The Fireman Who Loved Me (6 page)

“I’ll . . . uh . . . do what I can. In between investigating a story that could actually save lives.”

“Fair enough.”

On her way out the door, she paused. “Oh, I almost forgot. Ella accepted an invite to host a party for Absolut Vodka. Since I’m off Ella duty, I guess you’ll have to tell her she can’t.”

Loudon looked alarmed, frantically wiping his bleary eyes. “Oh no, Melissa. You take that one.”

“But you said—”

“After you handle this.
Then
you’re off Ella duty.”

Melissa groaned. “Fine.”

She’d think of something. In the meantime, she needed to start making some calls on the foster care story. The story that would make Bachelor Fireman Brody grovel at her feet.

Chapter Six

B
rody, crouched between two studs in the living room of his house-under-construction, dropped his wire strippers for the tenth time and swore.

“You know, Cap, most guys do things like buy a new sports car or date a sorority girl after a breakup.” Ryan Blake, holding a large bag from Subway, loomed over him.

“Yeah, well, I’m building myself a new house. Better than therapy.” Brody strained to reach the wire strippers. He knew his crew thought he was nuts. They were probably right, especially when it came to wiring. Home-run wires, three-way light switches, designated circuits. Why the hell didn’t he just give in and call a damn professional? He had a healthy respect for good electricians; he’d put out his share of fires caused by the bad ones.

And why did he keep dropping his tools? He never dropped his tools.

He knew why. Melissa McGuire.

“What are you doing here?” he growled at Ryan.

“Thought I’d come by and help you out today.”

The San Gabriel firefighters had gotten in the habit of dropping by to help with his one-man construction project. They’d watched him go through hell, and they’d been ready at any moment to spackle walls, hoist two-by-fours, badmouth Rebecca, set him up with random strippers, or come over and hang out over beers and football.

But the guys didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know about the baby.

“I brought lunch too. I thought you might need some refreshment,” Ryan added.

Brody gave up on the wire strippers and extracted himself from between the studs. He stood up, wiping the sweat from his eyes. “After my hard night’s work?” he asked dryly.

He took the offered bag and rummaged through it for a drink. After gulping down most of a Snapple, he fished out a turkey sub and handed the bag back to Ryan. He sat down on an overturned bucket and pulled another over for Ryan.

Ryan wore a guilty look on his movie-star face. “I really owe you big, Cap. Was it . . . okay?”

“Define okay.”

“Did she make you play bingo or anything?” Ryan unwrapped a ham and cheese sandwich and bit into it.

“Nope. She was very intelligent, very charming. When she wasn’t yelling at me.”

“Yelling at you?”

“For being a football-watching, car-driving blockhead.”

Ryan frowned, confused. “What are we supposed to drive?”

“Good question. Too bad you weren’t there to ask it.”

“Geez, I’m sorry, Captain, I never thought it’d be like that. I thought she’d be all over you.”

“Well, at the end . . .” Brody smiled reminiscently, and Ryan nearly choked on his ham and cheese.

“You didn’t . . . you didn’t . . .
make out
with her?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, you know that, Hoagie,” said Brody reprovingly. Ryan carefully put down his sandwich, clearly trying to process this new development.

“You mean, you dug her?”

“What’s not to like about a beautiful, passionate, articulate woman?”

“Is this another one of your lessons?” Ryan sounded worried. “I’m supposed to . . . um . . . see past appearances? To the soul within, or some shit?” Brody watched the gears click with great amusement, then decided to give the kid a break.

“Well, yes, that’s always wise strategy. But actually, Nelly McGuire was indisposed, and her granddaughter took her place. That seems to have been Mrs. McGuire’s intention all along.”

The clouds instantly cleared from Ryan’s face. “Was the granddaughter hot?”

Unbelievably hot. Molten lava hot. Kept-him-up-all-night hot.

“Probably not your usual type,” came his eventual answer. For some reason, the thought of Ryan with Melissa didn’t sit right. Would she fall for the pretty face, as so many others had? And what difference did it make if she did? She clearly didn’t think much of him, especially after he’d lost it and insulted her whole profession.

Then again, if she really hated him, would she have responded with such fire and eagerness at the end? He’d been all over her, and she hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, if Nelly hadn’t opened the door . . .

He swallowed the rest of his Snapple to drown the memory.

“I bet she was smokin’. You got that look in your eye.”

“I have no look.”

“Yeah you do. You haven’t looked like that since . . . you know.”

“You know” was code for “Rebecca.”

He chewed the turkey, which tasted like sandpaper. When Rebecca left, he’d realized the truth. He’d been born to command, born to save lives, risk his neck, guide his crew, school his rookies. None of that led to a happy personal life. It hadn’t helped his marriage to Rebecca, and why should it be different with any other woman?

“Cap, I’m sorry,” Ryan broke in. “Didn’t mean to say the wrong thing.” Brody caught the alarmed look on the younger man’s face. He must be looking grim, as he always did when thoughts of Rebecca haunted him.

“You didn’t. Don’t worry. Can you get those wire strippers out of there?” Ryan jumped to his feet. “Actually, never mind.” It was time to let go of the insanity. At least one part of it. “Hand me the Yellow Pages over in the corner.”

Ryan grabbed the phone book that had been tossed on the doorstep a few days ago. “I know a guy. Wired my buddy’s office.”

“Licensed?” asked Brody, scanning the listings under “electrician.”

“No, but that’s why he’s so cheap . . .”

But Brody stopped listening. A name in bold type caught his eye. Haskell McGuire, Electrician. Licensed and bonded. No ad, no goofy guy with a head shaped like a light bulb. But the name alone was enough to draw Brody. Could it possibly be the same family? A father, a cousin, a brother? Might as well call the man. One way or the other, he’d get an electrician out of it. And maybe another connection to the feisty, fascinating, irritating, sexy Melissa. Maybe she’d bring him lunch, maybe she’d sit on that bucket and toss her dark hair over her shoulder and—

“Cap, there’s another part of the prize . . .”

Brody looked up from the Yellow Pages, and Ryan blinked. “Geez, you look like you found Jesus in there.”

“Praise the Lord. You better scram, Hoagie. I gotta make a call.”

“But wait. You have to hear this, Cap. We have to make dinner for her at the station. For Nelly McGuire.”

“Oh, hell.” He’d forgotten that part.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. There’s always time to do the right thing, you know.”

Brody recognized one of the affirmations. “What right thing?”

“I’m going to make up for blowing off the grandmother. I’ll be nice as pie to her, and to her granddaughter.”

“You’re inviting her too?”

“Yes, sir. You said she’s hot, right?”

Brody could have kicked himself. “I think I said not your usual type.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re going to get the royal treatment—Hoagie-style.” And he was off.

So much for that. If Ryan aimed his mojo on Melissa, Brody might as well forget her. He and Nelly would get to spend the evening watching the fireworks. Still, he needed a damn electrician. Brody dialed the number listed for Haskell McGuire.

W
hen Melissa got back to her cubicle, her private line was ringing.
Is it Brody?
How should she act? Apologetic? Standoffish? Confused? She pounced on it, then fought her disappointment at the sound of Nelly’s voice.

“Oh, hi Grans. Is something wrong?”

“There must be, you sound like someone died.”

“I’m just busy, that’s all. I’m at work, you know.”

“Work, always work. Never mind, you’re going to forget that nasty job when I tell you what’s happening on Friday.”

“I am?” said Melissa warily.

“We’re both invited to the firehouse for dinner! Those handsome firemen are going to make us dinner with their own two hands. And we are the guests of honor!”

Dinner at Brody’s fire station? A jolt of mixed emotions shot through her. Embarrassment at how she’d insulted him. Shame at how she’d thrown herself at him. And most of all, a deep thrill at the thought of seeing him again.

“I don’t know, Grans. Who invited us?”

She heard Nelly hesitate a moment. “Well, it’s part of the prize.”

“Oh Lord. The auction. Forget it, I’m not going.”

“But you have to, Melissa. You have to drive me. You know I can’t drive anymore, it’s bad for my blood pressure.”

Not to mention the California Highway Patrol’s
, thought Melissa.

“Besides, it’s on Friday, and that’s Haskell’s meeting night.”

“Friday?” That rang a bell. What was Friday? Oh right, the vodka party. An idea formed

“Let me think about it. I’ll see you later, Grans.”

“Well, don’t work too much, sweetie. And tell Ella that pink suit made her look like a hooker.”

“It’s fuchsia—” But Nelly had already hung up.

Melissa gathered up a handful of Ella Joy’s glossy headshots. Due to Channel Six’s lack of a promotion department, she handled all viewer requests for photos. She had refused to do this until they’d been reshot. The originals showed Ella reclining on the news set as though it were a piano in a nightclub act. The new photos featured a perfectly respectable Ella smiling professionally at the camera. One of the editors had seen some of the old photos selling for ten dollars apiece on eBay, but Melissa didn’t feel that her obligations extended to policing the Internet.

She knocked on Ella’s office door. Her office had the feel of a sorority girl’s dorm room—piles of clothes on the chairs, even on the desk. Her mini fridge was stashed with Perrier, fruit enzyme masks, and ice cream. Ella was going through a pile of magazines, with half an eye on her TV, which was tuned to a soap opera. When Melissa knocked, Ella quickly put down her
Us Weekly
and directed her gaze toward
Time
magazine.

“Ella, do you have a minute?”

“Well . . . is it important?”

“I just need some photos signed.”

Ella perked up. She took the photos and set to work with her signature hot-pink Sharpie. “Who are these for?” she asked idly.

“A bunch of strong, good-looking, heroic public servants,” answered Melissa.

“Soldiers?” said Ella hopefully. The newscast was available for download on the Internet, and everyone at the station knew she longed for the day it would become a hot item for troops overseas.

“Firefighters. They’re heroes too, you know. When they come back from risking their lives on the fire lines, they deserve a little appreciation and inspiration.” Had she gone too far? But no, Ella was eating it up.

“Of course they do, the poor brave darlings.” As Ella signed her graceful, elaborate signature on each photo, Melissa sensed her moment.

“You are so sweet to do this. I told them I’d bring them a surprise, since they’re cooking dinner for me.”

“The firemen are cooking dinner for you?”

“Sure. At the firehouse. It’s a huge honor, I heard. They always cook for themselves, you know, and sometimes they invite people over. They actually begged . . . well, I don’t want to tell you, you might feel obligated.”

“What? Tell me what?” Ella’s blue eyes were bright with excitement.

“Well, they begged me to see if you might want to come. I told them you were a busy woman, so I couldn’t promise anything, but that I’d try to get photos for them. They’re world-famous, you know. Haven’t you heard of the Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel?”

“Hell, yes! I saw them on the
Today
show. Totally hot. You had no right to say I couldn’t come.”

Melissa put on a look of worried concern. “I was just covering for you.”

“We’re talking about the best-looking firemen in the country. You should have at least mentioned it to me.”

“That’s why I’m mentioning it to you now. I’ll just tell them you have a scheduling conflict or something. I told them not to get their hopes up. But the way Ryan looked at me with those blue eyes of his . . . you can’t blame me for trying.” Grans had said his eyes were blue, hadn’t she?

“Who’s Ryan?”

“One of the firemen. He’s so gorgeous.” Melissa prayed that Nelly’s first-choice bachelor lived up to expectations. If he was more handsome than Brody, he must be really something.

“Was he your date last night?”

“Oh no, he’s way out of my league.” Melissa moved in for the kill. “The day a hottie like Ryan looks twice at me . . .” And there it was, the final nail, a challenge a beauty like Ella couldn’t possibly resist.

“I think I should go, after all. It would be good PR, wouldn’t it?”

“Absolutely! The best. But you’re so busy, Ella . . . You’re a doll, but don’t do it on my account.”

“Oh, pooh. I’ve made up my mind. Now I’m starting to think you want all those handsome firemen to yourself!”

Melissa gave an embarrassed you-caught-me laugh. “You know they won’t even notice me if you’re there.”

“You think?” asked Ella, pleased. “Just put it on my calendar. When is it?”

“I’ll go call them right away. They’ll be so happy.” Melissa turned to go. She waited until she was almost out of earshot before she called back to Ella’s office. “Oh, the dinner’s on Friday. I’ll make sure someone subs for you that night.”

And that, she thought smugly, was the way to handle Ella Joy. In a while, Ella would realize there was a conflict, but she wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of leaving an admiring, gorgeous group of men—single fireman heroes—to Melissa’s sole possession. She would find her own way to back out of the vodka party.

The only downside was that Ella would now meet Brody. Would Brody fall at her feet the way most men did? Not that Melissa cared, of course.