by Kathryn Shay
This was for her.
As his tongue circled her navel, she tugged on his hair. “Alex.”
“Shh. Let me.”
“Both of us.”
“No, let me take care of you. Just you.” When she started to protest, he grinned against her belly. “You can return the favor later.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Surprisingly, she lay back on the pillows.
His mouth closed over her gently. And with the greatest of love.
She slept for four hours before the nightmare came. Alex was reading a contract in his den, off the bedroom, when he heard her moans. By the time he reached her, she was writhing on the mattress in the clutches of the dream’s demons.
“No, she’s there. On the next bed. Turn left, not right. Please. Please!”
He covered her body with his to get her to stop flailing. She was bathed in sweat, her hair a tangled mess. When she opened those eyes he loved, they were haunted. “Where am I?”
“You’re with me. At my house.”
“I had a dream.” She stared at him hard, then sank into the bed, gulping for air. “It was real, wasn’t it? We lost her.”
“Yes, you did.”
She swore. Colorfully.
He was glad to see some of her grit surface.
“I’m so tired.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Stay with me until I do.”
“You can count on it.”
Midafternoon, Alex was on the deck at an umbrella table this time, finishing the last of the work he’d gotten from the courier. Late June had brought high temperatures and he basked in them, wearing gym shorts and no shirt. Francesca joined him fresh from sleep and dressed only in the terry robe. Her color was restored, her eyes clear. She took a chair opposite him. “Busy?”
“Nope.” He stuffed papers into his briefcase. “Perfect timing. I’m all done.”
She smiled. Then she leaned over, grasped his hand, kissed his knuckles and brought his palm to rest on her heart. “How can I thank you for being here today?”
He gave her a tender smile. He wanted to tell her no thanks were necessary, that he’d do anything for her. But he knew it wasn’t the time for declarations. So he gave her a suggestive look. “I can think of several ways.”
An uncharacteristic Lolita smile spread across her face as her eyes dropped to his bare chest. “I’ll bet you can, big guy.”
“Well, I did promise you could take care of me later.”
She glanced at his lap, which made him instantly hard. “Like for like,” she said, licking her lips.
Oh, God, Alex thought. Could she be any more desirable?
oOo
“Strike two!”
Francey spun around to her grandfather. “What? Do you need new glasses? It was a mile high.”
Gus gave her a long-suffering look. “Watch your mouth, girl. You’ll be out of the game.”
“He means it,” her father said, punching his glove and squatting behind the plate like Yogi Berra. “Come on, Chelsea, baby. Let’s get this pudding out.”
“Pudding? Pudding? Not on your life, old man.” Except, of course, where Alex Templeton was concerned. Right now he sat distractingly in the stands next to her mother. With him, she was Jell-O, pudding and complete and utter mush. Wiping her hands on her red T-shirt, which along with shorts formed their station’s uniform, she faced the pitcher, determined.
Chelsea wound up on the mound and windmilled the ball, her incredible arm hurling it at seventy miles an hour. The pitch was high.
“Ball.”
“Good call, Gramps.”
Both men chuckled. Chelsea pitched again. This time, low and inside, but Francey swung anyway. Wood cracked on leather. The ball popped into the air. Flinging aside the bat, Francey took off for first base.
Jake, coaching there, circled his arm. “Keep going, slugger.”
The left fielder backed up, and up, but the ball sailed over his head and hit the ground behind him with a thunk.
At second base, Billy Milligan, the guy Chelsea dated, scoffed. “You’ll never make it, hotshot.”
Francey stuck her tongue out at him and darted for third.
From the sideline, Dylan yelled, “Go for the run, doll.”
Adrenaline pumping through her, Francey rounded the base and sprinted for home. The crowd’s reaction told her that the ball was traveling toward her father at the plate. She put on an extra burst of speed. Her dad was standing up, blocking the plate as much as the rules allowed. Francey ran faster. She was almost there when Ben leaped into the air, his arm stretched above his head. Then her body collided with rock-hard muscle and two hundred pounds of man, but her foot connected with white rubber. Ben fell on top of her—and dropped the ball.
“Safe!” her grandpa yelled.
Francey giggled from under her father, who sprawled unforgivingly over her. This was gonna be a great day.
Fifteen minutes later, she was sipping a beer in a pavilion at Highland Park. She dissected the game with her teammates and several guests at the annual Rockford Fire Department’s Fourth of July picnic—which had begun with a league softball game.
“You could have taken it easy on Francey,” Grace chided her son. “I’d hate to see another broken arm.”
Ben hugged his daughter, his orange academy jersey clashing with her red shirt. “She wouldn’t have wanted that, would you, kid?”
“Not a chance.”
Briefly she felt Alex stiffen beside her, but his smile seemed genuine. “Hmm. My heart only stopped for a little while.”
Duke said, “Get used to the feeling, Templeton. You should have seen her race through those flames last week.”
This time Alex’s smile disappeared. Francey was thankful when her father intervened. “Speaking of fires, Dylan’s brooding by the tree. Wanna come talk to him with me, France?”
Discreetly she looked to Alex, who nodded. “I’ll stay here and let your grandparents tell me how you managed to survive childhood.”
She kissed his cheek, warmed by how he seemed to be fitting in; even her father had been civil to him. And Alex was dressed more casually than usual, in a yellow T-shirt and khaki shorts. Another effort to be a part of the group.
On the way across the field, Ben said to Francey, “Why did you ask your mother to come today?”
“I didn’t. Captain Scanlon did.”
“Eric Scanlon from the academy?”
“Yeah. Did Diana come and see you a few weeks ago?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“Apparently she met Scanlon at the academy, then saw him at Bright Oaks Country Club the next weekend. He’s a member there.”
“Where does Scanlon get that kind of money?”
“Beats me,” Francey told him as they approached Dylan.
Her buddy looked up from Firehouse magazine. Dylan brought printed matter everywhere he went and often disappeared in the midst of things to read. “Hi. Did you know that in the space of one year, the U.S. fire service responded to a fire every sixteen seconds?”
The Cordaros exchanged a look. “Nope.” Francey dropped to the ground next to him. “Read us some more.”
“A structure fire occurred every fifty-five seconds, a vehicle fire every seventy-six seconds.” His face darkened. “And nationwide, someone died in a fire every hundred and five minutes.”
Bracing both hands on a low overhead tree limb, her father’s brow knitted. “What happened to you two last week wasn’t unusual.”
Dylan’s eyes blazed like blue crystals. But he said casually, “Nah, of course not. Death is a part of the job.”
“It is,” Ben told him.
Though Francey had seen Dylan several times since the fire and tried to talk to him about what had happened, he’d kept to himself for days.
Ben stared hard at the man who was like a son to him. “You did a foolish thing, boy.”
“So I was told. By the captain and Chie
f Talbot.”
“It needed to be reported.”
Dylan nodded. “I’ve got to meet with the department psychologist.” He furrowed his brow in imitation of the chief. “‘Something’s eating at you, O’Roarke. Find out what it is.’”
“Reed Macauley’s a good man and a fine psychologist,” her dad said. “He used to be a firefighter. He’s housed at the academy.”
Dylan stared at Ben silently.
Francey asked, “Do you know what it is, Dyl, that’s eating you?”
His usually roguish eyes turned so bleak Francey hurt for him. “Yeah, I know. But let’s not get into all that now.” He glanced at the group by the pavilion. “Damn, Francey, who got Lizzie Borden to come to the picnic? She’s never at these things.”
Francey glanced to where Beth sat at a table with Chelsea and Billy. They were chatting and laughing. “Chelsea did. She practically had to drag Beth here.”
“Now that could ruin my day.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.” Ben ignored the well-known feud between Dylan and Beth. “No more mopin’ around.”
“Yes, sir.” Dylan saluted.
Ben snorted. “Screw you, O’Roarke.”
Ten minutes later, Francey found Alex eavesdropping on a conversation between two battalion chiefs. “Then the deputy told Talbot that Quint/Midi Twelve should have waited until Seventeen ventilated. Knight’s group could have bought it.”
Damn, Francey thought, that’s all Alex needs to hear. “Come on, Alex. Let’s go talk to Beth.”
Alex gave her a strained smile. “Should they have?” he asked, as they crossed the lawn to Beth and Chelsea. “Waited to ventilate the roof? You told me the engine group did the right thing.”
Francey stopped and peered at him. “I don’t think they made a mistake. And it’s easy to Monday morning quarterback.”
Alex sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“This whole thing scares you, doesn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Then I appreciate even more how good you were to me on Tuesday.”
His smile was tinged with sadness. “I wanted to be there for you.”
“You were.”
“Besides,” he said, the devil dancing in his eyes, “I got my reward.”
Francey’s whole body shivered as she remembered. She grinned. “Hey, you take care of me, I take care of you.”
“You’re on, babe.” Despite his chuckle, Francey knew that buried just beneath the surface was worry.
oOo
Ben watched his daughter practically melt when Alex Templeton touched her. Just like Diana used to melt when Ben put his hands on her. Like she still melted. He transferred his gaze to his ex-wife, who sat at a picnic table with a group from the academy. Looking lovely in a wide-brimmed straw hat and a scoop-necked yellow sundress of some gauzy material, she took his breath away.
He hadn’t seen her since Tony’s party. But he’d been haunted by her words. I love you, Ben, but I won’t wait.
And she sure as hell hadn’t. What was she trying to do— notch all the over-fifty men in Rockford into her bedpost her first year back in town?
Unfair. He doubted she’d slept with the doctor. Certainly not with Erin’s father. But Scanlon was a good-looking son of a bitch, like some Norse god dressed in modern designer clothes.
I’m not into casual sex, Ben. At least not with you.
Ben watched her sidle out from under Scanlon’s arm with finesse. It made him smile smugly. She’d never pulled away from him.
I waited for ten years for you to come and get me.
Of all the things he’d found out since Diana returned to Rockford, that was the hardest to take. The fact had caused him to snap at secretaries and tear the covers off the bed at night. Could he have gotten her back years ago? Could they have worked out her fears and his need to be a firefighter? He glanced at his daughter, who visited with her two friends while Templeton stood behind her, massaging her shoulders.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Diana heading for the johns, which were up a hill, out of view. He took a swig of beer, then tossed the can into a receptacle and followed her.
He was standing by the drinking fountain, a wet handkerchief in his hand, pretending to cool off his face and neck, when she emerged from the women’s side.
Startled, she gave a little gasp when she saw him. “Ben, hello.”
Framed by the July sun, she was stunning—and he told her so.
Her eyes widened. “Thank you.”
“Yellow always was your color.”
She smiled. “Remember how you always bought me yellow underwear? My drawer looked like a field of daisies.”
“You look like a daisy right now.”
“If so, a wilting one. It’s got to be in the nineties.”
“Eighty-nine.” His gaze dropped to her chest. “You’re sweaty.”
She swallowed hard; even he could hear the come-to-bed tone in his voice.
With exaggerated nonchalance, he reached over and ran his handkerchief under the cold water of the drinking fountain, then wrung it out. When he took two steps toward her, she backed up the same distance. But she collided with the rough-hewn green shingles of the shed. He trapped her with his body, one arm braced next to her head, the other, holding the cloth, raised to her cheek. “Here, let me cool you off.”
Her eyes sizzled. “I…Ben…oh.”
Slowly he ran the cloth over her face. First her brow, then each cheek, then her chin and jaw. “You’re sunburned here.” He kissed her nose.
A small sigh escaped her.
He went lower, bathing her throat. Tiny rivulets of water dripped down her chest. He captured a droplet with his tongue.
“You’re getting me wet,” she whispered.
Chuckling as he lifted his head, he gave her a meaningful look. “I could always get you wet, Dee. With just a touch.”
She closed her eyes. “I never denied that. Why are you doing this, Ben?”
“Ditch Scanlon. Let me take you home.” He dipped the cloth inside the neckline of her dress. She moaned.
“No.”
He frowned.
“No,” she repeated. “I came with Eric, so I’m leaving with him.”
Ben could be generous about this. “All right. He can take you home. But get rid of him fast. I’ll come over when he’s gone.”
She shook her head.
He nuzzled her ear.
Again a refusal.
“Why not? You want me.”
Her laugh surprised him, considering he was about to combust. “I’ve wanted you since I was seventeen. That’s nothing new.”
“Then what’s the matter, baby? What do I have to do?”
“I told you my conditions.”
His hand went to her waist and squeezed. “I won’t yell at you.”
“That’s a switch.”
He kissed her hair. “I want to be with you.”
“Then call and ask me. Properly.”
He drew back. “What?”
“If you want to see me, call and ask me.”
“Court you, you mean?”
She smiled as if she liked the notion. “Yes, I guess I do.”
Thoughtful, he cocked his head. “I never did that, did I?”
Her eyes clouded with sadness. “I never gave you a chance.”
A lump formed in his throat. He wondered what else he’d never done for her as they’d rushed headlong into marriage.
She squared her shoulders. “But don’t expect me to behave the way I did when we were young.” Her tone turned feisty. “Or the way I did two weeks ago. I won’t sleep with you again until I hear what I need to hear from you.”
He stepped back and shoved his hands into his denim shorts. “And what’s that?”
Straightening her dress, she said saucily, “You’ll have to figure it out on your own, love.” She flattened the top of her hat with her hand. “Now I have to get back to Eric.”
Ben w
atched her until she was out of sight. Curiously, he felt better than he had in years.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A few weeks later Alex flipped a couple of dozen hamburgers on the large stone grill in Ellison Park as if he’d been cooking for a hundred people all his life. He hadn’t, of course, but today he was the designated chef for the Templeton Employee Barbecue, as the writing on his dark green T-shirt proclaimed. He checked his watch. Another thing he wasn’t accustomed to—getting stood up. Francesca was supposed to meet him here, and she’d pulled a no-show.
“I think the meat is done, son,” Jared Templeton pointed out. Though retired, he still attended the annual parties.
“I guess.”
Several factory workers lined up, and the Templeton men doled out the food with humor and goodwill. Around them, the lush greenery of Ellison Park on a mid-July day celebrated summer. Sun sparkled off the leaves, and rich thick grass grew beneath their feet. Alex couldn’t have ordered a nicer day. He just wished he’d picked a different one…
“Francesca, where are you?” he’d asked when he’d finally called the station house because she was an hour late.
“Linehan, my relief, didn’t show. He called in and said his father had been rushed to the hospital. He asked me to stay a couple of hours.”
Without thinking, Alex responded, “Why didn’t you tell him you had plans?”
A pause on her end. “His father’s in the hospital.”
Alex felt like a slug. “I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless comment. I’m just disappointed. I wanted you here with me. It seemed important for us to share this.”
“It is important. Linehan’s calling back in soon. If he isn’t going to make his shift, I’ll ask the chief to get somebody to work overtime.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. And it’s okay. The guys like the extra money. I’ll be there, I promise…”
“Alex, who’s the man with the shaggy beard and long hair alone by the pond?”
