“Have you ever seen our talent show?” Bradens smirked. “Ridiculous is nearly a requirement. It’s the talent that seems to be optional.”
“Why don’t you do it?”
“I’ll have to if I don’t find someone else. This year providing the emcee is the firehouse’s contribution. We could really use someone who has some actual theatrical tendencies.”
Sure, he was a born show-off, but Jesse still shook his head. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Will you at least think about it? That, and the inspector’s training?”
Some days Bradens just didn’t know the meaning of the word no. “Yeah, fine, I’ll give it some thought. I doubt I’ll change my mind, though, so keep looking for someone else.”
“You’re my first choice. On both fronts. Just know that, okay?”
Both of those fronts, but not first choice for Charlotte, huh? That stung just a little, but suited him fine, anyway. “Sure, okay.”
Chapter Seven
Charlotte was regretting her final “I can handle it” words to Melba. It was eight-thirty, and Maria hadn’t stopped crying since Melba went out the door at six. Charlotte had fed her, changed her, rocked her and done just about every other baby-soothing thing she could think of, but still Maria wailed.
“All right, Maria, it’s a nice night, so you and I are going to go for a walk. Any more of your cries bouncing off the walls in this house and I’m going to go a little bonkers. If the river doesn’t soothe you, nothing will.”
Charlotte found the stroller (complete with an adorable hand-knit baby blanket) on the back porch, penned a quick note and stuck it to the fridge—all one-handed because the red-faced Maria occupied the other arm—and headed out into the warm June night.
Gordon Falls was at its best on summer evenings. The town spread itself out along the Gordon River, filling the hillsides with quaint homes and dotting the town’s main thoroughfare of Tyler Street with a collection of charming shops and restaurants. It was a picture-postcard small town. Charlotte had joked about the overwhelming quaintness of the place on her first visit, but she’d come to really love the community. It was as far away from the hustle and concrete of Chicago as she could get, and she could always feel her stress peeling off her soul as her car pulled through the big green floodgates that stood at the edge of Tyler Street. Even Maria simmered down to a steady whimper punctuated by a few bursts of crying.
Charlotte headed toward Tyler Street and the far end of Riverwalk, sure to be filled with people enjoying the evening but far enough from the restaurant where Clark and Melba were dining so that she wouldn’t risk running into them. She already had a host of memories connected to places in town: the housewares store where she’d purchased the new kettle. The hardware store where she’d gotten her first spare set of keys made. The grocery store where she seemed to meet everyone she knew on every visit. The boutique that was sure to be her favorite place for clothes—once she spent time and energy on clothes instead of curtains. Abby Reed’s craft and gift store, which held just enough yarn to make Charlotte feel as though she hadn’t abandoned all artistic civilization. She hadn’t been back to her Chicago apartment in almost three weeks, and she hadn’t even missed it. That place was boxy, ordinary and noisy. The cottage was on its way to becoming quiet, filled with charm and a thing of beauty to help the rest of life’s stress disappear.
What are You up to, Lord? Why am I so drawn to this place? Charlotte wondered to God as she pushed a fussing Maria through the town. I’ve never felt a place could make me so happy before this. It’s always been people that made me happy. Only now I’ve lost my colleagues and Mima. The things here—the things in my house, even—are what make me happiest now. Is that wrong? Or just different? Charlotte looked down at Maria’s frustrated mad-at-the-world pout and thought, Kiddo, I know how you feel.
Her Tyler Street journeys led her down by the firehouse and Karl’s Koffee. It wouldn’t hurt to meet a friendlier face than Maria’s frustrated red cheeks and tiny balled fists.
Maria’s wailing ensured that most people heard her coming before they saw her. Two grandmother-types outside of Karl’s had offered some tactics, but neither of them had worked, and Charlotte admitted to growing a little anxious that maybe her goddaughter was suffering from something more than simple fussiness. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Maria’s cries caught the ears of the firefighters on duty as Charlotte walked by.
“Hey, is that the Charlotte?” A stocky man from the firehouse called as he rose from his lawn chair on the driveway.
Charlotte stopped, startled that he’d called her by name. “Um, hi.”
A younger fireman—in actual red suspenders, Charlotte noted with amusement—came out from behind one of the bright red trucks that stood ready in their enormous garage spaces. “Yorky, you gotta stop calling Chief Bradens’s kid ‘the chieflette.’” He wiped his hands on a towel that he subsequently stuffed into a back pocket. “Chieflette’s not a name. It’s not even a real word. It’s just weird.”
He hadn’t been saying “Charlotte”—he’d been saying “chieflette.” Charlotte felt a twinge of satisfaction that the baby’s firehouse nickname sounded so close to her own. After a second she remembered Yorky from her ill-fated first day as cottage owner.
He was currently balking at the younger guy. “Everybody in here has a nickname, why not the baby?” His eyes popped in recognition. “Hey, you’re the cottage lady.”
“I am.” She held out her hand. “Charlotte. And I think ‘chieflette’ is kind of cute. It’s certainly original.” Which kindled a fierce curiosity as to what name Jesse had been given. Smiling at Yorky, she made a mental note to discover a sneaky way to find out. Maria gave a wail of disapproval as if to counteract her godmother’s endorsement.
“She’s certainly cranky.” Yorky peered into the stroller. “Gas?”
Charlotte sighed and picked Maria up out of the stroller to settle her against her shoulder. “I’ve burped her. Twice. Some lady even tried some special colic hold outside of Karl’s, but nothing seems to help.”
“Is she running a fever?” The younger man went to reach for Maria’s head, but Yorky swatted his hand away.
“Wash your hands before you touch a baby, son—everybody knows that.” When the man pulled the towel back out from his pocket, Yorky frowned. “And no, that’s not enough.” For a big, burly guy, Yorky was evidently a softie for babies. “Shame JJ’s not on tonight—women always have a knack for that stuff.”
If women always have a knack for this, why am I pushing a screaming baby down Tyler Street? Charlotte thought, suddenly fighting a wave of insecurity. She tried to give an educated touch to Maria’s forehead. “No fever that I can tell.”
“Go see if Pipes is still here,” Yorky said to his companion, cocking his head back toward the firehouse kitchen window.
“He left an hour ago. Him and Wally are grilling out down by the river with some of the probies.”
Pipes? Probies? Some days firemen seemed to speak a different language. “Is Pipes a parent?”
That brought a guffaw from Yorky. “Jesse? Now wouldn’t that be a hoot. Nah, Jesse’s just got silver pipes. The guy sings to kids when they’re scared from the fires. Honestly, it’d be hard to keep him around if he weren’t so good at it.”
So Jesse’s nickname was “Pipes.” The singing she’d heard echoing through her house certainly validated the name. Jesse’s silky voice struck her as a Frank Sinatra–Harry Connick Jr.–Michael Bublé sort of croon, but with a decidedly soulful edge. Based on the wails she’d been enduring for the past pair of hours, getting Jesse to sing Maria to sleep seemed like the best idea in the world. “I’ll go find him, if you don’t mind. Where on the riverwalk is he?”
“Just south of the footbridge. Go a block farther than Karl’s Koffee and you should be able to smell th
e meat burning.”
Maria gave a yowl as if she was working up to another good fit again, spurring Charlotte to settle the fussy baby back into the stroller and turn them both toward the river. She’d pledged to herself to do anything necessary to present Melba and Clark with a happy baby when they got home from dinner—those two deserved some peace and quiet. They deserved to not feel one pang of guilt for taking an evening to themselves. “Thanks, I’m sure I’ll find him.”
“He’ll probably hear you coming,” Yorky offered with an understanding smile. “But I can page him if you like.”
“No, I think we can make it to the footbridge in one piece. Thanks, Yorky.” She took an immediate liking to the stocky, middle-aged firefighter. He was a big bear of a man with a heart of butter—who wouldn’t like a man with that smile? “And extra thanks—you know—for playing hero the other day at my cottage.”
“Nothin’ doing, Charlotte. That’s why we’re here. You just take care of the little chieflette there and we’ll call it even.”
Charlotte started walking toward the river. “Chieflette, huh? You could do worse, Maria. You’ve got two dozen uncles looking out after you, little lady. That’s good, because with those red curls and that smile—the one you haven’t shown me in hours, I might add—you’re gonna need ’em.”
* * *
“Aw,” Wally groaned as he bit into his hamburger. “Aw, Sykes, this is carnivore perfection.” He wiped a smear of Sykes’s Special Sauce from his chin, a look of gastronomic pleasure on his face. “What’s in here?”
Jesse smiled as he passed off a burger to another firefighter in training, or “probie,” as they were known around the firehouse. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
To be known for an awesome burger was a small satisfaction, but Jesse liked the appreciation. The firehouse boasted only three decent cooks, so meals were a gamble most nights. If they ever went to a professional model where the firefighters lived on-site in regular shifts, it’d become a serious issue. As it was with rotating shifts of volunteers on call, meals were more of a perk than a requirement. Jesse liked to make sure he was around on Thursday nights when the butcher always sent over burgers. It was a crime to see good meat destroyed by bad cooks.
A sharp cry caught his ear as he slid his spatula under the final burger and handed it off to another grateful probie. There was a baby nearby, and an unhappy one at that.
Jesse put the cover back on the grill and wiped the spatula clean on a towel. He dipped a finger in the plastic bowl of Sykes’s Special Sauce, licking a tangy taste before snapping the lid into place. Man, that stuff was delicious. Maybe someday he’d consider bottling it and selling it wholesale to bars and burger joints. His thoughts were interrupted as the high-pitched wail grew louder, and he turned to see the source of the drama.
It was Charlotte Taylor. Chief Bradens had mentioned she was babysitting his daughter tonight. The strained look on Charlotte’s face told him it wasn’t going well.
He left the bowl on the table and walked toward the noisy pair. “Somebody having a rough night?”
“She’s been like this for almost two hours. I’ve tried everything I know and a few things complete strangers have suggested.” Charlotte pushed her hair back from her face in exasperation. “In another hour I’ll be ready to cry myself.”
Jesse reached back to the table to pull an antiseptic wipe from a container and used it to clean the last of barbecue and Sykes’s Sauce off his hands. “I’ll bet.”
“Smells great.” Charlotte nodded toward the grill with a weak attempt at a smile. Poor thing, she really did look at the end of her rope.
“Just gave out the last one, sorry.”
“No, I’ve eaten. I just didn’t realize your skill set included cooking.”
“Oh, it sure does,” one young man said with a mouth full of burger. “Sure does.”
“It’s nice to have an appreciative audience,” Jesse admitted, peering into the stroller to see a puffy red face surrounded by a halo of Bradens-red curls. “Seems Chieflette’s got a temper to match her locks.”
Charlotte laughed. “I heard Yorky call her that.” She gave Jesse a slightly panicked look. “I also heard they don’t call you Pipes for nothing and that you’re great at calming down kids. Care to work some of that vocal medicine on Little Miss Fussbudget here?” She looked just short of desperate.
It was the chief’s baby. It was Charlotte asking. What kind of fool would say no? “No guarantees, but I’ll do my best.” A surprising knot settled in Jesse’s stomach. Normally he was never given to nerves—especially about singing—but for some reason the stakes felt higher at the moment. Distracting five-year-olds at the preschool fire drill was one thing. Soothing a fussy baby in front of a pack of probies and Charlotte Taylor? Well, that was quite another. “Okay,” he said, infusing his voice with confidence he didn’t fully feel, “hand Little Miss Crankypants over and let’s see if we can calm her down.”
At first, Maria didn’t care at all to be handed over to a strange set of arms. As he settled her against his shoulder, she wailed, and out of the corner of his eye Jesse saw Charlotte wringing her hands. Starting down in as low a register as he could manage, Jesse launched into a slow, soft version of Ben E. King’s “Stand by Me.” He remembered reading somewhere that the rumble of a deep voice in a chest was soothing to babies. When that didn’t have much of an effect, he modulated up a key and began to sway around the grass with her, holding her tight and patting her back the way he’d seen his grandmother do. Halfway into the second chorus, Maria gave a little hiccup and softened her wails.
A natural tenor, Jesse was more comfortable in higher keys, and the tiny bit of progress he’d made bolstered his confidence. He was “Pipes,” and while he mostly used his voice for laughs, he also knew this was his gift, the particular talent he brought to firefighting. He could serenade somebody calm in the back of an ambulance, as they made their way down the ladder or as they waited for their loved ones to emerge from a smoking building. And, okay, he was a bit of a born show-off. Showing off for a good cause like helping Charlotte help Chief Bradens? Well, that ought to be a cakewalk. When Maria calmed further, Jesse took it up another key and began dancing with Maria. He caught Charlotte’s eye, winked and spun Maria in a tiny turn that actually produced a sigh from the baby.
“Will you look at that?” one of the probies said with astonished eyes. “It’s like he’s the baby whisperer or something.”
By the third chorus, Jesse had produced an actual laugh from Maria. Well, at least it sounded like a laugh. He ignored the growing wet spot on his shoulder, focusing instead on the steady small breaths coming under his hand on Maria’s back. By the end of the second song, Maria was out cold, Charlotte was astonished and Jesse felt downright victorious. He’d sung victims to calm—or something at least close to reasonable—before, but he’d never actually sung a baby to sleep. There was a startling satisfaction in the accomplishment, which fueled a warm glow under his ribs. Very, very carefully, he lowered a contented Maria back into the stroller and then looked up to catch Charlotte’s wide smile.
“Better keep walking so she stays asleep,” one of the probies said behind him.
Jesse turned, head cocked in annoyance. “If you know so much about babies, Carson, why wait until now to speak up?”
“Hey,” Carson replied, “I’m the oldest of eight. But no way was I going to step in and miss a chance to see the Great Sykes at work. Just keep walking for another ten minutes or so and you’ll be golden.”
Jesse wasn’t really in the mood to see Charlotte take off down the Riverwalk. Tossing the package of hamburger buns to the trainee, Jesse said, “Okay, then, we’ll walk. You clowns finish up eating and take everything back to the firehouse. Don’t forget to study those handouts before the next session.” Turning to Charlotte, he said, “I’ll go along as a precaut
ionary measure. In case my outstanding talents only have a temporary effect. It is the chief’s baby, after all.”
Charlotte shrugged as if to say, “Better safe than sorry,” and began rolling the stroller down the path. Jesse caught up with her, enjoying the victory of the moment. They walked along in cautious silence for a few minutes, ensuring that Maria was safely off in dreamland.
“That was amazing,” Charlotte whispered after a bit.
“Actually, that was Ben E. King. ‘Amazing’ is a different tune.” The soft laugh his joke pulled from Charlotte was even more satisfying than Maria’s dozing. See? He could do the casual friendship thing here. Bradens’s warnings weren’t necessary. He was just helping a client help a friend, that was all. Besides, he always liked to make people laugh—why not Charlotte, as well?
“The guys at the firehouse said you’ve done that on calls. Sing to kids, I mean. How do you manage it?”
It was like having someone ask how he breathed. “It wasn’t something I really thought about. The first time was my second or third call on the rig—my first real fire. I was scared. You never really lose the fear. You just sort of make peace with it. Anyway, back in the upper bedroom there was a little boy. We’re scary looking with all our gear on, so it’s always a challenge to get kids to come to us.” The memory of that little boy’s dread-filled eyes had never left Jesse. At that moment, he would have done anything it took to gain that boy’s confidence and pull him to safety. “I saw a poster from a television show on his wall and I just started singing the theme song.”
“And he came to you?”
“Well, it was more like he didn’t run away. I just kept singing and walking toward him. I didn’t think about whether anyone could hear me on the radio, I was so focused on doing anything to keep that kid from ducking back under that bed. When I got close enough, I grabbed him and just kept singing the whole way down the stairs and out the door so he’d stay still and not struggle.”
Saved by the Fireman Page 7