Hot for Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  “Do you remember how crazy Melissa drove me when we first met?”

  “I remember.” The whole station had noticed. They’d been worried. Until they’d all taken Melissa into their hearts.

  “Love can do that. Love can do all kinds of things.”

  Maybe that’s what he was afraid of. Ryan dragged himself out to his truck, sure he’d failed the exam. Sure he’d ruined everything with Katie. Sure he’d never been more mixed up in his life.

  Doug Atwell knew the exact moment his life had gone to shit. When he’d allowed that freakin’ Ryan dude into the Hair of the Dog. Before then, he’d felt one hundred percent sure Katie would come back to him. He knew her. When it came to soft hearts, no one beat Katie Dane.

  But Ryan had messed everything up. Now when Katie looked at him Doug saw something new in her eyes. Boredom. Katie was bored with him. He needed to do something spectacular to chase that look away. Nothing he’d tried so far—setting fires, finding Carson Smith—had worked. Because of freakin’ Ryan.

  Good thing he knew where Carson Smith was staying. He knocked on the man’s door at the Days Inn. When he answered, the sight of a purpling bruise on his cheek and his swollen nose made Doug take a step back.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “I . . . um . . .” Doug stammered. Over Smith’s shoulder, he saw a packed suitcase ready for departure. He’d caught him just in time. “I want to hire you.” He put his hand in his pocket and brought out the wad of cash he’d withdrawn from the bank. The sight seemed to soften Smith. Behind his aviator glasses, his eyes slid to the cash, then back to Doug.

  “I’m heading out. What did you need?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Make it swift.”

  Doug followed him into the hotel room. The sound of the door clicking shut gave him an unpleasant start.

  “State your business.” Smith didn’t even sit down. In his tan windbreaker and chinos, he faced Doug like a baseball coach deciding whether to bring in a new pitcher.

  “There’s someone I want to get rid of. Not kill,” he added hastily. “Just chase away. He’s a bartender at the Hair of the Dog, and he’s trouble.”

  Carson Smith’s gaze sharpened. For the first time, he focused seriously on Doug, who felt vaguely pleased by that.

  “Ryan Blake.”

  “Oh, you know him?”

  “I make it a point to know everyone involved in a job.”

  “That’s it. I don’t want him involved. I want him to leave. I don’t want him near Katie anymore.”

  “Is Katie your girl? I thought you were just friends.”

  The nasty gleam in the man’s gray eyes made Doug’s spine stiffen. “We’re way more than friends. Way more. From way back.”

  “So you want your girl back. And Ryan’s getting in the way. I can see how he would. Good-looking fellow.”

  Doug ground his teeth. He didn’t like this man knowing his private business. He didn’t like the patronizing looks he kept tossing at him. Carson Smith was treating him like a child. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Smith would treat Ryan Blake like this. The thought made him madder than ever. “So will you do something?”

  “Hell no.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t get involved in domestic issues. Now get out of here.” He waved his hand as if Doug were nothing more than a mosquito.

  Dismissed. Doug hung his head and turned to go. His gaze snagged on a desk drawer that stood slightly open. Something black gleamed within. It looked like a gun.

  Operating on sheer impulse, he dove toward the drawer and grabbed the black thing. He bobbled it in his hands, shocked to find it actually was a gun. Good thing he’d had a hit of weed before he came here. He always thought better slightly stoned.

  He held the gun in both hands and aimed it at Carson Smith, who held his pudgy hands in a calming gesture.

  “Like to rephrase that?” Doug put on a nasty tough-guy sneer. Wasn’t that a line from a Clint Eastwood movie? Or one of the Die Hards? It worked perfectly, in any case.

  “I really don’t,” said Carson Smith, mildly. “Do you actually think you can shoot me at a Days Inn in the middle of the day? Come now, son, I know you’re upset. Put down the gun. It isn’t even loaded.”

  “Oh.” Doug tossed the gun onto the desk.

  Smith ambled over to the desk and idly picked up the gun. “Did I say it wasn’t loaded? Oops.” He clicked the safety off and aimed it at Doug, who turned white. “You’re dumber than I thought, boy.”

  “But . . . Days Inn . . . middle of the day . . . all that stuff you said,” stammered Doug.

  “I’m not going to shoot you, jerkoff.” He lowered the gun. “Actually, you’ve touched my heart with your sad tale of thwarted love. But some things a man has to do for himself. Like get his woman back.”

  Doug nodded frantically. He would have agreed with anything the dude said right now.

  “But I have to admire your tenacity. And you are Jay’s nephew, so I suppose I can help you out. For instance, I could tell you about a perfectly obvious solution staring you in the face.” Smith caressed the gun, put the safety back on, then bent down to stow it away in a holster strapped to his shin. He pulled his chinos over it. Doug watched every movement with a kind of sick fascination. Was he supposed to be guessing at the brilliant solution right in front of him? His solution had been to come here. So far it hadn’t exactly been a raging success.

  “Mr. Blake is a fireman, correct? Firemen know a lot about fires. They probably know how to set fires better than anyone. Not only that, they keep highly flammable substances on the premises. They buy a certain brand of varnish in bulk. They use it on their ladders. Do you know what kind?”

  Doug shook his head.

  “That might be a convenient piece of information to possess. In fact, I happen to have a can of it in my car, but I’ll probably drop it by the Dumpster on my way out. If a fire broke out at the Hair of the Dog, and it appeared to be set by a professional fireman, and there happened to be such a person working on the premises, why . . .”

  Doug squinted, trying to follow the logic. “They’d blame it on Ryan?”

  “Indeed. Arson is a serious crime for a fireman. For anyone, but especially a fireman. He’d be shunned by his own kind.”

  “But . . . Katie wants the bar to burn down. She might like him more than ever.”

  “Ah, but my understanding is that the insurance policy runs out in a very, very few days. A little patience goes a long way, son.”

  “That’s, that’s . . . evil,” whispered Doug. “They’d lose everything.”

  “Well, yes. She’d probably be quite upset. And she’d certainly never forgive the man who set the fire. Now. Unless you’re planning to help me carry my bags to my car, perhaps you can find some other lucky problem solver to pester.”

  Doug started. “Right. Sorry. Thanks. I’ll . . . uh . . . think it over.”

  Carson pushed his glasses higher on his nose and shouldered his duffel bag. “Do what you want. But don’t ever come my way again. I don’t usually let young idiots like you point a gun at me and live.”

  He shoved past Doug on his way into the hall. Doug caught a close-up look at the damage to his face as he passed. Whoever had stood up to Smith like that, Doug would like to shake his hand.

  After his exam, a restless, aimless energy consumed Ryan. Normally he would head to work, where the twin distractions of serving drinks and teasing Katie would take his mind off things. But he couldn’t go there, not while things with Katie were so up in the air.

  Before he saw her, he had to figure this whole thing out. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a clue how to approach such a problem. So when Vader called to see how the test had gone, he jumped at the distraction.

  “Spread the word. Party at my house. I’ll grab some beer and chips.”

  “How about the Hair of the Dog? That’s where the chicks are nowadays.”

  “It’s my day off.
You feel like putting out fires on your day off?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just come to my place.”

  When Vader, Double D, and Joe the Toe showed up about an hour later, Ryan was pulling a pan of nachos out of the oven.

  “You’ll make some lucky girl a fine wife someday,” said Joe the Toe, settling himself onto the couch. Between him, Vader, and Double D’s belly, Ryan’s living room suddenly looked tiny.

  “Don’t you got nothin’ low-fat?” Double D complained. “Trying to slim down here.”

  “Lowest fat thing I got is a Bud Light.”

  “Give it here.”

  They all cracked open a beer. “To Hoagie getting back on the force,” said Double D.

  “Amen to that,” said Vader. “We’ve missed your chicken curry, hotshot.”

  Ryan gave a modest nod. “First thing I’ll make when I get back.”

  They all downed their first beer within a matter of seconds. The first twelve-pack disappeared in about ten minutes. Gradually, Ryan relaxed. A pleasant buzz took the place of his thoughts about Katie. Male topics of conversation took over. Vader and Double D told the story of a fire at a Korean restaurant that had nearly taken down an entire strip mall. The firehouse had been offered a lifetime supply of kimchi as a reward. Then Vader described his new truck, a baby-blue Ford 250 with crew cab, six-speaker sound system, and a hydraulic lift. The comfort of masculine companionship lulled Ryan off his guard.

  Until Joe the Toe ruined the whole thing.

  “How’s our favorite little bar manager?”

  Ryan started. “Katie? Why?”

  “Merely inquiring. I worry about that girl. She works much too hard.”

  “Yes, she does. I keep telling her that, but she doesn’t care what I say. Anyway, I’m staying away from her right now. Brody says I might . . .” Sober, he would have stopped there. But five Bud Lights apparently wanted to tell all his secrets. “Brody says I might be in love with her.”

  “Love? You?” Double D guffawed until his belly shook. “Serves you right.” He took another beer from the twelve-pack.

  Vader shook his head morosely. “What’s the point of having you back if you’re going to be in love? So much for chicks hanging around the station.”

  “Sorry to let you down,” muttered Ryan. He grabbed a handful of chips and dug around for some cheese. “He’s probably full of it anyway.”

  “The captain?” Vader shook his head, joined by the others in a mass rejection of that possibility. “The captain knows shit. Lots of shit. If the captain says it, it’s prob’ly true.”

  Joe the Toe, his huge feet propped on Ryan’s coffee table, fixed him with a perplexed look. “I don’t quite understand. You say you’re avoiding Katie because your captain says you might be in love with her.”

  Ryan winced. Every time he heard those words, they scared him more. “Right.”

  “That doesn’t follow. Usually when people are in love, they want to be with each other.”

  “Did you lose half your brain along with your toe?” Vader said. “Katie probably hates him.”

  “You’re the one who shrunk your brain to a polka dot with all those steroids.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Polka dots could be big or small. See, I’m smarter than you. I’m smarter than you . . .” Vader segued into a whiny chant.

  Ryan frowned at them both. “Why would Katie hate me?” Confused he might be, but he knew for damn sure he didn’t want that.

  “Have you ever told her how you feel?”

  “How could I do that? I don’t even know myself. I still think Brody’s got it wrong.”

  “Well, there you are, then.”

  “Where am I?” Ryan rubbed his forehead and frowned at the pile of beer cans that had robbed him of his reasoning ability.

  “Have you slept with her?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “It doesn’t take an Oxford degree to know sex changes everything.”

  Ryan groaned. “I know that.” With a sympathetic, poor-bastard nod, Vader tossed him another beer.

  Joe the Toe crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Vader, who must be a sort of steroid-induced idiot savant, has put his finger on the problem. Katie hates you because she loves you, but doesn’t realize you are very likely—according to the captain—in love with her. You’re breaking her heart.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The hangover encased Ryan’s head in a ball of nasty fiberglass insulation. Clouds of fluff filled his brain—fluff spun from shards of glass. Every time he blinked, slivers of glass seemed to slice through his eyes. Damn. How much had he and the guys drunk last night?

  Ryan rolled off his bed and landed on a body. On the floor next to his bed, Vader was splayed out like a frog about to get dissected. He groaned feebly. Ryan quickly rolled onto the floor. Vader went back to sleep.

  Ryan picked his way through the snoring, wheezing bodies littering his house. Double D was slumped against the couch. Joe the Toe, who had rolled a Turkish rug around his bulk, blocked the entrance to the kitchen.

  Bracing himself, Ryan jumped over the enormous lump of rug-covered black guy. As he feared, the impact of his landing sent spikes of vengeful pain through his brain. He whimpered and crept to the sink, where he downed two tall glasses of water in quick succession. He found some aspirin in the cupboard and took four of those. Coffee seemed debatable. But the guys might want some when they surfaced. So he pulled his can of Yuban coffee out of the freezer and gently poured some in the filter. Soft and slow, that was the ticket. Nothing sudden. Nothing harsh.

  He limped to the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.

  Worst hangover ever? Maybe. His memories hid behind a veil of fiberglass. It took too much energy to track them down. Instead he sat dully at the table and waited for the aspirin to kick in.

  Bit by bit, scraps of conversation from last night floated to the surface. Vader’s truck. The ragging he’d received on account of its being baby blue.

  “Blue means boy,” he’d said, furious.

  “Guess that makes you a baby boy then.“

  “Chicks dig it.”

  “That’s because chicks dig babies.”

  Sometime after that had come Joe the Toe’s rant about Britney Spears. “She’s part of America’s nefarious attempt to corrupt the taste and aesthetics of the rest of us, until we can no longer distinguish good from bad, in fact the words have no more meaning.”

  “Hey,” Ryan had protested. “Doesn’t Lady Gaga make up for Britney Spears?”

  Joe the Toe had turned as purple as a black man could.

  One memory kept circling around his bruised and battered consciousness. It had to do with Katie. They’d talked about Katie. His stomach tightened at the thought. It had been upsetting. It had led him to drink many, many more Bud Lights and to dig into his stash of tequila. It had to do with . . .

  And then it all came back to him. Katie loved him, and he was breaking her heart. Breaking Katie’s heart? The thought of causing her pain hurt more than his hangover. He stood up in the empty kitchen. He needed to go to her this minute and tell her she should stop it, right now. Stop loving him. Stop breaking her heart. He’d go to her apartment and knock on her door. She’d open it, maybe in her pirate undies, maybe with her hair all tumbled around her face, maybe with her big dark eyes all heavy with sleep, her face pink, with marks on her cheek from lying on a book. She’d frown at him and push her hair behind her ears. What are you doing here? she’d ask.

  And he’d take her in his arms and kiss her all over her sleepy little head . . .

  Oh shit.

  Electric knowledge shafted through him. He was in love with Katie, like the captain said. He loved being with her—he felt better when he was with her, more alive, more himself. He wanted to protect her and take care of her and never leave her. She’d snuck her way into his heart, made a place for herself, and stubbornly dug in her heels, as only Katie could do.


  He took a step toward the door, still blocked by the snoring Joe the Toe. The movement sent a needle of queasiness through his head, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He checked the clock on the kitchen stove. Eleven o’clock. Katie was probably getting ready to head to the Hair of the Dog.

  Which reminded him. The “hair of the dog” was a stupid concept. Did anyone really believe more alcohol was the solution to this misery? Maybe they should change the name of the bar to something more sensible. Like Never Drink Again. Or Alcohol Is Poison. He’d discuss that issue with Katie after he told her he loved her and they figured out what ought to happen next.

  Realizing he still wore his clothes from last night, and that they smelled like the Dumpster at the Hair of the Dog, he stumbled over Joe and went back to his bedroom to change. You couldn’t declare your love smelling like a homeless man. Then again, Katie liked the offbeat and the unusual. She probably wouldn’t mind. Warmth filled him at the thought of her, with her graceful body hidden under her tomboy clothes, and her frown disguising the biggest heart he’d ever known.

  Life with Katie would be one fun-filled roller-coaster ride.

  He pulled a clean San Gabriel FD T-shirt from his drawer. Surprisingly, the thought of life with one woman didn’t freak him out. It made him feel relaxed. Safe.

  Strange.

  Pulling on the T-shirt, he almost didn’t hear his cell phone ring. When his head came free, the phone was winging through the air toward him.

  “Goddamn freaking loud-ass cell phone,” grumbled Vader.

  “All right, all right. Go back to sleep.” Ryan clicked on the phone.

  “Ryan, it’s Melissa. I’ve got an emergency and I need you to take Danielle for an hour. Can you? Please?”

  Ryan groaned. “I’m busy, Melissa. I’m about to do something important. Really important.”

  “An errand? No problem. Take her with you. I’ll owe you, Ryan. Please, please, please . . .”

  “Fine.” He could talk to Katie with Danielle around. Put the kid in the corner with some crayons or something. “Bring her over.”

  “She’s here. We’re at the door.”