Hustling toward Summer she immediately spotted Jenny Grimsley standing with the kitten.
“What is an animal doing in here? Don’t you know we could be shut down for—” Before she finished that thought, she saw the huge hole in the wall. Her eyes darted about the room, trying to reconcile what she was seeing.
“Summer!”
“I can explain,” Summer said.
“I’ve had just about enough of your explaining,” Ilsa said. “There has been nothing but trouble here since you arrived.”
“That is not true,” Summer said.
“Ilsa, you don’t know what—” Jocelyn began.
“Joce, I know you like Summer, but clearly...”
The three firefighters tramped back into the kitchen at that exact moment.
“Summer, it’s going to take a bit to get you back to normal,” Jose, the crew chief, said. “We can put up some tarp until contractors get in here.”
“Contractors!” Ilsa screeched. “Summer, you do not have the authorization to hire contractors. And what happened to that wall?”
Summer closed her eyes for a moment, offering up a super-quick prayer for both patience and circumspection. “Ilsa, if you would stop screaming and jumping to conclusions, we can tell you what happened.”
“How dare you speak to me that way. Do you know who I am?”
Summer opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, the short and stocky Allen Hayes appeared behind Malik, the tall black firefighter.
“I know who you are, Ms. Keller,” he said. “And I must say, I hadn’t put much stock in the reports I’ve been hearing about Manna. But now I’ve seen and heard it for myself. You owe Ms. Spencer an apology. Right now. And after that, you and I are going to have a little talk...before I go to the board of trustees.”
“But...look at that,” Ilsa said, pointing to the hole in the wall, “and at that!” she added, pointing to the kitten in Jenny’s arms.
“I authorized the demolition,” Allen Hayes said.
“Which is what I was trying to tell you,” Summer added.
“If it hadn’t been for Ms. Spencer,” Allen said, “that animal could have died behind that wall there. The smell of a decomposing animal isn’t pleasant and this place would have had more than just personnel issues to deal with.”
Allen turned toward Summer. “I’m going to get a contractor out here today to start work on this,” he said. “That way you won’t be too inconvenienced.”
“Thank you,” Summer said. “I was just standing here trying to figure out what we were going to do.”
“Don’t fret your pretty head,” Mr. Hayes told her. “It’s all taken care of.
Summer smiled. She knew every one of her sisters, Spring especially, would have bristled at the patronizing words in his remark. But she knew what he meant and didn’t hold a grudge.
When he turned back to Ilsa, his demeanor was not at all pleasant. “I’d like a word with you in the dining room. Now.”
The volunteers and the fire fighters exchanged the sort of glances that school kids did when the school bully was finally in trouble with the principal.
“Wow,” Jose said as the director and the facilities manager disappeared. “She’s a piece of work.”
“I hope this ends with you running this place,” Jocelyn said. “The only reason I haven’t quit is that she’s never here. I’m just glad Mr. Hayes finally witnessed it.”
Summer had been thinking the same thing.
She blinked several times, trying to stem the flood of tears that threatened to fall.
She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Maybe when she got home, but not now. Not now.
Jocelyn was at her side a moment later and pressed a paper towel into her hand. “You’ve got right on your side, Summer,” the older woman said. “Just remember that.”
Summer nodded and sniffled. “I’m still coming to take those TVs out of your house.”
Chapter Nine
Later that afternoon, Cameron looked up when his assistant softly knocked on the closed door of the fire department’s conference room.
His brow furrowed at the interruption, but he waved her in. The meeting with his division and battalion chiefs was one everyone could see in the glass conference room commonly called The Fishbowl. And it was one that generally was not disturbed.
“So sorry,” Shannon apologized to the group at large as she slipped in.
She made her way around the large table and handed Cameron a note. She took a step back, giving him a bit of privacy as he read it and awaiting his response.
He turned in his seat to look up at her. “I’m on my way,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” She hustled from the room.
Pushing his chair back, Cameron gathered up his papers and his portfolio. “Excuse me. Dave, please carry on,” he told the assistant fire chief of department operations. “I...I need to go deal with a... a personal matter.”
The men and women at the table glanced at each other and then at their boss.
“Chief, is there anything we can help with?” Dave asked.
At the door, Cameron paused, closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head.
“No. Not really,” he said. “But thank you. Dave, brief me when I return.”
“Will do, Chief.”
Cameron knew his uncharacteristic behavior would be cause for speculation, especially given his vague comment about a personal matter. But he didn’t care. He hadn’t realized that he’d crumpled the note until he paused at his assistant’s desk.
“Did they say anything else, Shannon?”
She shook her head in the negative. “No, Chief. I’m sorry. Just that he’d taken a turn for the worse, was being transported to Duke University Medical Center and that you were being summoned.”
Cameron nodded. “I’m headed to Durham,” he said. “Would you please reschedule anything I have on the calendar?”
“Already done, sir” she said with a smile and her usual efficiency. “Just one meeting with the deputy mayor about the development project, and Gloria said she was about to call me and see if it could be moved to next week.”
“Good,” Cameron said absently as he fished his keys out of his pocket and made strides toward the door.
“Chief Jackson?” Shannon called after him.
He glanced back at her.
“I’ll be praying.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Thank you, Shannon. Me, too.”
If traffic wasn’t too bad, he knew he could get to Durham in about forty minutes. Though he was driving his personal vehicle, he had emergency lights in the Lexus and could easily cut down on the time by playing his fire chief card.
Cameron tossed his gear bag into the trunk and then slipped behind the wheel. He paused to pray, even in the midst of his angst.
“Lord, he needs You now more than ever....”
Cameron Jackson was a praying man, but at a time like this, he found that words failed him.
* * *
He made good time in regular traffic and without abusing his special privileges as an emergency manager. He dashed into the large medical complex in Durham, and a few minutes later he’d managed to navigate the halls until he found the right area. Now he paced a family waiting room, alternating prayer with anxious glances at the hallway. A television tuned to a soap opera flickered on mute in one corner.
The walls, a subdued olive with flecks of gold, matched the sofa and chairs—seating that Cameron ignored in favor of the pacing.
“Mr. Jackson?”
Cameron whirled at the greeting. “Yes! Doctor, how is he?”
The two men shook hands. “I’m Doctor Nappon,” the physician said. “We have him stabilized. He’s asking to see you. But ple
ase, make it quick. I can give you five minutes, but no more.”
“I’ll take it,” Cameron said. “Thank you.”
He followed the doctor into the intensive care unit.
There, on a bed surrounded by machines and tubes and the devices designed to prolong life, was the man who’d meant so much to Cameron for much of his life.
“Mickey?”
“Hey, looka there. It’s Chief Cam.” The words, Mickey Flynn’s typical greeting for his protégé, were the same, but the voice was considerably dimmed from the usual booming of the big Irishman. The robust heartiness that Flynn was known for had been replaced, and in its stead was the rasp of someone who was gravely ill.
Seeing Flynn like this tore at Cameron. But he masked his anxiety, knowing that the last thing Flynn would want was pity and the last thing he would need was someone hovering over him looking anxious and worried.
Cameron played the moment the way all of the moments before had been played in all the years he’d known Flynn.
“They called me out of a division chiefs meeting to come up here,” Cameron told his mentor and friend. “You always were one for drama.”
Mickey grinned, but to Cameron, it looked more like a grimace.
“That’s the Irish in me,” Mickey said.
A coughing spell followed those words.
Cameron took his friend’s hand. Mickey’s skin was cool, and his hand thin like the body it now belonged to. Both were a marked contrast to the Mickey Flynn he’d always been. Over the course of his battle with cancer, he’d lost more than seventy pounds.
“Cameron?”
His name came out like a wheeze.
“Yeah, Mickey,” Cameron said leaning closer. “I’m here.”
“Favor.”
Cameron understood the word to be the question it was.
“Anything, Mick. Name it.”
“Pray,” the older man rasped.
Cameron squeezed his friend’s hand, then nodded. He bowed his head. “Okay, Mickey. Let’s pray.”
* * *
Much later that evening, long after the evening meal had been served at Manna and while the contractors were working their overnight magic in Manna’s kitchen, Summer gave in to the pent-up emotions she’d maintained tight control over during the day.
She brewed a cup of tea from the specialty blend she’d picked up while out with Cameron.
The thought of the fire chief coupled with the stress of the confrontation with Ilsa got to her. The tears she’d refused to shed at Manna now flowed in the privacy of her own home. The tea, forgotten, over-steeped in the teapot as Summer sank into one of the chaises in the dayroom off the kitchen.
Despite Summer’s brave words while at Manna, the time had come for her to find another way to serve the community. She couldn’t, wouldn’t allow Ilsa or anyone else to run roughshod over her.
As for Chief Cameron Jackson, it looked as if their little...whatever it was had run its course, as well.
Except for her it hadn’t quite dissipated, even after their exchange of words.
Her heart did a totally unexpected little flip when Jenny had suggested calling the fire department this morning.
Summer’s first thought hadn’t been about the poor, defenseless animal trapped behind the wall, but on whether or not she’d get to see Cameron. It had been, she realized, a foolish hope. It was one thing for the fire chief to go out on new resident calls. That was a perfectly logical and understandable use of the chief’s time. Getting to know new people in Cedar Springs was probably part of his job as a public servant. She doubted, however, that he went out on regular calls like putting out fires or rescuing stranded kittens.
Some part of her thought—hoped!—that he would contact her today. Even if all it was was a text message saying hello.
She considered texting him. But what would she say?
Summer figured she had probably broken some cardinal dating rule that everyone knew about except her. It had been a long time since she’d had to navigate those choppy waters.
Things were happening between them—things she had not yet fully explored.
Chicken.
Yep. She was afraid. Afraid to explore the emotions that swirled around her regarding the handsome fire chief. Afraid of what the future might hold for her. Afraid that if she lost the work at Manna that she loved so much, she would have no focus in her life.
Things were moving fast, as least as far as Summer was concerned. Garrett had pursued her for months before she’d even agreed to go out with him. Dr. Garrett Spencer had taken it slow even after that. He hadn’t attempted to kiss her until their third date.
Cameron hadn’t called to apologize for his churlish behavior. She’d half expected to come home to find flowers waiting for her. That’s what Garrett would have done.
What if Cameron felt that he had nothing to be sorry about?
Was he waiting for her to apologize?
Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
Her eyes dry now as she worked up a healthy dose of righteous indignation, she got up and paced her kitchen. Before she even realized she was doing it, she’d pulled eggs out of the refrigerator, flour, sugar and baking powder from the pantry and within minutes had a full-scale baking operation under way.
Summer did what she always did when she got stressed. She baked. The act of kneading dough or whipping eggs until they were frothy or putting dollops of cookie dough on baking sheets relaxed her.
Garrett used to say that the only reason he wasn’t a four-hundred-pound surgeon was because he maintained a rigorous exercise schedule. The thought of Garrett made her smile, but when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see Garrett’s face in her mind. She saw the handsome fire chief of Cedar Springs.
At some point in the middle of her second—or maybe it was the third—batch of cookies, Summer had sufficiently calmed down, and a brilliant idea emerged on what to do regarding the Manna situation.
She would have to wait until the morning to make an appointment with Ilsa Keller. She could put into action the second part of her middle-of-the-night baking inspiration after a few hours of sleep.
A phone call to Fire Station Number One gave her the information she needed when she rose. Today was perfect because she wasn’t scheduled to work at Manna. She ran a few quick errands to pick up the things she needed then spent the rest of the morning cooking.
When she arrived at the fire station, she had a moment of trepidation. She wondered how her gesture would be received. But the uneasiness dissipated when she walked into the firehouse.
Chapter Ten
“Hey, everybody, look,” Malik called out. “It’s Ms. Spencer from over at Manna. How’s that cat?”
“It’s doing just fine, Malik,” she said. “It was love at first sight for Jenny. She named him Crevice. And something tells me that’s going to be the most spoiled cat in all of Cedar Springs.”
“I’m still trying to figure out how it got in there in the first place,” he said. “The hole didn’t seem big enough.”
“Never underestimate the power of a living creature to do what it must for survival,” Summer said.
“That’s for sure,” the firefighter said. “What can we do for you?”
“Nothing,” Summer said, hefting the large wicker basket she carried. The basket’s handle was tied with a cheerful blue-and-white gingham ribbon. “I brought a little thank you for everyone,” she said. “There’s more in the trunk of my car if someone can help me. I made chili.”
“Chili!”
Suddenly three additional firefighters, all dressed in white T-shirts emblazoned with the fire department’s logo, jeans and boots, were at her side.
Summer laughed. “I hope I made enough. And I guess that means you’re good with
lunch and dessert.”
“You betcha! Thanks, Ms. Spencer.”
A few minutes later they were all set up in the fire station’s mess hall with Summer ladling out chili to the full crew of eight settled around a long trestle table.
“I know summertime isn’t really chili weather,” she said, “but something about a firehouse and chili seemed to go together.”
“And cornbread,” Jose, the short firefighter who’d come out to Manna at Common Ground, said.
“You got that right,” Malik said. “Don’t tell my grandma, Ms. Summer, but this cornbread is better than hers. I know for sure I haven’t had food this good since I left her house.”
“Yeah, we know,” Jose said. “We have to suffer through your sorry excuse for dinner when it’s your turn to make chow. We all wish your grandma was here to cook for you.”
Malik grinned at Summer. “And lucky for me, and for you, today was my turn to cook. Thank you, Ms. Spencer.”
Summer’s big pot of chili was plenty and she’d made several pans of slightly sweet cornbread with the recipe her mother used, which had been handed down from her grandmother. The cookies, her own specialty, were double chocolate chip. As far as Summer was concerned, there were fewer things more all-American than chocolate chip cookies and firefighters. And doing something nice for these men made her feel a little better about the way things ended at Manna yesterday.
Laughter rang around the table. As they shared the meal, the chatter along the long trestle table was companionable and boisterous. When someone slipped up and let out a profane word, he quickly apologized to Summer.
She didn’t miss a beat.
“Apology accepted,” she said. “And I think you owe me a canned good for Manna at Common Ground.”
Whoops and guffaws greeted that pronouncement.
“Make him pay up with three or four!”
“Yeah!” someone else concurred amid playful elbow-shoving and extra helpings of chili.
* * *
When Cameron walked into the empty station, sounds from the mess hall drew him. Lunchtime.
He’d spent the night in Durham, catching a nap in the waiting room at the medical center and checking in on Mickey whenever he could convince the duty nurse that he wouldn’t disturb the patient. Driving against the early-morning traffic out of Durham, he’d made good time getting back to Cedar Springs. He got a couple of hours of shut-eye, then showered, shaved and headed to work.
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