by Kathryn Shay
CODE OF HONOR
Kathryn Shay
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU’RE the perfect one to deal with Chelsea Whitmore, Scarlatta. There’s already a woman in your firehouse on another shift, so the setup is ideal. And you fought tooth and nail for Francey Cordaro’s rights. Now that someone’s retired, there’s room in your group right now.”
Jake Scarlatta stared at Chief Talbot, the Rockford Fire Department’s top man, whom he’d always liked and respected, and tried to keep from objecting immediately. There had to be some way to convince the chief that moving Whitmore to his fire station wasn’t wise. Damned if he could think of one, though. “I wish you’d reconsider,” he said lamely.
Talbot stroked his graying mustache and studied Jake. “This have anything to do with that incident with DeLuca years ago?”
Jake kept himself from flinching at the mention of his one past, very public mistake. “In a way. I like to run a tight ship now.”
“And Whitmore will rock the boat.”
More like cause major flooding. But he knew she was a good firefighter, and no matter what his personal feelings were, it wasn’t fair to smudge her reputation. “It won’t be easy. My men aren’t as…liberated as Ed Knight’s group. Francey was an easy fit there.”
In reality, when his crew got wind of Whitmore’s possible transfer, they had grumbled to the point that Jake had to put his foot down and tell them to shape up and be professional. Their fire station, Quint/Midi Twelve was a good solid place to work, but sometimes it needed firm leadership.
Talbot said, “Well, Whitmore’s not going to be an easy fit anywhere. I think you’re our best choice. She didn’t make a stink about what happened over at her last company, Engine Four, but she could sue the pants off us if she wanted to. We’ve got to be very careful this time.”
Tales of what had happened to Chelsea Whitmore on her last assignment—she was one of the five females out of five hundred firefighters in the RFD, in upstate New York—had swept through the department quicker than brushfires. She’d made the classic mistake—dated a fellow firefighter in her group, broke his heart and then the guy went berserk and endangered himself and his entire crew. The woman would never live that down.
And since Jake knew all about making classic mistakes and having them haunt you, it looked like his penance was going to be dealing with Whitmore.
“When will she start?”
“Her leave was open-ended. She wants to come back as soon as possible.”
Jake sighed heavily. “Do it, then. We’ll manage. Somehow.”
“I knew I could count on you. We really—”
Jake’s pager beeped, startling him. He was on edge not only because of the topic of discussion, but because his good buddy’s wife, Beth O’Roarke, was expecting their first child any time within the next month, and Jake had agreed to be ready to fill in for Dylan on his shift at the firehouse on a moment’s notice.
He read the pager note and bolted out of his seat.
Talbot’s bushy brows rose. “O’Roarke?”
“Yep. Beth’s in labor. Gotta go.” Jake was out the door in seconds, and Chelsea Whitmore was the last thing on his mind.
CHELSEA WHITMORE gazed in the direction of the state-of-the-art birthing room where they’d taken her best friend Beth two hours before, and where the expectant father, Dylan, had flown to when he arrived at the hospital. Chelsea paced, worried. God, what an afternoon. The surprise, the confusion, the fear…And she hadn’t slept well last night. Again.
She tried to calm herself by checking out the waiting room of Rockford Memorial Hospital’s birthing unit. It was posh, with cushioned couches and chairs, plush carpet, a TV and even a small refrigerator. Late-afternoon May sun filtered through the large windows to the side.
Tired, she sank onto one of the couches, leaned back and closed her eyes. “It’ll be all right,” she told herself. “They’ll be all right.”
Though she was a certified EMT—Emergency Medical Technician—it was hard to block out her fear as she sped to the hospital, Beth belted into the front seat of her Camaro, in full labor almost a month early. Especially since Chelsea had just learned last year of Beth’s traumatic past and all the loss she’d experienced at such a young age. Chelsea closed her eyes, silently praying. Please, God, let them be all right.
“Chelsea?”
Her eyes snapped open.
A man loomed over her—Jake Scarlatta, a lieutenant in the fire department, Dylan’s friend and a surrogate brother to Chelsea’s other best friend, Francey. His linebacker shoulders were tense, his gray eyes worried.
“Oh, hi.” She cocked her head questioningly; she knew he was replacing Dylan on the shift when Dylan got their call. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s four o’clock. Dylan’s relief heard what happened and came in early, so I headed right over.” He glanced at the door. “Is Beth…Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know. She’s been in there two hours.”
He nodded solemnly, then studied her face. His expression softened. “Babies take a while, you know.”
“I know. And the doctor told her last week it weighed at least seven pounds, maybe more.”
“That’s probably why the little rascal’s coming early.”
Chelsea shook her head. “Those two don’t do anything the easy way, do they?”
The story of Lieutenant Dylan O’Roarke of the Rockford Fire Department and Beth Winters, his ex-EMS instructor, had become legend at the fire academy. Eight years of open animosity that rivaled that of the Hatfields and McCoys had ended last winter when they were forced to work together—and then had fallen in love.
But it hadn’t been smooth going after that. Though Beth had kept it a secret for a long time, she’d lost her husband and child when she was twenty. She’d been almost unable to risk a relationship with Dylan, never mind having a baby with him. To make things even chancier, she was forty years old, not exactly prime childbearing age. But she’d done it, because of love.
Which Chelsea no longer believed in.
Jake cleared his throat, then asked, “Mind if I sit?” He was normally reticent and old-world polite, but today his carriage was stiff, his voice controlled.
Chelsea was pretty sure she knew why. “Go ahead.”
The couch dipped with his considerable weight. As a fitness trainer as well as a firefighter, Chelsea appreciated good muscle tone and mass. Jake was a big man, but in dynamite shape.
“What happened?” he asked. “Ed Knight called me to come in and sub like we planned, but Dylan had shot out of there like a rocket and nobody knew the details.”
Chelsea shook her head. “I had lunch with Beth around noon, then we went to my place.”
“Dylan told me you and Francey were trying to keep Beth company when he was working.”
“Well, given what she went through in the past, we’ve all been extra careful.” She smiled. “It was nice of you to rearrange your life to be on call for Dylan this whole last month.”
“Not much to rearrange,” he mumbled. Chelsea remembered Francey saying she worried about Jake’s life revolving around the fire department. “So, what happened?” he repeated.
“About two, her water broke and contractions started.”
“Right away?”
“Yeah, it was scary, ’cause they were coming fast and furious. We got here in time, though.”
Jake nodded reassuringly at the birthing room. “It’ll be fine. This is a wonderful thing.” The faraway look on Jake’s face intrigued her.
Interested, she asked, “You’ve got a kid, don’t you?”
“A daughter.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “She’s the light of my life.” Then he frowned and cleared his thro
at. He stood and jammed his hands into the pockets of his light twill jacket.
Chelsea recognized the distancing maneuver—like a colonel who’d revealed too much to his troops and was embarrassed. Though she didn’t know Jake very well, mostly just through Francey, she could tell he was more remote than usual.
She decided to address it. “Jake, I know they’ve talked to you about my transfer.”
His face blanked as his lieutenant’s mask closed over it. “They’re going to call you. It’s official. You’re coming to my group.”
Though she wasn’t at all surprised, the certainty of it unnerved her. Watching him, she couldn’t read anything from his face. “Are you upset about getting me on your crew?”
He hesitated, then said, “Not upset. But having a woman on board is never easy.” He would know this, Chelsea thought, from Francey, who worked on another group in his firehouse. Fire stations ran four shifts, scheduled for four days on, three days off, three nights on, three days off. “Don’t get me wrong. Francey’s like a sister to me. So I’m not prejudiced against female firefighters.”
“But I come with extra baggage.”
He nodded. “If it’s any consolation, I think what the guys at Engine Four did to you is despicable. They deserved the official reprimand. And you deserved the public apology.”
Chelsea cringed. The nightmare at her previous firehouse haunted her even in her waking hours, like a ghost from the Shakespearean plays she’d loved to read in high school. “Some people say I deserved the way they treated me. Because of what happened to Billy.”
“We make our own lives. Nobody’s responsible for the actions of another.”
The look of sadness on his face surprised her. She wanted to ask him about it, but the door to the birthing room swung open.
Both of them turned to see Dylan, in green scrubs and hat, a white mask hanging around his neck. His cheeks were wet with tears. Chelsea bolted from the couch. Dylan crossed to her. “It’s a boy. I have a—” choking on the last word, he grabbed her in an emotional hug “—a son.”
Chelsea’s eyes misted. She bit her lip to keep herself under control. “He’s okay? Beth’s fine?”
Dylan drew back. “They’re just great. She’s breastfeeding him now.” His eyes shone. “It’s unbelievable, Chels.” His face sobered. “And thanks for your quick thinking. If you hadn’t been with her…gotten her here…”
“Well, I was, and she’s fine.” Chelsea’s voice betrayed none of the panic she’d felt when Beth’s pains had come too close together, too fast.
Drawing in a breath, Dylan shook his head and glanced at Jake. Dylan smiled again, a goofy, I’m-a-father grin. Without a word, the men hugged. Chelsea hadn’t seen that much emotion out of Jake even at Francey’s wedding. “Congratulations, Dad.”
Dylan grinned. “It’s a miracle.”
“I know.” Jake’s tone was dry.
The proud father glanced at the door. “You can see them in fifteen minutes.” He scanned the area. “Where are France and Alex?”
“I called them as soon as Beth went in,” Chelsea answered. “They’ll be here by the time we can see her.”
“Good.” Another dumbstruck smile. “I’ll come get you then.”
With his usual flourish, Dylan headed to the door, still grinning like an idiot.
As Chelsea watched him go, a spark of jealousy ignited in her. She’d wanted all that once—marriage, children. Well, no more. That dream had vanished after what had happened with her boyfriend—her ex-boyfriend—Billy Milligan. Right now, the only male she wanted in her life was Hotstuff, one of her cats.
She turned to find Jake staring at her.
Chelsea stared back.
For two people who were going to be spending days and nights together, they had little to talk about.
JAKE HAD NEVER seen Beth Winters look quite so mussed, not even after the strenuous Confidence Walks at the academy. Stringy-haired, sweaty, lines of fatigue etched around her eyes and mouth, she beamed at the baby nestled in her arms, then at her visitors. Alex and Francey had arrived within minutes of Dylan’s announcement and had come into the birthing room with Jake and Chelsea.
The room had been designed like a suburban homeowner’s dream bedroom. A big double bed with a soft print comforter. Matching throw pillows. A couple of stuffed chairs. Thick carpet. Jake stood behind the others as they crowded around the new mom and baby; Dylan had taken a seat on the bed to Beth’s right. Leaning over, he placed his index finger in the sleeping child’s wrinkled hand. The baby, still mottled and red, grasped it reflexively.
“Hey, buddy,” Dylan said softly. “Don’t you wanna wake up and meet your family? Aunt Francey and Aunt Chelsea are here. So are Uncle Jake and Uncle Alex.”
All four visitors were as quiet as fire hiding in walls, silenced by the aura of absolute joy that surrounded the trio. Jake remembered feeling as awestruck when his daughter, Jessica, was born, though the setting had been a sterile delivery room. It had been, in fact, the best moment in his life.
He glanced at Francey; she had a death grip on Alex’s hand. He smiled warmly at the woman who was Beth’s other close friend and practically a sister to him. It was good to see her happy. She and her husband, Alex, had had a rocky time of it, trying to reconcile Alex’s constant worry about Francey’s safety in her work as a dedicated firefighter. At lunch a few days ago, Francey had filled Jake in on how Alex was faring in his never-ending struggle to accept her job. He was coping better, she’d said, but some tension still remained.
Jake’s gaze traveled to Chelsea Whitmore, off to the side and breathing deeply; he suspected it was to calm herself. But her eyes glistened. Jake, too, was flooded by emotions he normally kept dammed up. Struggling to keep them at bay, he coughed and said, “What’s his name?”
Beth looked up and smiled serenely. All signs of anxiety, prevalent during her and Dylan’s tumultuous courtship, were gone. Absent, in fact, during her whole pregnancy. “Ask Dylan. I let him pick a name.”
Dylan reached down and took the child from Beth. Holding up his son, Dylan said proudly, “Meet Timothy Dylan O’Roarke. Timmy for short.”
The women gasped; Alex’s eyebrows rose. Jake tried to contain evidence of his own surprise. The husband Beth had lost twenty years ago in a tragic accident was Tim Winters.
Beth reached up and touched Dylan’s arm. The look that passed between them was so intimate that Jake opened his mouth to suggest they leave the new family alone.
But then Dylan turned to Chelsea with the devil in his eyes. “Now, how long before you can teach him to pitch?”
Chelsea laughed. It was a low, husky sound that curled through Jake like a shot of good bourbon. “A couple of years. He’ll probably be able to strike out as many of you as I did Thursday night in the department softball game.”
Francey said, “You’re on our team starting next week when you come to our station house, Chels, so that’s not an issue anymore.”
The smile on Chelsea’s lips died like fire under foam. Jake guessed she wasn’t any happier about breaking into a new group than the group was to have her. But they’d all pull through, he’d see to it, mainly because the fire department couldn’t afford any more fallout over her breakup with Milligan.
When the baby began to fuss, the group decided to leave the O’Roarkes alone. After hugs and kisses, the four of them ended up in the waiting area.
Alex put his arm around his wife, who was beaming like a proud parent. “I envy them,” Alex said.
Francey stared at him. “You do?”
“Of course.”
“Well, that’s news.” She scowled. “I’ll think about that later. Right now I’m starved.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Alex said dryly, dropping a kiss on top of her head.
“Want to come to dinner with us?” Francey looked from Jake to Chelsea.
Jake smiled, surprised at the envy he felt. So many happy people. Happy couples. At forty, he’d missed his c
hance for that kind of thing, but his emotions were running high today; the armor he kept in place buckled under such obvious devotion. “No, thanks. I’ve got plans.”
Turning away, his gaze landed on Chelsea. He recognized the look on her face—it mirrored his. “I’ll take a rain check,” she said. “I’ve got to be at the gym in an hour.” Chelsea owned the Weight Room, a health club about two blocks from his firehouse. Though he never worked out there, other firefighters did, and they had nothing but good to say about it.
As they all headed to the elevator, Jake ended up walking behind the Templetons, next to Chelsea. She was tall—about five-eight—and nicely toned. Though the cinnamon-colored dress she had on didn’t reveal her form, he’d seen pictures Alex had taken of her and Francey working out.
At the door to the parking lot, the Templetons bade them goodbye and left. Chelsea looked at him. “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Yeah, Friday morning, right?” He stared at her. He’d never noticed what an unusual shade of brown her eyes were—light with flecks of gold. This afternoon they reflected a weariness that had nothing to do with fatigue. Absurdly moved, Jake wanted to reach out and squeeze her arm; he stuck his hands in his pockets to douse the urge. “Well, have a nice night.”
She nodded and pushed on the bar on the glass door.
“Chelsea?”
She turned. The late-day sun behind her sparkled off the silvery gold of her hair as it swung softly around her shoulders. Unsmiling, standing tall, she looked lovely. And lonely.
“It’ll work out at Quint Twelve.” He winced at how inane he sounded.
Her expression was bleak. “Will it?”
He nodded.
She gave him a half smile, opened the door, stepped out and let it swish shut behind her. Jake watched her until she was out of sight.
AS SOON AS HE crawled through the doorway, Jake could see flames licking the roof of the rickety three-story building. The biocarbons in the insulation created a whirlpool of black smoke, temporarily blinding him and his partner. Intense heat stilled his movements. Wondering why the ventilating crew hadn’t cut the roof yet, Jake gripped the hose to spray the windowless attic bedroom. He levered the handle forward. No water spurted out the nozzle. He could feel the line buck, so he knew it was charged. Sensing his best friend, Danny DeLuca, behind him assisting with the hose, Jake started to turn.
