“If you’re doing the color theory workshop after lunch, you can leave your things in this room,” she announced.
Sylvia fell into step beside her on the short walk to the ballroom. “Are you teaching the color theory session?”
“No. I’m doing an improvisational piecing class. Then I have to go to work. I work at the restaurant here.”
Becca got into the lunch buffet line behind her mother.
“How did your workshop go, sweetie?” Michelle asked.
“Good.”
“Your daughter is a natural teacher,” Sylvia said.
Michelle smiled at her. “She is, that’s true. And a naturally gifted quilter.”
“It must run in the family.”
Becca slipped around in front of her mother to begin scooping salad onto her plate.
“It does, though Becca is the most talented of my daughters.”
Becca rolled her eyes at the sandwich platters. She speared two slices of bread with a fork, then added mayonnaise and turkey. At the end of the line, her mother peeled off to go mingle with other attendees. Becca scanned the room, searching the tables for her sisters. They weren’t supposed to eat together. Their mother wanted all of them mingling and making everyone feel welcome. If this initial retreat went well, she wanted to hold more.
Becca wasn’t sure who would manage that. Cassidy was terrific at marketing, but not detail-oriented enough to coordinate all the moving parts of an event. Lauren was the fabric buyer for the store. She had her hands full staying on top of changing trends and keeping the right mix of bolts, fat quarters, and jelly rolls in the shop. Plus, she spent a lot of time advising customers on fabric selection. Charlotte helped here, there, and everywhere but she was looking for a job in Washington, DC.
Their mother did everything else.
“Mind if I sit with you?” Sylvia appeared at Becca’s elbow, a full plate in her hands. “How about that table over there? They still have a few seats open.”
Becca followed Sylvia to the table and, after introductions were made all around, fell back into conversation with her. Sylvia, it turned out, was going to become a grandmother in a few months and wanted to make a baby quilt for her new granddaughter. She pulled out her phone to show Becca a picture of the quilt top. It was an Ohio Star in cheery pink, yellow, and lavender. It would look right at home in a girl’s nursery. For a split second, Becca thought of the white-on-white quilt Jack’s mom had pieced for him. Then she pushed the thought away.
“It’s lovely,” she said as Sylvia zoomed in on the photo. “I’m sure your granddaughter will cherish it.”
Sylvia put her phone away. “I’m not sure she’ll ever get it, actually.”
“Why not?”
Sylvia looked down at the half-eaten food on her plate. “I’m estranged from my son. His father and I had a, well, rather ugly divorce. I wasn’t even invited to his wedding.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know they’re expecting because I internet-stalk him. Yes, yes. I know it’s wrong, but he’s my only child. You can’t just turn off a mother’s love that way.”
Jack was sitting at the bar in Skipjack’s when the Inn’s fire alarm went off. Everything in St. Caroline was conspiring to remind him of what he wanted and couldn’t have. A job as a firefighter. Not a job playing Max the Fire Dog.
“Huh. Wonder if that’s real,” Mike said as the restaurant’s customers looked around for guidance on what to do. Should they leave? Wait and see?
“Well, the fire department will be notified automatically,” Jack offered. He still knew which businesses in St. Caroline were linked to the station that way—which put him ahead of any new recruit walking in off the street. “I’ll go see if I can find out what’s up.” He hopped off the bar stool and headed for the doorway that led to the main part of the Inn.
In the lobby, guests were beginning to mill about but no one seemed overly concerned. Not even the front desk staff. He headed down the hallway on the other side of the lobby. The pool and exercise room were down that way, then the Inn’s conference and events center. At the door to the locker room, he paused. Locker rooms were notorious for “spontaneously” igniting. A contraband cigarette in the trash or a short in the sauna wiring. He flattened his palm against the door and pushed it open. He inhaled. There was no smell of smoke immediately apparent, so he let the door close behind him.
He walked through the rows of gleaming wood lockers. He had never been inside the Inn’s locker room, nor in any locker room quite this nice. How the other half lives. Stacks of fluffy white towels worthy of a luxury hotel popped up around every corner. Well, the Chesapeake Inn was a luxury hotel, so that made sense. This was the side of St. Caroline Jack and his brothers never saw … unless there was a fire. Which he was beginning to sense there wasn’t here. He had a sixth sense about fire.
A scuffling sound came from the back of the locker room. Jack strode through to find a shirtless young boy, maybe five or six years old, standing below the red fire alarm. The white handle was pulled and there was a distinctly guilty look on the boy’s face. Chlorine-scented water dripped from the boy’s navy blue swim trunks.
“Did you pull that?” Jack’s voice was stern. The boy’s eyes widened in fright. Jack immediately felt bad. At his height, he cut an imposing figure, even to many adults. He forgot that sometimes.
He kneeled down, putting himself at the boy’s height. “Did you see a fire?”
The boy hesitated, then shook his head.
“Well, that’s good. We wouldn’t want to see this nice place burn down, would we?”
The youngster shook his head again.
“But that alarm is for emergencies only. All the fire trucks are on the way.”
The boy’s face lit up … along with the light bulb in Jack’s brain. Fire trucks.
“You wanted to see the fire trucks, didn’t you?”
Just then, the locker room’s back door swung open and a man rushed in, followed by another boy.
“Landon!” The man nearly slipped on the wet floor, in his rush to get to the boy Jack was talking to. “You can’t wander off like that! We’ve been looking everywhere for you. There might be a fire.”
“There’s no fire,” Jack said.
The man looked Jack over, then looked at his son. The situation dawned on him. “Landon, seriously? You pulled the alarm?”
“Sorry, daddy.”
His older brother looked at the red alarm on the wall, then seemed to take in the distance between it and the top of Landon’s head. “How did you reach that?”
Jack had been wondering the same thing.
“I jumped.” Landon gave a little demonstration. His father caught him mid-air.
“He has a thing for fire engines,” the man said to Jack.
“So do I.” Jack smiled. He pulled out his phone to send a quick text to his own father, letting him know there was no fire.
“I am so sorry,” the other man said. “My wife’s at the quilting retreat and I’m trying to keep the boys entertained, but …”
“Why don’t you bring them by the station later this afternoon? My father is the chief. I’ll give them a tour.”
Relief and gratitude rolled off the man in waves. Jack patted Landon’s wet head as the boys and their father headed for the door to the pool. “But no more pulling fire alarms, okay?”
Jack reset the alarm, then backtracked through the locker room and out to the lobby. His brothers were there, suited up, and Jack was hit by a pang of longing so fierce he could almost taste it.
“There’s no fire,” he told them. “Just a little boy who pulled the alarm.”
“Well, we have to follow procedure and clear the building anyway. Can’t just take a civilian’s say so,” Matt snarked.
Jack ignored it.
“At least Becca Trevor doesn’t need rescuing today. She’s already outside.” Matt jerked his head toward the front lobby door. “You can go see for yourself, if you don’t
believe me.”
“Let it go, Mattie,” Oliver warned.
“Maybe I will,” Jack said. He was pretty sure Becca didn’t want to see him again, but at least she was polite about it. She was raised by a pediatrician, after all. She was probably saying “please” and “thank you” before Jack was able to walk.
He waded into the crowd of women milling about on the Inn’s spacious front lawn, but it didn’t take long for him to spot her. She was standing by herself beneath the giant white oak, her head bent to her phone. He took in her sleeveless dress and flat sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. He was struck again by how very pretty she was.
As he headed toward the tree, another thought occurred to him. Had his father told Matt and Oliver about the fire department in California? He’d said he wasn’t going to tell their mother, but nothing was said about his brothers. Maybe that was behind his brother’s pissiness back there—that Jack wasn’t actually a “civilian.” He was a certified firefighter and perfectly qualified to correct his brothers’ procedural understanding.
Behind him, one of the engines rumbled to life as it headed down the Inn’s long driveway. He could ask his father later, but decided against it. If a secret was to be kept from his mother, telling Matt and Oliver wasn’t the way to go. The Wolfe brothers had always been close, but as kids they’d never been above ratting each other out.
Becca stood beneath the old white oak tree, her index finger hovering over the social media icon on her phone. She tried not to check much anymore. Who knows, maybe Shari had unfriended her by now. Maybe she no longer wanted Becca to know what was going on with Jacqueline Michelle.
Jacqueline Michelle.
Shari had let Becca name the baby. She had insisted on it. Jacqueline Michelle. That’s how Becca thought of her in her mind. The formality of it had always enforced a certain distance that Becca needed. Made it easier to think of her as someone else’s daughter. Which she was, of course. She was Shari Weber’s daughter.
Her finger tapped the screen of her phone, but too lightly to activate the icon. Once upon a time, she had checked Shari’s page often. After awhile, seeing the photos became too hard. The milestones started piling up. First birthday. First word. First steps. It was too much for her. She didn’t need confirmation that Shari was a wonderful mother. She was. Becca had known from the very start that she would be.
She did the right thing. Over and over, she reminded herself of this. Jacqueline Michelle had a great life with Shari. Shari could afford to give her things Becca would never be able to. I’d be a terrible mother anyway. I’m not exactly a good role model. Every time she was faced with a right choice and a wrong choice, Becca always chose wrong. Except for Jacqueline. The wrong choice had resulted in her birth, but letting Shari be her mother was absolutely the right choice.
Absolutely.
And yes, it had been wrong to hide her pregnancy from Jack, but sometimes you had to go with the lesser of two evils. Her deception there had given both Jack and Jacqueline Michelle better lives. If she and Jack had been pressured into getting married, they’d be divorced by now. They’d hate each other’s guts. It would have ruined their parents’ friendship. No question about that. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man like Jack fell in love with—not to mention legally bind his life to. It wasn’t something she held against him. No one in their right mind would throw in their lot with her.
But Sylvia’s lunchtime confession that she internet-stalked her son had cracked open that door again. Her finger tapped the screen harder this time and the app opened. It didn’t take long to find a post from Shari. Becca had opened this account just for her. Or for Jacqueline Michelle, to be more precise. She had few “friends” on it otherwise. Unlike Cassidy and Charlotte, who somehow had thousands of “friends” all over the world.
She tapped a photo and a little girl’s figure zoomed to fill the screen. She was seven now. She’d start second grade in the fall. Time flies. All parents say that, right? She was surprised to see how big Jacqueline Michelle was these days. Becca wasn’t known for self discipline but in this she was—she refrained from torturing herself by looking for photos of the baby she’d given up.
Jacqueline Michelle stood tall next to a pink bicycle, her long blonde hair streaming past her shoulders. She was tanned and slender. Obviously healthy. Athletic. Her eyes were lit with intelligence.
She had “golden child” stamped all over her.
Jacqueline Michelle looked like Jack. No escaping that reality. Becca hadn’t seen her in person since the day she was born. But year after year, she bore an increasing resemblance to her father.
She scrolled through Shari’s pictures. Nearly all of them were of Jacqueline Michelle. Her last day of first grade, her smile as wide as the ocean as she got off the yellow school bus. Swimming in a community pool somewhere, blue goggles and pink swimsuit. There was a short video of her riding a sparkly carousel horse in an amusement park, her blonde braids bouncing off her shoulders each time the horse rose and fell.
“Hey there.”
Jack’s deep voice startled her and the phone bounced from her hands as she tried to close the app before he could see. She watched as the phone flipped into the air. Luckily, Jack caught it before it hit the ground—and unluckily, because to her complete horror he caught the phone right side up and glanced at the screen before handing it back to her. Becca thought she was going to faint.
“Cute kid there,” he said, smiling.
Really, fainting was probably the best option right now.
“Are you okay?” He reached his arm to steady her.
She shoved the phone into her purse. “Yeah. Sure … the heat, you know.”
“Yeah, I forgot how hot it gets back east.”
“It’s not hot in California?”
“Not in the San Francisco area. Not melt-your-hair hot anyway.”
“Oh. I’ve never been.”
“You should go. Beautiful city.”
“Maybe I will someday.” Behind Jack, the firefighters were returning to the remaining trucks. “I think the fire’s out.”
“Ah, no fire. Just a bored little boy in the locker room. He pulled the alarm.”
The Inn’s guests and the quilting retreat attendees were slowly beginning to file back into the building. “Your ride’s leaving, I guess.” She nodded toward the fire engines.
“Oh, I didn’t come with them. I just happened to be at the bar when the alarm went off. I spent the morning with mom, and then she got tired so … I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all that.”
He shoved his hands hard into his pockets, which only served to draw Becca’s eyes downward. Between the dark grey shorts and the low hiking shoes were two expanses of finely-muscled calf, tanned skin beneath a light veil of golden hair. She’d already noticed the finely-muscled chest that filled out his Cornell tee shirt. Hard not to notice—Jack was so tall it put his chest right at her eye level.
“I thought you were working for your dad.” She changed the subject for him.
He made a sound that was half snort and half laugh. “He’s not putting me on a crew. He’s sending me out to talk to camps and the nursing home about fire safety. Stuff like that.” He laughed again. “I guess I should have come here in costume today. I could have entertained bored kids.”
He looked at her with a gaze that was far too serious, far too thoughtful. Her heart hiccupped into her throat. She hoped against hope that he wouldn’t ask about the picture of the girl on her phone.
“You helping your mom today?” He nodded toward the Inn. The lawn was empty now, except for Jack, Becca, and a lone Inn employee on a smoke break.
“I’m teaching a few classes. Guess I should get back in there.” She took a step toward the Inn and he fell into step beside her.
“I should too. I need to settle my tab with Mike.” He chuckled, his mood a little lighter now. “I ran off to see where the fire was.”
Becca gave a tiny
laugh, too. “They know where to find you, I’m sure.”
Inside the building, she expected him to peel off and go his own way. Skipjack’s was to the left of the lobby. The conference center was to the right. Instead, he veered right and walked down the hallway with her.
“What kind of class are you teaching?” he asked.
“Improvisational piecing.”
“And that’s French for what?”
He elbowed her gently right as Cassidy stepped out of a classroom up ahead. Her sister’s eyes widened, then one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.
“Making it up as you go,” she answered his question.
“I’ve never been any good at that.” His voice was low as Cassidy approached, his words meant just for Becca.
“I’ve never been good at planning ahead,” she hurried to reply. Her sister was gaining on them.
“Rescuing my sister from another burning building?” Cassidy said.
“Saving you all from the machinations of a bored little boy is more like it.”
His smile was amused and seemingly genuine, Becca thought. For an instant, Jack Wolfe felt like … a friend. Then Cassidy rushed her right past that thought.
“Mom texted me. Wanted me to go find you.”
“I’m delivering her now,” Jack said.
Becca caught the look on Cassidy’s face. She shot back her own look. Don’t get any ideas.
“Ladies. I’ll see you around.” Jack took a step back, pivoted, and headed down the hallway toward the lobby and Skipjack’s.
Becca noted the appreciative look on her sister’s face as Cassidy watched Jack leave.
“Sure you weren’t the one who pulled the fire alarm?” she asked, nudging Cassidy back into the moment.
“No, but it’ll probably be me the next time.” Cassidy laughed. “Although you seem to be the Wolfe family’s top priority when it comes to rescues.”
Hearts on Fire Page 10
