Welcome Back to Apple Grove (25 page)

He shifted his grip so that he was caressing her arms. “Grace…”

“I’m strong, and I’ve had to grow up living with the result of that tragedy. Loving you includes what you do for a living, Patrick. Why can’t you see that I’m strong and can handle your job?”

She wanted to walk away and leave him there with his thoughts, but he pulled her close and rubbed a hand up and down her back, soothing her until she quieted. “You are an amazing woman, Grace Mulcahy. When I saw you standing on the back porch, Deidre in your arms and the sun shining down on your hair, I fell in love with you so hard and so fast, I thought I’d made you up out of a desperate need to find a woman to share my life with.”

She couldn’t stop the tears, so she didn’t try. “Then talk to me. Let me share your burden, as you’ve shared mine.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Can’t you see that it is?”

“Give me time,” he asked.

“My vacation’s almost over.”

“Which is why you’re coming home with me after work and I’m bringing you back tomorrow afternoon before I have to go to work—maximizing our time together.”

“We can spend even more time together if you let me follow you back to Newark. Then when you have to go to work, I’ll drive home.”

“I like the way you think,” he said. “Let’s get you back to the shop.”

They cleared up the rest of the containers and Patrick carried the blanket and the basket, refusing to let Grace carry anything. “There you go, making me feel special again.”

He linked their hands. “You are.”

They were crossing the green by the gazebo when he leaned close and whispered, “Say it again.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant until her gaze met his. “I love you.”

He drew in a deep breath and smiled.

“Well?” She poked him in the side.

He laughed as he moved out of reach of her pointer finger. “What?”

She swung at his shoulder and he grabbed ahold of her hand, pulling her close. “I love you, Grace.”

They walked hand-in-hand to Main Street and crossed. When he dropped her off at the shop, he reminded her, “I’ll pick you up at five o’clock.”

“But we’re open until five thirty.”

He winked at her. “Not today. I cleared it with your sisters.”

“Oh, really?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about him doing that but decided they could talk about it later. She had already urged him to open up and tell her more about his job. She didn’t want to push too hard too fast. Grace had a gut-deep feeling that there was more about Patrick’s job that he internalized than he was aware of.

Maybe she should ask someone with experience handling a similar type of stress. Her brother-in-law, Jack Gannon, was a former navy corpsman. Cait had told her Jack dealt with PTSD as a result of the time he spent patching up wounded marines in the battalion he had been attached to in Iraq.

Feeling better now that she had a plan, Grace changed her mind and her attitude. “Thanks for asking them and not just assuming that we’d close up early just because you want to get back to your place.”

He hesitated. “That wasn’t the only reason behind my asking them.” When she didn’t ask him why, he shoved his hands in his front pockets. “You need to spend time with your family and working here in town, but more than that, you need to get away—with me.”

“So you think you’re just what I need?” When she started to think about his high-handed way of arranging things, she remembered the trouble he’d gone to getting their picnic together. He was right. She did need him.
But
did
he
need
her?

“I don’t think it,” he told her. “I know it.”

Going with her gut, she moved a step closer until her breasts brushed against his pecs. “You need me too.”

“Ah, Gracie,” he rasped, pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching for her. Holding her close to his heart, he whispered, “More than I can say.”

He kissed her one last time and shook his head as if to clear it. “If I don’t leave now, we’ll have to lock the door and draw the blinds.”

She knew exactly what he meant. “I’ll be ready at five.”

“See you then.”

Pulling up her to-do list for the day, Grace crossed off what she’d accomplished and worked like a fiend to finish the rest of the items. She was going to leave today knowing that she’d completed the tasks necessary to keep Mulcahys moving in the right direction.

When Patrick returned, she was waiting for him, anticipating the time they would spend together. Praying that he would come to trust that she could handle his job, she ran to the front door and into his arms.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“That’s just one of the many things I love about you, baby,” he told her. “Your ability to read minds.”

“Really?” She sighed, unsure of just where to begin with the list of reasons she loved him. “Can you tell me what I’m thinking?”

“If I did, we’d both get hauled in for indecent exposure and the corrupting of a minor.”

“I’m not a minor,” she protested, getting into his truck.

He nodded in the direction of Murphy’s Market. “He is.”

Grace laughed. The youngest Jones boy was walking into the market with his mother. “We’d better behave then.”

A few minutes later, she tapped him on the shoulder. He lifted one eyebrow in silent question, and she asked, “So what am I thinking?”

“You can’t wait to get me naked and have your way with me,” he said, then added, “and to please drive faster.”

Pleased down to her toes, she laughed out loud. “You’re a smart man, Patrick Garahan.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he said, “And you love me.”

Laying her head on his shoulder, she sighed. “I really do.”

When they were nearing their destination, she sat up and asked, “So what’s for dinner?”

He turned and slanted a long and meaningful look at her. “You.”

She shivered and had to swallow or choke on the drool pooling in her mouth. “I think dinner’s ready.”

His deep, booming laughter filled the truck cab and her heart. “Maybe I won’t be bringing you home to meet my family just yet.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I can’t run the risk that my brother Tommy won’t try to steal you from me.”

“Not a chance,” she reassured him. “I’ve already given away my heart.”

He pushed down on the accelerator.

“What’s the rush?”

He snickered. “I don’t want dinner to get cold.”

The next few days were hard on Grace, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to spend time with Patrick, but the upside was that Cait was feeling better and would be back to work. It was almost as if her sisters sensed that she needed to spend time with both of them, because every time she turned around, they were there, handing her a list of parts or leaving a name and phone number for her to add to the schedule of repair calls. She’d finally talked to her father about quitting her job and working for the family again. He’d been thrilled.

By the time Wednesday afternoon rolled around, Grace was walking around like a zombie. She hadn’t slept because she hadn’t heard from Patrick. She kept up with the local news and knew there had been a number of fires that the three firehouses in Newark had had to deal with. No casualties—so far. Knowing that the possibility could be in her future, she tried to find ways to keep herself busy and keep from worrying.

He’d warned her that when he was working the night shift, he focused totally on the job and had to let everything else wait. He wasn’t a night person, so it took all that he had to get through the night shift. When she’d asked why the twenty-four-hour shift didn’t affect him, he had shrugged, unable to explain it.

“Are you all right?” Kate set a cup of coffee in front of Grace, but she didn’t move to take it.

“Grace!”

“Hmmm. What?” She sat straighter on the stool by the counter and noticed the cup. “Thanks, I really need the caffeine.”

“Since I’ve seen more of you in the last few days, I have to assume that your handsome fireman is working.”

“Yeah, but I was supposed to hear from him this morning.”

“He’s been good about getting in touch with you so far, hasn’t he?” Kate asked.

“Yes. But I can’t help but worry that something happened.”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Kate told her.

“You’re right. I guess I’ll eventually adjust.”

“To?”

Grace smiled. “The life of a firefighter.”

“So, you two seem pretty serious,” Kate said, leaning her hip against the counter.

“It all happened so quickly, sometimes I find myself wondering if it’s a dream or if I’ve slipped through a portal to a parallel dimension.”

“It should scare me,” Kate said, “that I can follow your thought process so easily.”

Grace chuckled. “Sisters at heart.”

Peggy walked toward them with a worried expression on her face. “Have you seen the news?”

Grace felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Not since earlier today. Why?”

Peggy pushed her toward the office in the back of the diner. “It’s all over the news. There’s a three-alarm fire in Newark—and it’s bad.”

Heart pounding, throat tight, she rushed to the office and sat in front of the monitor, watching the scene in horror. Brave firefighters were rescuing residents from the building’s top floors, using the hook and ladder truck Patrick had talked about.

She wished she’d heard from him but, from the look of the fully engaged fire, knew he must have been called in to help. Unable to pull herself away from the screen, she watched as the men battled the blaze and the smoke to get to the residents of the luxury apartment tower.

The reality of what she’d been asking him to talk about had her head pounding and her stomach roiling. He willingly walked toward danger every single time he suited up. She knew that the heat had to be extreme—the flames reminded her of her childhood image of hell.

She quietly prayed that Patrick wouldn’t be injured as he worked to save lives and put out that fire.

An hour later, Peggy came back and set another cup of coffee in front of Grace. “I thought you might want another cup. Any updates?”

Grace wondered how she was able to speak. “Twenty-five people have been rescued. Three of whom are in critical condition.” Anguish added to the roiling in her gut as she thought of the three that had been so badly burned.

“How can he do it?” she whispered. “Where does he get the strength to walk into hell again and again?”

Kate was standing in the doorway. “I’m guessing his mother prays—a lot. Didn’t you say he has three brothers and they’re all firemen?”

Kate’s question distracted Grace. “Yes. One older and two younger, but they’re all at different houses in the city because of the tragedy of 9/11.”

“It’s like those brothers who were in the navy during World War II and died—all of them on the same ship.”

“The Sullivans. The military made changes after that too.”

Talking about something—anything—else was a distraction and helped.

***

Hours later, when she was home watching the news with her father and Mary, she received the text she’d been waiting for, only instead of what she’d expected, she read:
Got called in. Am OK, talk tomorrow?

“Everything all right?” Mary asked.

Grace shook her head. “I don’t think so. I have this feeling that something’s wrong.”

Her father was quiet. “When will you see him again?”

“I don’t know. He said we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Baby girl, the man just fought one of the largest fires of the year. He’s got to be exhausted and probably just wants a hot shower and a cold beer.”

Grace knew that was probably the case but couldn’t help but wonder about the reasons he had left New York. If it had been because of a fire like today, he needed someone to talk to—someone to listen to him as he unburdened what was inside of him.

She finally said, “There were people badly injured.”

“But not any of the firemen,” Mary added.

“It’s not his first fire,” her father reminded her.

“I know, but—”

“Give him the space he’s asking for tonight. Don’t borrow trouble. Talk to him tomorrow.”

She knew it was sound advice, but her heart hurt for the man she’d come to love. “I’m going to bed. Thanks, Pop.” She kissed his cheek and then hugged Mary.

Emotionally exhausted, she trudged up the stairs. When she reached her room, she realized she hadn’t answered Patrick’s text. Her response was short but heartfelt:
Worried about you.

As she pressed send, she had second thoughts, wondering if she’d said the wrong thing, confirming his worry that she couldn’t handle his job, but it was too late now. She’d just have to buckle down and sort through her emotions so she was ready for his. He had to have some kind of reaction after the adrenaline wore off. For the first time, she started wondering how firefighters dealt with this kind of stress day after day. She’d make a point to talk to Jack tomorrow and pretend the ache in her heart was from something she’d eaten and not because the man she loved didn’t want her there when she knew he needed her most.

***

Patrick stood in the shower, letting the hot water loosen the soot from his face and hands while it eased some of the aches from between his shoulder blades. The last man he’d pulled out of that inferno had weighed over two hundred pounds and had been badly burned.

When the first layer of grime had been rinsed off, he grabbed the bar of soap, ignoring the roiling in his gut and the memory that lay just beneath the surface whenever a fire he fought had victims.

He lathered up, wishing Grace were there with him. She’d rub his shoulders and slide the soap over muscles that burned and a heart that ached from a wound that had never really healed. The little boy’s face was a wisp of a memory now. Five years of struggling to bury the slash to his soul when he found out the last victim from that tenement fire had not survived hadn’t erased it. The smoke inhalation had been too much for a boy just five years old—his gut clenched thinking of his sisters’ children.

Focusing on the number of lives he had saved never really balanced the scales in Patrick’s book, because as he rushed out of the building, the boy had opened his eyes and had such a look of trust in them. He remembered telling the boy everything would be all right now, like he’d done so many times with his nephews when they’d gotten hurt. Watching the boy’s eyes close, he’d run toward the FDNY paramedic unit and the life-giving oxygen waiting for him.

In his mind’s eye, he remembered the boy’s mother rushing over to him as he turned the little one over to the paramedics. She’d thanked him over and over, but Patrick hadn’t been paying attention to her—he’d been watching the paramedics frantically working to rouse the unconscious boy. While he waited, the boy’s face got tangled up in his mind with his nephew Michael’s.

Strong arms pulled him out of the way so the mother could get into the back with her son as the unit raced off into the night. The rest of that night would always remain a blur in his mind. He knew that he’d found the boy just after the safe zone for smoke inhalation, but he’d had close calls before. Patrick had beaten the odds before, pushing the limits of his own safety to ensure one more victim would survive because of his actions.

Bracing his hands on the wall, he bowed his head and let the emotions clawing at him free. He’d been twenty-five and invincible—and the boy had died. Haunted by the memory of the little boy’s gaze, he’d retreated into a world where nothing and no one could touch him. His girlfriend at the time hadn’t known how to deal with what he was going through. Rather than stick around and weather the storm with him, she walked. After that, he tried to drown the hideous pain clawing inside of him.

Two weeks later, he’d requested a leave of absence and left his family, friends, and brothers in fire behind while he tried to outrun the guilt slashing his heart. Time and distance had helped with the nightmares, until the boy’s face ceased to be his nephew’s and in time blurred completely, until Patrick stopped having them and was finally able to sleep again. He stopped running when he got to Newark, Ohio, and drove past the scene of a fire. Everything he’d been trained to do burst through the deep depression that had him by the throat. The need to be there with the firefighters was strong enough to keep the fading memories at bay.

Five years spent immersed in the work he loved nudged him closer to healing. The final piece to the puzzle was Grace—with her in his life, he felt whole, complete, and everything made sense again. He’d just begun to believe that he’d conquered his guilt and had been able to finally let go of the memory that had kept him company for so long—until today.

His big body shuddered as he held back the tears he refused to shed. The muscles in his forearms tensed until he thought they’d snap. Still he refused to let go of the rigid control that kept his emotions in check and the guilt from eating him alive.

He sank to his knees, head still bowed. When the water ran cold, he crawled out of the shower.

***

The pounding on the door roused him. He looked up at the television, wondering if the sound had come from there. He shrugged and closed his eyes again, but the pounding kept up.

“We know you’re in there, Garahan.”

What
the
hell
was
Bear
doing
here?

“Open the damn door!”

Jesus, Sledge too?

“Forget it, guys. I know where he keeps the spare key.”

“Fuck me,” Patrick ground out. Mike was out there too. They’d never leave until he let them in.

The towel he’d been wearing slipped off, and for a moment, he considered answering the door naked to get the guys to leave. Then he remembered he’d tried that two years ago—the last time they’d nearly lost three victims to a vicious fire—it hadn’t worked.

“You’ve got one minute!” Mike yelled. “Then we’re coming in.”

Patrick wrapped the towel around him and opened the door as Mike was fitting the key in the lock. “What?”

His friends stood there staring at him. The silence was uncomfortable because he knew each and every one of them could see right through him. They’d fought fires side-by-side for five years. He’d cooked for them, held the bucket in front of more than one of them when the beer had flowed after last year’s victory at the firefighter’s Olympics.

“You look like hell,” Bear told him as the three men pushed past him into the kitchen.

“You fall asleep in the shower again?” Sledge wanted to know.

“You should have called Grace,” Mike bit out.

Grace.
He’d forgotten to call her again. If she was like his ex, she wouldn’t be speaking to him right now—or maybe she’d already decided to cut her losses.

“Somebody grab his clothes. We’re taking his sorry ass out for breakfast.”

He only struggled to hold out against the three until he started to think about Grace again. She wanted to talk to him about his job, but he hadn’t opened up to her.
Maybe
she
was
different. Maybe she’d pass the Garahan sticking test.

Ten minutes later, he was dressed, and they’d walked down to the diner by the firehouse. “Why the hell couldn’t you let me sleep?” he grumbled.