Falling for the Fireman

by Allie Pleiter

  Could He Help Her Son?

  There’s something achingly familiar about the look in fire marshal Chad Owens’s eyes. Widowed mom Jeannie Nelworth knows firsthand what it is: loss, hurt and yes—bitterness. Ever since the fire that changed their lives, Jeannie’s young son has borne that same look, pushing everyone away. So she’s grateful when Chad tries to get through to the boy with the help of his trusty fire station dog. But the man who’s all about safety and prevention keeps himself protected—from loving and losing again. Seems as if Jeannie will have to add his kind, guarded heart to her rebuilding efforts.

  “I can test these smoke detectors for you, but I don’t think that will really solve your problem.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not really smoke you’re afraid of.” He pulled a book of matches out of his pocket and Jeannie fought the urge to flinch.

  “You said you didn’t need matches to test the smoke detectors,” she reminded him.

  “I don’t,” Chad said gently, “but you need them to test yourself. Jeannie, you need to get over this. You need to light a match.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t!” Jeannie blurted out her refusal, even though she was embarrassed Chad had guessed her fear of flame. Did he have to strike such a nerve?

  “Don’t feel bad—I’ve seen sillier reactions on much more serious people. I can help. And I won’t tell anyone.”

  Why would Chad Owens do something like this for her? Jeannie couldn’t bring herself to ask the question.

  Books by Allie Pleiter

  Love Inspired

  My So-Called Love Life

  The Perfect Blend

  *Bluegrass Hero

  *Bluegrass Courtship

  *Bluegrass Blessings

  *Bluegrass Christmas

  Easter Promises

  *“Bluegrass Easter”

  Falling for the Fireman

  *Kentucky Corners

  Love Inspired Single Title

  Bad Heiress Day

  Queen Esther & the

  Second Graders of Doom

  Love Inspired Historical

  Masked by Moonlight

  Mission of Hope

  Yukon Wedding

  ALLIE PLEITER

  Enthusiastic but slightly untidy mother of two and RITA® Award finalist Allie Pleiter writes both fiction and nonfiction. An avid knitter and unreformed chocoholic, she spends her days writing books, drinking coffee and finding new ways to avoid housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a B.S. in speech from Northwestern University and spent fifteen years in the field of professional fundraising. She lives with her husband, children and a Havanese dog named Bella in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois.

  Falling for the Fireman

  Allie Pleiter

  Know also that wisdom is like honey for you:

  If you find it, there is a future hope for you,

  and your hope will not be cut off.

  —Proverbs 24:14

  Dedication

  To first responders everywhere—

  God bless your courage and dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Astute travelers will recognize Gordon Falls bears a striking resemblance to Galena, Illinois (the beautiful fire house and floodgates are dead giveaways). Jeannie and Chad’s community owes all of its charm—and none of its faults—to the lovely town that inspired their story. Thanks to Don Lay, fire marshal of Carol Stream, Illinois; and to Mike Simmons, chief of the Galena, Illinois, fire department for their input and endurance of my endless questions. Any missed professional details are surely my own fault, and not related to their fine assistance. Special thanks to the Pokorn family for lending me their home while I “researched” peaceful atmosphere, great views, good food and awesome shopping. It is the people and places that make my job as wonderful as it is, and I’m forever grateful.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Questions for Discussion

  Chapter One

  Gordon Falls, Illinois

  September 2009

  Jeannie Nelworth had the faucet handle in a death grip. It wasn’t that the women’s restroom of The Stew Pot restaurant was a tense place; she just hadn’t expected her nerve to go out from under her quite so completely tonight. Somewhere between picking up name tags and the Merchant Association’s first agenda item, she’d had to bolt into the ladies’ room to pull herself together. She’d found the bright red wallpaper amusing before, but now it felt loud and suffocating.

  Abby Reed was predictably right behind her. A best friend can usually see through faked calm, and Abby was as intuitive as they come.

  “I’m okay,” Jeannie lied the moment Abby pushed into the tiny room.

  “You are not okay.” Abby turned and threw the door’s small dead bolt Jeannie had forgotten to latch. “I told Mary Hunnington not to ask you about postponing tonight’s presentation, that you’d say ‘go ahead’ when you shouldn’t have.”

  “I like being at these dinners.” Jeannie forced a cheery tone, pulling her hand off the fixture to fuss with her long brown hair that didn’t need fussing. It was true. Normally she did enjoy the monthly gathering of businesspeople in town. The many shopkeepers, hotel owners and restauranteurs that made up Gordon Falls were her family. Even the tourists were part of her life here. That’s why it was so hard to have her sweetshop closed—if only for a while.

  “Besides,” she continued, “Nicky’d never forgive me for ruining his monthly video-game sleepover. Much as it kills me, that eighth-grade tornado loves a night away from his mom.”

  Abby sighed and gave her the look half the other merchants had. She knew her colleagues cared for her, only now their warm but pitying looks made her feel simultaneously welcome and on display. “Really, there isn’t a soul here who would have blamed you if you missed this one. You’re the last person who needs to hear tips on holiday lighting and fire safety.”

  Why bother waiting? Another thirty days wouldn’t change the fact that her candy store and home had burned down a few weeks ago. “If I stayed home, what would that solve?” To stay home was admitting defeat, and Jeannie liked to think of herself as the kind of woman who gave no quarter to tragedies like that. “Okay, it’s hard,” she admitted, but even those three words felt too big, “but God is bigger than a burned building.”

  “It’s not just a building, it was your home. And the home you had with Nicky. The home you had with Henry, God rest his soul. God is big, but that’s huge.”

  Just the mention of her late husband’s name was enough to double the size of the knot in her throat, even after half a dozen years. She’d loved her quaint shop down by the riverfront. It hadn’t been close to the center of town, but she’d always thought that made it feel homey. It had been close enough to catch the riverfront tourists, and back then she, Henry and Nicky used to watch the sun come up over the river as they ate breakfast in their home above the shop.

  Then Henry was gone. Now, six years later, the building was gone. “What’s the whole point of faith if not to sustain me through something like this?”

  Abby started in, but Jeannie just blinked back tears and shot her hand up in a si
lent “Don’t.”

  After a quiet moment, Abby pulled a paper towel from the ancient metal dispenser and blotted her own tears. “George wants to talk to you,” she said softly. A conversation with George Bradens, Gordon Falls’s Fire Chief, usually meant getting roped onto a committee for some new civic endeavor. “He says it’s about Nicky.” Abby put a hand on Jeannie’s shoulder. “Listen, this is too much. Let me make some excuse for you so you can go home.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Abby leaned against the red Formica countertop. “I thought we covered this already.”

  The room was far too red. Red tile, red wallpaper. It all felt like sirens going off, close and loud. “Well, I’m close to fine.” That’s how she chose to view the raw-around-the-edges feeling that had continued to plague her every day—every hour—since the fire. The entire month felt like peeling off singed layers, discovering new burns in unexpected places every time she was sure she was done with all that. “I don’t want to go back to the apartment anyway.” That dingy apartment she and Nicky rented now seemed so unbearably temporary. They couldn’t see the river, and they seemed far away from everyone. It was the worst of both worlds. Stuck in the middle, endlessly coping.

  Keeping her life on hold while her candy store was rebuilt choked Jeannie like smoke.

  “I figure you’ve got five more minutes of old business, then Chad will be up. Really, Jeannie, you don’t have to be here.” Abby caught Jeannie’s eyes in the dingy gold-framed mirror above the sink. “So don’t go home. Go shopping, go eat a pound of fudge, go walk over and sit by the river if you want, but give yourself a break and leave.”

  Abby made it sound as if Jeannie could slip out unnoticed. “Every single person in that room will know if I skip out. And they’ll know why—Chad’s the fire marshal and George is the fire chief. It couldn’t be more obvious.”

  “So what?”

  “Well…” Jeannie fished for a better reason than her stubborn defiance of a paralyzing fear. “If I leave, how will I know whatever it is George wants to say about Nicky?” She shut off the water with a resolute twist of the faucet. There was nothing for this but to do what she always did: fix her eyes on gratitude and soldier on. And on, and on. She’d worked at being grateful; she’d sent baskets of goodies to George and Chad and the rest of the volunteers at the fire department. Sent, because she still couldn’t bring herself to go into the fire station. The least she could do—the goal she’d set for herself tonight—was to sit through the presentation, stay upright, force a smile and be grateful Chad Owens was as handsome as he was thorough.

  Don’t look at her. Chad Owens kept telling himself to keep his gaze away from Jeannie Nelworth. He shouldn’t single her out in any way, but his eyes repeatedly wandered over to her tight smile no matter what he resolved. It was a hopeless cause; everyone in the room seemed overly aware of the woman.

  Jeannie loved yellow, loved kids and normally exuded as much happiness as twelve people, but she looked pale and drawn tonight, cornered by the collective awkwardness. George kept putting his arm around her, looking out for her as if she needed shielding from the world. That was George, everyone’s unofficial protective grandfather. The town’s most beloved fire victim at a fire safety presentation—honestly, he was amazed she showed up at all.

  Chad thought Jeannie should have some space after the presentation, an escape from the small tight knot of false casualness that pushed around her after the talk, but George motioned Jeannie out of the group right away, calling her over to where they were standing.

  “How are you?” George hugged her. George hugged everyone.

  “George,” Jeannie said with an applied smile. “I am fine.” She pushed her brown bangs out of her eyes like a nervous teenager. “Stop worrying, why don’t you?”

  “You know very well I won’t. I’m looking out for you, so help me stop worrying by saying yes to my idea.”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes, crossing her hands over her chest. “How about I hear your idea first?”

  George crossed his hands over his own chest and leaned in. “I want to hire Nick.”

  There was a momentary flash of panic in her eyes. “Don’t you think thirteen is a bit young to be a firefighter?”

  George laughed. “Every boy wants to be a fireman. But not every boy can be a firedog walker.” He said it with an absurd importance Chad didn’t feel and Jeannie clearly didn’t believe.

  Chad hadn’t been in favor of George’s scheme to hire Nick to walk the portly firehouse hound. Plug certainly needed exercise, but Chad found the gesture lacking. George should know better than to put a cozy bandage on a kid’s enormous trauma. Fire stole something from a soul that could never be restored. Chad knew it. Nick and Jeannie knew it now, too, and some cuddly chore wouldn’t make that go away. Still, no one talked George out of anything once he got a plan in that meddling, generous mind of his. Chad supposed the scheme couldn’t hurt, but he didn’t think it stood any real chance of helping.

  “You have volunteer firefighters but you want to pay my son to walk your dog?” Jeannie’s eyes narrowed with a friendly suspicion at the idea. Her long, dark ponytail swung as she gave George a sideways glance. Chad was glad Jeannie recognized George was up to something.

  She wasn’t pretty in the stop-a-guy-dead-in-his-tracks kind of way. It was more her energy, her optimism, that pulled people toward her. Those brown eyes always took in the world like it was a fantastic package waiting to be opened. Nothing seemed to keep her down. Last year she’d had her Jeep painted in the same yellow polka-dotted pattern as her store, and while all the other merchants thought it stunning marketing, all Chad could think about was how mortified her son must be to ride in the thing. Still, everyone in town knew Jeannie Nelworth’s Sweet Treats candy store. Half the businesses in the county used her gift baskets, and the woman’s chocolate-covered caramels were nearly legendary.

  “Plug would be good for Nick,” George lobbied, smiling as if every volunteer fire department had a dog-walking budget. “Boys love dogs.”

  Jeannie let out a sigh. “Well, Nicky seems to need to take care of something since…” Her voice fell off, as if she’d run out of good ways to end a sentence like that. Chad knew the feeling. He knew exactly how a life split forever into “before the fire” and “after.”

  “The guidance counselor suggested a pet,” Jeannie continued with a hollow laugh, “But all our landlord allows is a goldfish. Those are ‘lame,’ as Nicky so bluntly put it.”

  Dr. Billings cut into their little trio. “So, Jeannie, how’s our Nicky doing?”

  “Really great.” Jeannie gave the dentist a big smile. “People have been so kind.”

  They’re always so kind, Chad thought. People were so kind after Laurie’s death he thought he’d drown in careful kindness. Friends and family surrounded him with casseroles and cards and “how are you’s” that hoped to avoid his sad answers. That was why it had been so easy to move here. Only George knew what he’d been through, why his history with fire went beyond the professional and into the personal. He kept him off the fire engines and at a desk; Chad liked his pain to stay private. People never looked at him the same way again once they knew, so he made sure no one did.

  As for Jeannie, she had no choice. She was on display for everyone’s pity because the whole town had gathered to watch her home and business burn. He was sure she’d call it something warm and cozy like “community,” but to him it was a naked, painful exposure.

  “Still, he’s been through so much for such a young man.” Billings patted Jeannie’s wrist.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about Nicky. He’s coping so much better than anyone expected. You know boys. He just sees this as a chance to get cooler new stuff. Like Christmas before Christmas. People came out of the woodwork to help us, you know. Nicky and I had a week’s worth of clothes before the sun even came up the next day. The new Sweet Treats will be right on Tyler Street in the middle of all that lucrative tourist traffic. And evid
ently, my son is about to become the firehouse’s first official dog wrangler.”

  “Told you she’d say yes.” George elbowed Chad victoriously. “Have Nicky come by Chad’s office tomorrow but don’t tell him what’s up. The boy will enjoy it more if it’s a surprise.”

  “It will be bigger and better. It has to be,” Jeannie proclaimed to the dust the following morning as she stood inside what would be Sweet Treats. It made her happy just to be inside the historic building, the “old girl” as Jeannie had come to call her. The weathered beams boasted deep ridges like laugh lines. History’s scent, that indescribable mixture of dust and mold and time, hung in the air to the point where Jeannie felt she could reach out and roll it between her fingers. It was a thick, rich smell, but not unpleasant by any means. This old girl had gone unappreciated for far too long; she had too grand a history to sit dormant on Tyler Street. “How many times have the floodgates saved you?” The green floodgates at the north end of town were a Gordon Falls landmark, protecting the town from the nearby Gordon River when its fury swelled. “You’ve been a dozen different things, and now you’ll be my candy store.” Twenty-seven Tyler Street had been an apothecary shop back at the turn of the century, and then a pharmacy in the 1920s and 1930s back when pharmacies had ice cream counters and weren’t giant chain stores. “You’ve got character. We both do.”

  She laughed at herself, holding conversation with wood and plaster. Still, the building and she were old friends of a sort. How many times had she passed by this neglected spot in such a prime location just across from the firehouse, pondering what she could do with it if she ever got the chance? Every couple of months, she’d slow down as she drove past it with its forlorn for-sale sign. She would toy with the idea that someday, when the timing and the finances were right, it might be time to expand, to leave the cramped quarters over by the river and make a go of it on Gordon Falls’s center stage. She’d have enough space in here to really utilize her online gift basket business—growing fast enough, thank the Lord, to keep her going over this tough time. She’d been bursting out of her riverfront home and shop already. Now, being stuck in this apartment and borrowing the church’s industrial kitchen to cook, wasn’t going to cut it much longer.