Love Unleashed

by Diane Kelly

Blast wagged his tail and lowered his head to sniff the puppy’s snout. The puppy danced around on her hind legs, licking at Blast’s mouth, a sign of friendliness and submission. It was no surprise she’d approach the dog first. She probably realized it was one of her kind. Maybe she thought he could help her.

  Lieutenant Rutledge looked down. “Where’d you come from?” As he bent down to touch the pup, it issued one last yip, scampered across the grass, and disappeared into the bushes.

  “Stay here!” I told my class as I rushed after the dog. I scurried over to the bushes, hoping to catch the stray. It wasn’t safe for the little thing to be roaming the streets. It could get hit by a car or fall into a sewer drain. “Here, puppy!” I called into the foliage. “Here puppy-puppy!”

  Flashes of white and black showed among the bushes as it ran behind them along the wall.

  I ran after it. “Wait up, you little stinker!”

  But the dog was too fast, too determined not to be caught. She took off running across the back parking lot and onto the playground. I ran after her but quickly lost ground. The sound of pounding footsteps came from behind me and Louie shot past, going after the dog.

  My heart soared. Not only did he fight fires and rescue people, he was helping to rescue this little lost dog as well. His capacity for compassion seemed boundless.

  He gained on her and reached down. She looked over her shoulder, spotted the big man on her heels who was about to grab her, and burst ahead in panic. Darn it!

  Louie had just about caught the little pup again when she reached the back fence that surrounded the playground and wriggled underneath it, her little spotted bum there one minute and gone the next. She was quite an escape artist.

  Panting, I caught up with Louie, who’d pulled himself up to peer over the fence.

  He shook his head. “I’ve never seen such a little dog run so fast!”

  “Me, neither.” I bent over, hands on my knees, and gulped in air, looking up at him. “She must be scared.” Gulp. “Can you tell where she went?”

  “No,” he said, coming down off the fence. “She took off like a rocket. But I’ll drive my truck around. Maybe Frankie and I will spot her.”

  What a sweetheart! Having mostly caught my breath, I stood. “That would be great. I saw her earlier this morning and I’ve been worried about her. She must be lost.”

  As Louie and I hurried back to the group, his radio came to life, dispatch informing him that he and his truck were needed at a restaurant fire. He pushed the button to speak. “On our way.”

  So much for his trying to catch the dog.

  He cut his eyes my way. “Sorry I can’t stay and look for her.”

  “I understand. Duty calls. I’ll try animal control. Maybe they’ll find her.”

  We reached the parking lot to find Seth at the wheel of his truck, Frankie at the wheel of the ladder truck, and Harrison in the driver’s seat of the ambulance. Their lights were on and engines running. The teachers had moved all of the kids back onto the sidewalks and grass where they would be out of the way.

  Louie hopped into the truck. Before closing the door he cast one final smile my way. “This was a great morning. Good-bye, Miss Bellingham.”

  All I could do was raise a hand and stand there while his truck pulled out, taking my heart with it.

  Chapter Eight: Bad Timing

  Louie

  Dammit! The little pup had given me the chance to grab some quick alone time with the irresistibly cute Miss Bellingham, and the radio had gone off. Just my luck.

  The restaurant fire ended up being no big deal, a small fire caused by a malfunctioning waffle iron left plugged in and unattended after the morning breakfast rush. Heck, the cook had put the flames out with a fire extinguisher by the time we arrived. The damage was contained to a corner of the kitchen. I supposed that was a good thing, but it rankled. I’d felt an undeniable chemistry with the colorful Miss Bellingham and would have enjoyed another minute or two—or several hours—of her company.

  Back at the station, we took off our gear and hung it up, going about our assigned duties. Frankie mopped the locker room while Seth cleaned the windows. As for me, I was on kitchen duty.

  Cooking was my favorite non-firefighting task. My parents had been born and raised in Brindisi, Italy, which sat on the country’s southeastern coast. Both loved the food of their homeland. They’d arrived in America as newlyweds in their early twenties. All they had to their name was a few hundred dollars, a battered suitcase, and their family’s recipes. There were no SpaghettiO’s or Chef Boyardee at our house growing up, only traditional Italian fare made from scratch. My parents made sure my brother and I learned not only to appreciate good pasta, but to prepare it as well. “One day,” Mama always said, “some woman is going to thank me for teaching you to cook.”

  So far, the only people to show appreciation for my cooking were my fellow firefighters. The last girl I’d dated had refused to try my lasagna. She didn’t “do carbs.” What the hell? How a person could survive without noodles or garlic bread was beyond me. Clearly, we weren’t a good fit. Besides, anyone who’d forgo good Italian food had something wrong in the head.

  I gathered the ingredients for the sauce and heated them in a large pot, sprinkling in cinnamon, stirring and tasting, stirring and tasting until it was just right. While the sauce simmered, I boiled the noodles. When everything was ready, I layered the ingredients in two large casserole pans and placed them in the oven.

  While the lasagna baked, I had a few free minutes to do some online snooping, find out more about Jessica Bellingham. I rounded up my laptop, took a seat at one of the tables, and logged on to the internet.

  The elementary school’s website didn’t tell me much other than identifying her as one of their kindergarten teachers and providing an e-mail address. While the contact information could come in handy later, first I needed to determine whether she was available. Though I’d sensed some interest on her part, I might have been mistaken. Or, even if she’d felt that pull of potential romance, she might be in a committed relationship and off the market. If she were, though, the commitment didn’t seem to have yet led to an engagement. I’d spotted no ring on her finger. As they say, all’s fair in love and war. She seemed like the kind of woman worth going to battle over.

  Next, I searched for her on Facebook. Given that most of the known world had Facebook accounts, I had to scan over the list of people who shared her name to determine which one was her. Her profile pic was cute, a snapshot of her wearing a beret and holding an artist’s palette and paintbrush aloft. Hmm. So she’s into painting, huh? Her relationship status read single. Exactly what I’d been hoping to find. I threw a victorious fist in the air.

  “Spying on that pretty kindergarten teacher?”

  Shit. I hadn’t heard Seth come in. MacIntyre, a stocky, ginger-haired EMT, had followed him into the kitchen.

  “Teacher?” MacIntyre repeated. “You meet some sweet young thing at the school this morning, huh, DeLuca? Hoping she’ll keep you after class so you can pound her erasers?”

  Okay, yeah. Truth be told, the thought of pounding Jessica’s erasers had crossed my mind. Still, I didn’t like Mac speaking so crudely about her. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Mac. She was pretty, that’s all.” I closed my laptop and returned to the counter to begin chopping olives, tomatoes, and pepperoncini for a salad. Seth and Mac grabbed a couple of sports drinks from the fridge and left the room.

  Alone again, I debated my next move as I chopped the vegetables. Given that I’d met her while on the job, any move I made could reflect on the Fort Worth Fire Department. I had to tread lightly here. Should I try to friend her on Facebook, or would that be too much too fast? I supposed I could e-mail her at her work e-mail address. But would that be awkward? It would have been more simple and straightforward if I’d met her off-duty at a bar. Then, anything goes.

  I didn’t want to come on too strong, in case I was misreading things. After all, it was
possible, maybe even likely, that she was simply grateful for our service but felt no personal interest in me. On the other hand, if she was interested, I better strike while the iron was hot, so to speak. A few more days and she might forget all about me or meet someone else. For all I knew, she had some hunky cops lined up to speak to her class later in the week. One of those guys might sweep her off her feet.

  Hell if I’ll let that happen.

  Blast rose from his bed to get a drink from his bowl of water. Slup-slup-slup. “Hey, boy.” I reached down and scratched him behind the ears. As I did, I remembered the stray Dalmatian pup who’d led us on the chase across the playground.

  That little dog could be my ticket.

  Pulling out my cell phone, I looked up the number for animal control and dialed it. “I understand a call came in today about a black-and-white puppy running loose near the elementary school on the corner of College Avenue and Myrtle Streets. Can you tell me whether the dog was found?”

  The receptionist asked me to hold for a moment. Ironically, the song playing on the radio while I held was “Who Let the Dogs Out?” She returned to the line a minute or so later. “Nope. The notes in the file say that an animal control officer was dispatched but found no loose dog in the area.”

  “Thanks for the information.” I hung up the phone. Bingo! Or should I say B-I-N-G-O? That little dog was my in, my reason for returning to the school. Not only might I save the little ball of fur, but it would give me a reason to return to the area without seeming to be coming on too strong. Of course I wouldn’t be able to return to the school today since I was on duty, but tomorrow was my day off. When Jessica left the building tomorrow, she’d find me waiting for her.

  Chapter Nine: Gone Dog

  Jessica

  I felt an undeniable attraction to Lieutenant Louie DeLuca. Did he feel it, too? Or did he charm all women the way he’d charmed me? Was I reading too much into things? Was I trying to make something bigger out of what was nothing more than a surge of hormones at the sight of a beefy guy in uniform?

  Ugh. I had no idea. The only thing I knew for sure was that I’d love to see him again. I had a feeling he’d be an A+ lover. I wouldn’t mind offering him some extra credit. Too bad I don’t have the authority to order him to detention.

  Patricia and Tasha were right. It was time for me to stop being a wallflower and put myself back out there. I only hoped I wouldn’t get burned again.

  As the children worked at tracing the number seven on today’s handouts, I mulled things over. How could I finagle another face-to-face moment with the hot Italian firefighter?

  I could round up Shirazi and call in a report of a cat stuck in a tree. Of course I’d never actually put my cat in a tree where he might be injured trying to climb down. When the firefighters arrived, I’d tell them the cat had climbed down only seconds before. Of course this plan also posed the risks of false reporting. I also wasn’t sure my story would be convincing. Shirazi weighed a good sixteen pounds and didn’t look capable of getting his big fluffy butt up to even the lowest branch.

  What to do. What to do . . .

  Aha!

  If the children wrote thank-you notes to the firefighters, it would give me the perfect excuse to drop by the station to deliver them. Unfortunately, my students only knew the alphabet through the letter G. The only letter in “thank you” that they’d learned so far was the letter A. That wouldn’t get them far. But, as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words, right? They could make drawings as an expression of their gratitude.

  Once they’d all finished with their number tracings, I passed out white drawing paper. “Take out your crayons or colored pencils, everyone. The firefighters and paramedic who came to the school this morning to teach us about fire safety did a very nice thing for us. Let’s show them how thankful we are by drawing pictures for them.”

  While having the children spend twenty minutes on a drawing might not seem educational, they were learning a lesson in manners and working on their fine motor skills. My love for art was one of the reasons why I wanted to teach young ones. So much of what they needed to learn at this age—the alphabet, the numbers, motor and social skills—could be accomplished through some type of art.

  Marshall, a boy with good control of his hands and fingers but little imagination, looked up at me and blinked his blue eyes. “I don’t know what to draw.”

  I knelt down next to him. “Let’s think about the assembly,” I said. “What part did you like best?”

  He answered without hesitation. “I liked the dog best.”

  “Would you like to draw the dog, then?”

  He nodded and reached for a yellow crayon that approximated the color of the dog’s fur.

  I meandered around the classroom, offering encouragement, praise, and redirection to those distracted by the cardinal perched on the telephone pole outside or the faint shouts coming from the playground. “Let’s keep our eyes on our work, Nathan. Emily, you won’t finish if you don’t focus, okay?”

  Once everyone was on task, I returned to my desk where I used colored pencils to draw a quick cartoon caricature of the three firefighters, the paramedic, and Blast. Across the top I wrote: “Thanks for teaching our students about fire safety.” I signed the work with my usual flourish.

  The remainder of the day was uneventful, or as uneventful as a day ever is teaching kindergarten. There were the usual skinned knees on the playground, urgent requests for a potty pass, accusations of felony crayon theft. I eyed the clock repeatedly, willing the hands to move faster. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  Finally, the end-of-day bell rang. Unfortunately, I had bus duty so I had to spend another ten minutes making sure all of the children got on their buses as efficiently as possible. Hurry up, kiddos! I’ve got places to be and a sexy fireman to see! While I worked the bus line, I kept a close eye out for the Dalmation pup. It wouldn’t be safe for the little thing out here right now. But the dog remained out of sight.

  Once the last bus had pulled away from the curb, belching a small cloud of exhaust, I gathered up the drawings, tucked them in my tote bag, and headed to the fire station.

  My heart pounded as I pulled into the lot out front and took a parking spot next to a decades-old blue Chevy Nova with orange flames painted down the side. The license plates read KABOOM. Given the plates, my best guess was that the Nova belonged to Lieutenant Rutledge, the bomb squad officer. I wondered which of the other vehicles might belong to Louie. The silver pickup? The black Dodge Charger? The red Juke? I hadn’t noticed the vehicle he’d left the coffee shop in.

  I glanced over at the building. The large bay was open. Two people milled about inside, apparently checking inventory on one of the trucks. Neither was Louie.

  I turned off my engine and eyed myself in the rearview mirror. A mustache of nervous sweat had formed on my upper lip. Gee, that’s sexy. I grabbed a tissue from the box on the console and dabbed it away. Of course that’s when I noticed my hands were shaking. Coming here was a mistake. I’m not up to this. While I might be ready for dating—movies and dinners and visits to art museums—I was not ready for the intimacy that inevitably followed if there was a connection. I should leave while I still have the chance.

  But it was too late. Firefighter Kerrigan had wandered into the bay, spotted me sitting in my car, and was headed toward me.

  I rolled down my window and forced a smile, holding out the manila envelope that contained the children’s art and my doodle. “These are for all of you who came out today. They’re thank-you drawings from the students.”

  She took the envelope, opened the metal clasp, and pulled out the stack of papers. On top was Bethany’s drawing. It featured a blue-haired figure at the top of a ladder waving a hand.

  “Hey!” Frankie beamed. “That’s me!”

  “You made quite an impression. Three of the girls in my class have now abandoned their dreams of becoming princesses and plan to attend the fire academy.”

  Frankie
pumped a fist. “Yasss!”

  We shared a laugh.

  Frankie put a hand on my windowsill. “Got a minute to come into the station? You can help me hang these in the kitchen.”

  A flock of butterflies fluttered wildly in my belly at the thought of seeing Louie inside. But it would be rude to refuse to help her, wouldn’t it? “I’d be glad to,” I said, relieved that my voice didn’t betray my nervousness. I climbed out of the car and followed her into the station.

  As we passed the other members of their crew, Frankie provided quick introductions. I glanced surreptitiously around, but saw no sign of Louie. Was he holed up in an office somewhere filling out a report? Maybe in the shower, washing soot and ash from his hard-muscled body? There’s a pleasant image.

  But no. Louie was nowhere to be seen as Frankie led me into the kitchen. Blast lay on a doggie bed in the corner, softly snoring. Rutledge sat at a table, reading an issue of Hot Rod magazine and eating a slab of lasagna that looked and smelled delicious.

  As he looked up from the page, Frankie raised the envelope. “We’ve got fan mail.”

  Rutledge arched a brow in question and Frankie emptied the envelope onto the table in front of him. I helped her spread the drawings out, selecting one that featured Seth and Blast to hand to him.

  He took the picture and chuckled. While the young student deserved an A for effort, the proportions were all wrong, the dog towering over his handler and looking more like a Sasquatch than a Labrador retriever. “Can I keep this?” he asked.

  I nodded. “It’s all yours.”

  He stood and stepped over to the refrigerator, where he secured the drawing to the front with a trio of magnets. Not to be overshadowed, Frankie walked over and posted the drawing of her next to his.

  I picked up a drawing of Harrison holding a stethoscope, as well as one that depicted Louie wielding an axe. Braden had drawn the latter one, and for some reason he’d drawn blood dripping from the blade.

  “Here are drawings of the others,” I said, holding them out.