The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Well, welcome to Butterfly Harbor,” Bud said when Frankie didn’t respond. “I was just about to fill Frankie in on your—”

  “Pedigree.” Unable to stop all the snark, Frankie leaned against the edge of Bud’s desk and drank more coffee. “Where are you from, Salazar?”

  “Orlando. By way of Boston and before that Chicago.”

  Frankie rolled her head to the side to look at Bud. “What is it about Chicagoans that they’re ending up out here? He’s what? Number four? First Luke, then Jason, then Xander?”

  “Jason has a restaurant in Chicago, but he’s from New York,” Bud corrected her. “Sorry—” He returned his attention to Roman. “She has a bit of a point. Luke Saxon, the town sheriff, arrived a few years back. He’s settled down now with a local girl, Holly Campbell. Just had twins this past May. Boy and a girl. And of course there’s their older boy, Simon. With affection, we call him our town supervillain. Smartest kid you’re going to find out here.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Charlie Bradley could give him a run for his money,” Frankie argued. “Jason Corwin’s our town celebrity chef.” Frankie figured Roman might as well get used to the small-town tendency for gossip and information overload. “Owns and operates Flutterby Dreams over at the Flutterby Inn. You might also catch his food truck bustling around.”

  Roman blinked as if processing the information. “And Xander would be?”

  “Xander Costas.”

  “The architect?” Roman’s eyebrows disappeared under his too-long hair. “His family’s pretty well known back east. My grandfather and his worked on a project together, restoring one of Chicago’s historic firehouses. I’ll have to be sure to introduce myself.”

  “You’ll find him up at the construction site for the butterfly sanctuary or at Duskywing Farm. And before you ask, yes—” Frankie gave him the widest smile she could muster “—you will be tested later on all these names.”

  “I’m excellent at tests.” That glint in his eye only brightened.

  Frankie bit the inside of her cheek. She’d just bet he was.

  “So, who feels like giving me the nickel tour?” Roman moved in a way that made the leather of his jacket creak. “I’d like to hit the ground running come Monday morning.”

  “Wow. And your predecessor’s not even out the door yet. Happy holidays. Nice.”

  “Frankie—” Bud warned again.

  “No, she’s right.” Roman nodded. “I apologize. New job and all. Anxious to get started, get everything set in my mind, see how things operate around here.”

  “Figure out what you’re going to change?” Frankie fluttered her lashes like a Southern debutante at a cotillion.

  “Change can be a good thing.” Roman inclined his head as if trying to puzzle her out. Well, good luck with that, hero, Frankie thought. Tougher men than you have tried.

  “Can be. But I doubt it will be.” Frankie finished her coffee and three-pointed the paper cup into the trash. “If it’s a tour you’re looking for, Bud’s the expert. And as I have a few hours left on my day off, I’ll be going. Ozzy should be here in about an hour,” she told Bud as she squeezed between the men.

  “It was nice to meet you, Frankie.” Roman stood up straight enough to let her pass. As she did, she caught the scent of sandalwood and heat, an odd and intoxicating combination for these early-winter days. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  Frankie walked backward past the solitary engine, gave him her brightest smile and waved. “Count on it.”

  She took her time, pricked her ears and felt her bad mood shift when she heard Roman’s low whistle.

  “Why do I feel like I should be apologizing for something?”

  “Because that’s Frankie Bettencourt,” Bud told him. “And because you took her job.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  AS FAR AS welcomes went, Roman figured his arrival in Butterfly Harbor had gone as well as he could have hoped.

  During the cross-country drive, he’d created a specialized bingo board in his head. So after passing a hardware store that doubled as a postal annex, an ice-cream shop and a hole-in-the-wall abandoned newspaper office, along with a group of kids riding their bikes down the main thoroughfare, he was left with only one square from a win. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d traveled back in time—or through his television screen—and dropped into Happy Town, USA.

  So far everything in the small West Coast town was what he’d expected. The weather was about as perfect as it could get for late November—midsixties, clear blue skies and a breeze that reminded him to be grateful for leaving the humidity of Florida behind. When he’d gotten out of his SUV, the first thing he noticed was that intoxicating scent of the ocean, the briny salt performing a tantalizing dance on his senses as he added exploring the marina—and possible boat rentals—to his list of things to do. He missed being out on the water, a frivolity he hadn’t allowed himself since he’d left Boston four years ago. The idea of riding the waves now struck a melancholy chord at the memory of time spent with his father, who took every opportunity to impart his knowledge and challenge Roman’s limitations on the open water.

  Great. There was that sentimentality he’d been expecting, and with its arrival he ticked off the final box on his imaginary bingo card. Roman flipped through the list of department volunteers and attempted to get his mind back on his soon-to-be job.

  One thing he hadn’t considered was discovering Captain Frankie Bettencourt had the power to knock him back a few steps. It was her hair that really caught his eye—that lava-fire hair with sharp streaks of gold that had him wondering if he’d ever seen a color like that. Add those sharp green eyes with an edge like a honed blade in a face that would have inspired even the most dormant of classical artists, and yeah, he might have fallen back a step or two. Before he reminded himself that in a matter of days he would be her boss.

  He’d worked with his share of powerful, capable women before, but he suspected he might have met his match with Captain Bettencourt. Rather than apologize for what he interpreted as a borderline rude welcome, she hadn’t shied away from her abrupt greeting and subsequent interrogation. He liked that, not only in a woman, but in a partner. Straightforward, in-your-face, you-get-what-you-see honesty. After less than an hour in town, Roman had no doubt this job was definitely going to be interesting.

  Chief Granger finished his call and, after hanging up, shifted his attention back to Roman. “Sorry about that. Thought I’d give the mayor a heads-up you’d hit town. He’d like to meet you when you get the chance.”

  “Where can I find him? At his other job?” He didn’t recall passing by anything resembling a city hall or office building.

  His question appeared to catch the current fire chief off guard. “Ah, being mayor of Butterfly Harbor is pretty much a full-time job.” Bud cringed and scrubbed a hand over his cheek. “I’d wait for his assistant to call you with an appointment. He’s out and about a lot, still finishing up the move into the recently renovated city hall. He was hoping to be out of their temp offices by Thanksgiving, but I’m betting it’ll be closer to Christmas. Which reminds me. December ninth is the city’s tree-lighting ceremony. I’d put that event on your schedule. It’ll be a required photo op for you with the mayor.”

  “All right.” Roman set the file down, pulled out his cell and added the opening to his calendar.

  “Do you know Gil at all?” Bud leaned back in his chair.

  “No.”

  “Huh.”

  “What does that mean?” Roman slipped his phone away.

  “Just wondering how you got on the mayor’s radar, is all. People will be asking, especially given we already had a perfectly qualified person to take over the job.”

  “Captain Bettencourt.” A Technicolor image exploded in his brain, nearly overshadowed by the snarky, unimpressed smile she’d aimed at hi
m. He couldn’t blame her. Heck, he’d been her just a few weeks ago, when he hadn’t gotten a job he’d dedicated the last couple of years to earning.

  “You’d best be warned,” Bud continued. “A lot of people aren’t going to be happy Frankie’s been passed over. Especially Frankie. She has a dedicated fan club. In fact, I’d be hard-pressed to think of anyone who didn’t think the world of that woman. Myself included.”

  “I don’t see how people can be upset with me.” That didn’t stop the knots of unease tangling in his gut. He’d expected some resistance from those on the job. It hadn’t occurred to him he might have to take on an entire town. “A posting went up online, I applied, was interviewed via video chat and got the job.” No one had been more surprised than him. Until today, apparently. “They can’t blame me for the town not promoting from inside.”

  “They can when it’s the first time it’s been done.” Bud’s eyes dimmed a bit, letting Roman know he was wrong on that count. The space between the chief’s brows furrowed as he frowned. “Chicago, Boston. Orlando. Those are large engine companies. You work anywhere else? Anywhere...smaller?”

  “No.”

  “Ever lived in a small town before?”

  “No.” This was definitely feeling like an interrogation. “Should I have mentioned that on my application?”

  “I doubt it would have made a difference. Look.” Bud motioned to the chair Captain Bettencourt had occupied a short while ago. “This isn’t going to be what you’re used to. We have one engine, a utility vehicle and Nautilus.”

  Roman frowned. “Nautilus?”

  “The truck specifically for water rescue, which, given we’re a coastal town and get a lot of divers, we need. Most of the time, we go out in Dwayne, the SUV.”

  “Dwayne?” For the life of him, Roman couldn’t understand the reference.

  “Ah, sorry.” Bud laughed. “Frankie’s an action movie fan, and those characters always handle anything that’s thrown at them. The SUV is our go-to vehicle for what we know are medical or repeat calls and we always have it as backup for the engine. It’s stocked as well as any ambulance—it’s just not set up to transport patients. Private service handles that through dispatch, which is located in Durante, about two hours east.”

  “I was looking over your volunteer list. They’re all certified EMTs, right?”

  “Yes. That’s a state requirement.”

  Roman didn’t miss the odd flicker that cut across the chief’s face. “What?”

  “If you’re thinking Butterfly Harbor falls into any particular mold, you’re wrong. Our volunteers are dedicated, but they’re also, well, let’s just say they cut across many demographics. But Frankie can help you navigate those waters.”

  “All right.” Roman wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

  “Look, I’m going to be honest.” Chief Granger pinned him with a look. “You’re more than qualified for this job. Guess what? So is Frankie. Top of every one of her classes, and she’s twice as dedicated as any officer I’ve ever worked with. On paper, there’s little to no difference between you, and what difference there is, bias aside, she’s more qualified. Because she knows this town. She knows its people. Better yet, the town knows her.”

  “With all due respect, Chief.” The slow-burn temper Roman prided himself on didn’t even ignite. “Obviously someone thought I was more qualified, or at the very least, they wanted a change. I’m here to do a job, and I’ll do it. My way. One engine or four, people all want the same thing—to be safe and to be helped. That’s what the job is. That’s the job I’ll do.”

  Chief Granger let out a harsh laugh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You got a place to stay?”

  “I stopped at that hotel on the cliffs, but they’re booked up for long-term guests. I hadn’t thought beyond that.”

  “The Flutterby’s pretty much booked solid between now and New Year’s. With Thanksgiving next week, you’re going to have a hard time finding a place.” He pushed himself up and retrieved a key on a loop of rope behind the office door. “Feel free to bunk in one of the rooms upstairs. They’re nothing fancy, but each has a bed, private bathroom, TV. Basement has a bunch of old furniture you’re welcome to. Only other person who stays here other than me is Frankie during her shifts.”

  “Thanks.” Roman accepted the key. “You don’t have anyone manning the phones?”

  “Dispatch calls are forwarded to the station or, if we’re out on a call, direct through our cells. We’ve got air-raid sirens for calling in volunteers, but we’re used to using cells. Up to you if you want to continue that. We’ll get your number into the system beginning Monday morning.” Chief Granger shook his head at Roman’s obvious surprise. “Like I said, things are different here. We don’t have a ladder truck, but we’ve got mutual aid agreements with Durante, Monterey, Pacific Grove and a handful of towns smaller than here. You need more than our team can give, they’re a call away. Most of the time we only need ladder trucks during the summer fire season even though that seems longer every year. You want to hire additional staff, you’ll have to get the funds from the mayor yourself. Keep in mind, we just spent a good chunk of town money upgrading our equipment—upgrades we requested more than five years ago.”

  Better late than never, Roman supposed. On the station tour the chief had given him, he’d been impressed with the outfitting of the station house and the SUV. The air tanks and facemasks, not to mention new overcoats, all but gleamed where they were stored and hung. He’d counted a dozen cubbies with volunteers’ names, each filled with the necessary equipment.

  “I’ll take the next couple of days to get acquainted with all the procedures, regs and volunteers.”

  “It won’t take you that long. We do a lot of winging it here.” Chief Granger’s smile was tight and, if Roman was correct, filled with regret. “Going to be hard to leave. Me and this place, we’ve been through a lot together.”

  There was that small-town sentimentality again. While Roman couldn’t understand it, he supposed he could empathize.

  “Frankie’s dad hired me right out of college,” Chief Granger continued. “He taught me everything I know, about being a firefighter, about being chief. About being a man. Best and worst day of my life was when they asked me to take over for him.” He rubbed a hand down the door frame scarred with letters and numbers. “Not a day goes by I don’t think about him.”

  Now that Roman could understand. “You’re still young. Why retire now?”

  “Fifty-five isn’t what it used to be.” Chief Granger offered another tight smile. “I’ve lived here all my life. Married my high school sweetheart, had three kids, now I’ve got my first grandchild on the way. Neither me nor the missus has seen much beyond this town. Hard to take time away when there’s only a handful of us. My wife and I did want to travel before we’re too old to enjoy it. So when Jake Gordon put his motor home up for sale, we took the plunge. Ellen and I are headed out first thing Monday morning. Going to spend Thanksgiving in Los Angeles with our oldest and his wife, and from there, who knows? First holiday season we haven’t spent in Butterfly Harbor. But we’re ready for the adventure.”

  Roman found it difficult not to appreciate the fondness in Chief Granger’s voice. All the places he’d lived had only ever been that: a place to live. The next rung on the ladder. The next phase of his life leading to who knew what? Part of him envied the affection the chief held for Butterfly Harbor and, by extension, its residents. The other part of him knew his own future employment plans wouldn’t allow for such strong connections.

  “You have family, Roman?”

  “My mother and two aunts,” Roman replied. “They’re all widows and pretty much move from cruise ship to cruise ship these days. Keeps them active and happy.” And far enough away they couldn’t challenge him on setting his personal life on the backburner.

  “No wife? No kids? Broth
ers or sisters?”

  Roman shook his head, effectively blocking the familiar emotional wallop that accompanied any discussion of family. “No. Just me.”

  “Too bad. That’s what keeps you grounded. Frankie’s father taught me that. Those kids, Frankie and her brother, Monty, they were the light of his life. He always told me, you can’t do this job without a heart, and you’ll find that heart when and where you least expect it.”

  Roman nodded, accepting the advice for what it was. One man’s experience. Now wasn’t the time or place—or the person—to admit Butterfly Harbor was only a stop along the road and that by this time next year, all of this, all of them, would only be a memory.

  * * *

  “HIT ME AGAIN.” Frankie motioned to the empty milkshake glass before slouching on the Formica countertop at the Butterfly Diner.

  “Must be pretty bad if you’re going for number three.” Holly Saxon, diner owner, pie goddess and town confidante, glanced over at the corner table where her recently turned ten-year-old son Simon was busy rocking his new brother and sister gently in their carriers.

  The sound of baby giggles and goofball antics managed to lift Frankie’s spirits. A bit.

  “You want to shake things up this time?” Holly offered. “Cookies and cream, maybe?”

  “Nope. Keep the chocolate coming. Extra syrup. Extra—”

  “Whipped cream. Not my first wallowing. What’s going on?”

  Frankie glanced around the diner, or gossip central, as it had long been called. Well, this and the hardware store. Funny how women unloaded information over sugar and carbs while men tended to opt for power tools and epoxy guns. Personally she would prefer the tools, but today she needed the cheerfulness of the orange-and-black color scheme dedicated to the town’s namesake monarch butterfly.

  “No one here to hear you. Other than Ursula.” Holly leaned over and dug deep into the double chocolate chip fudge ice cream. “More?” she asked, holding the syrup container over the chrome blender cup.