Amie Denman - In Love With The Firefighter

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Karleen,” she said.

“Hey,” a loud voice yelled in the adjoining room. Charlie glanced up in time to see a massive bearded man staggering into the living room. He was shirtless and disheveled. “You can’t take my brother to jail just for beating up this—”

Charlie stood and shielded the woman on the couch, and Ethan moved swiftly and pinned the large man against the door frame. He fought back, and a lamp crashed to the floor, but Ethan was almost as large and had the advantage of a thick suit of turnout gear. Charlie wanted to jump into the fight, but his first duty was to protect his patient, so he stood his ground. Ethan was winning anyway.

At the sound of the scuffle, two cops rushed back into the living room and were followed by Tony Ruggles and his father, the fire chief. When the assailant saw he was outnumbered by six men ready to fight, he backed off.

“I ain’t going to jail, too,” the bearded man said. “I was just sayin’ it ain’t right to take her word over his. She’s just as drunk.”

Charlie turned to Karleen, keeping his body between her and the other man.

“Can we go?” the woman whispered to Charlie. “I need to get away from him.”

He offered her a hand. “Ready when you are.”

As Charlie helped his patient out of the house and into the back of the ambulance, he mentally reviewed any rental properties he owned that were empty. He’d do anything it took to help Karleen find a new home. Even though he’d never be half the man his father was, he could try.

CHAPTER FIVE

NICOLE AWOKE TO the sound of sirens. Wailing sirens. She lay awake listening for a moment and then drifted into a dream that was her worst nightmare—a startlingly realistic memory of her brother.

* * *

TALL, HANDSOME ADAM . He was blond and green-eyed like her and had the gift of long limbs and broad shoulders. The last time she saw him, he was boarding a plane in Indianapolis to go out West for his summer job with the forestry service. He already wore the T-shirt with the fire insignia on the front and one large word on the back: FIRE .

In the dream, he smiled and waved to her and her parents as they stood in the area just before the airport security line. They watched him navigate bag check, walk through the metal detector and head off to fight flames and save lives. He turned and smiled at her one last time.

* * *

NICOLE AWOKE AGAIN, sweat drenching her nightshirt. She had never seen him alive again.

The sound of noise in the kitchen, clanging pots, metal on metal, had awakened her this time. She pulled on a thin robe and headed toward the clamor.

Claudette lay curled on a kitchen chair, watching Jane pour coffee into a large thermos. The tabby cat kept one sleepy eye open, and Jane herself was wide awake and zipping around her small kitchen.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Jane said. She screwed the lid on the thermos and filled another, smaller carafe.

“You’re making coffee at one in the morning?” Nicole asked. Her dream still made her feel disoriented, almost as if someone was going to knock on the door and deliver the news that was every family’s nightmare.

“Fire down the street, and it looks like they’ll be there awhile.” Jane opened the cabinet over the sink and pulled out two sleeves of disposable white cups. “I’m taking the guys coffee.”

Jane was already dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Although it was early May, the nights on the Virginia coast were still chilly.

“Can I help?” Nicole asked.

“Spare blankets. I keep them in the closet outside the bathroom, bottom shelf. Would you grab three or four? And you could throw on some clothes if you want to help carry this stuff.”

Jane flipped the switch to brew another pot. She glanced up and met Nicole’s eyes. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

Nicole hesitated. She wanted to help. But her dream was still so raw, her damp nightshirt clinging to her and chilling her. She swallowed and steadied her breathing. “I’ll get dressed and grab the blankets,” she said.

Claudette followed her down the hall, winding between her legs and apparently hoping for something interesting to happen. Nicole dressed quickly in jeans and a sweatshirt, slipped into sneakers, and went to the linen closet. She wanted to hurry, but her legs were lead. The door creaked in the nighttime silence and she pulled the chain to turn on the bulb in the closet. Claudette crept stealthily inside, her tail twitching. A stack of industrial-looking rough blankets were on the lower shelf. Nicole pulled out four of them, toed the cat out of the closet, turned off the light and closed the door.

She gathered the blankets in her arms and steeled herself. She was going to a fire in the middle of the night. There would be firefighters, flashing lights, danger. Was anyone hurt? She nearly lost her nerve, but she took solace in the fact that Jane would be there with her. It would be okay. Starting over in a new place meant she had to face the things that were holding her back. But she wasn’t sure she could.

As they went through the front door, Jane lugging the big thermos and cups and Nicole holding blankets, they saw the flashing lights and spotlights of the fire scene only eight houses down the street.

The house on fire was a large one, a storybook house with fancy trim and detailed paint. White with rose, sage and soft gold accents. She’d snapped a photo of it two days ago when she took an evening walk with her camera slung over her shoulder.

Fire trucks with hoses snaking from hydrants robbed the house of its fairy-tale quality. Neighbors gathered, their faces red and white in the flashing lights. Jane walked quickly, but Nicole lagged a few steps behind. Lights were on in houses they passed even though it was the middle of the night. It appeared the whole neighborhood had beaten them to the scene.

But Nicole and Jane had an advantage. They had coffee and blankets.

A small group of people wearing bathrobes and sweatshirts, clothing disheveled and untucked, gathered just outside the fire scene. Nicole stopped, but Jane stepped over a hose and walked right up to a firefighter in full gear. A reflective stripe defined the bottom of his heavy yellow coat. The word Zimmerman flashed in reflective letters across his back. Jane put her thermos on the truck’s silver running board and waited next to Charlie while he listened to a radio pressed against his ear and adjusted gauges on the massive pump on the side of the truck.

Nicole felt like she was in a war zone. She didn’t follow Jane, hanging back and mutely holding on to the blankets. How could Jane be so brave? Not only had she marched up to the scene, but she was talking with the father of her baby. Putting other people’s problems before her own—that was the source of Jane’s bravery.

“Can I borrow those?” A police officer, an older man whom Nicole recognized as the officer who wrote the report on her car, stood at her elbow. “The family would sure appreciate it.”

He took two blankets off the top and cocked his head, indicating she should follow him. She wanted to help, wanted to offer comfort to people whose house had windows broken out, charred furniture on the lawn, smoke seething from the upper floors. She took a breath and followed the police officer, resolving to be strong. Her brother would be in there fighting the fire.

If he were here.

If he were alive.

“Here you go,” the police officer said. He handed a blanket to a woman wearing a nightgown and a man’s coat that was much too large for her. She wrapped the blanket around a little girl and tucked in the folds in front. The girl sat down, the long tails of the blanket spreading around her as if she were on a picnic.