“Oh, it’s Kendall. Isn’t that sweet? Shame she didn’t bring that adorable little girl of hers.” Delilah tapped her palm on Oscar’s stooped shoulders. “And Ozzy. And is that Kurt? Goodness, you really did send for the cavalry, didn’t you, Frankie?”
“Oh, this is all thanks to Chief Salazar,” Frankie assured them. “Are you going to show me the turkeys you bought?”
“Over here!”
Roman felt as if he’d somehow been transported into an episode of The Golden Girls, complete with male extras. He’d completely missed the other woman sitting on a bench by the entrance, half a dozen grocery bags resting at her feet. She had her hands folded primly in her lap but even from a distance, he could see the telltale tremble of Parkinson’s.
“What’s going on?” Ozzy reached Roman first, the confusion on his face adding to Roman’s humiliation. “Someone hurt?”
“Turkey run,” Frankie called over her shoulder. “Everything’s fine.”
“Well, that’s just...perfect.” Roman turned to the strained voice in time to see Kendall breathe a sigh of relief and discard the yellow safety jacket. As she had on Saturday, she wore snug jeans and a black tank top, even in the cool November weather. He couldn’t help but notice the extensive burn scars covering the right side of her face, shoulder, neck and arm. “Glad no one’s hurt. We didn’t get a chance to really meet the other day with all the zaniness. Kendall Davidson-MacBride.”
“That is such a mouthful,” Ozzy teased and earned an elbow in the ribs.
“I’m still getting used to it.” She offered a slightly tense smile. “Kurt, it’s okay. False alarm.”
Roman recognized the third person as a customer from the diner and offered a grimace of sympathy as Kurt struggled to get his jacket on. The bespectacled man dropped to the ground with a sigh of relief. “Whew. Have to tell you, that’s a load off my mind. Wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“Kurt just got his EMT certification last month,” Kendall told Roman under her breath. “Needs to work out the nerves still.”
Roman nodded and made a mental note. “Thank you for coming. It seems we have some transportation issues to deal with.” Roman stepped back as Frankie hefted up the grocery bags and headed his way. “Ozzy, why don’t you load up the SUV. We’ll take the bags, Kurt and Kendall.”
“Hot dog!” Oscar was already rattling forward on his walker. “Shotgun!”
“You going to be able to fit everyone—” Roman broke off at Frankie’s stern look. “Right. Your call.”
“Phoebe’s going to be disappointed,” Kendall said. “She thought for sure I was being called in to fight a forest fire or a towering inferno.”
“Seven-year-olds think every call we take is an adventure,” Frankie said.
Roman didn’t miss how the rest of the elderly tribe fell in line behind Frankie as if she were some kind of Pied Piper. Despite his irritation and embarrassment, he found himself smiling at Delilah and Penny as they snapped more pictures of him on their way to the SUV.
He pulled himself back into the engine, dragged the door closed and stared straight ahead as if that would give him some peace of mind. Better to leave things in Frankie’s hands, at least where this call was concerned.
It didn’t take very long before Frankie, Kendall and Kurt settled in the driver’s seat and back seats, respectively. “Frankie—”
“Hold that thought.” Frankie held up her hand, reached for the radio and reported in, freeing them up for the next call and closing off this one. She sagged back in the seat, watching in the rearview mirror as the SUV pulled out and headed back to town. “Okay, good to go. You were saying?”
He glanced back at the muted conversation between Kurt and Kendall. “Why didn’t you tell me to shut up and listen to you?”
“You’re my commanding officer.” Frankie started the engine and circled the grocery store parking lot to head back to town. “Because you figured you knew what you were talking about. I may do and think a great many things, Chief, but I follow orders. The chain of command is just that. Command.”
Roman wanted to find fault with that, but he couldn’t. “I suppose I didn’t give you a real chance to explain.”
“No, sir, you didn’t.”
“Are there other secret codes I should be aware of?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there a list of them somewhere?” he ground out. She was really going to make him beg, wasn’t she?
“No, sir.” She glanced at him, that irritating yet intriguing smile back in place. “But I’ll make you one.”
* * *
“OKAY, JASPER. YOU can cool down now.” Frankie reached across the panel on the treadmill and lowered the incline. Thanksgiving Day or not, daily workouts were mandatory, at least in her mind. She could hear the tail end of the parade blasting from the television in the entertainment room, soon to be replaced by the sound of knocking football helmets and college marching bands. “Another five minutes on the flat and you can collapse.”
“Great.” Jasper sucked in air like a scubadiver in panic mode. “Just in time for my funeral.” Sweat dripped off his scrawny frame, but there was a brightness in his eyes that bolstered her spirits.
Frankie laughed, appreciating his good humor despite her putting him through some serious training paces. “Pretty soon you’ll be outpacing Ozzy over there.” She glanced back at the sheriff’s deputy currently lifting some significant weight. “You need a spotter there, Oz?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked over and helped heft the bar back onto the rack. “You build up any more muscle and the WWE is going to come recruiting.”
Ozzy grimaced. “Nah. Getting pummeled by folding metal chairs isn’t as exciting as hours behind the desk at the station.”
“Luke still have you running tech support?”
“Mostly. I get to patrol a couple times a week. Have to admit.” Ozzy sat up and reached for a towel. “I was really hoping that call yesterday was going to be something more exciting than shuttling the Cocoon Club back home.”
“Remember what I always say, Ozzy,” Frankie said. “Boredom in this job is a blessing. It means everyone is safe.”
“Yeah. I’m just ready to do more, you know?” Ozzy glanced around, lowered his voice. “I keep waiting to be counted on.”
“You are counted on, Ozzy. I count on you. In fact, you can help me with Jasper’s physical training for the next couple of months. You know how busy things get around the holidays, and I might not be around as much.” Especially now that the schedule was all messed up. Going from a twenty-four-hour to a ten-hour shift meant she’d spent endless hours last night staring at the ceiling, and sleep deprivation was never a good thing in this job. She’d pushed back on the changes, but Roman had stood firm. “That okay with you, Jas?”
“He can’t be any harder on me than you are,” Jasper gasped.
“Great.” Frankie returned to the treadmill and slowed it so Jasper could cool down. “We need to get your stamina up. I want you at an eight-minute mile by next week.”
“Eight minutes?” Jasper sucked in a harsh breath.
“Piece of cake.” Ozzy came over and slapped a hand hard on the kid’s shoulder. “When I started working out, I was at a sixteen-minute mile. Miracles happen.”
“I’ll leave you guys to it, then.” Frankie headed out of the workroom into the kitchen, where she found Roman. He’d been pretty much there ever since they’d returned the Cocoon Club home. “Is it finally assembly time?” When her stomach growled, she pulled open the fridge and grabbed an apple. She stifled a yawn, gave herself a good shake to wake herself up. “I’ve never seen anyone take such precise care when it comes to lasagna.”
“Not just lasagna, but sauce. And perfection takes time.” Roman dipped a spoon into the pot and held it out for her. “Case in point?”
“You’re finally goin
g to let me taste it?” She hurried over before he changed his mind. The second the tomato sauce hit her tongue, she nearly swooned. “That’s...” She caught a drop on her lip. “Okay, I fully admit to being wrong. That tastes amazing.” She grabbed for the spoon, but he held it out of reach.
“Nope. Gotta wait for dinner. Speaking of which.” He glanced at the clock that had just ticked to 10:00 a.m. “Shouldn’t you be cooking by now?”
“Relax, Chief. I’ve got it under control.” But he was right. Time to start putting her spin on Thanksgiving with her father’s special and most favorite meal to fix for the number of people bound to drop by today. She unloaded the fridge of all the ingredients she’d bought over the past week, including the already-cooked rotisserie turkey breast that would feature prominently.
A while later, while she was wrist-deep in chopped celery, onions and fresh thyme, Ozzy and Jasper joined them.
“You going to Calliope’s today, Ozzy?” Frankie asked.
“Haven’t decided yet.” Ozzy snagged a celery stick. “What are you guys making?”
“Well, master chef over there is making lasagna.”
Roman looked up from arranging layers of cooked noodles and grinned.
Jasper balked. “For Thanksgiving?”
“Family tradition,” Roman explained as he slathered the noodles with some cheese mixture he was loath to reveal. Who kept this many secrets about food? Personally, Frankie was grateful to be focused on something other than the tall, dark and handsome fireman standing at the stove. She found herself thinking about him far too often for her liking. “And speaking of knocking...” He angled a look at the mess Frankie was making.
“Turkey pot pie.” She beamed. “My dad made this every year he worked here. One big Thanksgiving in one pot. Oh, that reminds me, I have to get the puff pastry out of the freezer.”
“So.” The triumph in Roman’s voice had her grinding her teeth. “Another family tradition.”
“This has got to be the strangest Thanksgiving I’ve ever witnessed,” Ozzy said. “But yeah, count me in. Want me to bring anything?”
“I’ve got a pumpkin pie on order with Holly. Can you pick that up on your way? Say about...” She glanced at Roman.
“Two?”
Frankie nodded. “That’ll work.”
“I’ll see you then. Come on, Jasper.”
“We’re going to Calliope’s,” Jasper said on his way out. “But if there are any leftovers tomorrow?”
“I can guarantee there will be. Happy Thanksgiving, guys,” Roman said. “Chief Granger told me your father was the one who hired him,” he said when they were alone again.
That pang of loss still chimed belly-deep. “So the story goes. Before my time.” She dumped the chopped carrots into a bowl. She’d been forcing herself not to dwell on the way things used to be. It hurt too much to think it had all been forgotten in less than a week. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. Coming in every day and not seeing Bud here.” Almost as difficult as when her father had died. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m not sure it’s as hard on Monty, but then, he’s usually out on the water.”
“Your brother.”
“Yeah. I guess you two haven’t met, have you?”
“Nope.”
“He’ll be popping in at some point today. He does a lot of hopping today, mostly because he can’t cook anything other than canned spaghetti.”
“I look forward to meeting him. What does he do?”
“He owns a boat charter business. WindWalkers. Whale watching, snorkeling, coastal tours, that kind of stuff.”
“I’ve seen the signs. Sounds great. My father and I used to go boating together.”
“Do you still?” She glanced up and noticed his stirring slowed.
“No.” He cleared his throat. “No. My father passed away a few years ago. Massive stroke. No warning. He was only fifty-two.”
“I’m sorry.” Her heart clenched, reminding her of her own father and how sudden his death had been. “What did he do? Your dad?”
The smile that tilted the corners of his mouth told her everything she needed to know.
“Ah.” She nodded. “He was a firefighter, too.”
“For almost thirty years. Never got to be a chief, though. That was his dream. He would have loved it here in Butterfly Harbor.”
“Oh?”
He must have heard the disbelief in her voice. “Oh, yeah. The slower pace, the quirky characters. No offense.”
“None taken,” Frankie said and meant it. “Our characters would be the first to claim the quirky moniker.” That he actually seemed to understand the charm of her town thawed the remaining ice around her heart. He really was a nice guy, for an unwitting job thief.
“I can still feel him around me. It’s funny. The first time I saw this job opening was on his birthday. I didn’t pay too much attention at first, but when I mentioned it to my mother, she thought it was a sign.”
The last thing Frankie wanted to talk about was how he got or why he took this job. She might have come to accept his being here, but that didn’t erase the sting of being passed over in favor of him. “Are you going to talk to your mom today?”
“Doubtful. She’s in Greece? No, the Balkans. Somewhere, I don’t know.” He chuckled. “Hopefully she’s having a good time. The holidays are tough for her. My dad always made a big deal of them. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s. He loved this time of year. And the one thing he did, every holiday, was watch and nurse a big pot of sauce to get through the season.”
Frankie watched him lean over and inhale the aroma of garlic, herbs and tomatoes. There was a peaceful expression on his face, as if that pot of sauce held all the answers in a very confusing world. Something inside her jolted, the sight of this big, masculine, showstopping visage of a man taking the time and patience to honor his father’s holiday legacy. “Maybe—”
The dispatch alarm blared. She dropped her knife. Roman flipped off the burner, covered the pot and followed her into the bay as the announcement blared overhead. “Smoke reported at 2453 Willow Springs Way.”
“Roger. BH engine one responding,” Frankie hollered. “Request mutual aid assistance and ladder truck from closest responders.” Frankie pulled out her cell and triggered the mass volunteer text.
“That wasn’t a secret code for more shopping, right?” Roman asked.
“No. It’s Shirley Desmond’s place. She takes care of her invalid husband and has a special-needs adult daughter.” She practically jumped into her boots and pants, dragging them on.
By the time she threw on her jacket and helmet, two cars had pulled up outside. Deputy Fletcher Bradley and Sebastian Evans, owner of the Cat’s Eye bookstore, hurried in. “That was fast.”
“We were both at the diner,” Sebastian told her as he suited up.
“I don’t want to wait much longer,” Frankie said to Roman.
“You three go.” He nodded. “I’ll meet you there with whoever shows up next.”
“You know where you’re going?” Frankie shouted as she climbed into the engine.
“I’ll find you. Go. Stay safe.”
Frankie flashed him a smile. “Yeah. You, too.” This time, Frankie hit both the lights and siren as she pulled out of the bay.
CHAPTER NINE
“HOW’S YOUR MANDY DOING, Sebastian?” Frankie called over her shoulder to where Sebastian was sitting in the back. She wasn’t trying to distract herself, exactly. More like centering herself before they rolled up on someone’s life being significantly altered.
“She’s doing great,” Sebastian said. “I’ve heard nightmare stories about teenagers, but so far so good.”
“I’m going to pretend the teenage years don’t exist,” Fletcher declared. “I’m not sure I’ll survive it with Charlie. Paige might, but not me.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. If there was a more proud father in Butterfly Harbor than Fletcher Bradley, she wasn’t sure she’d met him. And that was saying a lot. Charlie wasn’t his biological daughter, but he’d slipped effortlessly into the father role almost from the moment Charlie and her mother, Paige, had hit town. In a lot of ways, but especially in how Fletcher was with his little girl, he reminded Frankie of her father and herself. There wasn’t anything he didn’t think his little girl could do, and he encouraged and supported her 24/7.
“Well, I haven’t survived the teenage years yet,” Sebastian offered.
“Here we go.” Frankie could see thick gray smoke billowing into the sky from the back of the two-story saltbox. She killed the siren as they pulled up in front of the home with an overgrown front lawn and a wheelchair on the porch. The door burst open and Shirley Desmond flew out, silvery-gray hair flying about her frantic face, her ripped flowered housedress fluttering around her knees. “She won’t come out!” Shirley cried as she ran toward them. “Amelia’s still upstairs and she won’t come out. I’ve screamed and screamed—”
Frankie dropped out of the engine and raced around to catch Shirley by the arms. “Where’s Ivan?”
“In the hospital. He was admitted last week. Pneumonia. But my girl. She’s up there. She won’t come down.”
“All right. Shirley, you need to calm down,” Frankie ordered. “Let us do our work, okay? Where’s the fire?”
“Kitchen. I bet I left a potholder on the stove. It must have caught. I can’t see much—”
“All right.” Frankie scanned the growing crowd and spotted BethAnn Bottomley in all her designer finery. “BethAnn!” Frankie waved her over.
BethAnn puffed up as if being announced the winner of a beauty pageant. “Yes?”
“Would you please stay here with Shirley? I don’t want her going back inside. You hear me, Shirley?” She caught the older woman’s face in her hands. “I can’t worry about you and Amelia. You trust me, don’t you?”
“I—Yes.” Shirley blinked, and two big tears plopped onto her cheeks. “Save my girl, Frankie.”
The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish Page 10
