Saved by the Fireman

by Allie Pleiter

  Mom touched Jesse’s shoulder. “You’re adaptable. You can plot your way around any obstacle. That’s what makes you so good at the firehouse.”

  Jesse hoisted the steaks onto a platter his mother held out. “That, and my world-class cooking.” Then, because it was better to get all the ugliness out before they started eating, Jesse made himself ask, “How come Randy isn’t here?”

  Dad’s smirk was hard to ignore. “Your brother’s at a financial conference in San Diego this week. He said it could lead to some very profitable opportunities.” Jesse’s younger brother, Randall, would be retiring in his forties if he kept up his current run of financial success. Randy seemed to be making money hand over fist, boasting a fancy condo in the Quad Cities, a travel schedule that read more like a tourist brochure, and a host of snazzy executive trappings. It didn’t take a genius to see Jesse fell far short of his brother in Dad’s eyes. A month ago, when Jesse had pulled up to the house in a brand-new truck, Jesse couldn’t help but notice the way his father frowned at it, parked next to Randy’s shiny silver roadster.

  “He’s up for another promotion,” Mom boasted.

  “Good for him, he deserves it.” Jesse forced enthusiasm into his voice. Somehow, it was always okay when Randy missed family functions because of work. It was never okay when Jesse had to skip one because he was at the firehouse.

  “Someday, that brother of yours is going to rule the world.” Dad had said it a million times, but it never got easier to swallow. Every step Randy took up the ladder seemed to push Jesse farther down it from Dad’s point of view. While Dad never came out and said it, it was clear Jesse’s father felt that a man who worked with his hands only did so because his brain wasn’t up to higher tasks.

  “I don’t doubt it, Dad,” Jesse admitted wearily. “I’ll just settle for being King of the Grill.”

  Mom looked eagerly at the petite fillet he’d marinated just the way she liked it. “That is just fine by me. Jesse, honey, this smells fantastic. You will make some lucky lady very happy one of these days.” Her eyes held just a tint of sadness, reminding Jesse that the ink was barely dry on Randy’s divorce papers. His brother’s raging career successes had inflicted a few casualties of late, and Mom had been disappointed to watch her grandma prospects walk out the door behind Randy’s neglected wife. This past winter had been hard on the Sykes family, that was for sure. Was Dad clueless to all those wounds? Or did he just choose to ignore what he couldn’t solve?

  They were in love...once...his mom and dad. Now they just sort of existed in the same life, side by side but not close. Randy had married because he was “supposed to.” As if he needed to check off some box in his life plan. Jesse didn’t want to just make some appropriate lady “very happy.” When he fell, it would be deep and strong and he would sweep that love of his life clean off her feet.

  It just wasn’t looking as though that would be anytime soon.

  Chapter Two

  “Done.” Charlotte Taylor finished signing her name at the bottom of the long sales document. She put her pen—the beautiful new fountain pen she’d bought especially for this occasion—down on the conference table as if she were planting a flag. She was, in a way. The knot in her stomach already knew this was a big deal. A good big deal. The way to get her life back on track and prove Monarch was only a bump in the road, not the end of the line. She looked up and gave her companions a victorious smile. “The cottage is officially mine.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re going through with this.” Charlotte’s best friend, Melba, sat with her baby on her lap, trying to look supportive but appearing more worried than pleased. “I mean, I’m happy for you and all, but you’re sure?”

  Charlotte had done nothing but mull the matter over in the week since the layoff, and while the timing might look wrong on the outside, she’d come to the conclusion that it was actually perfect. She needed this, needed a project to balance the stress of a job search. When she’d gone to see the cottage again and the seller had been willing to knock down the price for a cash offer, Charlotte felt as if Mima was showing her it was time to act. “I am. If I do it now, I’ll have the time to do it right. And you know me—I’ll have a new job before long. This is exactly the kind of thing Mima would have wanted me to do with my inheritance.”

  “It’s nice to see someone your age so excited to put down roots.” The broker—a plump, older woman named Helen Bearson, who looked more suited to baking pies than hawking vacation properties—smiled back as she handed Charlotte the keys. The large, old keys tumbled heavy and serious into Charlotte’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy after the renovations. Gordon Falls is a lovely place to get away to—but you already knew that.”

  Melba gently poked the baby Maria’s sweet button nose and cooed, “Aunt Charlotte always did know exactly what she wanted, Maria. Now you’ll get to see her much more often.”

  Charlotte couldn’t really fault Melba’s singsong, oh-so-sweet voice; new moms were supposed to adore their babies like that. It was charming. She’d probably be even more sugary when her time as a new mom came—if it ever came—and Maria was adorable. She’d been baby-perfect, happy and quiet for the entire long real estate transaction, and Charlotte had been grateful for the company at such an important event, even if it did take over an hour. Charlotte herself felt as if her hand would never uncramp from signing her name so many times.

  Funny how even happy milestones could be so exhausting. Squeezing the new keys tight—well, new to her at least, for they looked giant and cumbersome next to her slick apartment and car keys—she exhaled. This wasn’t an indulgence; this was a lifeline. Just for fun, Charlotte rattled the keys playfully over the baby’s head. Maria’s little gray eyes lit up at the tinkling sound, her chubby hands reaching up in a way that had all three women saying “Aww.”

  Awe, actually. She’d done it. The keys she held belonged to a cottage Charlotte now owned. It was an exhilarating, thrilling kind of fear, this huge leap. The cottage had become a tangible promise to herself, a symbol that future success was still ahead of her and she could still be in command of the blessings God had given her. No matter what her new job would be, no matter where her rented city apartment might shift, this cottage would be the fixed point, the home ready to welcome her on weekends and vacations. She’d boasted of feeling established in her job at Monarch, but the truth was today was what really made her feel like an adult. She’d never owned anything more permanent than a car before this. Her chest pinched in a happy, frantic kind of excitement.

  “Thanks, Mima.” She liked to think Mima was as pleased as she was, sending down her blessing from heaven as surely as if a rainbow appeared in the bank conference room. Once she’d prayed and made the decision, it felt as if Mima had orchestrated the whole thing—in cahoots with God to line the details up so perfectly that the purchase had been swift and nearly effortless. Yes, she was in command of the blessings God had given her—and that was what she’d sought: a firm defense against the uncertainties of a woman “between jobs.”

  Sure, Melba had made the same noise about practicality that Mom had made. Charlotte knew it might have been more sensible to buy a Chicago apartment and stay in the area to job-hunt, but Mima hadn’t left her the money to be sensible. Mima was all about leaps of the heart, and right now Charlotte didn’t know where her next job would take her, but she knew her heart kept pulling her toward Gordon Falls as her spot to get away. She’d spent so many weekends here, the guest bed at Melba’s house had a Charlotte-shaped dent in it. The hustle and sparkle of Chicago would always be wonderful, but Mima’s bequest meant she could own this cottage and rent a nice place in Chicago near her next job for the weekdays. That felt like a smart plan, and everyone knew smart wasn’t always practical. Who knew? The way telecommuting was taking off these days, she might work full-time out of Gordon Falls someday in the future.

 
“Congratulations,” Melba said, trying again to be supportive.

  Poor Melba. She’d always be too cautious to ever launch an adventure like this. Melba had too many people needing her—a husband, until recently her late father, and now Maria—to ever throw caution to the wind. Charlotte would have to show her how exhilarating it could be. “I own a cottage. I’m landed gentry.”

  Melba winced as she untangled a lock of her hair from Maria’s exploring fingers. “That might be overstating things, but I am glad you’ll be here. Gordon Falls could use a few more of us young whippersnappers.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Mrs. Bearson confirmed as she slid the files into the needlepoint tote bag that served as her briefcase. “I’m delighted to see so many of you younger people coming into town and settling down.”

  Settling down. The words fit, but the sensation was just the opposite; more of a leaping forward. It was the most alive she’d felt since that harrowing exit from the Monarch offices. Renovating this cottage was going to be about doing life on purpose instead of having it done to you by accident. Today declared Charlotte her own person, with her own roots to plant.

  The older woman extended a hand. “Welcome to Gordon Falls, Charlotte Taylor. You’ll love it here.”

  Charlotte shook her hand. “I know I will. Thanks for everything.”

  “My pleasure. Tootle-loo!” With a waggle of her fingers, she bustled from the conference room to the bank’s lobby, where she headed over to say hello to several people.

  Melba caught Charlotte’s eye. “Tootle-loo?”

  Charlotte winced. “She’s said that every time we’ve met. Odd, but cute.” She stared at the keys in her hand, cool at first but now warm and friendly to her touch. “I own a cottage.”

  “You do.”

  She’d been there three times in the past two days, but the need to see it again, to turn the key in the lock with her own hand as the owner, pressed against her heart. “Let’s go see my cottage. My cottage. I want to make myself a cup of tea in my cottage. I brought some tea leaves and a kettle with me and everything.”

  Baby Maria’s response to the invitation was to scrunch up her face and erupt in a tiny little rage. She’d been darling up until now, but it was clear that her patience was coming to an end. “I think Miss Maria needs to nurse and to nap. Much as I’d like to be there, I think we had better head home.” Melba put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “Will you be okay on your own?”

  “Just fine.” That was the whole point of the cottage, wasn’t it? When she thought about it, it was fitting that the first hours Charlotte spent in the cottage as its owner were on her own. “I’ll be back for dinner, okay?” The cottage wasn’t in any shape to call home just yet, so she’d opted to stay a few days at Melba’s while she got things set up right.

  “See you later, Miss Taylor of the landed gentry,” Melba called above Maria’s escalating cries. “Enjoy your new castle.”

  * * *

  Jesse wrenched open another of the cottage’s stuck windows and waved the smoke away from his face. The air was as sour as his stomach. He could barely believe he was standing in his cottage—only it wasn’t his anymore now—talking to the new owner. Talk about a kick to the gut. “Exactly when did the stove catch on fire?”

  The panicked blonde next to him pushed a lock of hair back off her forehead. “About five minutes after I turned it on.” She pointed to a charred kettle now hissing steam in the stained porcelain sink. “Tea. I was just trying to make tea.” Her eyes wandered to the fire truck now idling in her driveway, dwarfing her tiny blue hatchback. “I’m sorry. I probably overreacted by calling you all in for such a little fire. I was too panicked to think straight. I just bought the place today and I didn’t know what else to do.”

  She was so apologetic and rattled, it was hard to stay annoyed at her. People were always apologizing for calling the fire department. Jesse never got that. It’s not like anyone ever apologized for seeing their doctor or calling a plumber. She had no reason to be upset for calling the fire department, even for a little fire. Kitchen fires could be dangerous. One look at the dilapidated 1960s electric range told him any number of problems could have escalated from an open flame there. Sure it was a quaint-looking appliance, but he of all people knew suppliers who made stoves with just as much of that trendy vintage charm but with modern safety features. “Even a small fire isn’t anything to mess with. Small fires can get very big very fast.”

  Of course, if he had been the new owner, he’d have had the sense to make sure the stove was safe before turning it on and starting the fire in the first place. The sting of his current situation surged up again. Why did he have to be on duty when this particular call came in? Why did he have to find out the cottage he’d intended to buy had been sold this way? He picked up his helmet from the chipped Formica counter, forcing kindness into his tone. “Look, don’t be worried. You did the right thing, Ms....”

  “Taylor. Charlotte Taylor.” So that was the name of his pretty little adversary.

  “Don’t ever hesitate to call on us, Charlotte. Especially if you’re on your own. It’s why we’re here, okay?”

  Her eyes scanned the smoke still hovering close to the kitchen’s tin ceiling. Jesse had always thought the ceiling was this kitchen’s best feature. Stuff like that was hard to find these days. Would she appreciate that or tear it down and put in a boring ceiling with sterile track lighting? “Okay.” She mostly mumbled the word, her face pale and drawn tight.

  She didn’t look anything close to okay. Her nerves were so obviously jangled they practically echoed around the empty kitchen. “If you don’t mind me asking...why the sudden need for tea? You’re not even moved in, from the looks of it.” Her reply might let him know what her plans were for the place. If she was plotting a teardown and wasn’t planning to move in at all, he could skip the preliminaries and get right down to hating her this minute.

  She flushed. “It was a celebration thing. I just signed the papers on the place today. I told Melba I just wanted to have a cup of tea on my new deck.”

  How had he missed this? The facts wove together in his brain, making everything worse. “You’re Melba’s friend?”

  Chief Bradens had mentioned his wife’s friend was buying a weekend cottage in town. Never in a million years did Jesse consider it might be this cottage. Now, annoyed as he was, he’d have to be nice. A friend of the fire chief’s wife demanded special care. “No harm done that I can see.” He put his helmet back down on the counter as he swallowed his sore pride. “I should check the rest of the place. Just to be safe,” he said over his shoulder as he began banging open the two remaining kitchen windows when they refused to budge.

  She shrugged. “Probably a good idea.”

  He knew the rooms of this house. A visual inspection wasn’t really necessary, but it might give him a last look at the place before she stripped it of all its charm. Charlotte followed him around the empty rooms while he peered at light switches, tested the knobs on heating registers and tried the fuses in the antiquated fuse box. Did she know what she was getting into here? This was no starter project for a hobby house flipper. “You can still keep lots of the place’s charm, but you’re gonna need some serious updating.” He raised his eyebrows at her resulting frown. “You knew that going in, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  She did not. Now that was just dirty pool, letting someone like her beat him to a place like this.

  Some jilted part of him wanted to tell her the house was chock-full of danger, but it wasn’t true. Nothing looked dangerous to his contractor’s eye, just old and likely finicky. The greatest danger she faced was blowing a fuse if she plugged her hair dryer in while the dishwasher was running. Charlotte had nice hair. Platinum blond in a city-sleek rather than elegant cut. She looked relatively smart, but what did he know? Do smart people set their te
akettles on fire?

  He avoided looking at her by inspecting the stove knobs. “Nothing about wiring came up in the home inspection?” He almost hated to add, “You did have a home inspection, didn’t you?” It was killing him—she looked as if she didn’t even own a hammer, much less the belt sander it would take to bring those hardwood floors in the dining room up to snuff. Still, she had a certain spunk about her. It hadn’t been there when he and the other guys first barged in the door, but he could see it now returning to her eyes. If she made the right choices, she might do okay. Not that he wanted her to succeed.

  “Of course I did. Only now I’m thinking maybe it wasn’t so thorough.” She crossed her arms over her chest and her eyebrows furrowed together. “Honestly, the guy looked like he did inspections for laughs in between fishing trips. Mrs. Bearson said he was reliable, but...”

  Helen Bearson. He could have guessed she’d made the sale. Helen was a sweet lady, but the kind Jesse referred to as a “hobby broker.” Dollars to donuts the inspector was her brother. “Larry Barker?” Even someone he resented as much as Charlotte Taylor deserved better than that guy—Jesse wouldn’t pay him to inspect a shoe box.

  Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “A mistake, huh?”

  He couldn’t just sit there and let her make choices from what was likely bad information. Well, he could, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who would—even under these circumstances. Jesse shucked off his heavy firefighter’s coat and squatted down in front of the appliance, opening the oven door and peering inside. “Let’s just say he wouldn’t be my first choice,” he said, giving Barker more benefit of the doubt than he deserved. “I haven’t seen anything that should have stopped your sale.” In fact, he knew there were no massive problems because he’d given the house a thorough once-over himself, far beyond his ten-minute walkthrough just now. Still, the word sale stuck in his throat. “This could really be just an old stove, not faulty wiring or anything.” He stared at a layer of grime so thick he could sign his name in it with a fingernail. “I don’t think this has been used in a couple of years. You’ll want to replace it.”