Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel (10 page)

“Only if you make your sauce.”

“Deal.”

Anu was only too delighted to have him back in the kitchen of La Piaggia. Luke set himself up with his math homework in a corner while Roman lost himself in dicing onions and simmering tomatoes. Nothing relaxed him like cooking. The sharp scent of garlic, the heady fumes of the red wine bubbling from the pot, the sensual slide of the green peppers under his fingers . . . for the first time all week, he could breathe freely.

“Papa, what does it mean when you can’t stand someone, but when you see them you feel funny?”

So much for relaxation. “What?”

Luke, usually so bouncy, sat at the counter with his head propped on one hand, a shadow across his face. “It’s just weird. Usually I either like someone or I don’t. But now I’m just confused.”

“This isn’t . . . a girl, is it?” Roman asked cautiously.

Luke lowered his head. “Kind of,” he grumbled. “Not a girly girl like at school.”

He must be talking about Carly, the girl pitcher, Roman realized. According to the coach, the two of them managed to avoid physical combat, but jabbed at each other in every other possible way. On the bright side, both of their batting averages were up and their earned run averages were down. Their team was the talk of the league.

“Well . . .” Roman cleared his throat. “What was the question again?”

“Never mind.”

Roman cursed himself. A mother would have a much easier time with a conversation like this. But that was no excuse.

“I think you just go with it. Roll with the punches.”

Luke pushed aside his calculator. “I didn’t punch her.”

“I didn’t say you did, I meant—”

“Never mind. You don’t understand.”

Luke seemed to be saying that more and more often lately. Roman gritted his teeth and stirred the pot so hard that the thick red sauce splattered up the sides. “I’ll tell you this much. When it comes to women, throw the rule book out the window and hang on for the ride.”

Chapter Twelve

S
abina jogged around the San Gabriel Reservoir as if ten thousand zombies were chasing her. Hollywood zombies like Max Winkler. She’d spent too much time in the down-to-earth world of firefighters. She’d forgotten the shameful depths to which someone like Max would stoop.

She’d known
Zombie Nights IV
was a mistake, but after she’d signed all her earnings over to her mother, she’d been flat broke. Giving all her money to her mother had been an easy choice—it was the only way she could free herself from her guilt over leaving
You and Me
, and effectively ending the show. Signing on for an uncredited performance on
Zombie Nights
had given her enough cash to put herself through the academy and get a job as a firefighter.

Since neither her stage name nor her real name had appeared on the credits, and they’d given her a long blond wig for the role, no one would ever link
Zombie Nights
and little Taffy McGee. Her biggest secret was still safe.

So, no regrets. The guys had been pretty easy on her, probably because Roman kept throwing hazmat drills at them. Vader had actually seemed impressed.

“You’re like, a scream queen. And you never told me, Two. What the fuck? That was one of the best zombie killings ever shot. Did you see how that blood spurted? How’d they do that?”

Her mood lightened as she reached the three-mile mark, which was a willow tree that drooped graceful branches into the still water. Maybe everything would be okay. Max had exposed her embarrassing shower scene to the crew and she’d survived. They’d all seen her naked back and a slight bit of the under curve of her right breast. So what? She’d seen more of Vader during his workouts. She was still a proud member of San Gabriel Fire Station 1. Nothing had really changed.

By the time she got to work the next day, she was absolutely sure the worst was over.

“Morning, Zombie,” Double D greeted her.

So she’d acquired a new nickname. Big deal.

“Cute, Doo-doo. But you don’t want to piss me off. I haven’t had breakfast. I might go for some scrambled brains.”

His belly laugh followed her to her locker. She hid a smile. That was how to handle the guys. Give it right back. Don’t let them see they got to you.

Vader, a few lockers over, hissed at her. “We got Saturday night off this week. What are you doing?”

“You mean after I buy every DVD of
Zombie Nights
in Southern California and destroy it?”

“What are you talking about? That shit’s classic. I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I tell you everything.” His deep-set brown eyes looked a bit moist. “Even . . . you know.”

“How’s Cherie?” asked Sabina, desperate to change the subject.

“She made me watch some documentary about bullying.”

“Good for her. I’m starting to like that woman.”

“At the end she let me touch her boobs. But the damn movie had me so freaked out I didn’t even enjoy it. Give me
Zombie Nights
any day.”

So much for a subject change. She ducked into the bathroom to get into her uniform. So far, so good. Her first post–
Zombie Nights
shift wasn’t going too badly. She brushed out her hair and braided it with quick fingers.

Everything would be okay, she told herself for the millionth time. She’d weathered the storm. She hadn’t caved in to Max. Her world hadn’t been completely destroyed. Sure, a few things had changed, and part of her longed to turn back time to when Brody was still captain, Carly had the prime spot on the team roster, and no one had seen her half naked.

But then she wouldn’t have met Roman.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she paused. Something was different. Something was happening. A hyperactive, excited buzz of voices came from the training room, as if a bunch of guys were all talking at the same time.

Not an unusual phenomenon, but she also detected a low female voice in the mix. Ella Joy, the Channel Six anchor? Melissa Brody, the captain’s newly pregnant wife, along with her little girl, Danielle? Smiling eagerly, she hurried down the corridor to say hi. Danielle was a cutie, and she hadn’t yet congratulated Melissa on her big news.

In the training room, the guys were all gathered in a tight knot in the middle of the room. She caught snatches of what they were saying.

“Can you sign one for my mom? . . . My little sister loved your show . . . I liked the episode with the pet ferret . . . What was that phrase you always said . . .
Why Taffy McGee, what were you thinking?
”

A throaty voice echoed that last phrase, along with a husky chuckle that sounded like skilled fingertips stroking velvet.

Sabina stood rooted to the floor of the corridor, completely unable to make sense of what was going on here. Had someone put on one of Annabelle’s movies? She hadn’t heard that voice in so many years, thanks to her nearly complete avoidance of TV.

Then Double D shifted to one side. There stood Annabelle Hatfield. She looked the same, but . . . tighter. Like a jewel that someone had been polishing for ten years. Her dark red hair—Annabelle always told her colorists to make it “Merlot”—cascaded in tumbling waves down her wiry form. She crackled with energy, as she always had. A firecracker of a woman. She’d always drawn attention without even trying, as if the spotlight was her natural habitat.

On the show Annabelle’s character had been vivacious and scattered, always trying to make ends meet and rein in the troublemaking Taffy.

Off the show, she and Sabina had fought over everything from breakfast cereal to how long Sabina could grow her hair. Not past her ears.

Their eyes met. Annabelle’s widened just a bit as she took in Sabina’s plain blue SGFD uniform and long, brown braid.

“Why, there’s little Taffy now!” Her mother laughed and blew an air kiss at Sabina, as if this weren’t their first encounter in thirteen years . . . as if she weren’t in the process of destroying years of obsessively cultivated anonymity.

As one, the other firefighters, mouths agape, all swung toward Sabina. Watching their expressions was like witnessing the five stages of death. Shock, denial, confusion, glee . . . well, maybe the five stages of disaster didn’t exactly conform to stages of death.

Double D’s mouth flapped like the flag in front of the station; for once he had no nasty dig. Psycho scratched at his buzz cut. Fred looked as if she’d killed his favorite puppy. Vader still hadn’t really caught on. Ace gazed at her with a look of awe. Apart from the group, in the doorway of his office, stood Roman. She was afraid to look too closely at his expression.

She ought to go greet her mother, say hello for the first time in thirteen years. But she couldn’t move. If ever she felt like a zombie, it was now. “Lineup,” she blurted desperately.

Roman blinked. Then he stepped forward. “Ms. Hatfield . . .”

“Annabelle,” she purred.

“Annabelle, it’s time for lineup, when Captain Kelly talks about tedious things like staffing and overtime and who has vacation coming up. I’m going to have to ask you to—”

“I’d be delighted to watch. All these years and I’ve never seen my darling daughter do her firefighter act.”

Sabina gritted her teeth. “Act, my ass,” she growled under her breath, taking her position. The guys were fighting to line up next to her, but Vader won. “I don’t get it.” His jaw muscle clenched. “You’re Taffy? The kid in the show?”

“Shut up.” The fact that her mother was here, that she’d outed her as Taffy in front of the crew, still hadn’t completely sunk in.

“But Taffy was a chubster. And she had red hair.”

“Vader!” Roman barked. “Focus.”

Vader snapped to attention along with the rest of the crew. Sabina had never seen everyone’s posture so perfect. They listened attentively as Captain Kelly went through the staffing over the next nine days and talked about vacation time over Christmas. Focused quiet reigned in the kitchen. It seemed her mother had inspired the best lineup ever.

Roman took his time talking about the drills scheduled for that week, and Sabina could have kissed him for it. She dreaded the end of the lineup when she would have to face her mother, who had perched herself gracefully on the arm of the couch. With her still-toned legs crossed, a determined smile on her lips, her jade peg-leg trousers glowing under the fluorescent lights, Annabelle watched every moment as if she’d never seen anything so fascinating.

Sabina wished lineup would last forever. Or that a call would come in. Or that the firehouse would explode.
Something.
Of all the ways she’d imagined seeing her mother again, this one had never crossed her mind.

Roman hid his
fury during the longest lineup he’d ever experienced. This morning he’d fielded a phone call from Chief Renteria asking about a rumor about a female firefighter who’d done some kind of porno. Roman had set him straight, but the man still hadn’t been happy.

“I don’t like the sound of this. If the news got hold of it, San Gabriel would be plastered all over the media again. Deal with it, Captain Roman.”

“It’s already dealt with.”

But
this
wasn’t. How did you deal with the sudden appearance of a world-famous movie star at the station? How did you deal with the fact that one of your firefighters turned out to be a world-famous child star? Not only that, but the star of one of your favorite back-in-the-day shows? Sabina was
Taffy McGee
!

No wonder she was so damn beautiful. No wonder she’d blown him off. Fuck, he was
pissed
.

Captain Kelly droned on. “If you haven’t put in a request for time off over Christmas, talk to me by the end of the week and I’ll see what I can do.”

Sabina gazed off into the distance, refusing to meet his eyes. She’d better be afraid. If this got out—if the media knew that this firehouse was home to Taffy McGee—all hell would break loose. And Renteria would have his ass.

As lineup concluded and the guys peeled off to go work out and prepare for the hazmat simulation scheduled for later, Annabelle Hatfield applauded. “Bravo, San Gabriel. Well done, boys. And girl.”

He caught a desperate look from Sabina, an unmistakable plea for rescue. Silently he groaned and beckoned to her. “Come help me in the apparatus bay, Jones.”

This wasn’t a rescue, he told himself savagely. It was a chance to vent his fury.

In the apparatus bay, he strode to a secluded spot behind the pumper, as far as possible from the rest of the crew. She followed warily. When they were safely hidden from view, he clamped his hands on her shoulders and scowled ferociously at her.

“What are you trying to do to me?”

Her turquoise eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“I’m trying to bring some order to this place, but every day it’s something else. A surprise video. Now a visit from a movie star to her daughter, who turns out to be Taffy McGee. How am I supposed to explain this to the brass? Are you doing it on purpose?”

A fury equal to his twisted her elegant features. “Yes, of course,” she hissed. “First I dug up an incredibly embarrassing moment from my past and made sure all the guys could see it and laugh at me. Then I demanded that my movie-star mother visit me at the station so no one would ever look at me the same again—” She stopped suddenly, pressing her lips so tightly together they went white at the edges.

Something clenched deep in Roman’s gut. He watched her, so proud, fighting so hard to control her emotions, to put on a brave face, and knew he would have thrown himself in front of a speeding fire truck to make it better. He fisted his hands to keep from touching her, though every fiber in his body screamed to.

She bit her lip hard. Unshed tears turned her eyes the misty green of a Scottish lake at dawn. A smothered sob rippled through her body, tight as a drawn bow.

And he couldn’t take it. He reached out and hauled her against him. Enfolding her tense body in his arms, he soothed her with long strokes down her back and low murmurs in her ear. She felt wonderful against him, warm and vulnerable and soft. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Shh.”

She shook against him, refusing to release her tears. “They’ll all think I’m a freak now.”

“No, they won’t.”

“They won’t act normal. They’ll treat me different. Nothing will ever be the same.”

“If anyone treats you different, I’ll put their ass on suspension.”

She gave a snorting, piglike sob. “Don’t you dare. It’s my problem, not yours.”

Roman smiled into her fragrant hair, breathing in the elusive scent of jasmine that clung to her. Even on the verge of a meltdown, Sabina Jones gave as good as she got.

After what seemed like far too short a time, she drew away from him. The loss of her supple body in his arms gave him a physical pain. It had been so long since he’d comforted a woman. He longed to yank her back against him so he could take care of her.

But clearly she didn’t want that. She didn’t want his soft side. No one did. They all wanted the tough captain.

“I’m so sorry, Chief Roman,” she said stiffly. “I’m not usually like this.”

“I realize that.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of overemotional female who can’t handle the pressure.”

He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from touching her again. “You can handle everything by yourself, is that it?”

“Of course.”

“You never need a helping hand? A shoulder to cry on?”

She straightened her spine. “Of course not. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

He examined her for a long, serious moment. “Firefighters work together, Jones.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

She went pale with fury. “I have an excellent record. I’ve never even gotten a reprimand. I’ve gotten the Hot Shot Award and several other commendations. I’ve always been a good crew member.”

That was more like the stubborn Sabina he knew.

“Deal with your mother, Jones. I want no more disruptions here. Understand?”

Her face worked. Then she saluted with a military precision that screamed mockery. “Perfectly, sir.”