father’s was an upside-down shot glass. “Hitting the hard stuff, Dad?
“Just a couple.”
Her gaze snapped to Jake, who shrugged like an innocent bystander. “I’m driving,” was all he said.
Francey dropped down on the stool next to her dad. They made small talk and after a few minutes, Jake stood. “There’s Joey. I need to talk to him about something.” He picked up his beer, squeezed Francey’s shoulder and left the Cordaros alone.
For a moment Francey stared at her father, the person she loved more than anyone in the world. “You okay, Dad?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”