by Kathryn Shay
“How did she die?”
“A stroke. Completely unexpected. She was as healthy as a horse. So full of life.” Her words tripped over another rough spot in her voice, and she swallowed. She would not cry. Not in front of Conor. If he wanted to know about her, she’d tell him, but she would not fall apart. She didn’t want his pity.
“When did this happen?”
“Last March. My brother and I went to Jacksonville and closed up her house. And I made my scrapbook about her.”
“And then you moved to Arlington? Because your mother died?” Conor frowned, clearly unable to make the connection.
“I didn’t come here because my mother died,” she said.
“But you came kind of suddenly, no? Too quickly to find a house that fit your personality.”
She nibbled on the slice of pear, savoring its sweetness as she decided what to tell Conor. She’d been worried, after their last meeting, that she’d been too hard on him, too demanding. Yet he was rising to her demands. Maybe he felt he owed it to her. Maybe he thought he ought to pretend to be interested in her past because she was going to help him make a scrapbook.
She’d agreed to help him with the scrapbook without any strings attached, though. He didn’t owe her. They had no real relationship, no bonds of intimacy tying them together. Just their shared concern for a little girl who missed her mother. Their shared concern and that one explosive episode of lovemaking.
“It took about three weeks to settle my mother’s estate,” she told him. “When I returned home to Albany, I learned that while I was away, my fiancé and my best friend had slept together—and discovered that they were in love. They both came to the airport to meet me. They told me this on the drive home. So…in less than a month, I lost my mother, the man I’d been planning to marry and the woman I’d chosen to be my maid of honor.”
“Wow,” Conor said. “That’s more than a small hell. I’d call it a medium hell, at the very least.”
He didn’t sound pitying. In fact, she detected a faint undercurrent of humor in his voice. “It’s not funny,” she muttered.
“No. It sucks. But it brought you to Arlington, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s not all bad.” He contemplated his words, then gave her a contrite look. “Sorry. I’m only thinking of myself again. But I’ve got to admit, I’m glad you lost that fiancé. I thought I was a jerk. He’s got me beat by a mile in the jerk derby.”
The jerk derby? The phrase tickled a laugh out of her. “Anyway, that’s why I moved when I did. I couldn’t stay in Albany anymore. When heard about a job opening here in Arlington, I grabbed it.”
“The Arlington school system wisely grabbed you.” He gazed at her and she was moved by the roiling emotion in his blue eyes, the earnestness, the sheer beauty of his features. “I hope this isn’t just a way-station for you. I hope you stay long enough to find a house that suits you. I hope…damn it.” He sighed, then reached across the table and gathered her hand in his. “I hope you stay long enough for us to get to know each other. Not rebounding. Not healing. Just…being together.”
Her fingers curled against his palm, then wove through his, locking his hand to hers. “We both still have a lot of healing to do.”
“We can heal together. Like roommates in a rehab center.”
She laughed again. “Oh, wow. That sounds like fun.”
He brushed off her sarcasm. “We can make it fun. Last Saturday night was fun until you walked out the door.”
No argument there. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the memory of just how fun it had been.
“I want us to heal together, Eliza. I haven’t stopped thinking of you since that night. Actually, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I walked into your office the day you called to tell me Amy had hit a classmate. You were right, I was too wrapped up in myself at first. But I want to be wrapped up in you. I want you in my life.”
His words weren’t poetic. They weren’t flowery. But they were the most romantic sentiments anyone had ever expressed to her. “I’d like that,” she murmured.
“Spend Christmas with Amy and me,” he said.
“Oh—I don’t know. If she’s going to be getting the scrapbook, all full of her mother…”
“You and Sheila are not in competition,” he said firmly. “Sheila will always be Amy’s mother. But you’re Amy’s friend. Maybe her mentor. Her inspiration. Amy doesn’t have to abandon her mother to love you. She can love you just because you’re you.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “So can I.”
A tear slid down her cheek. All right, so Conor would see her cry, after all. She didn’t have to worry about his pitying her. Pity was definitely not the emotion she felt radiating from him. Affection, yes. Trust. Lust.
Love. The mature love of a man who knew what love was, what it required, what blessings it could bestow if you committed fully to it. He was a man who’d loved his wife, who loved his daughter, who knew how to give and receive love.
“Well,” she said, sniffing away her tears. “If I’m going to spend the holiday with you and Amy, we’d better get to work on that scrapbook. I don’t want her to be disappointed on Christmas morning.”
“She might be,” Conor conceded. “She’s not going to find an angel by the tree. At least not the angel she expected.” He squeezed Eliza’s hand again, then lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “But if you’re there, we’ll have an angel. Amy and me both. We’ll have you.”
-THE END-
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If you enjoyed Almost An Angel, you might like the other books in The Daddy School Series:
Father Found
Father Christmas
Father of Two
Hush, Little Baby
Somebody’s Dad
www.JudithArnold.com/The-Daddy-School-Books/
Flashover
Novella 3 in Chasing the Fire
By Kathryn Shay
CAPTAIN NICK EVANS held his breath as he picked out a straw and prayed he didn’t get the short one. He damn well couldn’t be in charge of the Christmas party to raise money for the kids who attended Hale’s Haven, the summer camp for children of slain firefighters and police officers. He hated Christmas and anything to do with the holiday.
Parker Allen Erikson, chic and slim, who’d come up with this harebrained idea, smiled at the firefighters assembled in her office at headquarters. “Don’t look so grim. You’ll have help.”
Mumbles from all fifteen officers of House 7, who’d been required by the brass to participate.
When everybody had drawn a straw, she said, “All right, look.”
Fucking son of a bitch. The little—littlest for sure—straw nestled in Nick’s palm.
“Hey, Evans got it.” This from one of the female officers.
“Yes!” a captain called out.
“Good for you, Nick,” another joked.
Nobody wanted to do the extra work for the party, but that wasn’t why Nick dreaded winning this particular lottery. So much more was wrong with his involvement with anything to do with Christmas. So he said, “If somebody’ll take over for me, I’ll pay you a Franklin a week.”
Parker raised a brow. “That is not in the spirit of Christmas, Captain.” She glanced over at her husband, Battalion Chief Cal Erikson, for support. The sappy look on the battalion chief’s face when he gazed at his wife told Nick he’d get no help there.
“A deal’s a deal, Evans,” Erikson said. “Buck up.”
Nick had no choice but to downplay how much this meant to him. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
Bestowing a benevolent smile on him that could crack anybody’s veneer but his, Parker scanned the group. “Thanks to all of you. You’re not off the hook, though. You have to set an example for your team and actively participate.”
Team was the operative word here. As head of PR for the fire department, her scheme to raise money for the camp included all seve
n houses of the fire department, and four of law enforcement, each one assigned a winter fund-raising event/party for the kids who went to camp. Why couldn’t House 7 have gotten the basketball tournament House 3 was responsible for? Or even the all-day activity party at Play Station. No, he had to get the freaking Christmas party.
“Nick, can you stay for a preliminary meeting?”
Before he could answer, the BC did. “He’s free. I got a sub for the whole day for whoever was chosen.” Erikson gave him a don’t balk on this anymore look.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great. You can use my office for the meeting.” She winked at Cal. “And take your time.”
Just then, a knock sounded on the door. “That must be her.”
Her? The other chair was a woman? Huh, maybe he could get her to do most of the work.
“Come on in, Stacey.”
Through the door came Doris Day with red hair. Well, more strawberry blond than red, but hell, she had the freckles and hazel eyes that were common to redheads. “I hope I’m not early. I came over on my lunch hour.”
“You aren’t. We picked your co-chair.” Parker turned to Nick. “Captain Nick Evans, this is Stacey Sterling. Stacey, Nick.”
She approached him with a big smile and held out her hand. He shook it and forced a paltry smile. “Ms. Sterling.”
“It’s Mrs., but call me Stacey, Captain.”
“Fine. Nick to you.” Jesus, this was awkward.
Parker picked up her purse and circled the desk with a brochure in her hand. “Here’s the menu from the Hidden Cove Diner. Call my secretary to order the food. It’s on me.”
Nick nodded, Parker and Cal walked out and he was alone with Mrs. Sterling. There was something about her…
“So,” he said, congenially. “Why do you look familiar?”
“We’ve met at the bookstore.” She tipped her chin, sending skeins of hair tumbling down her chest in big fat curls. “I own The Book Nook.” She gave him a sideways glance. “You like mysteries and nonfiction.”
“I do. Now I remember. You aren’t there all the time, though.”
“I work every day, but I focus on the rare-book section of the business. It’s the lifeblood of the store, given the popularity of those dreaded ebooks.”
“I hear ya. I can’t get used to the readers.”
Glancing down at the menu, she said, “I’m starved. Do you mind if we eat now?”
“Nope. I’ll have lobster, baked potato and asparagus. With a crisp white wine.”
She laughed. It was deep and from her belly but had a feminine ring to it. “Maybe after this is over, we can go out on the town.” She perused the menu. “How about a cheeseburger, french fries and soda? Unhealthy, but will hit the spot. I’ll have the same.”
“Go for it.”
As she punched in the secretary’s number, he studied her. She was tall, at least five feet eight, not really big boned, but sturdy and well-toned. She wore a simple beige skirt, which hit her knees, and a striped T-shirt. On her feet were sneakers.
“I walked over from the store.” She must have caught him staring when she disconnected.
“Seriously? It’s gotta be six miles roundtrip.”
“I try to do between four and six every day. It clears my head.”
They sat at the table, and the scent of sunshine and some lotion-like smell filled his head. He watched as she took a small laptop out of the backpack she’d brought with her. Before she could speak, he asked, “So how did you get roped into this?”
Her face blanked. Then her eyes narrowed. “I volunteered. Didn’t you?”
The question was so ingenuous he felt like Scrooge. “No, sorry. Why’d you?”
She worried the wedding ring on her finger. “My husband was killed five years ago saving a boxcar full of immigrants.”
“Sterling? As in Sam Sterling?” He thought for a minute. “He got the Heroism and Community Service Award from Firehouse magazine for that.”
“Yes, posthumously.”
“I only had a passing acquaintance with him. You should know the department still mourns his loss.”
“As do I. Real hero material there.” She gave him a generous smile. “Actually, I think all firefighters are heroes. Super ones, I guess.”
Of all the things she could have said to him, those words were like a knife to the heart. Nick couldn’t respond.
Because of the guilt he carried, he knew he couldn’t be further from a hero than he was. Nope, in some ways, he was the total opposite of her husband.
October 1
NICK EVANS HOPPED off the Rescue Truck in front of the strip mall. Angry fingers of flame rose at least ten feet from the roof of each of the four buildings. Rancid-smelling smoke curled everywhere. “This is a big one, guys.”
“Callahan’s here. Malvaso, Erikson, and two other battalion chiefs.” The statement came from Bilton Ames, aka Bilky, one of the best firefighters on his crew.
“Yep. And it’s a four alarm. Three engines and us.” The us included the Rescue, Quint and Midi rigs.
“Be back,” Nick said as he jogged to Incident Command, home base of the operation. Already, the noise of the scene filled the air…the sound of the trucks, the shouts of men, the slight hum of the generator, which gave them light. “Hey, Chief.”
“Evans.” Callahan nodded to the building. “It’s fully involved, was when we got here.”
“That happened fast.”
“One of the stores is a flooring place. The carpet and wood inside were tinder when the fire started.”
As they talked, Nick watched the streams of three trucks—two in front, one in back—pour gallons of water on the blaze. “Where do you want my crew?”
“Malvaso said the right, back corner of the last building is close to houses. Take your rig over to the street and evacuate the first three.”
“Yes, sir.”
Heading back to group, he gave them their orders. His Quint made it over to the neighborhood in minutes. “Huh,” Nick said as he hopped off the truck again. “None of the houses have their lights on. How can they not have heard the sirens?”
Amidst comments, some funny, they started down the sidewalk. “I’ll take the first. Cordaro and Ames the second. Thorne and Maloney the last.”
Though firefighters never went into a building alone—and he wouldn’t—Nick climbed the steps to the green-sided structure. Hopefully, all he’d have to do is call out. As he reached the porch, he saw that some of the shingles on the front were melting. Hell. It was hotter than anybody realized over here. Hand fisted, he banged on the front door. “Fire Department. Open up.” No answer. He pounded harder. “Your neighborhood is on fire! Open up.”
Something caught Nick’s attention and he looked up. Flames from the nearest building in the strip mall leapt from its roof to the top of this structure, almost as though he was watching an animated movie. The roof had to be as hot as the shingles and he wasn’t surprised to see the fire catch. Glancing to the side, he noted that his crew had escorted out people from the other houses. Into his radio he said, “Lead them away from the building and get back here. My house is on fire.”
He changed the frequency. “Chief, the house closest to the mall just caught. We need a pumper back here.”
“I’ll send Truck Four back. Anybody inside?”
“Nobody answered. We’ll go in and check.”
When his crew hustled up the steps, he saw Ames had brought a halligan. “Pop the door.”
Ames wedged the angled-head ax into the seam of the door frame and cracked it. Thrusting his foot forward, he pushed the door inward. The five of them donned their masks and stepped inside.
The house was filling fast with smoke. Nick directed his men to the left, back and right of the two-story. In a few minutes he heard, “I got a guy in the downstairs bedroom, naked as a jaybird.”
“Get him outside.” He asked through the radio, “Ames? What do you have?”
“Nothing.
”
“Then you and Cordaro follow me upstairs.”
By the time they reached the top level, the smoke had thickened but Nick could still see three doors. “Ames, take the far one. Cordaro, the second. I’ll go in here.”
Nick went through the nearest open door and knew immediately something was wrong. He could see the outline of a man standing by the window, staring out. Coughing. “Sir, what are you doing? The house is on fire.” He yelled the question through his facemask.
The man didn’t speak. And the heat was shooting up. Nick strode across the room. The guy kept coughing and kept staring out the window. “Hey, Mister, you gotta get out of here.”
The guy turned around and pulled back his arm. He was about to punch Nick when a bad fit of coughing hit him. Nick pushed him away and into the wall, where he hit his head and slumped to the ground. “Hell. I got a victim,” he said into the mic. “Who tried to deck me.” People did crazy things in a fire, out of panic. “I’m gonna drag him out.”
“We’re at the door.” He turned to see Cordaro and Ames.
Coming inside, Ames took the guy’s feet and Nick lifted him under the arms. Cordaro led the way to the steps. There, Nick said, “I’ll carry him.”
They pulled the guy up to his feet and Nick hefted the none-too-light, now deadweight over his shoulder.
Holy shit. He weighed a ton. It was rare to have to carry somebody out of a building and he stumbled a bit. Finally, he got his bearings and started down. One step, two… Gingerly he descended the stairs. He could hear water slapping on fire. The engine crew had come to put out the blaze.