Fire Born (Firehouse 343) (36 page)

Authors: Christina Moore

BOOK: Fire Born (Firehouse 343)

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She smiled. “Tomorrow, I think I’m going to see about moving to Gracechurch, as I can do my job from pretty much anywhere.”

“Martie, that’s… I don’t know what to say,” Chris marveled, his chest swelling with emotion on hearing that she was willing to uproot herself to be with him.

“All you have to say is that you want me.”

Tightening his embrace, he drew her against his chest and said, “I don’t just want you, I need you.”

“Good,” she replied, “
because
I need you too. So, that’s tomorrow.”

He grinned against her hair. “And what about today?” he asked.

“Today
—
right now
—
I want you to get some sleep,” Martie told him. “Close your eyes,
mio
caro
, and rest.”

With a sigh, Chris closed his eyes, kissed the top of Martie’s head, and did as he was told
…
falling asleep to the sound of her steady breathing.

Epilogue

September 11, 2011

“
Ten years have passed since the day the world stood still,” said
Sarah Richardson Maxwell, M
ayor of Gracechurch. “September 11, 2001 is a day which those of us who are old enough to remember will never forget. It is a day of tragedy, of fear, of mourning…but also hope. Men and women who did
not
know each other before that day sacrificed their lives to bring down a
terrorist-held
plane in a non-descript field in
Shanksville
, Pennsylvania—thereby saving lives untold. Men and women who did not know each other rushed to the Pentagon, and they rushed into the World Trade Center towers, for the sole purpose of saving
the
lives
of strangers
.

“Before that day, I am ashamed to admit that the citizens of Gracechurch did not show their appreciation for the men and women who sacrifice so much of their lives protecting our city. Nobody likes to have their income taxes or property taxes raised, but the reality is that without doing so
once in a while
, the police and fire departments cannot keep up with the advances in their respective fields—which is a
n absolute
necessity if we want them to continue keeping us all safe.

“It saddens me that it took a national tragedy to wake up the people of this fair city, but at last they did. When word reached us that the
Fire Department of
New York
City lost three hundred forty-three
firefighters, men who sacrificed themselves for their calling—for their fellow human beings—wake up we did. And when our eyes were opened, we saw that we needed to support o
u
r first responders better. We saw that we needed more of them. In the last ten years, we have added to the ranks of our police and fire departments, but that wasn’t enough. With our city continuing to expand, we came to realize we needed not just one fire station, but two. And so began the Firehouse 343 Project—a fundraising campaign to build a new, modern fire
station
in the
heart of downtown Gracechurch, so named for those 343 brave, selfless firemen who gave their lives in service to their fellow citizens.”

The mayor paused and took a breath. “We have hit some bumps along the way,” she went on. “Most recently, Gracechurch lost one of our own—Captain Calvin Maynard. Captain Maynard, too, sacrificed himself to save the
life of someone he did not know:
a ten-year-old little girl. Had he not paid the ultimate price, he would have been in command of Firehouse 343, and though he is no longer with us his influence will continue to be felt, to be seen and heard, through the lives of those he knew and l
oved. One of those whose lives he touched deeply
was firefighter Christopher Paytah, who will lead the men and women of 343 in Captain Maynard’s stead. Captain Paytah…”

Martie watc
hed as Chris took a deep breath and
then stepped up to the podium
, waiting until the mayor had taken her seat before he began his speech.
“Thank you, Madam Mayor.
And t
hank you citizens of Gracechurch. Not only have we come
together as a community to build
a new
fire
station
, but when Calvin Maynard—my friend—passed away, you came together in support of his sacrifice, donating money to his family and to The Fireman’s Rescue charity, an organization dedicated to assisting those affected by fire, firemen and citizens alike. It proves that while it may have taken some time to show it, you really do care, and for that I am thankful.

“Today marks not just the tenth anniversary of a national tragedy
, but the first day of a new life for those of us serving the citizens and the city of Gracechurch.
We have all accepted positions at Firehouse 343 with pride and humility, and with deepest respect for the three hundred forty-three brothers in whose honorable memory this station is named, and for all firefighters who have given all they had to give, that others may live.”

Polite applause broke out and Martie joined in, the decibel level increasing as the ceremonial ribbon across the four bay doors was cut by Mayor Maxwell and Chris. She beamed a wide smile at him as she approached—proud of him for keeping calm on the podium. After receiving word from the mayor’s office that he was expected to make a speech, Chris had stressed over what to say, and as the day of the opening had drawn closer, he’d moved from stress to outright panic. He’d agonized over his speech for the last week, over the fear that he’d stutter or throw up, because a
cool and collected public speaker he was not.

Yet despite his fears he’d performed beautifully. His words were heartfelt and straightforward and true, and he’d not tripped ov
er himself or gotten tongue-tied once.

Though it took a few moments due to the number of civilians w
ho wanted to meet and greet
the 343 team,
Martie at last made her way over to his side, and he wrapped an arm around her as she stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You see?” she said lightly. “I told you you’d nail it.”

“I did do alright, didn’t I?” he countered with a grin. Then he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Want to go see the bunk room?”

Martie giggled, feeling herself blush at the memory of the time they’d made love in the bunk room of the old fire st
ation—with the rest of his crew
just a couple of rooms away.

“Maybe when there are a few hundred less people around,” she shot back.
“There is, however, something I’d like to talk to you about. I figure capitalizing on your good mood is a good i
dea—can we go somewhere away from the crowd
?”

He must have noted something in her expression or tone, as Chris simply nodded and, placing his hand at the small of her back, guided her toward the office. They were waylaid a time or two on their way, during which he was required to say a few polite words before extracting himself from the conversation as tactfully as he could. But at last they were alone, away from the crowd of people clamoring to see the new trucks and turnout gear, or the brand-new Jaws of Life that every one of his team hoped they’d not have to use anytime soon.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, leaning casually against his desk—and it was his, since as captain of the entire station he had warranted a private office. He’d already placed a picture of Calvin on one wall of the workspace that, until six weeks ago, was meant to be his.

Martie took a breath. “Well, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning—”

Chris frowned. “Is that where you
went
? Why didn’t you tell me—is everything okay?”

She was touched at his concern, and smiled to alleviate his sudden alarm. “I’m fine, don’t worry. In fact, so far we’re great.”

“Oh, thank goodness, I thought you were
gonna
say…” His voice trailed off as her last words registered, and his eyes widened. “Wait a minute—
we
?”

Martie nodded slowly and, reaching into her pocket, she drew out a photograph—the very first picture of their son or daughter, who was growing in her womb at that very moment.

Holding it out to him, she said as tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “You’re going to be
a
até
, Christopher Paytah.”

His hand shook as he reached for the printout, an ultrasound picture that
showed the little bump that was their developing child.

“
Thunkášila
was right,” Chris said as he looked at the picture in his hand. “He said that in his dream you were carrying my child…”

“Our baby is about six weeks along,” Martie told him, a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“Six weeks?” he said. “But we just met six weeks ago. That would mean…the very first time we…”

She nodded. “Looks like we need to do what we agreed we’d do if this happened.”

Chris stood and walked toward her, taking her into his arms and pulling her to his chest. “We live together now,
wóthe
ȟ
ila
, so I think we need to talk about
a little
more than shared parenting.”

He kissed the top of her head, then her brow, then her lips. Martie felt more tears pricking the backs of her e
yes as he cradled her face in his
hands and said, “I think what we really need to discuss is getting married.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Christina Moore has been an Ohio resident all her life. Though she enjoys the rural community of her home in London, she admittedly longs to one day reside in a more temperate climate, as she is not a fan of cold weather! But still being a home-state lover, she very much enjoys books, TV shows, and movies that take place in Ohio, as will some of her own books. Her favorite genres to read are all the romances, mysteries, thrillers, coming of age, and even some westerns and horror stories. She is the author of a number of fan fiction stories for
Star Trek, Harry Potter,
Smallville
and
Twilight
. Professionally she started out in paranormal romance with the novel
Chasing Shadows
;
Fire Born
being her first non-paranormal romantic suspense story. Her favorite past times are reading and writing, but she also very much enjoys having a good time, spending time with family and friends, and being a "
hu
-mom" to her dogs
Mojo
, Daisy,
Kipnuk
and
Skaya
.