Love Inspired May 2015 #2 (41 page)

Who did he belong to?

And her heart replied with every beat,
You belong to
me.

* * *

Matt leaned his elbows on the table and stabbed at some ice cubes in his glass with a straw. Rachel looked toward her son, and when her gaze flickered back in his direction, color rose in her cheeks. She was gorgeous—and every time emotion sparkled in those dark eyes, he found his thoughts sliding into dangerous territory.

“He's growing up so fast,” she said.

Matt nodded. “I can only imagine.”

“He's been asking about his birth mother a lot lately.” She breathed a sigh. “This isn't easy.”

“She did what was best for him,” he said. “I didn't want to say this in front of Chris, but he was in rough shape when I found him. He was in a wet cardboard box. His sleeper was soaked, his diaper was dirty and his bottle was rancid. He shivered in my arms for a full hour, and he drank bottle after bottle. I doubt he was getting enough milk before he was dropped off at the firehouse. He was so desperate for human touch that once he figured I'd protect him, he wouldn't let anyone else touch him.”

She froze at those words, and he immediately regretted them. “I'm sorry. That was probably too blunt.”

“No, no...” She shook her head, blinking back the tears that sprang to her eyes. “I was told about his condition by the authorities, but hearing it from you—” She swallowed, not finishing the thought.

Idiot
, he chastised himself.
She didn't need to hear it like that.

“She brought him to the right place,” he said, his voice low. “And he went to the right home.”

Her dark gaze met his, and he was struck by those liquid eyes. Long lashes brushed her cheekbones with each blink, and a soft pink tinged her cheeks. She gave a weak shrug.

“I'd do anything for him. He's really struggling.”

“You're a good mom,” he replied. “He'll be okay.”

She nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “I think Haggerston is just what Chris needs. I keep saying that, but I really do believe it. Sometimes a fresh start is just the ticket.”

Her words struck on the deepest longing inside him, too. She wanted to start over here in Haggerston, and he wanted to start over as far from this town as he could get, but they both wanted the same thing. They wanted to leave behind the old barbs and wounds and start over again—get another kick at the can without the pain that weighed them down. Was it even possible? He sure hoped so, because it was his last hope.

“Couldn't agree more.” He reached for another slice of pizza.

“I was wondering about something.” She paused, a frown creasing her brow. “When they hired me at Broxton Park Elementary, they mentioned that it had a fire a few years ago.”

Matt nodded. “A big one.”

“That's scary. Were you there for it?”

“Yeah.”
There for it
was an understatement. He returned to that dreadful morning in his dreams, where he endlessly searched with his gloved hands, through the murky darkness. He pushed back the memories.

“That had to be terrifying for everyone. How do you do that?” Her thoughtful gaze moved over his face.

“It's my job.”

“I know, but...” She paused, her intent eyes fixed on him. “Aren't you scared in situations like that?”

“I'm well trained.” The training was intense. A firefighter learned to react before he felt, to obey an order and question it later. Like in the military, a quick response to command was the secret to success, and for a firefighter, success meant getting everyone out alive.

“I understand the training because my husband went through it, but I never could quite understand how someone could subvert every instinct in his body telling him to get out of there. That's just simple self-preservation.”

She was right about that, but it was something they didn't talk about. Being afraid was part of the job, but if they talked about it and fed it, then they were useless in the face of an emergency. Firefighters didn't talk about fear; they talked about preparation.

“I'm suited up, I've got a buddy system and I'm much better prepared for that heat than the victims are. I'm pretty much just focused on finding people and getting them out.”

“You must have a lot of stories.”

Matt chuckled. “Most of the job is paperwork. We do prefire inspections, public education, that sort of thing. I do a lot of reports. Like this restaurant, for example.”

He glanced around them, quickly estimating the risks in the room. Rachel looked around the dining room, following his gaze.

“There are two exits—the door I came in, and a door out the back.” He hooked a thumb toward the front door. “These tables would be like an obstacle course, especially through the smoke. The kitchen is worse, but those prefire safety inspections give us a lay of the land, so to speak. We want to know a building's layout before we have to stampede in there in full gear. We have a job, and we know what we have to do.”

“So you're saying you're too focused to get scared?” she asked.

He chuckled again, amused at her tenacity. She wasn't going to let this go, was she? He shrugged. “We're too well trained to admit to it.”

Rachel was silent for a moment. “So, was that the training taking over the first day we met you?”

He raised an eyebrow, considering. “I guess so, yeah. I've learned to lean back on the training when I feel—” He stopped, uncertain of even how to decipher the complicated emotions he felt when seeing Chris again for the first time.

“Scared?” she suggested.

He shrugged. “Scared? Maybe. Nervous. Uncertain. Off balance. Anyway, I either knock down doors or spout statistics. As you found out.” He smiled and she laughed softly.

“It makes sense. And thank God for your training—it saves lives.”

“Not enough lives,” he replied. All the training in the world couldn't bring back Natalie Martin. He'd seen countless school pictures around town of the little girl, clean and brightly smiling. That wasn't the face seared into his memory, however. He would always remember the face smeared with grime, eyes streaming from the smoke and her hair a tangled mess. He's see her ashen cheeks as she lay unconscious in his arms. He couldn't remember what he felt in those exact moments. He felt it later, when he lay in his bed that night after the fire had been extinguished, the day's events playing through his mind. That was when the reality of the situation hit him.

“Amen to that,” she said quietly, and his gaze snapped up to meet hers. He'd momentarily forgotten about her husband, and he winced.

“I'm sorry. I forgot about your husband.”

She shook her head. “I have to admit, I'm still angry about his death.”

“It was pointless,” he said.

“Exactly. Pointless. But that's what firefighters do. They put themselves in harm's way in order to save people.”

“Did they save lives that day?” he asked. The risk was worth it if lives were saved—that was what kept a firefighter going.

“The truck driver didn't make it out...” She looked away toward her son, playing video games. “They both died that day.”

No rescues. Two deaths. His stomach sank.

“When you're in that kind of situation,” he said, “your training has to move faster than your emotions do. You let your brain catch up when there's time. Your husband was in the zone. He wouldn't have been afraid, if that helps you at all.”

“It does, actually.”

He could tell that she hadn't made her peace with everything yet, and he couldn't blame her. It had been a year since Natalie Martin's death, and he still hadn't made his peace with it. She hadn't been the first person to die in a fire, and she wouldn't be the last. They were only people putting it all on the line for other people's families, but somehow this one little girl had gotten past all his defenses.

“Are you a Christian, Matt?”

Matt pulled his mind back from the precipice. “I am.”

“Me, too.” Rachel's gaze roamed over the restaurant, settling on her son across the room. “Does it help?”

“I suppose my faith is a part of everything I do,” he said quietly. “But even faith doesn't answer every question, does it?”

“I suppose not.” She pushed her glossy waves away from her face. “You've been through a lot, haven't you?”

“There are people who have gone through far worse than I ever have.”

An image of Natalie's grief-stricken parents arose in his mind. They'd been in shock, their faces white, their eyes begging him to take it all away as if that fire-retardant suit gave him supernatural power. But he couldn't. Natalie was part of the reason why he needed to learn about children. Natalie had run from him when he came to rescue her...and he never wanted that to happen again.

“Look,” Matt said, tearing his mind away from those old wounds. “Do you think you could give me some of those tips for working with kids?”

“Now?” She took a sip of her pop.

“How about tomorrow? If that isn't too soon.”

“I'd be happy to.” She nodded. “I can bring by a few resources, if I find the right box tonight. What time works for you?”

“How about two at my office?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Chris came dashing back across the room, zigzagging around tables. He arrived at their table, out of breath and with a grin on his face.

“I won something!” He held up a small stuffed rabbit in a victorious display. As the boy exuberantly showed his mother his hard-won prize, Matt fell gratefully silent. He'd done enough talking, more than he'd ever intended. He took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself.

“It's really hard to get one,” Chris was explaining. “It came down like this—” He used his hand to mime the game. “And then it went like this...”

Rachel's gaze flickered in Matt's direction and her gentle eyes crinkled into a smile. Before he could catch himself, he felt his own return grin tickling the corners of his lips. He picked up the dessert menu, a sundae awash in chocolate sauce and crowned with fluffy whipped cream emblazoned across the top.

“Let's order that ice cream. What do you say?”

Chapter Three

T
he next afternoon, Rachel leaned back in the chair across from Matt's desk. The air-conditioning felt good after a morning of unpacking in the overheated house. Most people had personal effects in their work space, but Matt didn't seem to have much. No pictures of pets or family, no crayon artwork, no tacky gag gifts. This space shone clean and efficient. Her desk at school was always covered with “I love my teacher” gifts and eraser collections. The kids liked to come look at her desk, and she'd use the erasers as rewards for good behavior through the year. Perhaps it was her background in elementary education, but this amount of order seemed sad. Everyone needed a little love, and love, most often, came in the form of some organized chaos.

Then again, that might be the mother in her, too.

Matt leaned forward, catching her eye as her gaze swung back to where the big firefighter sat across from her in his desk.

“And this will work?” he asked.

“Teaching is less of a science and more of an art,” she admitted, pulling her mind back to her purpose in this pristine space. “When you have the same class every day, you learn which children get distracted more easily and which catch on more quickly. But when you have a different group of children every day, it's more challenging.”

She'd been giving him a quick introduction to elementary-aged teaching, and he'd taken a few notes and questioned her for the past half hour. He seemed serious about this, which impressed her. Not many people worked so hard to improve their weak areas.

“So you're saying to keep them engaged individually, and that will encourage them to pay attention.”

“Exactly.” She nodded. “If you call on kids randomly to ask them questions, ask their opinion or just use them in an example, the kids will want to listen because they might get your attention next. There will always be a few who distract the class, but at least you'll have most of their attention.”

“So this is pretty much on-the-fly decision making.”

“Pretty much,” she agreed. “It takes a little practice, but it works.”

“What about a problem kid?” he asked.

“A ringleader of sorts?”

“Exactly. How do you deal with one causing trouble?”

“Engage him. You don't have time to discipline or anything like that. You're trying to give them information in a way that they'll remember it. That's all. You won't be seeing these kids again, so don't make it into a power struggle. You want to get the ringleader's attention and ask him for his opinion about something. Don't make it into a punishment. Ask him honestly. You'll have the entire class's attention, including your ringleader. That's priceless.”

“Great,” he said, jotting something down on paper.

“And then there is always The Look. Most of the time a warning is better than a punishment. It takes a bit of practice, but it's useful.”

“Let's see it.”

Rachel shot Matt her most teacherly look of warning. He froze, eyes locked on her, and his lips slightly parted.

“Yikes.” He rose to his feet and chuckled. “Seriously, that's some potent stuff there. Be careful where you point that. I'm not sure what for, but I feel mildly guilty now...and I have this urge to raise my hand before I speak.”

“Oh, good, I haven't lost it,” she joked.

“I'm not even sure I could reproduce that,” he confessed. He shot her a serious and mildly quizzical look. “That's all I've got. That's the look I give my firefighters under me when they do something really dumb. But yours—that's a thing of art.”

“Yeah, it's not the same,” she agreed with a wry smile. “Maybe it's a mom thing.”

Matt shot her a grin, then glanced at his watch. “I'm officially done here for the day. Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

“I promised myself I'd go for a walk this afternoon and get some exercise,” she replied, pushing herself to her feet. “That's about it.”

“Care for some company?” His clear gaze met hers and a smile turned up the corners of his lips.

Part of her knew she should decline his tempting offer, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to utter the words. “Sure.”

She glanced around the office once more in an attempt to distract herself. He turned off his computer and dropped a few papers into a filing cabinet, his muscular arms flexing as he stretched to reach a file folder.

“Matt, you have the most sterile office I've ever seen,” she said.

“Do I?” He looked around. “What's wrong with it?”

“I can't tell anything about you by looking at this space. There are no pictures...nothing.”

“The way I like it.” He shot her a teasing grin.

“Why?”

He didn't answer as they headed down the hallway and into the reception area. The receptionist looked up with a tired smile, but her gaze flickered in Rachel's direction with interest.

“Good night, Joyce,” Matt said over his shoulder.

“Good night,” she replied, then shot Rachel a sugary smile. “You take care of him, now.”

Rachel wasn't sure how to answer that and opted for silence. As they exited the door into the summer sunlight, she glanced up at Matt questioningly.

“And that is exactly why I keep things private.” He chuckled. “In a place this size, everyone's curious.”

A cool breeze whisked by, lifting her dark hair over her face. She pulled her fingers through her hair, holding it back as she glanced up at him.

“A few photos around the office might put the rumors to rest,” she suggested.

“Photos of what?” He shrugged. “My last vacation that I took alone? A picture of me taken by another tourist? No, that's just depressing.”

“Don't you have a cat or a dog?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Maybe a picture of your mom, then.” She shot him a grin.

“Absolutely not.” Matt laughed. “That's how a guy gets to be known as a mama's boy.”

“Is that so terrible?” she joked.

“That's coming from a mother,” he replied with a chuckle. “I love my mom, and she knows it. When I get married, I'll put my wife's picture on my desk. Happy?”

“It'll have to do.”

“Trust me, the mystery is better than the reality.”

“And what's the reality?”

“A whole lot of work and not much of a social life.” His eyes crinkled up into a smile. “I might need to get a dog so people stop feeling sorry for me.”

The sun peeked from behind a cloud, then disappeared again. Clouds were moving in, the air cooling. The hum of a lawn mower floated over the breeze, bringing along with it the scent of freshly cut grass. The fire station was on the corner of a well-established residential area, and they angled their steps down a tree-lined street, Matt with his hands in his pockets and Rachel sauntering beside him. The houses on either side of them were small bungalows, and the trees that stretched over the road were mature. Matt glanced in her direction.

“Thanks for all your help today. I owe you one.”

“No, don't worry about it,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I feel a little bad for the rumors your receptionist is about to start...”

He grinned. “It's inevitable.”

“But she's new, right?” she asked. “Maybe she'll be properly in awe of you and restrain herself.”

“I doubt it.” He laughed. “She might be new to the firehouse, but she's also the church pianist. The familiarity is already there.”

“You really can't win, can you?” she teased.

A cooler breeze enveloped her in a chilly embrace. Clouds rolled in more quickly now, a dark, smudgy blanket moving over the town, carrying with it the electric scent of promised rain.

“With all the people you know around town,” she began, “why did you ask me to help you? I'm sure you know teachers and day-care providers, and—”

He looked down at her, regret swimming in his clear eyes. “I've applied for a job across the state,” he said. “It's not definite, so I need to be discreet. Anyone else would pass the word in a heartbeat.”

She attempted to cover her surprise by looking down. So he wasn't planning on sticking around Haggerston anyway. That would be a good thing to keep in mind when Chris got to know him.

“Oh...” She cleared her throat.

“I hope that isn't crass.” He grimaced. “I'm not suggesting that you have no friends—”

She attempted to smile casually. “No, I get it. It's no problem. I'll keep that little detail to myself.” It wasn't her place to pass around rumors, and she wasn't naive about the speed of gossip in a place this size.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

So he was heading out of town, if all went according to plan. It was good to know, and it helped. Matt Bailey was charming and handsome, and it certainly gave her more willpower to know that he wasn't going to stick around—not that she actually needed any more excuses to stay out of a relationship. Chris had gone through enough changes lately, and she doubted he could handle it if his mom started dating. Besides, a firefighter's life held no mystery for her. She knew all about the long hours, the middle-of-the-night calls to fill in for someone who was sick, the constant danger and the wear and tear on a marriage. That uniform might be appealing, but the lifestyle was not.

As if on cue, thunder rumbled overhead and Rachel squinted up at the ever-darkening clouds.

“It's going to rain,” Matt said. “Come on.”

“Shouldn't we head back?” she asked, quickening her pace to keep up with his long stride.

“This is closer,” he replied. “I live just down Oak Street.”

Rachel ducked her head against the first mist of rain and she grimaced inwardly. Rain and moisture were going to do a number on her straightened hair.

I'm the mother of a first grader, still worrying about my hair blowout.

A clap of thunder boomed overhead, and with it came a deluge of rain, pounding down onto them like a thousand tiny fists. Matt scooped up her hand in his and broke into a jog, tugging her along, pulling her closer against his broad, muscular shoulder.

“We're going to be drenched!” Rachel laughed breathlessly. Water dripped down her face, slicking her fuchsia T-shirt against her skin. Matt's hand tightened around hers as they crossed a street, his head ducked against the rain.

“Looks like.” He chuckled, the sound warm and deep. “Don't worry. I've got coffee.”

As they jumped over a puddle already forming by the curb, Matt pointed to a little house across the next street, a white-trimmed bungalow, blurred by the falling rain.

“Almost there.” His voice was low and close to her ear. With another boom of thunder, they made the last dash toward shelter.

* * *

Matt unlocked the front door and they stumbled inside just as another flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed seconds later by a deafening peal of thunder. Their footsteps echoed in the entryway, and he flicked on a light to compensate for the premature darkness of the storm. He normally kept a pretty clean house, but he did a quick glance around to make sure he hadn't left a T-shirt on the sofa or his barbells on the floor from his morning workout that would betray his manly ways. Rachel stepped inside and shivered. Her hair dripped, the previously smooth waves springing up into sodden curls.

She has curly hair
.

He wasn't sure why this discovery made him smile, but it did.

Rachel looked down at the puddle she'd made on the floor. Her jeans were dark with rain and goose bumps prickled across her arms.

“I'm making a mess,” she said.

“No more than I am,” he replied. His uniform clung to his arms and legs, a steady trickle of water meandering down his back. “Tell you what. If it wouldn't be too awkward, let me give you some of my clothes to wear while we toss yours into the dryer.”

She contemplated for a moment, then nodded. “I don't see a way around it. I'm drenched.”

While Rachel changed behind the locked bathroom door, Matt grabbed a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans for himself out of his dresser drawer. He changed quickly, tossing his wet clothes into a hamper on his way out of the bedroom, and headed toward the kitchen.

Matt grabbed the filters and coffee grounds from the cupboard, feeling more cheerful than he had felt in a while. Outside the kitchen window, the rain came down in sheets, trees heaving with the gusts of wind. His patio chairs rattled in the wind and collected pools of water on the seats, and he paused to watch the low, boiling clouds.

It didn't matter where you went in Montana, the sky remained the same. The same summer storms swept over the state, and he couldn't help wondering if South Maitland would be different enough to drown his memories.

“I found your dryer myself. I hope you don't mind.”

Matt turned from the coffeemaker to find Rachel in the kitchen doorway, dwarfed in one of his T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. Soft wisps of hair began to dry around her cheeks and spiraled into silky curls. She held up the pants with one hand and sank into a kitchen chair.

“I've never felt less put together.” She laughed.

“All you need is coffee,” he replied with a grin. “How do you take it?”

“Cream and sugar.”

The coffeemaker sputtered soothingly in the background. Her gaze wandered around the kitchen, sliding over his black stove and dark cupboards and stopping at his fridge.

“Aha,” she said, a triumphant smile coming to her lips. “Finally something personal.”

She crossed the kitchen and perused the photos that were stuck there with various magnets.

“Who's this?” she asked, pointing at a wedding photo.

“My brother, Craig, and his new wife, Gloria.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the familiar photo. Craig was pulling Gloria close against him, and her head was tilting down to his shoulder. They both beamed into the camera. Matt stood next to his brother in an “at ease” stance, and the maid of honor stood in a pinkish-orange dress, her flowers clutched in front of her. Matt remembered the happiness of that afternoon. Craig and Gloria could have gotten married in a mud puddle and it wouldn't have dampened their spirits.