Laughter greeted that announcement. Everybody clapped and raised their glasses to John. Carolee put a brimming mug of lager in front of Shannon so she could join in the toast.
“Welcome to Courage Bay, Forester,” everyone chorused.
Just as Shannon had known he would, Spike began the inquisition before their mugs of draft were half emptied. Spike was called the Inquisitor, and he’d earned his nickname fair and square. He leaned forward, squinting around Shannon, and said, “So, John, what brings you here to Courage Bay?”
“I saw the posting in the Bulletin and applied.”
The Bulletin was a national newsletter for firefighters.
“I always wanted to live in California,” John declared. “And I saw this documentary a while ago on Courage Bay—looked to be a really nice city.”
“You’re right about that,” Spike confirmed. “Our town’s the best kept secret on the coast. Great weather, beautiful gals, nice beaches.”
“Not much of a secret after that documentary aired,” someone commented.
Shannon had to agree. Her sister-in-law’s film had gotten national distribution and won several awards, and obviously it had attracted people to Courage Bay. Willow had seen it and moved here, and now John was saying it was the reason for his arrival, as well.
“Yeah, you’re right, I guess that documentary sort of put us on the map,” Spike agreed. “That was mostly about Bicep’s big brother, Sean, and his group of smoke jumpers. Those guys are real heroes.”
Carolee was serving more beer. “Your sister-in-law was the photographer on that film, right, Shannon?”
“Yeah, that’s how Sean and Linda met,” Shannon confirmed.
“That was so romantic,” the waitress sighed. “They got caught in that bushfire up the mountain, didn’t they? And the news helicopter rescued them.”
Shannon nodded. Carolee might not fully understand the danger Sean and Linda had been in, but she did. It still gave her cold shudders to think of it. It was a miracle they’d ever gotten out. They’d been surrounded by wildfire, just as she had been at the warehouse fire, when her silver angel came along.
Maybe the O’Sheas had a monopoly on miracles.
As if she’d read Shannon’s mind, Carolee said, “How’s that dog you saved from the warehouse, Shannon? I saw you on the news with him.” Carolee loved animals, and had a cat that she brought to work.
“He had to have his back leg amputated, but I think he’s gonna be fine.” She hadn’t brought up Salvage’s future yet, but now was as good a time as any. Raising her voice so the others around the bar could hear, she said, “If nobody claims him, what do you guys think of having a dog at the firehouse? He’s a black Lab, real nice disposition. Name of Salvage, and a trifle challenged, so he fits right in.”
“Sure.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Sounds good. He could clean up on the dinner scraps—keep Chug from gaining any more weight.”
“Bring him around, we’ll take a vote.”
It sounded as if Salvage might have a new home, and Shannon felt pleased with herself—and grateful to Willow for having the idea in the first place. She sipped her lager. At least one thing had gone right today.
Spike was grilling John again. “So how long you been a fireman, Forester?”
“This is my fifth year. My dad was a fireman. We lived in Queens but he worked at Hall Seventeen in Brooklyn. He died a year ago, and I haven’t any other close family.”
“Hey, my second cousin worked at Seventeen,” Monte said. “Jimmy Reilly. You ever hear your dad mention him?”
There was the tiniest of pauses before John answered, Shannon noted.
“Not that I can recall, but maybe he was there after my father left. Dad was retired for a long time before he died—he had bad lungs. Used to go in with no breathing apparatus.”
“Yeah, lots of the old-timers had rotten lungs from that,” Monte agreed. “They used to think they were tough—made fun of anybody who used masks.”
“I’m glad things have changed in that regard,” John commented.
“So, you married, Forester?” Spike asked. “Got any kids?”
Shannon had to hide her grin by taking a sip of her beer. Spike wouldn’t rest until he extracted every last ounce of personal information John was willing to share. And about this particular subject, she was all ears.
“Nope. Never been married. And no kids.”
“That you know about, right?” Spike joked. “Hell, at our age, there could be a lot of slips we never found out about. Remember that report on 20/20 about guys who sold sperm to those banks, and now the kids are tracing down their biological fathers? One guy could have thirty kids turn up on his doorstep one day, all asking for money for college. Now there’s a sobering thought. Any of you guys ever go that route in your younger days, selling your essence to pay the rent?”
There was laughter and denial all round. “How come you know so much about it, Spike?” Chug asked.
“Hey, don’t look at me. My sperm are all present and accounted for.”
“So do you practice abstinence, or just safe sex?” The wise mouth was one of the two rookies who’d just walked in.
“Porn movies, that’s the answer,” the other one said. “It’s cheaper than dating.”
The group erupted with hoots of derision and shouts of agreement.
Taking advantage of the noise level, John turned to Shannon and asked, “How about you, Shannon? Married, divorced, significant other?”
“Never married, so never divorced. Nothing significant or otherwise. And no kids, although I’m about to become an aunt again, which thrills me no end. I already have a niece and a nephew.”
He nodded, once again holding her gaze just longer than was comfortable. Damn, this guy raised the hair on the back of her neck just by looking at her. She used her mug as a diversion, taking another sip of beer.
“But kids of your own are in your future?”
She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’d like to think so. But who knows what the future holds?”
According to Willow everybody did, on some level. But Shannon didn’t want to think about Willow and her theories—or her wrecking ball—just now.
“The guys call you Biceps,” John continued. “Care to tell me how you got your nickname?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Nope.”
But Spike was eavesdropping, as usual. He winked at Shannon. “That started when she was a rookie, and Martin, the guy we call Nubs—you’ll meet him—was totally smitten with her, but Biceps didn’t feel the same way, see. Anyhow, Nubs hit on her until she got fed up and challenged him to an arm wrestling contest. He’s an annoying guy, Nubs. She made the rules. He won, she’d go out with him. He lost, he’d leave her alone. Now, you gotta understand that having a woman as part of the team was brand-new to all of us, so we were really interested in this whole scenario. In fact, the whole damn firehouse laid bets that day.”
“Yeah,” Chug said with a doleful sigh. “I lost a hundred bucks on that one.”
“Not me,” Spike declared. “I made a bundle. I figured she was way too smart to get into something she couldn’t win.”
Shannon was embarrassed by the attention, but she was also laughing along with everybody else. The story had become a legend of sorts at the hall, and she’d heard these guys telling it to every rookie, so it wasn’t anything new.
“Anyhow, she took him easy. Which is how he got the label Nubs. No upper body strength. Which made her Biceps.”
John pursed his lips and whistled. “Remind me never to challenge you to a duel, Shannon.” He was obviously enjoying himself at her expense.
“A duel? I’m hopeless with guns. You’d win easy.” Unless we were using another kind of weapon, up close and personal. That might be a draw.
John was looking straight into her eyes, and she felt color come to her cheeks.
“No really smart guy would take that route to win the he
art of a lady, anyhow,” he said.
“No?” Chug leaned forward. “So give us your tried and true big-city formula for romance, there, Big Bad John.”
Big Bad John.
Shannon knew at that moment that John had passed the test. New members only got a label when the other guys took to them—or when they made a serious error. Firemen were ruthless, and nicknames stuck forever. This one was a kind of compliment.
“Hey, I’m no expert on that subject.” John shook his head. “I don’t think there’s a man alive who is. You oughta be asking the women.”
“Okay, Biceps, you start. What really turns a lady’s crank when it comes to guys?”
“Top of the list? Honesty. Women get so sick of you guys and your bullshit. Why is it you can’t just stick to the truth? We’re tough, we can take it.”
“Way to go, Shannon.” Carolee and Marie clapped.
“Okay, write that down, guys—honesty,” Spike said. “What’s next on the list?”
Maria spoke up. “Laughter. A guy’s got to have a good sense of humor.”
“Well, we all got that in spades, right, guys?” Chug lifted his mug in a toast. “To the funny, honest guys from Jefferson Ave.” They all cheered and drank and then he said, “Okay, go on. What’s next?”
Carolee was mixing drinks, but she didn’t even pretend she wasn’t listening. She lowered her throaty voice half an octave. “Slow hands,” she purred. “The reason we don’t tell you guys when we have an orgasm is because you’re usually not there when it happens, right, girls?”
For some reason, the women laughed harder than the men at that.
“This is getting too rowdy for me,” Chug announced. “How about a game of pool?” He picked up his beer and headed toward the function room, where there were pool tables, darts and televisions. As the others followed him, Shannon decided it was time for her to head home. She took her handbag from under the bar stool and stood up.
“See you, John. I’ve got to go. My animals will be waiting for their dinner.”
He got up, too. “I was hoping that maybe you’d have dinner with me. We could try out that roof patio upstairs? I hear the food here is good.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch. She was really tempted, but maybe it was too soon. She wanted to see what he was like at work, find out more about him before she chose to spend off time with him. The rumor mill at the firehouse worked overtime. No point getting into something that might cause awkwardness if it fizzled.
Besides, she had this nagging feeling that she knew him from somewhere, and she needed time to figure out what that was all about.
“Thanks, but I really should get home.”
“Okay. Maybe another time.” He didn’t pursue it, which impressed her. “Thanks for showing me around.” He walked with her to the door, holding it open for her.
The guy had good instincts.
Get real, O’Shea. This guy has good everything. Which made her wonder if maybe he was just too good to be true. She smiled a thank-you up into his soft brown eyes, swallowed hard when she felt an unmistakable rush, and took off, once again forcing herself not to turn around and see if he was watching.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JOHN WATCHED HER JOG OFF, admiring the way her long, inky-black braid bounced, almost touching her firm round ass. She had an amazing body, a rare combination of athleticism and womanly curves. He couldn’t help but imagine her naked and shivering, held tight in his arms.
“Ahh, Shannon O’Shea, you’re going to be trouble, damn it all to hell,” he muttered under his breath. He’d known it the moment he laid eyes on her. Tall and strong and incredibly sexy, she had eyes bluer than the California sky. And what would that thick mass of raven-dark hair look like, spread loose on a white pillow? His body responded before he could get his imagination reined in.
Back off, Johnny boy, he cautioned himself silently. There’s too much resting on this job to jeopardize it over a woman. She’s not your sort, regardless of how she makes your blood boil. And you’re only here for the job, so keep that in mind. You’ll be gone in a few short weeks if everything goes right.
Honesty. She’d said she wanted that quality in a man. And of course that was the last thing he could give her.
When she turned a corner, he gave his head a rueful shake and closed the door. Then he went back to the bar to pick up his half-finished mug of beer.
He’d love to head back to the motel—it had been a long, tiring day. But instead he walked into the function room where the others had gone. There were things he needed to know, and the best place to find them out was by listening as the firemen talked.
Booze loosened tongues as well as inhibitions. Loose lips sink ships, one of his mother’s low-life lovers used to say. He’d forgotten which asshole that was, there’d been so many.
FOR A WHILE THERE, Shannon had forgotten about the mess her house was in. Climbing up the ramp to the kitchen door reminded her. At least Willow wasn’t home, which was a relief. Shannon fed the dogs and was heating up a frozen casserole her mother had given her when someone banged on the kitchen door.
Cleo and Pepsi went into a barking frenzy. Shannon had to wade through them to open the door.
“Hey, Shannon.” Her oldest brother, Patrick, gave her a quick hug. “What’s up with the stairs? They fall off the house?”
“The stairs are the least of it. Wait till you see the rest. C’mon in. You had dinner yet? Mom gave me one of those shepherd pie things, and there’s lots for both of us.”
She scowled at the dogs, who were now doing their best to gain Patrick’s attention. He knew Pepsi, so he neatly sidestepped when the dog raised a leg.
“Hey, Pepsi, you old reprobate. Hello, Cleo.” Patrick patted each of them in turn. “I thought you’d have the black Lab from the fire living here. I saw the television clip of the two of you.”
“You and the rest of the western world,” Shannon groaned. “I’ve been in worse fires, and not a shred of publicity. But get a big old dog in the picture, and you’re poster girl for the whole darn department. We named him Salvage, by the way.” She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Want some?”
“Sure. Wow, I see what you mean about the wreckage. Look at those counters.” He loosened his tie and took off his suit jacket. “Did you just feel the need to smash something, or is there a reason for all this?”
“I made the mistake of telling Willow she could do some carpentry. She’s a dangerous woman.”
“I just came from a council meeting. If you think Willow’s dangerous, you oughta try some of those people.”
Patrick had been mayor of Courage Bay for less than a year, but already his influence was being felt. He had a way of cutting through sludge to get to the central issues, and he had zero tolerance for anything less than the absolute truth. Sometimes she wondered why she couldn’t meet guys a little like her brothers.
Although sizewise, she’d met one today. She figured John Forester could hold his own quite well in a size and strength match with the O’Shea brothers.
She poured them each a glass of wine and set the table.
“I dropped by the hospital to see how Sam was doing,” Patrick said. “That was bad business, that warehouse fire.”
“How is he?”
“They’re letting him out in a couple days. That leg injury’s pretty serious—compound fracture. He’s liable to be laid up awhile. He says his arm’s okay, but he’s got a hell of a gash on his shoulder. He and Dan are lucky to be alive, if you ask me.”
Shannon nodded. “I’ll say. Did he say anything about the explosion?”
“Only that it was some sort of bomb, and he suspects it was set in a deliberate effort to do away with evidence from the first fire. Sam is convinced both of them were arson.”
“He have any idea who might have been responsible?”
Patrick shook his head. “Even if he did, Sam’s too professional to say anything unless he’s got good hard evidence.”
“Which is gone now, thanks to the second fire.”
The oven timer went off, and Shannon used potholders to take the casserole out. She set it on the table along with thick slabs of good bakery bread, and served them each a generous portion. There was silence as they forked up mouthfuls.
“This is delicious,” Patrick said with a sigh, blotting up gravy with a slice of bread. “Mom sent me a couple of these as well, but I haven’t had time to cook them. I thought I’d save them until Dylan and Fiona come back from summer camp.”
“I appreciate the food. I’d like it even better if Mom wasn’t such a worrywart.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes she has good reason, where you’re concerned. She’s not the only one worrying at the moment. The fact that both my sister and brother are firefighters doesn’t make me sleep too well at night when some maniac is out there setting fires and planting bombs. Promise you’ll be supercareful until this arsonist is caught, kid.”
Shannon felt like screaming. Now she had Patrick on her case as well as her mother? It took effort, but she kept her voice level. “You of all people should know both Sean and I are well-trained. We don’t take unnecessary chances.”
“Oh, yeah?” Patrick gestured at the dogs, who were lying on the small back porch. “Nobody needs to tell me you took quite a big chance rescuing that dog the other day. Mom told me some guy had to rescue both of you. And you wouldn’t have needed rescuing if you weren’t in trouble, right?”
“I’d have found a way out myself. He just made it easy.” But even as she said it, Shannon wondered if it was true. She’d gone over the entire scene in her head numerous times, and she had to admit that she’d been in serious trouble in that warehouse. She wasn’t at all sure she’d have found a way out. “Anyhow, I learned early on not to get fixated on what could happen in any given situation. You do your best, and if something goes wrong, all a person can do is learn from it, and let it go.”
“If you happen to live through it.” Patrick had set his fork down. He sipped his wine and gave Shannon a long, thoughtful look. He had blue eyes, like all the O’Shea kids, but his were a lighter, less intense blue than Shannon’s or Sean’s. At this moment, though, they were piercing. “Who was this guy who helped you find a way out? I’d like to meet him, thank him for helping my baby sister out of a jam.”
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