by Kathryn Shay
“Cherry.” She smiled at Don, who let his turnout gear drop to his feet. “Don pitted the cherries.”
“Just like home,” he muttered good-naturedly as Jake led the way to the back of the firehouse. “I get all the grunt work.”
Jake said, “But you’re so good at it, Diaz. I think I’ll—” He halted abruptly at the entrance to the kitchen. Chelsea, Peter and Joey bumped into each other. It would have been comical if they hadn’t been so tired.
“What the…” Joey began.
“Peter, come up here.” Jake’s peremptory tone silenced them.
Chelsea scowled. Her first thought was that someone had broken into the firehouse. Just what they needed.
Quickly Peter threaded through them to meet Jake at the kitchen doorway.
“You’re the gourmet. Is it just remnants of the spill I’m smelling, or is there gas in here?”.
“It’s gas.” Peter swore. “From the friggin’ stove.”
Chelsea frowned.
Jake pivoted. “Chelsea, didn’t you turn off the stove?”
“Of course I did. The call came two minutes before the timer was set to go off. I took out the pie and turned the stove off.”
Peter scowled. “You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“All right,” Jake said, entering the kitchen. “Let’s air this place out.”
Four firefighters opened windows as Jake crossed to the stove. Chelsea followed him.
He stiffened. Then he reached up and flipped the knob from on to off. When he faced her his gaze was stern. “It was on, Whitmore. The pilot light must have blown out again.”
“I know I turned it off,” she said, seeds of doubt sprouting inside her. “At least I thought I did.” She threw up her hands. “God, Jake, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was so careless.”
Mick came up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We were in a hurry.”
“No,” Jake said, “it’s not okay. But it’s human. We all need to be careful with this damn thing until it’s replaced.” He sighed. “Okay. Let’s drop it.”
Chelsea stood staring at the stove as the guys got coffee. In her mind she replayed her actions. She’d been sitting at the table with Mick, razzing him about a sexist comment he’d made. The tone had sounded, and they’d both bolted up.
“Get the pie,” Mick had ordered teasingly, then headed right. She remembered wondering where he was going, since the closest exit to the bay was left.
She’d opened the oven and taken out the pie. The steam had singed her wrist, and she’d yelped.
Joey had raced by her and asked if she was okay.
Don had come out of the bathroom and yelled for her to hurry.
She’d placed the pie on the burner. Then she’d reached up, turned off the stove and darted for the bay.
She’d bumped into Peter on his way into the kitchen for his gloves, which he’d been cleaning earlier.
Chelsea stared at the stove knob. Then she turned and watched her group gather around the table. What could have happened?
“WHY DOES HE stop crying with you?” Dylan asked as Jake picked up a squalling Timmy O’Roarke from the baby seat. The six-week-old bundle squirmed in Jake’s arms until he held the child against his shoulder and cuddled him close. Just for good measure, Jake walked back and forth over the worn wood floor of the Dutch Towers main room. Painted a soft beige, the large common area housed tables and chairs, comfortable couches and a big-screen TV. Tonight it would be used for the first fire-department-sponsored physical fitness session, so all the furniture had been moved to the side.
“I don’t know. Jessica was like that with Ben Cordaro. He was like a grandfather to her, you know.”
Dylan watched from his chair at a small table in the corner. “Haven’t forgotten how to do that, have ya, buddy.”
Jake patted Timmy’s back gently. “You never forget.” What he hadn’t remembered was the sense of peace a baby snuggling against him brought. “I wish I’d had more.”
“It’s not too late,” Dylan said, leafing through Firehouse magazine looking for material for the latest trivia game. He and the baby had accompanied Beth, who’d volunteered to help Chelsea run the fitness classes at the senior’s complex, but as usual Dylan brought along a pile of firemanics material. Guys had been teasing him about losing interest in the department since he got married, and he was trying to prove them wrong with the weekly trivia game. “You and Beth are the same age, and she just had the little monster.”
Jake’s gaze strayed to Beth, then to Chelsea in the front of the room. Damn, she looked good tonight. Though she wore a light warm-up jacket over her outfit, he could see a yellow T-shirt peeking out from the top; it drew his gaze like a red flag. Matching shorts revealed every inch of her long, shapely legs.
Dylan said, “Okay, here’s one I could use. What’s the highest award given by the NYFD?”
“Too easy,” Jake responded, still staring at Chelsea.
“It’s the Gordon Bennett medal.”
As she turned to write on the big chalkboard Jake had hauled in from another room, he found himself wondering if she wearing those red panties he’d caught a glimpse of two nights ago. He tried to distract himself by nuzzling the baby in his arms, but he couldn’t stop the images….
He’d been waiting outside the showers for her to finish and had banged on the door after a few minutes. He knew she’d been in there a while. “Get a move on, Whitmore,” he’d shouted, winking as Mick walked by. “This isn’t Elizabeth Arden’s.”
“Stuff it, Scarlatta,” she’d shouted back.
When at last she’d pulled open the door, he’d planned to check his watch and tap his foot, but his movements had been stilled by the sight of her. She wore gym shorts and the RFD T-shirt, traditional firehouse sleeping garb. Her skin glowed amidst the halo of steam surrounding her; greedily, he took in her peaches-and-cream cheeks, sparkling eyes. And her hair, damp from only being towel dried, reminded him of sex in the shower.
“For cripe’s sake, man, I wasn’t in there that long.”
He swallowed hard. “Long enough.” Even to his own ears, his voice was a come-to-bed invitation.
She’d sucked in a breath. He moved to his left, she to her right to defuse the moment, and the collision caused her to drop her toiletries. Falling to her knees, she scrambled to pick up toothbrush, shampoo and towel. Jake bent to retrieve a tube of lotion that had fallen open. Its scent was sexy as hell. He shoved it into her hand. When she stood, he noticed she’d inadvertently dropped a pair of panties, the tiniest scrap of scarlet lace he’d ever seen, on the scarred linoleum.
His hand gravitated to them. They were as sinfully soft as they looked. He held them a second, slithering the material between his fingers. Still squatting—he didn’t dare stand up—he’d looked into her face. “You dropped these,” he said huskily.
Her eyes were riveted to his big hand caressing the tiny panties. She said nothing, just stood statue-still.
He’d stayed half kneeling on the floor—like a slave at her feet. Then he’d thrust them at her. As if awakened from a spell, she’d snatched the panties and darted down the hall.
Sucking in a breath, he’d finally stood and gratefully headed for the shower….
“Oh, look at the baby.” Mrs. Lowe came in, along with about ten other residents of Dutch Towers, and crossed directly to Jake. Her skin may have been old and wrinkled, but her eyes were young and sparkling.
Dylan said, “He looks just like me, doesn’t he, Mrs. L?”
Adelaide Lowe smiled broadly at the proud papa. “Yes, he does.” She focused on Jake. “Time’s running out, young man. If you’re going to have a son, you’d better get going.”
“A daughter’s all I need, Mrs. Lowe.” He grinned.
“You wanna hold Timmy?”
“No, I’m going to stretch before class starts.” She patted Timmy’s head and joined Mrs. MacKenzie and Mrs. Santori, who were
up front near Chelsea and Beth.
“I’m gonna go talk to the guys.” Jake bent to put a sleeping Timmy into his seat. “I said I’d help when I coaxed Mr. Steed, Mr. Olivo and Mr. Santori into being here.”
“Okay, but before you go, here’s another one,” Dylan said. “What’s the Scannel medal given for?”
“Rescue in an earthquake emergency. It was named after the fire chief in the San Francisco earthquake at the time.” Jake straightened and laughed. “You’re losing your touch, O’Roarke. Fatherhood’s turned your brain to mush.”
When Jake reached the men, he was still chuckling. “Ready to go for the burn, guys?”
Moses Santori, a burly, bald man whose rheumy eyes still gleamed with mischief at sixty-eight, patted his stomach. “Josephine said if I don’t lose some weight she’s gonna stop sleeping with me.”
Sergio Olivo grinned. “My Angie used to say that. It worked, too.”
Tall, trim and handsome, with a shock of silver hair falling into his eyes, gentlemanly Lawrence Steed smiled sedately. “You should walk, like I do every morning.”
“If we could have your attention now,” Chelsea told the group. “Everyone come up front. We’ve got mats here to sit on, but I’d like you to take the chairs we’ve set out first.”
Jake smiled at her thoughtfulness. Older people couldn’t get up and down on the mats easily.
“As you know,” she continued, “I’m Chelsea Whitmore, and I own the Weight Room, which is a couple of blocks away from here. Your local fire department is sponsoring this activity, which is why Jake and Dylan and Beth are helping out.” All three waved. “Tonight we’re going to talk about fitness, see a video and walk some if it stays nice outside.” She smiled. “I hope you’ll have a good idea if you want to continue on with us and might be able to convince some of your neighbors to join us next time.”
Chelsea turned to the TV. “We’ll start with a video made by a woman in her sixties when she began a fitness program. I’ll let her tell you why.”
Jake watched the spry and attractive older woman who appeared on screen. The Dutch Towers residents were mesmerized as she told the story of witnessing her mother wither away because of lack of bone density and general physical fitness. As the older woman demonstrated her ability at sixty-five to leg-press one hundred eighty pounds, bench-press sixty, and do biceps curls with fifteen-pound free weights, he thought about Jessica. He was glad she kept in shape; he’d taken her to Chelsea’s club last week….
“Oh, Dad, look at this equipment, it’s state-of-the-art.” Jessica had been effusive as Spike Lammon had walked them around the gym. It was impressive, with its extensive square footage, top-notch aerobic machines, mirrored walls and a large variety of weights. Its color scheme was gray and black, with a dark pink accent here and there.
Though he’d tried not to, Jake had kept scanning the area for Chelsea. She’d finally emerged from the back room. Her hair was damp, her skin glistening with perspiration. Wiping her face, she said, “Hi. Jeez, is it that late? I didn’t realize.”
More like a lover than an employee, Spike had ruffled her hair and said, “Been working out too hard, babe.” He faced Jess. “She’s competing in the local triathlon.”
“What’s that?”
As Spike led Jess to a poster on the wall, Chelsea looked at Jake. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”
“You look whipped.”
“I overdid it. But I can’t get down some of the gymnastic moves that Spike choreographed.”
Jake glanced at his daughter and the trainer. “How old is he?”
“Spike?”
“Yeah.”
“Late twenties, I think.”
Jake’s gaze pinned her. “Are you involved with him?”
“What?”
“I asked if you were involved with him. He’s…friendly.”
The corners of her mouth quirked. “Me and Spike?”
Jamming his hands into his pockets, Jake felt foolish. “Well, I, um, asked because of how Jess is looking at him.”
“How’s that?”
“Like a woman.”
“He’s a good man. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“No, Jake, we’re not involved.”
The whole uncomfortable night had turned into a disaster when Jess happened upon the Help Wanted sign on the desk as they’d been leaving. Within minutes his daughter had sewed up a receptionist’s job for the rest of the summer. He’d quelled his admiration at how Chelsea had treated Jess as an adult, the interest she took in her. Instead, he’d focused on the irritation this little move would cost him. He wouldn’t let Jess drive alone in downtown Rockford at night, so Jake would be at Chelsea’s gym often….
The spurt of fear he’d felt returned and brought him up short. He stared at the woman in the front of the room who was infiltrating his life and his thoughts too much.
These feelings for her were not acceptable. Physical attraction was inappropriate for a lieutenant to feel for someone in his charge. Moreover, he couldn’t afford to lose his objectivity with one of his crew again.
He’d done it once, and look what had happened—to his personal life and his career.
As she smiled pleasantly at the group, Jake was stunned by the realization of what could happen if he didn’t keep a check on his response to Firefighter Whitmore.
WHEN SHE LOOKED over the elderly participants, Chelsea caught Jake scowling at her from the back.
The Scarlatta scowl, Jess had called it. She smiled in spite of Jake’s expression. Compared to her father, Jessica was an open book. Like Delaney, Jess said exactly what she thought, and in the three days she’d worked at the Weight Room, Chelsea had come to like the girl. She’d discovered that Jessica worshiped the ground her father walked on, worried about his monklike lifestyle and feared leaving him to go to college. Though technically she lived with her mother, she spent most of her time with Jake.
Chelsea wondered what the woman who had caught her elusive lieutenant was like. Did he prefer blondes or brunettes? Petite women or tall women? Smart or dumb?
It hit her suddenly and with stunning force. What the hell was she doing thinking about him that way? Damn you, girl, don’t you ever learn?
Ruthlessly suppressing all thoughts of Jake Scarlatta’s taste in women, she walked to the center of the room and smiled at the residents’ faces. Some were twinkling with expectation, one or two revealed hesitancy.
“I hope the video affirmed that at any age, physical fitness is important.” She pointed to the board. “What I have in mind is a threefold program. First, we’ll work on your aerobic fitness by walking outside when the weather’s good. We should find a way to get some machines in here for rainy days and winter.”
“I got one of those bikes that don’t go anywhere in my apartment,” Sergio Oliva said. “Jake can bring that down for us.”
“My son has a treadmill he’s trying to get rid of,” Lawrence Steed added.
Dylan contributed from the side, “Quint Twelve has one of each of those we can donate. We just got new ones.” He thought for a moment. “We also have an old weight machine you can have.”
Mrs. Santori said proudly, “My Joey can haul those over.”
Chelsea continued, “That brings me to number two. Like the woman in the video, we’ll be doing some light weights.” At the buzz among them, Chelsea said, “Only what you can handle. It’s a slow-starting program, but bone density is improved by weight lifting.” She grinned at them. “Besides, you’re all young enough to pump some iron.”
“I like that girl, Jake,” Moses Santori said. “Let’s keep her around.”
Jake’s eyes flashed with pleasure.
Chelsea tried to ignore the warmth kindling inside her. When had just a look of approval from him been able to do that?
“The third area we’ll cover is stretching. For all these, you’ll need to wear loose or stretchy clothing.
”
Participants made a couple of jokes about octogenarians in spandex, and unobtrusively, Chelsea checked out Jake’s khaki shorts. Then her gaze traveled hungrily to his black T-shirt with two tiny beige stripes bisecting his chest. His outfit complemented his dark coloring beautifully.
She shook off the awareness. “Now, who’s up for a walk?”
With some coaxing, everybody agreed. They were heading out the back door when Jake fell into step beside her. “You’re good with them,” he said as they paraded outside. A warm breeze ruffled the chestnut strands of Jake’s thick hair. “Thanks again for volunteering to do this. It means a lot to me.”
“I know it does. But I want to help them, too.”
“So you said.”
“They really love you, Jake. It must be like having twenty grandparents.” Even to her ears, her tone was wistful.
“Don’t you have family, Chels?”
“Just me and Delaney.”
“What happened?”
“When?”
“To your parents, for starters.”
They followed the sidewalk around the complex. “My father died when I was five. My mother married Delaney’s father a year later. It didn’t help much, though.”
“Help?”
“Yeah, we were still on the road. My dad was a baseball player—minor league, but he made it to Triple A before he died in a car accident. Tom Shaw moved just as much as my father. He was always playing gigs with his band.”
“No aunts or uncles? Cousins?”
“No, our mother and both our fathers were only children. We never saw much of our grandparents before they died because we were always on the go. I do have a few of the woodworking pieces my grandpa made, though.”
Jake glanced at her. “So you want stability for yourself now?”
“I never said that.”
“You did—indirectly.”
She shook her head in exasperation. “How does our conversation always get back to me?”
“Beats me.”
“Let’s talk about that captaincy exam,” she said. “The one I got the—”
“Oh, look, I think Sergio is limping. I’d better go make sure he’s okay.” Jake jogged off down the pavement.
