Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (67 page)

“The flight was fine.” Later, he'd tell her about Ada's offer to hook him up with one of her unmarried daughters...without the usual matchmaker fee. “And so was traffic. I grabbed a burger at the airport, so thanks, but I don't have an appetite.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you, though. And something to ask you.”

A short line had gathered at the counter.

“Let me take care of these customers,” she said, “and then...”

He'd give her all the time she needed. If she said no, he'd need the rest of his life to get over it.

“So what's in the envelope?” she asked.

He'd almost forgotten it was in his back pocket. “To be honest, I'm not sure. Mark handed it to me as I left the club to come over here.” Sam didn't want to talk about Bernie. Or the deal. “You guys made some serious headway on the shelter project while I was gone. I'm impressed.”

“It didn't
all
happen while you were gone, you know. Writing up lesson plans and teaching is important work. Demanding, distracting work. I'd be surprised if a few things
didn't
escape your notice.”

She turned to greet another customer, and Sam used the time to collect his thoughts. Should he explain everything now, or wait until later, when they could be alone?

“The envelope,” she said. “It's from that man, isn't it?”

“What man?”

“The one with the ponytail and goatee you were talking to the night Ciara and Connor went to the hospital. What is he? Agent? Manager?”

“Producer.”

She raised her chin a notch and stood up straighter. “So what did he offer you?”

Another customer approached, and as she rang up the tab, Sam said, “I don't want to talk about this now. Or here.”

“Okay. So when?”

“That's up to you.”

She didn't know it yet, but their entire future was up to her.

Finn made change and, smiling, invited the diner to come back soon.

“Can we talk after closing?” she asked.

“Your apartment?”

“No. Connor and Ciara will be there.”

He'd give anything to get into that pretty head of hers and find out what inspired that almost suspicious expression.

“Here, then?”

She nodded. “I'll call you when everyone has left for the day.”

“Sounds like a plan. Can't wait.”

Why did he get the feeling she didn't mean it?

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

H
E
'
D
WAITED
UNTIL
nearly midnight for her call. Thinking maybe she'd forgotten, he tried her cell phone at twelve thirty...and got her voice mail.

Any number of things could explain that, he'd told himself. Running a diner wasn't a fine science after all. Maybe an appliance malfunctioned, or a few stragglers decided to hang around long past closing time.

So Sam had driven over there and parked out back. And it surprised him to find The Right Note was dark and locked up tight.

He went up to the apartment and knocked gently, so as not to wake Connor or Ciara. But there were no lights on inside, and no answer to his knock, either.

First thing next morning, he called again...and left another message.

He walked into the diner at the height of the breakfast rush and saw her duck into the back. Tried again at lunch, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Rowdy wasn't talking, and when he asked Bean what was up, the girl looked like the kid caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Connor had avoided him, too. When he'd finally gotten a moment alone with him, Sam said, “What's going on?”

“I promised to stay out of it,” Connor had said. “She believes in me again, and I won't let anything jeopardize that.”

If Sam closed his eyes, he could still see the discomfort etched on the man's face.

On day ten, he accepted it: Finn had written him off without so much as an explanation.

That's what you get for putting things off for so long.

Sam threw himself into his work, hoping it would distract him from feeling confused and hurt.

Tonight, he'd instructed his class to meet him at the warehouse. Sam lined them up and said, “Every one of you excelled at in-station tasks.”

Sam reminded them what they'd accomplished: bench-press a ninety-five-pound barbell five times, pick up a sixty-pound ventilation fan and hang it overhead, carry the eighty-pound hose—while wearing their twenty-five-pound air masks—to the seventh floor of the training tower in one minute and thirty seconds, maneuver the tunnel maze, scale a six-foot wall without a ladder, drag a hundred-and-sixty-pound dummy seventy-five feet in a minute, connect and disconnect hose couplings also in a minute or less and force open a door.

“But today, you're going to do all of that in conditions that you that you might experience under fire—pardon the pun.”

They laughed, but that would end in a minute, when he let them know exactly
what
he aimed to put them through. Sure enough, the big space fell silent when he said, “You may have noticed that I turned off the heat.”

“Yeah, we did,” a cadet said.

“Feels like a meat locker in here!” another added.

“Enjoy it while you can, because next I'm gonna turn on the sprinklers.” He pointed. “And fire that up.”

“A jet engine?”

The guy beside him moaned as another said, “Can you say
hypothermia
?”

More laughter echoed in the corrugated metal building, but it was nowhere near as hearty as before.

“Things are getting real,” Sam said. “This last run at the physical segment of the final exam might reduce the number by another one or two.”

They stood at attention, looking somber and scared. Sam remembered feeling the same way, years earlier, on a night very much like this one.

“Before we begin, I want you to know that whether or not you move to the next phase—the personal interviews—you have every right to be proud of yourselves. Making it this far hasn't been easy, but you'll leave here better men—and woman,” he said, looking at Jasmine, “and better prepared to meet whatever life throws at you with strength and dignity.”

For some reason, the words brought Finn to mind.

Sam whistled to get their attention. “Are we ready?”

They said they were, so he pushed them, hard. Bellowed advice to help improve their time. Shouted suggestions that, if implemented, would increase their chances of graduating.

And not one fell behind. Not even Jasmine.

Afterward, as his exhausted students huffed and puffed and peeled off their gear, realization dawned: they'd done well tonight, and it meant they'd cross that stage
together
. They responded with the enthusiasm of children, laughing, hugging, shouting, high-fiving.

“I predict you'll probably outscore every class to date,” he told them. “I'm proud of you.”

They stood at attention and saluted him, then gathered their equipment and filed from the warehouse, stopping to shake his hand.

“Couldn't have done it without you,” the first man said.

“Those learned-the-hard-way anecdotes made a big difference,” said another.

“He's right,” a third agreed. “Everything you told us that
wasn't
in the book? That's what put us over the top.”

Pride lit up Jasmine's face as she said, “If you hadn't been tough on me, I wouldn't be here.”

She extended a hand, and Sam shook it.

“Thanks, Captain, for believing in me even when I didn't.”

It felt good, hearing that his teaching strategies had helped them, felt gratifying to think that maybe in the middle of a crisis, some small tip or tactic he'd shared during their weeks together would come to mind and perhaps save a life—theirs or a citizen's. If only Finn had half as much confidence in him...

He shook off the thought and focused instead on the fact that he'd taken them as far as an instructor could. As they shuffled from the warehouse, tired and worn, he reminded himself that from here on out, their successes and failures were up to them.

He'd miss the job. There was something gratifying about turning ordinary civilians into capable firefighters. He would have stayed, if he thought he had a ghost of a chance with Finn. But how could he fix things if she refused to talk with him?

There wasn't anything for him in Nashville, so why not sign with Bernie and hit the road?

Alone in his truck, Sam dialed his captain's office number. “Call me first chance you get, sir,” he told the recorder, “and let me know when we can get together.” On the heels of a ragged sigh, he closed with “We need to talk, as soon as possible.”

The message allowed him to cross one thing off his mental to-do list. Next stop, The Meetinghouse to talk with Torry and Mark about dissolving the partnership. And then?

And then Finn...

Thanksgiving was right around the corner, and it seemed to Sam that he had less than usual to give thanks for this year. It hadn't been easy, explaining to his mom that he'd be home for Christmas instead, but he was determined to do whatever it took to end things the right way with Finn, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

F
INN
'
S
CONCERNS
THAT
Ciara wouldn't handle Misty's latest disappearance well were laid to rest as they planned Thanksgiving dinner at The Right Note.

“Mom is old enough to make her own choices, and she keeps choosing other things and other people over us. So I guess as long as she's happy, we have something to be thankful for, right?”

Just a few months ago, Ciara never could have expressed her feelings with such wisdom and clarity. Yet another thing to be thankful for.

“I used to think it was my fault that she kept leaving,” Ciara continued. “Because I was slow and weak and a lot of work. But she left after my operation, even when she saw that I
wasn't
slow and weak and a lot of work anymore.” She gave a thoughtful nod. “That means it wasn't my fault, not ever. I miss her, but I feel a whole lot better about her staying away. I still don't understand it, though.”

“You're absolutely right, Kee.”

“Misty is a wonderful person—when she puts her mind to it—but for some reason, she never believed it.”

Without realizing it, Ciara had effectively summed up Finn's reasons for calling things off with Sam. He deserved better, so much better, than to link himself with someone so self-involved that she wouldn't share him, not even if doing so made him happy.

“It's so sad,” Ciara continued, “that she never realized how much we loved her just for herself and no matter what, and that wherever we were
was
home.”

Give him a chance
, Connor had said. If she had, Sam would have tried to convince her there was room in his life for her and music, too, and she couldn't let that happen. Far better for him to see her as shallow and superficial than allow him to make a sacrifice like that.

Ciara's smile turned thoughtful. “You know what was most frustrating before this last operation?”

“What?”

“I had thousands of thoughts
jumbled up in my head, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't
say
them.” Reaching across the kitchen table, she squeezed Finn's hand. “You were the only one who understood that there was more to Ciara Leary than what came out of my stuttering mouth.”

“We have lots to be thankful for this year, then, don't we?”

“Yes, and that's why I'm not sad about not seeing Mom. I'll miss her, but I have a feeling that wherever she is, she's taking care of Misty!” Ciara giggled. “And resting, I hope. Because she always works so hard.”

“Works hard?
Misty?
She
is one of the laziest people I've ever met!”

The woman was dishonest and heartless, too. The mess she'd made, stealing Finn's credit card, charging it to the max, then crashing a rental car. It would take years to dig out of that financial hole. If she thought it possible to tell Ciara about the lawsuit without resorting to spiteful name-calling...

“Well, it's true that she doesn't like chores. And as much as she loves music, she doesn't practice, either. But it must be hard work, trying to avoid doing things, don't you think?”

Finn agreed. Last week, avoiding Sam's repeated efforts to reach out had been exhausting. But the thought of facing him, seeing those blue eyes flash with disappointment when she admitted what a selfish woman she'd become...

“Being Misty Leary must be like being a hummingbird,” Finn said. “Constantly in motion, always looking for the next sweet thing to feed her insatiable appetite. And you know what they say about those little birds...”

It reminded her of the hummingbird feeder Ciara had once hung from a shepherd's crook on the side porch.

“According to my hummingbird book,” Ciara said, “their wings beat nine hundred times a minute, and their little hearts beat almost thirteen hundred times a minute.”

Finn sat in awe of her little sister.

“Next spring, I'm going to hang another feeder. And the first bird that comes along? I'm going to call it Misty,” Finn said.

Ciara studied her sister's face. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can, sweetie.”

“Where's Sam?”

“Working, I imagine. It's getting close to the end of his session, so I'm sure he's busy, preparing tests and—”

“That isn't what I mean. I saw you hiding from him last week. And I heard you tell Rowdy and Dad not to explain things to him.” Eyes narrowed, she added, “
What
things?”

“You know how I feel about musicians.”

“And you know that Sam isn't just a musician. Why are you avoiding him? Did you two have a fight?”

“No.” If only it were that simple.

“Is it because of me? You think I need to be taken care of,
still
?”

“Of course not!”

“Because I'd feel awful if I came between you and Sam.”

“There's nothing to come between, Ciara.”

“That isn't true. You love each other. I've always known it.” She tilted her head. “But if it isn't me, then what is it?”

She might as well get it out into the open and put an end to this line of questioning.

“Sam is a wonderful man. If I asked him to give up his music for me, he would. I'd hate myself if he did that, and eventually, he'd hate me, too.”

Nodding slowly, Ciara studied her fingernails. “Finn...”

It was the same tone of voice she'd used when Ciara spouted self-deprecating things about herself.

“Someday you'll come to your senses. I hope it won't be too late.”

It's already too late.

“Do you think you'll ever get married?”

Finn shrugged.
Only if I can find someone to match my selfishness...

“If you have kids, will you teach them to call Misty Grandma?”

“I—I never gave it a thought.”

“Remember what Pete used to say?”

That her face was easier to read than the morning paper.

“For what it's worth, big sister, I think you're being very silly. Life is short. I know what I'd do in your shoes.”

Finn smiled. “What would you do?”

“I
am
going to get married, you know. I don't know who, and I don't know when...yet, but if we have a misunderstanding, no matter what it takes, I'll make things right.”

It was hard to believe that weeks ago, Ciara had flown into a minirage, worrying if she'd ever experience love herself.

“My turn to ask
you
a question, little sister.”

“You can ask—” she winked “—but I can't promise to answer!”

It would take time to adjust to Ciara cracking jokes and spouting all-in-good-fun sarcasm.

“
If
I ever get married—”

“To Sam,” Ciara interrupted.

“If I ever get married,” Finn continued, “I hope you'll stay with me.”

“That isn't a question.” She grinned. “But yes, I will...until I save enough money for my own apartment. Because once I get a
guy
of my own,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, “I'll want a
place
of my own, so you won't stick your nose in my business and cramp my style.”