Page 15 of Single Mom's Firemen

“We should,” Chase says. “Maybe she has a clue about who might’ve started it.”

I give my twin a troubled look. “Seriously? I get that you’re skeptical about her, but maybe that’s pushing the envelope a tad too far.”

“No, Eric, it actually isn’t. I absolutely get Halle’s appeal, I’m not ignorant or indifferent to her. But the fact is, we don’t know much about her. We don’t know where she’s been or anything about her past,” he says. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here.”

“He does have a point,” Wyatt cautiously intervenes. “Halle seems like one hell of a woman, and those kids of hers are the sweetest I’ve ever met. But—”

“We don’t know her history. Yeah, I get it.”

It’s an unpleasant reminder but a truthful one. It’s not meant to put Halle in a bad light. It’s meant to keep our heads clear as we proceed. Because I have no intention of backing down. Not after I’ve tasted the nectar of her lips. Not after I’ve held her in my arms and felt her so soft and warm against my body.

I need more.

Voices outside capture my attention.

I see a familiar silhouette moving through the main hall, but the meeting room’s frosted glass walls don’t give me much else, so I’m compelled to step outside just in time to see Halle shaking hands with our Chief.

“Ben Holt. It’s a pleasure, Miss…”

“Harrison,” Halle says. “Halle Harrison.”

Only now do I realize that this is the first time I’ve heard her last name. We’ve been so enthralled, so absorbed by her mere presence in our house that we didn’t even think to do a basic background check. We’re usually a lot more careful in these matters. Dallas is a big city, filled with all kinds of people.

“She looks damn good,” Wyatt mutters behind me.

That, she absolutely does. Halle’s full, hourglass figure stands out in a pair of flared, pale blue pants, a white shirt hugging her bosom, a cream and gold belt cinched around her waist. Her long, curly brown hair is pulled into a loose but elegant bun at the back of her head, and her beautiful eyes scan our chief from top to bottom.

“Harrison,” Holt says, his grey brow furrowed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Oh, hell,” Chase picks up on it before anybody else. “She’s John Harrison’s daughter.”

“What?” I ask, my synapses rapidly firing back and forth until I remember. “Oh, hell,” I echo, finally putting two-and-two together.

“My father was a firefighter here,” Halle tells Holt with a soft smile. “You might’ve met him. John Harrison.”

Our chief is speechless, which is a rare thing to see with this man. He’s in his early sixties, soon to be retired, and he spent his career right here at Fire Station 45, where he started. If the math is right, then he surely must’ve worked with John Harrison. The man died a hero a long time ago, but we still keep his picture on the wall, along with other fallen firefighters from this house.

“You’re John Harrison’s girl, I can’t believe it,” Holt gasps, his dark eyes lighting up. “Halle, that’s right. You’re all grown up.”

“Yeah, time will do that,” she giggles.

“We never forgot John, you know. To this day, we honor him. I’m alive because of him.”

“He was a really good man.”

Holt motions Halle toward his office. “So, you’re here for the PA interview?”

“Yes, sir,” Halle replies, putting on a most polite smile.

She has no clue as to how appealing, how magnetic she can be. Holt is melting, the old fox. Of course, in a more fatherly manner, given the circumstances. But I’m fairly sure Halle already has the job.

“I guess we do know a little bit more about her now,” I mutter to my brothers while the three of us watch her follow Holt into his office.

“John Harrison’s daughter. I’m impressed,” Wyatt says.

“Where has she been this whole time, then?” Chase asks.

4

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