Authors: Jennifer Bernard
It's a Wonderful Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novella (The Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel) (18 page)
Fred sank into his seat.
“You owe me big time,” said Mulligan grimly. “Those girls are hot.”
“Just pass me the beer.” But even as he drank, Fred couldn’t help watching the girl in the bridal veil choke down her shot. She really shouldn’t be drinking. With a tiny frame like hers, she probably couldn’t handle more than a teaspoon of tequila. Maybe he should keep an eye on her. Which would be easier if his eye weren’t throbbing from getting nicked by her damn veil.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Mulligan was saying. “We’re going to organize a firehouse fight club, and take bets. I’ll put all my money on you and say I’m rooting for the underdog, and . . .”
Fred tuned out the other firefighter as Rachel slid off her stool, steadied herself, then set off across the bar. She seemed to be headed for the door in the far corner, the one with the red exit sign. Maybe she’d decided to go home. Not a bad idea, in his opinion, except the path to the exit took her right through a game of darts, to which she seemed completely oblivious. Abandoning Mulligan, he dashed across the room and whirled the girl out of range of the flying darts.
“I . . . I was going to the bathroom,” she stammered, looking bewildered.
“Bathroom’s this way.” He spun her around so she faced the other direction. “Darts are the other way. Can you manage it or do you need an escort?”
She bristled. “I’m not going to the bathroom with some strange guy I don’t even—”
“Not me. One of your friends.”
“Oh.” Her face flamed. “You must think I’m a total ditz.”
“Not at all,” he said politely, which made her face turn even more crimson. She tore her arm from his grasp and headed for the bathroom, indignantly muttering something about overprotective men.
Well, if that was the thanks he was going to get . . .
Shrugging, he returned to Mulligan, who drained his mug and eyed him with amusement. “At least she didn’t whack you this time. So back to fight club. It’s not a bad way to prove up. Show the crew you’re more than a kitten lover. Let that pretty face of yours fool them, then bring down the hammer. If I hadn’t seen you in that ring, I wouldn’t have believed it, Fred.” His cell phone rang. As Mulligan muttered into his phone, Fred watched the dart players finish a game, then start another, then finish that one.
Mulligan ended his call. “I might have to hedge my bets, though, in case you decide to pull your punches. It’s that nice-guy thing again. How do I know you aren’t going to wuss out and . . .”
“Hang on.”
Rachel had been gone too long. He just knew it. Leaving Mulligan in midsentence, he hurried to the dark hallway where the men’s and women’s bathrooms were located. Sure enough, there she was, a silvery sprite in the dim fluorescents, bending over a guy who knelt on the gritty, sawdust-covered floor. His chinos and stained crewneck sweater screamed vomiting frat boy.
“Are you all right?” Rachel was asking him in a concerned voice, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was alone in a dark hallway with a drunk.
“Awesome.” The guy swiped a hand across his face. “Hey, you’re pretty. Gimme a kiss.”
“Uh . . . no thanks.” She started to straighten up, but the guy latched on to her arm.
“Come on, baby.” He sang, “You can leave your veil on . . .” and tugged her so she lost her balance and started to fall on top of him.
Fred didn’t wait another second. He strode to her side, swooped her out of the drunk guy’s reach, and whisked her down the hallway. Her rosewater scent teased his nostrils; he resisted the urge to bend closer to sniff her hair, a move that might shift him from rescuer to stalker.
With her dark curls falling back over his arm, she tilted her head back to glare at him. “I had the situation handled.”
“You’re welcome,” he said grimly.
She seemed to puzzle over that for a second. “I guess I was supposed to say thank you?”
“Some people would at least consider it.”
Her quick shimmer of a smile cast sparks of light into their grungy surroundings. “Who are you, anyway? Why do you keep”—she gestured wildly, bonking him on the chin—“popping up like this? Did my father hire you?”
“What?” The throb in his chin distracted Fred from her odd question.
“He insisted on hiring the limo driver, but he didn’t tell me about hiring anyone else.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but she seemed to forget about the subject anyway. He headed down the hall toward the bar. Surprisingly, she didn’t ask to be put down, and he didn’t offer. She needed to be with her friends. And for some reason, he needed to make sure she was safe. Besides, it felt good, holding her in his arms, so good he sort of lost track of time. The hallway seemed to go on forever, and yet end too soon.
When they stepped back into the bar, the blonde, Cindy, spotted them and came hurtling over, shrieking bloody murder.
“What happened? Are you okay, Rachel?”
“I’m fine,” she grumbled, as Fred set her on her feet. “Someone threw up in the hallway and tried to come on to me. Apparently this guy”—she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, jabbing him in the chest, making him wince—“thought it was a federal crime.”
The spiky redhead appeared at Cindy’s shoulder. “The most important question is, how’s the veil? It’s my turn to wear it.”
Rachel whipped the veil off her head, dragging long strands of her hair along with it. “No, the important question is why this complete stranger thinks I can’t take care of myself.”
Now, that was just too much. Fred threw up his hands. “Really? The important thing isn’t nearly walking into a game of darts? Or worse?”
Rachel, struggling to free her hair from the veil, turned to her friends. “Don’t I have enough people watching every little thing I do? Why
him
?”
Exasperated, Fred reached over and untangled her veil from her hair. “You are the strangest girl I’ve ever met.”
“What kind of thing is that to say—”
“All right, all right.” Cindy grabbed her hand. “Let’s go. Limo’s waiting.” She bundled Rachel behind her and addressed Fred. “Thanks for everything, attractive stranger. She’s usually such a sweet girl, believe it or not. Devotes her life to helping animals, will do anything for a friend, even drink too much champagne during her friend’s last night of freedom . . . okay, we’re going now.”
They all waved good-bye and flocked to the door. After they left, the entire room seemed to go dim.
Back at the table, Mulligan tossed some money down and pushed back his chair. “Nice move, bro. You scared away the only girls worth talking to in this whole joint.”
“I didn’t scare anyone away. I rescued her from being slobbered on by a vomit-covered idiot.” Fred worked at a knot in his neck, trying to understand how the night had begun with a mauling in the fight ring and somehow gone downhill from there.
“Details, details,” said Mulligan. “Come on, let’s ghost. I want to see what’s rolling at Firefly.”
“Nah, man. I’m done. If that bout wasn’t enough to do me in, that girl was. She got in more hits than Namsaknoi.” He tenderly felt his jawbone, where she’d bonked him in the hallway.
Mulligan cackled. “You should date her. I can see you with a girl like that. She’d keep things hopping.”
“
Not
going to happen. The girl I go for is going to be nothing like her.”
“I wouldn’t say
nothing
like her,” mused Mulligan as they headed for the exit. “She’ll probably wear a veil at the wedding.”
“Nothing like her,” said Fred firmly. “What kind of woman nearly walks into a game of darts?”
“Someone fun, someone who lets loose once in a while. Someone who’s not Courtney. Someone who doesn’t think she’s superior to everyone else in the damn world.”
Mulligan’s lip curled. The guys really didn’t like Courtney. Sometimes Fred thought he would have called it off much sooner if he hadn’t wanted to prove them wrong. Dumb, since they
weren’t
exactly wrong. “Courtney,” he pointed out, “is proud of my fight trophies. She wouldn’t rip them apart.” He gave a mournful glance at the dismantled statuette in his hand.
“Right. She’d probably polish them every day in their little glass case,” said Mulligan. “Because she’s a control freak.”
“And Courtney wouldn’t be caught dead alone in a dark hallway with a drunk. What was that girl thinking?” He followed Mulligan through the door into the cool of midnight. The loud music from the bar chased them, the wail of U2’s “Mysterious Ways” suddenly stifled as the door slammed shut.
“Seems like you were watching every move she made.”
“Someone had to,” he grumbled, trying to remember where he’d parked.
“Holy shit,” Mulligan breathed.
Fred was still scanning the street for his truck. He remembered parking next to a construction barricade. The City Lights Grill squatted in the shadow of the old City Hall, which had partially burned a couple of years ago. They were finally starting to rebuild, and during the day this entire area was a construction zone mess. At night, it was a ghost town of earth movers, backhoes, and cranes.
“There it is,” Fred said, finally spotting his Toyota pickup and moving toward it. But Mulligan snaked out a hand and stopped him cold. The big guy’s phone was at his ear.
“Look,” he said, and pointed up the street, to the end of the block.
The sight made Fred’s blood run cold. Illuminated by the chill light of a streetlamp, a white stretch limousine was stopped in the middle of the street. Its roof was crushed by the arm of a crane, awkward and ungainly, like a metallic giraffe that had toppled over. Steam hissed from the engine. If the crane had hit the gas tank, it could explode at any moment.
“Calling 911?” he asked Mulligan.
“Yup.”
The door opened, spilling a blast of music and a handful of people. “Keep everyone back. I’m going in.” Fred ran toward the limo.
JENNIFER BERNARD
is a graduate of Harvard and a former news promo producer. The child of academics, she confounded her family by preferring romance novels to . . . well, any other books. She left big-city life for true love in Alaska, where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters. She’s no stranger to book success, as she also writes erotic novellas under a naughty secret name not to be mentioned at family gatherings.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
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