The Night Belongs to Fireman (7 page)

R
achel kept a close eye on the news over the next couple of days. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the runaway bridesmaid, but the stories about Fred just kept on coming. Every other day, it seemed, another dire situation occurred and Fred the Bachelor Hero saved the day.

First came a surprise May storm, which sent rain lashing across Rachel's picture windows and caused flash flooding on the highway that led to the desert. An elderly woman who was heading out to view the wildflowers got trapped in her car by quickly rising floodwaters. The entire rescue was caught by a camera in a hovering helicopter.

“Once again, firefighters from San Gabriel Station 1 were first on the scene. While some firefighters secured the car, to keep it from being swept downstream by the raging floodwaters, our favorite Bachelor Hero, Firefighter Fred Breen, fought the current and was able to pull Alison Barnstable out of her watery trap. The grandmother of three was overwhelmed with emotion as Breen carried her across the flooded highway.”

Then came a shot of the elderly woman alternately sobbing and laughing as she clung to Fred. He slogged his way through the water, talking to her the entire time, clearly putting her at ease. He was so
good
at what he did. And yet he didn't seem to think it was anything special.

“All credit goes to Mrs. Barnstable for her quick thinking,” he told the anchor, Ella Joy, when she stuck the microphone in his face after the rescue. His drenched hair was plastered to his head, which somehow made him look even more attractive. “If she hadn't called 911 right away, we might not have gotten to her in time. She kept her head and did all the right things.”

“What are the right things to do? Can you explain to our viewers?”

“The most important thing is not to panic. Pay attention to flash flood warnings and if you see standing water on the road, don't try to drive through it. Every situation is different, depending on how submerged the car is and what the situation is. Sometimes you want to close the windows to equalize the pressure, but in other situations the window can be an escape route. That's why keeping your head is so important. Getting trapped in a car under water is terrifying, but it is often a survivable situation.”

Rachel couldn't take her eyes off the TV. Who knew a fireman giving safety instructions would be so sexy?

“This sounds like a subject for a news special,” said Ella Joy.

Fred gave a tired smile. “It would be a real service to your viewers. San Gabriel doesn't get a lot of flooding, but when it happens, it's frightening and dangerous.”

“Thank you for talking to us.” Fred nodded and hurried off to join the other firefighters.

Ella Joy turned to the camera. “Stay tuned for more on these freak floods and what you can do to stay safe. I just got word from our producer that we'll be airing a special on survival situations. And for those who want to hear more from our favorite Bachelor Hero, we've been promised that Firefighter Breen of the Urban Search and Rescue Squad will share some tips with us.”

Cindy, Liza, and Feather came over and the four of them, cozy in her top floor apartment, with the rain running in blurry streaks down the windows, watched every second of that news special. Aside from flood and earthquake survival tips, the special also mentioned a new Facebook page dedicated to Fred the Bachelor Hero. It already had over a thousand members, and was growing fast. Not only that, but T-shirts proclaiming “Fred's My Hero” were showing up all over town. Like it or not, Fred was becoming a star.

Feather immediately went online and ordered them each a T-shirt.

Rachel didn't tell them about her plans to see Fred on Friday. It felt like a delicious, private secret. Time and again she told herself she should back out of their dog-training session, now that he was such a media draw. But that infamous, headstrong side of her refused to do it. The fact was, she wanted to see him again. It was as simple as that.

Besides, she didn't want to disappoint Greta.

E
verywhere Fred went
, someone was sticking a camera in his face. He'd actually started getting recognized
on the street
. In line at the Lazy Daisy, girls wanted to talk to him. He got requests for autographs on inappropriate body parts and fan mail with invitations to dinner.

Everyone wanted to talk to the Bachelor Hero. Fred had never been one of the attention-grabbing members of the department. He'd always wondered what that would be like, and now that the limelight had hit, he wasn't sure he liked it. He didn't like people looking at him differently. Even Mrs. Gund, the crusty owner of the Lazy Daisy, acted starstruck and mixed up his muffin order. His barber asked him to sign a copy of the newspaper article about the crane accident. His dry cleaner made him brownies. It was all so strange.

The firehouse crew teased him about his new fame, of course. Mulligan left lipstick kisses on his locker, and someone mocked up a photo with his face over Justin Bieber's body as he was mobbed with fans.

He tried to take it in stride, since he was facing an even bigger problem.

Courtney really,
really
didn't want to get the message that they were through.

“Fred, just because a girl kissed you doesn't have to mean the end of our relationship,” she said with an impatient sigh as he walked her to the San Gabriel College parking lot after class. “Couples get through this sort of thing. Sometimes it makes them closer. It's not like you cheated.”

“But it's not fair to you. You deserve more.” So much for his hope that the kiss would make her give up on him.

“I forgive you, okay? It's not like you initiated it. Let's just forget it and move on.”

“I can't. I don't want to.”

“Why is it all about what
you
want? I'm the injured party and I'm fine with it.” They reached her older-model BMW, the one she intended to trade in for a brand-new version as soon as she got her first job. She took out her keys and clicked the unlock button.

“But Court—”

Suddenly he had an armful of books and she was opening her car door. “Be a nice guy and put my books in the car, would you?”

Desperate, Fred saw his chance slipping away. A horrible vision of life as Courtney's husband flashed through his mind. Always trying to get her to listen. Always backing down because he didn't want to hurt her. Because he was a “nice guy.”

The words “nice guy” echoed through his brain. Being a nice guy was one thing. Being a pushover was another. And what Courtney didn't understand about him was that he had never been a pushover.

He loaded her books into the car, shut the door, and stepped back. She beckoned him toward the passenger seat. Even in the twilit parking lot he could make out the impatient curl of her lip. He turned to go.

“Good-bye, Courtney.”

“
No
. We decided. You are not doing this.”

“I
am
doing this. We're done. It's not going to work out.” Her mouth popped open to argue some more. “When you look at me, do you see anything besides a Bachelor Fireman?
Any
Bachelor Fireman?” Her mouth snapped shut with a click of molars. Boom. So that was it. It sure had taken a long time to figure out. “Courtney, listen close. I'm
never
going to marry you. That's not ever going to happen.” A sudden stroke of inspiration made him add, “Don't you think it's better if you start looking for someone else right away rather than dragging it out?”

She twitched her ponytail behind her back. “But I've invested six
months
in you.”

“Better six months than a year. Or two years.”

He watched that one sink in. “Is this because the other firefighters don't like me? You shouldn't listen to them. They're jerks, and they're sexist too. I didn't want to say this before, but they have a problem with successful women.”

Hell, no
. Going after his firehouse crew was not a smart move.

“Stop it right there, Court. Those guys are like my brothers and sisters, and if you paid any attention, you'd know they're not like that. Brody's wife is a journalist. Captain Stone's is a press secretary. Cherie's starting a movement therapy program for kids.” Courtney opened her mouth but he kept on going. “Katie Blake just finished her degree in elder care. Psycho's wife, Lara, is a doctor with her own clinic. Maribel up in Alaska just won a huge award for her photography. No one at the station has a problem with successful women. And have you forgotten about Sabina and One? They're both badass. We're breaking up because I don't love you, I don't want to marry you, and you should be with someone who does. End of story. Good-bye.” He spun away and headed across the lot toward his truck.

“That's . . . You're . . . I was wrong!” she yelled after him. “You're not a nice guy!”

He probably shouldn't be pleased by those last words, but he just couldn't help it.

E
ight o'clock on
Friday night found Fred making spaghetti sauce and trying to get the Sinclair boys to go home.

“Your mother wanted you home at seven-thirty. What are you still doing here?” he called from the kitchen.

“We're practicing,” squeaked Jackson. For the past hour, he and Tremaine had been working on a new hold Fred had taught them. Right now he was probably facedown on the living room carpet. “You told us we gotta practice harder. Mama said so too.”

“If you go home now, I'll spar with you tomorrow.” Bribery usually worked with the kids. “I have someone coming over.”

“Oooh, dude's got a date,” Tremaine yelled. “He's going to get some tonight.”

Fred cringed, glancing at the clock timer on his stove. She was three minutes late. That probably meant she wasn't coming. “It's not a date, Tremaine. I don't want you talking like that here. This is like your dojo. Respect your dojo.”

“Sorry, Mr. Fred.” Tremaine led the other boys into the kitchen. “You should let us stay so we can help out.”

“Oh, really, I should? How would you help out?”

“Bring the food and shit. Get her some water if she wants water. Or if she wants a soda we can do that too.”

“We do that for Mama,” Kip piped up.

Jackson added, “We can make you look good too. Act like we really like you and say good things about you.”

“I thought you did really like me.”

“We like you better when you're not kicking us out of your house,” he explained.

“Nice try, but I got this,” he told them. “I'll be lucky if she shows up at all, and I don't want to scare her off.”

“Why would we scare her? She afraid of kids?”

“I don't know. The only thing I know for sure is that she likes dogs.”

Tremaine immediately dropped to his hands and knees and began howling. Kip laughed hysterically and started hopping around, yipping like a Chihuahua.

“Okay, that's it. Everybody out. If you're not gone in the next two minutes, no lessons this weekend.”

The boys raced out of the kitchen. Fred looked down at the splash of tomato puree on his T-shirt. Very suave. Rachel probably always hung out with men who had food all over their clothes. He left the pan on a low simmer, checked to make sure the pasta water wasn't boiling yet, and dashed into his bedroom, stripping off his stained T-shirt on the way.

When the doorbell rang, he called, “Be there in a second,” and grabbed a loose black long-sleeved shirt, with a T-shirt already nested inside, off the back of his chair. The arms were still inside out. He'd worn it for only an hour yesterday; it should be clean enough. The best he could do at the last minute. Hurrying back to the living room, he tried to put the shirt to rights as he went. He was still trying to get the sleeves untangled when a laughing voice surprised him.

“I wasn't sure I had the right house at first. I wasn't really expecting a doorman.”

He glanced up sharply. Rachel stood just inside the still-open door, a sleek border collie at her side. Kip was standing proudly next to her, his hand on the doorknob. He kept sweeping deep bows as if Rachel were visiting royalty.

“That's enough, Kip. You can stop now,” he told the boy. “And you can close the door.”

Kip enthusiastically shut the door.

“With you on the
outside
,” Fred said through gritted teeth. He transferred his gaze to Rachel. She looked mouthwatering in a deep burgundy, clingy kind of top, with her hair loose to her shoulders. One hand held her dog's leash, the other a grocery bag.

“Hi,” he said, realizing at that moment that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Because, of course, his shirt was still bunched up in his hands.

“Wardrobe assistance!” called Jackson, striding in from the living room. “You said you didn't need help, dude. Looks to me like you need lots of help.”

“I don't need help,” he ground out. “You guys are supposed to be gone. Neighbor kids,” he told Rachel. “They, uh . . .”

Just then something came flying through the air with an inhuman shriek. Fred tossed his shirt over his shoulder and raised his hands to deal with the unknown threat.

In a blur of black sweat suit, Tremaine was sailing through the air, one foot aimed squarely at Fred's jaw. He must have jumped from the coffee table or something, because usually he couldn't reach higher than mid-chest. Fred quickly assumed a fighting stance. “Nice move, terrible timing,” he told the kid as he deflected, flipped and set him on his feet. Tremaine stood, dazed, as if he didn't know what had hit him. He feinted another attack move, but Fred got him in a headlock so he couldn't do any more damage.

At the same time, he put out a hand to stop Jackson's somersaulting approach, catching him with a firm palm to the forehead. “Let me guess. You guys are helping me impress Rachel with my martial arts prowess. Have you forgotten you're only ten? You're making me look bad, not good.”