Desperately Seeking Fireman (2 page)

Nita wasn’t interested in the ratio of anything except Jeb Stone’s broad shoulders to his lean hips.

And that of his ring finger to the rest of his digits.

Her attention had snagged on the words, “Jeb is,” and stayed there. Jeb is married. Jeb is taken. Jeb is not for you.
What did it matter anyway?
She chewed at the inside of her mouth. Bradford was the man for her.

Just then Bradford finished his call and bent his charming, social register countenance on Melissa. “Lovely wedding. I’m honored by the invitation.”

From Melissa’s curl of a smile, Nita could tell she didn’t like Bradford. “Thank you so much for coming. Nita is one of my favorite people in the world, and she did an amazing job helping me plan. I’m so glad you could both be here.”

Yep, definitely didn’t like him.

“Here’s hoping that the next time we’re all at a wedding, someone else is saying those vows.” He transferred his smile to Nita, who took a moment to put his meaning together. When she did, a soaring giddiness nearly overwhelmed her. Bradford
was
thinking marriage. What else could he have meant? Bradford Maddox IV was considering marriage to
her.
This wasn’t a one-sided love, the way part of her kept fearing.

So there, Mr. Non-Bachelor Fireman.

She shot one last glance at Jeb Stone, who had risen to his feet and was taking his wife’s hand in his. With a wry expression, his wife said something out of the side of her mouth, something intended just for him. He responded with an intimate chuckle. They were perfect together. Revoltingly perfect.

Wrenching her gaze back to her own date, she kissed her future husband on the cheek. She and Bradford were just as perfect together as Jeb and his wife were. See if they weren’t.

Chapter Two

Three years later

J
EB
S
TONE CRUISED
along the Pacific Coast Highway in his rented Maserati, which he’d nicknamed Ira because it cost more than his retirement fund. A whiff of coconut caught his attention, followed by a cascade of giggles delivered by a Porsche full of blondes as they whizzed past him. They laughed and shook out their long hair, waving at him with gratifying flirtatiousness. The sultry driver winked, and another girl ran her tongue over her lips, porno-style, as she stared at him invitingly.

He suppressed the urge to inform them that they were going fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit and that cutting accident victims out of mangled wrecks was one of the worst jobs a firefighter faced.

Instead he gave them a brief smile from behind his sunglasses. Let them hang on to their illusion that he was some Malibu millionaire. Let them think he drove a Maserati every day, instead of the ten-year-old truck he’d inherited in the divorce. Let them think he was on his way to a meeting with Steven Spielberg, instead of . . . well, nowhere in particular. Just going. Away. Alone. For the first time in eighteen years.

His phone rang, which made him jump because it was plugged into the sound system of the sports car. He pressed the button the rental clerk had showed him. It had taken the guy half an hour to walk him through the car’s many life-altering features.

“Hey, Daddy-o.” Alison’s chipper voice boomed from the speakers. He turned the volume down so the rest of Malibu, and maybe even the ships at sea, couldn’t hear his daughter.

“Hi sweetie. How’s Thailand?”

This was code for “how’s your mother.” As planned, his ex-wife Belinda had filed for divorce a week after Alison had turned eighteen. The next day, she’d gotten on a plane to Thailand, where she’d booked herself a two-week yoga retreat.

A year later, Alison had gone to check on her. “Better than I expected,” she said now. “Very happy. Weirdly happy.”

Jeb felt the familiar boulder-sized weight in his heart ease just a bit. It was about time Belinda was happy. They’d met young, gotten pregnant by accident and married, but they’d never made each other particularly happy, for reasons that now seemed obvious. The sex part of the marriage had ended four years before the rest of it.

But at least Alison had turned out great. He pictured her in his mind’s eye, so tall and confident. With her dark hair and hazel eyes, Alison looked a lot like him, if she were a workaholic, jaded fireman.

“I’m glad she’s happy. Really glad.”

“Now it’s your turn, Daddy-o. I’m serious. I want both my parents smiling.”

“Oh no. No more dates. No more Match.com, no more of your Zumba teachers. I’m driving an Italian sports car next to the Pacific Ocean on a gorgeous day, talking to my gorgeous daughter. What could be better?”

“You’re about to find out. I made an offering for you at a temple here. And I got Mom’s whole yoga class to chant a love prayer. You’re going down, Dad. Down like a broken elevator. Down like Bieber’s career.”

“That college is worth every penny.”

“Don’t change the subject. I’m just calling to warn you, that’s all. You’re going down like —”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with here, missy. I have immunity.”

“If you’re talking about the Bachelor Firemen curse, not to worry. I dedicated a prayer flag to breaking that silly thing, if it even exists.”

“Oh, it exists all right—” Another call flashed on the screen, this one from the firehouse. “I’d better go,” he told Alison. “Lay off the prayers and focus on the pad thai, okay? I love you.”

“Love you too. But you’re going down like a turkey on Thanksgiving—”

“Stone,” he answered the incoming call.

“It’s Brody.” Captain Brody was captain of the A shift, and a legend in San Gabriel. As a captain himself, Jeb could connect with Brody in a way he couldn’t with the other firefighters. Just from the sound of his voice, he knew something was wrong.

“I need a huge favor,” said Brody.

“Done. But I’m on vacation. I’m driving up the coast.”

“I know. That’s why I’m calling. Melissa got a tip on a hot story and up and left. Eight months pregnant and she decides it’s a good idea to get on a boat to track down some senator. A boat. In the ocean. Eight months.”

“Senator Stryker?” The man had been on the front page of every paper the last couple of days. Some scandal or other. Jeb hadn’t bothered to read the stories.

“Maybe. I don’t care if it’s the President of Mars, she shouldn’t be risking the baby.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jeb knew Melissa well enough to know she was intelligent, independent, and not at all reckless.

“She’s headed to Santa Lucia Island. That’s where the senator’s hiding out, though if you tell any other member of the press she might divorce me.”

Jeb also knew both Brody and Melissa well enough to know that wasn’t going to happen. They were madly in love—real love, the kind he and Belinda had never quite managed.

Brody continued. “Santa Lucia is right off the coast. The ferries go twice a day. I’d go but I’m shorthanded here and can’t leave. Besides, Melissa would kill me. All I want you to do is go out there and keep an eye on her. You can say it’s a coincidence. You’re on vacation. Lots of people go to San-L for vacation. She won’t suspect a thing.”

Jeb had a sinking feeling that wasn’t likely. Melissa was no dummy. But no matter what, he couldn’t turn down his fellow captain. Especially when the man sounded desperate enough to call out the Coast Guard. What the hell, he wasn’t going anywhere in particular. Why not an island somewhere in that sparkly blue carpet of ocean to his left?

“Sure, Brody. I’ll stalk your wife and unborn baby for you. What are friends for?”

Brody let out an unwilling laugh. “Nothing surreptitious that’ll set off her alarm bells. You’re just enjoying a coincidental vacation in the same place she is.”

“Coincidental vacation. Got it.”

“Call me as often as you can. I owe you, Stone.”

“It’s not a problem, Brody. Now try to relax. Have you been practicing your breathing?”

Jeb savored the long moment of silence that followed. Brody might intimidate the other guys, but not him. Besides, he’d been through that particular rodeo before. Nothing, not even breathing practice, could really prepare you.

“Yes,” Brody finally said in a strangled sort of voice. “Vader’s been working with me on it.”

Jeb let out a belly laugh at the thought of the big muscleman Vader Brown training Brody on breathing techniques. “Good man. Hang in there, tough guy. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Finding the PCH momentarily empty in both directions, he swung the Maserati around in the sort of tight turn the thing was probably designed for. Of course, most drivers weren’t heading after another man’s very pregnant wife in pursuit of a scandal-ridden senator in hiding. But what else were vacations for?

So far, nothing on this trip had chased away the hollow feeling he’d been experiencing ever since both Belinda and Alison had left San Gabriel. No matter how many dates he went on, how many extra duties he assumed at the station, life felt off-kilter. He’d been a family man for so long, even if that family had some unusual quirks. Alone, nothing felt quite right. Even this “vacation” felt strange.

Truthfully, it was a relief to have something useful to do.

O
N
S
ANTA
L
UCIA
Island’s ferry landing, Nita shaded her eyes against the myriad crystal reflections shimmering off the turquoise waves of the Pacific Ocean. How she’d managed to leave her sunglasses behind was a mystery, though perhaps explained by the fact that Senator Stryker had woken her at three in the morning and given her ten minutes to pack. And that was on top of three sleepless nights working to contain the world’s most ridiculous scandal. And
that
was on top of nearly a year of numb misery during which she’d virtually sleepwalked through her days.

She nibbled at the inside of her cheek, a habit that had gotten worse over the past horrible year. Press secretaries dealt with all sorts of unwelcome media attention, but not many had to explain that their boss had a secret drag queen identity who liked to post selfies of himself in body-shaping underwear and lots of makeup. “Senator Spanx” was now the hottest trending topic on every social media outlet.

When all hell had broken loose, everyone else had abandoned the senator. His wife and family were furious. Only Nita had been too numb to object when Stryker had dragged her to Santa Lucia. After a week holed up at the Enchanted Garden Inn, assessing the public’s reaction to his embarrassing but ultimately harmless secret, she’d convinced him to give an exclusive interview to the only reporter he trusted, Melissa McGuire.

The ferry, which the locals called the
Danny B.
, churned toward the island. She had to admit, there were worse places the senator could have picked. Most of Santa Lucia was a nature preserve, with only a few hiking trails and bird-watching spots. The little town of Santa Lucia consisted of a tidy collection of pastel-painted homes, cute as eggs in an Easter basket, and a few municipal buildings such as the Town Hall and the volunteer fire department. The place had more charm than Candyland. But Nita knew it also had a serious side, hardy fishermen who braved all kinds of weather. Angie, the elderly owner of the Enchanted Garden, had told her that winter storms could leave the island cut off for weeks.

The usual chaotic crowd milled around on the weathered planks of the landing. Year-round residents waited to pick up groceries or visitors. Tourists snapped pictures or held up their iPads to record the adorableness, as if Santa Lucia were a new puppy.

The
Danny B
. drew closer, rocking from side to side on the ocean swells. Nita felt her anticipation mount. Even in the midst of a crisis, she couldn’t wait to see Melissa. She hadn’t seen her friend since the wedding. It had been a while since they’d even talked on the phone, maybe as long as a year. All the ups and downs with Bradford had consumed her, and she’d let their friendship slide. During the past nightmare of a year, she’d barely talked to any of her friends.

She scanned the passengers crowding the railing of the
Danny B
., searching for Melissa’s chocolate-brown hair and green eyes, but the only woman with brown hair was hugely pregnant, about to pop, it seemed, and that couldn’t possibly be—

“Melissa?”

“Nita!” Melissa waved madly from the boat. “I made it!”

Nita couldn’t answer through the sudden onrush of stupid pain. She fought it back.
This is Melissa. You love Melissa. Melissa will be a great mom.

After the ferry tied off at the dock and the deckhands lowered the ramp, the passengers traipsed off, one by one. As soon as Melissa set foot on the dock, she dropped her overnight bag and waddled toward Nita.

“You’re
pregnant
,” said Nita, hugging her as hard as she dared.

“That’s so rude. What if I’d just gained a little weight?” Melissa’s beaming grin took the sting out of her words.

“I’m so excited for you!” If it sounded a little forced, who could blame her? The sentiment truly was sincere. “But why didn’t you tell me? When’s the baby due?”

“I didn’t tell you because . . . well, you hadn’t been returning my calls lately. And when you finally called me, I was afraid you’d talk me out of coming. And I’m already getting enough heat about this trip.” With that, Melissa turned and aimed a deadly glare toward the boat ramp.

Nita followed her glance and got the shock of a lifetime. Six feet of stunning man stood with his feet braced apart, his arms folded over his broad chest, watching her with an impassive expression. Dark hair, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen on a man. A light layer of stubble set it off, as did the black leather jacket he was wearing. She knew that mouth. In three years, she’d never quite forgotten it.

Jeb Stone.

“What’s . . . I’m confused. What’s
he
doing here?”

“Brody took it upon himself to set a guard dog on me. I mean, seriously, doesn’t he know that women used to work in the fields until they gave birth? Then slip that baby in a sling and keep on working? I have a brain, Nita.” Melissa tapped her temple. “It still works even though my belly is as big as that ferryboat.” Nita felt a tingle of anxiety. Melissa had always been calm and collected. She couldn’t remember her ever sounding on the edge of hysteria like this.