The Fireman Who Loved Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

  “Yes. Absolutely. I don’t want to hold you up.”

  He frowned. “Hold me up?”

  “I’m sure the girls here are just dying to bid on you. You’d better get on up there.”

  “Oh. Well, no hurry.”

  So he was one of the bachelors. She felt a weird thrill combined with disappointment. Bachelors were, by definition, single. But bachelors selling their wares onstage were, by definition, not her type.

  “I don’t understand how you can do it,” she blurted out. “Don’t you think it’s a little embarrassing? Dancing around like a male stripper, flexing your muscles and showing off your pecs or your abs or your glutes or—” She broke off with a gulp. Mentioning muscles was a mistake, because now all she could see was the hard outline of his chest under his shirt.

  The man shrugged those powerful shoulders, a gesture she found annoyingly distracting. “If it’s so embarrassing, don’t you think anyone who does it for charity deserves some credit?”

  Score one for the stranger. She scrambled for a response. “What about the girl who bids for you? It’s not like you’re going to marry her. You’ll take her out once and never see her again, right?”

  “That’s the most likely scenario.”

  “So you let her spend all that money for one date. How could it possibly be worth it?”

  The man quirked one eyebrow in the most maddening way. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

  Oh, the arrogance of the man! Macho men like him always thought they were God’s gift to women. Just then, another wave of delirious screams swept the ballroom. “Your fans are waiting. Better go!”

  She pushed past him. Her shoulder brushed against his and a shocking tingle raced down her arm. It pissed her off. Didn’t her arm know she wasn’t attracted to guys like that? It had no business reacting to a full-of-himself, muscle-obsessed fireman.

  This was exactly why she belonged with a nice poet or maybe a singer-songwriter. Guys like that didn’t make her feel all jangly and off-balance.

  She put the fireman out of her mind and settled into a quiet corner of the lobby with a newspaper to wait for her outrageous grandmother.

  Chapter Two

  “Maybe you could rent some Matlock reruns.”

  “Or how about that show with the old chick who solves murders.”

  “Don’t forget the early bird special over at Bonanza.”

  In the captain’s office of San Gabriel Fire Station 1, Captain Harry Brody, long legs propped on his desk, listened with a resigned sigh. Of course the guys would jump at the chance to torment the station’s resident heartbreaker. In a few minutes he’d have to intervene. But he would pick his moment. He’d let the guys get it out of their system first.

  “Don’t worry, Stan,” he told the lump of dozing canine flesh under his chair. “I won’t let them kill each other.”

  Stan twitched one fire-mangled ear, but showed no other signs of concern. It took a lot to get Stan moving. For a fire station dog, he was on the lazy side. He’d even slept through the three-alarm warehouse fire that had burned his ear. Impressed by such a fearless attitude toward fire, the San Gabriel firemen had insisted on adopting him, even though the last thing Brody needed was a half-beagle, half-spaniel, completely obsessed mutt following him around.

  “You’ll let me know before things get bloody, right Stan?”

  Brody tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Time for an imaginary cigarette. He hadn’t smoked since his ex-wife had left him three years ago. But nothing focused the mind like a perfect smoke ring. So he watched an imaginary ring of smoke drift with the air currents as he kept one ear cocked toward his men.

  Noisy rattling came from Ryan Blake’s locker. Ryan hadn’t said a word when he’d walked into the station; he didn’t have to. In the magic way of fire stations, the news had gotten there long before he had. Brody had been the only actual witness to Ryan’s starring moment onstage at the Hilton.

  “Gettin’ all hot and bothered already, aren’t ya, Hoagie?” called the veteran, big-bellied Double D. Nicknames were a badge of honor for a firefighter. Ryan got his nickname from the lunch he ate every day. Double D owed his to the dog doo he’d tracked into the burning home of a local millionaire, who had then sued the fire department for ruining his carpet.

  “Stuff it, Doo-doo,” growled Ryan.

  Double D chuckled into his Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Heard it was a record payout. What’d you go for, three K?”

  “Bet she’d been saving up for a while,” threw in the rookie from the stove, where he was scrambling enough eggs to feed an army.

  “Oh sure, at least seventy, eighty years.”

  “Shut up!”

  Brody winced. Ryan was nearing the edge; he could hear it in the young fireman’s voice. Maybe it had been a mistake to let Ryan take part in the bachelor auction. He’d been nervous about it, which was why he’d planted himself at the back of the ballroom, monitoring the scene like a Secret Service agent. But the only bullet he’d taken was the verbal kind, from a sparkly-eyed, opinionated girl who’d gotten under his skin.

  It wasn’t like him to let things get under his skin. That was Ryan’s territory. Captain Brody was known far and wide for his control, for his calmness under pressure. But pressure didn’t usually come in the form of gorgeous, scornful green eyes.

  Brody heard another bang from Hoagie’s locker. He had a good idea of what his star firefighter was doing in there. The guys joked that Ryan kept a mirror in his locker, but only Brody knew it wasn’t true. Whenever Ryan ran to his locker, Brody knew he was taking his own form of a timeout. Most likely he was consulting his book of affirmations, which had been given to him by one of his many, many girlfriends.

  Brody had no problem with affirmations if they helped his star keep a grip on his impulsive nature.

  The barrage of jokes didn’t slow down.

  “My granny likes bingo. She won five bucks last time.”

  “Bet that’s how Hoagie’s gal got the three grand.”

  “Three grand for a bite of the Hoagie!”

  “For three grand, she’ll be wantin’ the whole Hoagie.”

  Okay, time to step into captain mode. Brody unfurled himself from the desk and strolled into the training room. Stan hauled himself to his feet and trotted behind him. Darn dog and his abandonment issues.

  As always, the atmosphere of the room shifted when he walked in. Everyone sat a little straighter. The teasing stopped. Plenty of the gung-ho younger guys had more muscle power than Brody. But respect—that came from something else. Brody couldn’t have explained it with a gun to his head. But there it was.

  He surveyed his crew with a cool stare. Brody rarely, if ever, yelled. Instead, he preferred to drop cryptic statements that made everyone stop and scratch their heads. “A fire engine can’t function with a kink in the hose. Anyone here responsible for that?”

  The firefighters exchanged confused glances. No one had left a kink in any of the hoses at the last fire. No firefighter worth the name would do that. But not a single soul argued. They knew their captain and his ways. A riled-up Ryan would be worse than a kink in the hose.

  Double D crunched his cup into a Styrofoam ball and tossed it in the trash. “Sorry, Captain.”

  Brody rewarded him with a curt nod, and beckoned Ryan toward the apparatus bay where the station’s engine, truck, pumper, and ambulance were housed. Stan tried to follow but Double D snagged his collar.

  Ryan followed after him. “I know there’s no problem with the hose, Captain. You don’t have to worry. I’m fine now. I’ve got the lake.”

  “The lake?” Brody quirked an eyebrow.

  “The calm lake within. It’s an image. Helps me keep my cool when the guys are messing with me.”


  Right. The affirmations. “Glad to hear it. Has the lake told you what to do about this problem?”

  “What problem? You made them stop. I don’t have to go crazy on them now.”

  Brody put an arm over his subordinate’s shoulder. Ryan’s easygoing appearance hid the fiery temper that Brody had spent countless hours trying to tame. The kid was a firefighting natural who lived for the moments he got to grapple with the flames. It had taken every ounce of Brody’s patience and knowledge to transform Ryan into an actual firefighter instead of a death-defying daredevil. Ryan still required careful handling.

  “Yes, that’s true . . . for now. But the more I think it over, the more certain I am they’re not going to let this go. It’s too good. If it was someone else, maybe . . . but with a girl magnet like you? No, there’s no chance. Any ideas?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose you’re right,” said Ryan, his blue eyes dark with dread. “Guess I’ll have to teach them a lesson. Thrash someone. And I’ve been so good lately, you know I have.”

  Brody sighed. “Let’s try to come up with something else.”

  Ryan gloomily kicked at one of the huge tires of Engine 1. “This is crap. I was trying to do a good deed.”

  “And you did. Three thousand dollars for the Widows and Orphans Fund. Of course, you cost me a pretty penny.”

  Ryan frowned. “How’d I do that?”

  “I told them I’d match whatever my guys went for. I didn’t know you’d be such a hot item.”

  Ryan tucked his thumbs in his pockets, looking skeptical. “Then why’d you put me up there, Cap?”

  “Good point.” Brody clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Look, it’s a great cause, and you did a good thing. Lord knows nothing could have gotten me up there. That’s why I put my money on you.”

  “Lots of girls would’ve bid on you. My girlfriends are always asking about you. The legendary Captain Brody and all the lives you’ve saved. Too bad the girls are kind of afraid of you.”

  The image of the green-eyed girl from the auction surfaced again. She certainly hadn’t been afraid of him. Then again, she hadn’t known he was the “legendary Captain Brody.”

  “You could relax and smile a little, you know. You’d have girls all over you,” continued Ryan.

  “Nah, that’s what you’re around for. Who else could earn six thousand dollars for standing on a stage for two minutes? Think about that when they’re hassling you. Think about it when you’re on the date, if you need to.”

  “What date?” Ryan scuffed the cement floor. “I can’t do it, Captain. You know what the guys’ll do. They’ll follow me around with a video camera. Put it up on YouTube. Give out DVDs for Christmas presents, for Chrissakes. I think I have to bail.”

  “Ryan, you have to go.” Brody shook his head, as disappointed as if he were Ryan’s actual father, not the authority figure the kid had eagerly latched on to. “You can’t back out now. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “I’ll pay back the three thousand. Or six thousand, whatever. I can get a loan.”

  “Are you nuts? Just to avoid some harmless teasing?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like!”

  “Sure I do. Everyone goes through it.”

  “No one teases you.”

  “That’s because I’m the captain—”

  “That’s it!” Ryan broke in. “No one will tease you. You can do it!”

  “Do what?”

  “Go on the date!”

  “What? Absolutely not.”

  “Why not? I already did the hard part. I got my ass up on that stage. Now you can do the easy part. You’re more her type anyway.”

  “I am?”

  “Sure! You’re more . . . old-school.”

  Brody cocked his head at him. Ryan probably didn’t realize they had less than a ten-year age difference, twenty-seven to his thirty-six. “Old-school?”

  “You know, more of a gentleman. With manners and all that shit.”

  Brody bit back a laugh, which might make Ryan think he was going for this plan. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint the lady. She’s expecting the handsome young prize she bid on.”

  “But you’re even better. You’re a captain. Women love that stuff. Wear your uniform. Come on, when’s the last time you went out? All you do is work on your house when you’re not working here.”

  The kid had a point there. God, was he actually getting talked into this? “And what explanation would I give her for our little switcheroo?”

  “Who cares? She probably won’t even notice the difference. She’s old, Cap. With glasses. One fireman’s the same as another. Except you’re the captain, so that’s even better,” he added hastily. “The best part is, no one will rag on you. They wouldn’t dare.”

  “Because I’m the captain?”

  “No, because you’re . . . you.”

  Brody frowned and pretended to check Engine 1 to make sure the B shift had polished it properly. He didn’t want to upset the white-haired woman who had bid on Ryan, but he also didn’t want to send the kid over the edge.

  “Seriously, Captain, I won’t know what to say to her. It’ll be embarrassing for her. I don’t know anything about . . . knitting or that shit. Crocheting. Bingo.”

  “Elderly people often care deeply about politics.”

  “Exactly. I don’t even read People magazine. Please, Captain. I’ll do anything.”

  Brody gauged the extent of Ryan’s anxiety. Would it kill him to go out for an evening? He hadn’t dated since Rebecca had e-mailed him from an Internet café in San Diego, where she’d run off with Thorval the surfer. But this wouldn’t be a date. This would be like taking his grandmother out for an afternoon at the Botanical Gardens.

  He might not be able to hang on to a marriage, but he could show an old lady a good time.

  “You owe me, Hoagie.”

  “Captain, you rock.”

  “I’m deeply moved.”

  Whistling, Ryan disappeared. Brody was left alone with his thoughts, which now went in an unexpected direction—just how did you plan for a date with an eighty-year-old woman?

  Nelly and Melissa lived in the old Victorian house where Nelly had spent the last fifty-six years of her life. It was an unusual style for San Gabriel, which, like most small towns in the sunny valley northeast of Los Angeles, was filled with old, Spanish-style, stuccoed buildings mixed with newer tract homes. When Nelly and Leon had first moved in, they’d planted lemon and orange trees, and masses of jasmine, which twined up the front and back porches. The back porch held a glider where Nelly loved to rock and smell her beloved flowers. Inside were worn hardwood floors and old-fashioned crown moldings. The kitchen had vintage pink-speckled linoleum floors. It was here that Melissa, in the middle of washing dishes, faced off with her grandmother.

  “Nope! Sorry, Grans, it’s not going to happen. It’s not your birthday anymore.” Melissa tossed the hair out of her eyes as she scrubbed a pot with frustration verging on violence. She glared at Nelly, whose eyes, normally fierce as a golden eagle’s, wore the “innocent” look that meant trouble.

  “Don’t frown. You’ll ruin your looks,” said Nelly automatically.

  Melissa hunched her shoulder to wipe soap suds off her cheek. “If you’re so worried about my looks, you shouldn’t piss me off.”

  “I wasn’t trying to. I’m just asking you for a favor.”

  “Is that what it is? Nothing resembling, say, the wackiest setup known to man? You’re the one who bid on him, you get to go out with him.” Melissa used the hand sprayer to rinse the pot, then set it upside down on the drying rack. When her grandmother didn’t answer, Melissa sent her a sidelong look.

  Nelly, with a pained look, was holding her stomach, clearly waiting for a spasm to pass.

  Oh, Grans, thought Melissa, her irritation evaporatin
g. Those spasms were the reason Melissa had moved in with Nelly. When Nelly had first revealed her unspecified but clearly painful condition, Melissa had tried to convince her grandmother to move into an assisted living situation. There was no one else to help. Melissa’s mother was dead, and her father was . . . her father. But Nelly had flat-out refused to leave her home. Melissa had launched a full-scale search for a live-in nurse, but every candidate with any experience had instantly recognized Nelly as a handful of hell-on-earth and passed on the job offer.

  At that point, about two years ago, Melissa’s own life in Los Angeles was falling apart. Her news director, the world-famous Everett Malcolm, had crushed her heart and nearly destroyed her career, not to mention her confidence. Anything had to be better than the day-to-day torment of working with him. She’d offered to move in with Nelly, and after much mulling and squawking Nelly had eagerly welcomed her only granddaughter. Melissa had quickly realized why. Nelly had seen it as a chance to set Melissa’s life in order.

  “What harm would it do to step out with a handsome young fireman? They make excellent husbands.”

  “Grans, getting married doesn’t happen to be my goal in life. So sue me.”

  “Oh, that fancy career of yours. You think your career is going to take care of you when you’re my age?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. My IRA—”

  “I don’t want to hear about your IRA. It’s not going to drive you to the pharmacy, it’s not going to rub your feet, or change your colostomy bag.”

  Melissa hid a smile. Nelly loved to hold up the specter of a colostomy bag, even though she herself had never had any problems along those lines.

  “I’m only twenty-nine, I don’t think I need to worry about my future hypothetical colostomy bag just yet.”

  “It’s never too soon,” said Nelly darkly.

  Melissa’s cell phone rang—the theme from Gladiator. She snatched it up. But if there was something worse than talking about a nonexistent colostomy bag, it was dealing with Ella Joy during one of her fits of paranoia.

  “Why did you change my password, Melissa? I hate it when you do that, especially when you don’t tell me.”