Rescue and Redemption: Park City Firefighter Romance

by Daniel Banner

  “Yeah.” He nodded.

  “But you were so …” Mercy’s mouth was moist and hungry, “so good.”

  “Let’s practice,” said JFK with a devious smile. “But first, read that. It’s not something romantic from me, by the way. I don’t do crappy poetry crap like Powers.”

  What could it be? It was so hard to not get her hopes up, that all of their problems would be magically solved once she read what was written on the paper because he’d come through so strong for her so many times. But it was getting cold on the porch, and if he wasn’t going to let her climb into his coat with him, she better just read it.

  Mercy McGovern – Non-profit Manager Extraordinaire.

  She liked the way it was starting. It went on to congratulate her for the job offer, which brought up the mixed feelings all over again. It must be from Poppy, but Mercy resisted the urge to glance at the signature, reveling in the suspense, since it was obviously important enough for JFK to hand-deliver at midnight.

  You’ve been so invaluable to Two Hearts and I can’t imagine continuing without you. I’d like to meet the offer from Water for the World, adjusted for cost of living in the region.

  “Wait, what?” Mercy glanced up at JFK, who was watching her, then re-read the paragraph. “Yes! Yes I will!” She didn’t even need to read the rest of the letter. He’d done it again.

  JFK came forward, took her face in his hands, and pulled it toward his. She fell into his large, soft lips like settling into a feather bed. But instead of passively lounging, she played around, tasting and touching and probing as he reciprocated. There was none of the reluctance he’d shown in previous weeks. There was no doubt Mercy was being kissed and even though they were deep in the middle of it, she wanted more.

  Mercy momentarily came up for air, and had a strange feeling as she went back in, joining her lips with his.

  “Wait,” she muttered as she turned her head slightly so they were lips to cheek instead of lips to lips. “Look over my shoulder into the front window.”

  “Oh.” He fidgeted, bringing his hands around the small of her back. They fit together perfectly. He turned her slightly, using her as a shield between himself and the window, and said, “How’d you know?”

  “How many are there?” she asked.

  “About a dozen.”

  Great. “Are they chatting? Snapping pics? Just peeking?”

  “Whispering to each other.”

  Mercy let out a mighty sigh and turned to face the window. Every single one of the teen cousins had a front-row seat to the make-out session. With wide eyes they were animatedly gossiping. “A dozen buzzin’ cousins. You know they heard me yell, ‘Yes!’ right? They’re going to think you proposed to me.”

  “That’s tempting,” said JFK with some humor in his voice. “However, I know there are conventions, expectations, and protocols involved in that, and I’m not confident I could pull it off. My ignorance has let you off the hook.”

  As much as she liked this guy—no, that wasn’t the right word; she loved him pure and simple—that would be too much too soon. Give her a little time to stop being rescued and treated so perfectly. Let her get her feet back on the ground instead of in the clouds for a bit, so she didn’t go into anything with expectations he obviously couldn’t keep on meeting.

  “Should we dispossess them of that belief?” asked JFK.

  “No way.” She turned her back to the window and looked up at him, feeling impish. “They came for a show.”

  He laid one lingering kiss on her, but didn’t drag it on.

  “Oh, Mercy. As much as I’d love to stay out here all night keeping your lips warm, I went to a lot of trouble to mend bridges with your family today. I’m not going to light those bridges on fire by corrupting the Jewell family youth.”

  He was right. The girls had seen enough. Still, she needed to talk to Dom to make sure he didn’t gentrify JFK too much. She did like a little bad in her boy. There was one thing she wanted to tell him before he left, but he spoke first.

  “Mercy.” He looked into her eyes, that same look that made her feel like a goddess. “Mercy, I love you.”

  He’d beat her to it. She planted a quick kiss on him, then said, “I love you too, JFK. I loved you first.”

  He kissed her back, short and chaste and leaving her wanting more. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “And the day after that,” she said, still glowing over the door that had opened for them.

  “And the day after that,” he said, taking a step back.

  “And the day after that.” Was her smile growing bigger or was it just her imagination.

  “And every day after that until you get sick of me,” he said.

  “Neither of us will live that long,” she told him, and he turned to walk with a spring in every step.

  When he got in his truck and drove away, Mercy turned to the cabin door. Now, how much to tell the cousins?

  EPILOGUE

  Mercy rode in the middle seat of her boyfriend’s truck on the way home from the St. Patty’s Day Homecooked Holiday feast—JFK on her left and sweet little Mrs. Walker on the right.

  “That was some delicious corned beef,” said Mrs. Walker.

  “Glazed corned beef,” corrected JFK. He wasn’t a stickler for much, but try calling his recipe by the wrong name and even a little old lady wasn’t safe from correction.

  Mrs. Walker didn’t even seem to notice. “Did I ever tell you that my Robert used to cook once a year and that was on St. Patty’s Day? He would make corned beef and cabbage and I tell you what, it was barely edible. I had to sharpen the steak knives every year before that meal or else we’d never get it cut into pieces we could bite. When you told me what you were serving today, I almost refused to go, but you cooked it up right. Hm, boy. You let me know next year, and if I’m alive I’ll go eat corned beef.”

  “Glazed—” started JFK, but Mercy cut him off.

  “He’s doing ham next month for Easter. We’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Mrs. Walker took Mercy’s hand with one of hers and patted her forearm with the other. “You better tie this one up, Mercy. If you don’t, someone else will.”

  As if being a firefighter didn’t make him a big enough hero, he’d been Mercy’s hero time and time again, and now on a monthly basis he brightened the lives of hundreds of senior citizens. Lonely oldsters, she thought with a chuckle. “If he keeps cooking like that, I think I’ll keep him around.”

  “Oh good, we’re here,” said JFK as he pulled up in front of Mrs. Walker’s house. “Now you people can stop talking about me like I’m not around.”

  “He thinks that’ll stop us?” said Mrs. Walker. “I tell you, Mercy, he has been a godsend ever since I lost my Robert. Takes care of the yard and the sprinklers. Fixes the pipes and everything else that breaks. Shovels snow every winter day when he’s not fighting the fires.”

  JFK groaned and opened his door.

  With a guilty little smile, Mrs. Walker watched him climb down. When the door blocked him off from her voice, she giggled. “He hates it when I do that.”

  “I know,” said Mercy. “It’s funny because he grumbles about it, then he does more nice things and it just proves you right.”

  He reached the passenger door and slowly opened it, then held out a hand to help Mrs. Walker down. The truck was so tall she needed a little extra help descending from the tall cab, so he placed her feet one at a time. Mercy wondered if Mrs. Walker was playing it up just to get more gentleman behavior from him. When she finally made it to the ground, he held out an elbow for her to crook a hand around.

  “Be right back,” JFK told her with a wink.

  The passenger seat was much roomier, but after trying out the seat next to him, she kind of liked the feel of it.

  No one would ever believe the man walking Mrs. Walker to the door was the same guy who literally didn’t know the first thing about opening doors for a lady just a few months ago. The gentle manner in which he
led her to the door, unlocked it for her, and pushed the door open belonged to someone who’d been doing this his whole life. He could put some of the Jewell men to shame. Mercy could only hope that someday she’d talk about JFK like Mrs. Walker always talked about her Robert.

  It took a minute for him to get her settled in then appear at the door again. Boy oh boy did he look good in his new red chef’s shirt. He’d lost all the weight he needed to and bulked up a little in all the right areas. Even in the squarish chef shirt, his tapered torso and broad shoulders made Mercy lick her lips.

  Oh yeah, she was staying put in the middle seat.

  As he was climbing into the truck, Mercy said, “I knew red was a good call.” She put a hand on his bicep, loving how small his big muscle made her hand feel.

  “You know I couldn’t wear it if I was actually working as an executive chef, right? I can only do it on days like today because they’re so desperate. If you can boil an egg they’ll beg you to run their kitchen.”

  “I was a little disappointed with the dinner tonight,” said Mercy, keeping her arm on his muscle.

  “Yeah, well, corned beef is poor people food, and it’s hard to do anything but plop it in a crockpot with generic seasonings. I swear, I’m going to have to get on the Homecooked Executive Board just to have some real input on the menu.”

  She didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d actually do it.

  “No, that’s not it. The food was great. But you didn’t save a single life.”

  JFK chuckled as he put his truck in reverse. “I learned my lesson last time. Can’t even give a geezer one little squeeze without the news getting all excited about it.”

  “Maybe I’ll choke on purpose next time to get you to put your arms around me.”

  JFK took an arm off the steering wheel, wrapped it around her shoulder and pulled her closer. So freaking strong.

  He said, “I’ll take any excuse you give me. But about you not being impressed? I’m not buying it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re telling me that cooking gourmet for 250 people doesn’t impress you anymore? That’s 250 special diet, denture wearers. I’m pretty sure my mad culinary skills are what made you fall in love with me in the first place.”

  There was a little bit of truth in that. His looks and the confident way he ran the kitchen drew her right in. Volunteering an entire holiday for a bunch of strangers definitely helped, but she knew the exact moment she’d fallen for him.

  “I thought you were hot, I won’t deny that. I was interested that day. More than interested, actually, I let myself get hopeful about a possible relationship for the first time in years. Basically my first time ever as an adult.” Mercy pointed to the upcoming stoplight. “Do me a favor and take me on a quick pit stop, okay? Turn right up there.”

  JFK nodded. “So what was it? Out of all my amazing traits, which one made you lose it completely for me?”

  “Patience, I’m getting there. The thing that really got me was how cute and clueless you were when you brought my car back from ready-to-rust. When a guy goes from where you were at the awards ceremony to where you were two days later, I didn’t stand a chance.” It was almost impossible to keep her hands off of him and let him drive. “Now stop talking about it or I’m going to jump over there on your lap and make you wreck. Turn right again.”

  JFK must have been feeling a bit of the heat as well because he cleared his throat and wiped his brow.

  “It’s the third house on the right.” Mercy pointed.

  “The one with the snow that looks like it was shoveled by anal-retentive robots?”

  “That’s the one,” said Mercy. “Any guesses who lives here?”

  “No guesses,” said JFK, pulling up to the curb. “If that house with the icicles that have been trimmed to all be the same length is not your brother’s house, then I’ll cook and eat dog food next shift at the station.”

  “Which brother?” she asked, taking a second look at the house. He’d been exaggerating about the icicles, but the snow had been removed from the roof edges at a precise distance. If she took a ruler and measured it, she’d bet money the buffer would be within an inch all the way around the house.

  “Well let’s see, since Ransom lives in the dorms at the U, and Noble isn’t old enough to drive, much less own a home, I’m going out on a limb with Justice.”

  “You win,” she said, planting a kiss on his lips.

  As she scooted toward her door, JFK said, “Nuh, uh, uh. Let me get that for you.”

  Of course she allowed him to come around and open it. Ever since that first disastrous date, he hadn’t allowed her to even think about getting her own door.

  “Thanks, JFK,” she said. “Do you mind waiting here? I’ll just be a sec.”

  “I’ll go with you if you want. We made nice, remember, it’s not like I still want to fight him.”

  She wasn’t sure she completely believed that last statement.

  “Well,” explained JFK. “I don’t not want to fight him either, but I can behave.”

  “I gotta do this myself,” she said.

  With a nod, JFK leaned back against the truck, ready to escort her in when she returned.

  The trepidation Mercy had been waiting for didn’t come as she walked across the perfectly shoveled driveway. Did Justice come out here with ice-melt in a salt shaker to get the lines so clean? That was beside the point. Mercy was trembling with excitement to take this next step.

  She rang the doorbell and within seconds, Justice opened the door and froze when he saw her.

  “Hey, bro. I wrote you that letter way back when, apologizing and saying I’d do anything humanly possible to make restitution. Well, here.” Mercy held out an old, worn hundred dollar bill. She loved the imagery of the old bill holding the same exact value as a new, crisp bill.

  As expected, Justice examined it instead of making any sort of movement to accept it.

  Mercy said, “I know your mind is running through pages of algorithms about how to handle this situation and what kind of obligation it creates for you. Throw this into the equation—I need to do this. I need to make restitution.”

  Slowly, Justice’s hand came forward and pinched the bill.

  “This is the first installment,” explained Mercy, keeping her grip of the money. “Thank you.”

  Justice’s head was bobbing slightly as he took the money as if he might say something. Mercy stood and waited. This gesture was so small compared to the trust she’d obliterated between them, and Justice was liable to say anything.

  But he did what she least expected—with no explanation, Justice came forward and hugged her.

  That was enough. She didn’t need words of any sort. She still had a long way to go, but she had come this far so she knew she could make it.

  It wasn’t a long hug—Justice never had been one for physical contact—but it didn’t have to be. As quick as it had started, Mercy ended it, turning and hurrying back to JFK’s truck. If she spent too much time thinking about burned bridges being rebuilt, she’d show up to Poppy and Slade’s house with mascara running down her face.

  The front porch was blocked from JFK’s view; he would have no idea what happened. When she reached him she saw concern on his face. She asked, “You look so serious. Were you worried about me?”

  “No,” said JFK, opening her door. “You’re a big girl. I’m not going to impose my ideals of chivalry on you by following you around.”

  “Is it Justice?” she asked from the seat. She hadn’t meant to necessarily exclude JFK. It had just been something she and Justice needed to take care of.

  He shook his head and closed her door, then walked around to the driver’s side. Whatever was on his mind, Mercy hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

  Maybe it was a mistake to keep her distance at the first sign that there was distance between them, but Mercy stayed in the passenger’s seat when he climbed in and drove off.

  “What is it, JFK?”


  “I’m just thinking,” he said. “That kiss. The day you fell in love. If the car day was really the day you fell for me, what was so wrong about me kissing you?”

  Oh. In their two months together, they hadn’t talked about it. Why bring it up if things were going so perfect? It was beyond embarrassing—she still felt shame about it and didn’t want to tell him. But he’d never been judgmental of her. And she was a different person sober than she’d been as an addict.

  “In my bad years,” she started, “a lot of guys did things for me. Bought things for me, usually alcohol.” So many nights in so many settings from frat parties to bars to her own apartment. “They always expected something in return, and a lot of times they got it.” She was watching the road so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact when he glanced over. It was so hard to admit this to a man she was so deeply in love with. “I … never felt anything for them, only for what they offered.”

  “And when I came around acting like I’d just saved the day with a year’s worth of credit in the implied quid pro quo department, then forced my lips on you, it freaked you out.”

  “Yeah.” Mercy nodded, still keeping her eyes forward. “I couldn’t go anywhere near the old me with you. I wanted something real, so … I’m sorry about that.”

  “I get it,” said JFK. “I grew up in a world where favors were traded to get what you wanted and a lot of times what you needed. It’s probably how I ended up so fat at one point. A scarcity mentality for food. Guess I’m lucky I was a scrawny boy because if I was a cute little girl, there’s no saying what would have happened.”

  “That’s not the same,” said Mercy. “My problems are due to my poor choices. You were a child brought up in horrible situations.”

  “And yet, here we both are, trying to fix our messed up lives. Together.”

  “Together,” she agreed, and realized she was pinching the coin that hung from her neck. “I like the way you say that.”

  They drove without speaking for a little while, just being together. The road led out of town and up to where the real estate was far out of their price range.