Alex chose not to reply. He wasn’t going to give any credence to Sam’s idea that he had any intention of cozying up to the Jones family in order to save AG’s bacon. “Tell Cynthia to call me. I want her to find me a few contacts for rehab experts in the area. Tell her to start sending my mail here.”
“So you will be sticking around?”
Alex looked back behind him to the door, which had closed behind JJ. “Yes. I’m sticking around. But not for you.”
He was sticking around. What a strange new concept for the old Alex. It made him feel a settled sort of nervous, closer to growing pains than feeling trapped. He just didn’t know if he’d still stick around if things went from bad to worse—and they very well might.
* * *
“How are you settling in?” Melba Wingate offered a smile to JJ from across a box of soup cans. Everyone was working together on a firehouse food drive, and Chief Bradens had conveniently made sure that JJ and Melba wound up working the same collection table. On this beautiful Saturday morning, the crews were driving the engine around town collecting cans of food from the town residents while others packed up the supplies that the crews had dropped off or that locals had come in person to deliver. It felt every bit the small-town event, and JJ could feel tones of homegrown comfort and cheer soothing out her raw edges.
“I would have liked a smoother landing, that’s for sure.” JJ actually felt herself smile as a preschool-aged girl skipped up with a box of macaroni and cheese. The whole morning had felt spacious and lazy. “I feel like I’ve been running full-tilt since I got here.”
“You have. I’m glad we finally had a chance to meet with all the running back and forth to Chicago you’ve had to do.” Melba reached over the table to grab a paper bag from the chief, who’d just accepted it from an adorable family hauling a red wagon. The twinkle in the woman’s eye as she touched her fiancé’s hand was unmistakable. Those two were seriously hooked, as the captain used to say. JJ swallowed the memory that Angie Carlisle had been seriously hooked with another man from her unit despite clear regulations to the contrary. None of that truly mattered, as Angie had asked for the guy with her final breaths, and JJ hoped she’d never forget that lesson. “How is Max?”
JJ employed her now-standard answer: “It’s hard to say. We can’t really expect much of anything from him at this point, and it’s too early to know how his injuries will play out, much less how he’ll come to deal with it all. One minute he’s calm and maybe even resigned, the next he’s a ball of anger.”
Melba lined up soup cans in the box on the floor between them. “Clark would say that sounds just like Max. They weren’t really friends, but Clark bought Max’s boat earlier this year, so they talked shop often enough.” She lowered her voice. “I know he wasn’t the most cautious guy in the world, but no one deserves to be hurt like that. I wish we knew how to help.”
“I have dozens of people telling me how I’m supposed to be helping, but none of it seems to be of much use.” JJ was startled at the sentiment; she hadn’t realized how frustrated she felt. “It’s making me crazy to just stand by and watch Max go through so much.”
“It’s always harder to watch, you know. No one really gets that until they have to watch someone they love suffer right next to them. Your cousin Charlotte’s been a great friend to me with my family situation because she’s been through it. She’ll be a great friend to you, too.” Melba cocked her head and shrugged. “I’d like to be a friend to you, too. I’m in the thick of it myself, but maybe we can keep each other company in the trenches.” She straightened up and winced, crinkling up her nose. “Is that a lousy metaphor to make to a military person?”
JJ actually felt a small laugh bubble up from some forgotten corner of her spirit. “It’s fine. A bit overused, but in this case, it fits perfectly.” She started another row of soup cans, genuinely pleased to return Melba’s kind inquiry. “How’s your dad? Did he hurt himself badly when he fell last week?”
“Oh.” Melba’s expression lost its sparkle. “You heard?”
“The chief took your call while I was in the office. I didn’t mean to overhear, but it sounded like he took a serious tumble.”
“He was so bloody. Honestly, it amazes me how one small cut on the forehead can make such a huge mess. There are days I’m glad I’m marrying a man who isn’t fazed by that sort of thing.”
JJ waited for Melba to make an additional battlefield comment, but she didn’t. JJ was relieved, but she couldn’t really say why. Maybe it was becoming okay for not every conversation to be about what happened over there or what happened to Max. Maybe that’s how life outside of a uniform—at least an army uniform—grew into place.
Melba continued, “I suppose it’s not too far from Max’s case. Good days and bad days. And not much use trying to guess where it goes from here. Charlotte will tell you that kind of guessing will tangle your brain—and that’s not a knitting metaphor.” Melba raised a dark eyebrow. “Do you knit?”
It felt like an absurd question. A knitter was about the furthest thing from how JJ thought of herself. Still, she knew Melba was enthusiastic about the craft, and nearly every member of the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department sported some cap or gloves or scarf that had come from the woman’s handiwork. JJ offered a smile. “Not really my thing.” After a second, she added, “I like to look at it, though, and all the guys love the stuff you made for them.”
Melba laughed. “I think Clark orders them to love it. He denies it, but I have my suspicions.” She closed up the now-full box of cans, writing “SOUP” in artistic letters across the lid. “I have no intention of making you learn. The guys make enough fun of me as it is and don’t think I don’t know how much of an uphill battle you’ve already got ahead of you with that macho bunch. Are they treating you right?”
“Actually, I don’t think they know what to do with me. I know pranks and such are part of every firehouse, but no one’s pulled anything on me yet. I think they can’t figure out what to do.”
Melba parked a hand on her hip. “Wait, you want them to prank you?”
“Not exactly. What I want is for them to see me as one of the shift.” JJ reached for another empty box and started stacking cans from the truck that just unloaded its charitable haul. “If the chief can come up with another way to make that happen that doesn’t involved stuffing my locker full of pink lace or ladyfingers, I’m all for it.”
Melba’s eyes went wide. “Ladyfingers? Really?”
“I’ve been trying to guess what the guys might do. Let’s just say an internet search doesn’t bring up comforting scenarios.”
Leaning in, Melba whispered, “Do you want me to feed some suggestions to Clark? Maybe we can keep them down to a pile of pink ruffled fabric from Abby’s shop.”
“I think this is another good place for Charlotte’s advice—trying to guess will just tangle your brain.”
“You’re a smart woman, JJ Jones. You’ll go far in this tiny town—just you watch.”
It was the closest thing to a welcome JJ had gotten yet, and she let herself enjoy the feeling.
At least until one of the firefighters plunked a box of Delicate Tea Biscuits down on the table in front of her. “Here, girls. We don’t know what to do with these.” He had a poorly concealed smirk on his face, as if he’d been working on the delivery of that line all the way over.
JJ stood up, delighted to see she came eye to eye with the older gentleman. “It’s a food drive, Dave. They’re cookies. You eat them, just like everything else.”
Melba’s smirk made JJ feel nothing short of victorious. “Uh-huh,” the woman agreed as she accepted the box JJ handed her. “Very far indeed.”
Chapter Ten
JJ was smiling when she walked into the firehouse two days later. Chief Bradens had called her to come in today to officially receive a locker and turnout gear. She was part of the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department, and it felt so good to belong to something again. While she knew she needed it, J
J hadn’t realized just how much until she got the call from Chief Bradens.
“JJ! Probie!” One of the younger firefighters looked up from a pile of valves and a stack of cleaning rags. “Heard you’re in. The place’ll never be the same.”
His remark had a tiny edge of trash talk to it—the mother tongue of firefighters everywhere—but enough warmth to make JJ feel accepted. The catcall from the idiot in the kitchen, however, was met with her best “eye of doom” glare.
As she turned the corner to Bradens’s office, JJ knew to be on alert. Firehouse “probie”—short for probationary—pranks were legendary. Hosings were almost par for the course, as were sand in boots, flour on cot pillows—she’d seen or heard most of the standard repertoire of stunts. Her vulnerability would be lessened by the fact that Bradens had been forced to do a creative bit of room shuffling in order to get gender-friendly shower and changing facilities. This meant the guys didn’t have ready access to her quarters. At least that’s what JJ hoped.
Although no one actually lived at the firehouse, there were a handful of cots, a bay of showers and individual lockers for everyone. The presentation of a locker key and a name plaque over a cubby for turnout gear was the GFVFD ceremonial induction. She’d already been given a stack of T-shirts—many of which were rather enormous on her—and JJ’s uniform was on order from measurements she’d given earlier. Bradens had made it clear that the job was hers for the taking if she sailed through the training, and she had.
“Jones.” The chief shook her hand with a wide smile. She liked that Bradens called her by her last name, just like he did with every other firefighter. “Got a few things for you.”
JJ let herself grin. “So I hear.”
Bradens nodded back toward the apparatus floor, where the turnout gear hung along a wall. She could already hear the chatter from the other guys, who were no doubt lined up. If tradition were any indication, she’d end up soaking wet at some point in the afternoon.
She noticed it somewhere just outside the door. A strong scent, as if someone had brought in flowers. Pushing open the metal door, it hit her like a dozen department store cosmetics counters. The scent of perfume—loads and loads of bad perfume—filled the place with a smell strong enough to make her eyes sting.
There were each of the guys, guffawing like six graders and sporting pink clothespins on their noses. Pink daisy stickers lined a little path directly to her equipment. Some idiot had covered her helmet in baby-pink ruffles with a giant plastic flower spouting from the top. Even her boots had been covered in rainbow and unicorn stickers worthy of a third-grade prima donna.
The chief actually choked. “For crying out loud, Davidson, I said you could have a little fun with this, not empty out a department store fragrance aisle.”
Davidson responded with a snickering curtsy.
“Your enthusiasm is...suffocating.” He choked and wiped his eyes, which were watering as badly as JJ’s were—and not from laughter. “Who’s got the key?”
A miserable-looking Chad Owens reached into his shirt pocket. “And here I thought I’d gone too far.” He produced a key that was so covered in pink glitter it blinded the eye, strung up on an enormous swath of yellow polka-dotted frilly mesh.
“That’s my key?” JJ asked, not bothering to hide her distaste for the gaudy bauble. At least the hardware store could fix that quickly. She was currently calculating how many fires—or wash cycles—it would take to get the scent of bad perfume out of her gear.
“Looks more like a parade float to me. Again, which part of ‘a little fun’ did you guys not hear?”
“Sorry, Chief.” Jesse Sykes held a hand to his ear. “I can’t quite hear you on account of all the delightful fragrance.”
Snickers and hideously imitated French accents filled the air.
“I expect even Jeannie can smell the gear from here.” Chad scowled at his wife’s candy shop, which happened to be right across the street.
“I expect Iowa can smell it from here.” The chief scowled even harder.
“I may actually look forward to a dousing.” JJ muttered. The place—and more specifically all of her new gear—absolutely reeked. “I may hold the hose myself.” She looked at Davidson. “You do know most perfumes are flammable, don’t you?”
“It’s okay, honey,” said one of the older guys. “The fire’ll smell you coming.”
“What’s a little perfume to a sweet thing like you?” teased another.
Honey? Sweet thing? Pink ruffles were one thing, names like that were another. Chief Bradens took a breath to set the guy straight, but JJ held up a finger. With all the command of a combat veteran, JJ slowly walked up to the first man, ignoring the “uh-ohs” coming from the men behind her.
JJ dropped her voice to a menacing tone. “You will never, ever address me by that word again.” She glared at the other one. “No honey, no sweetie, no gal, no other such term, even if it’s what you call your favorite granddaughter. Are we clear?”
“Sure.” The first guy tried to laugh it off.
“I am absolutely, positively dead serious here. I mean somber, unequivocal, get-my-lawyer-on-speed-dial serious. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” said the second.
“I expected better of you lugs,” Chief Bradens’s growl came from behind her. “I can see we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
JJ coughed and fanned the air in front of her—the stench from her gear was downright overpowering. She turned and accepted the ridiculous key from Chad. “Does it still work?”
He peered at it. “You know, I’m not actually sure.” He rubbed his hands in annoyance. “The glitter gets everywhere.”
“I hate glitter. Just for the record. I’m no fan of pink, either.”
Chad frowned. “I had hoped for a better reception.” He held out a hand. “Welcome to the department, Jones. You’ve got a long uphill climb ahead of you.”
* * *
He found her out on their dock that evening, just sitting and staring into the water. He’d come to think of it as “their dock,” which was startling in itself; Alex didn’t attach himself to places like that.
He sat down next to her and offered her half of the chocolate bar he’d just opened. “Mayan recipe chocolate. From the upcoming holiday catalog. You know how I feel about Christmas in July.” He’d meant it to be funny, but it fell disastrously short of humor.
She broke off one of the squares—precisely along the scoring, while he’d just snapped off the first corner he could reach—and popped it into her mouth. “It’s really good.” He was almost going to reach out and hold her hand until she turned and assessed him with narrowed eyes. “Why are you giving me really good chocolate?”
It bothered him that she was so suspicious of his motives, even his good ones. “For one, I have yet to meet anyone worth knowing who doesn’t appreciate really good chocolate. And second, let’s just say I met Clark Bradens in the coffee shop this morning.”
She didn’t say anything. Just ate another square of chocolate.
“Don’t cave now, JJ. It was just a dog pile of stupid pranks and old-school guys who don’t know any better. Everyone’s gotten them out of their systems now. You’re not going to back down, are you?”
“Maybe I feel like another battle is the last thing I need. Maybe I need to drop this and focus on Max. It’s been a tough couple of weeks, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Come on, that’s not you. You’re tougher than anything those guys can dish out. You know that.”
“Oh, you know me so well?”
He did, actually, which was half of what was bothering him. He was brilliant in casting visions for people, in making them want things or come on board for a campaign. Suddenly he was close enough to JJ to see the emotions and motivations behind her actions—and that felt too close for comfort.
“I think even Clark sees that you shouldn’t back down now. He said as much to me.”
“Did he send you over here? Do I get a w
hole basket of chocolate bars if I go back?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might just want to be nice to you?”
She tossed the rest of the bar, still in its wrapper, onto the bench. “Everyone has an agenda, Alex.”
“It’s a chocolate bar, JJ, not a lobbying campaign. Look, I came here to make sure you were okay and weren’t thinking of quitting because I thought we were friends.”
That made her turn to look at him. “Friends? How do you think you and I can be friends in all this?”
“So everything that’s happened between us just goes away because things are complicated? Look, JJ, I admit I’m stumped when it comes to what you’re looking for from me. I don’t know what is happening here, but I’m okay with that. I don’t need a game plan and I don’t have an agenda. What I have is someone in front of me who I care about. I think she could be making a mistake, so I’m trying to help.”
“Help? Or just keep me distracted from Max?”
Alex wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her. “This isn’t about what’s happened to Max!”
JJ threw her arms wide. “How can it not be about what happened to Max? It’s all about that. It can’t ever be about anything but what happened to Max.”
“It’s about you, JJ. Wake up and realize that.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve saying that.”
Fine. If she was going to be so blind to her own motives here, he’d lay it out for her. The least he could do was to say what her mother never would. “Nerve? You want to see nerve? I’ll show you nerve. Look in the mirror, JJ. You act as though you fell off that cliff instead of Max. Your brother is a grown man. He’s had a horrible blow, but he has to pick himself back up. Why do you think the rehab people told you to go home? Because this is Max’s battle, and while you can fight with him, you can’t fight for him.”
“Did marketing come up with that line for you?”
She was so stubbornly infuriating. “Cut that out.”
“How can you stand there and fault me for helping Max?”
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