Page 29 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“So you lived with your father?”

“Yes.” His name hovered on her lips. She pressed them close together to stop it from leaking out. That bit of information could ruin everything. “My mother died when I was seven and it broke my father’s heart. He married two more times, but it’s never been the same. At least according to …” The household staff. Again, she caught herself. “People who knew him back then.”

Fred took a swallow of his beer. “Do you remember your mother?”

People didn’t ask about her mother much. Maybe because once they knew about Rob Kessler, everything else faded away. He was the sun, blotting out every other celestial body. “I mostly remember the feeling of being with her. You know what I mean?”

“What was the feeling?”

Again, something no one had asked. Not even Dr. Stacy, who’d always focused on her time as a hostage. “Lightness. Laughter. Safety.” Three things she hadn’t felt much since her mother’s death.

“My mother’s more of a tough cookie,” said Fred. “She had to be, raising a rabble like us. She’s from the drill sergeant school of parenting.”

“What about your dad?”

“Same, except he was often deployed too. I broke the family tradition by going into firefighting. They never let me hear the end of it, believe me.”

She found the whole picture fascinating. A bunch of big, loud soldiers tromping around the house being ordered around by their mother. “Why didn’t you join up too?”

Looking embarrassed, he ran a hand across the back of his head. “My brother Jack says I’m too much of a … softy. Well, that’s not the word he used, but you get the point.”

She frowned, trying to understand. “Softy” didn’t exactly describe the man who had dragged them all out of the limo. “It’s not like you went into hairstyling or something.”

The groove in his cheek deepened as he gave a laugh. “Believe it or not, Trent, my oldest brother, actually does a mean buzz cut. He used to trim the whole family’s hair. Thing is, my brothers have a point. I’m better suited to the fire service. I guess I wanted to protect people without having to shoot anyone. I look up to my brothers, they’re heroes, all of them. But I’ll never be like them.”

She puzzled over the picture he was painting. It seemed as though Fred thought more highly of his brothers than of himself. Which, considering that he’d saved her life, she didn’t really agree with. “Are you close?”

Fred shrugged. “Sure. Family, you know. I worry about them when they’re deployed.”

“They must worry about you too. Firefighting’s a dangerous job, from what I’ve heard.” No need to tell she’d been researching the topic online.

He munched on a chip with an abstracted frown. “Lizzie might worry. And my mom. But my brothers have enough on their minds without bothering with San Gabriel Station 1. Except …” He hesitated.

“What?” She nudged his leg with her foot, which gave her a little thrill even through her flats and his jeans.

“Except for lately. They caught wind of this media crap and they’re all over it. I wish they’d go back to forgetting the firehouse exists.” He looked so glum that she had to laugh.

“Maybe they’re jealous.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “Believe me, each of my brothers has a couple inches, a lot of pounds, and a few medals on me. No one’s jealous of Fred the Fireman.”

“Really?” She crinkled her forehead skeptically. “The Bachelor Hero? The one all the girls are going crazy over? I picked up a button the other day, you know. It says ‘Fred’s My Hero.’”

He carefully put down his paper towel, made a show of dusting off his hands, and leveled a threatening glare at her. “I’m afraid I’m going to need that button, miss. You have five minutes to hand it over.”

She picked up her purse and shoved it behind her, so it was wedged between her back and the couch. “I don’t think so, Officer. I paid good money for that button. Ninety-nine cents, I think it was.”

“I’ll give you five bucks for it. Five times the asking price. A hundred times its actual value.”

“It’s not about the money,” she said virtuously. “I can’t be bought.”

He left the armchair, took a step toward her, and leaned over, bracing his hands on the back of the couch behind her. A sharp thrill raced across her skin. “Everyone has their price. I’ll get you another bottle of beer.”

“No, thanks. I’m not a big drinker, as you probably figured out the first night we met.”

“Good point. An extra slice of pizza, when it finally gets here.”

He leaned closer. She noticed amber glints in his velvet-brown eyes, the smell of tomato sauce and … that mouth again. “Not a chance. I’m trying to cut down on cheese.”

“First crack at the New York Super Fudge Chunk.”

“All forms of dairy, in fact.” With each shake of her head, each denial, giggles bubbled to the surface. By now she was plastered against the couch, her purse a hard lump against the small of her back and Fred so close she felt the warmth of his breath fanning her face.

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