The ornery fireman simply came around to the other side. “Look, I can’t think of anyone who fought harder for a different future than you did when you left Chicago. You kicked and scratched and remade your whole life into exactly what you wanted. I admire that.” He ducked his head into Dylan’s line of vision even when Dylan looked away. “What I don’t admire is how you’ve decided—how you’ve let Yvonne decide—that you’re second-rate somehow. You’ve let that woman knock all the fight out of you.”
“So I should put it all on the line for a chance with Karla. Pour on the charm and sweet-talk her out of her own life’s goals and stage a one-man campaign that Gordon Falls could be the perfect home for her.” Dylan picked up the bucket of sudsy water and started walking back to the edge of the garage floor. “Because what have I got to lose? In six months there’s no chance she’ll figure out all she’s given up and walk right on out of here. No chance whatsoever that if we keep up the Coffee Catch, I’ll be the one to personally introduce to her some fancy high-priced tourist fisherman who’ll fit perfectly back in Chicago.”
Dylan hurled the soapy water out of the bucket, sending it splashing halfway across the driveway. “Come on—you said it yourself. That Jim Shoe guy would have been hitting on her if he were ten years younger. I can’t keep her here. I don’t want to be the only thing keeping her here. It won’t work.” He glared at Jesse, no longer worried about offending his friend. “And that means this conversation is over.”
“Hey, Dylan, come on, it’s...”
“Over.” He stopped himself just short of shouting.
Jesse pushed out a breath and held up his hands in surrender. “Loud and clear, buddy, loud and clear.”
* * *
Karl had declared his official return to Karl’s.
Karla would have thought her grandfather had come back from the dead, the way the coffee shop erupted in cheers and applause as he walked in the front door Tuesday morning. Dad, Violet and even Dr. Morehouse had all expressed concerns, but Grandpa wasn’t hearing any of it. Once Karl Kennedy set his mind to something, he was an immovable force. No, his gait wasn’t steady, but he wasn’t using a walker, either. In fact, the time it had taken him to haul himself up the few front steps had only added to the anticipation of the encouraging crowd. If he’d faltered, Karla was convinced the townsfolk would have surged forward and carried him in on their shoulders.
Dad threw her a look. It didn’t take much to connect the dots—Karl was launching himself back into the shop as his way of handling the news of her return to Chicago. Dad’s look wasn’t so much of blame as it was of worried acceptance of an unavoidable consequence. Karl had to know she was leaving, and evidently he felt he had to be back here if she was.
“Welcome back, Karl.” Oscar managed a smile for the occasion. “We sure have missed you.”
“I missed even you, Oscar.” Grandpa turned to look around the room, choking up a bit. “I missed all of you.”
The room was packed, but parted like the Red Sea to allow Grandpa a clear path to the corner booth, specially decorated for the occasion. “I do believe,” Karl laughed as he eased himself carefully down into the booth, “this might be the first time I’ve sat here in years.”
“You’ve earned it, Pop.” Dad clasped a hand on Grandpa’s shoulder as he ceremoniously placed a cup of coffee and a slice of pie on the table.
“Does everyone get coffee and pie?” Grandpa asked, his face flushing.
“Today,” Karla answered, pulling a cloth off the chalkboard to reveal a festive, illustrated sign Charlotte Taylor had drawn saying Karl Day—Free Pie for All! “everybody gets all the coffee and pie they want.”
Jesse Sykes turned on the music system he’d brought, filling the air with the ’40s swing jazz that was Grandpa’s favorite, and the party began.
Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be, Karla thought. She’d prayed hard for Grandpa after he’d announced to the family his intended official return to Karl’s Monday night at dinner. Perhaps all the happiness in the room was God’s answer to those prayers. It seemed as if everyone was offering to pitch in and help. It was heartwarming to see a man so loved, so tied to such a large group of friends.
Dylan came up beside her, shaking his head and chuckling at some joke someone had just made about Karl’s “superman bionic hip.” He stared for a moment at the crowd around Grandpa. “I think he’s going to be okay.”
Karla looked up at him. “I sure hope so. I can’t help thinking this is my doing.” She swallowed the lump in her throat for the hundredth time since Grandpa’s announcement.
“You did what you needed to do, and now Karl is doing what he needs to do—there’s no blame in that. He may not be able to see it now, but he’d never want to be what stood between you and Rooster’s—you know that.”
Karla nodded, thankful that Dylan had found the right words to soothe her guilty conscience. She blinked back a tear. “Thanks, I needed to hear that.”
Dylan held her gaze for a moment, and she saw the “one that got away” look in his eyes that had pierced her heart back on the riverfront. If only she had met Dylan even one year ago while he was still back in Chicago, how different things might have been. Only, was that true? If they had met in Chicago, then he would never have launched his charter business, and it was clear Dylan belonged on the river as much as she belonged behind the counter of Rooster’s someday. The weight of “what if” pressed against her heart, as sad as it was certain.
“Your grandfather’s a rich man, Karla. Rich in all the ways that matter.” So much hung unresolved and unsaid in the air between her and Dylan.
Karla slid the last slice from a pie tin and set it on the counter in front of Dylan, a hopeful peace offering. “That sounds like a line straight out of It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“It probably is.” Dylan swiped his baseball cap from his head and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Look at that guy. A million friends who all wish him the best. That’s the way to go through life, isn’t it?”
Did she have a million friends who wished her the best? She had Bebe and others from school, even one or two from her high school days, but nothing like Karl’s crowd of supporters. “I hope my customers think as highly of me someday.” After all, Karl had built up his following over forty years, and she hadn’t even started yet. “If I do it right, Rooster’s clientele would be as much its own community as this—with maybe a bit less gossip.”
Dylan laughed as he dug into his pie. “That’d be nice.”
“Will you come visit me at Perk? Once or twice, maybe, if business brings you to Chicago?” It felt like a hollow offer—there was little reason to think business would ever bring him to Chicago. A trade show, maybe, but then again that was marketing, and he’d made his disdain for the city pretty clear.
Dylan stopped his forkful of apple pie midair. “Sure, why not?”
Karla wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t that he was lying—she thought he meant it at the moment, but she was equally sure he’d somehow never find the chance.
Chapter Fourteen
Karl’s first few days back at the coffee shop were bumpy, but they went well enough for Karla’s worries to ease. Grandpa had consented to hiring two more servers even if he hadn’t come around to the fact that someone other than him needed to be managing the place. “All in good time,” Dad said, but Karla could tell the topic concerned him, too.
The anniversary celebration was clipping along nicely, as well. Sixteen different groups had signed up their decorated floats for the parade. Some, like the 4-H club with their “Noah’s Ark,” proudly announced their designs. Others, like the fire department’s flaming cabin she wasn’t supposed to know about, kept their entries a secret.
While she’d have never thought it at first, it was a hectic sort of fun being in charge of the event. So many people had come u
p to her in church this morning with a question or comment. It was as if no one even noticed she didn’t live here—she’d been grafted into the community without hesitation even as she was thinking about how to pack up her car to move back to Chicago. The dissonance made for an odd sensation that never seemed to leave the pit of her stomach.
“Don’t forget next week’s special celebration service to honor the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department,” Pastor Allen said. “If you signed up to serve on the setup or cleanup crews, see Jeannie Owens for your assignments after church. The event committee will meet in Room 4 after service as well, and the decorations committee will be—”
The firehouse siren cut him off midsentence as it sent up its distinctive wail, and everything halted except the handful of men who got up and dashed out of the sanctuary.
It was one of the things about Gordon Falls that was burned in her memory: the whole town stilled for a second when the fire alarm went off. You could be just about anywhere, and at the sound, there would always be someone who stood up and left the room. Meetings, church, restaurants, picnics—it was the unspoken rule in Gordon Falls that nothing was ever allowed to get in the way of the volunteer firemen rushing to the station to do their jobs.
Grandpa had a policy that no fireman on the shift ever had to pay for an unfinished meal—even though that meant a hefty sum since he was so close to the firehouse. He always joked that he wanted the firemen on his side if the shop ever caught fire, but Karla had long since guessed that Grandpa just figured it was his way to give back. She’d have to find some way to give back to her community when Rooster’s opened, whenever and wherever that was.
Karla said a prayer with the whole congregation—as they always did in such an instance—for the health and safety of the victims and the firefighters. One of those who had risen and left was Dylan. Keep him safe, Lord, she prayed as she crossed his attendance off the after-service meeting. Unless this was a false alarm, she’d have to handle this meeting on her own.
No worries—she was up to it. They’d talked about this possibility several times, and things were going smoothly in the event plans. As it was, she and Dylan were right on schedule to stage their “spontaneous handoff” to Grandpa and Violet sometime in the next two days. Thank You, Father, for giving me a smooth exit from Gordon Falls. Even Grandpa had seemed to lose that hurt look that constantly poked at her conscience.
Twenty minutes later, Karla checked off another item on her anniversary committee agenda. “Okay, so the prizes for best float are all set, right?”
“We could use a few more items in the grand prize, but I’ll take care of that,” Violet pronounced. Karla and Dylan had joked more than once that Violet Sharpton was their secret weapon. That woman could get anything out of anybody.
“The hall decorations have all been approved, and I’m renting the tables for the outside banquet in front of the firehouse. It’ll be like George’s retirement party, only about twice the size, so we’ll need to block off the street.” Abby Reed and Jeannie Owens made an outstanding team heading up that part of the evening. “Only we’ll need...”
The door pushed open behind the pair to reveal a rumpled, slightly sweaty Dylan still in his fire gear. “What’d I miss?”
Karla was completely unprepared for the way Dylan looked right off a call. His face was flushed, his T-shirt damp and clinging to a very muscular chest. For a slightly sooty, rough-hewn guy, he looked downright heroic. And from the stares of the other women in the room—including Violet—he was having the same effect on everyone.
“What?” he said, pulling a red suspender down off one shoulder. “I figured if I changed I’d miss the whole meeting. It was just a grass fire—I’m not too messed up.” As the women still stared, he added, “Am I?”
“No, hon, you’re just fine.” Violet smirked. “Sit down and I’ll get you a glass of water or something.”
“We were almost finished, actually.” Karla had to concentrate on spitting the words out. Really, it was ridiculous the way his appearance affected her—it was as if a blinding flashbulb had just gone off in the back of her brain. The unassuming nature she’d always seen in him was gone, as if he put on an air of authority when he donned his gear. She was ashamed of the gush of attraction that muddled her thoughts.
“Here, you can catch up from my notes while Mayor Boston goes over the volunteer sign-ups.” She pushed her agenda notes to the empty chair beside her, trying not to think about the woodsy, smoky smell that filled the room as he sat down. She’d have thought a just-off-the-job firemen would not smell as good as he did. There was a smudge of something black on his jaw and the urge to reach out and wipe it off was as strong as it was insane. Stop that, she reprimanded herself. You’re being silly.
“Sounds like plans for the service are all in place. Pastor Allen...?” Karla shoved her thoughts back onto the meeting’s agenda.
“Well,” the pastor answered, “we thought we’d add a bit where we could light candles for all those who served in the department but are no longer with us.”
“We’ve lost men in the line of duty?” Mayor Boston asked.
“The department has only lost one man on duty—back in the sixties,” Chief Bradens replied. “But I pulled the figures for Pastor Allen and there are 172 firefighters to remember over the department’s history.
“Then after the service, we can release balloons for all the living firemen and those still serving. You know, let their spouse or children do the honors as a way of recognizing the family commitment.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Violet said, looking at Chief Bradens and at Dylan. “We can’t say enough thank-yous to our heroes.”
Later, as the meeting broke up, Karla saw Dylan catch up to Violet in the hallway. “You say thank you to us all the time, Vi. I just want you to know that. You’ve been great to the firehouse.” He towered over the petite woman, and Karla got the sense that if she could reach, Vi would have tousled Dylan’s hair or made some other grandmotherly gesture.
“I’m glad you feel that way. We’ll be lighting one of those candles for Mr. Sharpton, you know. He was one of you in his younger years.”
“You don’t say.” Dylan’s smile spread all the way to his eyes.
Vi poked him in the ribs. “And who’s going to hold your balloon, son?”
Karla winced. Violet could be as stubborn as Grandpa, if not more. She edged toward the two of them, ready to step in and divert the conversation if Dylan needed saving.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ll find someone to hold my balloon.”
Karla thought that was a pretty effective dodge, until the older woman looked straight at her. “I’ve no doubt that you will, Dylan.” With a wink and a chuckle, she headed off to where Grandpa was debating some topic with Mayor Boston.
The color in Dylan’s cheeks heightened, and Karla felt her own cheeks burn. She knew they were both trying hard to disregard the gentle hum that had passed between them. The one that had only doubled when they’d mutually decided nothing could be done about it. That was bad enough, but when he did things like show up looking all scruffy and heroic, or treat Violet’s outrageous remarks with such tenderness, it just made it all worse.
“I was thinking—” she resorted to event business to cover the discomfort of the moment “—we should ask those two to judge the parade. I don’t think either of them is planning on being involved in decorating a boat.”
Dylan pretended to look shocked. “Karl’s isn’t going to enter a sloop dressed as a slice of pie?”
“Very funny. Luckily, this is one instance where Grandpa isn’t showing his tendency to stick his nose in every town project. Have you thought about how we’re going to pass the leadership off to them?”
Dylan’s expression sobered. “I was waiting for you to tell him you were really leaving.” He gently
touched her elbow. “I’m sorry that was so hard, by the way. But he seems to be holding up okay. Maybe it was the thing he needed to push himself back to the shop.”
“Grandpa? He needed no encouragement to come back. We were all struggling to keep him away a bit longer.”
“Yeah.” Dylan gazed down at her. “But it looks like it worked out.”
She dared to bring up the thought that had been niggling at the back of her mind. “Do you still think it’s a good idea to foist it all off on Grandpa and Vi? They’ll feel responsible for everything, and I’m worried it will stress them out. Won’t they have more fun if we simply name them as the boat parade judges?”
“But you’re leaving.” Why did he have to say it like that? With just enough of a hint of disappointment to send her imagination running amok?
“I know, but I can put it off until Sunday afternoon. Things are going so smoothly that if you can pull most of the weight this final week, I can still be ready to head to Chicago at the last minute. Only I don’t want to ask so much of you.” She couldn’t help but add, “I know we groaned about being stuck with it at first, but, well, I’ve had fun.”
“It has been fun. I’m glad we did it.”
She was, too, only her enjoyment of their partnership made everything so much more complicated.
* * *
She’d had fun. That was the last thing Dylan wanted to hear.
It was easier when she appeared bored, looked stuck with the small-town celebration that was getting in the way of her big plans. When she acted as if clocking time in Gordon Falls was just an obligation to her grandfather. That kind of attitude made it easier to write off Karla Kennedy as just another woman on the fast track to her own success. It made it easier to ignore the hum under his rib cage when she gave him one of her looks or pushed to get her way at the coffee shop or around the committee table.
Helping her leave was the right thing to do. They wanted different things from life. Sure, it had felt good to facilitate the connection between her and Jim Shoe, to show her that all the good business in the world didn’t stop outside Chicago’s borders. She was leaving, should be leaving, and he most definitely was set to stay here in Gordon Falls. So why did her words about leaving burn in his chest the way they did?
Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday FamilySugar Plum SeasonHer Cowboy HeroSmall-Town Fireman Page 72