Hot for Fireman (6 page)

Ryan looked down into the face of an adorable, skinny little imp of a girl. She was dark-skinned, at least part Mexican, he guessed. Probably about four years old. He knelt and reached out his hand to shake hers.

“It’s really great to meet you, Danielle.”

She hid her face in her mother’s sleeve, then peeked at him, then hid again. He made a pretend crying face. She giggled.

“We can’t stay because, well, this is a bar,” said Melissa. “But I wanted to invite you to a barbecue this weekend.”

Ryan straightened up slowly. “The guys will be there?”

“They’re invited. Along with others.”

He gazed at the floor, kicked at a stray peanut he’d missed during his cleanup. Hanging out with the guys off duty, grilling burgers and kidding around. Sounded like heaven. And hell, until he knew where he stood with Captain Brody.

“Can’t do it, Melissa. Maybe later on.”

She gave him that level look he remembered from when she first showed up at the fire station with her white-haired grandma and made Brody act like a teenager with a crush. “No problem, Ryan. Some other time. Give us a call whenever you want to come over.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, whispering, “Don’t break too many hearts, okay?”

He laughed as she led her little girl to the door. At the last second, Danielle turned her head and gave him a shy smile over her shoulder.

“Maybe I can stop by and take Danielle out for an ice cream,” he called.

The little girl’s face lit up as Melissa shook her head. “I can’t believe you said the I word. But maybe.”

When Ryan turned back, he faced a row of women who looked like they’d just seen a Hollywood tearjerker. One girl held her hand over her heart and gazed at him with swimming eyes. Another dashed a tear—an actual tear—from her eye. What the hell was wrong with them all?

“He likes kids,” sighed the redhead.

“Have you ever seen anything so sweet?”

“So precious!”

Embarrassed, he looked for Katie, for anyone who hadn’t temporarily lost her mind. Sure enough, Katie came through. Like a lifeline, she stood behind the bar, glaring at him as always, fists on hips. “Could you get back to work, please? This is a bar, not a day care center. We gotta set up for Happy Hour.” She wheeled around and disappeared into the office.

Maybe he’d better keep his fondness for kids to himself from now on, Ryan thought as he whipped up a new batch of cosmopolitans. He preferred flirtation to adoration. And even flirtation got old when it lacked a certain . . . bite, or edge, or unpredictability. Like what he’d get if he ambled into Katie’s office and teased her for a while.

As the afternoon wore on, he felt like he was going through the motions, even though the girls didn’t seem to notice.

At the beginning of Happy Hour, his cell phone rang.

“Ryan, Brody here.”

“Captain Brody.” At the sound of that quiet, commanding voice, he felt his whole body automatically straighten. He took a few steps away from the chatter of voices at the bar. Was Brody about to save him, bring him back on the force?

“I want you back. But I have to be sure you’re not going to fall back into the same kind of behavior.”

“I won’t, you know I won’t.”

“I need more than that. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to take a proficiency exam.”

“No problem.” Piece of cake. Everyone knew he was hellaciously proficient.

“Hang on. I want you to study the Manual of Operations all over again. Besides general firefighting knowledge, you need to be up to date on all policy changes, all training bulletins, sexual harassment policies, that sort of thing. And I want you to learn something new. I figure wildland fire procedures make for a good change of pace. Study hard. Take all the time you need, then come in and I’ll test you on your knowledge. This isn’t an official requirement, obviously. This is between you and me. Sound good?”

It sounded like the equivalent of sticking hot needles in his brain, which was no doubt why Brody had chosen it. “Yes,” he managed to say.

“Good. Happy studying.”

Chapter Six

F
or Katie, life at the Hair of the Dog could be neatly divided into the pre-Ryan period and the post-Ryan era. If she wrote a paper about it, she’d have to compare the pre-Ryan time to the Dark Ages, minus the bubonic plague and sketchy bathing habits. In fact, by the time her parents were scheduled to return, Katie could barely remember the pre-Ryan era. Even while she drove to the San Gabriel Valley Airport, when she ought to be planning how to approach her father about the bar’s future, thoughts of Ryan got in the way.

The man was a mystery. He had a slow-moving style, a slight drawl like a cowboy, and a way of holding still while he listened to people. And yet she knew how fast he could move when it counted. She’d seen him in that fight the first day she’d met him. And that wasn’t the only time he’d punched someone out. One night a drunken jerk was ranting about gay men, and Ryan reached right over the bar and socked him in the nose. The guy had wanted to take the fight outside.

“Tell you what.” Ryan scrawled his number on a bar napkin. “You call me tomorrow when you’re sober and we’ll pick up where we left off.”

“You aren’t gay, are you?” A bar full of women had waited breathlessly for his answer after he’d escorted the drunk guy outside.

“Nah. You don’t have to be gay to stand up for the dudes,” he’d said with that easy smile of his.

If only he were gay, then maybe Katie could get him out of her mind.

She pulled up to the curb outside the baggage claim and scanned the crowd for her parents. Her eyes slid past her father, then back, almost not recognizing the sunburned man in the Hawaiian shirt. But sure enough, he was headed for her ancient Datsun, followed by her equally sun-kissed mother. He heaved their suitcases into her trunk—should he be doing that?—then leaned in her window. She gaped at him.

“Daddy?”

“Scoot over, kiddo, I’ll drive us back.”

Since she knew her father was constitutionally incapable of letting someone else drive, she crawled over the gearshift into the passenger seat. He inserted himself into the driver’s seat, filling the car with his tanned bulk and big grin. For the first time in two months, Katie felt the nagging worry ease. Her father was fine. It had all been worth it. “You look great. Both of you do.”

“Thanks, dear.” Her mother blew her a kiss from the backseat. Nina had been a beauty, the prize Frank Dane had won out of sheer persistent charisma. He adored her, brought her breakfast in bed on Sundays, lavished her with surprise pashminas and porcelain fairy figurines for her collection. He’d always taken care of her. Now, checking her mom out in the rearview mirror, Katie saw lines of worry tightening her face. Becoming the caretaker must have been a shock to her system. “You’re looking well, Katie. A bit tired. Have you been working too hard?”

“Yes, I have, and as a matter of fact, we really need to talk about—”

Her mother gave her a meaningful rap on the shoulder. When Katie looked back, her mother shook her head and mouthed, “Not now.”

“So what’s this I hear about a new bartender?” her father asked, steering into the airport traffic.

“Who told you about that?”

“Got my sources. Hear he’s quite a looker. My Katie girl wouldn’t be hiring herself a new boyfriend, would she?”

“Dad. Please. That’s insulting.”

How did her father manage to dump a huge responsibility on her and treat her like a child at the same time?

“Heard he punched out poor Dougie boy to get the job. He must really like you.”

“Tell your sources they have their heads up their butts,” said Katie hotly. “Ryan saved Doug from getting beaten to a bloody pulp. Is Doug the one who told you that?”

Her father gave her a sidelong, delighted look. “Well, looky here, you see that, Nina? She’s all up in arms to defend her boy.”

“Leave her alone, Frank. Let’s not talk about the bar yet. I’m sure she’d rather hear about Baja.”

And that was that. Conversation during the rest of the drive home consisted of snorkeling trips, dolphin sightings, and detailed explanations of the differences between the various cactuses used to make tequila. If her family could be described in one word, it would be “loud.” Crammed inside her car, her parents’ combined decibel level was overwhelming.

By the time they pulled into the carport of her parents’ home, a sprawling, ranch-style slice of suburban blah, Katie had decided that hearing about tequila gave you as bad a headache as drinking it. A few cars, including Bridget’s bright yellow Miata, were parked out front.

As soon as they all extracted themselves from her car, her father opened his arms wide.

“I still need my Katie-hug!” She flew into them and buried her face against his burly chest. His familiar smell, bourbon overlaid with minty Nicorette gum, wrapped around her like a favorite quilt. Tears pricked her eyes and a wave of gratitude made her squeeze him tight. Thank God he was okay.

Her mother’s hug was more briskly affectionate. Katie had always been a daddy’s girl, and everyone knew it.

Her parents hurried inside, while Katie lagged behind dragging their suitcases. A chorus of shrieks and hugs and “Welcome homes” rang from the living room.

“Here, lemme help.” Doug greeted her at the door, holding out his nonbandaged arm. She suffered the usual pang of irritated guilt at the sight of his morose expression. He had shoulder-length, tangled hair and a fallen-angel face that used to make her swoon. Now it just made her sad. They’d met when they’d both joined a wannabe rock group that called themselves the Losers. He’d played bass, she’d played drums, and they’d started hanging out every possible moment when not practicing in their friend’s garage.

“What are you doing here?” She let him take one of the suitcases.

“You know how Bridget is. Won’t take a no.”

No sense in wondering why Bridget had interfered. A noninterfering Bridget would be like a fish without gills. Katie made her way into the crowded house, wincing at the din. Not only were the Danes loud, so were most of their friends.

A big hand-drawn banner hung in the living room. “Welcome Back to Los Estados Unidos,” it read. With her usual efficiency, Bridget had finished hugging their parents and was passing around a tray of red drinks with paper umbrellas in them.

Katie and Doug dragged the suitcases into her parents’ room. She sighed. How many ex-boyfriends felt this comfortable in their ex’s parents’ home?

“How’s the arm?” she asked as they made their way back to the party.

“My dad says I should sue.”

“What? Sue who?”

“I don’t know. Someone. It happened on the premises of the Hair of the Dog.” He gave her a sidelong look past a stray lock of mussed hair.

A shaft of fear tightened her stomach. If Doug’s father sued them, they didn’t stand a chance. He was a high-powered attorney who lived for revenge.

“So you might want to be nicer to me,” continued Doug with a smirk.

“Excuse me?”

But she didn’t get a chance to continue. Bridget appeared before them like a vision of Snow White, all shining blue eyes and glossy black hair. Katie always felt like Grumpy the dwarf in her presence. “Surprised?”

“Kinda, since you said you were too busy to pick them up.” She took the drink Bridget offered. Doug wandered away, mumbling something about taking a pill. Katie knew he was probably going out back for a smoke.

“This is why I was busy, crabby. You know they love surprises.”

“And
you
know that Doug and I broke up.”

“So? He’s a friend of the family. It wouldn’t be the same without him. Now try for once to enjoy the occasion.” Bridget lifted a finger to the corner of Katie’s mouth, but Katie dodged it. She hated when Bridget tried to make her smile. “Besides, Gidget, Dougie’s doing so much better.”

Katie hated her nickname even more than being forced to smile, but Bridget had a point. Three years ago, Doug had been hospitalized for clinical depression—right when she’d finally screwed up her courage to break up with him. The breakup had gone into slow motion after that. What was the correct way to dump someone who might go off his meds? She was still trying to figure that one out. But at least they’d phased into friends-slash-coworkers.

“I will do my utmost not to jeopardize Doug’s recovery.”

“And enjoy yourself.”

“That’s pushing it. I don’t want to give him false hope.”

To Katie’s relief, someone in the kitchen yelled for Bridget’s attention. She shrugged a shoulder, bare under her blue halter top, and hurried away with her tray of drinks.

For the six thousand and thirty-second time, Katie wondered what it would be like to be that tall and confident. The world must look so different when you could meet it eye to eye instead of constantly craning your neck and standing on tiptoe. Sometimes Katie felt she had to be twice as forceful so people knew she was there. And usually that felt like too much work.

She sat next to her father on his favorite brown leather couch. “Daddy, we really need to find some time to talk about the bar. I’m a little—”

“Katie,” interrupted her mother. “Just wait till you see what I got you in Cancun.” Where the heck had her mother come from? It was practically supernatural. Her mom leaned over the back of the couch and tugged at her hand. “You’re going to love it. Come on, now.”

Her father winked at her as she reluctantly got to her feet. “Get used to it, Katie girl. I have. Every time I try to do anything fun, she pops up like a jack-in-the-box.” The affectionate look they exchanged took the bite out of his words.

Katie let her mother draw her into the kitchen. Two of Bridget’s friends were there, sticking toothpicks through mini hot dogs and placing them on a tray. Bridget always had friends around. She trailed them behind her like perfume.

“Katie, I’m asking you this with complete seriousness. Are you listening?”

“Yes.” She looked into her mother’s angelic face, which now held the look of someone running an army boot camp.

Her mother lowered her voice. “Your father is not ready to hear about the bar. Period. Every time it’s mentioned, his blood pressure goes up. He gets all excited, his face gets red, he starts waving his arms around.”

“But, Mom, I only said I’d take care of the bar while you guys were gone. I don’t know anything about running a business. I’m studying nineteenth-century French literature, for cripes’ sake.”

Her mother tightened her lips, no doubt to restrain herself from the inevitable lecture about Katie’s random and inexplicable decisions. Her family treated her choice to go to graduate school with a kind of pat-on-the-head, she’ll-get-over-it-soon indulgence. “And I’m sure all the dead French people appreciate your dedication. But your father needs you.”

“But I have no experience and some of the bills coming in are freaking me out. We can’t pay the beer distributor, and the insurance bill is due, and more come every day.”

“What about that event you held, what was it again?”

Katie gritted her teeth. “Doggies’ Night.” She never wanted to hear those words again.

“We heard it drew quite a crowd.”

“Yes, but we lost money on it. We’ve been getting a few more customers since then”—almost exclusively women, but no need to mention that—“but I still can’t pay the beer bill.”

Her mother fiddled with her bracelets, a nervous habit Katie had seen many times. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Gidget. I’m sure you’ll figure something out, dear. You’re so smart. This is a chance to direct all that brainpower into something useful, something that will help your daddy.”

Her mother knew Katie’s soft spot all too well.

“I’ll tell you something, Katie, and you must never share this with your father.” She leaned in so close Katie could smell the faint, familiar scent of Jean Naté gardenia body powder. “Part of me wishes that bar didn’t even exist. Frank has been like a new man since we went away. I thought he’d miss the bar, but he never even mentioned it in Mexico, except for when he spoke to you on the phone. He needed that time away.” Her mother’s clear blue eyes, so like Bridget’s, grew misty. “I know in my heart it saved his life. And it kills me to think of him going back to that dark, unhealthy place and all that stress. I want to put it off as long as I possibly can. For your father’s sake.”

Katie’s heart sank into the bottom of her sneakers. She was stuck like a fly in a spiderweb, like toilet paper on someone’s shoe. “Can I at least ask him about the insurance policy?”

“No. Absolutely not. That’s exactly the kind of thing that’ll get him revved up. Why don’t you go check his files in his study? Maybe you’ll find something that’ll help.”

“All right.” Katie could barely squeeze the words out of her throat.

“You’re a good girl, Katie. Truly. I’m sorry I have to burden you with this. I wish I had another solution.”

After her mother left to rejoin her father on the couch, Katie sagged against the refrigerator, ignoring the fruit-shaped magnets digging into her back.
Stuck like a tail on a donkey. Stuck like ants in molasses.

“Hey, Katie.” One of Bridget’s friends tossed her a friendly smile. “Everyone’s talking about the hottie you hired at your dad’s bar. We’re thinking of stopping by later on.”

“What hours does he work?” Bridget’s other friend, Meredith, asked.

Katie stared at her. “Aren’t you getting married? Isn’t Bridget your maid of honor?”

“I’m asking on behalf of all my single friends. He is single, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you ever seen him with a girl?” They closed in to interrogate her.

“Only about a hundred.” She tried to back up, but she was already flattened against the fridge.

“Someone special.”

“I haven’t paid attention.” A lie if ever there was one.

“Well, I intend to conduct a thorough investigation.” Bridget joined the little cluster, with Doug right behind her. From the sullen look in Doug’s mud-brown eyes, Katie knew talk of Ryan irritated him.

“That would require actually coming into the Hair of the Dog.”

Bridget gave a slight shudder, as she always did when anyone spoke the name of the bar. “He sounds like he’s worth it. Is he?”