Love Unleashed

by Diane Kelly

  Frankie took them from me, looking down at the pages. “Yikes. Why’s there blood on the axe?”

  I shook my head. “Sometimes I worry about that kid.”

  “I wouldn’t turn my back on him if I were you.” She hung the two drawings on the fridge next to the others.

  I helped Frankie post the remaining drawings on the bulletin board next to a menu for a local pizza delivery place and a flyer for a band that was playing this Saturday at a local pub. They called themselves The Imitations and professed to “shamelessly cover disco, soul, funk, and R&B classics.” All the while I wondered where Louie might be in the building, whether we’d cross paths before I left. If we didn’t, this trip would have been for naught.

  When we finished hanging the pictures, Frankie offered to walk me out. As we headed toward the front doors, she said, “I can’t wait for Louie to get back. He’ll get a kick out of that axe-murderer drawing.”

  “He’s not here?”

  “No,” she said. “After he finished making the lasagna he went out for supplies.”

  Darn it! My timing stank.

  We parted ways outside the front door.

  I climbed into my car, closed the door, and sighed. So much for my plan to see Louie again. Looked like I might have to risk pulling an alarm after all.

  Chapter Ten: Close Call

  Louie

  I walked into the station, a large package of paper towels tucked under one arm, a bag of cleaning products in the other. When Frankie mentioned we were running low, I’d offered to make the run. Of course I’d taken advantage of the opportunity to drive by the elementary school. I’d hoped to catch Jessica as she left for the day. I’d been a few minutes too early, arriving just as the buses began to pull into the lot to pick up the kids. While I’d been tempted to park on one of the side streets until the traffic cleared out, I knew that a man hanging around a school alone could raise eyebrows. The last thing I wanted was a cop showing up and asking what I was up to. Sorry, officer. I have a hopeless crush on one of the kindergarten teachers. Pathetic, huh? Instead, I’d made a quick drive through the neighborhood to look for the spotted pup and continued on to the grocery store.

  As I slid the paper towels onto a shelf in the cleaning closet, Frankie ventured by. “You just missed her.”

  Missed her? “What are you talking about?”

  “Jessica Bellingham. She came by to drop off thank-you notes from her class.”

  Jessica had been here at the station? Damn! Damn! Damn!

  A knowing smile spread across Frankie’s face. “I told you those single teachers would be throwing themselves at you guys.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Remember?”

  Though I hoped Frankie was right and that Jessica had come by the station for personal reasons, I felt the need to defend her. “Bringing us thank-you notes hardly qualifies as throwing herself at us. She’s just trying to teach those kids appreciation and good manners.”

  Frankie scoffed. “She’s just trying to get you out of your slicker and boots.”

  Was she? A guy could hope.

  “Check out your portrait on the refrigerator when you get a chance,” Frankie said as she left.

  I finished unpacking the supplies and walked to the kitchen. Several drawings were stuck to the front of the fridge. I wandered over to take a closer look. There were Seth and Blast. Frankie at the top of the ladder. Harrison with his stethoscope, a red heart drawn in the middle of his chest. My eyes moved to the fourth drawing. Holy crap! Some kid in Jessica’s class had drawn me wielding a bloody axe. For goodness sake, I worked to save lives, not end them!

  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be disturbed. I ended up doing both. I supposed a kid that young couldn’t do too much damage. After all, he’d presumably only have access to rounded safety scissors. Besides, chances were he’d simply seen a bloody axe in a Halloween store or advertising circular. The holiday was little more than a month away and costume stores had popped up in vacant retail space all over town. Little boys found gore fascinating. It didn’t necessarily mean they would all grow up to be psychopaths. Heck, I’d loved scary stories myself when I was young. Now that I found myself starring in them? Not so much.

  When I turned around, I spotted additional pictures tacked to the bulletin board. Smack-dab in the center of the board was a cartoon that was far too skilled to have been made by a child. I stepped forward to take a closer look. The signature in the corner indicated it had been drawn by none other than Jessica Bellingham herself. It was a caricature of me and the others who’d presented the fire-safety assembly. She’d put me in the middle, the others to my sides. Though we bore the same relative sizes in the drawing as in real life, my likeness was far more detailed than the others. She’d neglected to include Seth’s signature chin dimple and had drawn Frankie’s hair all standing up, forgetting the bangs. She’d also drawn Doug dressed in all white when in reality he’d worn a white shirt and navy pants. But she’d been spot-on with my features, including my thick eyebrows, my Roman nose, and, most tellingly, the diagonal scar across the back of my left hand, earned when I’d attempted to clear a path through a burning lumber facility and inadvertently cut my glove and hand on a table saw.

  The message seemed clear. She’d paid more attention to me at the assembly this morning than she had the others. Of course that could be explained by the simple fact that I’d been the main one leading the presentation. I supposed the truth was for her to know . . . and me to find out.

  Chapter Eleven: Forbidden Fruit

  Jessica

  I left fifteen minutes early for work Thursday morning and spent the extra time slowly trolling the streets around the school, carefully scanning the yards, streets, and neighborhood parks for the black-and-white puppy. She was nowhere to be seen. Animal control hadn’t spotted her yesterday morning, either.

  I hoped she’d found her way home. Assuming, of course, that she had a home. She might not. She might have been purposely dumped at the school. It wouldn’t be the first time a disenchanted pet owner had been too lazy and irresponsible to take his or her dog to a shelter and instead had dumped it at a school grounds, hoping some sympathetic parent or teacher would take the abandoned pet home. Jerks. A pet was a commitment, a member of the family, and they should be treated as such.

  I pulled into my usual spot in the faculty parking lot and turned off the engine. Taking a look at the building, I sighed. Yesterday had been a fun day, a hopeful day. Well, at least until I’d gone to the station and failed to see Louie DeLuca again. But maybe it was all for the best. Perhaps fate had kept me from making a fool of myself, or from getting hurt again. I grabbed my tote and went inside to begin another day.

  My workday sucked. On an epic level.

  A half hour into the morning, one of the boys in my class stepped up to my desk and told me he didn’t feel well. He proceeded to urp half-digested Fruity Pebbles all over me. After sending him to the nurse, I texted Patricia next door. She stood in the hall where she could keep an eye on her class and an ear on mine while I went to the faculty bathroom, tossed my soiled shirt and bra into the garbage can, and cleaned myself up as well as I could with water, soap, and paper towels. There was nothing more I could do about my pants or shoes, but the hooded nylon windbreaker I kept at the school in case of an unexpected rain shower could replace my shirt. Of course, I was bra-less, but it couldn’t be helped. At least the jacket was navy blue, so it would help hide my lack of undergarments.

  When I went to the teachers’ lounge to eat my lunch, I discovered someone had pushed my bag to the back of the fridge to make room for their plastic container. My sandwich was smashed into an unappetizing, inedible mass.

  As if these things weren’t bad enough, when I went to retrieve a large jar of glitter from the top of the storage cabinet in my room, the lid fell off, the entire contents dumping onto my head.

  Lord, I can’t wait for this day to be over!

  Finally, the end-of-day bell rang. Not a mo
ment too soon. I could already taste the shot of butterscotch schnapps I planned to pour the instant I stepped into my apartment.

  Once my last student left, I rounded up my things, locked my door, and headed down the hall. I pushed open the back door that led to the faculty parking lot.

  Yes!

  And no!

  There on the sidewalk stood Lieutenant Louie DeLuca, looking excessively handsome and manly in a pair of nice-fitting Levi’s, tennis shoes, and a fitted T-shirt. And here I stood in the doorway, covered in glitter, dressed in an old windbreaker, and reeking of sour milk.

  Our gazes met, and his lips curved up in a friendly smile. “Hello, Miss Bellingham,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice setting my nerves to quivering. “Animal control said they haven’t located that lost puppy yet. If you’re not busy, I thought we could drive around, try to find her.”

  How sweet and compassionate of him to think of the little lost dog. This is a guy I could fall for.

  I stepped tentatively forward, hoping he wouldn’t be repulsed by my appearance or aroma. “I’d love to look for the dog, but I have to warn you I’m a mess. It’s been a really bad day.” Until now.

  He raised a brow in question. “How so?”

  After I gave him the scoop, he let loose a whistle. “Wow. I never realized being a kindergarten teacher came with so many occupational hazards.”

  “It’s not a job for wimps, that’s for sure.” Of course, I was being facetious. The risks of my job were nothing compared to storming into burning buildings.

  “Let’s take my car,” he said, angling his head to indicate a Jeep Wrangler parked nearby, its vinyl top removed. It seemed the perfect car for a firefighter. Sporty. Adventurous. Red.

  I followed him over. Before I could open the passenger door, he reached out to open it for me. My cheeks warmed at the gesture. I might be covered in more glitter than a stripper and be dressed in the least flattering jacket imaginable, but he was treating me like a lady.

  While I buckled myself in, he circled around to the driver’s side and climbed in, fastening his belt as well. He cranked the engine, backed up, and drove to the exit of the parking lot. “Which way would you suggest we try first?”

  I motioned to the right. “Last time we saw her she ran that way. Let’s go right.”

  He hooked a right turn out of the parking lot. At the first side street beyond the school grounds, he turned again. We both kept our eyes peeled as he cruised slowly down the street. There was a golden retriever lying on the driveway in front of one house, and an orange tabby in the front window of another, but no Dalmatian puppy to be seen.

  At the end of the street, he turned right again. We had no luck on this street, either. He continued to drive in rough circles around the school, going wider and wider with each round. Nothing.

  As much as I wanted to find the poor pup, I had to admit that I was glad to have the chance to chat with Louie.

  “How long have you been teaching?” he asked.

  “This is my fifth year,” I told him.

  “You like it?” he asked. “I mean, when you’re not dealing with sick kids and smushed sandwiches and getting bombarded by glitter?”

  “I do. For a while I toyed with the idea of becoming an art teacher,” I admitted, “but with so many schools having budget problems and cutting out music and art classes, I figured being a grade-level teacher would provide more job security. The great thing about teaching kindergarten is that I can use art in many of my lessons. Plus there’s not a lot of detailed homework to grade.” I shrugged. “Of course, it’s a trade-off. With older students the classroom discussions are more interesting, and the kids are much more self-sufficient. But these little ones don’t give me attitude like the older ones sometimes do, and they constantly make me laugh.”

  “I can imagine,” he replied. “My older brother, Mario, has two little boys. They’re four and two, and they’re always up to something. Quite a handful.”

  “Mario,” I repeated. “That’s a solid Italian name. I’m guessing your full name is Louis?”

  “No.” He cast a glance my way. “It’s Luigi.”

  “Mario and Luigi? Like the Super Mario brothers?” I tried not to smile, but it wasn’t easy. My lips wouldn’t cooperate and I had to bite down on them.

  Louie’s gaze flickered to my mouth. “Yep. Just like the Super Mario brothers. I’ll never forgive my parents for it.” The grin on his face told me that he’d already forgiven them.

  He’d expressed interest in my career, so it only seemed right to show interest in his in return. Besides, I was curious. What makes a man risk his life on a daily basis for total strangers? Was it the physical challenge? The thrill of cheating death? A hero complex? Of course the answer could be as simple as pyromania. I hoped that wasn’t the case but, if it was, better to figure that out now. “What made you decide to become a firefighter?”

  A pained expression crossed his face. Uh-oh. Did I inadvertently hit a nerve?

  Chapter Twelve: Let the Chips Fall Where They May

  Louie

  Why did I decide to become a firefighter? Because I didn’t want any other child to go through what I’d gone through, that’s why. To feel such shame and sorrow and guilt.

  But I barely knew Jessica. It was too soon to go there, to dive that deep. So I gave her the pat answer I gave everyone else. “I did okay in school, but academics wasn’t really my thing and I couldn’t see myself sitting behind a desk in an office all day. I’ve always been big and physical, played football and liked to hike and canoe, that type of outdoorsy stuff. I knew I’d want a job that kept me active. Firefighting fit the bill.”

  “I couldn’t imagine sitting still all day, either,” Jessica agreed. “My students keep me on my toes. Literally.”

  I reached out to turn on the radio. “How about some music while we look for the dog?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Classic rock,” she said. “My father raised me on Springsteen, the Eagles, Rolling Stones.”

  I picked up where she left off. “Cheap Trick? Led Zeppelin? Aerosmith?”

  “Exactly. Did your father listen to classic rock, too?”

  I scoffed. “Oh, my father forced the classics on us, all right. Don Giovanni. La Traviata. Rigoletto.” I belted out a few lines in Italian from The Barber of Seville, raising a palm in the air for dramatic effect.

  Jessica giggled in a soft, breathy way. The sound was feminine and playful, yet somehow sensual at the same time. I felt myself stiffen and shifted in my seat to relieve the sudden pressure, hoping she wouldn’t realize what was happening.

  “You have a great voice,” she said. “Were you ever in choir?”

  “I was the only basso profundo in my junior high,” I told her. “I didn’t pursue singing in high school, though. Football took up all of my spare time. Quitting choir is something my parents have never forgiven me for.”

  She cast a soft smile my way. “At least you got even for them naming you after a video game character.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Got any brothers or sisters?”

  “Four older sisters,” she said. “I spent my entire childhood in hand-me-downs. But it was a lot of fun, too. We were close in age and played together a lot. We aren’t just sisters, we’re friends, too.”

  So Jessica was close to her family, huh? So was I. I’d learned to be wary of women who weren’t. In my experience it sometimes meant they could be difficult to get along with or didn’t value the relationships. Being Italian, family was in my blood. I had dinner with my parents at least once a week. Whoever I ended up with long-term would have to be on board with that.

  She looked off to her right, away from me. “You’re the guy I talked to in the coffee shop Monday morning, aren’t you?”

  As interested as I was in her, instinct told me to play it cool until I could better gauge her interest in me. “I think I remember that, yeah.”


  Of course I remembered talking with her! Heck, I’d returned to the coffee shop at the same time the following morning, hoping to run into her again. I’d hung around for twenty minutes but she’d never shown up. By the time I’d returned to the station with the drinks, the coffee had cooled off and everyone had to heat up their cups in the microwave. I’d blamed an imaginary fender bender for my delay.

  She turned and looked directly at me now, her brow furrowed in question. “I thought you’d said you wouldn’t be working on Wednesday, but you showed up at the assembly.”

  It was my turn to turn away now, lest she be able to read my face and know that I was lying. “One of the guys asked me to switch with him. He had a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Oh.”

  Looked like she’d bought my explanation. Good.

  “When Will I be Loved?” cued up on the radio.

  “Oh! I love this song.” Jessica reached out to turn up the volume and sang along.

  She was no Linda Ronstadt, but she seemed to be enjoying herself and that was all that really mattered. Besides, a little off-key singing wouldn’t kill me. As we turned down yet another street, I joined in, singing right along with her. Jessica looked over at me and giggled again. My God, that sound is an instant aphrodisiac. My pants grew too tight once more. Much more giggling and I’d be busting out of my pants like the Incredible Hulk.

  “Stop!” she cried, reflexively throwing her arm across my chest. “There she is!”

  I followed her gaze to see the little black-and-white puppy clawing desperately at a black trash bag at the curb two houses down. The poor thing must be starving. Maybe we can use that to our advantage.

  On my way to the school, I’d swung by the fire station and snagged some of the lasagna to eat for dinner tonight. I’d made a huge batch, so there was plenty to spare. I pulled to a stop at the curb, reached into my backseat, and grabbed the plastic container I’d filled with the pasta.

  “What’s that?” Jessica asked.