Dan stared at her, the frown tightening on his brow.
She shook her head. “Sometimes words aren’t enough. Just show them that you love them.”
The words from his sermon preparation flooded into his mind: “This is My command: Love each other.”
Love? Of course he loved Bruce and Mona and his entire congregation.
“Love each other as I have loved you.”
The thought swept through him like a hot breath. Love like God loved him. Sacrificially. With passion and mind-blowing dedication. Love enough to risk becoming a baby to a teen mother. Love enough to weep for Lazarus, enough to raise the son of the widow of Nain. Love enough to sweat blood in the garden of Gethsemane wrestling with His painful purpose. Fully wise. Fully self-controlled. Fully emotional. Fully God, reaching out with perfect love.
Charlene’s words nailed him: An island. Dan never once stepped over his own line in the sand to risk his heart. His service to his flock was polite, not passionate. If he wanted to impact them, he had to invest in them. Perhaps he didn’t have to produce the right words but rather show the right emotions. He had to embrace them with the perfect, passionate, agape love of the Almighty.
Mona took his helmet and stared at it, resting it in her hands. “Sometimes I think you hero types give yourselves too much credit.” She had a smirk on her face, but it faded in a second. “You know, you’re just the messenger. You only need to deliver God’s love. God will do the rest.”
God will do the rest. Dan nodded, but the words stirred him. He’d been trying to be the picture of God in his flock’s life for so long, he’d forgotten he was only the messenger. Dan wasn’t responsible for solving their problems, just pointing them to the one who could.
Perhaps, instead of trying to solve their problems, instead of having the answers, he would simply be . . . himself. Transparent.
He touched Mona’s hand. “How are you? I haven’t . . . I should have . . .”
She turned her hand and held his. “Getting by, day by day, in God’s grace. I know He has a family out there for us. I’m just waiting to see how He is going to accomplish that.”
Dan stared into her green eyes, and her faith soothed the ragged edges of his heart. “God bless you, Mona.”
She smiled. “Oh, Dan. He already has.” She looked at Joe, who stood a breath away. A tear caught on his lower lash. When he smiled at his bride, Dan’s throat thickened. Oh, how he longed for a love like theirs, a love that could ride out the storms, a love that wouldn’t fold against a stiff wind.
A love that would survive the refining fires. Obviously he hadn’t found that kind of love with Ellie.
Love?
As Mona stood to hug her husband, Dan closed his eyes, bridling a soft groan. Yes, he loved Ellie Karlson. She’d stormed into his life with all the gentleness of a hurricane, yet he had never felt so breathtakingly alive. So hungry for a person’s smile. So revived by her laughter. She challenged every assumption he held about women, but that seemed to only make his blood flow thicker, filling every gap in his chest. Ellie Karlson had leveled his defenses, and for the first time in his life, showing that love felt invigorating. Right.
And she’d just axed him out of her world.
He clenched his jaw against a rush of pain. Now was not the time to think about the gash she’d left in his heart. Opening his eyes, he swiped his fingers across them, then rose. He retrieved his helmet from Mona and, tucking it under his arm, made his way to the ER. He might not be able to tell Ellie how he felt, but Ruth and Bruce needed their pastor, their friend. He’d reach out with his emotions, mourn with them, and believe that God would do the rest.
Ellie stood in a huddle, conferring with the incident commanders from the St. Francis Township and Moose Bay Fire Departments. Over their shoulders, she watched steam and wisps of smoke spiral into the deepening twilight. Moisture saturated the air like the cough of a primeval beast, and the smell of smoke, melted plastic, and charred furniture clogged every breath. She felt as if she’d run about thirty miles, laden with her air pack and bunker pants.
Right now she needed to interview witnesses or at least gather names and confirm that the overhaul process could be terminated. Tomorrow she’d do a walk-through and see if she could pinpoint the source of the fire. On her first glance, she suspected it might have been ignited by the smokehouse that abutted the General Store. Mack’s had burned clear down to the foundation, and only quick thinking on Mitch’s part had kept it from igniting the café and sending the blaze along Main Street.
She wanted to huddle in a ball, hide under her helmet, and cry. She felt sick. Not only had she gotten into a near fistfight with one of her firefighters—who happened to be right—but a man on her watch had been seriously injured.
She’d hand in her resignation as soon as she filed her report.
“How’s your man?” The fire chief from the Moose Bay Department, a squat, elderly, bear of a man who looked like he had a few thousand decades of firefighting under his belt, gave her a look of concern.
She shook her head. “I don’t know yet. I’m headed up there after we’re done here.”
“What a shame. Keep us posted, will you?”
Ellie nodded, making a mental note to ask Romey to keep her in the loop after she left.
The Moose Bay chief shook his head as he surveyed the damage. “The General Store building has been a fireball waiting to ignite for years. I’m just surprised it took this long.”
Ellie frowned. “Why?”
“Proximity to the smokehouse, wiring that dates back to the fifties. No fire escapes. A fire chief’s nightmare. We were fortunate today. We could have lost more men.”
Ellie didn’t comment. One tragedy seemed sufficient. She stared at the steaming pile of charred timbers. The second story had finally caved in on itself, and the crew had to pull apart the timbers to douse the smoldering cinders. The onlookers had dispersed; only a handful remained to pull their coats around themselves and brave the slick wind to watch the process. Ellie noticed Bonnie in the crowd, her arm in a sling, her face red and puffy. Ellie couldn’t ignore the fact that the woman seemed to pop up at every fire she’d been at in the last month.
“You’ve set a new record here, Karlson,” said the chief from St. Francis Township, a burly Native American with the name Crow stitched to his jacket. He didn’t wear a turnout coat like Ellie and had kept his distance from the flames, preferring to command from afar. But he hadn’t lost any firefighters today.
“How’s that?” Ellie asked, wishing she were curled up, nursing a hot cocoa with Franklin in her old apartment in Duluth. She wondered if she could get the place back.
“You’ve had three structure fires in one month. That’s more than Deep Haven had the entire year last year.”
“What?”
“Yep.” Chief Crow nodded grimly. “Did you get the fire marshal in here for the Simmons fire?”
Ellie shook her head. “They wouldn’t come. I boxed up the debris I found at the source and wrote a report. It came back just this week.”
“And?”
“It indicated some sort of alcohol-based accelerant.”
“Anything in the debris?”
“Yes. I found three tiny round aluminum balls, almost flattened disks. The funny thing is that I found two more of the same disks in the debris at the Garden.”
The Moose Bay chief frowned. “Sounds like you could have an arsonist in your midst.” His gaze tracked to the smoking remains of the General Store. “I’ll be anxious to hear what you find.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Anybody here out to do you in, Karlson?” Crow’s voice dropped, yet the question felt like a slug to her midsection.
“I . . . don’t know.” Mitch’s voice echoed through her mind: You’ll regret this. “Maybe.”
Crow clamped her on the shoulder, pal style. “You watch your back.”
She nodded, grateful for his words, but the warning resonate
d. Someone wasn’t trying to sabotage her job here, right? She felt fragile and slightly ill as she turned back to the fire scene.
If someone thought he was going to run her out of town, he didn’t know she’d been born with steel encasing her backbone. If he wanted a fight, she’d give it to him. Seth hadn’t called her Ellie the Mule-Headed for nothing. His voice boiled in her head. Seth, dressed in his smoke-jumper gear, the chopper churning up dust on the airfield: Please, go home, hotshot. You’re going to get yourself or somebody else killed.
She hadn’t obeyed then. She wouldn’t now.
Except his words had turned out to be painfully prophetic.
17
The ghostly skeleton of the General Trading Store hull haunted the landscape of the Deep Haven shoreline while Dan drove toward Ellie’s hotel. The wind stirred up char and ash and sent it against his windshield, as if in omen. Whitecaps brimmed on the lake, warning of a storm front, and the dark cumulus fought to blot out the silver moon. The perfect night to bare the wounds on his soul to Ellie.
The woman had a right to know why he cringed every time she answered a call, why he wanted to grab her and run whenever she started for her gear.
He loved her.
And just maybe, she’d listen and forgive him. Or, in his wildest dreams, she’d agree with him and chuck this entire dangerous profession and don the garb of a traditional woman—
Which was . . . ? He hadn’t realized he was so myopic in his thinking. Never had he seen a fire chief more dedicated to training the crew, more adept at sizing up a fire. Under Halstrom’s thumb, they’d fought fires with all the organization of a badly played rugby match. But with Ellie, they had focus, jobs . . . a leader.
But he didn’t want a leader. He wanted a wife. He wanted Ellie.
He’d never felt so empty, so desperately alone as when he’d sat beside Bruce’s bed and seen Ruth hold his hand, praying for him. No wonder the Bible said that finding a good wife was akin to receiving favor from the Lord. Ellie surely felt like God’s blessing in his life. When she entered his world, pure joy filled his lungs and he never felt so alive.
He pushed the accelerator down, poised on the lip of losing his nerve. A streetlight bathed the hotel porch in golden light, but on the second floor, only two window lights pushed against the grayness of the hour. Pulling up, he checked his watch and grimaced. Well, she hadn’t gone to bed before midnight any other day this week. He prayed she wasn’t curled up in her pajamas. He tried to tiptoe in his size elevens as he climbed the hotel’s porch.
Easing inside, he flinched at a creak on the second-floor landing, then crept down the hall. He stood outside her door like a thief, listening, his heart pounding against his sternum. No noise, but the light spilling from under the door fueled his courage.
He knocked.
A deep bark from inside nearly sent him out of his turnouts. Obviously the dog had come to life in the last few hours. Dan had serious suspicions that Franklin had entered senility or maybe ate tranquilizers with his breakfast.
The door eased open. Dan straightened his shoulders and tried not to look like he’d crawled out of the local dump.
Ellie’s face appeared in the crack. Her hair hung wet around her ears. Droplets of moisture fell onto the collar of her bathrobe. “Dan?” A frown accompanied her question.
“Hi.” He shifted from foot to foot wondering who’s brilliant idea it had been to come tromping over to her place—obviously the desperate, emotional Dan who had decided to manhandle his life. A smart person would flee and salvage what little pride remained.
“What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
She sighed, not a good sign, and her face twitched, sadness in her expression. “I’m sorry I had to fire you.”
“I’m not here about that.” He wished he’d changed clothes. Why hadn’t he thought to stop by the station, get out of his grimy gear, and take a shower before showing up desperate, his heart in his hands, at her door? “I want to talk about us.”
She closed her eyes, as if in pain. “There is no us. It . . . won’t work.” She started to close the door, but he pushed his palm against it, wedging it open. The move surprised both of them—her eyes widened and his heart jumped into his throat.
“Please, Ellie. Just hear me out. Then you can decide what to do with . . . us. I’m sorry that I tried to interfere today, but I have my reasons.”
She stared at him, as if searching for a good reason to believe him.
“I don’t want to come in. I mean . . . I shouldn’t.” His voice betrayed him, the coward it was, and he mushed it back into service. “What I mean is, will you come with me someplace to talk?”
She looked down at his boots. “I’m tired. It’s been an eternal, wretched day, and I’m exhausted.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I bothered you.” Dan turned and felt the door closing. But a spark of desperation inside him, the kind that made him drop to his knees and weep for Mona and pray in earnestness for Bruce, made him stop and turn around. He shoved a toe over the doorjamb, and the door bumped against his boot. When he looked at Ellie, he saw tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. He took a breath. “Oh, Jammie Girl, forgive me. I know I didn’t keep my promise to you, but please will you listen to me?” He fought the impulse to touch her cheek, to rub away the tear running down it with his thumb. But he’d leave greasy prints across her clean face. “Please?”
“You know, you shouldn’t call me that in public. People might get the wrong impression.” She said it softly with the slightest smile, and he felt hope ignite. “No promises, okay?”
Somehow, he nodded.
“Okay. Let me get changed.”
Thank You, Lord. “I’ll be downstairs in the car—”
“No. You go grab a shower and stow your gear. I’ll meet you at the station.”
Panic must have shown on his face because she smiled. “I promise.” And held up three fingers, Girl Scout–style.
He nearly ran to his VW, then took the quickest shower in the history of mankind at the firehouse. When he emerged from the locker room, dressed in his faded jeans and a sweatshirt, Ellie was sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of cocoa, wearing her track pants, a wool sweater, and a down vest. Her eyes looked red and heart-wrenchingly puffy.
“Hey,” he said softly, “let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t object, which told him that she didn’t want the guys sleeping upstairs to listen in on their conversation. “Where to?”
He grinned and for the first time in hours felt as if he just might live through the day.
Why had she ever fired him? The thought of not seeing Dan at the firehouse or on a call had dug a hole clear through her heart, and any thoughts of surviving that wound died a swift death as he drove them to the hockey rink and led her to the ice. Ellie felt dangerously close to weeping. She clung to the feeble hope that the brisk air and the breath of ice under a canopy of black expanse would help keep her emotional footing and hold her ground. He wouldn’t sweet-talk her into getting his job back.
Even if he did wield a formidable arsenal. His faded, made-for-Saturday jeans, a navy sweatshirt that did nothing to hide his muscled chest and sculpted arms, and his tousled, wet hair that begged her touch were knee weakening. Added to the sizzle of some sort of secret in his smoky gray eyes, and she knew she’d have to cling to her armor. A smart girl, one using the good sense her mother gave her, would run back to her hotel, lock the door, and pray he didn’t chase her.
Because if she stuck around much longer, she’d end up in his arms. Right where she wanted to be.
She took a deep, calming breath and followed Dan out onto the ice. In her boots, she had to stiffen her legs to keep from sliding but managed to keep pace with him. He headed for the middle of the ice, where the center red line crossed it. The memory of their first moments here and the way she’d let him hold her while she grieved Seth nearly unraveled her right on the spot. She crossed her
arms in fortification. “What’s up?”
She should have known this evening had danger written all over it when he’d hauled a blanket out of his VW, along with a cooler. He now spread out the blanket on the ice, as if laying down a picnic, then sat down, cross-legged. “Sit down, Ellie.”
She felt her defenses crumbling like ricotta cheese. “I’m cold,” she said stiffly, knowing she’d fold if she sat next to him. Somehow being in his shadow made her feel warm and safe, a feeling she hadn’t known she’d needed until he stepped into her life.
And being next to him just might make her admit it aloud.
“Then come here.” He patted the blanket next to him. Oh, the man had mischief in his eyes, and his slight smile had her brain reeling. Before her common sense could catch up, she had joined him. He smelled clean and fresh, and she suddenly wanted to forget everything and simply embrace this moment, this tiny patch of blanket in the middle of a landscape of ice.
“Hungry?” he asked and opened the cooler.
She hated how he always knew her weak points. Her stomach cheered in anticipation when she took a blueberry muffin. “How did you—?”
“I stopped by the Footstep of Heaven on my way to the firehouse. Mona let me raid their fridge.”
“Thanks,” she said. She didn’t have to tell him that she hadn’t eaten after the fire—she simply dropped off her gear, checked the roster, and returned home to shed her stress in the shower. His smirk told her he already knew.
Or maybe it was the way she devoured the muffin.
He dug out his own treat and picked it apart.
Silence filled the expanse like a winter breath. Ellie shivered. “Did you bring me here to feed me?”
“Sorta. Yes.” He set down his half-eaten muffin and slapped the crumbs off his hands. “Actually, I wanted to tell you a story.”
“I’m listening.”
He blew out a breath, and raw emotions flickered across his face. She lowered her muffin, her appetite gone.
Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match Page 19
