Maybe Grans had been right, after all. If she wanted any chance with Brody, she should never have invited Ella. Not that she was after Brody, not at all. They had nothing in common. Except that she couldn’t get that crazy kissing incident out of her mind.
It didn’t matter. What chance did regular mortals have next to someone like Ella? She’d have to be content with her original plan. Eat her dinner and mind her own business. The only entertainment would be watching the firemen fall over themselves bowing down to the goddess of Channel Six news.
San Gabriel Fire Station 1 was a square, concrete building smack in the middle of town. Melissa had seen it in news reports, but since she wasn’t on the daily news beat herself, she had never actually been there. The firefighters kept it immaculate and had even planted geraniums in planters out front. A fresh-faced young fireman, who looked about twelve, was busy watering the flowers, and at the sight of Ella exiting the car he dropped the hose. It went snaking across the driveway, spewing a rooster tail of water in front of them. Ella gave a little shriek, and jumped behind Nelly.
Melissa bent down and picked up the hose. She handed it back to the firefighter, but he didn’t budge. He stood, openmouthed, as the water streamed onto the driveway. Finally she stood directly in his line of sight. “Hi,” she said brightly. “We’re here at the invitation of Ryan Blake. This is my grandmother, Nelly McGuire. And this is—”
“Ella Joy.” He said it in a voice of awe. “We . . . we watch you all the time, you’re the bomb.”
Ella must have decided that the receiving of adulation was worth getting her strappy sandals wet. She moved from behind Nelly to greet the fireman. “Aren’t you a doll? We do our humble best, and it’s so nice to know it’s appreciated.” Bestowing her hand on the dazzled young man, she nearly bowled him over with a huge smile. Humble best, thought Melissa. Where on earth had she come up with that?
“And just call me Ella. This is Melissa, my producer.”
“We’re so . . . honored to have you . . . all of you.” Finally he managed to tear his gaze away from Ella, and remembered his manners. “Mrs. McGuire, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Stud . . . I mean, Fred. Stud’s my nickname. Because I’m not, really. A stud, that is. Not compared to the others. Come on in, and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew. They’re going to be so stoked!” He dropped the hose again and took Nelly’s arm. “How are you doing, ma’am?”
“Not very well, young man. Frankly, I could use a glass of water.” Nelly did not look pleased with events thus far.
“Right away.” He ushered Ella in front of him, with a kind of formal bow that he could have learned in dancing class. Since he seemed oblivious to the abandoned garden hose still pumping out water, Melissa hung back to turn it off. The faucet was behind a camellia bush, which left a streak of dirt on the sleeve of her silver sweater. Yet another sign that she might as well give up hope of the evening being anything other than the Ella show.
She caught up with the rest of the group as they passed through the garage-type area with four gleaming fire engines of various kinds. Fred was racing through the tour, clearly eager to present his prize guests to the rest of the squad. “That’s Engine 1 and that’s Truck 1. When the engine, truck, and pumper go out together on a call they’re called Task Force 1. Engine 1 takes a four-man crew and carries five hundred gallons. Truck 1’s brand-new, it’s got a state-of-the-art hundred-foot aerial ladder. I can’t go up in it, I’m afraid of heights, but man, you should see the captain. Ryan Blake’s our inside man, plus we have a top man, an AO, Apparatus Operator, and a tillerman, or tiller person I should say, for Truck 1. We have a pumper and an ambulance too. We clean and polish them up every day, we take a lot of pride in our rigs. And our captain’s a stickler. But it pays off, because if you get messy in one area, you might get sloppy in others, and then it’s a safety issue. This station’s a sparkle corps house.”
He paused proudly.
“What’s that?” Melissa asked, when it appeared she was the only one paying attention to his spiel.
“It means every firefighter in California wants to be at this station. Only the best of the best get to come here. We get a lot of action, lot of fires, but we have the best safety record anywhere. And everyone wants to work for our captain. He’s a legend, you know.”
Melissa, too curious to resist, broke the flow of his commentary. “Do you mean Captain Brody?”
His face lit up. “Yeah, that’s him, have you heard of him? He’s saved hundreds of lives in his career, that’s why he’s a legend. There’s nobody like him. That’s why everyone wants to transfer in here.”
“Hundreds of lives,” breathed Ella. “What a hero. We should do a story on him, Melissa.”
“Oh, he’d never let you. He doesn’t like publicity at all. 60 Minutes wanted him on, and he wouldn’t even talk to them.”
“I’ll just have to try to persuade him,” cooed Ella in a tone that made Melissa want to wring her neck.
“Sure, I bet he’d talk to you. You’re even more beautiful in person, and you’re the hottest anchor on TV.”
Nelly gave a dry little cough. “I’m awfully thirsty.”
“Oh sure, ma’am, my bad. I get kinda carried away sometimes. I’ll show you more about the rigs later. Come on and meet the others!”
They followed him down a narrow hall, then turned left toward a large common room.
“That’s the training room up ahead,” said Stud. “At least that’s what it’s called officially. We call it the TV room. Workout room’s around the corner. This is where we sleep during our shifts. We work twenty-four hours on, twenty-four hours off, twenty-four on, then get four days off. Sometimes it feels like we live here. ”
Looking back over her shoulder, Melissa saw a series of small, cell-like rooms with beds. Did Brody sleep in one of those? The thought made her shiver.
The training room contained comfortable couches, armchairs, and an enormous TV set mounted on the wall. It gave on to a large kitchen with a long table lined with two benches. Several firemen were kicking back watching a football game—what else? thought Melissa. One man stood at the stove, cooking, and another was busy laying out paper plates and handing out sodas.
The excitable Stud burst out talking as soon as he stepped into the room. “Look who came to dinner, guys!”
A roomful of heads turned and then snapped in a general double take. The firemen who were sitting down leaped to their feet. Everyone gaped at the fiery beacon of Ella. She was red meat before a pack of hungry dogs, a red flag before a herd of bulls. It wasn’t just the fact that Ella was a semi-celebrity, thought Melissa, watching the scene. It was the way she’d dressed, like a cartoon figure of lust, created to appeal to the most primitive part of the male brain.
“Ella Joy! . . . From Channel Six . . . We watch you every night . . . The Sexy Side of the News! . . . You are the bomb . . . You read the news better than anybody . . . Can’t you get rid of that jerk who’s always talking over you . . . It’s Ella Joy, dude! Right here, in our station! Wait’ll the 5s hear about this.”
Ella Joy stood laughing, soaking it in like a hummingbird feeding on sugar water. This was the kind of moment she lived for, and she looked so delighted, Melissa didn’t begrudge it to her at all. Nelly, on the other hand . . . Nelly quivered with fury, muttering a word Melissa sincerely hoped was not “tramp.”
She scanned the group with superhuman speed, her heart racing.
No Brody. Disappointment formed a hard lump in her throat. So maybe she had been counting on seeing him here. It was better this way. She could concentrate on her secret mission of getting the Bachelor Firemen to come on the news. As soon as the noise died down a bit, she broke in. “Hi everyone, it’s so nice of you to invite us. This is Nelly McGuire and I’m her granddaughter, Melissa. Is Ryan Blake here?”
“Hoagie! Get your butt out here!”
&nbs
p; A vision stepped out of the kitchen. Melissa went actually, literally breathless as he ambled with a loose-hipped, relaxed stride toward them. Those eyes . . . bluer than a sunny summer sky . . . those perfect features . . . that sexy walk. It felt as if time had stopped . . . as if the world slowed down to admire him as he passed. Dazed, Melissa watched him make his way along the benches, and suddenly she felt deep sympathy for Fred. If she had a hose, it would have slipped right through her fingers. The closer he got to them, the more breathtaking he looked, and when he finally stood before them, Melissa could have sworn she heard a chorus of heavenly angels crooning overhead. But wasn’t she supposed to be mad at Ryan, who had refused to show up for his date with Nelly?
Ryan took Nelly’s hand in both of his. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Miz McGuire, and I want to say how sorry I am about the other night. I just hope I can make it up to you tonight with some home cooking.”
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing. As a matter of fact, I was feeling sickly myself that night.”
“The captain told me. Is this your beautiful granddaughter?” His summer-blue eyes smiled into Melissa’s.
That did it. She was going to faint at this gorgeous man’s feet. She opened her mouth, hoping something would come out, anything, but it took Nelly’s fierce hand squeeze to get the words flowing.
“Hi, I’m Melissa.” And that was the end of the flow.
“So you’re the granddaughter.” He cocked his head at her, a speculative look in his eye. Her mind raced. What had he heard about her? Had Brody said something? What? And how could she find out?
Ryan turned back to Nelly. “Would you like something to drink, Mrs. McGuire?”
“A glass of water,” she said firmly, with a venomous glance toward Fred, who was lost in the crowd around Ella Joy.
“Coming right up. Why don’t you come sit down over here.” He led Nelly and Melissa to a place on the bench that had obviously been prepared specially for Nelly, with a dusty-looking cushion and a bouquet of daisies in a plastic cup.
“My, you boys think of everything. I hope you’re going to sit here next to us.”
“Of course I will. You tell your granddaughter to save me a seat.” Ryan winked at Melissa. “I’m going to go finish up this stew. You like lamb stew, Miz Nelly?”
“I’m sure it’ll be just wonderful.” Nelly patted his hand. As soon as he was gone, she turned on Melissa.
“Melissa, you’re embarrassing me,” she hissed.
“I know. I’ll be okay, I promise. He just . . . took me by surprise.”
“Didn’t I tell you he was something else? Look at Miss Trampy-Pants. She wants all the boys to herself.”
Melissa glanced over at the anchor, who was surrounded by eager firemen. The mob included a big fellow with a belly, Fred the Stud, several men in their twenties and thirties. They were all fit, rugged, muscular guys (except for the big-bellied one), and attractive as hell. But Melissa had to admit, Ryan was in a class by himself.
“I’m going to make sure Ryan stays right next to me.” Nelly cackled. “I’ll turn the fire hose on Ella if I have to. I bet you’re sorry now that he was sick.”
Surprisingly, “sorry” didn’t come to mind. Ryan was gorgeous, but she couldn’t imagine feeling comfortable with him. Not the way she had with Brody. Even though she’d yelled at Brody and he’d yelled back, there still had been a feeling of ease with him. Maybe that was why, come to think of it. He hadn’t backed down, and he hadn’t gotten offended. She hadn’t worried about what to say, clearly. And as much as she admired Ryan’s appearance, somehow she had no interest in being kissed by him. When he’d taken her arm to guide her to the bench, she hadn’t felt a flicker of that electric jolt she’d felt with Brody.
Where was Captain Brody? He must have known about this dinner—captains knew that sort of thing, didn’t they? She wondered if he was avoiding her. Fine. She’d just have to enjoy herself with Bachelor Number One.
When Ryan returned, Melissa gave him a beaming smile. He handed them blue plastic cups filled with water, and then sat down, swinging one leg over the bench so he straddled it. Melissa searched for a topic of conversation. It was time to prove she knew how to speak words in a coherent sequence.
“So Fred was saying this is one of the most sought-after fire stations . . . do you like working here?”
Bingo. Ryan’s face lit up. “Love it. We work hard but we have fun too. We play jokes on each other. A couple weeks ago we put Double D’s boots in the freezer, you shoulda seen his face when he stepped into ’em. He jumped around like his socks were on fire. All kinds of shit like that. Cap doesn’t mind, he says it’s good for morale. He says when you’re dealing with life-and-death situations, you have to let out the pressure somehow or other.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Melissa. “It’s the same way in the newsroom. Once we moved our anchor’s clock forward, so when he came back from dinner he thought he’d missed the news.”
Ryan threw his head back and laughed. In a dispassionate way, Melissa admired the strong, clean line of his throat. “Good one. I like that. Reminds me of when we sent Vader out for takeout, and when he got back we were all gone. Hiding behind the station, but he didn’t know that. He thought it was invasion of the body snatchers.”
Nelly chimed in and told a story about an April Fool’s prank she had once pulled on her husband, Leon. Before long, the three of them were happily exchanging stories, and Melissa felt as though she’d found a long-lost brother. She even felt comfortable enough to bring up Loudon’s favorite topic.
“So I heard you guys are called the Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel. What’s that all about?”
For the first time, Ryan looked uncomfortable. The man they called Double D leaned over. “Look around you. All these young studs? Single. I’m the only married one here. Me and a guy on the C shift. Everyone else is ready, willing, and available.” He winked.
“The captain hates it when people talk about it. But it’s true,” said Ryan. “We don’t have a lot of married guys. Cap was, but not anymore.”
“It’s the curse.” Double D glanced around the table and lowered his voice. “The Curse of Constancia B. Sidwell.”
Melissa nearly choked on her sip of water. She couldn’t do a news story about a curse, could she? “Who’s that?”
“Mail-order bride, selected in 1850 by one of San Gabriel’s first volunteer firemen, Virgil Rush. His house used to stand on this very spot. He led a lonely, solitary existence, and hoped Miss Constancia from Boston would be the answer. They corresponded a few times, then she packed up to move West. He met the mail wagon month after month, but she never showed up. Held up by robbers, the legend says. Then she fell in love with the leader of the gang. All the other firemen mocked him. He ended his days bitter and alone, and supposedly his last words were a curse in the name of Constancia Sidwell against all the other firemen, vowing they should have just as hard a time finding love as he did. And to this day, the path of true love pretty much goes off a cliff when it hits this firehouse.”
Melissa was so caught up in the story she barely realized that a hush had fallen around the table. “That’s a great story. Do you have any examples?”
Ryan interjected. “It might also be that we have a lot of younger guys here. They come to Captain Brody to get trained, because he’s the best. Cap says the curse is a load of bull.”
“Yeah? Explain Stan, then,” said Double D.
“Stan? Who’s Stan?” asked Melissa.
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” A commanding voice from the doorway sent butterflies streaking through Melissa’s stomach.
Chapter Eight
Damn. The sight of Melissa hanging on Ryan’s every word with her lips parted and her eyes shining did unpleasant things to Brody’s gut. She looked different, her creamy skin flushed pink, her hair in smooth waves. Wh
y had he ever thought she wasn’t beautiful? She was stunning. And Ryan seemed to be glued to her side.
Talking about the damn bachelor fireman curse.
On cue, Stan pressed against his leg.
“Just look at that cute doggy!”
A familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. Good thing, because he’d been about to stalk to the table and swat Ryan away from the girl he couldn’t stop staring at. He wrenched his eyes away from Melissa and blinked at the onslaught of shiny red vinyl. It encased a tiny, curvy woman whom he’d last seen on his TV.
Fred, hovering at Ella Joy’s elbow, jumped to attention. “Captain, look who came tonight. Ella Joy, from Channel Six! Can you believe she’s going to eat with us?”
Ella offered him the kind of smile that said a night in her bed wouldn’t be far off. “Captain, I like the sound of that. Call me Ella.”
“Ella, from the Sunny Side of the News. Honor to meet you, Ms. Joy.”
“It’s my pleasure, I do love to meet my fans.” She touched his arm. “Especially when they’re captains.”
Her seductive flattery had a hypnotic effect on him. “I’m one of the fire captains here. There’s two of us. I’m Captain Brody.”
“He’s the only captain that counts,” said Fred. Brody tore his gaze away from Ella Joy to frown at the kid. “What I mean is . . . he’s higher up than Captain Kelly, and he’s the one on shift right now, so right now, he’s the one who counts.”
“Are you the captain they were telling us about, who’s saved so many lives?” Ella fluttered her eyelashes.
Brody’s frown grew fiercer. “Stud, you’re off tour guide duty until further notice.”
“Oh, you can’t blame him. I am a reporter, you know. Prying information from unwilling sources is my job.”
The Fireman Who Loved Me Page 7