The Fireman Finds a Wife

by Felicia Mason

  Summer stood. “Ilsa, I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do, Summer. Congratulations on the new job.”

  * * *

  While Summer was meeting with Ilsa Keller, Cameron was driving across town to Elmhurst Street. The call he’d gotten summoning him to the scene of a house fire had him thinking about Sweet Willie, the homeless man from the soup kitchen.

  Willie knew something was going on on Elmhurst Street, and now there was a fire on the street. The call-out wasn’t to the house that the police chief was concerned about, but the coincidence didn’t sit well with Cameron.

  He pulled the department SUV in behind the second fire truck at the scene and assessed the situation. An ambulance sat idling and a police cruiser was also in the street, its siren off but lights flashing.

  The blaze was under control and one crew was already packing up. The crew captain jogged across the lawn and over to him.

  “Hello, Chief.”

  “What’s the sitrep?”

  The fire captain filled in the details: a neighbor spotted flames from the shed, had his wife call 911 while he ran over with a garden hose.

  “That actually put out the fire.”

  Cameron frowned. “So why am I here, Charlie?”

  The fire captain jerked his head. “This way, Chief. It’s what—or rather who—the neighbor found out back.”

  “What do you mean who?”

  “In the backyard was our suspect, Peter Bradley.”

  Cameron followed the captain around the house, noting the For Sale sign as they passed by. The backyard of the two-story house was cordoned off with crime-scene tape.

  “Young Mr. Bradley, that would be the seventeen-year-old, was out cold. Apparently, after starting the fire he went dashing across the yard and ran into a rake. Stepped on it and it conked him in the head.”

  Cameron chuckled.

  “I know,” Charlie said. “It’s not funny, but it is. He has a big knot on his forehead but he’ll live. He’s mad at his brother and is ratting him out. So far, he’s copped to at least three of our unsolved fires. Peter says his brother put the rake there deliberately to trip him.”

  “Stupid criminals,” Cameron said.

  “Yep,” Charlie said.

  “Unfortunately, this one is a juvie. Parents?”

  “The mother’s on her way up from Bragg. Single mom, works at the base. The boys have a lot of unsupervised time on their hands.”

  “And the older brother? Where is he?” Cameron asked his captain.

  “Home, according to Bradley the younger. A couple of units are there now. Haven’t heard back on his status.”

  Cameron clapped Charlie on the back. “Nice work. Thanks.”

  While the captain went to oversee the final cleanup at the house, Cameron made his way back to the truck. This scene fit the pattern of the other fires. The house on Elmhurst was empty so presumably no one would be injured if the backyard shed went up in smoke. A preliminary assessment had it looking like they’d gotten to the bottom of the recent fires.

  The Bradley brothers were a couple of budding pyromaniacs. Maybe with some counseling the tendency would get nipped before they escalated to bigger blazes and hurt or killed someone.

  * * *

  At Manna, Summer stood in the kitchen trying to get a handle on what had just happened with Ilsa. Mrs. Davidson typically knew everything that went on at Common Ground, but her office was empty.

  If the director had just walked out the door, who was going to run the place?

  A check of the volunteer schedule showed that there were enough people to cover the day—if they all showed up.

  Summer was torn. Should she leave and go get her errands done or stay and help out in case an extra pair of hands was needed?

  The question was answered when the door opened and three volunteers bustled in.

  “Hi, Summer!” Jocelyn Reynolds said. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

  Summer greeted the ladies, then put the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I’m not. I just stopped by. It looks like you’re fully staffed. So I’m on my way out.”

  The knots that had caused the uneasiness in her stomach were gone. As she waved farewell to Jocelyn and the others, she knew that she’d been drawn home to Cedar Springs to start over.

  Maybe if there really was an opening for a director for Manna at Common Ground, she had what it would take to fill the position.

  Chapter Nineteen

  For Summer, the next day was one to be endured. That was all that she could hope for. Today, she slipped off the gold chain that her wedding and engagement rings from Garrett hung from. She put them on her ring finger. She stared at her hand for a long, long time before returning the rings and the chain to her jewelry box.

  She’d heard from Cameron, but only via a short text saying he had to work and wouldn’t be able to see her. Summer took that as a sign from the Lord that she needed some space to breathe, today of all days—the second anniversary of the day Garrett died.

  But the message she got from on high at noon knocked her for an emotional loop she should have seen coming, but somehow hadn’t.

  She made a light lunch, half of a vegetarian cheese melt and a cup of the tea specially blended for her by the proprietor of Tea Time on Main Street. She had no appetite though, and only nibbled on the sandwich, barely eating two complete bites. She gave up, and took her tea into the sunroom. She clicked on the flat-screen television mounted on the wall as she headed to one of the chaises. The mid-day news had already started, and from the sound of things, it was all bad news.

  She put the mug on the floor and gripped the remote control as she registered just what she was seeing on the television screen above a Breaking News banner with the location: Cedar Springs.

  A nearly breathless newscaster reported from the scene of a huge fire. Summer fumbled with the remote, pushing up the volume.

  “At this hour, we know that two firefighters have been transported,” the TV reporter said. “The extent of their injuries has not yet been confirmed. It has taken some time for the crews to get this blaze under control.”

  Summer watched slack-jawed as the television station ran footage of firefighters dragging a fallen colleague from a warehouse that looked more like something conjured out of Hollywood than a real fire. But the Cedar Springs Fire Department logo on the fire trucks belied that.

  As the television live spot continued, Summer scrambled for her cell phone.

  A part of her knew it was unreasonable, but she called Cameron’s number. It rang to voice mail.

  She sent a text, but didn’t expect a reply.

  Shaking with fear, she dashed back to the television.

  “...that’s all we know at this hour. This is Sasha Calloway, reporting to you live from the scene of this three-alarm fire in Cedar Springs. Back to you, Annette.”

  The flames burned hot and wild on the television.

  Summer let out a whimper, the news far more than she could bear.

  Summer tried Cameron’s number again, even knowing as she did so that it was unreasonable to expect him to answer. He was fire chief, a chief who went out on calls and this was a big one. A really big one.

  “Calm down, Summer,” she said aloud in an attempt to coach herself through the panic. “He’s okay. He’s okay.”

  Then a thought struck her. He might not be okay. Cameron could be one of the injured. And even if he wasn’t, some of the firefighters she’d met and knew might be the ones who were hurt.

  “Oh, Lord. Please protect them all.”

  The entreaty served as a balm. Instantly, Summer knew that wringing her hands and going out of her mind with fear was not what she needed to be doing right now. She’d done that two years ago and i
t had changed not one thing. She thought of Mickey Flynn and the poem printed on his funeral program.

  She went to the foyer basket where she’d placed the program. At the funeral, “The Firefighter’s Prayer” had been recited by two fire chief friends of Mickey’s. She’d gotten a chill that day as they read the verses. Now she understood why it had moved her so much. And she finally understood what Cameron had been trying to tell her for so long.

  “I want to fill my calling

  To give the best in me,

  To guard my friend and neighbor

  And protect their property.”

  Firefighting was dangerous work. The many verses of the poem attributed to Alvin William Linn confirmed for Summer what Cameron was all about.

  Fire service was a calling that most people eschewed. But one that, for Cameron and Mickey Flynn, defined who and what they were: men of faith and honor.

  She clung to that as she pushed open the sliding glass doors that led to her deck and backyard. Crossing the lawn, she made her way to a tranquil oasis: a flower bed planted in a semicircle with a white cast-iron bench with cozy padded cushions placed nearby for quiet contemplation. Instead of sitting on what she’d deemed her reflecting bench, Summer got to her knees and braced her elbows on the cushioned seat.

  Clasping her hands together, she bowed her head and closed her eyes.

  “Father God, You know what today is and You know my state of mind,” she began.

  Summer always prayed as if she were talking to God, having a one-on-one conversation with a dear and precious friend. The words of her prayer flowed from a place deep within her, a place where her faith began and flowered.

  “Please, please, please keep him safe. I know it’s not about my will, but Yours that matters. I just don’t know if I could survive all of that again.

  “Lord, I’m not being a drama queen, really, I’m not. I just... Lord, please keep Cameron safe. Provide Your healing touch to those who have been injured.

  “I pray for the families of those firefighters who must be anxious right now. Lord, please give them...and me...a measure of peace and comfort at this hour. I pray and lift up Jose and Billy and Malik and Chip and Rob. Those are the names I remember, but You know all of them, Lord. And I ask that you blanket each one with Your grace, Your mercy, Your protection and Your love. Amen.”

  Then Summer rose. She sat on the bench and contemplated the beauty and the miracle of the flowers in her garden.

  But she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling.

  * * *

  It was well after seven that night when he found her at the Darling family’s historic farmhouse. After giving him the directions to the property, Spring suggested he try the front-porch swing first. If he didn’t see Summer there, he would need to go to the old silo. While other kids had tree houses that they climbed into and played in, the Darling sisters had a silo at what had been their grandparents’ farm.

  When he saw the porch swing empty, Cameron sighed. He parked his car and headed toward the silo. The structure was just as Spring described it and there at the top, sitting precariously on the edge, was Summer.

  He didn’t dare holler up. He didn’t want to startle her.

  So despite his reservations and concern, Cameron followed the directions he’d been given on how to get into and up the old structure. She had to have heard him, but she didn’t say anything.

  He then joined Summer, his feet dangling into nothingness. He figured climbing up here was the least he could do given the circumstances.

  “Summer? Can you tell me what we’re doing up here?”

  The question, voiced in as calm a manner as he could manage, seemed reasonable to Cameron. But reason didn’t seem to be on today’s menu. As Cedar Springs’ fire chief, he was used to being in dangerous places. Today’s fire was one example. This, however, seemed like unnecessary danger, and bordered on ridiculous.

  “Summer, honey, I need you to talk to me.”

  The pretty blonde sitting next to him had become more than a town resident who needed the assistance of the fire department to check out the smoke alarms in her new home. She’d managed to worm her way into his heart, a heart he thought immune to country club beauties and trust fund babies—people who knew little or nothing about making an honest day’s living.

  Summer had proved him wrong on both counts, even though she was both a trust fund daughter and appeared more suited to the country club than the sometimes mean streets of Cedar Springs.

  And yet he’d found himself head over heels in love with her. He wanted her to be his wife—even if he didn’t deserve her. Her wanted her to stand by him for the rest of his days.

  But before he could voice any of that, they needed to get down off this fifty-foot silo.

  She leaned forward, looking down.

  Cameron’s heart stopped.

  Was she suicidal?

  It didn’t seem like it, but she was calm. Too calm.

  He reached for her arm and clasped it, not too fast or too strong, but with a sure grip. He didn’t want to scare her. She was already doing a great job of scaring the daylights out of him.

  “I’m not going to jump, Cameron.” Her voice, barely above a whisper and sounding a lot to Cameron like she didn’t mean what she said.

  “Then why don’t we get down from here,” he said, the voice of smooth and non-threatening reason. “I know we had a fight. I’m sorry. Really.”

  Given that they were perched on the edge of a pitched roof silo adjacent to a building that looked like it needed to be demolished rather than restored, smooth and non-threatening was definitely the order of the day.

  She glanced over at him and Cameron saw a sadness in her eyes that he’d never seen before.

  “It’s not dangerous,” she said. “When we were kids, we used to come up here all the time. It was like a hideaway for me and my sisters.”

  “Hmm.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve learned to interpret that particular sound of skepticism. I’m not going to jump, Cameron,” she said again. “I came up here to think. It’s a soothing place for me.”

  He still held her arm.

  “Can we maybe do some thinking on terra firma?”

  “You can see almost to Fayetteville from up here,” Summer said, ignoring his request. “At least that’s what I always used to think when I was a girl. When I got mad at my sisters or at Daddy, I used to come up here, stare out at the horizon and declare that just as soon as I could, I was going to escape from Cedar Springs, move to Fayetteville and marry a soldier or maybe go down to Camp Lejeune, where I’d meet and fall in love with a marine.”

  She shrugged his arm away and pulled her legs up over the edge of the silo. She was barefoot, Cameron noticed. She must have left her shoes at the bottom of that seemingly never-ending and rickety ladder he’d climbed to get up here.

  Sitting with her knees bent and her hands wrapped around them, she glanced at him and then away.

  “Something about a man in uniform?” he asked, hoping his voice held the levity he strived for.

  When she smiled this time, the waning sun seemed to shine a little brighter in the summer sky. Her eyes sparkled and a bit of color reddened her cheeks.

  “Apparently I never got over that uniform thing. I’m falling in love with another man in a uniform.”

  As far as Cameron knew, her husband hadn’t been military, not active, retired or reserve corps. Bitter disappointment shrouded his soul. He swallowed back the bile that rose at the thought of Summer with another man. Is this what Mickey felt when the love of his life had left him for someone else?

  Cameron was a grown-up. He’d dealt with rejection before and would do so again.

  As he’d overheard her mother talking at the City Council meeting
—a meeting that with everything that had happened since seemed like months ago—he wasn’t the right kind of man for a Darling woman. He was the rebound man, the get-back-into-the-swing-of-things man, before she found another cardiologist or surgeon to settle down with.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much since she had no way of knowing how he really felt about her.

  Yeah, right.

  “So,” he started, trying and probably failing, but not caring at this point. “Who is the lucky man?”

  He wanted to know so maybe he could go punch his lights out. A part of Cameron knew that thought wasn’t very Christian. But the part of him whose heart was breaking over losing Summer to another man didn’t care.

  “It’s you,” she said. “But I doubt if you’d call that lucky.”

  Cameron blinked, and shook his head as if to clear it after suffering a blow. If he had not already been holding on practically for dear life, he would likely have tumbled right over the edge of the silo.

  His heart suddenly beat a staccato.

  Cameron felt like he had been waiting his entire life to hear this woman declare that she loved him as much as he loved her. But right now, he was pretty sure that he was dreaming.

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked at him. None of the light he’d come to associate with her was there. Summer looked miserable.

  “You heard me,” she said, the confirmation barely a mumble.

  If he could pinpoint the exact moment when he fell hard for her, it was the moment she had fallen into his arms at her front door even though he’d fought it every step of the way since then. It was not just the physical attraction or the protectiveness he felt toward her, it was the knowledge that came from deep within that this was the woman he was meant to be with.

  But he needed to be sure.

  “You love me?”

  “Against my better judgment,” Summer said, her tone morose.

  “Generally, when someone tells someone else that they love them, it is perceived as a good thing. But that’s not really the vibe I’m getting right now.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted up for a millisecond, but the movement could in no way be defined as a full-fledged smile.