And pure and simply, he loved Jolie Calbert Conrad with all his heart.
Jolie tilted her head back and whimpered low in her throat. Dusty positioned himself and thrust deeply into her hot, tight flesh. An intense shudder surged up from his feet to his neck, leaving not a muscle untouched. He slowly withdrew and plunged again, breathing in her shallow moan and cupping her face in his other hand.
He was unprepared when she lifted her other leg to curve it around his waist, and he adjusted, moving until both hands cupped her bottom, supporting her weight against the wall with his hands and body. He’d barely recovered when she tilted her hips forward, taking him deeper, farther, than he could have on his own. He stretched his neck back and groaned, knowing there was nowhere on earth that he’d rather be in that moment. Knowing that the heaven he was exploring with Jolie was the only matter of importance.
When he thrust into her sweet, welcoming flesh again, he did so with growing urgency, undeniable need, his mouth following his body’s lead and deepening their kiss. Wet skin smacked against wet skin, feeding his passion until he shattered into pieces as small and as light as the droplets pelting them. Jolie cried out his name and tangled her fingers in his damp hair, her own climax freeing him in a way he couldn’t comprehend, could only sense.
Two days ago their coming together had been urgent, intense, quick, their minds filled with confusion and doubt. Now they had joined with complete understanding of what they were doing, what it meant, and with full knowledge of the significance. That, alone, filled Dusty with a hope he hadn’t thought he was capable of feeling again. The same hope that had filled him the day he realized she was the woman he wanted to marry. And the day of their wedding, when he’d lifted her veil to find her blue eyes shining at him full of love.
Drawing air deep into his lungs, he closed his eyes and rested his face against her neck, reveling in the pounding of her pulse there. His hands still supported her. Her stomach moved against his as she fought to catch her own breath, find her own way back from the stratosphere with whatever knowledge she had gained from their lovemaking in order to apply it to the here and now.
He swallowed when he felt her press her lips against his temple, then again to his cheek, her trembling hands gently holding the back of his head.
He smiled against her sweet-smelling skin. “I finished the Jacuzzi this morning.” He drew back, searching her emotion-filled eyes, gazing at her swollen, well-kissed lips. “You want to try it out?”
Her mouth slowly widened in a lazy smile filled with mischief and desire. “Lead the way.”
He carefully disentangled her legs from around his waist and lowered her, helping her to stand on the tile. She switched off the water even as he pushed open the shower door, white clouds swelling out to fill the cooler outer bathroom with steam. Steam caused as much by the hot water as by their even hotter lovemaking.
Dusty took a fluffy navy-blue towel from a nearby pile and leisurely draped it over her shoulders, using a soft corner to tenderly wipe the moisture from her forehead and cheeks. She blinked up to look at him, as if sensing he had changed, had come to some sort of conclusion, and his actions were portraying them.
“Jolie, I—”
The ringing of the telephone in the bedroom cut into his words. He blinked, refusing to allow the sound to intrude, intent on continuing. Determined to tell her that he didn’t know what tomorrow held, but that he wanted them to figure it out…together. But the sound of the town fire alarm exactly on the second ring of the phone sliced into his warm intentions as cleanly as a fire ax.
The light in Jolie’s eyes dimmed and she blinked, pulling the towel more tightly around herself.
“Leave it,” Dusty found himself asking softly.
He watched her throat work around a swallow and her gaze move to somewhere beyond his shoulder.
“I…I can’t,” she whispered. “I just…can’t.”
She moved to pass him and he gripped her shoulders. “You can’t…or you won’t?”
Confusion, sadness and determination filled her eyes as surely as passion had only minutes before. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked roughly, his voice quiet. Too quiet. “Well, tell me, Jolie. Is it fair for me to have to play second fiddle to your career? A career that rips you away from me when I need you most? A career that leaves me wondering whether or not I’ll still have a wife at the end of the shift? Or whether or not I’ll be attending another funeral?”
The shock on her face was undeniable. “I…”
Dusty grabbed another towel from the pile. “Never mind, Jolie. Answer the phone.”
Chapter 15
Jolie sat in the passenger’s side of Dusty’s truck, feeling raw, exposed and torn in two. Her muscles were still pleasantly sated and clamoring for more, compelling her to want to tell Dusty to stop the truck, head back to the house, forget about the fire and climb into that big, hot Jacuzzi with him to take up where they’d left off. Literally, and figuratively. Both in their lovemaking…and their marriage.
She couldn’t be exactly sure why, but something in Dusty’s eyes after they’d made love in the shower had made her heart skip a beat. It was as if he’d come to a conclusion about her, about them, about their marriage, and nowhere was the fatalism she’d grown accustomed to seeing. Instead, lurking there in the depths of his rich brown eyes, she saw love. Clear and bright. And she felt warmed by it all over. It made her remember how tender he could be, how loving. Inspired in her a longing for the way things used to be. No, no…not like how they used to be. Better.
Next to her, Dusty cursed under his breath and made a turn too quickly, the rear truck tires squealing against asphalt. Jolie turned to stare out the passenger window, considering the other side of the coin.
While having glimpsed the love in his eyes made her yearn to stay home with him, to explore all that was right between them…having him ask her to stay was quite another thing altogether. Especially since she sensed his request hadn’t been merely a genuine desire for them to continue what they had so innocently started. Rather the sudden hardness in his eyes hinted at a more important, and ultimately more urgent motive.
Jolie absently rubbed her forehead, willing away the tension there. Didn’t Dusty understand? Firefighting was her job. When the phone rang, when the siren went off, she had to go. Yes, after the fire earlier in the night, she had gained some insight into Dusty’s feelings. But did that mean she had to change hers? She felt a desire…a need to fight fires that she couldn’t hope to explain. She supposed part of the reason harkened back to the loss of her own parents. But it was more than that. So much more. She reveled in the powerful feeling of battling something larger than herself. Basked in the camaraderie that existed between her and her fellow firefighters that was as much a part of the station as the engine. Was humbled by the reminder that life was fleeting and she needed to grasp onto it with both hands.
She stared down at her hands now, finding them clasped tightly in her lap. Of course, she feared her attempts to hold on to Dusty had ultimately failed. It was a fear that spread through her bloodstream along with the adrenaline she always felt before a run.
“Sweet mercy…”
Jolie glanced at Dusty, his words softly spoken. He’d taken his foot from the gas, and as the truck slowed, he stared through the windshield at something that put his striking features into warm relief. Jolie’s throat tightened as she slowly followed his gaze. They sat on Old Orchard near Main…the perfect vantage point to see that nearly the entire downtown was ablaze.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her hand going to the front of her throat.
On the phone, Jones had mentioned something about Devil’s Night, typically the night before Halloween when street gangs and restless teens set fire to abandoned homes. Jolie’s emotions had been in such turmoil, the big-city term hadn’t registered with her. But it did now.
Only Devil’s Night was what happened in larger cities, wasn’t i
t? Smaller towns like Old Orchard were immune. They didn’t even have street gangs. Did they? It was well-known that in Detroit, only a few hours away by car, the night before Halloween proved the busiest for area firefighters. But never in the history of Old Orchard had they had to worry.
Never…until now.
Dusty pulled the truck to a stop at the curb and climbed from it as if in a daze. Jolie followed suit on the other side, gripping the truck door to anchor herself against her churning thoughts, the heat of the fire hitting her skin like the sun after a particularly cold night.
The fire they’d knocked down at Old Jake’s General Store had rekindled. And an assessing gaze told her it was perhaps the source that had ignited the businesses surrounding it, given the amount of damage and the hot orange flames lapping through the broken front windows. The general store. Eddie’s Pub. The Old Orchard Public Library. All lay victim to the growling fire, setting the whole east side of the street aglow, while the other side sat eerily silent, awash in the ominous yellow light.
Jolie shivered, absently leaving the truck door open as she started stepping toward the closest fire truck, then lengthened her strides until she was nearly running. She was vaguely aware of Dusty doing the same beside her.
She’d never faced anything near the proportions of this fire. Stood before a blaze eating nearly an entire city block filled with places she’d frequented her entire life. Businesses that had names, and friendly owners, and were chock-full of memories for her.
“What’s the status?” she heard Dusty ask Sal.
Sal wiped his hand across his soot-covered face as he closed a valve on a reserve tank and opened another discharge line, the edgy energy emanating from him as intense as the fire. “Just what it looks like. We covered the store fire, headed back to the station, then got called back a half hour later.” He was shaking his head, his hands working on automatic as he stared at the consuming blaze. “The damn thing was knocked down. I was sure of it. Not even an overlooked hot spot could have done this. Had I overlooked one. Which I didn’t. In the two minutes it took us to get here, the pub and the library were already under. A half hour later, this….”
Jolie glanced to find Dusty squeezing Sal’s shoulder. Not that the veteran firefighter noticed. She recognized the signs of shock. But so long as he continued working his way through it, he would be fine.
Chucking her jacket, Jolie rounded the truck and reached in the cab for the extra turnout suit, her gaze on the lookout for the chief, who would be directing the scene from somewhere centrally. Her nose was already filled with the smell of charred wood, her mind with the reality of ruined lives.
There. There was Chief Gary Jones. In front of the demolished general store, speaking into his radio. Even he was covered in soot, indicating that he’d gone into the fire himself.
“Is there an extra one in there?” a voice asked from behind her, the familiar sound sending shivers up and down her spine.
A moment later, Dusty came up from behind. Jolie continued pulling the bunker pants up and drew the suspenders over her shoulders, then blinked to find Dusty standing next to her. Swallowing past her tight throat, she reached in the cab, then handed him the last extra suit and pair of boots. She left her shoes on as she stuffed her own feet into the too-large boots. Gathering the coat, hat, mask and oxygen supply, she started off toward the chief. She noticed that Old Man Peterson and the temporary pastor, Jonas Noble, were approaching from the opposite direction.
Gary finished issuing an order to ventilate the east side of the library roof, then rubbed his face, further smearing the soot there.
“Chief?” Jolie asked.
He glanced at her, the soot making his lined face seem even more ancient. “Three weeks from retirement and I get the worst fire of my career.” He turned to stare into the raging blaze. “My God, it seems like everything that is Old Orchard is on fire.”
A couple of more men stepped from the shadows. Jolie recognized them both and nodded. Not that the chief realized they were there. His eyes were a million miles away as he stared into the licking flames.
“Where do you want me, Chief?” she asked, shrugging into her coat. Hands grasped hers. She looked up to find Dusty offering to help her secure her air cylinder. She searched his eyes, looking for any sign of what had passed between them back at the house. The tenderness. The passion. The love.
There was none.
The chief strode toward the front of his Jeep, where a rough diagram of the block had been laid out and on which he was keeping track of the assault.
“Martinez and Holden just came out of the pub after the north portion of the second floor collapsed. I need someone to get back in there to stop the fire from spreading to Smyth’s dry cleaners next door as soon as the first team beats back the frontal flames.” He glanced at her, then Dusty. “Can you two handle it?”
Jolie glanced at Dusty. His face was rigidly calm. Too calm. Could he handle it?
Dusty’s heart slammed against the wall of his chest in ominous, even pulses, pumping blood and adrenaline and fear throughout his body.
“Can you two handle it?” he heard Fire Chief Jones ask.
Dusty noticed the question in Jolie’s wide eyes, then with barely a second thought, he nodded. “We got it, Gary.”
The chief looked instantly relieved. “Good. Now, I need…”
Dusty tuned out because Gary was no longer talking to them. He’d turned his attention to Peterson and the pastor and the other men, leaving him and Jolie staring at each other.
Jolie didn’t have to speak. He could see the words swimming in the depths of her eyes, eyes made black by the eerie shadows cast by the fire. She was wondering if he was up for this. Remembering how he had choked earlier in the day, while they were ventilating the roof of the general store. Now, as then, seeing the doubt made his gut twist, his pulse pound harder. Not because of the fear he felt. But because Jolie didn’t trust him.
She averted her gaze and stuffed her hands into her gloves, then lifted her hood and her helmet to her head. “I’m going on over to see how far along they are.”
Dusty nodded, distractedly securing his suspenders, then shrugging into his coat as he watched her walk away until she disappeared around another truck. Damn. Never in his life had he seen in Jolie’s eyes what he’d just seen now. She’d always looked at him as if he were some sort of hero, larger than life, a man capable of anything and afraid of nothing.
How did he tell her that his new take on life, on her, stemmed from his fear of losing her?
Dusty began to turn back toward the chief when a familiar figure caught his attention. As he fastened his hat and shouldered his pack, he squinted at Scott Wahl. He wasn’t surprised to see the teenager there. The way he’d taken to hanging out at the fire station, he was probably one of the first on the scene.
Securing his jacket, he stepped toward the teen.
“Scooter?” he said, wondering what he was doing there standing alone and not insisting he be included in the fire-fighting activities. Hell, given the scope of the blaze, the chief probably would have put him in.
An ominous cracking sounded from in front of them.
“Heads up!” John Sparks called, having traded his sheriff’s uniform for full turnout gear. Sparks motioned for others to get back. A moment later, the awning over the general store gave way, crashing to the wide sidewalk in a cloud of red sparks.
Scott stumbled back a couple of steps and shook his head. “It’s so…big.”
Dusty glanced at the storefronts stretched out before them. “That it is.”
A pungent curse caused him to glance behind him. He found Sal shaking his hand, likely having injured himself while keeping on top of the gates. Using his other hand, he finished tightening a valve, then called out, “Tank’s at ten!” The truck’s built-in water tank was down to ten percent capacity. That meant the narrower attack hoses would be useless in a few minutes. A visual sweep found the two hydrants at opposite ends
of the streets being utilized by the crews at full power. “Where’s Lee City Fire Department with the extra tank, damn it?” Sal swore.
Dusty clasped a hand on Scott’s shoulder. The teen jumped and stared at him through wide, terror-filled eyes.
“Standing here watching is only going to make things worse,” Dusty said quietly, feeling the urge to reassure the kid. He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Why don’t you go see how you can help Sal? I’m sure he’d appreciate it. And the activity will take your mind off things.”
Scott nodded almost imperceptibly, then slowly began moving in Sal’s direction. Dusty watched him for a long moment, wondering if Scott had been cured of the firefighting bug. Or whether this was a momentary setback caused by the enormity of the blaze.
He tucked his chin into his chest and headed toward where Jolie waited for him. Across the street, he noticed Mrs. Noonan was setting up shop in Penelope Moon’s New Age store. Somehow all the women were acting as if it was the middle of a perfectly normal Sunday afternoon for a church social, rather than the disaster-in-the-making it was. Mrs. Noonan and her Old Orchard Women’s Club had set up tables with the help of Penelope’s lights. Mrs. Noonan was putting out disposable cups full of beverages, while even Elva Mollenkopf was making sandwiches, cutting the crusts from them, and arranging them on a tray. Dusty watched as one of the firefighters swooped by the table and grasped a half sandwich and a cup of coffee, then swung back to the front line.
Dusty aimed his gaze in front of him, seeing Josh and Joe McCreary, two brothers who sat way in the back of the church every Sunday, who mumbled whenever you asked them how they were doing, and generally acted as if they wanted to be anywhere but there. Yet here they were, the first ones in line when somebody needed help.
Dusty spotted Jolie motioning for him in front of the second truck.
Here it goes…
He put one boot in front of the other. While he’d never worked a fire anywhere but Old Orchard, he couldn’t see a neighborhood or a larger town pulling together the way they did in Old Orchard. No. Instead, there would probably be a group of spectators gathered on the street corner, pointing and talking. Here, no one was just standing, pointing and talking. Each and every one of them found a way to help any way they could.
The Woman for Dusty Conrad Page 16