The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish

by Anna J. Stewart

  “You mean this nonsense about closing the station? Pfffth.” Ezzie waved that notion aside. “I’ve been here a little over a week, and you know what I’ve learned? That girl belongs here. She’s not going anywhere, and that means the station won’t, either. So you can change your mind and stay. And then I get what I want. A smart, beautiful daughter-in-law and equally beautiful grandbabies to spoil rotten.”

  There was a time he would have found the teasing amusing. “Mom, you need to stop. Life isn’t that easy. None of that is going to happen.”

  “I don’t understand.” Ezzie’s brow furrowed. “Haven’t you told her how you feel about her?”

  He rested his chin in his hand and looked up at his mother.

  “Oh.” Ezzie sagged a bit, the delight dimming in her eyes. “You did tell her. Well, that’s different, isn’t it?” It took a few beats, but Ezzie Salazar was never down for long. “You know what?” She snapped her fingers. “If telling her didn’t convince her to stay put, there’s only one thing you can do.”

  “Please, enlighten me.”

  “You’re going to have to show her.”

  * * *

  WHOEVER WAS RINGING her bell at—Frankie pried open one eye and looked at her clock—three in the afternoon was going to die a slow, agonizing death. Preferably, she thought as she dragged herself out of bed, on a roasting spit with an apple stuffed in their mouth. Perfect for her holiday attitude.

  She grabbed her phone to check it. She hadn’t missed any emergency call, which meant whoever was waiting on the other side of the door was in for one heck of a welcome.

  She slipped on sweats and yanked open the door.

  “I woke you, didn’t I?” Roman turned that billion-watt smile on her and had her reconsidering the spit.

  “Ya think?” Frankie sagged against the door frame. “What are you doing here, Roman?”

  “Sorry. I brought you Christmas cookies.” He indicated the paper bag in his fingers clutched around the crutch handle. “Can I come in?”

  “Really?” Frankie sighed even as the final vestiges of sleep vanished. “You know it’s your fault my internal clock’s all wonky.” She closed the door behind him as he hobbled inside. The aroma of vanilla and sugar wafted into her nose. “Are those homemade?”

  “My mother’s white chocolate macadamia nut. She’s been baking.” Roman offered her the bag. “She’s also rearranged our kitchen. Again.”

  Our kitchen. The implied togetherness of the phrase caught Frankie off guard and meant she missed it when Roman’s gaze landed on the blue cap hanging on the peg by the door.

  “What’s this?” He reached for the cap, and it took all of Frankie’s control not to snatch it free of his grasp. “BHFD. How come you don’t wear this?” He turned it around, saw the word chief embroidered on the back. The expression on his face held far more sympathy than she was comfortable with.

  “It was my dad’s.” Frankie removed the cap from Roman’s fingers and placed it back on the peg. “I’ve been saving it for when I become chief. Which, let’s face it, will never happen. Kitchen’s through there. Please don’t pull an Ezzie and start rearranging things. I’ll be right back.”

  The house, as usual, was a bit of a mess, but he was the one who had come over uninvited, so...he deserved what he saw.

  She finished dressing in minutes, if a pullover sweater qualified, and was dragging her hair into a knot when she passed through the living room and a pang of conscientiousness struck. Quickly, she grabbed the basket of laundry and pile of dirty clothes and shoved them all behind the sofa. The remote controls and magazines found some kind of order thanks to her fumbling hands, and she folded her grandmother’s crocheted afghan.

  “I made coffee.” Roman stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Cookies are still a little warm.”

  Because the smell hadn’t been tempting enough. “What are you doing walking around? You’re supposed to keep that foot elevated.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hobbled to the kitchen table and sat down. The distinctive, tempting sound of rustling paper as he drew out a stack of cookies had both her heart and stomach rumbling. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

  She stopped midpour and set the coffeepot on the counter. “Stop it.”

  “You walked out last night before I could defend myself.” His mouth sounded full, and when she turned she found one of the cookies half-gone.

  “You don’t owe me any explanation, Roman. We shared a few moments. No one’s declaring undying love.” Not yet. Frankie’s grasp around the coffeepot tightened. Where had that come from? A couple of kisses and one moonlight stroll on the beach and suddenly she was thinking of forever? “I can’t blame you for using this job to boost your résumé. It’s a pretty great gig.” It was, in her eyes, the perfect gig.

  She filled two mugs and set one in front of him before she claimed a seat at her kitchen table across from him. The chocolate macadamia was soft in her fingers. She could feel the sugar crystals mingling with the delicate chips and chopped nuts. The second she took a bite of the cookie, she nearly fell off her chair. His mother needed to leave town before she gained twenty pounds.

  “Was this epiphany of yours due to the conversation you had with the mayor the other day?” Roman asked her.

  Frankie shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of epiphanies because of that conversation. But yes, Roman, let’s be practical.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be practical.” He spooned sugar into his coffee and drank as Frankie worried this conversation was about to go awry. “Let’s back up. I don’t know exactly what Gil told you, so I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve been applying to the federal fire investigative task force for the past two years. It’s something my dad and I discussed before he died. He loved the idea of me being a fed, mainly because he’d always wanted to be one. He never felt as if he’d reached his full potential, that he hadn’t done enough to help people. I took the test and got pretty high placement on the list. Even had an interview that I thought went as well as it possibly could have. About a week before I saw the listing for the Butterfly Harbor chief position, I found out I didn’t get it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Frankie sipped her own coffee and broke off another chunk of cookie. “That sucks.”

  “You know it. I applied for the chief job because I didn’t think I had anything to lose. And also because it does look great as experience.”

  “Don’t forget your mother said you should.” Frankie toasted him with her mug.

  He grinned. “You were listening. Yeah, that, too. Easier to go along with her than argue with her.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” She had to admit, she’d been enjoying having Ezzie around. She loved the no-filter comments and enthusiastic way she threw herself into anything that needed doing. Much in the way her son did.

  “It’s absolutely true that I figured being chief of Butterfly Harbor would look good on my résumé. Why would I deny that? But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere—at least, for a while. I’m certainly not going to leave when Gil’s got his hatchet hovering over the neck of the department. Besides, I’ve got this to contend with.” He pointed to his casted leg. “I have no idea what the future holds for me, Frankie. But for now, I’m here and I’m happy. I could be happier.”

  “Could you?” Frankie arched a disbelieving brow.

  “I could if this stubborn, challenging woman I like a whole lot would maybe ease up and give me a chance.”

  “Uh-huh.” There was that grin again. That amazing, dimple-revealing smile of his that Frankie was sure had gotten him out of countless scrapes growing up.

  “Listen, why couldn’t we just see where things take us?”

  “We could.” She hesitated, scooted another cookie off the stack and set it in front of her. “But since we’re being honest.” She took a deep breath. “The entire idea scares me.
”

  “Me, too.”

  His admission knocked her sideways. “It does?”

  “Of course it does. You complicate things for me, Frankie. You complicate them a lot. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to walk away if there’s a chance it could bring me something even better than I’ve been looking for.”

  Spoken like a man who had never had his heart broken or been forced to make a choice that wouldn’t make anyone happy. “It won’t work, Roman.”

  “You mean you don’t want it to work.”

  “Maybe I don’t.” The words actually hurt when she pushed them free. “You’re right. It’s all so complicated.” And would be so much easier if she didn’t like him as much as she did.

  “Funny.” Roman smirked and reached for another cookie. “I never took you for a coward, Frankie.”

  “I’m not—”

  “In this respect, you are. But that’s okay. You’re scared. I get that.” He pushed to his feet and reached for his crutches. “I just have to convince you you’re wrong.”

  “You won’t.” But even she heard the tremble in her voice.

  He moved close, bent down and brushed his lips against hers. She could feel him smile, felt it all the way down to her tingling toes. “Want to bet?”

  * * *

  ROMAN HAD FACED his share of challenges over the years. Demanding physical qualifications, days of boredom followed by nights of endless calls. Two-stepping around his mother, who had definite plans for his life. But they all paled in comparison to the stubbornness that was Frankie Bettencourt.

  Call it boredom, call it restlessness or call it just plain needing to get out of the suffocating station house, Roman got a workout walking—or rather crutching—to the Cat’s Eye bookstore just before noon on Monday. In only a few days it would be Christmas. Butterfly Harbor Creamery next door boasted their new peppermint gelato and had him making a mental note to buy a pint—or perhaps a gallon—to take home with him.

  Home. Huh. Roman found himself smiling at that thought.

  “Afternoon, Chief!”

  Roman turned away from the glass door with giant amber cat eyes painted on it to see Jake Gordon heading his way.

  “I heard what happened to you through the grapevine, Chief. Word is Oscar Bedemeyer took you down, huh?” Jake tucked a paper bag under his arm. “We’re getting ready for the Christmas parade tomorrow afternoon.”

  “That’s right. Got Santa all lined up then?”

  “Harvey Mills’s son-in-law’s doing it this year. He and Harvey’s daughter are in town through the new year, and Harvey convinced him we needed an unfamiliar face. The kids are getting pretty good at recognizing people.”

  “Well, you need anyone to sub in, I’ve got time to kill. As long as you can hide this thing.” He motioned to the cast.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Jake said. “So, you just starting or finishing?”

  “Starting or finishing what?”

  “Christmas shopping.”

  “Oh. Starting.” Roman cringed. “I’m always last minute.”

  With his mother in town, he really needed to kick things into gear and find the perfect gift for her. Especially after she’d given him his father’s humidor.

  “Good luck. If I don’t see you before, I’ll see you tomorrow in the crowd.” Jake headed off, and Roman pushed open the door to the bookstore.

  Was there anything better than the sight and smell of a bookstore? The never-been-opened pages bursting with promise lining the endless wooden shelves. Hand-carved signs noted the genres, from biographies to new age and spiritual to an entire wall filled with romance novels. From the outside, the store was deceptively small. Inside? It was like walking into a treasure cave filled to brimming with stories and information.

  “Roman. Good to see you up and around.” Sebastian Evans walked out from behind the front counter and offered his hand. “Heard you took a nasty fall. Down to what now? Four weeks in that cast?” He pointed to the plaster.

  Gotta love small towns. “About that. My brain’s going to atrophy, so I thought I’d come in for books and maybe a couple of movies.” He’d taken inventory of what the station had, and in his estimation, the collection was wanting.

  “Sounds like a plan. Movies are in the back left corner. We’ve got story time going on right now, but they should be done in about fifteen minutes.”

  “No worries.” That explained the chitter chatter of young voices. “I...oh. Well. That’s interesting.” He looked up and found a line of narrow shelves encircling the entire store. Various ledges and knobs and such acted as road and entertainment for the cats perched about.

  “The animal shelter gets pretty full, so we rotate them in and out of the store.” Sebastian pointed to a large, yellow-eyed tabby sitting on top of the bookcase closest to the door. “Except Zacharia. He’s ours. Or we’re his,” he added when the cat looked down at him with a critical blink. “Sorry, Zach. Just keep your eyes open, Roman. We’ve got Balthazar and Rowena wandering around, and Rowena has a penchant for jumping on men’s shoulders. She’s harmless. Just...devious.”

  “Noted.”

  “Dad! Look, look, look!” A girl had appeared from around the corner with a big open box in her arms. “Someone just left them outside! Just left them, can you believe it?” With big brown eyes that mirrored her father’s, Mandy Evans set the box on the counter. “Hi, Chief Salazar!” She turned a beaming smile in his direction. “Come see the kittens. They’re so cute! How could anyone just leave them alone like that?”

  Roman did as requested and joined the father-daughter team at the glass-topped counter filled with trinkets, baubles and a selection of handmade jewelry and leather-bound journals.

  “No point in asking that question, kiddo,” Sebastian told her as he gave her a quick hug. “We’ve become a bit of a makeshift shelter where cats are concerned. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  “Ooh!” Roman pivoted on his crutches at the sound of wonder coming from behind him. “New kitties! Mom, look! New kitties!” The squeals that erupted from the children’s section would have deafened him if he hadn’t been prepared.

  “Mr. Sebastian, may I see, please?” Phoebe MacBride, the little girl with a head full of jet-black curls and dark eyes, barely reached the top of the counter, but she gripped hold and stretched up on tiptoes as Sebastian lifted one of the pure black kittens from the box. “So pretty. Mom, can we get another kitty, please?”

  Roman couldn’t help but chuckle at the pained expression on Kendall’s face as she joined her daughter at the counter. “Two is plenty for now, Phoebe. Did you thank Mrs. Hastings for reading to you and your friends?”

  “Not yet. But, Mom, look! Isn’t she cute? Bubbles and PixieBell would love her!”

  “Him,” Sebastian corrected.

  “Mom! We don’t have a boy cat. We need one!”

  “As much as Hunter would love some added testosterone around the house, I think two cats are more than enough for one little girl.” Kendall gently steered her daughter toward the children’s section. “You get two books, remember. Choose wisely.”

  “Aw, man.” Phoebe stuck her lower lip out so far Roman thought someone might trip on it. “But, Mom—”

  “We could make it no books and head home.” Kendall stuffed her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Your choice.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Phoebe stomped off, her bright blue sneakers lighting up with every step.

  “Sorry about that, Kendall,” Sebastian said as he examined the rest of the kittens.

  “She has to learn she can’t have everything she wants. Even though they are awfully cute.” Kendall stroked a finger down a gray kitten’s head. “How many are there?”

  “Four,” Mandy announced. “There’s two gray ones, one black one, and then, is that a tortoiseshell? I need to look it
up again to see, but that coloring seems right. Dad, you said if we got more kittens, I could have one, remember?”

  “I remember. But let’s get them all checked out by Doc Collins before you become too attached. I just hope we can find a home for the black one. They’re always the last to go.”

  Roman peered into the box and saw the black kitten curled up in the corner, looking quite put out at having his nap disturbed. It blinked odd yellow eyes up at him and let out what sounded like a meow.

  “I know that look.” Kendall leaned over to study his face. “You’re about to become a cat daddy.”

  “No,” Roman said. “Not me. But I was thinking about something Frankie told me. About never being able to have a cat when she was growing up.”

  “But she’s all grown up now,” Mandy announced.

  “Yes,” Roman said with a nod. “Yes, she is.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  FRANKIE HAD DECIDED there was only one solution to her current predicament. She was going to seek revenge against Roman Salazar. Thanks to his disappearing act, Ezzie was at a loss for something to do, which meant when Frankie wasn’t on a call, she was...well, trapped.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like Ezzie. She liked the woman. A lot. It’s just that she was always...there. Even when Ezzie was baking, she was having a conversation, either with Frankie, Ozzy, Jasper or herself. Singing Christmas carols, rearranging—for the third time—the baking cabinet in the kitchen or cleaning. It was getting to the point Jasper had nothing to do as a probie. She’d even taken to dusting the holiday boughs and garlands strung around the station.

  “She needs a job.” Ozzy sat on the edge of Frankie’s desk and gave her a pitying look as Frankie massaged her temples. “Like mother, like son—she’s bored.”

  “And he skedaddled out of here this afternoon like a college freshman on his first spring break.” Her phone rang, identifying the caller. “Myra?” Frankie answered. “What’s wrong? You always call through dispatch.”