by Candi Wall
A new place, a new start. No room for the old. She’d enjoy the time she had here. A week, a month, whatever time she had before she’d have to leave again.
Pulling her hair into a tight ponytail, she started out at a slow jog. The tangy scent of the ocean filled the early-morning air. Gravel crunched beneath her feet, and her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
A broad, weathered sign pointed to the public landing a few minutes later as the trees and houses opened up to a beautiful stretch of ocean. Waves broke on huge boulders, whitewashed from the salt and sun. Seagulls streaked the blue sky, dipping down to scoop small creatures from the surf. Boats of various sizes and colors rocked lazily on the water’s surface, and after watching for several minutes, she realized the men aboard were pulling traps from the depths. Small buoys painted in an array of colors danced on the swells like floating candles.
The parking lot to the public landing sloped down to a large dock. Pulleys and fuel tanks lined one side of the weathered dock while rectangular traps with mesh netting inside them lined the other side and littered the wharf. In the bay, several large square floats hosted more stacks of traps.
Brack sat at the end of a smaller ramp, his back to her. The broad set of his shoulders and dark head created a shadow behind him on the boards. A large dog sat next to him, its golden fur tossed by the slight breeze. Neither Brack nor the dog moved, their gazes focused out over the water. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the two, and yet she sensed sadness, a poignant solitude to their silent vigil.
Damn. She hated to interrupt his peaceful moment. There were so few in life. But hadn’t the SUV couple said he was here every morning? She glanced at her watch. Seven twenty? She tapped it and put it to her ear. The soft tick of the second hand sounded even and true.
Seven twenty? He must have left at a minute after seven. Peaceful moment or not, if the man was going to be an asshole and leave her sitting in his office the night before, then take off this morning when she was a minute late, he didn’t deserve any peace.
She trudged down the dock with deliberate heavy steps.
Brack stared out at his boat. The slow rocking motion always settled his mind and opened the firmly locked doors of the past. He could still see Ellen’s face, her eyes closed as she stretched out in the sun. Her dark hair whipping her face as she smiled at Jeremy and Jonathon’s antics in the water. The days they’d spent slicing through the cool summer ocean filled his mind. Those were good times…
The rumble of footsteps on the dock shook Brack from his reverie. He reached out to pat Jo on the head, the warm pant of his morning companion a center for his shaky subconscious. “Thanks for keeping me company, Jo. You’d better get to work. Looks like everyone is out to haul today.”
The dog trotted off, and a moment later, Brack saw him take up his normal position near the wharf’s hoist. The dog waited there daily until his owner came back in from the haul.
“Excuse me, Captain.”
Aretha Beatrice Yolanda Burke’s voice broke the silence of his morning, and he chuckled. What a horrid name for such an attractive woman. He’d read her file early this morning, unable to contain his curiosity. Her experience was impressive, to say the least. Tons of training, several meritorious awards, top three in her class, discharged from the Coast Guard because of an injury.
But another issue seemed to follow her. In each location, each team or unit she’d been assigned to or joined, and there’d been many, the same common thread popped up. She bucked authority—and good.
“Good morning, Ms. Burke. Glad to see you finally made it around to our meeting.” He glanced at his watch. “Only twenty minutes late.”
“My car wouldn’t start.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t have been more than a minute or two late if you’d waited at the station.”
“A minute or two is all it takes for something to happen.”
She walked around to block his view of the water. “What could possibly happen because I was late?”
He leaned slightly to the side, trying to see around her. When she blocked his view again, he settled back against the railing. “I didn’t say anything would. I just had an interesting read this morning while I waited for you to not show up. Your file was thick. Seems you have a problem with authority.”
“I showed up. You just weren’t there.” She shook her head, brows furrowed. “And I only have issues with authority when it tries to stop me from doing my job.”
Her immediate ire worried him. “Why so defensive?”
“You don’t know me and yet you’ve judged me? Why wouldn’t that bother me?”
“I judge what I see.” He picked up his coffee mug and sipped at the lukewarm brew. “You’re already pissed off that I’m questioning you about your past, yet I wouldn’t be much of a captain if I didn’t check out the men and women who want to join the team.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not pissed about that. I’m pissed that you didn’t wait two extra minutes—”
“Your file—” he interrupted to continue with his thoughts, “—is laced with incidents of you doing exactly what you wanted against direct orders from your superior commanders. Civilian teams and in the Coast Guard.”
“With good outcomes each time,” she countered. “And glowing recommendations from my superiors.”
Brack pushed up from the dock, stretching his stiff back. He let his gaze move down over the jeans hugging her trim legs, deliberately keeping his eyes off the enticing curve of her ass. The injury she’d sustained in her last Coast Guard rescue didn’t seem to have any obvious lingering effects. Maybe that was why she considered a near-death insignificant. “I’d say breaking your leg in three places and nearly drowning is anything but a good outcome.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” She held her hands out and motioned at her body.
She didn’t have to point out what he was already having a hard time keeping his eyes off. If she had any idea, she’d probably smack him. “Yeah, you’re here.”
“And I think my records show I’m no worse for it. That, to me, is a good outcome.”
“You were lucky.” Her confidence was unnerving. He didn’t need another hothead to look after. And a hothead she was. Her near refusal to leave the scene last night was proof of that.
“No, I’m just good at what I do. Everything has risks involved.” She waved a hand out at the ocean. “I could fall off this dock, bang my head and drown just as easily. Why not go doing something I enjoy?”
Angry with her refusal to see the foolishness in that way of thinking, he brushed by her to walk up the ramp. “Better to be careful, follow orders and live a bit longer, if you ask me.”
She jogged past him and waited at the top. “Apples and oranges, Captain. Your way and my way are different. That doesn’t mean we can’t work together. I’m good at what I do. My files must have said that as well.”
They had. She came highly recommended despite her mishaps. But she exemplified everything that went against order, in his life and in his station. He closed the distance between them, holding her unwavering stare—ignoring the vanilla scent of her windblown hair. “You’re not a team player, Ms. Burke. If you want to be a part of my station, you have to play by my rules.”
“Your station? Your rules?” She locked her hands on either side of the ramp railings. “Last time I checked, the sign said Brighton Fire and Rescue, not Elliot Control.”
Point proven. He pushed past her for a second time and walked the short path to his house. Her soft muttering followed him. When he reached the porch he turned to face her. “I stand corrected.” At her smirk of satisfaction, he added, “You have a serious problem with authority.”
Though a flash of incredulity narrowed her eyes, she recovered quickly. “Only when it borders on a God complex.”
Stubborn, fiery, passionate… He bit back a chuckle at her quick wit. “My team doesn’t need you or your problems with following orders. Whether you think I have a God compl
ex or not, if you plan to be part of this team, you’ll follow the rules and orders to the letter. No questions. No deviations. Nothing that hints of dissension, or you’ll find yourself right back out on your ass. Our discipline has kept anyone from getting hurt for years now, and I won’t have you mucking that up.”
She seemed ready to argue, eyes dark and the frustrated knit of her eyebrows tense, but then she nodded. “I can do that.”
“Can you?”
A slow smile broke her dark expression. “Yeah. I’m used to having to prove myself. My size, and the fact that I’m female are usually the issue, not my past. So yeah, no problem.”
She was small, her waist tapering into trim hips that led to sinfully curved legs. He swiped a hand over his face. Shit. He hadn’t considered her stature an issue. Strength came in all sizes; it was a matter of brains that kept a person safe. No, the only thought he had about her size was how perfect her tight little butt would feel in his hand. Christ, his mind refused to focus.
“No deviations, Burke.” He growled, more out of frustration with his wayward thoughts than her.
She gave him a jaunty salute and a smile. “There won’t be a problem. You’ll see.”
He had the feeling she’d stick to her intentions—for as long as she could. She stood uncertainly for a moment before starting off across the dock’s parking lot.
He couldn’t help calling out. “Oh, hey, Aretha?”
She stopped dead in her tracks, a stiff jerk to her shoulders. “Yes, Captain?”
Were her words a touch grated? Must be, since he could swear he heard her teeth clench. “Next meeting is Thursday night at six. Don’t be late.”
She whipped around with a brilliantly dubious smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t be.” Then she was off again.
Brack glanced at Jo as the dog trotted over to sit at his feet. He reached down to pat his head, scratching the spot just behind his ear that made his hind leg drum with happiness. “I think I may have given her too much credit, ol’ boy. She’ll follow the rules through my first command if we’re lucky, then all hell’s gonna break loose.”
Brack drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. He glanced at the console clock and grimaced. Ten thirty. If he hadn’t been re-reading Abby’s profile, he would’ve noticed the time. Damn woman caused problems without even trying.
He didn’t want to be late. Jonathon had been in so much trouble lately, it was a wonder the school had agreed to give him another shot.
Brack wasn’t sure what had happened to his son since he’d turned sixteen, but the new gray hairs he’d acquired were thanks to the youth’s antics, outbursts, and now…drug use.
The light turned green, and a slow knot tightened in his stomach as the entrance of the school came into view. Cars filled the parking lot, and he had to circle twice to find a spot. Locking his doors, he flipped the key ring around on his finger. Jonathon had handled the last few years, and all the changes they’d had to make with the typical difficulties any kid would have suffered. But they’d made it through together as best they could.
Then Jonathon’s acceptance in the Hatten School two years ago had brought on another drastic change for them both. They’d never been apart. But the school offered what Jonathon needed, specializing in the type of learning and academics that would help him succeed as an adult. Until three months ago, Hatten seemed the best place for his son. Now, Brack wasn’t certain.
He walked the remaining distance to the school’s huge double doors and when he entered, he saw Mrs. Windham waiting in the hall. Her usual sour pucker was firmly in place, her hair spun back in a severe knot. “We’re ready for you now, Mr. Elliot.”
Patience with the woman’s superior attitude wasn’t his strong suit. With a deep, slow breath, he followed her into the room. Two men and a dark-haired woman he recognized as the school’s psychologist sat around a conference table. Jonathon wasn’t there.
“Mr. Elliot, please have a seat.” Mrs. Windham motioned to an empty chair and sat across from him.
He nodded to each person before asking, “Where’s Jonathon?”
Mrs. Windham perched her glasses on her birdlike nose and opened the folder in front of her. “We thought it would be best to meet first.”
Brack sat back in his chair. He hated repeating himself. “I told you before, anything you have to say about my son can be said in front of him.”
Four sets of eyes stared at him.
He stared back.
After a momentary standoff, Mrs. Windham reached over to the phone on her desk and pressed a button. “Send Jonathon Elliot to my office, please.”
A woman on the other end replied that she would, but Brack pushed his chair back. “I’ll just go get him.”
He walked from the room before anyone could protest. It only took a moment for the frantic clicks of Mrs. Windham’s heels to catch up. “Mr. Elliot, all visitors must be accompanied by a staff member. Surely you recall this rule?”
He did. Not that he liked it. Made the school feel like a damn prison. “Yes, ma’am.”
Jonathon’s room was only three doors down the first dorm wing. Brack stopped at the door and grabbed the doorknob with a quick glance at Mrs. Windham. “Maybe you’d better let me check and make sure he’s decent.”
She stepped back a fraction as he pushed the door open. Not far enough, since her shocked gasp echoed his thoughts.
There, in the middle of his bed, lay Jonathon. No big deal, barring the obviously naked, though somewhat covered by a blanket, girl draped across his chest. The duo took turns puffing on a joint Jonathon held pinched between his fingers, and it wouldn’t have taken a scientist to realize they were still in the midst of having sex.
Brack kicked the edge of the bed. Hard. The vibration brought Jonathon’s head up in curious reaction, his glazed eyes widening a fraction before he dropped back to his pillow. The girl rolled off him, trying desperately to hide under the covers. With a heavy sigh, he doused the joint in a soda can on his nightstand and threw his hands in the air.
Signing with somewhat fumbled dexterity, he apologized to Mrs. Windham—for not asking if she’d wanted a hit.
Brack groaned, the urge to yank his son from the bed was almost too strong to control. Not exactly the best way for his son to convince the headmistress of the school to let him stay on.
Twenty minutes later, Brack stuffed the last of Jonathon’s bags into the back of his truck. Angry beyond comprehension, he signed for Jonathon to get in and gave him a push toward the passenger side.
When his son climbed in, Brack took a moment to breathe. This was not good. What the hell was going to happen now? The local high school didn’t have the resources Jonathon needed. This school was built for deaf children. At home, he’d be lost in the cracks.
Christ, Ellen. What am I supposed to do now? How would you handle this?
As always, there was no answer from his wife. He could take on a burning building, the fiercest storm, explosions and injuries, but when it came to his kids, shit, she’d been the rock. The solid presence that kept them all moving and on the right track.
Without her guidance, he was at a loss. Without Ellen, their son was falling apart.
Now, that fact was as stark a reality as he needed.
And he had no idea what to do about it.
Chapter Three
Abby shifted the folders in her arms and reached for the car door. She was exhausted. Her first day as special resources tutor-slash-health teacher-slash-softball coach had gone well. One more school meeting and she’d head home for a quick shower before her first fire meeting.
Right now, she needed a cup of coffee to get through the next couple of hours. Dropping her bag on the passenger seat, she climbed in and turned the key. Nothing more than a low click sounded. She tried twice more before checking her temper and resisting the urge bash her head against the steering wheel.
A light rap on the window jolted her, and she glanced up
as the phys-ed teacher—crap, what was his name?—pulled an atrocious fur-lined cap from his bag and put it on. His green eyes sparkled in the evening sun. He was tall and trim with a great smile that reached his eyes. She rolled down the window.
“Car troubles?” he asked.
“Nope.” She laughed. “Just wanted to let you know you had a dead raccoon on your head before I left.”
He fingered one of the straps that hung down to his chin. “Kids love it. I don’t mind being their comic relief.”
“No doubt.” She climbed out of the car and pulled her coat over her shoulders, shivering against the cold wind. “Know anything about cars?”
Shit, Rolo…Rumpelstiltskin…it was a weird name.
He eyed the beast with obvious distaste. “Love to be your knight here, but I don’t know a thing about ’em. How about a lift?”
“I’d rather have a number for a good mechanic.”
“Ouch.” He clutched at his chest. “But I’ll survive. Eventually.”
It was hard not to laugh. He really had a great sense of humor. “Focus. Mechanics in the area?”
“That, I can do.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a card and pen. Jotting down a number, he smiled. “This guy’s great if you can get past the stench of beer on him. Knows cars inside and out though. And he’s got pretty low prices. Tell him I sent you.”
She reached for the card. “Sounds good to me.” ’Course, she had no idea what name to tell the mechanic.
Just as her fingers were about to close over the card, he pulled it back. “Hang on, there. Don’t I get a prize or something for rescuing you? A cup of coffee, maybe?”
She lunged for the card, but her foot slipped on a patch of ice, and she had to grab on to him to stop herself from falling.
He scooped an arm around her waist and held on until she gained her footing. “Forward, aren’t you?”
“You’re kind of foolish, you know that, right?” Backing away, she held her hand out for the card.