Betsy Amant - Fireman Dad

One she could get used to.

Marissa inched her SUV into the dark garage and powered the door closed behind them. She twisted around in her seat, mouth open to wake Owen, but the words faded on her lips. Her son slept peacefully, one hand tucked under his cheek, a swatch of hair crowding his forehead and his other hand holding one end of the fire truck he’d been determined to take with him.

Moments like these were few and far between lately. “You’re growing up fast.” Her whisper, so soft she could barely hear it, lingered in the air between them like a benediction. One of the greatest tragedies of Kevin’s death was Owen losing a father figure. No one could ever replace Kevin in Owen’s life, but he needed a positive male influence. Unfortunately, it didn’t look as if Owen could get that from his grandfather, either.

Marissa smiled wistfully as Owen stirred into a more comfortable position. Maybe she’d been depriving Owen in the long run by devoting all her time to her business, trying to guarantee financial security instead of taking time to date and find her son a potential stepfather. Maybe it was hurting Owen that she avoided the social scene and rarely took time to fill her own emotional needs. But wasn’t that part of being a good mom?

Too heavy a topic to think about after such a wonderful evening.

Marissa climbed out and opened Owen’s door, unbuckled his seat belt and tried to remove the fire truck from his grip. At least tonight had been a distraction from the argument with her father at his office, and the anger she still felt simmering in her stomach whenever she thought of a busybody fireman trying to influence her son into a career she dreaded. The familiar wave of indignation washed over her at the memory, and she shook her head to clear it. No sense in ending the night with sour thoughts. Those issues would keep until tomorrow.

“Wake up, buddy.” She jostled Owen’s shoulder. He stirred again, but didn’t wake up. Marissa shook a little harder, wishing she was strong enough to carry him to bed like she did years before. Owen muttered in his sleep, then flung his arm sideways, clocking her in the side of the head with the fire truck.

Marissa jerked upright, biting back the frustration that rushed to her lips. She closed her eyes and rubbed the offended spot on her head as Owen let out a fresh snore.

She really didn’t like that truck.

Jacob loved fire trucks. Even on days like today when he was stuck washing them, he couldn’t help but admire what the trucks symbolized. Rescue. Redemption. This one vehicle could do everything from putting out a fire that threatened to consume someone’s life and belongings, to stretching a ladder into a tree to rescue a family pet. Of course, the latter was typically more annoying than the former, especially at 2:00 a.m., but he never tired of seeing a child’s face light up at the return of a furry friend.

Besides, focusing on how much he loved his job distracted him from the memory of Marissa’s smile.

Jacob dropped his sponge back into the bucket of sudsy water and reached for the garden hose. “Crank it,” he hollered from the driveway outside the bay to Steve. He waited for the water to gurgle, then aimed the green tube at the top of the truck. Water gushed out and Jacob wiped his sweating forehead with his shirtsleeve as he sprayed. Try as he might, he couldn’t erase the dreaded repeat of Marissa’s words at the end of last night. “My dad—Fire Chief Brady.” The simple sentence pulverized his brain until he could barely think straight. Of all the dads in all of the world, why did hers have to be his boss?

His boss, who not even a year ago made life so miserable for one of the men on Jacob’s shift, that the guy finally requested a transfer—all because of an overheard crude comment about his daughter. Chief Brady played by the rules of the union and their laws about seniority, but if he needed those rules bent for his own purposes, he wasn’t above stretching whatever lines he could—hence the reason his old coworker was now in Baton Rouge instead of Orchid Hill. No, offending Chief Brady wasn’t a good idea—and one of his firemen dating his only daughter was sure to be considered offensive, even if Jacob’s intentions were more honorable than his coworker’s lewd comment.

Well, make that former intentions.

Jacob leveled the hose at the truck tires, and mentally kicked himself for not connecting the dots sooner. He’d known the chief’s daughter’s name was Marissa, but since she obviously still went by her married last name, he had no reason to assume it was the same woman he’d taken out last night.

Disappointment sucker punched Jacob’s stomach like a heavy fist. How was he going to help plan Olivia’s birthday party and host the Fireman’s Festival with Marissa, knowing he could look but never touch? Last night in the parking garage, he’d asked Marissa on a real date. Now he was going to have to forego on his word, something he hated to do, all because the world was much, much too small.

Jacob drew a tight breath in an attempt to battle his frustration. “Okay, kill it.” He waited for Steve to shut off the water, but several moments passed and it continued to spew from the hose. “Steve! I said kill it.” If his coworker had gone back inside to catch the end of the soccer game on TV … Jacob’s frustration, combined with the heat of the sun beating down on his head and neck, boiled over and he stomped around the far end of the truck with the hose. “Steve! Where did—”

He stopped short, nearly running into a pair of shiny black boots and starched white dress shirt, as the water continued to pour.

Straight onto Fire Chief Brady.

Jacob watched any chances of pursuing Marissa’s heart drip off the top of Chief’s hat and onto his pressed pants. “Chief Brady, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you.” He opened his mouth to apologize further but clamped it shut as the chief removed his wet black sunglasses.

“I suppose that’s what I get for making a surprise visit.” He rubbed the lenses on his shirt, but they were so wet that it didn’t seem to help. He smiled, but in the afternoon sun it came across more as a grimace.

Jacob suddenly realized the hose was still gushing water, now down the driveway toward the street. He quickly dropped it and jogged to the faucet on the side of the brick station. With a quick yank, he stopped the flow. The sudden quiet seemed overwhelming. Chief pointedly cleared his throat.

“Let me get you a towel.” Jacob headed into the bay, mortification heating his neck hotter than the sunburn he could feel tingling the tips of his ears. A hand towel from the station kitchen wouldn’t do much good, but he couldn’t stand there staring at the chief’s undershirt beneath his uniform any longer.

He snagged a towel and brought it to the chief, who had followed him to the front door of the station. Steve jumped off the couch and shut off the soccer game with a quick click of the remote control. Jacob shot him a glare. He owed Jacob—kitchen duty for a month, at least. Though, come to think of it, that might be more a punishment on Jacob’s part.

Captain Walker breezed in from his office by the kitchen, did a double take at Chief Brady standing in the doorway patting his neck with a dish rag and raised his eyebrows at Jacob. Jacob shook his head.

“Afternoon, Chief. What brings you by?” Captain Walker extended one arm to offer the chief access inside, then hesitated at the puddle forming by the older man’s boots on the concrete walk.

Steve snorted back a laugh, and Jacob elbowed his ribs.

“Come on in. My boys will handle the mess, don’t worry.” Captain Walker gestured to the chief, confusion puzzling his brow.

“That’s all right. I need to get back and get a fresh uniform now.” Chief Brady handed over the wet towel. “I’m heading to each station to give notice in person that we’ve received more emails from locals upset about the layoffs.”