by Lisa Ladew
Bronx laughed and wagged a finger at her, then grabbed her around the waist, spinning her smaller frame easily around. "Come on, I want you to meet my brothers."
Bronx saw his father and Darcia first though, and detoured over to say hi to them and introduce Jazzy. He knew his dad might want to skip out early, since there was still a lot of tension between him and Knox. Knox would probably never forgive him for giving up their little sister for adoption, no matter how many sad overtures Dad made. Oh, and don't forget that Dad hadn't talked to Talon yet. Was still pretending that Talon didn't exist. What a kicker that was. Bronx had always tried to love his dad, but the ex-army colonel, had never made it easy.
After a few moments of small talk, he shook his father's hand, kissed Darcia on the cheek, thanked them for coming, and pulled Jazzy to the buffet table. If he knew his brothers, that's where they would be. Billionaires, and yet they never turned down a free meal. Especially barbecue. Bronx shook his head, a warm feeling filling his chest. Too bad Phoenix wasn't there.
He spotted Talon first and easily. Knox wore a suit like a few other people at the celebration, Daxton wore a t-shirt (with no inappropriate expressions or pictures, Bronx was happy to note) but Talon was definitely the only guy present wearing a dark beanie and a black leather motorcycle cut with a wicked looking Viking helmet on the back.
They all sat at one of the picnic tables. Talon's back was to Bronx, and his right hand was massaging the neck of a slim brunette next to him, his fiance, Crystal. Knox sat across the table, whispering something into the ear of his fiance, Mica. Daxton stood alongside the table, looking thoroughly disgusted with all the lovey-dovey crap. Bronx knew how he felt. Knox was never without Mica these days, Bronx barely got to see him anymore.
Bronx pulled Jazzy in that direction. "I see them," he said, pointing.
"Alright now, I'm finally going to meet the most eligible brothers in San Francisco. Whoo!" Jazzy pulled them to a stop and adjusted her stance. She stood tall, well, tall for her, with her hands on her hips. "Ok, give it to me straight, B. Am I presentable? How do my boobs look?"
Bronx squinted his eyes and leaned forward towards her chest. "I don't know, Jazz, did you forget to stuff your bra today? The left one is looking a little funky..."
Jazzy huffed and looked down.
"I'm kidding! You look great." Bronx pulled her forward again. "Besides, they aren't very eligible anymore. Knox is engaged now. Talon is taken too. Daxton is single though."
Jazzy's voice deepened, became predatory. "Please tell me he's the knockout with the dimples who is standing up."
Bronx looked at her, trying to measure if she was being serious or not. You could never be sure with Jazzy, that was one thing he loved about her.
"Yeah, that's him."
"Come to momma," Jazzy said under her breath, but then Knox saw them and got up, rushing towards them.
The brothers surrounded Bronx, clapping him on the back, ruffling his short, dark hair, practically knocking him to the ground with congratulations.
Bronx fought his way out of the bear hugs and noogies and introduced Jazzy. "This is my brother Knox, and his fiance, Mica, my brother Daxton, my brother Talon, and his fiance Crystal. This is Jasmine Larue."
Jazzy elbowed him in the ribs and held out her hand to the brothers in turn. "Jazzy, my name is Jazzy."
When she got to Daxton, she tilted her head back and stood on her tiptoes to look him in the eyes, a seductive smile on her face. "Well aren't you a tall swallow of white wine?"
Daxton blinked at her cluelessly for a moment then seemed to recover. "I pair best with slow-roasted lamb though."
A dark smile lit Jazzy's face and she moved closer to Daxton, running her fingers over his forearm. "And here, I thought Bronx was the funny brother."
Daxton met Bronx's eyes over the top of Jazzy's head for a moment. Bronx chuckled at the slightly victimized look he saw there. Jazzy seemed short and cute from a distance, but up close she was smart as shit with an attitude like a man. If she'd set her sights on Dax, he might be in trouble.
Jazzy slipped an arm around Daxton's waist and led him away from the table, where four sets of ears were glued to their conversation. "Walk with me," she told him. "So we can get to know each other. I'll start. I'm French Creole from Manhattan. You've never seen a bigger contradiction."
"Or a prettier one," Daxton said as he put his arm around Jazzy's shoulders and they meandered towards the tree-line.
Bronx watched them go, refusing to see trouble brewing. Dax was another one who could take care of himself. None of his brothers needed babysitters.
Bronx was just glad he was single and relationship-free. The last thing he needed while he was trying to get through his six-month probation with the fire department was any entanglements.
Present fiancés excluded, women always seemed to bring trouble to the Rosesson brothers.
Chapter 3
Bronx
Bronx waved as Knox and his fiance drove out of the parking lot. He turned on his heel and headed back to the barbeque area for cleanup duty. Talon and Crystal had already left, as had Dad and Darcia. Now if only he could find Jazzy and Daxton.
As he walked around the corner of the building he almost ran into them, coming his way. Jazzy had her arm curled around Daxton's and his head was thrown back as he laughed heartily. Jazzy's face wore a look of perfect satisfaction.
Bronx stopped and waited for his brother to notice him. He flashed Jazzy a look. She'd disappeared completely and could have been up to anything.
Daxton noticed him finally and gave him a sunny smile. "Bronx, there you are. We were looking for you."
Bronx gestured behind them. " Oh really? I must have been pretty hard to find sitting at the picnic table you left me at, out there in the open for the last hour."
Daxton hit him on the shoulder. "Ass." Daxton bent and kissed Jazzy on the cheek. She watched him with feral eyes, a secret communication passing between them.
"Bye Jazzy-baby."
"Bye, sugar. I'll call you."
Daxton shook Bronx's hand one more time and took off for the parking lot, whistling an airy tune that Bronx couldn't place.
Bronx watched him go then turned on Jazzy, narrowing his eyes. "He seems happy. What did you do?"
Jazzy laughed and started for the barbeque area. "Nothing you wouldn't have done, B, don't you worry your pretty little head about that."
Bronx ran to catch up with her. "Could you be more specific?" He put a hand up. "You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know. You don't have to fill me in until we are at risk of little Jazzy or Daxton Juniors running around."
Jazzy scoffed. "Oh hell no. Don't you put that voodoo on me. I don't even want to think about kids for at least the next ten years."
Before Bronx could reply, they rounded the corner of the large, brick building. A woman stood in front of them, slightly bent over a table, wearing blue slacks and a pink tank top.
"Nice bum, where ya from?" Bronx said, a little too loudly. Jazzy snorted. The woman turned around and eyed Bronx up and down.
She dug in her pocket for something and Bronx knew he should care when he saw from the corner of his eye that it was a badge, but he couldn't. She was beautiful. His breath caught in his throat as his gaze traveled her face with a lover's care. Her eyes were wide-set and pale blue, her hair a light brown or dark blonde and bobbed at shoulder-length. The sun filled it with light, making her look like she wore a halo. Her bangs hid what was possibly a too-high forehead, but Bronx didn't care. He only saw perfection. Even her lips, pressed together in irritation, made him want to touch them, maybe kiss them.
Something completely indefinable about her made him forget himself for just a moment. It was more than just her physical beauty, even though that was great in his eyes.
She shoved her badge into his face, only having to look up slightly to meet him at eye-level. He stood six feet, two inches in his boots. She had to be almost six feet tall herself.
"Where I'm from is your chain of command, recruit."
Bronx swallowed hard, pissed at himself for getting into trouble already, for his smart mouth fucking things up for him once again. He tried to apologize, but the words wouldn't come. His brain tripped over letters and syllables as a deep attraction flooded through him. His lungs struggled to find air as his eyes slid over her skin.
Jazzy looked at him, looked back at the woman, then grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away. "Don't mind him, Lieutenant. He was dropped on his head as a baby." She pulled harder, but Bronx's feet remained firmly planted. Jazzy pinched him on the arm and said, "Repeatedly," under her breath.
Lieutenant? How did Jazzy know that? His eyes finally left the woman's face and traveled down her body. She wore a nametag on a lanyard. Emerald "Eme" Avalon. Lieutenant assigned to training. Bronx felt his heartbeat speed up like he was facing a snarling pit bull, or a bear perhaps. "Emerald," he said under his breath. He'd never heard a more beautiful name. It fit her. It was perfect. She—
Jazzy dug in and pulled harder on him. He brushed her hands away. He had to make it better. Had to apologize. Say something. He couldn't let Lieutenant Avalon think he was an idiot. But still words wouldn't come. He realized he was still staring at her nametag, which was placed directly over the swell of one small, perky breast.
Jazzy gave up trying to get him to move finally and stepped in front of him, pushing him backwards with her butt. "Like I said Lieutenant. Don't mind him. He didn't mean anything by it. He's a jokester this one. Likes to make jokes. And his brother does too. I just met his brother. I met three of them actually. Maybe you saw them? They—"
The Lieutenant cut her off. "What are you two, a couple of misfits?"
"No ma'am," Jazzy said, still pushing on Bronx.
Lieutenant Avalon shook her head and walked away towards the building, not looking back at them. Bronx watched her go, feeling a mixture of relief and grief.
Jazzy turned on him, her hands on her hips. "What in the hell, Bronx? You never seen a woman before? I admit it, I had moments where I thought you might have been gay, even, but you sure cleared that up. You couldn't have acted more King of the Dumbasses if you tried."
Bronx watched the lieutenant walk into the building, his mind lingering on the way she drew out her words with the barest hint of an accent. How lovely she'd sounded. But when the door closed behind her, whatever spell she had cast over him finally seemed to disappear like a bubble popping. He looked at the ground and mumbled something.
Jazzy shook her head. "Shit, you got it bad." She grabbed a black trash bag off the table and headed towards the closest picnic table. Bronx threw one last glance towards the building, then hooked his own bag and followed her, his mind buzzing.
They dumped plastic cups and paper plates into their bags, clearing off three tables before she spoke, her tone light and teasing. "I'll make you a deal. You get your brother to take me out and I'll hook you up with Lieutenant Icy-Britches."
Bronx dropped his bag and grabbed Jazzy's upper arms. "You know her? She's your friend?"
Jazzy rolled her eyes as she pulled away from him. "Oh yeah, we're totally BFFs. Didn't you see when we did our secret sorority handshake?"
Bronx just blinked at her, the thinking part of his brain still on permanent pause. He felt like an idiot, but whatever had happened to him back there hadn't cleared enough to let him function.
Jazzy shook her head and stomped to the next table. Bronx heard her muttering under her breath about dumbass white boys and bitches with popsicles stuck up their asses.
He dropped his ass on the picnic table and raised his face to the sun, trying to burn away the spell.
So much for his first day of probation. At this rate he'd be fired before he ever got to ride on the big truck.
***
Eme ducked inside the door, her heart beating hard. She strode down the hallway to find a bathroom, somewhere that she could be alone for a moment to gather herself.
As she walked, she fingered her name tag, remembering how the handsome, dark-haired man had stared at it and said her name, like he'd never seen the word before. She wished again that she had taken a less unique name. She should have named herself Jane Smith. Not Emerald Avalon. And what about calling herself a cutesy nickname like Eme? She could have at least spelled it correctly. Emmie. Then people would know how to pronounce it.
She ducked inside the bathroom, glad to find it empty. She splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror, squaring her jaw and responding to her negative thoughts. She liked Eme. She liked Emerald. It meant so many different things to her. It gave meaning to her journey, strength to her misgivings.
She dried her face and stared at herself in the mirror, forcing herself to take deep breaths, her mind replaying the incident with the recruit outside. He hadn't meant anything by it, she finally decided. He had been thrown off balance by her producing her badge. He'd thought he was going to get in trouble, that was all. It wasn't his fault that she was jumpy, gun-shy, wary of men in general. He was probably a perfectly nice guy.
Her mind lingered for a moment on the thought of him. Tall. Strong. Rugged looking. Heavy brow, hint of a five-o'clock shadow, even though he obviously had shaved that morning and it was only two in the afternoon. Gorgeous, dark eyes colored a curious gray, almost like ... flint rocks.
Eme felt a strange stirring in her belly and squashed it flat. She didn't care what it was. Interest. Attraction. It didn't matter. Men were off the table for now.
All men were trouble, but men you didn't want to stop looking at were triple trouble, she knew that first-hand.
Chapter 4
Bronx
At 7:50 sharp the next day, Bronx parked his truck beside Station 66 and walked around to the front. There was a side entrance that faced the tiny parking lot, but he'd noticed the bay door was open. He wanted his first time walking into his new second home to be through that door that was large enough to fit a fire truck. He wore a new, spotless, blue uniform and shiny black boots and carried his night clothes under his arm. He didn't know if he'd be working all day and night or not, but he wanted to be prepared, just in case his first twenty-four hours shift started that day. He looked down, giving himself one final once-over for loose threads, then decided it was good enough.
He walked to the sidewalk and took a right, then stopped in front of the building to take it all in, a sense of awe filling him. He was here. He was a San Francisco Fire Fighter. Probationary for six months, but still. He would not give anyone a reason to fire him. He would work hard, do his job and extra, keep his head down, and be the best probie they'd ever seen.
The building stood two stories high, the front lined with rough, tan brick. A white archway lined the open door, giving it a stately look that he loved. The incline of the street was gradual, but there, making one side of the building look higher than the other.
Bronx's heart slammed in his chest as he looked in the bay door and saw Truck 66, an aerial ladder rig that took a crew of five firefighters.
His truck.
Clean air rushed into his lungs as he took a deep breath and stepped inside through the open bay door, his eyes scanning the interior. Turnout lockers lined the wall to his left, and wound hoses graced the back. He walked past the blood-red truck, reaching out to touch the chrome-colored pole in the middle of the open room. He stopped for a moment and squinted upwards at the circle in the ceiling that led to the bunkroom. He couldn't wait for the first time he slid down this thing. Talk about a dream come true.
He kept walking, his ears picking up the noises of the building. He heard laughter and grunting along with telltale heavy weights dropping from the back of the building. A weight room somewhere. To his right, he saw an open door leading into a hallway, and a glass window covering what looked like a radio room. The radio room stood empty, but the sound of dishes clanking together sounded from the hallway. Someone was back there.
Bronx followed the noise and
came to a large kitchen. A man with dark hair stood at the sink, his back to Bronx, his arms lathered to the elbows as he washed what looked like the breakfast dishes.
Bronx cleared his throat. "Hey, man."
The firefighter turned around and took Bronx in, his face guarded, then he nodded. "You the probie?"
"Yeah."
"You want Chief Isaacs. Upstairs, first door on the left."
Bronx nodded his thanks but the man had already dismissed him and turned around. He pulled out of the kitchen and scanned the hallway, looking for steps. A female firefighter with red hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck came out of another door and eyed him up and down.
Bronx twisted his face into a smile. "I'm looking for upstairs. Chief Isaacs."
The woman nodded and gave him a tight grin but before she could say anything, a tall, older man with a high and tight speckled through with gray, wearing small spectacles, stuck his head out of a doorway and said, "Up here, chucklehead."
Bronx shifted his eyes to the man and tried not to let his surprise show on his face. The guy would get along great with his dad.
The man tromped back up the stairs and Bronx pushed forward, edging past the woman, noticing the look of extreme distaste on her face as she stared at the doorway the guy had vacated. Bronx smiled at her and mouthed, "Thanks," then headed up the steps.
When he reached the top, the redwood hallway he spilled out into was empty. A glance to the right showed an open area that twisted around a wall and past his field of vision. He could just see the end of two bunk beds. He found the first door on the left and looked in. The guy with the gray hair was sitting behind a tiny desk covered with unruly stacks of white paper. Bronx judged him to be fifty-five or sixty years old. A very fit fifty-five or sixty.
Bronx knocked and waited to be invited in.
The man pursed his lips and swung his head towards Bronx. "I know you're there. Get your ass in here."
Bronx walked in and sat on the folding chair opposite the desk. The man started talking with his eyes still on the paper in front of him.
