No. Dad hadn’t asked. Vanessa Libby had. And despite his father missing out on much of Ben’s childhood to pursue a career in fire, Ben couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t here to watch over him. So he’d quit his job in the Oakland Fire Department, too, purposefully putting his career on hold.
“Let’s finish this quick and move on to fire inspections,” Ben said. There hadn’t been any fires in Harmony Valley in more than five years, and Ben wanted to keep it that way. He pulled to the curb and put the truck in Park. The engine shook, shuddered and shot out a gasping blast of black smoke. Not exactly the community entrance Ben had hoped for. “I guess we need one more tune-up.”
“Deploy the ladder,” Ben’s dad said in his best I’m-in-charge voice.
“Deploy the...” This was the fire truck’s maiden voyage after fifteen years in storage. They’d barely gotten the engine running and hadn’t had a chance to check the truck’s hydraulics before receiving this call. “Are you going in the bucket?”
“I will. If you don’t have the stomach for it.” A challenge if there ever was one.
“Stay right here.” Ben had a take-charge voice of his own. There was no chance he was allowing Dad to test the ladder. What if he couldn’t catch his breath? What if he got light-headed and tumbled to the ground? What if the town realized Keith’s health wasn’t 100 percent and that Ben was covering for him?
This last was almost as imperative as keeping Dad safe. If Ben’s complicity was exposed, he’d never work as a firefighter again.
Ben hopped out of the truck and headed toward the oak tree. He’d heard there was a farmers market today, but the farm part was hard to see for all the other offerings—quilts, afghans, paintings, metal sculpture. He crossed onto the grass, working his way through a maze of folding tables and elderly residents. Sprinkled through the crowd were a few babies, small children and people who looked to be about his age—early thirties.
More than a decade ago, the grain mill—once the largest employer in town—had exploded and most people in the workforce had moved away, leaving the town more like a retirement community. But now there was a new employer in Harmony Valley, a winery. And people of working age were returning to town, hence the two job openings for full-time firemen.
It was a clear day, and the summer sun beat down on Ben’s shoulders. Given the call had come with the detail that felines were at risk, he hadn’t put on his turnout gear or helmet.
“Look at that! A tall man in uniform.” An elderly woman with short, purplish-gray curls waved at Ben as if he was a returning veteran in a homecoming parade. She stood out from the crowd in her Easter-egg pink tracksuit. “A fireman! And a handsome fireman to boot.”
If there was a bright spot to working in Harmony Valley, it was that its residents were outgoing and welcoming. And yet, that little bright spot couldn’t make up for the fact that their first few calls weren’t exactly what Ben would classify as emergencies—lost house keys, a stuck spigot, a runaway dog. “Who called the fire department?”
“I did.” The mayor separated himself from the crowd. He had a thin face made thinner by a long gray ponytail. The yellow-and-black tie-dyed T-shirt he wore over black khaki shorts made him look like an aging psychedelic bee. “Those kittens have been up there for a good thirty minutes. Breaks my heart.” He leaned in closer to Ben and said in a low voice, “And I thought it’d be the perfect time to show the town we have emergency services again after so long going without.” The mayor craned his neck to see around Ben. “Where’s the chief?”
The truth pressed in on Ben. He couldn’t quite meet the mayor’s gaze. “He’s waiting on my assessment of the scene.”
Ben’s grandfather stood beneath the oak tree next to a folding table stacked with cans of cat food.
“Granddad.” Ben gave the empty cage near his grandfather a disapproving look.
“It’s not my fault.” Granddad brushed white cat hair from his navy T-shirt and looked like he wanted to slink away with his empty cat cage. Felix Libby was the retired fire chief and just as thickly muscled as he’d been when he was active. Now he ran a feline rescue. “Truman wanted a kitten and he got the cage open before I could stop him.”
There were two furry miscreants in the tree with the kid. One was black with white paws. The other was white with a black mask. They mewed from positions too far out on a branch to support a little boy and too far within the canopy for the ladder and bucket to be of any use.
“Granddad,” Ben said again.
“It’s not my fault,” the retired fireman repeated.
Truman, aka the ginger-haired boy in the tree, grinned down at Ben in a way that made it hard to be annoyed at him. “Whichever kitten comes to me first is the one going home with me.” His expression turned earnest. “Here, kitty-cat. Here, boy.”
“Those kittens are girls,” said a small, solemn voice at Ben’s side.
Ben smiled down at his godchild. Her fine blond hair was windblown, and the ankles of her socks were dirt-rimmed. “What are you doing here, Han?”
Hannah didn’t take her bespectacled blue eyes from the felines in the tree. “Granny Vanessa was cleaning, so I went for a bike ride.”
“Please tell me you left Granny a note.” Or Ben’s mother was going to be calling him any minute, frantic with worry over where her small charge had gone to this time.
“Tru, come down.” A petite redhead used her mom-voice and pointed to the ground.
Several spectators chuckled.
“But, Mom.” Truman’s wide grin was on a first-name basis with mischief. “I don’t have a kitten yet.”
“Truman...” Immune to the boy’s charm, his mother was cranking up for a good lecture.
Ben tuned her out. In his experience, one of the two treed parties—kid or kittens—needed to come down to entice the other to the ground. Seeing as how Truman wasn’t budging, that left two felines to convince.
Hannah had come to the same conclusion. She pushed her glasses firmly in place, opened a can of cat food on Granddad’s table and called, “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty.”
Two small noses twitched. Two furry tails swished. Two pairs of innocent green eyes turned calculating.
“We need to ensure capture.” Ben lowered the empty cage to the ground, put the can of food Hannah had opened inside, and backed away.
“Kitty-kitty-kitty,” Hannah crooned.
The kittens leaped from one branch to the next, bounced to the ground and raced to the food. Once they were inside, Hannah closed the door.
The crowd applauded.
“Way to go, peanut.” Ben knelt and gave Hannah a quick hug.
Hannah didn’t so much as crack a smile. She was a quiet child by nature, but since her mother had died three months ago and Ben had become the temporary guardian to his firefighting coworker’s child, her smile had been as AWOL as the man listed as father on her birth certificate. He hoped she’d smile freely when he found the man. He hoped by the time his own father retired in nine months that Hannah would be settled with her biological dad and Ben would be free to pursue a career in fire investigation.
“Well, now I don’t know which one to pick.” Truman reclined on his stomach on the thick branch, arms and legs hanging down as if he was a lion readying for a nap. “We’ll have to take both.”
Before Granddad could do more than perk up his silver eyebrows in glee, Truman’s mother put the kibosh on that idea. “I don’t think Ghost would appreciate you bringing home one kitten, let alone two. Old cats don’t like to share their turf with other cats. Time to come down.”
“Okay.” Truman sounded disappointed, but he did as his mother asked. And he did a good job of it, too, moving quickly and with confidence.
Until his sneaker slipped and he fell, tumbling through the air in a slow-motion cartwheel that sent the crowd g
asping.
Ben was ready. Arms outstretched, he was in the perfect position to catch the boy.
And a sneaker to the mouth.
Copyright © 2017 by Melinda Wooten
ISBN-13: 9781488012204
Protecting the Single Mom
Copyright © 2017 by Catherine Lanigan
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