by Ginny Frost
“Mommy, I can go out the window.”
Chapter Five
Margaret’s heart rate soared into overdrive. Gulping a breath, she tried to speak twice before she got the words out. “No, baby, not the window. Wait there.”
“It’s okay, Mommy. I can climb from the window to the porch thingie.”
What porch thingie?
A clank sounded inside the bathroom. “I’m a good climber.” Mikey’s voice already sounded muffled. Another bang boomed inside the room.
Panic threatened to consume Margaret, but she shoved the sensation down. In her best mom voice, she called, “Michael Anthony Porter, you stay right where you are.” Silence. She closed her eyes, and a tear trickled down her cheek.
All the crisis training from work—fires, active shooters, belligerent parents—kicked in. “Jill, call 911. Tell them a child is on the roof of the Greenview Inn. Patrick, get the door open now. I’m going outside to catch him if he falls.”
Her voice hitched on the last word, but she still rushed out, down the stairs, and out the emergency door on the first floor.
Her mind whirled as she wondered what the hell would possess her son to climb out a second-story window. He must be heading for the room’s balcony, which was a few feet past the bathroom window. If this was Earl’s influence, with all the James Bond movies they watched together, she’d kill him.
Traversing the last corner, she spotted her little boy on the roof, with his arms wide open. She drew in a fluttering breath, wondering if she should call to him or let him be. He looked tiny, standing unsteady, and up so high. His face full of wonder, he was beautiful. But he’d look much better in her arms on the ground.
She raised her hand slightly toward him when he saw her.
“Hi, Mommy.” He waved. “Told ya I…” And his foot slipped in the snow. His arms flailed. His mouth dropped open into a huge O.
“Mikey,” she screamed.
Her little boy leaned backward, falling on his butt. He skidded forward and stopped with a jerk. His face paled, completely bloodless.
Margaret’s heart stopped. “Don’t move,” she called. “Stay right there.”
He nodded.
A white SUV pulled into the parking lot, coming to a halt a few feet away. Chief Harold Burges and Ryan Kramer exited the vehicle.
“What do we have here?” Harold asked, scratching his head as he gazed up at Mikey.
Margaret charged them and, as Ryan was closer, he received the brunt of her wrath. “Why didn’t you bring the ladder truck?” She glared at him, a thousand poison daggers flying from her eyes.
Ryan didn’t even glance at her. “Because Patrick said, ‘kid locked in the bathroom,’ not ‘kid on the roof.’”
Just then, Jill spilled out the front door. “Ma, Patrick already called. They should…” She eyed the two men and pursed her lips. “Where’s the truck?”
Harold sighed and reached inside the SUV. Margaret heard him calling on the radio for the ladder truck “A-SAP.”
Ryan stared up at the boy. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, then. Mikey, can you go back to the bathroom window?”
Mikey didn’t even look. He shook his head, his chest practically vibrating, his fingers dancing a rapid rhythm on the shingles.
Margaret bit her lip. God, don’t let him hyperventilate. “Sweetie,” she called up. “The firemen are here. You’ll be fine. Take a long breath and sit still. Okay?”
Pale-faced with two red apples forming on his cheeks, Mikey nodded. Leaning in, she whispered to Ryan. “Get him, now. He’ll pee himself and then completely panic. That’s his scared-shitless face.”
Ryan nodded, not moving.
A fountain of fear rose from her gut, and she goggled at the firefighter. “Did I stutter? Go get him.”
Ryan’s gaze met hers, though his head still tilted up to the roof. “Ladder truck is over on Sugarbush. A guy putting up holiday lights got tangled, ended up hanging upside down from the chimney. They’ll be here as soon as they can. In the meantime…” He glanced at the chief, who nodded.
“He can’t climb back in the window.” Margaret pointed to the second floor. “He skidded down the snow. He can’t reach it now.”
Ryan nodded again. “What room is that?” He indicated to the balcony. Margaret followed his finger. A red coffee mug sat on the railing.
Hers.
“Mine. 201.”
“Be right back.” Ryan ran into the building.
Margaret stood still, calling up reassuring words to her son, even though terror filled her whole body.
His little body began to tremble. Both fear and cold must be taxing him. Where was the ladder truck?
Chief Burges held his phone clamped to his ear. He glanced at her, a calm assuredness in his expression. Margaret wished she shared his confidence.
“Mommy,” Mikey called. “It’s not fun anymore. I wanna get down.”
“Sit for a little more, kiddo. I think the ladder truck is coming. If you wait, you’re gonna climb down the big ladder.” That brought a slight smile to his lips.
Ryan appeared on the balcony. “Hey there, buddy.” His voice held a warm smile. “Remember me?”
“You carried my mommy from the fire.”
Ryan leaned over the railing, brushing the mug off its perch. The cup tumbled end over end in slow motion, until it exploded on the ground.
Margaret gasped, tears bursting from her eyes. Jill squealed and ran inside. Ryan looked at her, guilt all over his face.
Mikey didn’t seem to have noticed at all. His gaze remained locked on hers. Thank God.
She smiled up at him. “Mikey, look at the firefighter.” If only the truck would arrive, or at least Ryan had on his regalia. The uniform would calm everyone’s fears, especially Mikey. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Ryan called up. “I’m going to come over there, kiddo. Sit tight, okay?”
Mikey nodded, his gaze focused on Margaret.
Ryan slowly climbed over the side of the balcony. “Reach your hand out, bud.”
Margaret’s heart thudded in her chest. Was this the best way to get Mikey down? She glared at Harold, who put his hand on her shoulder, never saying a word.
Mikey blinked at him. Ryan reached out, flexing his fingers. Her son glanced down and Margaret nodded.
Gotta trust a firefighter, right?
Mikey lifted his hand, his little fingers inches from Ryan's.
With a breath, Ryan leaned closer to her child, one hand gripping the railing.
Margaret prayed the banisters at the Inn were as strong as the doors. Ryan reached over and snagged Mikey’s fingers. She gasped involuntarily as he tugged, pulling her son closer. Mikey slid on his tush across the roof shingles. When Mikey was close enough, Ryan released the little hand. He wrapped his arm around the boy, inching him closer to the balcony.
“Now’s the hard part, kiddo,” he said. “We gotta climb back over. But I bet there’s hot chocolate waiting for us.”
Mikey nodded, his body pressed close to Ryan. Then he whispered something to his rescuer, who chuckled. Ryan heaved the boy over the railing, one-handed. His other hand still clasped tightly to the banister.
Margaret sighed in relief as her child disappeared into their room. Ryan grinned down at her, completely goofy.
Then he slipped.
His eyes grew huge as both feet went out from under him.
Margaret’s heart stopped, her entire body frozen with terror. Visions of this heroic man smashing against the ground danced in her head. He couldn’t fall, not after saving her family twice in one week.
She let out a squeak of terror as he jerked to a stop, emitting a hiss of pain. His hand was hooked around the railing, knuckles white, arm muscles straining. Quickly, he grabbed the banister with his other hand and Margaret remembered to breathe.
“What the hell are you doing?” Harold called up to him.
“Falling, sir.”
“Well, stop. It make
s us look bad.”
With a groan, Ryan swung himself up onto the balcony.
Margaret stared at him, a whirlwind of emotion churning inside her. Her hero. Again. A rush of lust, relief, and something else poured through her veins.
She sprinted into the inn, taking the stairs two at a time. When she reached her room, Ryan stood in the doorway. She threw her arms around him and kissed him as hard as humanly possible.
At first, his body remained stiff, wooden. Then he met her kiss with the same wild passion she gave him. His arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her in tight.
She wanted every inch of him. This man, her hero. Rescuing her, her son. Almost crashing off a snowy roof. Her mind fogged under the demand of his kiss. She forgot everything but his mouth, lips, and tongue.
“All better,” Mikey said behind them, and Margaret broke away with a start. Her child stood there, his eyes wide. “Did you kiss Mr. Ryan?”
“Uh…” She glanced from Mikey to Ryan to her son again. “I wanted to say thank you for helping.”
“That was a big thank you,” Mikey said.
Margaret gazed deep into Ryan’s eyes. “Yes, yes it was,” she said. “You okay, kiddo?” He looked fine, but with a six-year-old, you never knew.
“Yeah, I’m good. Now.” The boy grinned.
“Hey, bud,” Ryan said, his arms still locked tight around her. “Find your sister and tell her you’re okay.”
“Sure.” Mikey grinned. “You want to come, Mommy?”
“I think I need to say thanks some more.”
“Okay then, but not too much kissing, because ewww.” Mikey skipped out the door.
Margaret shook her head. The spell between her and Ryan had dissolved, but some of the magic lingered.
“Thank you for saving my son.”
Ryan shrugged. “My job.”
She sighed, resting her cheek against him. “It’s all so…”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice husky and deep.
She wanted to stay here forever, but real life stood outside the door. Time to deal with the aftermath. But this man, he pulled at her soul. She’d never felt anything like it before. The sound of Mikey and Jill celebrating reached her ears, and she let her shoulders drop. Reality called, and she needed to focus.
Remembering something, she changed the line of conversation. “What did Mikey ask you before you put him on the balcony?”
Ryan chuckled, a sly smile on his lips. “I’ll tell you. But first, I want to know why you went back into the fire?”
She’d made peace with her stupid move. “Custody documents. Earl finally signed, but I hadn’t filed it yet. With the crazy of the holidays, I put it off.”
“Ah,” he said, rocking her as they stood there wrapped together. “I guess they’re worth going back for.”
“It was stupid, and I…”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “You were thinking about your kids. But seriously, never do it again.”
“No more fires,” she said.
“Not that kinda fire, anyway,” he said, running light fingertips down her arm. She giggled, unusual for her.
“What did Mikey…?”
“Oh, he required a change of pants, if you know what I mean.”
Margaret buried her face in Ryan’s chest, laughing long and hard. “I think we all do.”
“Yeah, I hear you. But right now, I’m gonna have Harold check my shoulder.”
“Oh, God.” She backed up, keeping him at arm’s length. “You’re hurt, and I…”
“I want to make sure it’s not too bad.” He put his left arm around her waist. “Afterward, maybe the five us could grab some dinner.”
“Five?”
“I can’t ditch Harold. He’s my dinner date.” He grinned.
“Oh, really?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No, but he is my ride.”
Margaret scoffed. “Inviting your friend on a first date after such a romantic, dramatic rescue?”
“Date?” he asked. “Huh.” He seemed to consider it. “Even then, I don’t want to be rude.”
Polite, sexy, and a good friend. She could get used to a man like that. “I guess it’s the little things, huh?”
“Always.”
Chapter Six
Margaret rushed over to Stonewater Middle School as the buses pulled away. The insurance man said he’d arrive at the house by 3:30, and she didn’t want to be late. She had called the school and told them not to put Jill on the bus. At her school, she’d barely retrieved Mikey before the buses left. You’d think the fire would be big news in a tiny town. Most of the staff didn’t have a clue.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. Her kindergartners behaved tolerably. Two spills at snack, and one potty accident. She loved the age group, but now that Mikey was older, bathroom issues were getting old fast.
Her son at her side, she rushed into the middle school office. “Hi,” she said to the unfamiliar secretary—most likely a substitute. “I’m picking up Jill Porter.” Glancing around, she marked the absence of her daughter in the room. “Where is she?” She tried to keep the tension out of her words. The adventure of the fire and the rooftop rescue had worn her thin.
She’d slept little last night, fighting with Jill for blankets, pillows, and space. At some point, Mikey joined them, and Margaret gave up. She hit the tiny cot the staff had dragged out for her son. Everyone at the Inn had been wonderfully accommodating, but getting another room in mid-December constituted an impossibility. The food was superb, though, and Margaret racked it up to breaking even.
“Hi, Ms. Porter,” a young lady chirped as she swung into the office. The secretary made no eye contact with Margaret. “Whatcha doing here? Jill already left.”
Margaret eyed the student. Annie? Amy? After a moment, she placed the peppy young lady as one of the few in Jill’s inner circle. The girl probably knew her daughter’s location. “Did she get on the bus, honey?” The kindergarten teacher persona slid neatly into place. “Oh, I hope not.”
“Nah,” the girl said. “Mr. Porter picked her up right before ninth period ended. I was running errands for teachers. You know, getting mail and delivering notes. I have study hall last period, and they always let me help because, you know…”
Margaret’s patience ran dry. “You saw Mr. Porter pick her up? Her dad?” Damn Earl if he did. He wasn’t supposed to pick them up at school without express written permission. Jesus, she didn’t need this today. With the fire and the fireman and the insurance guy, Earl was the last thing she wanted to deal with.
She glanced over at the substitute secretary, who shrugged. Fighting over details with the woman seemed a moot point. Margaret grabbed the dismissal clipboard and yes, there in black and white, Earl Porter signed out Jill Porter. Groaning, she grabbed Mikey and headed back out to the car.
“Bye, Wendy!” Mikey called as they headed out the door.
“Who’s Wendy?” she asked, fishing her keys out of her purse. Hopefully, Earl was at the house and the insurance guy hadn’t arrived yet. She tugged Mikey to hurry him along.
“Jill’s friend you were just talking to. You’re so silly, Mommy.”
She threw him a dark look as she unlocked the car. “Whatever, Mikes. We gotta get home.” She tossed him in the back and jammed the keys in the ignition. Mikey scrambled into his booster seat.
“We can go home? Oh, but poop. I want to have more breakfast at the Inn. Mr. Emil makes the bestest food.”
“One more breakfast.” She pulled from the parking lot and leadfooted it to the house, praying there’d be nothing off when she arrived.
“Yay,” Mikey yelled from the backseat.
Yay, indeed.
~*~
Several cars littered the driveway as Margaret pulled up. Her hopes sank. Earl’s old van sat next to a newish sedan.
Great. Just great.
A third truck looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
“Stay in the car, kiddo, while I check out wh
at’s going on.” Margaret threw out the idle words, knowing her son would never listen.
He zoomed out before she even finished the sentence. He loved his dad fiercely and was far too young to understand the man’s faults. And there were many, the fact that Earl had inserted himself here being her chief complaint at the moment.
Hefting her bag, she headed to the door, no sign of caution tape or anything else to block her entrance. She called after Mikey to be careful. Hopefully, someone in the house would catch her wayward son. She glanced in Earl’s van as she passed. Jill’s backpack sat in the front seat. A wave of relief rolled over her. At least she knew where her kids were. Earl might use this as a wedge for more visitation hours, or to blast her publicly, one of his favorite activities.
“Hello,” she called, sticking her head in the door, feeling ridiculous for asking to enter her own home.
“Over here,” Earl called back.
In the living room, a circle gathered around the plastic-covered hole in the wall. Earl and Jill stood in identical stances, hands on hips, heads back, except he had Mikey clinging to one leg. Beside them stood two men, dressed in shirts and ties, holding clipboards. One was Ryan Kramer.
Perfect.
She totally wanted her ex and new love interest in the same room.
No, not love.
Just lust.
She wasn’t ready for love.
Not yet.
Mentally, she swore a blue streak. Taking a breath, she put on her teacher face and walked into the room. “What do we have here?” she asked in her cheeriest morning voice.
Half turning to her, Earl huffed, “We got a damn hole in my wall, woman. What’s it look like?”
Margaret ground her teeth, ignoring his condescending tone. Think of the children. “A fire will do that, Earl,” she said mildly.
He scowled at her, then focused on the two men. “Why they gotta bust through the wall to put out a chimney fire?”
Ryan glanced at her, and a sliver of heat danced over her skin. Funny how her husband never elicited such a response from her. But the fireman/building inspector did.
Great.