Saved by the Fireman

by Allie Pleiter

  Charlotte smiled. “Jesse, the singing fireman.”

  Jesse shot her a look. “Please. I’ve heard every version of that you can think of, and I don’t like a single one of them. It works. It keeps kids—and even some adults—calm when calm is the hardest thing to manage. Bradens does it with his eyes. I do it with my voice.”

  “Clark’s eyes?”

  “Every firefighter has a particular gift, a talent. Chief Bradens has a way of looking right into your eyes so that you believe whatever he says. You don’t question stuff like that when lives are at stake.” He caught Charlotte’s gaze and held it. “I take my work at GFVFD very seriously. We all do. We put our lives on the line for it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, and he regretted calling her out for her teasing. “Really.”

  “It’s okay. Just no cracks about it, all right?” He reached out and touched her hand as it rested on the stroller handle. Something not at all casual and not at all like friendship zinged through his fingers when he did. “I think I’ve knocked her out cold, poor thing.”

  Charlotte looked up at him for far longer than was necessary. “You’re my hero.”

  If you choose to go after her, I’d want to know you really mean it.... I don’t want the department’s most confirmed bachelor to stomp on the heart of my wife’s best friend. The chief’s warning echoed sensibly in Jesse’s brain. Trouble was, the rest of him was busy losing the battle to Charlotte’s big brown eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  Jesse stood in the doorway of Chief Bradens’s office Monday morning. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”

  “I did. Come on in.”

  Jesse crossed the room to take the guest chair in front of the chief’s desk. “What’s up?”

  “First off, it seems I owe you some thanks for serenading my daughter the other night.” Clark shook his head. “Man, that sounds odd to say.”

  Jesse made a serious face. “I’m not taking your daughter to the prom, sir.”

  Clark laughed. “Not on your life, even if she was eighteen years older.”

  “At least twenty-two years older, boss. And not even then.” That was true. If Chief were older—and Bradens was one of the youngest fire chiefs in the state—and his daughter was anything close to Jesse’s age, Jesse still wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.

  “Okay, well, thanks are in order anyway. It was a pretty nice thing to come home to a sleeping baby. Melba was sure Maria would give Charlotte a load of trouble, and it seems you kept that from happening. The probies were calling you ‘the baby whisperer.’ It’s pretty funny, actually. I think they wonder if you have superpowers or something.”

  “Feed those boys a decent burger and they’ll believe anything,” Jesse joked.

  “Anyway, I wanted to know if you’ve given any more thought to the talent-show thing or the inspector’s training.”

  Bradens was not usually one to push on stuff like this—Jesse was beginning to feel the pinch of his predicament. Didn’t singing the man’s daughter to sleep gain him a “cease-fire” on the church invitations? At least he wasn’t riding Jesse for spending an hour walking around the Riverwalk with Charlotte. That hadn’t been such a smart idea—that woman had begun to really get under his skin. He’d spent the next hour in the firehouse weight room burning off energy and listing all the reasons to keep clear of the pretty client.

  “Yeah, look, I don’t know.”

  The chief leaned in. “I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d emcee the show for us.”

  Chief’s attempts to drag Jesse over the GFCC threshold were getting less subtle every time. It was bad enough when Melba had joined the choir a few months ago, and Bradens went on about fun and fellowship—which Jesse found ironic, because everyone knew the chief couldn’t hold a tune if it had a handle tied to it. To Jesse, choir sounded like a bunch of people who barely knew how to have fun standing up singing old songs in silly, shiny robes. Not that he could confirm his theory; the only time he’d darkened the doors of Gordon Falls Community Church had been for Melba’s father’s funeral a while back, and there had been only community singing in that service.

  When Jesse didn’t respond, Bradens played his trump card. “Charlotte was the one who came up with the idea, actually. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it to you given the success of your little command performance in the park.” That settled it. Charlotte could be relentless. Jesse was sure if he said no to Bradens, Charlotte would just take up the campaign and double it.

  “Tell you what. I’ll do the talent show if you lay off about the choir.”

  “Thanks. Think about what I said regarding the inspector, though. Actually, I think you could go further than that. You’re a good firefighter, but your real talent is connecting with people. Catching their focus in a crisis. Those are skills I can’t really teach. You may think I’m nuts for saying this, but I think if we could rein in that crazy side of yours, you have the makings of a good chief.”

  Jesse sure wasn’t expecting that. “Me? A fire chief?”

  “Well, we’ve got to find some way for you to harness all that charisma for good.”

  He’d heard some version of that speech—one slightly less complimentary of his personality—regularly from his father. Grow up, settle down, fly straight, take action; it came in a dozen sour flavors. Jesse had really hoped the launching of Sykes Homes would put a damper on that sort of talk. He knew Chief Bradens was demonstrating faith in his abilities; it was just that the topic was a raw nerve. He liked his own plans—even if they had been detoured by the loss of the cottage—and suddenly Bradens was piling new expectations on him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” was the best answer he could give at the moment, “but like I said, I’m allergic to administration.”

  “I’m trying to talk the town council into finding the funds to pay for a deputy chief.”

  Jesse shrugged. Bradens could sweeten the deal all he wanted, but it still didn’t really fit in with Jesse’s plans for where life was supposed to go from here. He switched to what he hoped was a safer topic. “Speaking of administration, Charlotte will get her occupancy permit this afternoon—we’re turning the water back on later today. You’ll get your house back.” That little benchmark still stung, but the chief had no way of knowing that—only a few of the guys on the crew knew about Jesse’s thwarted plans to buy the place. “The place is still rough around the edges but livable. It’ll be a beauty, though, when she’s done. That woman knows how to make full-blown decorating plans, that’s for sure.”

  “I feel better knowing she’s working with you and Mondale rather than some contractor from out of town. She’s in a bit of a weird place right now when it comes to that cottage.”

  At that moment, Jesse saw in Chief Bradens’s eyes a glimmer of the niggling suspicion that had bothered him for days. The growing sense that Charlotte might not be thinking with her head right now so much as her heart. “How so?”

  “Well, don’t you think she’s going at this with a little too much—” he searched for the word “—drive?”

  Charlotte was indeed going full out on the renovation. It was keeping him busy and swelling his paycheck, but it was also making him a bit worried. “She wouldn’t be the first person to take her stress out on the Home Shopping Network, if that’s what you’re saying.” The desire to honor her grandmother and take her mind off her job problems could easily get twisted up in a craving to do things that might not make the most financial sense. “She’s taking advantage of the free time in between jobs to give the place the attention it deserves. I can spot the difference.”

  Could he? He’d accepted her order for premium kitchen fixtures yesterday that were three times as expensive as the ones he’d recommended. While he felt oddly protective of Charlotte, he was also becoming aware that with the right smile, she could m
ake him agree to just about anything. Not that it was his role to rein her in, but hadn’t he promised himself to do just that? Let her splurge but splurge wisely? What she’d ordered yesterday couldn’t be called a wise splurge by anyone, and yet he hadn’t challenged it at all. Charlotte wasn’t the only one in a bit of a weird place right now.

  “Melba’s worried about her.” The chief gave a weary sigh. “At the same time, I’d kind of like my house to contain only two females again, if you catch my drift.”

  “Relax, Chief. Like I said, I should have your guy-to-girl ratio back down to one-to-two by tomorrow.” As for what the additional woman would do once she was living in her project and could focus on it full-time...he’d worry about that later.

  * * *

  Charlotte held up Violet Sharpton’s latest prayer shawl Wednesday morning with genuine admiration. Karl of Karl’s Koffee had fallen and hurt his hip again, and Violet had made him a brown shawl with coffee cups dotting either end, their plumes of steam rising to meet in a swirly pattern down the middle. “Honestly, Violet, if I were still at Monarch, I might ask to put this one—and your flame shawl and the flamingo one—on the cover of a catalogue.” Violet had made a fabulous one-of-a-kind prayer shawl, with a flame motif to match his thrill-seeking style, for Max Jones after he’d been hurt in a paralyzing fall. She had exceeded that effort a few months later with one for Max’s fiancée, Heather, bearing her favorite birds. A Sharpton Shawl was on its way to becoming a hot Gordon Falls commodity.

  “How is the job search going?” Violet asked tenderly. “Seems like there’s no loyalty to hardworking people anywhere these days.” She handed Charlotte a cup of tea. “I’m just glad the Good Lord sent us another tea drinker.” She took back the “Shawlatte,” as she’d christened it a minute ago. “It’s getting hard to hold my own against the Gordon Falls caffeine junkies.” The petite woman’s eyes fairly sparkled at her own joke.

  “It’s still early,” Charlotte replied, pasting a smile on her face. “But there have been lots of nibbles, so I’m sure an offer will be here soon.” She knew most of the life stories of these women, and none of them had easy lives. Seeing their zest for life despite some whopping challenges gave Charlotte courage. Compared to some of the things these woman had endured—loss of spouses, fires, debilitating diseases, children gone wrong—one layoff seemed barely worthy of complaint.

  She did her best to ignore Melba’s disbelieving look. The truth was, things weren’t going well at all. She’d expected to be choosing between offers by now, not staring into a gaping void of tepid responses to submitted résumés. So much of this loomed out of her control, and it was driving her crazy. She needed action, momentum, anything that felt like results—but the only place she could come close to any of those things was on the cottage renovations. To do that, and do it with excellence, proved such a saving grace. It made her feel successful when success seemed to be edging out of her grasp.

  Marge Bowers tugged on Maria’s hand as she held the baby. “I saw the sweater your godmother made you, Maria. Your aunt Charlotte knows her stuff.” It felt lovely to have her knitting skills receive compliments, especially from these ladies. Maria’s biological grandmothers might be gone, but she had a dozen honorary ones here. This morning Charlotte couldn’t be certain a fight wasn’t going to break out over who got to hold Maria first. “Between Charlotte and your mama, I doubt you’ll ever be short of hats or mittens.”

  “Or scarves,” Charlotte added. “Scarves are my favorite.”

  “I like dishcloths myself,” Tina Matthews piped up. “Quick, practical and there are hundreds of designs to choose from.”

  “Tina gives six as a housewarming gift,” Melba related. “I still use my set every day.”

  “And now I can make you a set, too,” Tina said. “Do you know your kitchen color scheme yet?”

  Melba started to laugh. “Are you kidding? There are four file boxes, a set of computer files and two scrapbooks on the subject. And that’s only the ones I know about.”

  Charlotte hoped she hadn’t been too fast to pull out her smartphone and display an image of the “china-blue and white with yellow accents” color scheme she’d chosen for the kitchen. The resulting oohs and ahhs were highly gratifying. The hand-painted porcelain cabinet knobs and handles had arrived the other day, and they were worth every premium penny.

  “You’ve got an eye, Charlotte. Now I know just what color yarn to buy.”

  The idea that her kitchen sink would someday be graced with both designer weathered copper fixtures and a set of handmade color-coordinated dishcloths settled a warm hum in Charlotte’s chest. She wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, but Gordon Falls was starting to feel like home. Whole days would go by where she didn’t even think of Monarch or her city apartment. That made it easier to stomach how she wasn’t shuttling back and forth between multiple interviews right now.

  “However long you stay, we are glad to have you,” Abby Reed replied. “Gordon Falls was starting to feel a little gray-haired before Melba came along.”

  “And JJ, Alex and Max,” Melba added.

  “My two cousins have done all right for themselves here,” Charlotte admitted, turning her knitting to start a new row. She hadn’t really meant “married off” as her version of “done all right,” but the knowing looks some of the ladies passed between them meant they’d clearly made the connection.

  “Clever you, meeting the town’s most charming bachelor fireman your first day in the cottage,” Marge teased.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Oh, you wouldn’t think it was so clever if you saw my kitchen filled with smoke.”

  “It brought Jesse Sykes to your doorstep.” Vi chuckled. “Handsome and handy, that one.” For a widow in her seventies, Violet had more energy than anyone else in the room. And more nerve.

  “Violet, you really are a piece of work,” Jeannie Owens chastised, then broke into a smile. “I hope I grow up to be just like you.”

  The group erupted in laughter. “Why go for home repair when you could shoot for a man who knows his way around the kitchen?” Marge said in a loud whisper. “I’ve seen the way Karl looks at you. He already gives you free pie. Wait until he gets that shawl—you’ll be eating free for a year!”

  Violet snorted her disagreement. “Nonsense. Karl comps anybody who has to move for Hot Wheels, you know that.”

  Charlotte’s cousin Max, who had received his knitted “FlameThrow” when a climbing accident confined him to a wheelchair, could fit at only one table in Karl’s Koffee. It was common knowledge that when someone had to shift seats to make way for Max “Hot Wheels” Jones, Karl gave them free coffee. “I know we all get coffee,” Marge countered, wagging her finger, “but you’re the only one I know who gets pie. You’re special.”

  Violet, usually never at a loss for a good comeback, didn’t reply. She scowled at Marge, but Charlotte was pretty sure the pink in her cheeks wasn’t from anger. Anyone who thought Gordon Falls was a quiet, quaint little tourist town on the river where nothing ever happened would get a surprise if they met with this group. The ladies had always been pleasant acquaintances, but they were becoming fast friends. This group had scooped up Melba when she’d come to Gordon Falls in the throes of her father’s progressing disease, and now it felt as if they had scooped up Charlotte, as well.

  Abby, who had offered to talk retail yarn over lunch after today’s knitting session, spoke up. “You know, you could do lots of your job from just about anywhere, couldn’t you? You could work for a company in France right from your home.”

  “If I spoke French,” Charlotte admitted. “I have done international work for Monarch, and for my job before that. I used to travel quite a bit, actually. Now that’s not so necessary with all the digital communication.”

  “There was a woman in the shop the other day buying yarn for her grandchildren. She
had their video up on her phone and was holding up yarn so they could pick colors right there in front of her. And they were in New Jersey!” Abby picked up Maria, who had started to fuss a bit in her carrier. “I don’t really know how all that stuff works, but it was fun to watch.”

  “I text my grandchildren all the time,” Violet said. “I know stuff that would curl their mother’s hair, but I’m keeping my mouth shut. I want them to think they can come to me if they’re afraid to talk to Donald and his wife.”

  “You really are the coolest grandmother ever,” Melba said. “I hope you’ll be texting Maria when she’s in middle school and hates me.”

  Melba’s mother had been gone for years, but Charlotte recognized the still-constant loss that pressed on her own heart. How many times had she picked up her phone to send a photo or text to Mima, only to realize she was gone? It felt as if the huge hole in her life still had ragged, painful edges. Until she had a family of her own, Charlotte vowed to be the kind of support to Maria that Violet was to her grandkids. I want to trust you’ll find me a job, Lord. I want the panic to go away. Until it does, thank You for this amazing circle of women.

  She felt fresh tears sting her eyes until Tina thrust a ball of yarn into her view. “Charlotte, what on earth did I do wrong here? It looks like tumbleweeds.”

  Charlotte held out her hands. “Let me look at it. I’ll have it straightened out in no time.” Here, at least, was one thing she knew she could fix, one problem she knew she could solve.

  Chapter Nine

  Jesse put down his wrench and turned the knob on Charlotte’s gorgeous new kitchen faucet. “Drumroll, please.”

  Charlotte laughed and drummed her hands on the counter. “Ready.”

  The pipes under the faucet made a host of disturbing noises from behind their cabinet doors. Then, after a few tentative spurts and a gurgle or two, water cascaded from the graceful copper fixture. “Hot and cold running water for Miss Charlotte Taylor, thank you very much,” Jesse boasted. “You can move in.”