“What if Mr. Garrett kills you?” The fear in her voice made him want to scream. He hated fear. Better to make a joke out of it, laugh it off, the way he’d done his whole life.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ll probably die from wet toilet paper first.”
She giggled. “You act like you’re so tough, but you’re really nice. Thanks for my koala. I’m going to call him Mulligan from now on.”
They both jumped as the door of the shed swung open. Garrett filled the open space with his bulk. “Who took the goddamn toilet paper? Can’t a man take a crap in his own house without little fuckers stealing his Charmin?”
Mulligan rolled over, shielding Franny with his body. He felt her trembling behind him like a tiny bird. “I took the toilet paper. Here.” He thrust his hand behind him and Franny plopped the roll in this palm. He raised his hand toward Garrett. “Sorry. I didn’t know it was the last one.”
“You mean you snuck out of here and stole my TP? You’re supposed to be in time-out.”
“I know. But I really, really had to go. I didn’t want to make a mess in here.”
Behind him, he heard Franny smother a soft laugh.
“I don’t believe you, punk. You’re nothing but a liar. Get over here.”
Mulligan didn’t want to move, because then Garrett would see Franny. “Maybe . . . um . . . later? I haven’t finished my time-out. I been thinking about how bad I am and how I can get better.”
“Get over here.”
At that moment, Mulligan knew several things to be true. One, Garrett was going to beat him again, no matter what he did. Two, if he let Franny get discovered, she might get whipped, and he couldn’t stand for that to happen.
“Coming.” He made a show of stumbling as he got to his feet, in the process grabbing the old lighter he’d spotted in the corner. Who knew if it even worked, but he had to try. He whispered, “Run when I distract him,” to Franny, who clutched at his leg.
He gave a big groan as he lumbered to his feet, masking the flick of the lighter. He held it behind the roll of toilet paper, which he still held in his other hand.
“What’s that sound?” Garrett demanded.
“Maybe it’s Santa Claus,” suggested Mulligan, frantically flicking the lighter again. Finally it caught. A flame leaped to the roll of toilet paper and almost immediately engulfed it, turning it into a fireball.
Garrett yelled. Mulligan yelled too, a long rebel whoop as he tossed the toilet paper fireball toward a workbench on the other side of the shed. A pile of rags burst into flames. Garrett dove toward the fire, grabbing a bucket to suffocate the blaze.
Mulligan felt more than saw Franny scurry out of the shed. Garrett didn’t notice, since he was busy trying to snuff out the flames. Mulligan hooted loudly, trying to cover the sound of Franny leaving.
“I’ll get the hose,” he yelled as soon as Franny was safely clear of the shed.
“You little punk!” Garrett yelled. “You’re going to pay for this!”
Mulligan dodged the fist aimed at his head and ducked out of the shed. It was dark outside, and he stumbled as he ran toward the back porch, where the hose bib was located. He passed Franny crouched under a shrub.
“Go to bed,” he hissed at her. “No one will know you were here.”
“I wanted to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m okay. Now, go.”
But she shook her head stubbornly. He grabbed the hose, turned on the spigot, and dragged it back to the shed. Flames jumped from the roof. The smoke made him cough, so he shielded his mouth with one elbow and plunged into the shed with the hose.
Garrett was passed out on the floor.
“YOU REMEMBER WHAT happened next, right?” said Lizzie. “You dropped the hose and dragged Mr. Garrett out of the shed. The fire department came and put out the fire. Later on Mr. Garrett beat you with the hose.”
Mulligan was back at Under the Mistletoe, shaking and shuddering. “Yes. Believe me, I remember. It hurt like a son of a bitch. But I probably deserved it. I set his shed on fire. I was goddamn little firebug.”
A flame leaped from the corner of the store, sending a drift of smoke swirling against his face mask. It reminded him of the terrifying speed with which that shed fire had gotten out of hand. God, he hadn’t thought about that episode for years.
“But you also tried to put it out. That was your first attempt at firefighting.”
He squinted at Dream Lizzie, who sat on the pile of smoking rubble, a crimson splash against the smoldering ruin. With her elbows resting on her knees, and her chin cupped in one hand, she gazed at him with a look of pure adoration. He’d seen the same expression on Real Lizzie’s face. He didn’t deserve that kind of look. He kept telling her that, but she never listened.
“Lizzie, sweetheart, I hate to ruin the mood, but putting out a fire I started shouldn’t gain me any points. Garrett was right. I was a punk. I was a little juvenile delinquent. I would have done anything to survive back then.”
“You’re annoying me again,” said Lizzie, with a toss of her head. “If all you cared about was survival, would you have put yourself out to protect Franny? You could have just turned her over to Mr. Garrett. Let her take the punishment.”
It had never crossed his mind to do such a thing. Not once. It made him angry that Lizzie would even bring it up. “Bullshit. No one would do that. Franny was a sweetheart.”
“Did you ever wonder what happened to her?”
Remembering Franny was almost too painful. She’d been so sweet and vulnerable. “I might have looked it up. But I never saw her again. They kicked me out that night.”
“Since you looked it up, you probably know that the local news covered that fire, and the increased media attention brought to light the situation at the Garretts’. They were banned from taking in any more foster kids. Not only that, but a lovely family happened to be watching the news when a reporter asked Franny about the fire. Franny’s sound bite was adorable. She said, “I was so worried about Santa Claus, in case he went into the wrong building. But he’s fine! And my koala’s fine too!” And she kissed her koala bear. That family called the news station right away. They adopted Franny and she had a wonderful childhood after that. She’s engaged to be married to a navy SEAL. She still thinks about you and hopes you’re okay.”
A strange emotion welled inside Mulligan. Relief? Happiness? Gratitude? Something along those lines. “That’s good. A happy ending. She deserved to be happy.”
“Now, did you ever wonder what would have happened to her if you hadn’t been at the Garretts’ with her? Or if you hadn’t tried to protect her?”
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Stop there. I don’t want to know.”
A shadow crossed Dream Lizzie’s face, making her look sorrowful, which he didn’t often see with Lizzie. She was always so lively and bright-eyed. “It’s not pretty. You thought of Franny as pure and innocent, but she was also brave. She tried to help you, remember, by bringing you that toilet paper? Remember how she wouldn’t leave until she knew you were all right?”
“Yes. But I didn’t need her help,” he said hoarsely. “I would have been fine. She shouldn’t have done that.”
“That’s her nature, Mulligan. She was kindhearted and courageous, even as a child.”
He stared at Dream Lizzie, thunderstruck. “Oh my God. She’s just like you, Lizzie. The first time I saw you, I thought you reminded me of someone. It was Franny. She was this little sprite, and I would have done anything to protect her. That’s why I’m remembering her right now, because Franny is just like you.”
Lizzie shrugged. “Personally, I like to think of myself as unique. But I like Franny. If you had never existed, she would have been at the Garretts’ by herself. She would have defied Mr. Garrett over and over again in order to help the other children. Not always with toilet paper, of course.”
“Small favors,” Mulligan muttered. Smoke was swirling again, and he could hear banging from somewhere very
far away.
Dream Lizzie continued relentlessly. “Eventually she would have run away. After that it’s fuzzy. Her life could have gone in many different directions. I guess I’m not as good at this as Clarence.”
“So she could have been fine.”
“Maybe. But that night put her on the best possible path to a happy life. It was all thanks to you, Mulligan.”
“Don’t say that.” Even his hallucination of Lizzie was all wrong about him. When would he ever convince her she needed someone else?
“My wonderful Mulligan.”
“Don’t, Lizzie. Just don’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight of her. But when he opened them again, dying for another glimpse of his dream girl, she was gone. And he’d never felt so alone in his life.
THE STRIP MALL at the corner of Sierra Vista and First had been transformed into a sea of fire rigs and flashing lights, crisscrossing hoses, and busy firefighters. Lizzie and Stacy didn’t want to interfere with their work, so they hung back. The fire raged and bellowed like an angry god wreaking vengeance. Stacy kept one arm locked with Lizzie’s, as if afraid she’d dive into the fire herself.
“Lizzie,” said a low voice behind her. She swung around. Captain Brody, in civilian clothes, gave her a grave smile.
“Brody!” She flung herself into his arms. As her brother Fred’s commanding officer and a firefighting legend, Brody had always intimidated her. But she’d never been happier to see him. Captain Brody had near-magical skills when it came to fighting fires. “What’s happening? Do you know?”
“I know.” He pointed to the place where the most intense flames and smoke still roiled. “That’s the worst of the fire, right there. The collapse of Under the Mistletoe put out the flames there, for the most part, and now they’re using heavy streams on Yogurtland and the rest of the mall.”
“Yes, but what about . . .”
He fixed her with his charcoal-gray eyes, simultaneously commanding and reassuring. “Mulligan. I know. The good news is that Under the Mistletoe is no longer burning. If he survived the fall, and there’s a good chance he did because it was only one story, he’s not in danger from the flames.”
“The bad news?” Lizzie would always rather hear the full truth.
“The bad news is that his radio is out, and we don’t know if he’s been able to switch to the Mayday channel. We can’t communicate with him. And he’s somewhere behind a giant pile of extremely dangerous rubble. They can’t approach from this side.”
“There’s a back entrance, right? There has to be. All businesses have fire exits.”
“Yes, there’s a back entrance. Unfortunately, the collapse of the façade means the entire structure is extremely unstable. A rapid intervention team has been designated—Fred and Vader are on it—and an Urban Search and Rescue squad is working on an entry point.”
Lizzie held tight to Stacy’s arm. “How long will that take?”
“They’re working as quickly as they can, believe me. In the meantime, take heart, Lizzie. He’s not at risk from the fire, and as long as nothing else collapses and he can hang on, we’ll get him. You know how tough he is. He’s Mulligan. Have you ever seen him back off from a fight?”
She shook her head slowly. “We got into a fight the first time we met.”
Brody chuckled, and squeezed her shoulder. “There you go. Hang on to that thought, Lizzie. Remember who we’re dealing with here.” With one last reassuring smile, he strode into the melee of firefighters.
“How did you meet Mulligan, anyway?” Stacy asked curiously.
“You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Lizzie winced as she watched a firefighter run toward the rear of the building with an axe. Maybe some distraction was a good idea. “Fine. It was a softball game. Firefighters versus EMTs.”
OF COURSE SHE’D noticed Mulligan right away. Not only did he have that tough-guy, bad-boy appeal, with his broken nose and bronzed skin, but he blew everyone else away with his on-field skills. Word had it he used to be a minor league baseball player. She wasn’t bad herself, since she’d been a fast-pitch softball star in high school. Mulligan started as the pitcher, but then switched to catcher to give someone else a chance on the mound, since no one managed to get a single hit off him.
Lizzie got the closest, poking a slow curveball into the hole between first and second. But she tripped on her way to first base and got thrown out by her own brother.
As she jogged off the field, she made a face at Fred, then one at Mulligan for good measure. He raised an eyebrow, then made an “I’ve got my eye on you” gesture, pointing two fingers from his eyes to hers. He wore a dark blue San Gabriel FD T-shirt and actual baseball pants, which he filled out in a way that had all the women on the field sighing.
Lizzie flounced to her team’s bench and muttered to herself for a while. As a Breen, she possessed a highly developed competitive streak. She hated making mistakes like that.
“It’s just a game,” one of the other EMTs told her. She glared at him, then looked again at Mulligan, who was in his pitcher’s stance, one hand behind his back, rolling the ball in his hand. Every line of his body spoke of complete dedication to the next pitch, to his team, to the game.
“Right,” she told the EMT, and bided her time until her next at-bat. By then, Mulligan was the catcher. As she approached the plate, he met her eyes and winked, and her knees literally went weak. She lifted her chin and gave him what she thought of as a cool smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. With her pulse skittering into triple time, keeping her composure was a challenge.
“You swing that bat pretty well,” he told her. “Not too many girls can handle my curveball.”
“Is that some sort of a double entendre?”
“Do you want it to be?”
Million-dollar question right there. “Dream on, fireman.”
“Batter up,” said the umpire, interrupting their standoff.
“Sure thing, Ump,” Mulligan said, giving her a last lingering glance that told her the conversation would continue.
Mulligan squatted behind the plate, and oh Lord, how his thigh muscles bulged when he did that. She caught his scent, sweat mixed with dust from the diamond, and her mouth went dry. You’re not supposed to smell the catcher, she lectured herself. Or drool over him. She wrenched her gaze away from him and forced herself to focus on the pitcher.
Maybe having her right brain occupied with Mulligan helped her left brain do its job, because as soon as the first pitch flew into her strike zone, she whacked it right over the head of the second baseman, who happened to be Vader. It caught a breeze and sailed over a leaping Ryan Blake, who was playing center field. Everyone started shouting and running, and she took off for first base. This time she didn’t trip. She rounded first, soared past second, took time for a quick glance into the outfield, then raced toward third.
Everyone on the bench was jumping up and down yelling things like “Go! Go! Go!” and “Stop! Stop! Stop!” so she blocked them out and headed for home. Mulligan straddled the plate, a solid wall of man, his glove extended. As she slid into home base, everything happened in slow motion. His glove swept down, she rolled to escape it, collided with his leg, then felt his entire weight come down on top of her. A grunt, then the umpire’s yell, “Out,” then the sound of her heartbeat hammering in her ears.
“Get off me,” she yelled, shoving furiously at him.
“Give me a second.” His voice sounded strained.
“Are you okay?” His body was hard and muscled, every inch of him. She felt his heartbeat, heard his labored breathing. Saw his dark eyes taking her in. Noticed his broken nose, wondered if it had come from a baseball game or something more dangerous.
“I’m fine, except some chick knocked me off my feet. Are you okay?”
She remembered that she’d been called “out” and scrambled out from under him. The umpire, a firefighter from Porter Ranch, hel
ped her up. “Ump, that’s a bullshit call. I was safe. I saw my foot touch the plate right before he tagged me.”
“You never touched the plate,” said Mulligan, slowly unwinding himself from his position on the ground. “You rolled away from it.”
“Because . . . because . . .”
“Because I was about to tag you out.”
Standoff. The air crackled between them. Maybe another guy would have given in to please the pretty girl, but the expression on Mulligan’s face told her he took the game seriously and would never patronize her like that. He acknowledged her as an equal competitor. Since she’d grown up fighting to make her brothers take her seriously, she could have kissed him for that.
And suddenly she wanted to, more than anything.
“Fine. Nice play, fireman.” She walked off the field, catching Mulligan’s surprised expression. Good. She wanted to keep him on his toes. He was entirely too sure of himself. Not that he wasn’t justified, with his ripped physique and bad-boy looks. But he didn’t need to know how he affected her; it would just go to his head.
The EMTs lost the game, so by the time everyone adjourned to the Easy Out, a nearby sports bar, she was more than ready to toss down a beer and flirt with the nearest cute guy who wasn’t Mulligan.
She picked Ace, the brand-new rookie. While plenty good-looking, he did nothing for her in terms of chemistry. But they had a good time laughing about the game over mugs of amber ale. Maybe he was getting a little too friendly, and playing with her hair a little too intimately. But that was a matter of opinion, and certainly not Mulligan’s business. So she was shocked when Mulligan, wearing a dire expression, interrupted her pleasant flirtation by dragging her onto the patio, currently deserted due to the Dodgers game playing on the screens inside.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His dark eyes flung a wild challenge at her.
“Excuse me?” Astonished, she hid behind a sip of her beer, but he plucked her mug out of her hand and set it on a nearby table.
“You’re Freddie Breen’s little sister, aren’t you?”
It's a Wonderful Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novella (The Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel) Page 4
