by Amy Knupp
“I really want the job.” He didn’t step back, didn’t remove his hand from the counter right next to her body.
“You have a good chance, in my new-to-the-department opinion.” Then it dawned on her what he might be getting at. “Do you think I know something? Because of my dad? Believe me, he doesn’t—”
“No, Faith. Even if I thought he talked to you about it, I’d never ask you for that information.”
“Okay.”
Still confused, she started to move away. Joe gently caught her wrist and forced eye contact.
“I want…” He didn’t finish the sentence but his eyes told her exactly what he wanted.
Okay, then. She hadn’t misread the signs. “I know.” She nodded nonchalantly, as if he’d just told her there were fish in the ocean.
Faith picked up the coffeepot and poured the steaming liquid into her mug. After turning away from him.
The current that had sizzled between them faded to awkwardness. Joe headed for the table and pulled out the chair next to the one she’d been sitting in earlier. “So…your test. What are you working on?”
“Really, I don’t—”
“Want help. I know. As your captain, I’m ordering you to sit down and let me quiz you.”
“That is so wrong, flaunting your position….” She kept her tone light.
“It’s in my best interest for my people to pass tests and earn certifications. Makes me look good.”
“With all due respect, I really need to change out of these coffee-soaked clothes and get some sleep.” She actually hadn’t planned to go to bed tonight, but lying in her bunk awake was preferable to sitting here awkwardly with him.
He looked at her hard, sizing her up as if he knew she just wanted to escape. But instead of calling her on it, he nodded once and said, “Good luck on your test, Faith.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JOE PICKED UP THE PHONE from his nightstand two nights later. “Mendoza.”
“Joe, it’s Derek. Slight problem.” The concern in the firefighter’s voice shot a dose of alarm through Joe.
He sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes and checked the digital clock. Twenty after eleven. He must’ve dozed off since he’d hit the sack over an hour ago. A 7:00 a.m. shift came too damn early. “What’s going on?”
“I stopped by the Shack to get the nightly deposit. Chief is here.”
The Shell Shack was the beach bar Derek and his wife, Macey, owned. In the past year or so, it had become a regular hangout for the department, and while Chief Peligni didn’t usually join in the camaraderie, it wasn’t unusual that he was there.
“He’s tanked, Joe.”
“Chief is?” Joe was out of bed, pulling on his jeans without conscious thought.
“You got it. Kevin says he’s been here since six-thirty. Came in for a burger with Mayor Romero. Been drinking ever since.”
“Can you call him a cab?”
“In his state, I don’t think that’s a wise solution. Cab could take a while to get here, with all the spring breakers. I’m concerned about someone recognizing him.”
“He’s that messed up?” Joe couldn’t fathom the man he’d looked up to for years making a spectacle of himself. He’d never even seen the chief tipsy and couldn’t imagine how much liquor it would take to make him falling down drunk. If he knew the chief the way he thought he did, the man would be humiliated once he sobered up and realized what he’d done. But hell. Lately Chief Peligni wasn’t acting like the man Joe knew.
“I’m not sure he can walk on his own,” Derek said with some hesitation. “I’d take him home myself, but thought it’d be better for you to handle it. You’re tight with him, right?”
Joe couldn’t fault Derek for not wanting to get involved in the chief’s business—especially not this business. It’d be awkward enough for Joe. “I’ll take care of it. Can you stay with him until I get there?” He pulled a wrinkled T-shirt off the floor and shook it out.
“I’ll be here.”
“See you in five.” Joe ended the call and pulled the shirt over his head, trying to wrap his brain around the situation. Either he’d been sleeping harder than he’d thought or the chief had gone off the deep end.
Without his permission, Joe’s mind veered to Faith. Did she know what her dad was up to? He doubted it. She wasn’t the type to sit back and let her father self-destroy. After what she’d said the other night in the station kitchen, he suspected she’d take it hard if she found out about the chief’s current state. Though it wasn’t his business or his place to interfere, Joe didn’t want Faith to learn about her dad’s bender. Didn’t want her to be hurt.
He hightailed it the few blocks to the Shell Shack and turned into the small parking lot, taking the only available spot.
He jumped out, the brisk night breeze rustling the palms that lined the hotel lot next door. If the weather didn’t make a massive turnaround in the next few days, spring break visitors to the island were going to be mighty disappointed. Maybe it would scare away a few, but likely not enough to make a difference in the havoc the month wreaked on the fire department.
When Joe cleared the doorway, he instantly spotted the chief leaning heavily on the bar. The horseshoe-shaped counter curved around such that Joe had a view of the older man’s face. It was red, the skin droopy. His eyes were aimed downward but Joe could tell from here they weren’t focused on anything. The chief wore a light gray polo shirt—thank God he’d changed out of his uniform beforehand—and there was a wet splotch on the front.
Derek sat on the stool next to Chief Peligni, talking to him. He glanced up at Joe and shook his head slowly.
Joe walked around the crowded bar and stopped next to them. “Evening, gentlemen.”
Derek nodded in reply, looking uncomfortable as he stood up and let Joe take his place. Chief Peligni didn’t react for a few seconds. Finally, he raised his gaze and squinted. “That the captain?”
“It’s me,” Joe affirmed. The man reeked of a distillery even from two feet away.
Glancing around, Joe took inventory of the other bar patrons, relieved that everyone was too caught up in themselves and their drinks to pay any attention to the chief.
“Can I get you anything, Captain?” Kevin asked from behind the bar.
“No, thanks.”
Joe sat on the stool Derek had vacated and attempted to make small talk with the blitzed chief. To his comments about the weather and the crush of customers, Joe received unintelligible mumbles.
Okay, enough bullshitting. He needed to get Chief Peligni out of here and safely home. Wouldn’t be an easy task—the older man had gained weight recently and must weigh over three hundred pounds—but Joe would do it. The chief had done a lot for him over the years. Now it was his turn to return the favor.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Joe asked, standing.
More muttering he couldn’t understand.
“You need to sleep it off, Chief. Let’s go before things get any worse.”
It was too late, though, because at that moment, Faith’s gorgeous face appeared in the doorway and she looked anything but pleased.
FAITH WAS GOING TO WRING her father’s thick neck.
He’d sounded more than a little out of it when he’d called her a few minutes ago for a ride. Words slurred, train of thought easily interrupted but he’d managed to say where he was. What he hadn’t mentioned was that Joe Mendoza and Derek Severson were here as well, witnessing the show.
Her cheeks warmed and she stepped back out of the doorway to the Shell Shack to summon her game face. Glancing down at the exercise shorts and tank top she’d thrown on, she swore to herself. She hadn’t counted on running into her captain. Hadn’t counted on running into anyone. She’d foolishly thought when her dad asked her to pick him up that maybe he’d meet her in the parking lot.
Clearly, she hadn’t fully grasped the situation. And it wasn’t going to get any better while she wasted time out here trying to figure out how to save face. Wasn’
t going to happen.
Straightening her back, she headed inside, determined to hide her embarrassment and concern for her father. Those were family matters. Private.
Ignoring her colleague and supervisor, Faith went around to her father’s side and rested her hand on his forearm. “Hey, Dad. How are you doing?”
The time it took him to react to her voice and turn his head was not a good sign. “Princessss.”
Fan-freaking-tastic.
“I was just going to bring him home,” Joe said quietly. “Derek called me. Did he call you, too?” He looked toward the back room, where Derek was talking to the bartender and cook.
“No,” Faith said, trying to keep her frustration out of her voice. “He called me.” She gestured to her father, who didn’t seem to register the conversation going on in front of him. “I can handle this. Thank you for trying to help.”
She felt Joe staring at her as if he had something to say, but he remained silent and she didn’t look at him again. Instead, she turned her attention back to her dad. “How long have you been here?”
“Little bit.” He took an unsteady drink from the glass in front of him and frowned at the taste. “He’s givin’ me water.”
The bartender emerged from the back room as her dad spoke, and Faith mouthed a thank-you to the man for cutting him off.
“I’m here to help you, Faith,” Joe said, still stubbornly sitting on the other side of her dad.
“We’ll be fine, thanks,” she replied, her jaw stiff.
Again, the captain hesitated, and she felt frustration coming off him in waves, but that wasn’t her concern. Her dad was.
“Did you eat dinner?” she asked him, as Joe finally walked out of the bar, turning to glance at her one last time when he reached the doorway.
The fire chief seemed to think about that for a while, then shrugged. “’Magine I did.” He leaned hard on the bar, as if it was the only thing holding him up.
“We need to get you home,” Faith said. “What were you thinking, Dad?”
He tried to focus on her, then turned his squinting gaze to the bartender. And started snickering like a teenage girl in trouble, his large shoulders shaking. “I don’ know, Faithy. You tell me.”
He’d never been a hard drinker. A lot of firefighters were—their way of dealing with the things they saw on the job. They used alcohol to come down from a harrowing shift or one that ended in tragedy. But not Tony Peligni. He was hard-core and intense—and usually stone-cold sober.
Faith had been flirting with acknowledging the truth for weeks, but now there was no way to deny it. The breakup of his marriage was sending her father down a path she never thought she’d see him travel. One she couldn’t bear to watch. She had to find a way to get her parents back together. They loved each other—always had. Faith was absolutely sure of it. She needed to help her mom see what she was doing to this man and get her to come to her senses.
Later.
Now Faith needed to get her dad out of the bar before someone recognized the falling-over-drunk guy as San Amaro Island’s fire chief.
“How much does he owe you?” she asked the bartender, pulling her wallet out of her purse. She looked around for Derek, relieved to see he’d apparently taken off, as well.
“He’s clear,” the bartender said. “You going to be able to…?” He motioned toward the parking lot with his head.
Faith nodded, biting her tongue. She knew most people didn’t realize she was stronger than she looked. And her dad was big. But she didn’t do the female-in-need-of-rescuing well. Never had.
“Come on, Dad. Time to take you home.”
He slowly turned and narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to place where he knew her from. Faith hopped down from her stool, acting much more optimistic than she felt, and offered him her hand.
“You shou’ go home, Faith. Gettin’ late.”
She hid a sad smile, thinking how much easier it would be to have to look after only herself at this moment, instead of her sixty-year-old father.
“Let’s go,” she said gently. “You have to work in the morning.”
Realization brightened his face for an instant and he turned to the bartender. “I’m the fire ch—”
“He knows,” Faith said loudly, to cover his words, darting a look around behind them to see if anyone else had heard. “Come on, Dad. We need to go now.” She tugged at his arm. “Stand up.”
His movements were in slow motion, but he finally turned to the side and put his feet on the floor. He was so unsteady he slid right back to the stool, and Faith had to use her strength to keep him upright.
Okay, so this was going to be an undertaking.
“I’ll help you, but you have to walk to the car,” she told him.
She didn’t give him a choice, just yanked at him, and he did his best to get to his feet. Unfortunately, his “best” wasn’t quite enough. The bartender looked over in alarm as Faith braced herself with all her might against her father’s weight.
“We’re fine,” she insisted through clenched teeth as her dad finally managed to establish some semblance of balance.
Coaching his every step, she supported him to the exit, thankful there was no actual door to open. She could feel stares at their backs, but wasn’t about to acknowledge them.
“I’m parked on the street,” she told him. “Just a little farther.” She was starting to breathe hard from the effort of keeping him upright.
Before they could even clear the side of the building, her dad shifted his weight from her to the wall and leaned hard against it. “Princess, need to rest. I’ll jus’ sit here for a bit.”
She fought to keep him on his feet, but there was no way. He slid down the rough wall and landed on his backside on the wide sidewalk.
Tears of frustration burned Faith’s eyes as he stretched out and rested his head on the pavement.
Stronger than she looked, sure, but able to lift three hundred pounds? No way. Sitting down next to him and banging her head on the wall was the most appealing option right now.
“You really have a problem allowing someone to help you, don’t you?” Joe said from the darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FAITH CLOSED HER EYES and leaned against the Shell Shack’s exterior wall, looking defeated. Only Faith Peligni would take it personally when she failed to carry an unconscious man three times her size. And that stirred something deep inside Joe. Something that had nothing to do with sympathy.
“I thought you left,” she said, annoyed with him, but fighting not to let it show. He could tell by the set of her jaw, the tight control of her voice.
“I talked to him enough before you got here to suspect something like this could happen.”
“You were just waiting to come to the rescue, weren’t you?” Faith looked down at her dad and shook her head. Her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I guess we do need a little assistance.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get him out of here. Come on, Chief.” Joe leaned down and roused him.
The big guy muttered something and Faith avoided Joe’s gaze. The urge to touch her, to try to make her feel better, rolled through him out of nowhere.
He bent over to prop up the chief, burying his mind in the task and attempting to ignore Faith. She got into position on the other side, and together they pulled him upright. Chief Peligni came to long enough to ask where the hell they were taking him and to complain about how fast they were moving.
“To my 4Runner over there,” Joe told Faith, indicating the vehicle with a nod. “It’s close.” When they got to the passenger side, she opened the door and they awkwardly heaved him inside.
Once the door was shut, Joe locked it. He and Faith looked at each other as they caught their breath.
“Want to follow me?” she asked.
He nodded, recalling from previous visits the flight of stairs they’d have to drag the chief up once they got him home. “I’ll drive you back here to get his truck on
ce we get him settled.” He searched until he spotted the chief’s Suburban at the end of the row.
Faith shot a frown toward her dad and bit her lower lip before heading toward her car, parked at the curb.
Joe went around to the driver’s side of his SUV. He paused before getting in and watched her walk away. Let himself admire her curves in those tiny shorts and the yellow fitted tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed for relaxing, not for impressing, and still his heart thundered in appreciation.
He glanced guiltily at Chief Peligni and climbed in, making a point of not checking out the chief’s daughter again. Not that the older man had even noticed; his head was propped against the window, eyes closed. Joe reached across, drew the seat belt over him, pulled it out as far as it would go and fastened it. He could just about get drunk off the fumes coming from the passenger seat.
While Faith was careful and deliberate with just about everything she did, she apparently didn’t drive the same way, speeding off like a maniac. Joe had been to the chief’s house before for cookouts, so he took his time getting there. When he pulled up, her car was in the driveway and she was leaning against the wall of the garage, arms crossed. She gestured for him to drive up close to the open garage door.
After fifteen or twenty minutes, they’d managed to get the chief up the flight of stairs, into his bed, shoes off, with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. He’d been half-awake for part of it, but Joe doubted he’d remember any of this in the morning. Joe wasn’t sure the man would be able to get up in the morning.
Faith drew a crocheted blanket over him, since they hadn’t had a chance to pull the covers back before laying him down. When she finished, she exhaled tiredly and nodded at Joe. Together they walked down the hall toward the living room.
When they reached the last door on the right, Faith went into the room, flipping on the light. Her bedroom, he realized, as he peered in like a Peeping Tom.
“I can wait outside,” he said.
“Just a sec. I need a sweatshirt, but there’s something for you in the kitchen.”