Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  What happens next, happens so fast I barely have time to comprehend it. One of the caterers comes out from the back, pulling Oliver’s attention away from us and the paintings. Oliver spins around and then Denver takes off, sprinting across the room until he tackles Oliver to the floor. As quickly as he takes him down, he shoves the paint can away with his foot and puts a knee into Oliver’s back, pressing him against the floor.

  Denver looks over at me. “Call the police, sweetheart.”

  Red and blue lights flash outside the door. “It’s okay,” Davis says. “I took care of it.”

  Two police officers put Oliver in handcuffs, reading him his rights before they remove him from the gallery. “We’ll need all of you to come to the station and give a statement,” one of the officers says after Denver explains what happened.

  “We will,” he says. “But it will have to wait a few hours.”

  My surprised eyes find his. “You don’t really think we’re going through with the showing now, do you?”

  “Hell yes,” he says. “That scumbag already stole months of your life. We’re not letting him take anything else from you.” He looks over at Davis. “Are we?”

  “Listen to your man,” Davis says, walking over to remove the defaced painting from the wall. “We are having this showing, honey.” He looks at me with guilt-filled eyes. “I was the one who called the police earlier today, resulting in the warrant for his arrest. I was devastated over hearing what he did to you. And yesterday, when a client came in with a Benny Klutner painting—one I know for a fact was sold overseas last summer—I knew something was fishy. So I called Benny and he told me everything. He might have been higher than a kite when he did, but I still convinced him to press charges.”

  He looks at the ruined painting of mine in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I’m just glad Oliver was so focused on the two of you that he didn’t see me texting a friend to send the police to the gallery.”

  I wrap my arms around him. “Thank you, Davis. Now you’re a hero. Maybe now I can put it behind me and forget that part of my past.” Then I look at Denver and laugh. “Wow. I never thought I’d hear myself say that.”

  Denver takes the ruined painting from Davis. He looks at it sadly. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  I shrug. “It’s okay. It wasn’t my favorite, anyway.”

  He pulls me close. “All of your paintings are my favorites.”

  People start to pour in the front doors, asking questions about what just happened, why the cops were here and why they had to wait outside. I look at all the faces as they walk past us. Lydia is here with her husband and new baby. Joelle brought her husband as well. Ivy and Bass stroll in, followed by a few familiar firefighters. Then Baylor walks through the door with who I presume are her sisters whom she told me about.

  Many others walk in as well, filling up all the empty space in the gallery. Strangers who aren’t just here to support me. And finally, a smile breaks out on my face.

  Denver squeezes my hand. “I told you you’d be a hit.”

  Before I go mix and mingle with the crowd, there is something I have to do. “Denver, I want to show you something.” I pull him over to the far corner of the gallery where the showpiece is highlighted. It’s the painting I did in private.

  As we approach it, Denver’s jaw drops. He studies the painting of a little boy covered with soot, the glow of a fire all around him, reaching his arms out to a firefighter.

  I was so inspired that first day we met Joey in the hospital that I immediately began this painting, hiding it from Denver until tonight.

  He thoughtfully traces the edges of the little boy’s face with his fingers. Then he turns to me. “I don’t want to be Uncle Den anymore,” he says.

  I’m not sure what words I thought would come out of his mouth when he saw the painting, but it wasn’t those. “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks now, Sara.”

  “Thinking about what? What do you mean you don’t want to be Uncle Den?”

  “I was thinking I’d prefer another title.”

  My furrowed brow questions him.

  He takes in a deep breath and blows it out. “I was thinking of Daddy.”

  My eyes go wide in surprise. “You want to adopt him?”

  He takes my hands in his. “I want us to adopt him.”

  “Us?”

  “Hear me out, Sara. I know this is sudden and we’re still young and inexperienced when it comes to kids. I’ve been afraid to bring this up to you, but I feel so strongly that it’s the right thing. I’ve looked into it and we can become foster parents to Joey so he can live with us until the adoption goes through. It’s a lot to ask and maybe you don’t even want this, but I’m asking, anyway.”

  I stand here, stunned, unable to move or speak. Unable to hear anything going on around us. Unable to think of anything else but what he’s telling me.

  “Why were you afraid to bring this up?” I ask.

  “Because you said you wanted to have lots of kids. Your own kids.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Denver, if we adopted him, Joey would be my own kid. I always knew I would adopt someday. I wanted to give other kids what my parents gave me.” I look up at the painting. “I guess I just didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

  “Do you love him?” he asks.

  I think of Joey’s little cherub face and his soft blue eyes. His fine blond hair with a cowlick over his right eye. I think of how he crawled into my lap a few hours ago. And suddenly, this feels right, like everything I ever wanted is happening right here, right now.

  I look up at him and smile.

  “Wait,” Denver says, sensing I was about to give him my answer. He runs a finger down my jaw. “Sweetheart, you might want to get your phone out.”

  “What? Why?”

  He pulls a small box from his pants pocket. “Because I’m hoping this is something you’ll want to remember.”

  Tears escape my eyes as someone comes up behind me, grabbing my phone before Denver gets down on a knee.

  “I was going to wait until the end of the night to do this,” he says. “But then you showed me this painting and I knew I had to do it right now. You, me, and Joey—we were meant to find each other and become a family.” Tears pool in his eyes, one dropping down onto my hand as he takes it into his and places a kiss on it. “I want to be with you forever, Sara Francis. I want to be with Joey forever, along with all of our other kids. I can’t wait to watch you grow our baby in your belly. I can’t wait to see what other child will come into our lives in some unexpected way to complete our family. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. The way I love him. I didn’t even know I could feel like this. I didn’t know there could be so much love to give.”

  He lets go of my hand and opens the box. I have to wipe my tears to see clearly. But the truth is, I don’t care if it’s a ten-carat diamond or a plastic dime-store ring—it means more to me than anything ever has. More than any painting. More than any trip. More than any Fifth Avenue apartment.

  “Marry me, Sara. Make a family with me. Make a life with me. Play cards with me. Dance to the Beach Boys with me. Grow old with me.”

  It’s only now that I realize the entire gallery is silent. All eyes are on us and everyone is waiting for my answer.

  I look down at Denver, swallowing the lump in my throat so I can tell him what I need him to hear. “You saved me tonight, Denver. You’ve saved me so many times I can’t even count. You’re my real-life knight in shining armor. You’re everything everyone told me I didn’t want. And from the moment I woke up, I knew it was you. I knew in my heart, even before I knew your name, that you were the man for me. I love the way you love me. I love the way you love Joey. Of course I’ll marry you.”

  Denver slips the ring on my finger and then stands up and twirls me around to the cheers of everyone in the room.

  “This just became an engage
ment party, people,” Davis announces.

  Denver walks over and gets something off the gallery desk. He smiles at me as he places a red dot by the painting—the dot that indicates it’s been sold. “We’re keeping this one,” he declares as he looks at it with pride.

  He pulls me into his arms and I look up at him. “I’d marry you tonight, Denver Andrews.”

  “Good, because first thing Monday morning, we’re going to the courthouse to get our marriage license.”

  “We are?”

  He nods. “We’ll make a better case for being Joey’s foster parents, and ultimately adopting him, if we’re married.”

  Tears wet my eyes again at the reality of what just happened. “I’m going to be a mom?”

  “You are. Better yet, you’re going to be my wife.”

  I smile. “Sara Andrews. I like the sound of that.”

  “Andrews?” he says. “I figured you’d want to keep your name because of your art.”

  I look around at the gallery of paintings. The paintings that were all inspired by him. The paintings that are nothing like the old ones I used to make. I pick up the can of spray paint that still lies on the floor where it fell earlier. I walk over to the banner with my name on it that’s hanging on the wall. I mark a red X through my last name and under it, write Denver’s.

  “These aren’t paintings by Sara Francis,” I say. “These are Sara Andrews originals.”

  “How did I get so lucky?” he asks.

  “I’ve been asking myself that every day.”

  Lydia hands me my phone. “I think I got all of it,” she says, smiling.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, knowing I’ll watch the video later. Because Denver was right—it’s something I’ll always want to remember.

  Ivy joins us, showing me a picture on her phone. “This really does say it all,” she says.

  Denver looks over my shoulder at the photo of him on bended knee, looking up at me. There is so much emotion on his face. He squeezes me from behind. “Look at the way I love you,” he says.

  I crane my neck and gaze back at him. I can’t believe he’s mine. My man. My partner. My fiancé. My savior. My life.

  Denver takes me into his arms and nods to the photo on Ivy’s phone. “You may be about to become Sara Andrews, but I’m going to need you to paint one last Sara Francis memory.”

  Epilogue

  Denver

  I look in the rearview mirror and see Joey helping his sisters with their snacks. It’s a long road trip, driving from New York to Missouri, but it’s one we’ve wanted to take for a while now. Sara and I both have fond memories of going on road trips with our parents when we were younger. It’s taken us a while to plan this one—seven years to be exact. We didn’t want to make the trip with an infant, but we wanted to go during baseball season since Joey is such a huge fan of his Uncle Sawyer. The timing just never worked out. Until now.

  I reach over and put my hand on Sara’s belly. It’s big enough now that I can do that. And there is nothing better than feeling the kick of my son growing inside her.

  Twice, I’ve gotten to watch my gorgeous wife grow beautifully big with my babies. And twice, we’ve had the honor of giving a child a forever home through adoption.

  “What’s on your mind, Captain Andrews?” she asks as I rub her belly.

  I glance back at our three incredible children, and I smile. “Sometimes, I just can’t believe how happy I am.”

  She brings my hand up to her lips, placing a kiss on the back of it.

  “Mommy, where are my crayons?” Sadie squeals, interrupting our moment.

  Sara reaches into her bag of goodies, pulling out a bright-yellow box and a coloring book. She hands them to her. “Here you go, sweetie.”

  “She’s taking after her mother,” I say.

  “She’s four,” Sara says. “All four-year-olds color.”

  I shake my head. “Not like Sadie does. Have you seen the way she stays in all the lines? She’s going to be a genius with paints—just like you are.”

  “You might be a tad biased,” Sara says.

  “You wait and see,” I say. “Care to make a wager?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

  “Babe, you should know by now you don’t have to win a bet to get what you want.”

  I laugh. “I know. And it’s one of the things I love about you.”

  Taryn starts crying. Anything longer than an hour in a car is too long for a two-year-old.

  “I think she’s thirsty, Mom,” Joey says.

  He’s the protective older brother, always looking out for his sisters.

  Sara hands Joey a sippy cup to give to Taryn. She takes a few drinks and then drops it, falling off to sleep.

  “I’m bored,” Joey says.

  Sara looks through her bag but tells Joey she’s already given him everything she brought to keep him busy. “Any suggestions?” she asks me.

  “I might have one or two.” I hand her my phone. “There is a road trip playlist on there.”

  Sara raises her brows. “You made a playlist for us? What’s on it?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She turns on the radio and sets it to my Bluetooth channel. When the first song starts to play, a brilliant smile overtakes Sara’s face. Joey grumbles because he’s tired of hearing these songs. Secretly, though, I know he likes them just as much as Sara and I do. When we first brought him to live with us seven years ago, he cried a lot at night. Sara and I would take turns holding him and dancing around the apartment to Beach Boys songs.

  Sadie perks up when her mother and I start to sing along.

  And before we even get another mile down the road, the four of us are laughing and singing loudly to “Barbara Ann,” not caring at all if we wake little Taryn—because what we’re doing right here, right now, is what our family does best.

  We’re making memories.

  Want to find out about Denver’s back story? Pick up a copy of STEALING SAWYER and see how his twin sister, Aspen, came to be with one of the hottest MLB stars around.

  US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GH5TRQ2

  UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07GH5TRQ2

  To keep up with my releases, see cover reveals, and get a chance to read ARCs, please sign up for my mailing list here: http://www.samanthachristy.com/contact.html

  Lastly, if you would be so kind as to leave a short review on Amazon, I’d be forever grateful. Even just a few words would be lovely. Here is the link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07Q4K6DVF

  Acknowledgements

  As always, there are so many people to thank. Without my team of supporters, experts, editors, and beta readers, book number fourteen wouldn’t be possible.

  Thomas Butler, thank you for helping me with all the firefighter situations. Being a former FDNY firefighter, your knowledge has helped me immensely.

  Dr. Brandon Crawford—my medical expert—answers my texts at all hours of the day. Without his help, my heroes and heroines couldn’t have more than bumps and bruises.

  Dr. Patti Croft also deserves a shout-out for helping me figure out what was going on in Denver’s head.

  To my editors who have been with me since book one, Ann Peters and Jeannie Hinkle, thank you for never getting bored with my stories. Also, to my copy editor, Murphy at Murphy Rae Solutions—your suggestions were spot on.

  To my beta readers, Shauna Salley, Joelle Yates, Laura Conley, and Tammy Dixon—you guys keep me going with your encouraging comments and support. Sandra De Gouveia, thank you for your help with my British terminology.

  And finally, to my new friend, Pam Hemmen, who went to hell and back with her teenage son after his horrific car accident. I religiously followed your journey on Facebook. And you were kind enough to meet with me and relive that time so I could write this book. You are a champion. You are the mother I strive to be.

  About the author

  Samantha Christy’s passion for writing started long before her first novel was published. Graduating from the Uni
versity of Nebraska with a degree in Criminal Justice, she held the title of Computer Systems Analyst for The Supreme Court of Wisconsin and several major universities around the United States. Raised mainly in Indianapolis, she holds the Midwest and its homegrown values dear to her heart, and upon the birth of her third child devoted herself to raising her family full time. While it took time to get from there to here, writing has remained her utmost passion, and being a stay-at-home mom facilitated her ability to follow that dream. When she is not writing, she keeps busy cruising to every Caribbean island where ships sail. Samantha Christy currently resides in St. Augustine, Florida with her husband and four children.

  You can reach Samantha Christy at any of these wonderful places:

  Website: www.samanthachristy.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SamanthaChristyAuthor

  Twitter: @SamLoves2Write

  E-mail: samanthachristy@comcast.net