Burning Ambition
Page 2
He was married, she guessed. Or taken. Good-looking, if slightly shaggy, he had an easygoing, friendly manner and warm, blue eyes that put a person at ease. Impossible that a man like him would be single. Not that she was looking for someone. Not here.
“Five. Six if you want to screw with the others. They like it girlie.”
Once the coffee was brewing—with six overflowing scoops—she wandered around the kitchen, snooping absently, waiting for her pick-me-up to get done. Derek poured himself some health-nut cereal and added milk from a carton that had a Don’t Use My Damn Milk sign taped to it.
She unwrapped her microwave dinner, started it cooking and then went to the coffeemaker to help herself.
Two more firefighters strolled into the kitchen. One had his eyes on the coffeemaker and the other made a beeline for the refrigerator.
“Hey,” the dark-haired one on the coffee hunt said to Faith.
“Penn, right?” she asked.
“That’s me.” He smiled at her as he took down a coffee mug that said Never Do Anything You Wouldn’t Want to Explain to the Paramedics on the side. “Welcome to the department.”
“Thank you.”
“Ah,” the second guy, a redhead, said, walking up to her at the counter. If she remembered right, his name was Nate Rottinghaus, the son of her not-so-favorite lieutenant. “You.”
Faith tensed and met his eyes. “Me.”
“You know, the captain would win that competition if he was paired with a three-year-old.” He poured his coffee, walked to the long table that ran up the center of the room and sat down across from Derek.
“What the hell, Nate?” Derek said.
“Careful or she’ll figure out what an ass you are,” Penn added.
Faith moved to the end of the table to force Nate to look at her. “I like to know what I’m up against. Got anything else you want to get off your chest?”
He perused her with lazy, smug eyes, as if he was silently calculating how long she’d last in the department. She’d bet the idiot couldn’t count that high.
“There are lots of jobs where your looks could help you get ahead. The fire department isn’t one of them.”
The microwave beeped and Faith spun around, her appetite suddenly gone.
“Ignore him,” Penn said. “He’s used to it.”
Faith gave a forced smile. “Already done.”
“I was going to track you down.” Penn hoisted himself up on the counter and ripped open a protein bar. “As the new kid on the block, you’ve been nominated to be on the auction committee for the upcoming Burn Foundation fundraiser.”
“Nominated, huh?” She pulled out her meal and set it down to cool. “I feel honored.”
“You lucked out. Not only do you get to work with me, but the auction’s in a month and the bulk of the planning is already done. Easy way to get volunteer points.” He took a drink of coffee. “You know, in case you need points with the higher-ups.” He said it with a conspiratorial grin, taking the sting out of his words.
“I’ll probably need twice as many points with my dad,” she joked.
Granted, it was only her first day, but getting her colleagues to think of her as something beyond a female, beyond the chief’s daughter, was going to be a constant battle. She could handle Penn’s friendly jibes. Hell, she could handle Nate’s asshole remarks, as well. But she couldn’t wait for the day when she wasn’t the newbie trying to prove herself.
CHAPTER TWO
JOE HAD COME TO DISLIKE the cheery, “sunshiny” couch in the sunroom of his mother and stepfather’s house in Corpus Christi.
His mom was almost always resting there whenever he visited these days. Carmen loved the bright yellow with ivory pinstripes pattern, but the mere sight of it made Joe’s shoulders tense and his mood go to hell. As if it was the couch’s fault she was stuck there.
He softened when he zeroed in on her face. Even as she slept, her features weren’t peaceful. Her skin creased between her eyes and her lips turned slightly downward. To see such solemnity on the face of a woman who’d lived her life full of joy was jarring.
Not wanting to bother her even though she slept more than she was awake these days, he settled into the armchair near her feet and picked up a golf magazine from the end table. He didn’t make it through the first article before she stirred.
“Mama,” he said when he saw her watching him. “How are you doing today?”
Carmen raised herself up a little, arms shaking from the effort, and leaned against the two throw pillows behind her, smiling warmly. Joe hurried to her side to help.
“Sit down,” she told him. “I’m having a good day. I’m glad you’re here.” She patted her short gray hair, chuckling and rolling her eyes when she discovered the left side was matted. Her face seemed puffier than when he’d visited last week.
“Did Jorge leave already?” Joe had let himself in when no one had answered the door.
“At about one. I told him to,” she said before Joe could protest his stepfather’s absence. “Isa’s here somewhere. I’m not alone.”
Isa, the housekeeper, had been part of the package when Carmen had married Jorge. It’d taken Joe’s mom months to get used to the idea of having someone else clean her house, but Jorge had insisted he wanted his new wife working less and enjoying life more. To Joe, it had seemed pretentious. But now that his mother was all but bedridden due to a harsh combination of lupus and vasculitis, it was a godsend having Isa there for several hours a day. She wasn’t a nurse, but the housekeeper could let one in. Though Carmen didn’t yet need round-the-clock care, Jorge had hired a visiting nurse to come out twice a day when he was at work.
“How are you doing, Joey? You look tired.”
“Long night at work. Didn’t get much sleep.” He grinned. “Why do you think I come over here?” The truth they didn’t mention was that Jorge, as a partner in Smith, Vargas and Wellington, had an unavoidable business trip, and Carmen couldn’t stay by herself for more than an hour or so at a time. Her body was too weak for her to get around without help, so anytime she had to use the bathroom or wanted something, she required assistance, much to her frustration.
“Did you get a good one last night?” his mom asked. “Nah, just a bunch of nothings.”
Her eyes sparkled as she told him about a two-alarm fire she’d listened to over the scanner a couple nights ago. She knew the lingo as well as he did, and they could talk for hours about the subject. “It reminded me of the one you fought at that factory a few months back.”
“That was a good one,” Joe agreed. Nothing wrong with his mother’s memory.
“You’re going to get that job, you know, Joey,” she said out of nowhere. “Your professional life is an overwhelming success. I’m proud of you.”
He met her eyes and nodded. He was about to thank her when she continued, shutting him up.
“It’s your personal life that worries me. What about a woman?”
“What about a woman?” he asked in dread. It had been a while since she’d gone on this particular rant, and he hadn’t missed it.
“Did you find one yet?”
He forced an image of Faith out of his mind. “I do okay on my own.”
“You’re a wonderful person, Joey, but you need a woman.”
“When the time is right, I’ll find one.” Now he was spouting empty promises, but it was better than dashing her hopes or making her worry more.
“It’s time to step up the search, son. You’ll need someone to talk to about the good fires after I’m gone.”
He shot up off the chair. “Do you need something to eat, Mama? I could use a snack myself.”
“Stop doing that, Joe.” Steel underlined her tone.
“You know I hate it when you talk like this.”
“You can hate it all you want, but you have to face the facts,” she said gently. “Changing the subject every time I want to talk about the future is not only futile, but it ticks me off.”
&n
bsp; He perched on the coffee table and put his hand on her bony one. “I don’t want to think about it.”
She squeezed his fingers, her grip firmer than he’d expected. “Believe me, I don’t want to think about it either, sometimes, but I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. It’s a natural thing for a woman to want to make sure everything’s in place before she goes.”
“You don’t know how long it will be. No need to talk like it’s tomorrow.”
“It could be,” she said matter-of-factly, and Joe knew she was right. “If you won’t find a woman who’s worthy of you, my greatest wish is for you to find a place here with Jorge and his sons.”
“I can’t move here—”
“That’s not what I mean, Joey.” She gazed out the window for several weighted seconds, her eyes following the flight of a Couch’s kingbird as it landed on the branch of a bush, but her thoughts were obviously elsewhere. “By place I mean…a family. I want you to feel like they’re yours.”
Joe leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, still holding her hand. He stared at the floor, debating how frank to be.
“Jorge is a good man,” she continued.
“Of course he is.”
“You don’t like him.”
Joe turned that over in his mind, shook his head. “That’s not true. I didn’t like him at first, but I don’t dislike him now.”
“But there’s something holding you back.”
“Not at all. I just don’t fit in.”
“Sure you do. You all play golf. You like sports.”
“Those are interests we have in common, yes.” The grand sum of shared interests, come to think of it.
“Why can’t you embrace them as your family, then?”
He stood and paced. “They don’t respect me. My career. To them, I’m a bumbling blue-collar guy who has no place in their overpaid lawyer world.”
Concern deepened in her eyes, twisting the blade of guilt that was perpetually buried in his gut. “That’s not true—”
“Maybe it’ll change if I get the job as assistant chief.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Joey. Jorge doesn’t care what you do for a living.”
“Have you ever noticed how he introduces me? And how he introduces Ryan and Troy? I’m Joe Mendoza, his stepson. End of story. They’re Ryan and Troy, junior partner and partner at Smith, Vargas and Wellington. His pride and joy. Men after his own heart, men with brilliant futures.”
“They’re his sons, Joe.”
“I know that, and I don’t begrudge them the fact. It’s not the lack of a blood tie I’m talking about. It’s…” He shook his head, realizing he was getting worked up, which would in turn get his mother worked up, and that was the last thing she needed. “We just come from different worlds. They’ll never consider firefighting as good as law.”
She studied him as he forced himself to sit on the coffee table again. “Tell me why you’re going for this job, Joey. Is it because you want to be assistant fire chief or because you think it will make things easier with your stepfather or, Lord forbid, make me happy?”
“I want the job,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve had my path planned out since I was a kid. You know that. I’m going to the top eventually, just like Dad.”
But she wouldn’t be there to see it, possibly not when he became assistant chief and definitely not when and if he was lucky enough to climb to the top position in the department.
“I’ve pushed you,” she said quietly, introspectively.
“You’ve encouraged me. There’s a difference.”
“A fine line,” she agreed. “Have you really given this serious thought lately? You love fighting fires, Joe.”
“Hell, yes, I love fighting fires. I love the fire service. I’m a good leader. The position is perfect for me—a natural next step.”
“If it will make you happy. But you won’t be in the action as much.”
That was putting it mildly, but he merely nodded.
“You’ve never been the desk jockey type.”
“I wouldn’t call it a desk job.”
She stared at him so long he squirmed. “You listen to me, Joey. I want you to think hard about this. Think until you’re purple in the face. Think about what Joe wants. What you want your life to be like. Don’t include me or the legacy of your father or anything else in the equation. Only you.”
“I want to move up in the fire department.”
She made a succinct sound, a cross between a hiss and a shush. “Not today. You give it some time. Don’t worry about me.”
As if that would happen.
He wouldn’t admit it out loud, because she’d throw a fit, but he wanted like crazy to get that promotion while his mother could still appreciate it. He wanted to share that victory with her. “I won’t worry about you if you won’t worry about me.”
She stared at him, her strong jaw set, and shook her head. “No deal.”
“How about a different deal? I’m going to get that job. And I want you to be around to see it. Can you do that?”
It was a ridiculous plea, he knew, but he had to grasp on to something.
Instead of scolding him for being in denial, his mother smiled at him and nodded, as if the two of them could conspire to fool fate. With that sparkle in her eye, he could almost believe it.
“You’ll make one heck of an assistant chief, Joey.”
FAITH’S NERVES WOUND tighter as she and her dad approached the front door of Ruiz’s Restaurante, home of the island’s best fish tacos. Food was the last thing on her mind this evening, though.
She’d spotted her mom’s Ford Escort in the parking lot and thanked the powers that be when her dad didn’t notice it. He’d pulled into a space about five spots down from the Escort and never bothered to look around.
Faith hurried in front of him so she would hit the host station first.
“How many?” the lanky high school kid asked as they approached.
“We’re meeting someone,” she muttered, and headed right past the guy, spotting her mother in a booth by the window. She didn’t look back at her dad, just hoped he would blindly follow.
“Hi, honey,” Nita Peligni said.
Faith smiled, bracing herself.
“What on earth—?” her mom began.
“What are you doing here?” her dad asked at the same time.
“Faith.” All warmth was gone from her mother’s voice.
“Dammit, Faith.”
“Wait,” Faith said quietly but firmly. “Dad, sit down. Please, Dad.”
He studied her, as if the reason for this meeting was jotted on her forehead. Then he turned his tired eyes toward his soon-to-be-ex-wife. “Okay with you, Nita?”
“I don’t know what good it’s going to do, but fine. Faith, what is this about?” Nita crossed her arms, her dark hair—all natural and not a hint of gray—falling in a bob just below her ears. She wore a peach T-shirt that washed her complexion out, and the shadows under her eyes aged her. It was evident the separation wasn’t agreeing with her, but far be it from Faith to point that out.
Tony slid into the booth across from Nita and Faith took a seat next to him, trapping him there.
“Well? What gives?” her dad asked her, shoulders sagging.
“I just wanted to spend some time with my parents. Together. I’ve been back for two months now and I’m sick of visiting you one at a time.”
She was staying with her dad in the family home—which was rambling and empty with just the two of them. No wonder he’d seemed so distraught when she’d come back from San Antonio. He’d been wandering around in the echoing twenty-five hundred square foot house by himself. Her mother had moved into a sterile, colorless, two-bedroom apartment on the mainland.
“We’re getting a divorce, Faith.” Her mom looked at her with those unwavering dark brown eyes that could scare small children, not telling Faith anything she didn’t know. Just the one fact she didn’t want to accept.
“We’re not making a mistake,” Nita said resolutely.
Her dad was noticeably silent, crunching on chips, eyes on the table.
“Dad?”
He only shook his head. “I’m sorry, princess. I know it’s hard on you kids, even though you’re grown up.”
“It’s because of my career, isn’t it?” Faith asked, desperation clawing at her to somehow find the key, keep them together, make them see reason.
“What?” her dad exclaimed with both outrage and shock. “No. Your choice to become a firefighter has nothing to do with our marriage.”
“You guys have argued about it for years,” Faith said, spouting the suspicion that had been gnawing at her since they’d broken the news of their separation. “Ever since I was twelve years old and told you that’s what I wanted to do.”
“It’s something I will never understand, Faith,” her mom said, repeating the same tired chorus. “It’s not a job for a woman. It’s not safe. I thought maybe when you broke your collarbone it might knock some sense into that head of yours, but you’re back at it. Just waiting until the next injury, God forbid.”
An unfamiliar uneasiness rolled through Faith’s gut, but she ignored it. The collarbone had healed. The building that had collapsed on her in San Antonio should be a distant memory. “A man would’ve suffered the same injury I did if he’d been standing in that exact spot when the roof caved in. It had nothing to do with ovaries or breasts.”
“Faith.” Her dad held his palm up, as he so often had, and waited until she pressed hers to it out of habit. That it was something they’d done for as long as she could remember, a sign between her and her dad. “Your mother will always worry about you. Can’t change that. You scared us when you got hurt.”
“So does that mean you think I shouldn’t have gone back to the career I love?”
“No,” her dad said, avoiding her mother’s steely gaze.