The Fireman Who Loved Me (3 page)

“What harm would it do to step out with a handsome young fireman? They make excellent husbands.”

“Grans, getting married doesn’t happen to be my goal in life. So sue me.”

“Oh, that fancy career of yours. You think your career is going to take care of you when you’re my age?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. My IRA—”

“I don’t want to hear about your IRA. It’s not going to drive you to the pharmacy, it’s not going to rub your feet, or change your colostomy bag.”

Melissa hid a smile. Nelly loved to hold up the specter of a colostomy bag, even though she herself had never had any problems along those lines.

“I’m only twenty-nine, I don’t think I need to worry about my future hypothetical colostomy bag just yet.”

“It’s never too soon,” said Nelly darkly.

Melissa’s cell phone rang—the theme from
Gladiator
. She snatched it up. But if there was something worse than talking about a nonexistent colostomy bag, it was dealing with Ella Joy during one of her fits of paranoia.

“Why did you change my password, Melissa? I hate it when you do that, especially when you don’t tell me.”

“I would never change your password, Ella. That’s not even technically possible.”

Ella Joy was the diva of Channel Six news, where the slogan was “The Sunny Side of the News.” Ella was personally responsible for an extra two points in the ratings. For two ratings points, Melissa was expected to let Ella treat her like a personal assistant rather than the special news segment producer she was supposed to be.

“Then why can’t I get on the computer? It’s like someone’s trying to keep me out.”

“No one’s trying to keep you out. I promise. They want you to log in.”
You might even do some work, who knows?
Praying for patience, Melissa walked the anchor through the steps of logging onto the newsroom computer network. “Click the enter button . . . you know, the big one on the right . . . that’s it, are you in? No problem. You can call anytime, you know that. See you tomorrow.” She switched off the phone and tossed it on the counter. “I wish you’d let us move somewhere with no cell phone reception.”

“That girl is nothing but fluff. You’re worth ten Ella Joys. Did you see that calendar they’re advertising?”

The calendar, Ella’s idea, featured shots of her broadcasting from various live locations in each month, January through December. The very thought of it made Melissa ill. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Fine. Let’s talk about this evening. I’m not feeling very well at the moment, and I have a date. I can’t cancel it, so you’re going to have to fill in for me.”

“Date? You don’t have a date.” Melissa’s irritation surged back. “Your last date was in 1940-something. With Gramps. And Scrabble Club meetings don’t count.”

“I don’t know why you’re taking that tone. You’ll be sorry when you see your date. Such lovely blue eyes. Handsome as the cover of a magazine. You shouldn’t have run out of the room before you saw who I bid on.”

“Wrong. I should have run out of the room as soon as I saw that poster.”

“Nonetheless, I’m feeling poorly and must take to my bed.” Nelly’s voice quavered. “But we can’t disappoint a member of the firefighting forces, now can we?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. Nelly was not the easiest person to live with. Though she had a heart as big as Planet Earth, she was infinitely resourceful when it came to getting her way. And too stubborn to let anything go, especially her plans for Melissa’s future. “Don’t you think he might be disappointed when I show up, instead of the sweet, charming old hag he’s expecting?”

“Don’t be angry, now. It’s just one evening. It won’t kill you. And it would mean so much to me.”

“Oh Lord in heaven, Grans . . .” A knock on the door interrupted them. “Please tell me that’s not him.”

“That’s probably him.” With surprising agility, Nelly scuttled toward the door leading to her downstairs bedroom. “You’d better answer that.”

“Grans, so help me . . .” But her grandmother was gone.

From the safety of her bedroom, Nelly called, “No swearing, you don’t want to create a bad first impression.” She did a little dance as she closed the door halfway, so she could still see everything. Just wait until Melissa caught a glimpse of Ryan the dreamboat. Maybe he’d wear his uniform, the irresistible cherry on top of his natural-born gorgeousness. Melissa would thank her from the bottom of her heart; she’d kneel down and kiss her hand. And oh, the babies they’d have . . .

Nelly watched her granddaughter hesitate and mutter to herself. Melissa headed toward the front door, only to stop at the mirror in the entryway. Nelly quietly cackled with delight. If Melissa felt the urge to check her appearance, anything was possible. Melissa was wearing her casual clothes—black Capri pants and a paisley-patterned sleeveless top. It wouldn’t have been Nelly’s first choice, but everything looked good on her sweet Melissa.

Then Nelly’s heart sank. Melissa was picking up her glasses. Why’d that girl have to be so darn stubborn? She refused to get contacts. Nelly swore she wore her glasses to distract her coworkers from her camera-worthy looks. “Put those down,” hissed Nelly.

But Melissa set her jaw and jammed the glasses onto her face. What was she doing now, messing up her hair? Nelly didn’t protest that move. She thought Melissa looked more appealing, less buttoned-up, when her thick chocolate hair danced and curved around her head. All in all, outfit and glasses aside, she wasn’t ashamed to call Melissa her granddaughter. But would she be enough to catch the eye of someone as flat-out gorgeous as Ryan from Fire Station 1?

Nelly wiggled with glee as Melissa made her way toward the front door.

Chapter Three

At
Mrs. Nelly McGuire’s front door, Brody checked his watch and looked longingly back toward his robin’s-egg-blue ’69 Dodge. Maybe the old lady had already gone to bed. He could hop right back in his car and cruise back to his house (aka the construction zone), where he’d left behind a long list of unfinished tasks.

A date. For Chrissakes. The only saving grace was that his date was an elderly woman who didn’t deserve to be stood up. For that reason, he’d dug out khaki pants and a nice white shirt, and hauled his father’s old Dodge from under the tarp behind his garage. It would give them an icebreaker, right?

A date. Jesus. Not that he didn’t enjoy women and make damn sure they enjoyed their time with him. But dating . . . no. Not for him. Unless it was with an eighty-something woman who couldn’t possibly disturb his peace of mind.

One more knock on Mrs. McGuire’s door, and then he’d go home and work on the wiring in his kitchen.

His attention was already back on the car when he felt his hand rap against soft flesh instead of hard oak. “Oh shit . . . I mean, so sorry, ma’am, are you hurt?” He reached out to keep his victim from losing her balance and felt the unexpected thrill of a slender arm and warm skin under his fingers. All he could see was a blur of hands protecting a dark head, fumbling for the glasses he’d knocked off her face. A face, he realized as his appalled vision cleared, that was most definitely not old. In fact, it was riveting. Maybe not beautiful, precisely, but arresting. And—familiar.

It was the girl from the bachelor auction, with the same skin like vanilla cream, stubborn jaw, vulnerable mouth, and eyes glaring a deep green at him. He realized he was staring and looked away, dropping his hands, just as the girl firmly set a pair of horn-rimmed glasses back onto her nose.

“You?” She didn’t look all that happy about it.

“Are you all right? I’m so sorry. I was starting to think no one was here.”

“Your eyes aren’t blue.”

It seemed like a non sequitur, until he remembered she was expecting Ryan. “I am aware of that, and I do apologize. Ryan, the one you bid for, was . . . indisposed. I told him I’d take his place, if that is acceptable to you . . . that is . . . to Nelly McGuire. You can’t be . . . You’re not Mrs. Nelly McGuire, are you?” Of course she wasn’t. He knew all about his date. But still, his thoughts went wild. Maybe he’d gotten the name wrong. Maybe Ryan had seen the glasses and assumed she was old. Maybe her dark brown hair had looked white in the bright lights of the auction.

“I am not,” she said firmly. “Strangely enough, my grandmother is also indisposed. Grans! Come out here.”

No one responded. The girl shot him a suspicious look. “Are you in on this too?”

Brody had no idea how to answer that. He had the feeling he’d stepped into some kind of looking-glass world.

“Grans!” the girl called again. A door snapped open, and a white-haired, feisty-looking woman with golden eyes behind thick glasses marched out. So here was Nelly McGuire.

His date.

“Who the dickens are you?” She adjusted her glasses. “You’re too old, and your eyes don’t look blue to me.”

No doubt about it, he’d fallen down a rabbit hole. “My name is Captain Brody—”

“Where’s Number Five?”

Brody cast a desperate glance at the girl and was relieved to see she looked just as confused as he was.

“What kind of operation are you people running? You wouldn’t be trying to fool an old lady, would you?” Nelly demanded.

“Not at all.” This situation was infinitely more mortifying than Brody had feared. His whole body stiffened, and when he spoke again his voice sounded painfully formal. “Ryan Blake works under me over at San Gabriel Fire Station 1, and when he informed me he wouldn’t be able to be here tonight, I requested the honor of taking his place.”

“Why can’t he be here?”

“Well . . .” How to put it politely without lying? “An unpleasant fire station situation came up.”

Nelly’s suspicious gaze scanned him, head to toe. “You’re not wearing a fire captain uniform.”

“It didn’t seem appropriate for the occasion. If you’d like to see my identification—”

“No!” the girl broke in. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. You look like a fire captain to me.”

“Melissa, he could be anyone. Just walking in off the street like that.”

So that was her name. Melissa. It suited her. It would feel like honey on his tongue. Right now that vanilla skin was pink with embarrassment. Brody watched the play of expressions on her mobile face. Outrage, humor, confusion, mortification. He had the sudden thought that he wouldn’t mind standing here for a while, watching her face.

“Really, Grans . . .”

Nelly ignored her. “Are you single?”

“Yes.”

“Not homosexual?”

“No ma’am.” By this point, the entire scene had reached such a surreal level he found himself smiling.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Isn’t that young for a fire captain?”

“I’m very good.”

Nelly paused in her inquisition, as if to say, she’d be the judge of that. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yes.”

“Divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Any children?”

The smile drained from his face. The one question he didn’t want to answer. Ramrod-straight, he stared at a spot above Nelly’s head. Rescue came in the form of a slim hand on his elbow.

“Okay, that’s it!” Melissa crooked her arm in his and grabbed her jacket. “Shall we go?”

No three words had ever been so welcome. As he gratefully pressed her arm against his side, he couldn’t help noticing how good she felt. He made a slight bow to the openmouthed Nelly. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Nelly McGuire, and I’m very sorry you’re indisposed. I’m sure it would have been an unforgettable evening.”

“Well, I’m sure it would. Be nice to my Melissa. I’ll be waiting up, so no fancy fandangos.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.” Moving his hand to her lower back, he steered Melissa out the door.

T
he alleged fire captain opened the passenger door of his big blue boat of a car, waited until Melissa was settled in, then slid behind the wheel. Melissa wasn’t used to such old-fashioned courtesy. Like his car, it seemed to come from another era. She had to admit she rather liked it. He didn’t start the Dodge immediately, but instead let out a long breath. There was a moment of strained silence. The scent of jasmine drifted through the open windows. It was just after five in the evening, and the late October sky was a dusky pink.

“I’m so sorry,” said Melissa in a stifled voice. She hated apologizing for her grandmother.

“She’s something else. What’s a fancy fandango?”

Was he making fun of Grans? Melissa looked over at him sharply, and once again felt that annoying tingle. He was a complete stranger, and yet when he’d grabbed her arm (after nearly knocking her over), a shiver had passed through her. And those eyes, the intense gray of charcoal, had looked into hers with such genuine concern. There was a restrained strength in the way he’d held her, the same power she’d felt when he’d plucked her off the Hilton carpet.

“She reminds me of my aunt Maggie,” Brody was saying. “She raised six children alone after her husband died in a fishing accident. She took over his boat. Ran the tightest crew in San Pedro.”

Melissa laughed. “Yeah, Grans is a pain in my butt, but I love her to death. If only she’d stay out of my social life.”

“So I take it she bid on Ryan . . . for you?”

“Apparently.”

“Then who did you bid on?”

“No one! I don’t need to raid my bank account to get a date.”

“Interesting.”

Melissa eyed him with suspicion. The silvery bits in his gray eyes gleamed. He was definitely amused about something. “What’s interesting?”

“Well, I can’t help wondering why your grandmother seems to disagree.”

Ooohhh, that did it. Melissa fumbled with her seat belt, all set to bolt out of the car. “My grandmother, much as I love her, has some crazy ideas that I can’t be responsible for, and anyway why should I have to justify anything to you . . .”

A firm hand stilled hers.

“I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. To tell the truth, I haven’t been on a date for quite a while, and my manners are a little rusty. Let’s try again.”

Still wary, Melissa dropped the seat belt. Her hand was tingling again, curse it. He looked sincerely apologetic, his gray eyes serious.

“I realize you wanted to save me from an awkward situation, but you have no obligation to go through with this evening. I can arrange for the donation to be refunded.”

“Donation?”

“You know, to the Widows and Orphans Fund.”

Right. She’d forgotten that part.

“Your grandmother’s bid was very generous, and I can understand why she’d be upset that Ryan isn’t here. He’s very good-looking.”

Melissa thought Brody did just fine in the looks department, but that wasn’t the point right now. “What amount did she bid?”

“I think you should ask your grandmother that.”

“
What amount?
” She used her best news producer look on him, the one that made editors tremble. But Brody seemed to be immune and returned a mild stare.

“As I said, we’d be happy to refund the donation.”

“Right. So the widows and orphans are going to be deprived because I don’t want to go on a date with a not-quite-as-good-looking-as-the-first-choice bachelor,” said Melissa. Oh, that grandmother of hers was clever.

“I see a couple options here. We refund the donation.”

“Not an option.”

“Or we keep the donation, but I drop you off somewhere, and you can tell Nelly we went on a date.”

She eyed him. Was that what he wanted? He met her eyes with an unreadable look.

“To be honest,” she answered, “I’m not a big fan of lying to my grandmother. Even though she can tell some doozies herself.”

“Good.” He seemed to mean it, as a slow smile lit up his rather serious face. “The final option is to enjoy the lovely evening I have planned for . . . well, for your grandmother.”

Melissa considered. She could leave the car right now, and no harm done. But she realized she didn’t want to. The man was attractive. Extremely so. Even though, of course, he wasn’t her type. Besides, he was a fire captain. Maybe she could look at it as an interview for a future news special. “Fine. Let’s get going, Mr. Bachelor Number Two. You got yourself a date.”

It was a good thing the Dodge was already cruising down the freeway when another thought occurred to her. “So exactly why couldn’t Ryan make it?”

At his split-second of hesitation, Melissa’s eyes flashed. “Let me guess. He didn’t want to go out with an old lady.”

“He wasn’t feeling well,” said Brody, uneasily.

“You mean he wasn’t feeling well enough to go out with an old lady. Of all the low, cowardly—!”

“Would it help if I said he would have been very pleasantly surprised?”

“No, it wouldn’t! That makes it even worse!”

“Melissa.”

“My grandmother spent good money on him, and for him to turn around—”

“Melissa!”

“—and refuse to go out with her . . . isn’t that just like a man—”

“Melissa!!”

“What?”

Brody spoke in a firm voice. “I’m here. I’m very happy to be here. If your grandmother was here, I’m sure I’d be happy too, in a slightly different way. Can we just leave it at that?”

Melissa closed her mouth with a snap. How did he manage to sound so . . . right? But she had to admit she had no reason to be angry with Brody. He hadn’t skipped out on his responsibilities. In fact, he had stepped in and saved her grandmother from the complete humiliation of having no one show up.

“Of course.” She turned a thousand-watt smile at him and had the satisfaction of seeing something flare in his eyes before they turned back to the freeway. “Let’s forget everything that’s happened until now. You just picked me up, like any other date, and we’re headed out for a night—well, an early evening—on the town. So where are we going?”

A smile played over his lips, and he shot her a wicked sidelong look. “Early bird special at the Orange Tree. I have a reservation. They’re very hard to get, you know. Hot ticket for the over-seventy crowd.”

They were the youngest patrons at the Orange Tree by at least thirty years. Ever the gentleman, Brody held Melissa’s chair for her. She peered at him through her lashes while pretending to look at the menu. He had a controlled physicality that kept drawing her eyes to him. There was something so . . . intriguing about him. He was all easy strength and restrained power. Which brought to mind something else she’d been wondering about.

“What about your real date?”

“My real date?”

“The girl who bid for you. How much did you end up going for?”

“Nothing.”

She stared. No one had bid on Captain Brody? “That’s terrible. If I’d been there, I mean if I’d been there to bid, instead of being dragged there on false pretenses by my grandmother, I definitely would have bid on you.” In fact, he was the only one she would have considered.

“That’s very supportive of you, but what I meant was, I wasn’t on the auction block. I was just there to keep an eye on my guys.”

Melissa’s face burned.

The waitress appeared. She, like most of her customers, was on the far side of seventy, wiry and powdered. “You two youngsters ready, or ya need more time? We got a special tonight. Baked salmon. Easy on the intestinal tract. And if you want the chocolate soufflé, better order it now.”

Melissa felt a fit of giggles threaten. This whole situation was absurd. If she tried to order, she’d lose it. She gave Brody a pleading look.

“Two specials,” said Brody, who clearly had no trouble taking command. “Two soufflés. And your best Chardonnay.”

Melissa managed to keep her cool until the waitress left. Under Brody’s curious gaze, she admitted, “She lost me at ‘intestinal tract.’ ” The last two words came out in a spurt of giggles. Had the phrase “intestinal tract” always amused her, or did Brody make her giddy? Either way, she couldn’t help it. She surrendered to the waves of laughter.