“Maybe I should skip the aerial and do a feature on the bachelors of San Gabriel. I’ve been doing some research on the curse. I found out why every firehouse dog here is named Stan. It’s after Constancia, from the bachelor curse.”
Stan, hearing his name, lifted his head from its nest on his paws. Melissa bent down to scratch his ears.
“So?”
“So.” She rose to her feet again, like a lawyer making her closing argument. “You could have broken with tradition and named the dog something else. Fluffy. Bunny.”
Stan gave a little whimper. Brody didn’t blame him one bit.
Melissa continued with a flourish. “Which leads me to believe you aren’t as skeptical of the curse as you pretend. Which makes it a legitimate story. Why shouldn’t I include it in the special?”
Brody took two quick steps until he was nose to nose with her. The vanilla scent of her hair nearly made him forget his anger. Nearly. “The curse is absurd. I allowed the name Stan because I didn’t want to upset the guys. Firemen are superstitious. And if you say one word about bachelors in this damn special, I will pull the plug. Literally. I know where Kevin’s getting his power. And no Ella on the aerial. That’s final.”
The sparks of green fire spitting at him could have set the building on fire. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m being a fire captain.”
She opened her mouth, then surprised him by holding her fire. “Fine.” She pushed past him, the soft skin of her arm brushing against his. He watched her go, unable to tear his eyes away from the sensual sway of her jeans-covered rear.
It didn’t occur to him until later that she’d given in with suspicious ease.
God, he was infuriating. Just the type she couldn’t stand, ordering everyone else around in that arrogant way. If she hadn’t been so furious with Brody’s high-handedness, she would have followed his orders. But she told herself that he’d left her no choice. He’d said, “No Ella on the aerial.” Well, there would be no Ella on the aerial. But she hadn’t promised anything else.
If he got upset with her, it would be because everyone at the firehouse always followed his orders. Always.
The more she saw him in action, the more she understood why. Many of his firefighters were young and unseasoned, with fiery tempers. In this category she included Ryan. She’d seen him flare up several times. The station had the added friction of the two female firefighters, who seemed perfectly capable to her, but whose presence galled the older veterans. When quarrels broke out, she found herself, along with the others, looking around anxiously for Brody.
Three days before the taping, she asked Ryan who would be carving the turkey. Within minutes, a shoving match erupted between Ryan and Vader. Two, the other witness, rolled her pretty turquoise eyes and announced her disgust with them both. Horrified that she’d caused a fight, Melissa ran into Brody’s office. “Captain Brody, I think you should get out there. Hoagie and Vader are fighting.”
Brody cocked his head to listen. “Don’t you have any brothers?”
“No, but I know what a fight looks like.”
“How much blood is there?”
“None. They’re just pushing each other. But I feel terrible, because they’re fighting over the special.”
He sighed. “It’s not about Ella, is it?”
“Well, kind of. It’s about the turkey.”
“I won’t make the obvious joke.”
She was too worried to laugh. “Someone’s going to get to help Ella carve the turkey, and Ryan thinks it should be him. Vader thinks his superior upper body strength makes him the best choice.”
Brody rose lazily to his feet. “I really prefer not to interfere in these things, but since you’re upset, I’ll make an exception.”
He strolled out of the room, as Melissa hopped to keep up. “But you interfere all the time.”
“Do I? How irritating. I’ll have to stop that.”
“No, no, you shouldn’t. They’d probably all kill each other if you let them.”
“Well, maybe I should let them.” They walked into the lounge, where Vader and Ryan were standing chest to chest, raring to go.
“No fighting in the firehouse,” ordered Brody. They immediately fell apart, still glaring bloody murder at each other. “Outside, everyone, so we can settle this.”
The firefighters streamed outside. Melissa grabbed Brody’s arm. “You’re going to let them fight? That’s not going to solve anything.”
“No brothers, right?” murmured Brody. When they had all reached the backyard, a tidy square of well-trodden lawn, Brody addressed his troops. “Okay, where’s one of our married men? There you are, Double D. Who carves the turkey in your house?”
“Well, Cap, it used to be me, but my wife makes the cuts a heckuva lot better, so now she does it.”
“So you’re saying we should see who carves the turkey better?”
“Whoo-hoo,” shouted Fred. “A carve-off! I’ll get some birds.” The firefighters sprang into action, and in less than two minutes a long table had appeared, on which two leftover roast chickens were displayed. Ryan and Vader were each handed a knife. No one except Melissa seemed to be bothered by the idea of sharp knives in the hands of two virile young men who had been fighting tooth and nail a few minutes ago.
“The rules.” Brody planted himself at the end of the table. “The rules are, whoever can extract the most meat with the fewest number of cuts will win. Carvers, ready?”
Ryan and Vader eyed each other like knife-wielding prizefighters ready to take each other down. Melissa hoped they understood they were supposed to attack the chickens, not each other. “And . . . begin!”
They pounced on the poor chickens. The other firefighters immediately took sides, shouting out bets and heckling the two competitors. “Two bucks on Vader!” “Hoagie, go for the wings first!” “Not so deep, moron.” “Try a little freakin’ finesse!” Stan ran in circles around the table, barking frantically and nipping at random pant legs. If only she had a camera, thought Melissa, laughing at the sight of two big strong guys making a mess of the greasy roast chickens. The Great Turkey Carve-Off. It would make a fantastic blooper piece for the end of the special.
Vader managed to take off two wings and one leg before he pressed the knife too hard and the slippery chicken spurted off the table. Ryan raised his fist in triumph, but his bird was an even bigger mess. It looked as if a wild beast had torn it apart.
Brody, shaking his head in disgust, called a stop to the massacre.
“Both of you should seriously consider taking some lessons from Double D’s wife. In the meantime, since I am the senior captain of this station, I will be carving the turkey. And anyone who fights over this damn special again will be put on Smokey duty for the next two weeks.” He turned on his heel.
“Smokey duty?” Melissa asked as he passed her.
“Instructing kids in fire safety. They actually like it, but they pretend not to,” answered Brody before heading into the station. Melissa watched him go, her respect for him rising another notch. He’d managed to bring the fight to an end, prevent future fights, and entertain the guys in the process. And look damn good doing it too.
Chapter Twelve
Two days before the taping of the Thanksgiving special, Nelly slowly made her way into the nondescript office building called, innocuously, Medical Suites. Down a hall, second door to the right, Dr. Daughtry awaited her. Even though she was used to these appointments, her stomach tightened with nerves. She knew very well her time was coming. But the “when” of it—that was the question. Even though Dr. Daughtry always said he couldn’t tell her that precisely, she was convinced he had the truth locked somewhere inside his head.
She greeted the nurse-receptionist, who showed her immediately into the doctor’s office. The privilege of old age, or of the terminally ill; either
way she had both bases covered. With bustling energy and a folder of X-rays, the ever-cheerful Dr. Daughtry strode into his office and sat behind his desk. As always, she plastered a defiant smile on her face. That smile had helped her soldier on since she’d first gotten the news.
“Well, Dr. Death?”
He winced. “Please don’t spread that nickname around.”
“Where I’m going, no one’s going to care.”
“You’re one of a kind, Nelly, you really are.”
“I know that. And I know what’s in that folder. What I don’t know is how long I got.”
He opened the folder and extracted X-rays and some typed reports. “No one can tell you that, Nelly. But I want you to look at your latest scans. This was taken a month ago. And this is the most current.” He pointed to the shadowy area that she knew so well, and her face tightened. It had grown so much bigger. How could it get that much bigger in just one month? From the beginning, she’d promised herself no lies. Whatever the grim truth, she wanted to know it.
“It’s growing awful fast, I guess,” she said.
“Awful fast.”
“How much time? Can you tell me now?”
“Less than we thought.”
“C’mon, Doc, that’s no way to treat a dying lady. Give me a real answer.”
“No more than six months.” He gave it to her simply and sympathetically, but a punch in the gut was a punch in the gut.
“Fudge. You can’t hold it off? I got some things to wrap up here.”
“Are you still set against chemotherapy?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s nothing I can do. ”
“Fudge.”
“Nelly, I think it’s time we spoke to your family.”
“No!” she said sharply. “Not yet. It’ll throw everything off. They’ll be too busy worrying about me to look out for themselves. And that’s what I’m trying to take care of.”
“As you like, but soon you’ll have to, Nelly. They deserve to know the full extent of your condition. We need to start thinking about hospice care. You’re going to get to a point where you can’t function at home.” She nodded reluctantly. Hospice care was the last thing she wanted. If she could write the end of her own story, it would be quick and happy—meaning she’d know her family would be all right.
The hassles they put her through, that family of hers. As she waited at the curb for Haskell to pick her up, she cursed the bad luck that gave her such stubborn descendants. Why couldn’t Melissa see the truth right in front of her? How much time was she going to waste before she admitted her feelings and did something about them?
She glanced up at the sky. Right now she really needed to talk to Leon. “The problem, Leon, is that Melissa doesn’t know how to fight for what’s hers. Even though they see each other nearly every day, they’re too darn ‘professional’ to take advantage of the situation. Professional! Professional doesn’t keep you warm at night.”
A woman passed by, pushing a stroller. She gave Nelly a pitying look, but Nelly didn’t care. Her conversations with Leon were her business.
“What if Ella gets tired of Ryan and decides to steal Brody away? I wouldn’t give Melissa a snowball’s chance in a bonfire. Not because she isn’t ten times as good as Ella. Because she doesn’t stand up for herself. Remember all the tricks I pulled to get rid of that Alice May you had an eye for? I’m not sorry for it either. All’s fair in love and war, and that’s a fact. It’s a battle you gotta fight till you can’t fight no more. But she doesn’t see it that way. I don’t know, Leon. I’m at my wits’ end. If you got any pull up there, you gotta think of something. You always were a charmer. Put that cheeky smile of yours to work, if you don’t mind.”
Haskell pulled up and opened the passenger door of his truck. She climbed in. “Sorry I’m late. Got stuck with the captain.”
“Making an old lady wait, you should be . . . did you say ‘captain’?”
“The job I’m working on. Boss is a fire captain.”
“Who is it? What’s his name?”
Haskell shot her a suspicious look. “I probably shouldn’t say.”
“Oh, pish. You’re not a doctor, Haskell.”
“Well, it’s Captain Brody over at Station 1. Helluva good guy. I’m headed back over there after I drop you off. It’s his last day off and we’re trying to finish the kitchen.”
Nelly looked up at the ceiling of the truck, mouthing a thank-you. She knew it. Leon had come through for her. Must have been that smile of his.
As soon as she got home, she called Melissa at work. “Your dad needs a ride home from his job.”
Melissa groaned. “He started drinking again, didn’t he?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s fine. Something about his truck.” She should have worked out a more detailed story, but she’d wanted to get this done before her nap. Dr. Death appointments always took it out of her.
“Grans, you have no idea how busy I am. This stupid special is taping in two days, and I can’t even do my own work. I just had to cancel my meeting with Rodrigo to help Ella with a wardrobe consultation.”
“This is after work. It’s not far. And you know how much it would mean to him. He’s been trying so hard, Melissa, you know he has. And you barely give him the time of day.”
“Is this some plot to throw me and my father together?”
“No! I swear it’s not that.” Nelly loved being able to deny an accusation with a clear conscience.
Nelly heard her granddaughter’s heavy sigh. “Fine. Give me the address. I’ll swing by after work.”
Nelly hung up, feeling exhausted. Would it help things along if Melissa saw Brody outside of work, where they wouldn’t be so worried about being “professional”? Who knew? But the way she saw it, Leon had dropped the opportunity in her lap. She might as well jump on it.
That evening, Melissa arrived at a house still under construction in the lovely wooded subdivision just beyond Fern Acres. When the work was finished, it would be a nice house, she thought. Pretty location, surrounded by birch woods, the nearest neighbors barely within shouting distance. Two stories, unusual for Southern California. Gabled windows, a porch. She spotted a silver Airstream trailer parked at the edge of the yard.
She walked to the front door—or rather, the empty space framed by studs where the door would eventually be installed. Peering in, she saw no signs of life. She rapped her knuckles on one of the studs.
“Hello? Is Haskell McGuire here?”
She heard the clank of tools being put down, followed by firm footsteps. At the sight of the man who appeared, a shocked little thrill went through her. Captain Brody. Brody as she’d never seen him before, wearing torn jeans, a tool belt, and no shirt. Dizzy, Melissa gripped the stud and feasted her eyes.
Hard-muscled and furry-chested, he had a sprinkling of sawdust in his dark hair and on his shoulders. Oh, those shoulders, powerful and glistening with sweat. Her eyes traveled down his chest to his muscular stomach. Not an ounce of fat to be seen. Her mouth went dry, and she had a sudden urge to lick that one particular drop of sweat off his belly. She dragged her eyes up so they wouldn’t stray below his belt buckle. When her eyes met his, she felt as if she’d been caught with her hand in a cookie jar.
The nerve of the man, catching her off guard like that. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I live here, but I suppose I should have cleared it with you ahead of time. Haskell!”
Haskell hurried in, wiping sawdust off his face. “Melissa? Why are you here?”
“Grans said you needed a ride.”
“Huh? Why’d she say that?”
“I have no idea. Is your truck okay?”
He shook his head. “She’s up to something. Thought she seemed strange when I picked her up at lunch.”
Melissa flattened her
self against the door frame to let him pass. She looked back at Brody. With the first impact of his bare chest over, she could think more clearly.
“My father is working for you?”
He nodded.
Disaster. Her ex-con father, whom she never talked about with anyone, was working with Brody. Not only that, but they seemed friendly with each other. Too friendly. How much did Brody know about her family? She didn’t like this one bit. “Why? I mean, out of all the electricians in San Gabriel, why?”
“Got his name from the phone book. He’s a hard worker.”
“Is he?” Melissa’s dread grew. Her father had a knack for ruining everything. Was this going to be like the time he scared off her junior prom date by pantsing him?
“Yes. He’s doing an excellent job.”
“Why wouldn’t he? What are you implying?”
“No reason. I just said it in case you were wondering.” Then, in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “Do you want a soda?”
She refused to be distracted. “Why would I wonder?”
“No reason. I have Snapple, Coke, beer. Wanna beer?”
“Is that what you’re doing, drinking beer with Haskell?”
“Of course not. I know he doesn’t drink.”
Melissa clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms. If he knew that, what other embarrassing things did he know? “What else did he tell you?”
“Melissa, calm down. I know how to mind my own business.” He took a step toward her, and she held up a hand.
“Oh, really?” This was getting worse and worse. She knew her father was trying to talk more, thanks to AA. “What has he told you about me?”
Brody looked uncomfortable. “What are you so worried about? I needed an electrician. He needed work. End of story.” He took another step toward her. “What he’s done in his life doesn’t reflect on you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil. But may I point out that you have no idea what he put me through.”
“Yes I do. He’s told me a few things.”
Great. Complete, utter humiliation. Brody knew all about her past, all about her father, the drunken ex-con. She didn’t want his pity or his sympathy. And that’s what she would inevitably get. Blindly, she turned to go.
The Fireman Who Loved Me Page 12
