The Fireman Who Loved Me (17 page)

She felt so relaxed around him, so incredibly at ease. It had never been this way with Everett. Everett had made her feel many things—from giddy excitement to the lowest despair—but she’d never felt comfortable with him. She couldn’t joke around with him, she couldn’t act silly and goofy. With Brody, she could do all those things, and also discuss something as serious as the janitor’s death.

But Brody wasn’t her type at all. Right?

O
ver the next few days, Melissa forgot to worry about “types.” She found herself living in a new world, a world in which only two people really mattered, her and Brody. Thanksgiving passed in a blur, without any fireman specials. Other people floated in and out, talking to her about her investigation, or nagging her about the dishes (Nelly). But none of that felt real. The only thing that felt real was Brody’s trailer, and the heights of bliss the two of them attained inside that silver nest. They did everything inside that Airstream. For such a small space, they took full advantage of it.

She squeezed herself onto the tiny countertop, and he bent between her spread legs, licking and nibbling until she screamed for relief. Lounging around watching the tiny TV, he fingered her inner folds until the silky moisture soaked his hand. He pulled her up on his lap, so the rough material of his pants rubbed her from below, while he stroked her from above. She shamelessly ground her hips into his strong thigh. With his other hand, he tugged at her nipples until she jerked and cried out her release. Melissa was sure she’d never come during an AT&T commercial before.

One time she knocked on the door and found herself staring at a blindfold Brody held toward her. She nodded her wide-eyed consent, and the next moment she was in total darkness, her other senses wide awake to the feel of Brody’s strong hands undressing her, turning her, stroking her. She lost all sense of where she was, even what she was. All she knew was she was lost in a sea of endless sensation, with waves of bliss crashing over her. When she came back to herself and tore off the blindfold, she found she was bent over the arm of the couch, breasts crushed into the cushions, ass high in the air, Brody still buried deep inside her. Nothing seemed too wild anymore, nothing seemed forbidden.

They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But as great as the sex was, they found plenty of time for other things. Inside that trailer, they were able to say everything to each other. She told him about Everett, how he’d destroyed her confidence and sent her fleeing back to the familiar safety of San Gabriel.

“I was such a little idiot, I really thought he loved me. But he was just toying with me.”

“Did you love him?”

“I was dazzled, that’s all. I’m just a kid from Fern Acres. He’s a legend in the news business. I couldn’t believe he even noticed me. But he saw me as a naïve little girl, not a woman.”

“You, not a woman? Is he blind?” Brody stroked his hands over her curves as they cuddled in their favorite spot on the couch.

She drew his head down and kissed him passionately. Brody’s kisses were just the right medicine to chase away the bad Everett memories trying to sneak back into her mind. “Oh, who cares about him? He’s screwed up enough of my life. Do you know how hard it was to take such a big step backward?”

“Yes, and I’m kind of glad you did, or else I never would have met you. Maybe I should thank the bastard.”

She laughed, and showered his face with kisses.

“Just a wild stab in the dark, but did Everett do something to make you lose confidence in yourself at work?”

She drew away. How had he hit so close to the mark? “What makes you think that?”

“It’s always bugged me that someone as smart as you doesn’t stand up for yourself.”

“You sound like my grandmother.”

“Ouch. But you haven’t answered my question.”

Memories flashed across her mind. Everett’s office . . . star reporter Barb Nelson . . . the most humiliating moments of her life . . .

She shuddered. “Can we change the subject? Any more talk about Everett, I’ll have to wash off in the shower.”

“A fine idea.” His leer made her giggle helplessly. And thankfully, he dropped it.

Later, as he was chopping carrots for beef stew, he told her how he had hired Haskell because of his last name.

“That’s a little creepy.”

“But it paid off. I’ve spent a lot of time with your dad, wiring the house. He talks about you a lot.”

She turned on the faucet to wash the potatoes. “Oh?”

“Can you blame him? You’re a superstar, Hollywood.”

“Well, no thanks to him.”

“Maybe.”

“What does that mean?”

“Would you have worked so hard if it weren’t for him?”

Melissa brandished the potato peeler at him. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“No? What’s it like?” He asked the question almost casually as he tossed the carrots into the stew pot.

“Always feeling like you don’t belong, like you have to work ten times as hard, and if anyone finds out the truth about you, you’ll be out on your ass.”

“Aha.”

“What do you mean, aha?”

“So that’s why you put up with Ella’s crap. And everyone else’s.”

Oh, he was infuriating, with that annoying calm, that irritating . . . bare chest, those sexy baggy running shorts. His thick hair was ruffled from their latest romp, and his eyes narrowed in concentration as he stirred the stew. Looking at him, she felt all her fury melt away.

“That’s so annoying,” she said. “Just when I’m about to get mad at you, you do that.”

“What?” he said, glancing up absently.

“Look so goddamn gorgeous.”

“I’ll try not to,” he said dryly. “It shouldn’t be too hard. Hoagie’s the heartbreaker.”

“Good,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

“Good?”

She answered in a whisper. “I don’t want to get my heart broken again.” She closed her eyes tightly against his chest, and felt his hand tangle in her hair. But as she breathed in the warm, spicy scent of his bare skin, she knew her heart was already in major trouble. But she couldn’t be in love, could she?

She didn’t want to think about love. Sexual ecstasy was one thing—she trusted Brody completely with her body. But she wasn’t about to go giving her heart away to any old handsome fireman who came along. No, she couldn’t possibly be in love. Just because she thought about Brody a hundred times during the course of the day . . . just because she only felt alive when she walked into that trailer . . . just because she stored up a full day’s worth of funny incidents to share with him at night . . . just because she told him all her painful secrets . . . none of that meant she was in love with him.

I
f anyone thought otherwise, they kept it to themselves. Even Nelly kept her opinions to herself these days. One evening—during one of Brody’s shifts—Melissa came home to find the kitchen scented with freshly baked molasses cookies. She stared in disbelief.

“Grans, are you okay?”

“Sure am. Want some cookies?”

“I don’t know. What’s in them?”

“Rat poison. Really, Melissa, you have the most insulting ideas about me. I used to bake for Leon every Sunday.”
And maybe that explained why Leon had been twice as crotchety as Nelly,
thought Melissa as she gingerly bit into a cookie.

“Not bad,” she said, surprised.

“I made a few batches. You can take some to Captain Brody.”

“Aha! I knew there was a hidden agenda.”

“Hidden nothing. It’s going pretty well with you two, and I’m pretending not to notice you’re doing the deed with no ring on that finger.” Nelly gave her a scolding gesture.

Melissa nearly choked on her cookie. “Don’t go old-fashioned on me now, Grans. I know you better than that.”

“Fine. I just hope you’re being safe. Take the cookies.”

“I am, and I will, thanks!” She gave Nelly a big kiss and began filling a plastic baggie with cookies.

Nelly watched, filled with a strange premonition. Her mother had made molasses cookies for her when she’d first started walking out with Leon. Leon had proposed soon after. This bit of memory had floated to the surface during a night of relentless pain that kept her from sleeping. Would molasses cookies make Brody propose to her darling Melissa? At the very least, making the cookies had made her feel normal. It proved she could still function at home. That she didn’t have to think about a hospice yet.

Something was going to happen soon, she could feel it in her bones. She just didn’t know what.

Chapter Seventeen

E
lla Joy was in the worst mood of her life. And that was saying something. First,
Thanksgiving with the Firefighters
got canceled. It had gone so well, up until the turkey disaster. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t finish the taping another day. Loudon had the nerve to blame her. Apparently he’d gotten a call from someone at the fire station—he wouldn’t say who—who hadn’t liked how she’d handled the City Hall story.

“But they’re heroes now, because of me!”

“They’re heroes because they ran into a burning building.”

“But no one would know about it if it weren’t for me!” Ella couldn’t believe the injustice and idiocy she had to deal with. Luckily, she and Loudon both knew he feared her, so the unpleasantness hadn’t lasted long. But it had completely ruined the pleasure of her triumph, and had caused her to hurl one of her bouquets—the lamest one, nothing but boring daisies—against the wall of her office.

Then there was Ryan, who’d been all over her before the fire, and whom she had single-handedly turned into a hero. In return, he’d knifed her in the back by giving an interview to Channel Two.
Channel Two
. Who were they, compared to Ella Joy? She’d left messages at all his numbers, and gotten no call back. When she’d called the fire station and Fred had answered, he’d spoken rudely. In fact, he’d put the phone down and never come back.

She blamed Melissa for all of it. Melissa had betrayed her, blown the fire story and gotten suspended, and yet people kept talking about what a good job she’d done with the live coverage. They also kept talking about how she’d disappeared with the hot fire captain. On top of that, she had some big investigation cooking, something she hadn’t bothered to tell Ella about.

The only bright spot was Melissa’s suspension. It provided the perfect opportunity for Ella to kick off her plan.

She strolled into Melissa’s cubicle. “Looking for glossies,” she announced to the nearby reporters. Luckily, they were all busy with . . . whatever. With her back to the opening, blocking the view from the corridor, she picked up Melissa’s phone and dialed the number she’d memorized.

“Yes?” a rich, gravelly voice answered.

Ella did her best to imitate Melissa’s husky voice. “Hi Everett. This is Melissa.”

“Melissa. I was wondering who was calling from San Gabriel. I’ve been thinking about you lately.”

“Oh really?”

“Imagine my surprise at the sight of your lovely face reporting live from a fire. Didn’t I always tell you to give on-camera a shot?”

Ella ground her teeth. She didn’t want to hear about that. “I’ve been thinking about you too. I’m sorry about the way things ended.” Her palms went sweaty. She was improvising, which could lead to disaster. Or it could lead to the biggest break of her life.

“That gladdens my heart, my little nectarine.”

Nectarine?
That would have sounded cheesy, if not for his cultured, sophisticated voice, with that hint of Ivy League in it. “Actually, I was hoping you might be coming to San Gabriel sometime soon. I have an idea for you. A great idea.”

A short silence. Ella held her breath. “A Melissa McGuire story might be worth a trip to the Valley. Can you give me a hint?”

“I have to show you. It’s too big. Besides, I was . . . hoping to see you.”

“I’m intrigued.”

Did he sound suspicious? “Well, I was thinking we could try to find some closure.” That sounded like something Melissa would say, right? “Do you know when you might come?” It would be better if he came before Melissa’s suspension ended.

“How about I surprise you.”

“Oh Everett.” Ella mimicked Melissa’s throaty laugh. She’d always envied that laugh. “You know how my schedule gets. I have so many commitments and I like to be on top of everything.”

“Excellent quality in a producer.”

Ella made a face at the phone.

“Fine. I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way to the station.”

“I look forward to it,” she purred.

After she hung up, Ella took an extra fifteen minutes to figure out how to forward Melissa’s calls to her phone. She couldn’t afford to miss that call. It took only one lucky break to launch a career into the big leagues. But she wasn’t going to leave it to luck. When Everett Malcolm saw her in person, he’d fall at her feet. He’d beg her to take over the
Six O’Clock News
. He’d put her on billboards on every freeway in Los Angeles. They’d shoot real promos for her, the kind with film crews and catering. She’d get her own makeup artist. She’d buy two houses—one in Beverly Hills, and a little getaway retreat in Malibu.

She chased away her twinge of guilt with a vision of her future entourage.

I
n the snug Airstream, Melissa lay basking in Brody’s arms.

“How come I never call you Harry?” she mused.

“Because I wax my legs?”

“You do?”

“Does it feel like I do?” He rubbed his leg over her naked hip.

“Mmm. Whatever you do, don’t change it now, Harry.” She heard the deep rumble of laughter in his chest.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He traced a finger along her collarbone.

“Is it deep and dark?”

“As the La Brea Tar Pits.”

“Shoot.”

“My real last name is Brod. No Y.”

“That doesn’t seem so deep and dark.” His leg moved against her hip in a lazy, unhurried way that lulled her into a dream.

“Put it together.”

“Harry . . . Brod. Harry Brod!” She sat straight up. “Your parents named you Harry Brod? Like a hairy broad?”

“Yep. Don’t hurt yourself mocking me.”

“I’m not . . . It’s just . . . Hairy Broad! I’m in bed with a hairy broad!”

“Not for long, if you keep that up,” he teased.

“Sorry. Brody. I can see why you changed it.”

“Actually, I only changed it for Rebecca. She refused to be married to a Harry Brod.”

“That’s silly . . . I’d be proud—” She realized where her sentence was headed, and broke off. She’d almost said,
I’d be proud to be married to Harry Brod
.

Married. Did she really see herself married to Brody? She sank back on the bed next to him. Impossible. Married to a fire captain who ran into burning buildings? Married to a man who had never written a short story, never sculpted any ceramic table art? Was she crazy?

On the other hand, she’d be married to a man who made her laugh, who constantly surprised her with his quick mind, who was strong, loyal, revered by his subordinates; a man who rocked her world with his touch. What could be more wonderful? But she didn’t love him, did she?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, lifting her chin with a finger. “You got so quiet all of a sudden.”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just this investigation I’m working on.” But she wouldn’t meet his eyes . . . couldn’t meet his eyes. If she did, he might see the confusion written across her face. This couldn’t be love, could it?

She’d never felt anything like this before. When she thought about Brody, a feeling of peace and rightness came over her. When she looked at him, joy tingled all the way to her fingertips. He made her feel free. Free to say what she wanted. Free to fight with him, if she wanted. Scream in ecstasy, if she wanted. And she did. She wanted all those things. She wanted him.

But love?

He’d never said anything about love. He’d said he wasn’t cut out for a personal life. What they had was hot sex between two people with completely different lives. She’d sworn not to let herself be so vulnerable ever again. And yet, here she was. Falling for an enigmatic man she hadn’t even met a month ago.

She realized Brody was saying something to her. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, it must be a fascinating investigation. What’s it about?”

She told him about Rodrigo. “I kept getting distracted by that damn Thanksgiving special.” He rolled his eyes at the mention. “But now I’m focusing entirely on him. I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow. It’s my first day back at work.”

“And you think he’s telling the truth?”

“I believe he is. But I’ll know more after I talk to him face-to-face.”

“Where does he live?”

“Fern Acres. My old neighborhood.”

He was quiet for a while. “If it’s true, I sure hope you nail those bastards.”

“Me too. This is the kind of story I’ve always wanted to work on. When I was growing up, I saw so many things in that same neighborhood, but nobody ever cared what went on there. The only time a news reporter came was when there was some kind of gang murder. They wore their bulletproof vests and got out as quick as they could. I never thought what happened to us mattered to anyone. Now I have a chance to actually help some kids living there. I just hope I do it right.”

“You will. I know you, Melissa. You’re solid gold, through and through. And you’re smart. Those evil bastards better watch their asses.”

“Oh, Brody . . .” Melissa buried her face in his chest and snuggled herself into his arms. Words bubbled up, words begging to be spoken.
I love you.

She wouldn’t let them out, she absolutely refused.
No, I don’t, no I don’t! It’s not like that.

Is it?

T
he next morning, Melissa poked her head into Nelly’s room, reassured to see her sleeping peacefully. She paused a minute to watch her grandmother. Did her breathing sound a little rougher than normal? Nelly muttered and moved restlessly on the bed. Melissa smiled. Her grandmother was just fine. Feisty as ever, even in her sleep. She should stop worrying so much.

Besides, she was too happy to worry about anything. Her suspension was the best thing that could have happened. She’d spent the whole time working on her foster care investigation and hanging out with Brody. Now she could tackle her first day back at Channel Six with a fresh attitude.

Whistling, she started the coffeemaker, then jumped in the shower while the coffee brewed. Since she’d been spending time with Brody, she’d mastered the quick morning routine. Short shower, drink coffee while dressing, eat a jelly-filled breakfast bar while she dried her hair. The phone interrupted her flow, and she ran downstairs to answer it.

“Yes, hello?” she said impatiently.

“Morning, Melissa, it’s Haskell.”

“Oh. Hi, Dad.” The word “Dad” caught her by surprise. For years now, she’d called him Haskell. Maybe she could have a fresh attitude with him too. “What’s up?”

“Calling to see, well, hope you don’t mind if I ask. Say no if you want. Truck broke down. Need a ride to Captain Brody’s. I’ve got a meeting today too, don’t know what to do about that.”

The familiar exasperation surged. Would her father ever get his act together? But Nelly and Brody both kept telling her how hard he was working. And he needed those meetings.

“I’ll tell you what. You can drop me off at work and take my car. Just pick me up after your meeting.”

“Yeah? That’s great, Mel. Appreciate it.”

She hung up slowly, amazed at how good it felt to soften toward her father. Now if she could just get along with her impossible anchorwoman.

When Melissa arrived at work, she knew right away that something was off with Ella. She seemed wired and nervous, and she refused to meet Melissa’s eyes during the morning news meeting. She must be up to something, but Melissa refused to get distracted from her story.

She spent the morning preparing for her interview with Rodrigo. At noon she walked to the Starbucks around the corner from the station. As soon as she saw him, she felt certain he was no liar. For one thing, he looked scared. He was a clean-cut kid, thin and wiry. Dark curls fell over his wide-open eyes. She spotted a bruise on his arm.

“Miss McGuire?” he said, bouncing to his feet.

“Hi, Rodrigo.” Smiling, she sat down at the table he’d picked, and saw that he had no drink in front of him. “What can I get you?”

It took a minute to convince him to order something, but eventually he admitted to liking hot chocolate. The warm drink seemed to relax him, and before long the details of his life story came pouring out. Poverty-stricken parents, no health care, father had died of blood poisoning, mother had buckled under the weight of caring for five children. She’d gotten sick, and gone back to Guadalupe, a broken woman. The younger kids had returned to Mexico with her, but Rodrigo had stayed. After living on the streets for a while, he wound up in the foster system. He was smart, Melissa quickly realized. He spoke English perfectly, even though he’d lived in California for only five years.

“Would you be willing to wear a hidden camera, if I can arrange it?” she asked.

“I think so. But would she find it? How will we hide it?”

“We’ll work that out. The important thing is to catch your caseworker taking money from your foster mother.”

“No problem. I know exactly when she does it. First Friday of every month.”

Melissa looked at her daybook. “Wow, that’s this Friday. Let’s meet again on Thursday. I have to get permission to use the camera, and I need to talk to some technicians about the best way for you to wear it.”

“Thank you so much, Miss McGuire. I’ll do anything you say to do.”

“Just make sure no one finds out you’re doing this. I want you to stay safe.”

“I promise.” His dark eyes looked so wide and eager she couldn’t help smiling.

“We’ll stay in touch over the next couple of days, then. If anything happens, you call and let me know.”

“I will.” He pulled a crumpled bus schedule from his pocket. “I better go. Hey, what kind of ride you got?”

“My car? It’s a blue Volvo, an old one.”

“Four-door sedan?”

“Yep.”

“I saw you drive by the house, right after I first called you.”

Melissa had to laugh at the way guys, no matter what their age, always noticed cars. “Did anyone else notice?”

“Nah. I did, because I was looking for you. I knew you’d want to check out the hood. I was worried it would scare you off.”

“Nah,” she said, echoing him. He smiled broadly at her, and left.

The boy trusted her, Melissa realized. He trusted her with his story, and with his safety. It was a humbling thought, but inspiring, too. The kind of thing Brody would appreciate. She pulled out her cell phone and punched in Brody’s number.