Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match

by Susan May Warren

  He felt the torment in her simple words, and it made him wince. “Oh, Jammie Girl. Just because life seems to have hit the skids here in Deep Haven doesn’t mean Seth was right. Women can be excellent firefighters.” He couldn’t believe those words actually exited his mouth, but for the first time, he believed them. She was good—too good. Too good to quit, for him or anyone else. The shadows of the evening streamed in through the tall firehouse windows, drenching the floor and her weary expression in somber tones.

  “I don’t want to mess up,” she said on nothing more than a breath. “I can’t.”

  He frowned, not sure of her meaning. “He should have seen you today, Ellie. You knew what you were doing, and you helped us save the Garden. He would have been proud.”

  Her chin trembled.

  “Hey.” Dan leaned close, lowered his voice. The hint of smoke still in her hair despite the scent of fresh soap wheedled past all his safeguards. He took a breath. “I was proud.”

  “You were?”

  With that she completely destroyed the porcupine fire-chief image. She was just Ellie, finally, the woman who wanted to find a niche here, the woman he’d seen the first night, reaching out with compassion as he landed at her feet.

  He could barely speak through his thickening throat. “Well, except for the part where I nearly had to tackle you.”

  She grinned, wobbly as it was, and gave him a shallow punch.

  “But, yes, you know what you’re doing. You’re not going to mess up. I know you’re going to keep this town out of trouble.”

  Her smiled faded. “I don’t know, Dan. I think I might be bringing it right to your doorstep.”

  He touched her cheek, turned her to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head, looked away, turning red.

  Realization came to him like the flow of lava, thick and hot. “Is this about our . . . uh . . . friendship?” The flare of memory of Mitch leaving the firehouse looking like he wanted to kick his dog made Dan sick. “Did Mitch . . . Ellie, did he say something crude to you?”

  The twitch in her face at his words made him want to put his fist through the wall. His bottled-up emotions tore at him, and he didn’t feel at all pastoral. “What did he say?” he growled.

  She hung her head. “He was right. I should have seen it sooner. I knew better.”

  Fear gripped him by the throat. “Knew better?” Oh, please, don’t say—

  “I shouldn’t be cultivating a friendship with one of my staff.” When she looked away from him, he felt as if he’d been one-two punched square in the chest. “I . . . I mean . . . I can’t be your friend but—”

  “Wait, Ellie. Listen, I don’t know what Mitch said to you, but he isn’t right. You do need friends. Everyone does. Just because you’re my boss doesn’t mean you have to hang a ‘black plague’ flag around your neck. I enjoy hanging around with you.” Okay, he teetered on a lie there . . . being with Ellie felt about a thousand times more wonderful than just “enjoying” her company, but now—or perhaps never—wasn’t the time to tell her that he’d missed her the last few days. That the gap she left in his life felt like a sucking chest wound, and he’d do just about anything to close it.

  He took her hand, traced a vein. “Listen to me. Yes, you do break the mold, but you’re doing your best, and you need to trust God to help you do it. Don’t worry about Mitch or Ernie or town gossip.”

  “Town gossip?”

  Oh no, had he said that? He made a face. “Well, the ladies at church saw us bicycling last Saturday. I had a few questions on Sunday.”

  “Sorry.”

  He cupped her chin. “Why? I’m not. I’m glad to know you, to be your friend.”

  She smiled, but her chin quivered. “Why, Dan? Why would you face town ridicule to be seen with me?”

  A dozen answers flashed through his mind, and none of them had to do with pastoral care. Because when I’m with you everything seems a thousand times more beautiful. Because underneath that armadillo shell is a woman of laughter and grit and tenderness.

  And because when I’m around you, I feel . . . alive.

  But those reasons felt too fresh, too close to his chest. He let his pastor mode kick in. “Because you’re my friend. And I don’t care what others think.”

  Somehow that seemed to satisfy her in a sad, melancholy way. Her expression spoke of relief, resignation. Exactly the type of response a “just friends” friend would hope for. So why did it hurt so much to look at it?

  “Thanks. I feel better.” She stood. “You’re a good . . . friend.”

  He felt as if he’d been kicked in the teeth yet was supposed to be happy about it. “You’re welcome,” he stammered.

  She moved into her office and closed the door, leaving him in the hall wondering why he hadn’t taken her in his arms and kissed her.

  Then he broke out in a cold sweat that he’d even seriously entertained that thought in the first place.

  12

  Ellie hunched at her desk reading the incident reports from the fire at the Garden. According to Ruby and two other eyewitness accounts, no one had been inside the house before they saw the smoke. Even Dan and Joe, who had been at the barbeque, couldn’t recall seeing the fire before Ruby did. Only one witness piqued her interest. Bonnie. Ellie now remembered seeing the accident victim, her arm in a cast, huddled in the group of horrified onlookers. The report identified Bonnie as a member of the board of the Garden.

  Ellie was glad to see that the woman had made sufficient recovery to resume her life. She hoped Bonnie had also learned a valuable lesson about drinking and driving. Ellie had to wonder why a woman who had supposedly embraced the values of the church had fallen into a place of despair so deep she used alcohol to try and claw her way out.

  Then again, everyone had their own method of grief therapy.

  She was halfway through the report about the Simmons fire from the fire marshal in Minneapolis—finally—when a knock spliced her thoughts. She looked up, then smiled. “Hey, Liza.”

  The potter looked her usual flamboyant self today in a pair of hip-hugger jeans, a beaded belt, and a hot pink, peasant-style shirt. She’d swept her black hair up in a matching pink scrunchie, and her eyes danced with friendly mischief. Ellie felt downright dowdy in her black work pants, boots, and blue firefighter’s shirt.

  “Hope I’m not disturbing you,” Liza said as she sat down in a folding chair across from Ellie’s desk. “I haven’t seen you for a while and thought I’d drop in. Are you in hiding?”

  Ellie laughed, masking how close Liza’s words landed to the mark. Since the incident with Mitch nearly a week ago, she’d narrowed her social life down to late-night walks with Franklin. And he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. “Are you out shopping?” She indicated the bag Liza had tucked beside the wooden chair.

  “No.” Liza picked up the bag, set it in her lap. “It’s a gift, actually.” She grinned as she reached into the bag. “A spaghetti bowl.”

  Ellie’s mouth sagged open a second before she took the bowl with Liza’s trademark seagulls and shoreline. Its weight surprised her and Ellie nearly dropped it. “This will feed an army, Liza. Thanks. Wow . . . I’m speechless.”

  Liza put the bag down. “I thought firehouses were known for their spaghetti.”

  “And their chili. Unfortunately . . . I don’t cook. I don’t have one Martha Stewart bone in my body.” Ellie made a face that had Liza laughing.

  “Well, leave it for Dan. He’s a great cook.”

  Ellie didn’t comment. She’d been having mixed feelings about the pastor—feelings that made her melancholy one minute, angry the next. Their conversation last week had left her just outside the circle of frustration. Dan had his opportunity to . . . to . . . deny that their friendship was part of his ministry SOP and didn’t. She should have never bought into the sweet charm of Mr. Do-Right. He hadn’t even followed her into her office.

  When she did sneak out an hour later, his sil
ence had stabbed at her. He’d been reading his Bible on the sofa and barely lifted his head to say good-bye.

  What did she expect? That he’d declare his feelings for her? Tell her his emotions pushed the line of pure friendship? For a second when she told him about Mitch, she’d seen protectiveness rise in his eyes. And it felt . . . good. Too good.

  It would behoove her to remember that the man’s job, after all, was to make people feel welcome, to embrace them into the community.

  She shouldn’t have expected more.

  Dan was her friend. Just a friend. That would have to be enough.

  “I confess. I’m here on a selfish mission,” Liza said. “I missed you in church last Sunday, and with Mona going through this dark time, I needed some girl talk. Can you sneak away?”

  Her words touched Ellie. “I’m game. I’ve been here since 6 A.M., trying to unsnarl the mystery of the Simmons and the Garden fires. My brain feels deep-fried, and my muscles have rigor mortis.”

  Liza laughed. “Let’s get outta Dodge then. I’m on dog duty. Do you think Franklin would hanker a run?”

  Ellie closed her file. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

  “It’s Joe’s. A stray named Rip he picked up a couple of years ago. A Lab.” Liza walked to the door, held it open.

  “Well, maybe he can get Franklin moving. My dog seems to be in a coma. I nearly have to drag him out of the room for his twice-a-day walk. You’d think I was overworking him.” She nudged Franklin from his curled position under her desk. “Get up, you oaf.”

  The basset hound groaned. Ellie reached down, grasped his collar, and forced him to his feet. “You’re acting like an old man. C’mon; let’s go chase some seagulls.”

  The dog looked at her with disdain. Ellie chuckled and snapped on his lead. He followed her with great reluctance, if the sighing was any indication.

  She caught up with Liza outside, where a chocolate brown Lab sniffed at a nearby bench.

  “Rip, I presume?” Ellie asked, falling into stride as Liza angled out toward the beach. “And how did he get that name?”

  “He destroyed a pair of Joe’s pants the first day they met. Joe is pretty particular about those jeans. Guess he’d climbed a few mountains in them and wasn’t thrilled about Rip’s alterations.”

  “Really? Joe seems like such a homebody type. I can’t imagine him climbing any mountains.”

  Liza laughed. The wind played with her hair, lashing about her face as they veered off the sidewalk and onto the rock. Liza unleashed Rip and let the dog run. Franklin plodded along unhappily. “Joe is a best-selling author. Before he came to Deep Haven, he traveled the world and wrote fiction stories about those travels.”

  “Joe Michaels, Mr. I’m-going-to-be-a-father-and-I-can’t-wait-to-get-home-to-my-darling-wife Joe Michaels?”

  Liza’s half-sided smile looked more serious than amused. “That’s him. God did big stuff in Joe’s life when He sent him here. In all our lives, really, but Joe especially found some kind of peace. It turned him from a wanderer to a man passionate about his family. That’s probably why their loss has hit them both like a steamroller.”

  “Their loss?” Ellie’s stomach tightened.

  Liza stopped, picked up a stick, and threw it for Rip. Her eyes were moist when she looked at Ellie. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know.”

  Ellie shook her head. A sick feeling seeped into her bones.

  Liza took the stick from Rip, who’d retrieved it, and threw it again. “We prayed for them Sunday morning in church.”

  Ellie tried not to let worry sharpen her words. “Is Joe okay?”

  Liza sighed. “Yes.” Her voice thickened. “Mona lost their baby. It’s been difficult. Especially since the baby didn’t seem to have any of the symptoms they feared . . .”

  “Symptoms? Do you mean because of Joe’s brother?”

  Liza frowned at her. “You know about Gabe?”

  “I met him at the Garden fire. Other than being pretty shook up he seemed like a nice guy. Were they worried their child might have Down syndrome?”

  Liza nodded. “But it turns out the miscarriage had nothing to do with the baby.”

  Oh no. Ellie felt slightly weak asking, “What do you mean?”

  “Mona has endometriosis. It’s so severe she’ll have a hard time conceiving again, if at all.”

  Liza’s love for her friend showed in the grief flooding her dark eyes. Ellie couldn’t dodge the sharp twist of loneliness. “I’m so sorry. That’s tough.”

  Rip danced with anticipation, barking encouragement, so Liza threw the stick. Franklin had flopped down at Ellie’s feet.

  “Tell me how things are going at the shop. I saw your new collection.”

  “With the moose? I love it. I was inspired last summer while on a canoe trip with Wilderness Challenge, a camp just up the Gunflint Trail. We were out in the middle of Pigeon River when suddenly this huge bull moose walked out into the river and stood there, staring at us. I think my heart stopped for a full ten minutes as I simply watched him. Have you ever seen a moose up close?”

  “Uh, no.” Ellie made a wry face. “In fact, I’ve never even seen one at a zoo. I’ve seen a few antlers, however.” She thought of Mitch’s truck and the rack she saw on the hood.

  “They’re magnificent animals,” Liza said. “I started a new line when I returned. I’m going to unveil a twelve-piece clayware set in my winter catalog. I’m hoping to beef up sales and interest in my main line.”

  The afternoon sun hovered over the far western rim of the lake, dabbling the waves with golden kisses. The fragrance of woodsmoke and autumn tinged the air and tugged at Ellie’s roughened nerves. She felt herself relaxing into Liza’s friendship.

  “So, you’re holed up in your shop?” Ellie found a piece of driftwood and waved it in front of Franklin’s nose, hoping to drum up a response. “I’m honored that you emerged to drag me out of my cave.”

  “Oh, I finished my last order and shipped it off to be fired.” Liza gave her a scalawag look. “Besides, all work and no play makes Liza—and Ellie—dull girls.”

  “Well, you’d have to try pretty hard to get me out of my dull rut. I’m afraid I’m a lifer.”

  Liza laughed. “Oh, please. I’d say you’re just about the most exciting woman in town. You hang around fires bossing men around, you get to rescue people, and you’ve got a hook into the heart of the most eligible bachelor in town. I guess you’re the envy of every woman within one hundred miles.”

  Ellie gaped at her. “Hardly. First of all, I don’t get to boss the men around. They won’t even listen to me. Secondly, I don’t rescue anyone; I supervise. And thirdly—what bachelor?”

  Liza shook her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

  If Liza named Mitch as her favorite admirer, Ellie was going to drop into a ball and wail. “No.”

  “Dan. You can’t see the way he looks at you? I see him scanning the audience every Sunday. Don’t tell me you don’t see him light up when he notices you.”

  Ellie stared at her scuffed work boots. “He does that with everyone. He’s very friendly.”

  “Wait. Are we talking about the same Dan Matthews? Mr. Reserved?”

  Ellie blinked. “I guess I wouldn’t call him that.”

  Liza laughed. “My point exactly. Dan has a . . . reputation for his cool demeanor. He doesn’t get riled or overly excited, and he’s not the kind of guy who wears his emotions on his sleeve. I think he has to consult ten different theology books and pray for a week before he opens his mouth.”

  Ellie had seen plenty of emotion in his eyes when she told him about Mitch. And the night at the Simmons fire when he blurted out dreams and threats. And what about— “But he is emotional. I saw him put his arm around that girl who works for you, and they’re going to a wedding toge—” She bit off her words, cringing.

  Liza’s eyes were wide and full of mischief. “Katie? They have mutual friends. He probably hadn’t seen her in a while, and yes,
they’re carpooling to the wedding with us . . . but it’s not a date.” She smiled, and it looked downright sassy. “You’re jealous.”

  Ellie frowned and tugged on her dog’s leash to pull him to his feet. “No, I’m not. I’m just facing reality.”

  Liza laughed, and the outburst startled a group of seagulls that had been following them. “Ellie, you’re a hoot!”

  “Liza, really, Dan and I are just friends.” She didn’t miss how her voice turned sour on the last two words. She turned away, suddenly aware of how her throat constricted, as if saying those words left her bruised and swollen. What a fool she’d been for reading into Dan’s innocent affection. “He treats everyone that way.”

  “What do you mean you’re ‘just friends’?” Liza demanded, one eyebrow up. “I saw you biking, and Joe told me you played hockey together. Dan doesn’t share his hockey fanaticism with anyone. Babe, somehow you got into his world.”

  Ellie harrumphed. The last thing she needed right now was to dig up the memory of his antics on the ice . . . or off. The way he’d held her had felt so . . . so . . . perfect. She gritted her teeth against a betraying expression. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t date one of my firemen.”

  Liza bent down and rubbed Rip behind his ears. His dog tags jangled. “Why? It’s not like you’re in the army or anything.”

  “It wouldn’t be right. How will any of the guys respect me if they think I’m favoring one of the men?”

  “So you do like him.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Liza caught her by the arm. “You do; I can tell. I mean, what’s not to like? He has gorgeous eyes and deep chocolate hair—”

  “Wide shoulders and a kind smile,” Ellie added softly.

  Liza smiled smugly. “So, is there a romance smoldering at the firehouse?”

  Ellie shook her head. “No. Dan is . . . wow. I mean, yes, if I were in the least persuaded to invest in a relationship, I might consider Dan. But I need a man who isn’t afraid of letting me do my job. Dan says he supports me, yet I can’t help but notice the slightest bit of doubt that edges his expression, like he’s one breath short of wanting to drop to his knees and beg me to quit. The second I mean more to him than a fellow firefighter is the second he’ll be sabotaging my work. Begging me to switch professions. Become a cookie baker or a Sunday school teacher.”