As she started to fall backward, he caught her by the shoulders. She clutched at his upper arms, which felt hard as rocks under his black jacket. The smell of pure, manly male—car grease and leather and open road and something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on—went straight to her head. A liquid thrill shot through the rest of her body.
Oh my! Duncan’s presence never made her lightheaded like this. She inhaled a deep breath, her eyes closing partway so she could savor the scent.
“Sorry,” he murmured. But he didn’t look sorry. He looked . . . hungry. His head dipped lower, so she got a good, close look at his eyes. They . . . well, they smoldered, there was no other word for it. The intensity in his expression sent another shock of heat blasting through her system. She felt her lips part as she swayed toward him. What would it be like to feel his mouth on hers, taste the essence of Kirk, the power of him? She caught her breath, her lips tingling in anticipation, her body vibrating with one thought, one urge . . . and then . . .
She sneezed. Repeatedly. Helplessly.
Suddenly she realized what that other smell was, the one she couldn’t quite identify.
Dog.
Chapter Three
* * *
PETE COULDN’T BELIEVE his luck. Good and bad. First there was the good luck of finding Hagrid and the warehouse he called home. Then there was the bad luck that poor Hagrid was starving, so that meant Pete had to keep riding out there and giving him food. Then the good luck of the motorcycle. A motorcycle! If that didn’t prove that some magic was working—Hagrid, plus a motorcycle—what would? Even better luck, the motorcycle came attached to a really cool guy who let him work on the bike. Even ride it. But that was part of the terrible luck of forgetting to pay attention to the time. That wasn’t luck, exactly, but still.
And now, the ultimate bad luck. His mother’s sneezing fit meant that Kirk had taken off in a hurry, Pete had been plunged into a long, soapy bath, and he’d now been banned from ever going near Hagrid again.
Right. As if that would fly. Hagrid needed him.
The next day, his mother drove him to school, shooting him stern glances every couple minutes. Generally speaking, his mom was pretty cool. She was fun and listened to him and didn’t get too cuddly at embarrassing moments. If not for Duncan and her dog allergy, she’d be perfect.
“I expect you at the café right after school today.”
“Yes, Mom,” he said dutifully. No problem. He could leave school early and ride out to feed Hagrid. Besides, his mother had a shaky concept of time. She’d never notice if he was a little late.
“Do you think he likes banana bread better or brownies?”
“Huh?” Pete was used to his mother’s random changes of subject, but he couldn’t follow this one.
“Kirk. The fireman.” He peered up at her, noticing the pink tint of her cheeks. “I feel bad for yelling at him like that. I should apologize.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Kirk’s cool.”
“He is?” Her voice sounded odd. He didn’t want her to think anything bad about Kirk, so he rushed on.
“He’s the coolest guy I ever met. His favorite Harry Potter character is Hagrid too. And he thinks soccer is boring compared to rugby. He played rugby in college and broke his nose three times. And his arm. Next year I’m going to sign up for rugby.”
His mother seemed to choke.
“I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he added hastily, remembering she had some say in the matter as well.
“Do they even have rugby for fifth graders?”
“Huh? I’ll ask Kirk. He’d know. He knows a lot.”
“That’s funny. He’s always so quiet.”
Pete blinked in amazement. He and Kirk had talked the entire time they’d hung out together. Or at least, he had. He shrugged it off. “Nah, he’s cool. Fun to talk to. Not like Dumbo Duncan. You would’ve seen if only you weren’t sneezing so much.”
His mom made that choking sound again. “Anyway,” she said, “it’s not going to come up. No more hanging out at that warehouse. No more dog. And I’ll know. The nose never lies.”
“Of course, Mom.”
Good thing he had a plan.
WHEN PETE DIDN’T show up at the café as commanded, Maribel’s already marginal efficiency vanished. She couldn’t concentrate on burgers and fries when all her focus was on the street outside. Where was her little boy? And where were the firemen? If Kirk appeared, she could find out where the warehouse was and track down her son. She didn’t doubt for a minute that’s where he was. She’d recognized that innocent look on his face.
Finally, around five in the evening, Mrs. Gund took mercy on her and told her to leave early and go find Pete. She fled the café, jumping into her car without even bothering to take off her apron. She drove straight to San Gabriel Fire Station 1, the squat brick building in the next neighborhood over. She recognized it from the various TV reports about the Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel. Just down the street was a busy Starbucks; she wondered vaguely why they came all the way to the Lazy Daisy for their coffee.
She spotted Kirk’s Harley in the parking lot, which sent a wave of worry through her. If Pete was at an abandoned warehouse, she’d rather he be accompanied by a strong, capable fireman. By the time she’d found the side door that led into a garage filled with shiny fire engines, hurried down a long corridor lined with cell-like bedrooms, and burst into a living-room area where firefighters were gathered around a long table littered with official-looking pieces of paper, her heart was about to jump out of her chest.
“Excuse me. Hello. I’m looking . . .” Her breath ran out. She panted, desperately surveying the assembled men. And woman.
A lovely green-eyed woman with her hair in a braid down her back rose to her feet. “Are you okay?”
“That’s Maribel. Thor’s Maribel.” Vader goggled at her, as if completely discombobulated by her appearance. “You still have your apron on.”
Maribel looked down at her apron, utterly confused. Had he said “Thor’s Maribel”?
“Thor!” Ryan called. “Get out here!”
A door opened and Kirk walked out, still fastening his belt. He stopped dead at the sight of her and said, incredulously, “Maribel?” And then, “What’s wrong? Is Pete okay?”
Whatever progress she’d made in her attempt to catch her breath disappeared. He was so damn sexy in his uniform, so fit and sturdy. But the best part was the look in his sagebrush eyes. They were wide with concern, exactly mirroring the worry in her heart. Instantly, magically, she felt less alone.
“He didn’t come to the café the way he was supposed to, and I don’t know where that warehouse is, and I’m sure he went there even though I told him not to, and I kind of hoped you were with him even though then I’d have to kill you both, but you’re here and . . .” She stopped, gasping for breath.
Kirk stepped to her side and took her elbow. His touch was firm and infinitely reassuring. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He turned to a stern-faced man rising at one end of the table. Maribel recognized those remarkable charcoal eyes from the TV reports on the Bachelor Firemen. “Captain Brody, can I run her down to Highway 90?”
“That’s okay,” Maribel protested. “I don’t mean to take you away from your job. Just tell me where it is. I can find it.”
Kirk shook his head. “It’s a bit out of the way. Not too easy to describe.”
Captain Brody came toward them, examining Maribel closely. She nearly took a step back, but felt Kirk’s hand squeeze her elbow.
“Captain, I know this isn’t a fire, but don’t you guys get cats down from trees and that sort of thing? There’s a dog out there too, even though he probably isn’t in a tree. And who knows what chemicals are at that warehouse? A fire could start . . .” She broke off, swallowing hard. Her attempt to win Brody’s consent was backfiring on her, her imagination exploding with all the things that could go wrong.
“Take the plug buggy,” said Captain Brody.
“Kirk, you can go over the training bulletin later. And keep your phone on.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, thank you,” said Maribel. As Kirk guided her out of the room, she asked, over her shoulder, “Do you guys like peanut butter fudge? Or I make these really cute puppets from gloves. I call them FingerBabies . . .”
“You can never go wrong with chocolate chip cookies,” said Kirk, using his strong grip to navigate her past the fire engines in the garage. “But don’t worry. Rescuing damsels in distress is right up our alley. We’re supposed to rescue at least one a week.”
“Really?” She looked up at him, noticing the curl at the corner of his mouth, the secret smile she’d always known had lurked there. It was just as endearing as she’d imagined. “Oh! You’re joking.”
“You sound surprised.” He opened the door to a tidy red pickup truck and ushered her into the passenger seat. “Meet the plug buggy. Firehouse truck.” Quickly, he jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.
“Well, at the café you don’t say a whole lot,” said Maribel, returning to the intriguing topic of Kirk’s little joke. “It’s mostly ‘coffee, black,’ and honestly, by now I know that’s how you like your coffee. You don’t even have to say that. But it’s fine when you do,” she added quickly. “I like it when you do.”
He gave her a sidelong, quizzical look. Instantly her face grew warm. She pressed the back of her hand across her cheek, remembering that almost-kiss from last night. At least, she’d seen it as an almost-kiss. He probably couldn’t get past the sneezing.
It occurred to her, with embarrassing timing, that she had a crush on Kirk. She went even redder.
“I guess I don’t generally say a whole lot,” Kirk admitted, looking uncomfortable. “But the other guys make up for it. Hard to get a word in edgewise sometimes.”
“I guess that explains it. Besides, you probably say more to people who aren’t waiting on you.” She offered him a cheery smile. “I mean, there’s not really much to say to your waitress, I suppose. Other than ‘Coffee, black.’ Although I do wonder why you don’t mention our muffins occasionally. They’re really good, you know. But you must have someone making muffins for you. Like, you know, a . . .”
“I don’t,” he said flatly. “No wife. No girlfriend. If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Really?” If her face were any more red, she’d be a strawberry. Of course she’d been asking him that—in the clumsiest possible way.
They drove over a pothole. She bumped against him as they landed. Her arm tingled even though she hadn’t actually touched his skin. “But you’re so . . . you must have girls . . . is it the Bachelor Curse?” Rumor had it the San Gabriel firehouse was cursed, so its inordinately handsome crew had a rough time in the romance department.
A smile touched his lips. She wanted to touch them too. Very badly.
“Don’t know about that,” he said. “It’s more of a . . . well . . . it’s hard to explain.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to.” Despite herself, disappointment swamped her. She really wanted to know Kirk better. Something lurked behind that silent exterior, something intriguing. But it was hard to pry information out of him. Kind of the opposite of Duncan, who could fill an entire long weekend with anecdotes about photo shoots with Christina Aguilera. “We can stick to ‘coffee, black.’” She gazed out the window, trying not to feel hurt. She was being ridiculous anyway. What did a motorcycle-riding fireman and a wannabe-photographer waitress have in common?
KIRK GRIPPED THE steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He’d offended her somehow. Her lovely face had gone closed and stiff. She was no longer chattering about muffins and girlfriends. She propped her elbow on the car door and rested her head on her hand. Her red hair glowed ruby in the twilight, the last rays of the sun turning her skin a vibrant gold. He couldn’t believe she was sitting right next to him, like a fantasy come to life, even down to the apron that occasionally turned up in his nighttime yearnings.
What had he said wrong, and how could he fix it? They’d almost reached Highway 90. Shortly they’d arrive at the warehouse and the moment would be gone. Just like the guys said, he should tell her the real reason he went so tongue-tied in her presence. The reason he stuck to “coffee, black” and was damn proud he got that out. If he didn’t say anything, she’d continue to think he didn’t care to converse with her, or that he saw her only as a food deliverer and nothing more.
“It’s not that,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s more like . . . a sort of situation.” He winced. A situation? What the hell?
She looked confused. “What kind of situation?”
“Situation’s the wrong word. More of a . . . reaction. A strong reaction. When I . . . well . . .” Damn, this was hard. How could he possibly explain that he’d tried dating other women but kept thinking about her, and that he tended to go mute and awkward in her presence? But that was just part of the story. The rest of it . . . he couldn’t tell her that either, she might feel sorry for him or see him as weak. But the expression on her face—wary, trembling on the edge of hurt—reeled him in like a hooked flounder.
“I had skin cancer,” he blurted. “Stage Three.”
She whirled in his direction. “What?”
Oh lord, now he’d made everything worse. He should have just told her he had a crush on her. No going back now. “I have skin cancer,” he corrected himself. “I went through treatment. It might be gone. But there’s always a chance it could come back.”
“Skin cancer,” she repeated softly. “Is that why you were gone? You didn’t come to the café for a while.”
The fact that she’d noticed his absence made him want to crow like a strutting rooster. He tamped down that entirely inappropriate reaction. “Yes. I couldn’t work when I was on chemo. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. But I’m back now.” Not for long, but he didn’t want to tell her that. At least not yet.
She put her hand on his forearm. His muscles tensed at her touch. He wanted to look at her, see how she was reacting to his revelation, but instead he stared at the road ahead. Only a few miles to Gonzalez’s now. Way to ruin the mood, asshole, he lectured himself.
“I’m so glad you’re okay now. I wish I’d known. I would have sent you a card or visited you in the hospital.” A card. If she had any idea how many times he would have read anything she sent him. She could send her electric bill and he’d pore over it looking for doodles.
“That’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to worry. Or anyone else. That’s why . . .”
“That’s why you don’t have a girlfriend,” she finished for him. “Because you wouldn’t want her worrying about you?”
“Right. But more than that. I wouldn’t want to make things hard on her. You can’t be much of a partner if you’re sick all the time.”
Maribel was shaking her head back and forth. Every time she did so, another strand of tempting Titian silk strayed from her ponytail. His fingers itched to tuck them back behind her ears. “But that’s so wrong.”
“I don’t want anyone’s life complicated because of me. The guys at the firehouse were great. They really came through for me. But the girl I was sort of dating, well, it didn’t work out.”
“She must not have really loved you.”
Hearing the word “love” from her mouth gave him a bittersweet shock. If she loved him, he’d be able to lift apartment buildings with one hand, jump to the moon, swim to the stars. But she was engaged. And thought of him as a taciturn occasional customer.
“I’m a firefighter. I watch out for people. Rescue damsels in distress.” He tried for a wink, though it came out more as a grimace. “Not the other way around.”
“Kirk! You have it all wrong.” Her forceful tone gave him a start. “Just look at me.”
He took that as an invitation to stare at her, even though she clearly meant it metaphorically. “I’m looking.”
“I mean, look at me freak
ing out about Pete. I’m worried, right?”
“Yes, but you shouldn’t be. He’s okay, especially if he’s with Hagrid. That dog’s a lot tougher than he looks. I hung out there working on my motorcycle and no one showed up all day. Just Pete, me, and Hagrid. Believe me, I won’t let anything happen to Pete. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes and you’ll see.”
He turned onto the winding road that led to the warehouse.
“That’s not the point!” She bounced on the seat in frustration. “I’m worried, but I don’t mind being worried. I mean, I mind to the extent that I’m going to be pretty darn pissed at that kid and he’s going to know it. Consequence city.”
“Give him a break. He really cares about that dog.”
“Forget the darn dog!” Surprised by her intensity, Kirk screeched to a halt outside the warehouse. Pete’s blue Schwinn was right where it always was, and he heard Hagrid bark from inside the building. “It’s not the end of the world to worry about someone. I’d rather have someone to worry about than never worry again. If you want to worry about something, worry about why you don’t have anyone to worry about you! Except now you do.”
“What?”
“Me, you goof. I’m going to worry about you no matter what you say. I don’t care if you’re a big strong fireman who rescues people with his bare hands. Why should that mean you don’t deserve someone to worry about you? Well, you do. And I do. So there.”
With an emphatic nod of her head, she hopped out of the plug buggy. Kirk rubbed the back of his neck. That conversation was going to take a lot of sorting through. Later, after they’d found Pete. But for now, he kept hearing those two words, “I do,” echo through his brain.
God, he was such a hopeless fool.
Chapter Four
One Fine Fireman Page 3