The Fireman's Secret (8 page)

Joel shifted the laundry basket and his biceps strained against the sleeves of his blue T-shirt, which was adorned with the fire station’s number.

Shelby fidgeted with the hanger for her dress. Why hadn’t she left it in Paige’s car like they’d planned? “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure.” He sighed.

She frowned. A spot of soot dirtied his temple and there were lines around his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” A lazy grin crept across Joel’s face. “I’m great now.”

“It’s just, you look tired maybe.” She leaned against the wall. He was still staring.

“No. I’m fine. We just came back from a fire. That’s all.”

“Oh. I can come by some other time.” Shelby moved to head back down the hall.

Joel followed her, laundry basket snug under his arm. “Stay. Now’s a perfect time. Come on.” He motioned for her to follow him. They wove down the hallway until they arrived at the laundry room, which boasted two sets of washers and dryers. Joel tossed open one of the washer’s lids and dumped the contents of the hamper into the tub.

“Aren’t you going to separate the whites from the colors?” Shelby’s fingers itched to fish all the dirty towels out of the washing machine and do the laundry correctly.

“I like to live dangerously.”

“I’m being serious.”

Joel laughed, dumped soap into the washing machine and then hit the start button. “For a bunch of dish towels? No thanks.”

“They’ll fade quicker that way.”

“I don’t think one guy here will mind using a faded towel.”

“But—” She reached around him to stop the washing machine. If she’d learned one thing from living with Caleb, it was that some men needed help in these areas of life.

Joel caught her wrist and her sleeve pulled up a bit. “Shelby—”

She jerked away from his touch. Hard. The force made him bump backward against the washer. Shelby spun around and pulled at the sleeves of her shirt. She balled up her hands so they were completely covered by fabric. Had he felt her scar? He must have. His fingers had been wrapped right around it. What if he’d seen? Would he treat her differently?

Blinking back tears, she debated leaving until Joel placed his hand on her shoulder and slowly turned her around.

“Hey, I’m not sure...did I hurt you?”

“No. I’m fine. Great.” She focused on the ceiling in an effort to keep the moisture inside her eyes.

“Are you sure?” He kept his hand on her shoulder. “Because you’re acting like I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Shelby finally met his gaze.

He was in EMT mode again, his eyes roaming back and forth over her face, reading her. “Feelings count, too.”

“My feelings are fine.” Breathe. He either hadn’t noticed her skin or he was choosing to ignore it. Either way, she was happy not to talk about it.

“One thing you pick up when you’ve lived with a bunch of different families is how to read people. Unfortunately, I’ve had a lot of practice.” He dipped his head to look into her eyes. “And you keep using the word
fine
, but you’re not acting like you are.”

She shrugged. How had stopping by the station for a key turned into a stilted conversation about the church and him almost discovering her secret? “I just wanted to separate the wash.”

“I know.” He nodded. “But it didn’t need to be separated. It’s okay not to do things perfectly sometimes. Live a little, Shelby. It’s fun.” It looked as if he was pressing his lips together to keep a smile under wraps.

“Are you laughing at me?” She narrowed her eyes, but fought a smile, too. All the tension from a moment ago drained from the room. Joel seemed to possess the ability to know when she needed to be encouraged, when she needed a challenge and when she needed to be teased into a lighter mood.

“Maybe.” He winked.

“Not allowed.” She grinned. “I already have an older brother, and it’s his job in life to make fun of me.”

“One, I don’t want to be like a brother to you. And, two, I wasn’t making fun—just trying to help you take things less seriously.”

Less seriously? “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ve only been back around you for a couple of days, but I already have you pegged.”

“Oh, really? Do expound, Mr. Psychologist.”

“Have a seat.” He patted the top of the dryer and she obliged. Joel laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see if that Psychology 101 course paid off.” He winked at her again. “You’ve been sheltered your whole life. Probably not by choice, but there it is. So you do things a certain way. Thanks to Caleb, you probably believe there’s good reason to be cautious and not take risks. Even silly ones that don’t bother anyone and aren’t necessarily wrong.”

“There are lots of reasons not to take risks.”

He tapped his watch. “The doctor’s still in session.”

“Do go on.” She shook her head good-naturedly and laid the dress she’d been clutching next to her on the dryer.

“You’re right. I’ll be the first one to tell you not to take dangerous risks. But something like, say, mixing rags that a bunch of men used to sop up messes—it’s probably okay not to waste energy doing that the correct way. Am I making sense?”

“So, basically, you think I don’t know how to have fun.”

“Well, I didn’t say that.”

“What’s the diagnosis then, Doc? How does a girl cure herself from an overwhelming desire to make sure the laundry is separated even if it doesn’t matter?”

He tapped his chin. “Take a few safe risks.”

“Such as?” She hooked her ankles together and swung her legs.

“Come for a ride on my motorcycle.”

Her mouth went dry. “Right now?”

“No. I can’t. I’m on duty.” He leaned against the washing machine and crossed his arms. “But later this week when I’m off duty.”

“And that’ll cure me?”

“It’ll be a start.” He smiled. “How about if that goes well, we’ll come up with a new risk after that?”

“Don’t get greedy. Only one short motorcycle ride. That’s all I’m agreeing to.” She hopped down from the dryer. “Now, didn’t I come here to get a key from you?” She held out her hand.

“And an address.” Joel fished the spare house key out of his pocket, told her where he lived and gave her instructions for Dante. He dangled the key on a chain over her outstretched palm. “How about we go on our motorcycle ride after we meet on Saturday to talk through donations for the fund-raiser?”

On Saturday the whole town would see them, because almost everyone spent time at the local farmer’s market that took place in the square. And that made her look forward to it even more. For once, she wasn’t going to care what everyone else thought about her.

“Sure, why not?”

“That’s my girl.” He grinned and finally dropped the key into her hand.

She closed her fingers around the warm metal and left the station with the words
my girl
playing over and over in her mind.

Chapter Six

J
oel slowed his motorcycle as he turned down the street leading to the grassy town square. An open patch of concrete near the gazebo worked perfectly as a makeshift parking spot. He left his bike with the helmet resting on top.

In typical early-summer fashion, a slight breeze drifted from the direction of Lake Michigan. It might still have been morning, but the temperature was already higher than normal. If Joel hadn’t ridden his motorcycle, he would have worn shorts, but the motorcycle meant jeans. He’d have to change before he took Dante for his walk.

The people of Goose Harbor loved their weekly farmer’s market. Residents, as well as tourists, mingled between booths and visited near the park benches and small rose garden on the edge of the grassy square, which served as the heart of the town. This was the spot where babysitters were found, rumors were spread and teenagers began hanging out for the weekend.

When Joel last lived in town, the mayor and board members had passed an ordinance prohibiting chain and big box stores within city limits. Because of this, the closest grocery store was in Shadowbend. But townspeople usually only left Goose Harbor when they were low on packaged staples such as flour and sugar. Eggs, milk, bread, baked goods and produce all could be picked up fresh weekly here.

“If it isn’t my sweet little Joel.”

Mrs. Clarkson latched on to his forearm. Her hands were rough with age. She’d been considered an old lady when he had been a teen. By now, she must have been ancient. In her cat-eye glasses and home-sewn shirt, she was hard to miss. Her shirt looked like it had been made from pieced-together socks.

Once a week, after classes let out at the high school, Mrs. Clarkson used to pay Joel ten dollars to vacuum her house. Even though the chore had taken only thirty minutes to complete, he’d always been at her house for at least two hours afterward visiting. Did she still make those peanut butter cookies with the chocolate kiss in the center? His stomach rumbled at the memory. He probably should have eaten before he’d left his house.

“Look at you.” He placed his hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze. “Still just as pretty and stylish as I remembered.”

“Stylish, my eye.” She swatted at his chest. “You were always a joker, but in the end such a good boy. I’m glad to see you finally decided to return home to us.”

Such a good boy
. Hardly. If she knew the truth, even kindhearted Mrs. Clarkson wouldn’t be wasting her breath to welcome him back. She had played the piano for the church choir and had told him once that using the instrument was her only way to serve God. Had Joel, with the fire, taken that from her?

Shelby waved at them from the gazebo and then picked her way through the crowd. A large messenger-type bag bounced on her hip with each step.

“Mrs. Clarkson, is this ruffian bothering you?” She smirked at Joel.

Glad for the change of subject, he placed his hand over his heart and turned to Mrs. Clarkson. “Do you hear how she talks about me?”

The woman patted Joel’s arm. “Shelby, dear, you need to be nice to our prodigal son. We don’t need him getting any ideas and taking off on us again.”

Her words were like a punch to his gut. He swallowed hard.
Taking off on us again.
Would they ever see him as someone other than that sixteen-year-old kid? If only she knew how much he’d wanted Goose Harbor to be home. That he’d never wanted to leave. Couldn’t they see he really hadn’t had a choice?

Why hadn’t some kind, sweet old woman taken him into her home when he had been a teen? Joel would have loved someone like Mrs. Clarkson, crazy outfits and all, if she had let him. But she wouldn’t have let him. Because no one wanted him in their family.

Probably still didn’t.

But he’d show them. After all, he was an EMT and a firefighter. He rescued people for a living. How could they not like him? In fact, that would be his way to win them over. If they saw him as Joel-the-firefighter, then they’d want him. Joel just needed to work hard to blot from their minds the memory of Joel-the-troubled-youth, Joel-the-runaway and Joel-the-orphan. Because he didn’t want their pity. He’d never wanted it. Only their acceptance.

At first, he’d been unsure about the idea of helping with the church fund-raiser because of the past, but when he had walked Dante the previous night, he’d realized that working with Shelby was his best hope for moving forward in Goose Harbor. Not only would he be the new firefighter in town, but people would think well of him for giving so much time toward rebuilding the lost church. This project was the perfect opportunity to win respect again.

“Oh, don’t you worry.” Shelby grinned at Mrs. Clarkson and then winked at Joel. “He’s not allowed to go anywhere because I need him.”

“Do you, now?” Joel stepped closer, bringing an almost instant pretty flush to Shelby’s cheeks. He’d never noticed the way her eyes turned different colors depending on the light. Her features were so small, they gave her a vulnerability that made him want to tuck her under his arm and take care of her.

Mrs. Clarkson chuckled. “It sure looks like Shelby’s not the only one who knows how to needle a body. I’ve seen this all before and I think I’ll take these old bones to get a seat and watch how this plays out.”

Had Mrs. Clarkson observed the way he’d looked at Shelby? Evidently.

Joel held out his hand to the elderly woman. “Do you want me to help you?”

“I may be old, but I’m still tough as Monday morning. Don’t you worry about me.” She waved and headed into the crowd.

Shelby looked at her hands and tugged on her sleeves so they reached the palms of her hands. “When I said I needed you, I meant for the fund-raiser, of course. That was...I hope you don’t...you know.”

Why did she always wear long sleeves? The thermometer must be reading in the upper eighties already and it was only morning.

“Of course.” He offered his arm in a playful gesture. “Shall we?”

* * *

Like in a black-and-white movie, Shelby took Joel’s offered arm and cupped her hand over his biceps. He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but shake her head good-naturedly at him. Other than Caleb, no other man walked around with her on his arm—especially not in public. But perhaps that explained everything. Joel was being brotherly. That was all.

Whatever the reason, he possessed a talent for making her feel at ease. Even when her brain was overanalyzing things, which she needed to stop doing around him because she kept making them share awkward moments—such as the one at the firehouse and just a minute ago.

Joel raised his eyebrows. “So, what’s the plan today?”

“I made these informational flyers.” She tugged a sheet of paper from the bag slung over her shoulder. Unable to sleep much last night, she woke up early and made handouts to give to the businesses. They described the fund-raiser and her hope of rebuilding the church. “I figured we could go door-to-door and use them to try to get donations for the silent auction.”

He took a flyer from her and scanned it. “Silent auction? But I thought we were doing a pancake breakfast.”

“We are. We’re doing both.” The tilt of his head told her she needed to explain. “What I mean is I thought it would help bring in more donations if we held a silent auction at the pancake breakfast.”