Desperately Seeking Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  “Ladies room?” Jeb asked, or rather, ordered in the captain’s voice of authority that never failed. “I’m Captain Jeb Stone from the San Gabriel Fire Department and this woman needs a bathroom.” Melissa seemed to be focused entirely on not peeing, and didn’t say a word, not even a protest at how Jeb was taking charge.

  The young firefighter, mouth agape, pointed down the hall. Jeb hustled Melissa to the bathroom, shoved her inside, then stood with his back to the door, arms crossed, like some kind of Secret Service officer.

  Nita hurried to join him, her eyes wide with alarm. “Is she okay?”

  “Far as I know. I’m sure she’ll tell us if she isn’t.”

  “You . . . how did you know about the bathroom . . .”

  “I have a daughter,” he said. “She’s nineteen now, but I still remember what those last weeks of pregnancy were like.”

  A funny expression crossed her face. “Did you do this for your wife? Bundle her into random bathrooms?”

  “Once we didn’t make it to a bathroom. I found her a nice shrub.”

  She studied him as if he was some sort of zoo animal. At this close range, he saw that his initial impression had been correct. Not only did she look more tired than she had at the wedding, but more sad as well. It showed in the slump of her shoulders and the way her smile didn’t quite engage her whole mouth. He wondered if Mr. Millionaire was to blame.

  “Was that . . . I don’t know . . . weird? Awkward? Uncomfortable?” she asked.

  “I think she was mostly relieved, actually.”

  “I mean for you.”

  She was standing about an arm’s length from him, but she was leaning in so close that he caught the fresh fragrance of her skin. There was something very clean about her. Clean and bright, like a piece of sea glass tumbled by the ocean. Made him want to dirty her up a little. Like against the wall, right here, right now.

  Shove it, Stone, he told himself sternly. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself again.

  Her eyes, the deep bronze of strongly brewed tea, were still fixed on him. Right, she was waiting for an answer to her bizarre question. “A woman taking a leak is not weird to me, no. I see all sorts of things in my job. Even at eighteen, I knew girls had bladders too.”

  “You were a teenage father, then.”

  “Yeah.” Where the hell was she headed with these questions? They seemed very personal. Not that he minded, because she’d taken another mini-step closer to him and his body was very aware of that fact. Unnervingly so.

  “Were you . . . I mean, was it . . . Never mind.”

  “Oh no, you don’t. You’ve got me curious now. There’s a reason behind all those questions. You ought to just tell me what it is.”

  “Maybe I’m just curious.”

  “You don’t know me, and we’re talking about peeing in the bushes.”

  She started to laugh, then covered her mouth with one hand, as if she’d shocked herself. His sense of intrigue deepened. It looked to him as if she hadn’t laughed in a while.

  “You don’t know me from Adam, so what’s it going to hurt?” he added.

  Her forehead creased in a frown. “Why do you want to know? Most men would rather skip the whole bare-your-soul routine.”

  He could say he wasn’t most men, but that wasn’t really true. On the dates he’d been on since the divorce, he’d listened to his share of sob stories. Apparently that’s what dating was these days. You met someone, ordered sushi and explained that your father had abandoned you at the age of thirteen and you’d never gotten over it. After a certain amount of sake, you explained why that meant you were into bondage. By the time the green tea sorbet arrived, your date, if he was Captain Jeb Stone, was about to self-mutilate.

  But for some reason, he sincerely wanted to know what was motivating Nita’s questions and making her sad.

  Blame it on the rearview mirror. Or the way she’d looked in that bridesmaid’s dress.

  She was still watching him steadily. Almost absentmindedly, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She wore no makeup, and a light sheen of sweat dampened her skin, as if she’d been working hard before rushing to the dock to pick them up. His gaze dropped to her mouth, which had an elegantly elongated upper lip. The rest of her screamed busy, on-the-go working woman, but the shape of her mouth said dreamer, with a dash of sensualist.

  He wanted to kiss that mouth. Feel its soft give. Tease her passion to the surface.

  The sudden bite of lust nearly made him stagger. And the thing was, it wasn’t her physical presence that caused it—at least not just that. It was the way she was looking at him, so intently, so curiously. He felt her attention like the stroke of a tongue on his cock.

  But Melissa chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. She was looking much more cheerful. And grateful.

  “Come here, Captain Stone.”

  He turned, taken off guard, as she planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “I was wrong. It takes a big woman to admit it, but I clearly qualify.” She patted her stomach. “I hate to blame the pregnancy hormones, but my moods have been all over the place. I’m sorry if I was unkind earlier. And thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I already texted Brody and told him he’s forgiven. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you. Brody thanks you too. And the baby.” She beamed at him.

  He couldn’t see that he’d done much, but he appreciated the change of attitude. Then again, he knew it might not last long. Melissa would probably find something else to be irritated by within the next half hour. The last month of pregnancy had been endless for Belinda. “What are highly-trained, experienced fire captains for, if not to escort pregnant ladies to the restroom?” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  “We shall. Nita, I take back every mean thing I said about firefighters. They’re the best. Sweet, helpful, manly . . .” She blinked rapidly, then wiped away a tear. Clearly hormone-related. “What am I missing, Jeb?”

  Since he preferred antagonistic Melissa to sentimental Melissa, he said, “You left out ‘always right’. Not to mention ‘irresistible to women.’” He winked at Nita, who creased her forehead with exaggerated skepticism.

  “You’re not going to make me mad, Jeb. You’re still on my good side. Like it or not.”

  “See?” he muttered to Nita as he and Melissa swept past. “Irresistible.”

  She made a face at him. Maybe she meant it to be cute, but he found it outrageously sexy. Every cell of his body was aware of her following behind him and Melissa. It was an amazing feeling—revitalizing, as if he was waking up after a long coma in a cave somewhere. He was far more interested in her than in anyone he’d met over the last year. But he couldn’t get a read on what she thought about him. Maybe she still saw him as an inappropriate flirt.

  Clearly, he was going to have to do something about this situation.

  HE DIDN’T GET a chance to formulate a plan until later that night. The Enchanted Garden was a fantastical, cedar-shingled building with a turret and a wraparound front veranda. Gardens surrounded it with a riot of towering blue delphiniums and rampaging rosebushes in every shade of pink, from mauve to coral. Flowering vines twirled around every available pillar or post. The owner must have the greenest thumb ever granted to a human.

  Apparently the owner also had an obsession with crafts. When Jeb stepped inside, he was sure he’d stumbled into the mother ship of ruffles. Every spare inch of the place—the bedrooms, the hallways, the bathrooms, even the damn garage—was adorned with frill or lace. Doilies had multiplied like bunnies on every piece of furniture.

  When he first saw the dining room, filled with little round tables as if it were a real restaurant, hope flared that he might be able to get a drink. Nita informed him it was called the Knit, Purl, and Tea, and that’s what it served, along with the occasional batch of cookies.

  Jeb texted Brody a picture of the dainty little room, along with the words, “You owe me, dude.” In the midst of all those ruffles,
the word “dude” looked like profanity.

  Angie was already asleep, but she’d left a rambling note for Nita about all the things that needed to be done the next day.

  “Are you working for her?” Melissa asked with a frown, looking as if she was ready for bed too.

  Nita shrugged. “You know me. Control freak who likes to keep busy. I’ve been helping her out. It’s better than listening to Stryker rant about the injustice of it all.”

  With perfect timing, the man in question strolled in, a large tumbler of Scotch in his fist. Jeb figured he must have smuggled it in, and who could blame him. Senator Stryker was a tall, silver-haired, genial man with a voice like a church organ and a hunted look. He resembled an Episcopalian priest rather than someone who liked to pose in strapless bodysuits. But Jeb knew all too well that most people harbored plenty of secrets.

  The senator bestowed an embarrassed smile and a handshake on Jeb, and greeted Melissa as if they were old friends.

  “Welcome to our cozy little home away from home,” he told them blurrily, opening his arms wide, as if the place belonged to him. “We’ve been having a marvelous time, haven’t we, Nita?”

  Nita chewed at the inside of her mouth. He wondered why she did that, and if she even knew she was doing it. Just one of the many things he wanted to explore further.

  That night, after tossing ten lace-encased pillows off his bed, he considered his options. Number one: Gut it out and try to ignore Nita for the next few days. He crossed that option off the list. Why should he ignore her? He was free. Mr. Millionaire was history. Why should he resist his attraction to her? Number two: get to know her over the next few days, playing it casual and cool, seeing how it went. The problem with that was he wasn’t going to be here for long. He might run out of time and never get anywhere. Number three: lay his cards on the table. Tell her exactly what was on his mind, and put the ball in her court.

  Sure, she might be offended. But she might also like his honesty. Especially if he did some of that soul-baring you were supposed to do on dates. Except he’d do it Jeb Stone-style.

  Plan formulated, he fell asleep to the soothing scent of rose-petal potpourri.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  UNFORTUNATELY FOR HIS plan, Nita was a hard woman to catch up with. Even holed up on a remote island, she managed to keep herself busy. When she wasn’t closeted with the senator, she was assisting Angie in the tearoom or setting up her computer reservations system or locating her knitting needles. While he liked to keep busy too, Jeb caught a whiff of the manic in her compulsion to keep moving.

  When Melissa and Senator Stryker disappeared to work on a background interview, Jeb saw his chance. He cornered Angie and Nita in the kitchen. Angie, who wore her snow-white hair piled as high as Marie Antoinette’s, was knitting away on a scarf, most of which was already draped around her neck.

  “Put me to work,” he told them. “I noticed the kitchen sink is leaking. I can fix that.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly allow that,” Angie scolded.

  “She thinks you’re Gregory Peck,” explained Nita in a whisper.

  “Who does she think you are?”

  “Audrey Hepburn.” Nita snorted, but Jeb could actually see the resemblance.

  “Well, Audrey, I could use some help with the sink. Would you like to play fake plumber’s assistant?”

  “I suppose it’s better than playing fake dead movie star.” She smiled at him, and he got the sense that she’d softened toward him. Maybe his bathroom-locating abilities had impressed her.

  After they’d convinced Angie that Gregory Peck had no problem with household chores, he found the water shutoff, settled under the sink, and got to work.

  “What’s my role here?” Nita asked. She crouched next to him, peering under the sink.

  “If I say it’s to keep me company, will you leave?”

  “I have a million things to do . . .”

  “I need someone to hand me the tools,” he said quickly.

  “I have a degree from Bryn Mawr.”

  “Then you should have no problem with it.”

  She heaved a sigh and shifted to her knees. Jeb studiously kept his eyes on the pipes above his head. Nita on her knees. Not a helpful image right now.

  “Pass the wrench.”

  It took her a minute to locate the wrench—maybe she’d skipped shop at Bryn Mawr—but in the end she handed him the correct tool.

  “That sounded pretentious, didn’t it?” she said. “Mentioning Bryn Mawr. Bradford used to do that. He was a master of the degree-drop and the name-drop.”

  Ah-ha. An opening. “What happened with him? You two looked very . . .” He searched for the right word. “Like a real power couple.”

  Actually, the guy had looked like a weenie to him, but a wealthy one.

  “And you looked like a homecoming couple.”

  “Shows what you know, Bryn Mawr. We weren’t ever a homecoming couple. We both got our GEDs. Never went to prom.”

  She seemed to take that as a challenge. “And we weren’t a power couple, fireman. That would require us being an actual couple.”

  “You were snuggled up pretty close.”

  “So were you. I saw you on the dance floor. It might as well have been a prom. You probably made out in the parking lot afterward.”

  He made the sound of a buzzer. “You lose. There was no making out.”

  “Really? Maybe she was mad because you were flirting with the bridesmaids.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I wasn’t flirting. And I only talked to one bridesmaid.” Had there been other bridesmaids? Honestly, he couldn’t remember.

  “It was three years ago. You can’t possibly remember if you talked to other bridesmaids. Or if you made out or not.”

  “I’m pretty damn sure.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you always like this with the questions?” He twisted a pipe, which came out in his hand.

  “No. But I had this idea that you were the perfect couple, the perfect family, and now you tell me you’re divorced, and all my illusions are shattered. I’m wondering what happened between then and now. You looked so lovey-dovey together.”

  Lovey-dovey? He wanted to gag, especially given the true state of things between him and Belinda. “That’s funny, because by the time of Brody’s wedding we hadn’t had sex in two years.”

  “Two years?”

  Oh God, now he’d done it. He always did have a knack for brutal honesty, which had its good points and its bad points. Might as well go for broke.

  “Or for two years after the wedding. In fact . . .” Why hold anything back? “I haven’t had sex for five years.”

  NITA STARED AT the mouth-watering length of man stretched under the sink. Jeb Stone had been at the Enchanted Garden for the sum total of one night, and already he’d turned all her ideas about him upside down. The man exuded sex from every cell, but he hadn’t had sex in five years?

  “Why not?”

  “Long story, but the gist of it is that my wife—ex-wife—Belinda decided we shouldn’t, since we both knew we wouldn’t last past Alison’s eighteenth birthday.”

  Nita wondered if she’d been wrong about everything at Melissa’s wedding. She’d certainly been wrong about Bradford.

  Jeb continued. “I feel I should warn you that when a man hasn’t had sex in five years and he meets a woman he’s attracted to, that could be trouble.”

  A thrill shivered through her. “Trouble how?”

  “I’ll probably be pulling out all the stops to get you into bed. In fact, I know I will.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yep. Brace yourself. Plumber’s tape, please.”

  Slightly stunned, she passed him the only thing that could possibly be plumber’s tape. “You’re a player, aren’t you? You were flirting at the wedding. And now you’re doing it again.”

  “A player?” He let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s a good one. And I didn’t flirt. I
was about to flirt. Never quite got there. It’s quite likely I’m flirting now, but since it’s been a long time, I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”

  “Oh, you’re doing pretty well,” said Nita faintly. Not that she would necessarily call it flirting, but he’d certainly gotten her attention with his direct approach. And held it.

  She feasted her eyes on the body stretched out before her. With his arms stretched overhead, his T-shirt rode up, revealing rippling stomach muscles. He inhabited his body in a confident way that made him very easy to look at and talk to. He seemed completely comfortable with himself, and his frankness was addictive. She didn’t encounter much frankness in her world.

  “So what am I supposed to do with this information?” She asked his prone body.

  “Oh no, I’m not telling you what to do. I know better. But if you aren’t interested, you might want to tone down that.”

  He gestured at her with his pipe wrench.

  “That? What’s that?”

  “That sexiness. You make it hard on a man.”

  “You mean, hard on a man who hasn’t had sex in five years.”

  “See, that’s the trouble. Is it the five years, or would I have the hots for you no matter what? I figure there’s only one way to know.”

  “What?”

  “You should go to bed with me.”

  Another disturbing thrill raced through her nervous system. “Well, that’s convenient. Is that the answer to all life’s little mysteries?”

  He laughed and settled the new length of black plastic pipe into place. “There’s a good chance that’s true. At least, it might be the answer to not letting them bother you.”

  A philosopher/plumber/fireman. Definitely not the type of guy she’d spent time with before.

  “Does this line about the five years work with most women?”

  “Lines are not my style,” he said with a grunt as he secured the pipe. “I’d rather just tell it like it is and take my lumps. And I haven’t tried to get any other woman into bed.”