Page 66 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Double D lived in a sprawling Tudor-style house with a wide front lawn filled with packing boxes and brawny, attractive men. Rachel swallowed hard as they approached the intimidating group. She’d never seen so many flexing muscles and fine asses in one place. In her eyes, none of them compared to Fred, but she still couldn’t help noticing how amazingly good-looking they all were.

A couple holding hands stopped to say hi on their way out. Fred introduced them as Captain Brody and his wife, Melissa. Rachel stiffened; she’d seen Melissa’s news reports on TV, and even though they were always well done, she couldn’t help her automatic wariness around reporters.

“We only stopped by for moral support,” explained Melissa. “My dad is watching the baby, and my Lucian withdrawal kicks in at about half an hour.”

“It’s nice of you to come and help,” Brody said, shaking Rachel’s hand. “How do you know—”

“You can interrogate her some other time, Brody.” Melissa tugged his hand, and Brody gave in. Rachel decided she liked the green-eyed reporter—as much as she could like any member of the media.

Fred introduced her next to his new captain, Vader Brown, who had a muscleman physique crammed into a ripped SGFD T-shirt, as if his pumping pectorals had burst right through the material. As soon as Fred said the word “cousin,” Vader launched into a coughing fit. Fred glared at him until he straightened up and offered his hand to Rachel.

“Captain Brown, great to meet you. Any cousin of Freddie’s is a cousin of … well, anyway, thanks for pitching in. Double D! Come meet Fred’s cousin.”

Rachel shot Fred a sidelong look of alarm from under her eyelashes. He shrugged. “Just ignore them and don’t tell them a damn thing. That’s how I do it.”

A man in a full leg brace swung over to them on his crutches, his big belly hanging over his belt. Okay, so not all the men here were magazine material. “Stud, you old sneak. You never told us you had a beauty in the family. Must be a distant cousin, is all I can say.” He gave Fred a caustic grin and stuck out his hand for Rachel to shake.

“Pretty distant,” Fred agreed.

Rachel shook Double D’s hand, then decided to get Fred back for all the times he’d teased her over the past few days. “Double D, do you mind if I ask why you all call him Stud? Did that start because of the fan club?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred stiffen.

“Fan club? Don’t get me started on that fan club. They’ve been stopping by the station nonstop since you been gone, Freddie. Wanting to know where you are, when you’re coming back, what color undies you wear. Ella Joy keeps coming by too.”

Oh crap. Over the past few days, she’d forgotten all about that news anchor who had shown up at Fred’s house.

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Fred asked.

“’Course not. Unless you want me to. Want me to tell her you’re off to Borneo to count monkeys or somethin’?”

“We can handle Ella Joy,” Vader said. “The more important question on the table is how Fred got his nickname.” He shot Rachel a complicit grin. She decided she liked Vader, even if he did look as if he could pick up the moving van all by himself.

“Right,” said Double D. “Not much to that story. He got it on his first day as a 1, when he—”

Fred stepped in front of Double D to cut off the rest of that sentence. “One more word and I’ll be recording your performance of ‘Call Me Maybe’ and putting it on YouTube.”

Double D snapped his mouth shut. “You bargain like the devil, kid. You’d better get to packing. I told Patty if she’s not one hundred percent satisfied with your effort, I ain’t singin’ no song.”

“She’ll be satisfied,” said Fred smugly. “It’s a bedroom, isn’t it? And they call me Stud, don’t they?”

Rachel’s eyes widened. Fred had warned her about the raunchy humor of the firehouse. She’d sworn she could handle it. Right now she wasn’t so sure.

Laughing, Fred stepped aside as Double D tried to swing a crutch at him. “I won’t be much help injured.”

“Just get your ass in there and help my wife. And don’t forget she’s my wife, whether she likes it or not. Seems to go back and forth on that subject lately.”

A guy she recognized from the City Lights Grill, the tough-looking one with the broken nose, strolled up, eyeing Rachel with open interest. “Who’s this? You look familiar.”

Fred took Rachel’s arm in a territorial gesture. “This is my cousin, Mulligan. You don’t know her. Stay away from her.”

Mulligan ignored him and bent a charming smile on Rachel. “Cousin. That your first name?”

“Rachel,” she said, putting out her hand. Hopefully he didn’t recognize her without the wedding veil, and with her hair in a ponytail instead of all wild. Fred had told her not to worry about Mulligan, but to spend as little time as possible with him. “Rachel Allen.”

“Rachel Allen? The dog therapist?” A lovely turquoise-eyed woman shouldered Mulligan aside. Rachel bit her lip, realizing too late that she should have kept her last name to herself. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

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