“Don’t even go there, dude. You’re going to the Majors, for sure. First time I saw you pitch, I knew. You got it, Hart. You got the juice, the mojo, the whatever you want to call it.”
“You hit two doubles and a home run off me today.”
“Yeah, but that’s—” He stopped abruptly. If he told Caleb about his tell, he’d never get a hit off him again. As a marginal hitter, he survived on any little edge he could find. He’d been scrapping his entire baseball career. Fighting, surviving, stealing bases, messing with pitchers’ heads, making the unexpected throw to home or to first or to wherever the other team wasn’t expecting the play. That was his entire reputation in the league: minimal talent, relentless drive, and detailed knowledge of the game.
It was enough to keep him employed.
But eying young Caleb Hart’s gloomy profile, a piece of knowledge pounded its way through his thick skull. Caleb had tremendous potential. He was a true baseball talent, breathtaking to watch. A phenom. Mulligan loved baseball. That’s why he’d stuck it out all this time. He loved the sense of teamwork required to execute the plays, he loved the mental aspect, the way you could really get your brain into the game. And he loved the physical part, exploding off the plate, sliding into second, unleashing a throw to home plate.
Ever since he’d started playing at age twelve, when his mother needed a place to park him while she tried to get back on her feet, baseball had felt like home. The game had taken him in and offered him discipline, joy, and brotherhood.
Right now, he held a great talent’s psyche in the palm of his hand. What was more important, getting a few hits off him in the future, or watching this brilliant kid claim his place in the game?
“You have a tell,” he blurted before he thought better of it. “You jerk your chin before you drop the curve.”
Caleb lifted his head off his arms and peered blearily at him. “I do?”
“Yeah. Without that, I would have gone oh for three, no question.”
“Holy Mother Mary.” The despair seemed to lift off the young player like a thundercloud blown away by the wind. “Why did no one ever tell me?”
“It’s subtle. Probably no one knows. I have one of those brains that notices shit like that. And once I notice it, I have to figure it out. I’m a little obsessive, I guess you’d say.”
Caleb clapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly missing in his drunken enthusiasm. “Maybe I have a chance in this game after all.”
“Yeah.” Hart had a chance all right. The kind of chance someone like Mulligan could only dream about. “I’ll see you in the sports pages.”
“What are you talking about? You’ll see me next season, bro.”
“Nah. I’m quitting.” The thought that had been brewing all season burst into speech. “This is it for me.”
“Why? You can’t just walk away, Mulligan. You’re a good player.”
“Yeah, I’m all right. But I’m no Caleb Hart.” He offered a grim smile, draining his beer mug. “If I had one-tenth of your talent, you couldn’t pry me away from the game. But I don’t. Tell you the truth, I’ve been studying for the firefighter’s exam.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah. Sort of a backup in case Major League Baseball never figures out what a rock star I am.”
“Good luck to you, man.” Caleb swiveled the stool to face him and stuck out his hand. But Mulligan ignored it, looking over Caleb’s shoulder at a disaster in the making. One of the tiki torches was leaning over too far, making the flame splutter and spark.
A girl pushed her chair back from the table next to the torch. The chair leg collided with its base, giving just enough of a nudge to make the bamboo pole slowly topple in the direction of a waitress. Oblivious, she stood with her back to the falling torch as she took someone’s order. In a flash, Mulligan took in the entire situation, the flammability of the waitress’s fake-grass skirt and the angle of the tiki torch. He calculated the chance that the flame would be snuffed out by the speed of its fall, the damage that even a lick of flame would do to human skin.
He launched to his feet, pushing past Caleb, who spun around on his bar stool with a “What the fuck?” He scrambled across the room the same way he’d chase after a runaway grounder. The torch hit the floor, one flame leaping onto the grass skirt. He heard the waitress’s scream, saw smoke rise from her hem. He ripped a tablecloth from one of the tables, sending several skull-shaped mugs flying through the air. Then he dove on top of that waitress as if she were home plate and wrapped the tablecloth around her. He felt the burn of the hot grass.
The waitress was still screaming, but she sounded more shocked than hurt. When he was sure the fire was out, he rolled off her and checked the damage. The skirt was charred, exposing her legs underneath, but he saw no obvious signs of burn.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
She put her hand on her butt, felt the scorched hole in her skirt, and burst into tears. “I . . . I think so.”
He didn’t want to put the tablecloth back on her; it was still hot. Instead, he ripped off his T-shirt and covered her with it.
“You saved me,” she sobbed. “I thought I was going to get burned alive.”
Someone started clapping, and soon everyone in the tiki bar was standing and applauding. He helped the waitress to her feet, and returned to the bar stool, the adrenaline now beating a tympani in his bloodstream.
Caleb Hart squinted at him. “If that’s not a sign from God, I don’t know what is.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Two minutes after you say you’re quitting baseball to be a fireman, you save a girl’s life in a freaking tiki bar? The Lord works in mysterious ways, my friend. I’d say he just gave your decision a big thumbs-up.”
“If there’s a God, he has better things to worry about than my career choices.”
But still, he often wondered, even years later . . .
“HEY, CLARENCE,” HE called to Dream Lizzie. “Aren’t you supposed to show me what would have happened if I hadn’t existed? Would that waitress have been okay?”
Dream Lizzie was brushing soot off her elf costume. “She would have been fine. The guy at the table she was serving was about to toss a pitcher of water at her. She would have been fine.”
“You’re not doing your job very well,” he complained. “Now I just feel useless.”
“You’re missing the point. If you hadn’t spoken up that night, both you and Caleb would have taken the wrong path. You would have stayed in baseball, and Caleb would have quit. But you put your ego aside and helped him get his head together. Then you made the gutsy choice to walk away from baseball and start over in a new career. Do I even need to tell you how many people owe their lives to that choice?”
“Hmm. Well, it might help.”
She laughed, a sound that always made warm, happy shivers run up and down his spine. “Then put your escape canister on, and I’ll get started.”
Escape canister. Of course. How had he forgotten? The escape canister was a backup carbon filter that would allow him to breathe safely after his oxygen ran out. He reached his aching arm into the pouch that held the foil-wrapped package. Pinching it between his arm and his chest, he managed to rip it open. Snapping it onto his face mask, he took a breath of hot, stale air.
“Good boy,” Lizzie said as he lay back, panting from that exertion. “It’s a good thing I’m here, huh? Now let’s talk about your first day on the job at Station 1.”
“No. Hell, no. I’m not living that one again.”
“Oh really? I hear it’s a pretty good story. You earned a place in firehouse legend on day one. You’re the reason there’s a baseball in the display case in the reception area.”
“Lizzie, I swear to God, don’t go there . . . What’s that sound?”
She raised her head, listening. A heavy crash echoed through the ravaged store, followed by an ominous rumble.
For the first time, Mulligan murmured a prayer. Don’t let any
one else get hurt. Please, God. Anything but that.
Chapter Five
CAPTAIN BRODY LOOKED tense and unhappy as he strode across the crowded parking lot past engines and glaring floodlights. Lizzie clutched Stacy’s arm so tightly her friend squeaked.
“What happened?” she asked as Brody drew close.
“They thought they found a good entry point, but it turned out to be a storage room that led nowhere. Part of the roof caved in, but everyone got out of the way in time.”
“And Mulligan?”
“If he’s still exactly where he fell, he should be fine. It’s possible that something might have bounced and struck him. But chances are good the collapse wasn’t near him. He’s probably trapped, and that may be a good thing in this case.”
Lizzie nodded rapidly. “I want to do something. What can I do?”
“Right now, nothing. They have to find another entry point and get through the rubble. That’s mostly saws and pry bars.”
“Are there other people injured? I could help the triage team. And Stacy is a doctor.”
He gave a brisk nod and gestured to the north end of the parking lot. “Triage is set up over there. Smoke inhalation and panic attacks, for the most part. But if we need you for anything, keep your cell handy.”
“Of course.” She didn’t want to think about what “anything” might mean. What if it meant identifying Mulligan’s body?
“Don’t go there,” Stacy advised, as if she could hear Lizzie’s thoughts. “One step at a time. Let’s go see what we can do.”
They picked their way across the network of hoses crisscrossing the parking lot. Another ladder truck had positioned its aerial over the Yogurtland, and a lonely figure aimed a hose from the bucket at its tip. Amid the billowing clouds of smoke, that stream of water seemed so insignificant. But maybe with all the other streams of water, and all these firefighters . . . good Lord, there had to be dozens here . . .
She spotted a familiar face and ran to join the tall, imposing, fierce man just arriving on the scene, while Stacy continued on toward the triage area. “Chief Roman!”
“Lizzie.” He caught her up in a quick hug. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“Of course not. I guess you couldn’t either.”
“Hey, it’s Mulligan. He might be a pugnacious son of a bitch, but he’s one of our own. Helluva guy, too.”
“Yeah.” Pugnacious. Pretty good word for him. Always fighting. “Maybe it’s a good thing to be pugnacious when you’re trapped inside a building.”
“If anyone can survive it, Mulligan can.” Chief Roman scanned her closely, his deep midnight eyes seeming to comprehend every bit of what she was feeling. He’d lost his first wife in the collapse of the Twin Towers, so he probably did. “You doing all right?”
“I suppose. It’s not like we’re married. We just . . .” She faltered, since she didn’t know exactly how to describe their roller-coaster relationship. “Dated for a while.”
He smiled tenderly at her, as if he knew better.
She changed the subject quickly. “Where’s Sabina?”
“She pulled Yogurtland duty. They’re getting a handle on that flank. This fire should be out within a half hour.” His deep, gravelly voice was incredibly reassuring. “Hey, look who’s here.”
Lizzie swung around. “Psycho? What are you doing here?” The blue-eyed daredevil had left the station over a year ago to join a hotshot crew in Nevada. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“We’re spending Christmas with Vader and Cherie. Heard about Mulligan. We came to see if they need any extra hands.”
“We?”
Jogging up behind him came two more faces from the past. Thor, blond as a Viking, who’d always been the strong, silent type, offered her a serious smile. Matt McBride, the cute towheaded fireman with the Scottish brogue, was more ebullient. He swung her around in a wide circle.
“My oh my, look how pretty you grew up, lass.”
“Matt! I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“You still had braces last time I saw you.”
“Is Bianca here too? What about Maribel?”
“They’re in town, but they didn’t want to get in the way. They sent you a big hug, and lucky me, I get to deliver it.”
Matt’s hug should have been patented and sold as a stress-reliever. By the time he released her, she was pink and flustered. “I can’t believe you’re all in San Gabriel. And that you came out here tonight.”
“It’s Mulligan,” another voice explained. She spun around. Ryan Blake, the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on, draped an arm over Psycho’s shoulder. “We owe him. And we love the guy. Crazy bastard that he is.”
“Glad to see someone followed in my footsteps.” Psycho winked one dazzling blue eye. In the washed-out light of the floodlights, his eyes had a neon brilliance. “Wouldn’t want the station to get too straightedged.”
“No chance of that with Mulligan around.”
Everyone chuckled. Lizzie gazed around the little circle of firefighters, none of whom worked at Station 1 anymore. Matt had joined the Los Angeles Fire Department so he could be with his wife, a former model and now-famous photographer. Thor had moved to Alaska with Maribel, where they were raising Maribel’s son Pete and baby twins. He ran a volunteer fire department in a small town up there.
Psycho lived in Nevada now and flew around the country fighting wildfires. Roman, who passionately loved to cook, had left the fire service completely and opened his own restaurant. Now he left the firefighting to his wife, Sabina. Ryan had opened a firefighter academy that focused on recruiting and training troubled young people.
And yet here they all were, spending Christmas Eve Eve at a fire scene. Worried about someone they either didn’t work with anymore, or never had worked with, since Mulligan was fairly new.
“What about your families? Shouldn’t you be home with them?” Her throat closed up against a swell of emotion.
“Maribel took Pete and the twins to the station so Pete could play with Stan,” Thor told her gently. Thor, she remembered now, had first brought Stan to the station. Stan’s owner had abandoned him, and Pete had been sneaking food to the dog. When they’d all left for Alaska, it had nearly broken Pete’s heart.
“Rachel says that Stan senses something’s going on. He’s been whining and anxious.” Psycho gave a grim smile. “Kind of like the rest of us.”
“Luke’s out with Carly,” said Roman. “As for the rest of my family, they’re all right here.” Even though he gestured toward the Yogurtland, where Sabina was battling the blaze, he clearly meant to include the other firefighters.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“There’s no way Katie would let me sit home while a brother firefighter is down,” said Ryan firmly. “Even guys from the other shifts came in. Jeb Stone’s talking to the news media. He got all that special training from Nita, and now they’re talking about making him a public information officer.”
Jeb’s wife, Nita, was a high-powered press secretary, but Jeb was so photogenic, with his tiger-striped eyes, that the media probably loved him. In fact, she saw Ella Joy from Channel Six News holding a microphone to his face.
“I still can’t believe you’re all here.”
“It’s Mulligan,” Roman said again, as if that explained everything. “A lot of us might not even be alive if not for him.”
“Yup,” said Matt. “Don’t you remember what happened on his first day at the station? Firehouse legend by now.”
“His first day.” Lizzie frowned. “I think I was away then. Right, I went on a trip to Mexico with some friends. When I got back, it was as if Mulligan had always been here. He didn’t even seem like a new guy. No one teased him or played pranks on him or anything.”
“That’s because of what happened on his first day,” Ryan explained. “I heard about it afterward, but I wasn’t there. Who saw it? Matt, were you still around?”
He shook his head. “Got the low
down from you.”
“Fred never told you about it, Lizzie?” Psycho sounded incredulous.
“Does the story make Mulligan look good?”
“Hell, yes.” The firefighters all chimed in on that one.
“Then Fred wouldn’t have shared it with me. He kept ordering me to stay away from Mulligan. I think he kept telling Mulligan the same thing.”
“That’s affirmative,” said Roman drily. “I used to see them at Lucio’s. Fred would lecture Mulligan on all the ways he was going to dismantle him if he hurt you.”
Lizzie sniffed. When this was all over, she was going to have a talk with her overly protective big brother. Of course, if Fred got Mulligan out alive, nothing else would matter. “I think it’s time someone told me the story. It’s the least you guys can do.”
“What story?” Captain Brody had joined them, and was busy shaking hands all around. He’d been captain for all these men at some point, except Chief Roman, and those two were close friends now.
“Mulligan’s first day. When the armed intruder entered the station,” said Chief Roman.
Lizzie let out a gasp. “An armed intruder? I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about something like that!”
“You know Mulligan,” said Matt. “He performs these crazy acts of heroism but shrugs them off like he doesn’t deserve any praise. If it was me, I’d be tooting my horn all over town. Mulligan . . . he likes the bad-boy image, I think.”
“Crazy acts of heroism . . . what are you talking about?”
“Maybe this isn’t the best time for that story.” Captain Brody directed a thunderous frown at the little knot of firemen. “Lizzie has enough to worry about.”
“No. I want to hear it.” Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest. “Obviously he survived the armed intruder. Please, I want to hear it!”
“Brody, you were there, weren’t you?” said Ryan. “I remember you told me all about it later that day, at the academy.”
It's a Wonderful Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novella (The Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel) Page 6