It had been a long time for him. Not that he hadn't had his chances. Once his body had begun to mend, the natural urges had reawakened. The body had been willing, but he hadn't met a woman who had fired him up enough to make the considerable effort required of a man encased in plaster.
He was paying for that lethargy now, in the hot throbbing bulge of distended flesh and pooled blood threatening the zipper of his jeans. Need was driving him to his knees. One more kiss, one more of her soft sighs, and he was a goner. Nothing would stop him from taking her the way he'd taken her on a pallet of spring grass by the river.
Groaning hoarsely, he wrested his mouth away from the lush warmth of her throat and fought to clear his head. He almost lost it when she fluttered open those long silky lashes to give him a glimpse of those hauntingly familiar eyes softly glazed with passion.
"You're powerful stuff when you want to be." His voice was still hoarse, and his breathing was doing anything but settling.
"You said the same thing that night by the river."
"I did?"
"Uh-huh. It made me feel giddy with happiness." Her tongue darted between swollen lips, leaving a thin sheen of moisture.
"So much for good intentions," he muttered, and in his mind he was already searching for a place where they could be alone when a faint but familiar wail penetrated the thunder of his pulse.
"It's the cavalry, Red." He couldn't seem to clear the harsh rasp from his voice.
"Just in the nick of time." It was the worst kind of cliché, but it was the first rational thought that popped into her mind.
Even muffled by the sturdy wall, the siren's wailing grew steadily louder until Darcy's ears were ringing. And then, just as suddenly, it stopped, and she heard the shouted greetings outside.
"Sounds like the girls are back," Judd murmured calmly, but his hands were busy trying to restore order to her flyaway curls while she concentrated on smoothing her now wrinkled shirt safely over her thighs again.
"That was quick. Their coming back, I mean."
By his calculation the truck had been gone more than an hour, far longer than he'd anticipated. "Son of a bitch, why didn't I think—"
"What's wrong? Why are you glaring at me like that?"
"Because, damn it, I'd bet my chief's badge that they took those little girls on a run."
Darcy felt the heat in her cheeks turn to ice. "A run? You mean a … a fire?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what I mean."
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
Whenever a civilian or, in the case of Rosie Lee and the twins, civilians accompanied the men on an actual run, the officer in charge was required to file a report.
Monk had had his on Judd's desk before the duty section had finished dinner. Judd had asked him to wait while he read it through. Now it lay on the desk between them, bearing Monk's signature and Judd's initials.
"Good report," Judd told him. "Concise, clear."
Monk's expression told him what he thought of Judd's tough, no-nonsense requirements about precision.
"Yessir."
"Sounds like it was an easy run."
"Those little girls are born fire fighters, Chief, I swear. Especially those two little redheads. Took to it like ducks to water." Some of the cardboard stiffness left Monk's face. "One of them, Betsy, I think, tried to help Shutte with the hose."
"You didn't let her?"
Judd was congratulating himself on achieving a tone that wouldn't threaten a baby when Monk's complexion took on a fiery tinge.
"Oh no, sir. I had one of the probies baby-sitting the two of them the whole time."
"So how did Betsy get to the hose?"
Judd kept his temper buttoned tight and his expression stern. It wasn't Monk's fault that he had an irresponsible idiot for a boss.
"Well, there was a lot of confusion at first, you know, like always. I told the girls to stay put in the cab. I even locked the door, but somehow they figured out how to open it."
"Why am I not surprised?" Judd muttered, his chin sinking more heavily against the palm he'd propped under it.
"Honest to goodness, Chief," Monk assured him with some heat. "As soon as I realized those three little hellions were loose, I made sure they were safely out of the way until the fire was history and every inch of hose was packed away again."
Judd had a sudden vision of Monk and half the crew trying to corral three excited children instead of doing the job they'd been trained for. All because he'd had a yen to play the good guy with Darcy's kids.
He rubbed two fingers across his forehead in a futile attempt to loosen the lock some sadistic bastard with claws had on his temple.
"Don't worry about it, Monk," he said as he gave up and got to his feet. It was a mistake, and he sat down quickly, teeth gritted against the searing pain in his knees.
"Sir? Are you all right?"
It hadn't taken long to scope out Monk's place in the firehouse family. He was the worrier, the one who dosed head colds with an endless store of home remedies and dished up words of wisdom on just about any subject like a fussy old maid.
"Yeah, just getting old, I guess."
He summoned a quick smile designed to throw a cog in the firehouse rumor mill before it could start chewing on the subject of the chief's health.
Not that it hadn't already chewed on damn near everything else, including an early morning visit to Pat's grave that he'd intended to be private. He should have known better. Two ladies from the church had seen him and spread it all over town, reviving the old talk that had begun to die down.
"Chief?"
"Yeah?"
"Uh, thanks for standing up for me with the twins' mom." His eyebrows rose and fell over a lingering look of disbelief. "I thought she was going to take my head off before you pulled her up short."
And taken the brunt of her wrath for his trouble, Judd recalled gingerly. But then, fair was fair. He'd been about as unprofessional as a man could get, damn near making love to the woman in a public place because he was lonely and hurting and a lot of other things he didn't want to face at the moment.
"Yeah, well she had cause to light into both of us, didn't she?"
"Yessir, only she sure has an almighty powerful temper for such a refined lady, but I guess that's what comes of having red hair and being Irish."
Taking Judd's curt nod for a dismissal, the lieutenant left the office. "I'm just glad she's your problem, not mine," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder before he disappeared into the big garage.
His problem?
Judd rested his by-now splitting head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. That was one way of putting it, all right.
Only it hadn't felt much like a problem when she'd been nestled in his arms. And the guilt that had dogged him day and night for so long hadn't cut quite so deep when he'd been kissing her.
Yeah, there was a problem, all right. He couldn't stop thinking about the quiet that came on him when he was with her or the pleasure he took in teasing her into one of those guaranteed-to-make-you-smile-back grins.
Judd opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling tiles. It was easy for a man to lose his reason when he was on the receiving end of one of those smiles. Or read more into a kiss than simple human kindness.
If he wasn't careful, a man might start to wish for things that he'd forsaken long ago, like a home filled with noise and laughter and the maddening idiosyncrasies of a big family. Or the quiet peace of lying next to a feisty, impossible, lovable woman with a heart loving enough to take a man the way he was.
Yeah, and the moon was made of green cheese, he thought, stopping the fantasy before it got a chance to root.
Judd bit back a sigh and worked at summoning enough energy to carry him through a shower and a quick bite to eat before he tackled another mound of paperwork.
He was just rousing himself to move when the phone on his desk buzzed. It was the private line, the one that didn't ring
in the living quarters. One of the perks of being chief. One of the nuisances, as well.
"Calhoun."
"Judd, it's Darcy."
He sat up too quickly, and his knees let him know that wasn't a good idea. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing … exactly."
"Care to explain that?"
He heard a sigh, followed by a muffled, "Close the door, please. I'm on the phone."
"Darcy?"
"Sorry. Rosie and the twins are waiting for their bedtime story." Silence hummed through the line while he tightened his hold on the receiver and scowled at the wall.
"Uh, it's probably nothing at all, but you did ask me to tell you if I noticed something unusual. Anyway, it's about Grant, you know the contractor who's going to do the attic."
"I know who he is." What he didn't know was the guy's relationship to her.
"Well, this afternoon, when we were looking at the attic, I noticed something."
"What, that the guy is a jerk?"
He heard a chuckle. "No, I noticed that years ago. This time I noticed his cologne. Remember I told you about the burglar's after-shave? Well, I'm almost positive Grant was wearing the same stuff this afternoon."
Judd felt a twinge in the calf muscle of his left leg and slowly stretched it as far as the tortured tendons would allow.
"Did you call Sheriff Whitfield and tell him this?"
"No."
"Then do it now, as soon as you hang up." There was another silence, longer this time. "Darcy?"
"Actually I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
"Grant and Bob Whitfield are hunting buddies."
Something popped along Judd's jaw, and he made a conscious effort to relax. "I see your point."
"It's probably a coincidence. In fact, I'm sure it is, but, well, I did promise to keep you posted."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
The sound of muted voices drew his attention to the window. Outside, the last rays of the sun had just dipped below the horizon and a couple of the probies were hauling down the flag.
Nearby, a couple of youngsters toting fishing poles watched silently, their expressions respectful, their eyes admiring. Being a fireman still had a certain glamour—until an ambitious young guy found out about the poor pay and long hours and short odds of being permanently crippled. Or killed.
"Well, I'd better be going. The girls—"
"Darcy, why did you pick Koch to do the work on your house? Word I get is that he only takes on big projects these days."
"Actually Tom Billings suggested him. Apparently he'd done all the work on the hotel after Tom bought it. The opera house, too, I think, and several of the other buildings. To tell you the truth, I was somewhat surprised when he agreed to make a bid. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious."
"Judd, you don't think there's anything to this, do you? I mean, Grant is certainly not the kind of guy who goes skulking around people's houses in the middle of the night."
"Just in case, I want you to make sure you lock your doors. Okay?"
"Yes, I know, including the one to the root cellar." She was laughing when she hung up.
Judd waited until he heard the dial tone turn to the recorded message reminding him to hang up before he let the receiver drop into the cradle again.
Someone on the crew stowing the flag in the cupboard outside his door laughed, and then he heard Monk's voice.
"Hey, Monk, is that you?"
"Yessir." A second later his square body was filling the doorway to Judd's office. "Something I can do for you, Chief?"
"Shut the door and have a seat. I'd like a word with you."
"Sure."
He waited until Monk was seated. "Tell me more about that exterminator that showed up the first week I was here."
Monk frowned. "Just what I said, Chief. He came about noon, said you'd called with a rush job."
"Do you remember what he looked like?"
"Like a regular guy, you know. He was wearing coveralls and a hard hat, sort of like a uniform, although I don't remember seeing the name of the company on the back like you'd expect."
"Ever seen that kind of uniform before?"
Monk thought a long moment, then shook his head. "Can't say that I have, no."
"What about the hard hat? Do you remember the color or any kind of writing or logo?"
"Something light. Yellow, or maybe a dirty white. No logo that I remember, although…" He hesitated.
"Although," Judd prompted.
"Now that I think about it, I have this feeling that I've seen the guy before."
"Any idea where?"
Monk's brow knit as he concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. "Sorry. Is it important?"
"Maybe yes, maybe no. In any event, it's a loose end, and I don't like loose ends."
Monk got slowly to his feet, his expression troubled. "I'll give it some more thought, maybe try to visualize the guy in my mind. You know, like they teach us to do at the academy before they let us actually handle a fire."
"Thanks. I'd appreciate that."
"Sure thing."
Monk headed for the door but stopped and looked back when Judd called his name. "I met an old friend the other day, fella by the name of Grant Koch. Do you happen to know him?"
"Everyone knows Mr. Koch. He used to come in here a lot to talk to Chief Kerrigan, and just between you and me, sir, have a 'wee nip' from the bottle the chief kept in his bottom drawer."
Surprised, Judd managed a smile. "Yeah, Koch said something about that when I saw him."
Monk hesitated, his expression troubled. "Now that I think about it, the last time Mr. Koch came in he and the chief had some kind of, er, disagreement. Mr. Koch looked mad enough to walk through doors when he left."
"Probably nothing, but thanks for telling me."
"Like you said, it was probably nothing." Monk opened the door and started to leave, but Judd stopped him once again.
"One more thing, Monk. If you remember anything about that exterminator, no matter how trivial it seems, I want you to call me. Day or night."
Monk looked startled, and then alarmed, but his voice was firm when he answered. "I'll do that."
"And they all lived happily ever after."
Darcy closed the well-thumbed storybook with a flourish and took a moment to enjoy the rapt attention of the three little ones sitting in a circle around her on the parlor rug. For once, even the twins were silent.
"I think that's a dumb story," Betsy said suddenly, breaking the mood.
"Why, sweetie?" Darcy was forced to ask, even though the crease between Betsy's eyebrows told her that she was asking for trouble, something she didn't really need at this moment.
"Because the prince had black hair and he's supposed to have yellow hair."
"He is?"
"Yes."
"I like black," Rosie Lee piped up, pointing to her own shiny black hair.
"No, Rosie Lee. Princes always have yellow hair." Betsy turned to her sister for support. "Don't they?"
For once, Angel nodded her vigorous agreement. "Sometimes they have beards, too, but mostly they shave them off and then they have mustaches."
"Now that's an interesting concept," Prudy commented from the place on the sofa where she was cross-stitching a baby blanket.
Darcy threw her a warning glare, which Prudy fielded with a knowing smile.
"A prince can have all different kinds of hair," Darcy told her audience gravely. "Black like Rosie's or brown like your daddy's or white like Sean-O's."
Rosie Lee giggled. "Sean-O is too old to be a prince."
"Not to an old princess," Prudy muttered, grinning down at the bright blue floss she was threading through her needle.
"The best princes have yellow hair." Betsy's small chin challenged the others to disagree.
"How do you know?" Darcy asked, hooked now and knowing she would regret the question.
"Because that's what Judd has," Ange
l said, answering for her sister and receiving an affronted look for her efforts.
"Makes sense to me," Prudy threw in.
"Who's Judd?" Rosie Lee asked Darcy.
"He's a friend of mine. Of ours."
"He's the one who brought the truck so we could have a ride," Angel explained with unusual patience.
"We like him lots, 'cause he doesn't treat us like dumb little kids like that other friend of Mommy's."
Darcy flinched, and Prudy grinned knowingly. "Gotcha," she muttered.
"Bedtime, young ladies," Bridget called from the door.
"Talking about perfect timing," Prudy mumbled.
"Five minutes more," the girls chorused in triple harmony. "Puh-leeze."
Darcy shook her head. "Aunt Bridget's right. It's time to brush our teeth and climb into bed."
Darcy got to her feet, the usual grumbles and giggles filling the cozy room as the little ones deposited their story pillows into the basket in the corner.
Even with Prudy and Bridget helping, it would take a good half hour to get each one bedded down with one last drink of water and one final bear hug.
After that, she could look forward to at least two hours of end-of-the-month reports and payroll records before she could take her tired body and aching head off to bed.
"Nice story, Mom," Prudy said in a low voice before pushing herself off the sofa. Her tummy was huge, giving the rest of her small body a deceptive frailty. "I especially liked the part where the prince kisses the sleeping princess awake."
"You would," Darcy muttered as she was shooing the little ones toward the door where their aunt was waiting. Following, Prudy grinned.
"So, are you going to ask him to the dance after the parade?"
"No. I'm not asking anyone." Rosie Lee raced toward the stairs, with Betsy and Angel right behind.
"Careful on those stairs!" Darcy shouted, but the three of them were already scrambling up the steps like chattering monkeys.
"Maybe he'll ask you."
"I doubt it."
"But if he does, will you go?"
Darcy stopped at the foot of the stairs and rested her hand on the newel post. "Prudy, there's a lot you don't know—"
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