“You’re just . . . not what I expected,” he said in a low tone. “And something about you running into a fire doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Yeah, I caught that. But guess what; life isn’t what we expect, is it? It twists and turns, and we never know how it will end up until we get there. All we can do is hold on and hope we survive. Hope that somehow what we’ve done has made a difference along the way.”
The slight tremble of her jaw belied the tough-as-an-armadillo demeanor she wanted to convey. He frowned at her words.
“And the difference I’m going to make is to teach you guys how to save lives.” Her voice tightened, taking with it the vulnerability from her expression. Raising her hands, she closed them into tiny fists that betrayed frustration. “I might be a woman, but I’ve worked hard for this chance. I nearly had to get on my knees and beg for this job, and I’m not going to lose it to a religious he-man who can’t see beyond my braids to my brains.”
His gray matter worked to find words, but somehow her impassioned expression took the breath right out of his chest.
Her eyes darkened. “You know, for a pastor, I was kind of expecting a ‘Wow, you’re right. I am a hardheaded lug’ or maybe a ‘How are you settling into Deep Haven? Would you like some help?’ or even ‘Thanks for pulling my stupid body out of the flames.’ ” Her sassy sarcasm had returned, along with a one-hand-on-her-hip pose that screamed, “You slimeball.”
“Uh, well . . . I’m not real keen on the hardheaded lug option . . .”
Was she actually glaring at him? It had been a while since a woman did that. Even the choir director at church disguised her glares with a wry grimace.
She blew out another breath. “Okay, maybe I should rewind and do this over. Keep it short and sweet.” She stood and extended her hand. “Hello. The name is Chief Karlson. I’m your new boss, and if I ever catch you doing a lamebrain stunt like that again I’ll kick you off the force so fast you’ll get windburn. Okay?” She raised one soft brown eyebrow and waited for him to shake her hand.
He wanted to shake her. “Listen, I didn’t mean—”
Three sharp raps on the door, and then it opened, halting Dan’s words. He pinned Ellie with a scowl as Joe Michaels and his wife sauntered in. Dan wrinkled his nose against the smell of smoke. “Hey,” he said, forcing a smile.
“You look like a piece of toast,” Joe said and shook Dan’s hand.
Mona curled her fingers around Joe’s forearm and held his turnout coat over her other arm. The petite blonde looked nearly as tired as her husband, her hair in tangles, her green eyes etched in worry.
Dan reached out and found her hand. “Thanks for visiting me, Mona. I know you’re tired these days.”
She rewarded him with a smile. “I’m nearly out of the morning-sickness stage, so I’m feeling much better. Besides, I’ll sleep in tomorrow and make Liza bake the muffins.” Mona shared her Victorian bookstore and coffee shop with a potter who added spice to the town of Deep Haven. More than once Dan had contemplated asking Liza out. But truth be told, Liza Beaumont, with her wild bangle earrings and flamboyant style, scared him just a little.
He needed someone who would blend with the rhythm of Grace Church and with Dan’s own low-gear speed. He didn’t know exactly who, but the standard Proverbs 31 description came to mind, along with the word docile.
“Doc says you’re going to be okay, but I nearly had a heart attack when you flew off that ladder,” Joe said.
“Get in line,” Ellie said dryly, her arms folded. Her eyebrow raised in silent reproach.
Joe shot her a brow-furrowed look.
“Joe, Mona, this is Ellie Karlson.” For elaboration, Dan couldn’t decide between saying “our new boss” or the more revealing “the most recent thorn in my flesh.” He opted for, “She pulled me out of the fire.”
Joe shook her hand, introducing himself and Mona as local bookstore owners and neatly omitting his status as a best-selling author under the pen name of Reese Clark. With Joe’s down-to-earth demeanor and his usual faded jeans, Dan more easily pictured Joe as Mona’s handyman than the slick wordsmith featured on the back of Reese’s hardcovers.
“Thanks for your help,” Joe said to Ellie. “Although I should say that next time you shouldn’t be so close to the fire. You could have been hurt.” He smiled as if to soften his rebuke. “You don’t look familiar to me. Are you new in town?”
Funny, although Dan had known her for the space of ten minutes, he could nearly see Ellie’s gears clicking, formulating a response. He wondered what would win—diplomacy or her cutting wit. He had the sudden urge to throw his body in front of Joe before the guy got shredded.
She shocked Dan completely with a wide smile that seemed a thousand times friendlier than anything he’d received. He couldn’t deny a confusing spark of jealousy. “Thank you. That’s good advice. And . . . uh . . . yes. I just moved here. Got a new job.” Her eyes raked over Joe’s attire, flickered at Mona, and then landed back on Dan. She grinned. This time he saw a gleam in her eyes that felt downright predatory. He wanted to pull the covers over his head and hide.
“What kind of job?” Joe asked.
Ellie took a deep breath, and that resigned, somber look returned to her face, this time without her defensive battlements. Obviously she reserved her bark and bite for the town pastor. Still, had he expected to win her affection with his “over my dead body” outburst? He suddenly felt like a jerk.
“I’m a firefighter. I heard the alarm on my scanner, and I thought I could help.”
Joe quirked an eyebrow.
Dan rolled his eyes. “Joe, this is our new fire chief.”
For the space of several seconds, Joe just stared unblinking at Ellie. Then, with a warm smile, the man transformed into Benedict Arnold and said, “Welcome to Deep Haven, Ellie. Glad to have you at the helm.”
Dan wanted to strangle the guy with his IV line.
Ellie slowed her Jeep Wrangler as she drove by the steaming, charred remains of the log cabin. With her canvas window open, the night wind carried the pungent smells of burnt wood, melted plastic, and scorched fabric. The two responding fire crews had managed to stop the blaze before it burned to the footings, but nothing easily recognizable remained inside the charred timbers. A few hearty firemen were still layering the house with water, preventing any embers from sparking. Through the broken windows, she watched firemen slogging through the patches of water and steam, turning over singed furniture and other larger pieces with their fire rakes during overhaul inspection. At least they were thorough . . .
And tough. She’d watched this ragtag volunteer crew go at what in Duluth would have been a three-alarm fire with nothing more than two old water hoses and sheer guts. Their courage stomped her recriminations to a fine powder when she remembered how they’d risked their lives to pull a baby, two little boys, and their mother from the clutches of the blaze. If the family survived, Ellie would count it as a miracle. She hadn’t even thought to check on the baby girl she’d helped revive. She wondered how a baby with her special condition would fare if she lost her mother.
The sheriff’s department had its own group inspecting the scene, and Ellie noticed the coroner’s van, obviously here to collect the remains of the lone casualty. Although he’d been burned beyond recognition, she’d managed to pick up a few particulars from Joe, Mona, and Dan before leaving the hospital—particulars like the man’s criminal history of arson and Dan’s gut suspicion that the blaze was premeditated.
The night had turned lavender as the sun forced its way into the morning. Ellie felt like she’d pedaled about thirty miles, all uphill. Her muscles strummed with fatigue, and her brain was trying to push its way through her frontal lobe. Soot and dirt covered her jeans and probably her face, and her hair had unraveled out of her braids. She had no doubt she looked like an unkempt campfire girl. Obviously now was not the time to introduce herself to the local law. She needed a groomed, starched appearance and a demeanor that sc
reamed “Chief.” Not that she felt particularly comfortable being typecast as that, but until they learned to respect her years of training, her knowledge, and her fire savvy, the external trappings of “capable” would have to do.
She’d fought enough fire-station machismo to know that she’d have to keep her chin up and her skin thick to earn her status. No emotions. No fears. Especially no tears. If she wanted her firefighters to obey when she told them what and where to attack, she had to be tougher, stronger, quicker, and braver than the men she served. No one needed to know that inside she felt like she had the first day she showed up at the Colorado fire camp, a naïve teenager, wondering what she’d signed up for.
Dan’s words rang in her head: I have this sick feeling that I’m the only one who knows this. Perhaps now, while the cinders cooked and the need for decent leadership heated the air, was the perfect time to alert the local law to her arrival. If this little town was stereotypical, news of her appearance would be among the top headlines in the morning paper anyway.
Pulling in across the street, she gulped a breath for courage and climbed out of the Jeep.
The smell of ash and the breath of water moistened the air. She strolled up to a man dressed in a gray police uniform and a black down jacket. He stood watching the medical examiner team-bagging the victim, a twisted look on his face.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly, standing slightly behind him. “Are you the chief of police?”
He turned, his dark eyes more concerned than threatening. “Can I help you?”
Ellie forced her hand out, complete with a smile. “Ellie Karlson. I’m the interim fire chief.”
She had his full attention now, along with a disheartening scowl.
“I hope Romey mentioned me.” She recalled at least three conversations with the Deep Haven mayor, and in the last one she could nearly hear him telling her he’d informed the city police. “I just arrived tonight.”
The man recovered well, took her hand, gave it a solid shake. “Sam Watson, chief of police. And, yes, I guess Romey did mention that he was sending someone my way.” His gaze traveled over her quickly, and when he met her eyes again, a smile hinted on his face. “You weren’t the someone I was expecting, but I’m glad to have you aboard.”
Then he turned to the steamy shell of the Simmons home. “Your timing is uncanny. Did you see the fire?”
Ellie scrambled to unglue her tongue from her mouth. No gasps? No sneers? No “over my dead body” comments? “Yes. I heard it on my scanner. I went with one of the firemen to the hospital.”
The chief nodded. “I heard Dan was injured. How’s he doing?”
She stepped up next to him and buried her hands in her jeans-jacket pockets. Early morning on the North Shore in September carried with it the anxious breath of winter. She shivered. “Had a dislocated shoulder. They set it and I think he’s going to be fine.” Well, his body would recover. She wasn’t so sure about his mind. Why had he attacked her? So far, three out of four Deep Haveners had welcomed her with kindness. Did she emit some sort of odorous pheromone that caused the town pastor to rear up on his hind legs like a grizzly and come out slashing?
“Dan seems to think the fire was set by the victim. He evidently has a history of arson?”
The chief scowled, his lips tight. “Spent two years in county lockup for arson. Got out a month ago on parole.”
“Has he had a hard time fitting back into life?”
Sam nodded slowly. “I thought he’d been pulling out of it, however. Smoky Joe’s BBQ gave him a job, and I saw him in church last week.” He sighed. “Guess we don’t see these things coming, huh?”
Ellie frowned. “Thing is, the typical arsonist has a fascination with fire. A sort of love-hate relationship. A suicide burn doesn’t fit the profile.”
“Well, Leo didn’t fit the standard profile. He was sloppy, and we caught him nearly red-handed, running from the fire he’d set.”
“Strange. Most arsonists enjoy watching their handiwork—even have a sense of disappointment or grief when the fire is extinguished. Running isn’t usually their standard reaction. How was this fire set?”
“He doused some garbage outside the house with gasoline and set it ablaze.”
“Sounds like a crime of passion more than the work of an arsonist.”
Chief Sam watched with a grim set of his jaw as the ME toted Leo’s body to the van. “Maybe the fire was accidental.”
Ellie let herself feel the pain in his voice. An accidental fiery death of a man convicted of arson. The scenario felt . . . convenient. And she couldn’t escape the irony. If it had been accidental, fate had surely enacted its revenge.
That thought felt like a blow right to the sternum. She didn’t want to imagine how fate might repay her mistakes.
Thankfully, her life and Leo’s weren’t in the hands of fate. Which, in Leo’s case, pushed this inferno into the realm of suspicion.
“I’m going to swing by tomorrow in the light of day and nose around, see what I can find. Fires usually leave some sort of signature.” Ellie turned again toward the chief, hand outstretched. “Thanks—”
“Hey, you!” The strident voice held fatigue and not a small amount of fire-induced hoarseness. Ellie whirled and saw one of the firemen striding toward her. Being over six feet, he held a fire axe like a toothpick, and his soot-streaked face added menace to his appearance. The look he gave her felt invasive, even predatory. “Don’t I know you?” The way he said it made her glad that he didn’t.
She drew herself up. “I don’t think so. Your name is?”
“Mitch Davis. Captain.” He frowned at her, as if disbelieving her words. “You were at the fire.”
Ellie nodded slowly, pretty sure his words leaned toward accusation.
His face darkened further, defying the impossible. “I don’t know what you were thinkin’, but don’t ever run into a fire scene again. You could have been killed. And the last thing we need is spectators—”
“Mitch, this is—,” Chief Sam started.
“—getting in the way of our job.”
“—the new fire chief.”
Mitch stared at Chief Sam like he’d been backhanded. He blinked. And then Ellie’s worst expectation materialized in his expression. His face screwed up in disbelief and maybe horror.
“What?”
Even the police chief took a step back.
Ellie nearly stuck out her hand in a peacemaking gesture but then guessed she might lose it to the fire axe. “Fire chief. Interim.” Fury gathered at the way this man had reduced her to sentence fragments. Ellie blew out a breath, raised her chin. “I know it comes as a bit of a shock, but, yes, I’m here to fill in until you find your permanent replacement.”
If looks could kill, she’d be a smoking pile right where she stood. Then, lifting his axe in a movement that sent ice through Ellie’s veins, he pointed it at her. “We’ll see about that.” Flicking a death look at Chief Sam, Mitch turned and stalked back to the scene.
She forced herself to exhale. “That went well.”
Chief Sam looked at her, and a slow smile slid up his face. “I think you’re going to fit in just fine here, Miss Karlson.”
Later, as she slowly motored past the tragedy traced by steam in the wee light of morning, the police chief’s kind words cushioned her fatigued brain. Round two with the town law had gone significantly better than the warm-up event with the town’s religious representative. Perhaps she should have gone with her instincts and tried to befriend Dan first, then eased into her announcement with grace and finesse.
Except the pastor hadn’t been the older but kinder chief of police. He’d been a devastatingly handsome fireman who boldly announced she was a dream. Wow, did that feel good. But she’d do well to remember that despite her deepest, most hidden wishes, she couldn’t afford to let her heart off its leash. Even for friendship. The minute she started investing emotionally into her firemen, beyond professional comradery, was the minute she
compromised everything for which she’d slaved. Over the years she’d had her share of offers . . . from marriage to a few proposals that would have made even her father blush. But she’d handled them with the icy demeanor of a woman who knew that the second she let herself fall into a fireman’s arms was the second she put his life in danger. Instead of concentrating on his job, he’d channel his energies into protecting her. She’d attended enough funerals to know she didn’t want to be at the receiving end of a folded flag.
One black dress was enough.
Even her oratory to the town preacher about making a difference could return to haunt her. It sounded a bit too desperate. And, from her limited experience, desperate information was nothing but bait to a man of the cloth. The last thing she needed was Dan donning his pastor garb and peeking inside her soul. Not that she’d let him anywhere near her. His growled threat still rang in her ears. Over his dead body? How did a man with the sensitivity of a bullfrog ever get to be a pastor? She’d wanted to slug him. The man sounded like an echo from her past . . . something she’d spent over a decade learning how to dodge.
“Seth, you think I’m making a difference, right?” she said into the sky, into the expanse beyond the darkness where the stars still flickered despite the onslaught of morning. Angry tears edged her eyes and she clenched her jaw. Fatigue and two ugly emotional battles had obviously pushed grief to the surface.
She’d simply let Preacher Dan get under her skin. Something about him seemed a little too smug, too invasive. Too he-man. Next time, she’d double her defenses when he walked into her airspace.
She turned onto Main Street, cruised past dark and forlorn houses angled along the shoreline, and finally pulled up next to the Gull’s Roost Hotel. Its wavy, sunken porch hinted at past battles with the lake, and the whitewashed building spoke of anything but elegance and comfort. But the moment Ellie saw the place, complete with a front porch that overlooked Lake Superior and promised a spectacular sunrise, she knew she’d found her home. Temporarily, at least. And pending a serious fire inspection. But for now it was cheap, close to the fire station, and allowed her only friend to bunk with her.
Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match Page 3
