Fireman Dad Read online

  A lot.

  Her dad flexed his hands, popping his knuckles. “It’s a career I happen to love, Marissa.”

  No kidding. The bitterness felt heavy on her tongue and Marissa swallowed, looking away as emotion burned in her throat. She wouldn’t get into the past here, not now. It wouldn’t matter anyway—she’d learned that tear-filled lesson years ago. With her Dad, work always came first.

  Apparently it still did.

  “I can’t promise to go out of my way to steer Owen in an opposite direction.” Chief Brady shrugged, one broad shoulder straining against the neck of his white uniform. “I’m sorry, but if he wants to be a fireman one day, there are worse careers to have.”

  “There are also much safer ones.”

  Chief tapped his fingers against his desktop, a tick that meant he’d reached a new level of frustration and was trying to hold it back. She might not have learned the sound of his laughter over the years, but she’d certainly learned his tells of anger. He released a sigh. “Marissa, there’s enough stress around this office right now with the layoffs and negative publicity from the press. This isn’t a big deal, and I beg you not to make it one.”

  Marissa lowered her voice until it whispered through her lips. “In case you forgot, Owen doesn’t have a dad and I don’t have a husband because of your beloved career.”

  Chief didn’t meet her eyes, but the tapping increased as he stared at his desk calendar. A flicker of guilt made Marissa wonder if she’d gone too far, but she pushed it aside. It was impossible to go too far with Chief. He was never around to notice. He might have climbed the ranks in the department faster than most men his age, but at what cost? His desk, organized and neat like his dresser and nightstand had always been at home, lay void of anything personal or resembling family. No photos. No mementos.

  No, some things never changed at all.

  Marissa drew a steadying breath. “Listen, I don’t expect you to understand. I just expect you to treat me with the respect I deserve as a mother—and not warning me about your men doing a presentation for Owen’s class feels disrespectful. Not to mention that one of your men crossed the line by turning a safety presentation into a personal recruiting session. I should have a say in who and what influences my child.”

  “It’s the teacher’s job to notify parents about school demonstrations, not the department’s.”

  “But you’re my father.”

  He flinched, a movement so fast Marissa wondered if she’d imagined it. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have come.” She turned to the door and wrenched it open.

  Chief coughed. “If it makes you happy, I’ll make sure you’re aware of any future presentations. Okay?”

  Her back turned, Marissa nodded with little conviction. It was as much of an olive branch as her dad could offer right now.

  And as much of one as she was willing to take.

  Marissa plastered on a smile as she started down the hallway, stepping back into the comfortable, if not slightly worn, shoes of her role as Mommy. “Come on, Owen! Time to go home.” They were done here.

  Jacob kicked his booted feet up on the coffee table, glad this wasn’t his night to cook at the station. They’d just gotten back from working a wreck involving an eighteen-wheeler, a flipped car and one severely dented guardrail. Two hours in the relentless sun doing hazardous material checks and getting the truck driver transported from mangled cab to gurney proved exhausting. Thankfully the driver of the car was all right and had gone to the E.R. as a precaution. Some nights, that wasn’t the case.

  Some nights, Jacob possessed no appetite for dinner at all.

  “Jacob, Captain said he heard there’s a chance to catch an overtime shift tomorrow. You interested?” Steve Mitchell, driver for their station, hollered from the kitchen, around the corner from where Jacob sat.

  “If they hadn’t let six men go, they wouldn’t have an overtime shift to fill.” Regret coated Jacob’s tongue and he bit back any more negative comments. As much as he struggled to keep business and family separate, the city council was making it tricky. If Jacob wasn’t offended by their actions, then he felt guilty of not being a good brother. But if he clung to the guilt, then he grew afraid his work ethic would crash or his bitterness would be revealed to the chiefs—and then his own job would be at risk if there were more layoffs. But that train of thought carried him full circle back to a new guilt of caring for his own welfare when his brother’s was tossed aside.

  He was getting sick of no-win situations.

  “Couldn’t hear you.” Steve popped his head around the corner, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Whatever he was cooking already smelled burnt, and Jacob’s stomach protested with disappointment. If he had the energy, he would’ve taken over with the wooden spoon, but not tonight.

  Jacob tugged the leg of his pants further down over his boot. “Just think it’s strange they’re offering overtime right now.”

  “Well, they do have a sudden lack of manpower.” Steve disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Exactly.” It wasn’t the first time Jacob had questioned the political aspects of the department—though it was likely for the best not to know all the details. Maybe once his brother found a new job, Jacob could relax and work would once again be like it used to be. He raised his voice so Steve could hear above the hum of the oven range vent. “Count me out. If you want to sign up for the shift, go ahead.”

  Steve’s head poked around the frame a second time, reminding Jacob of a prairie dog. “That’s weird. You used to always jump at overtime offers. What’s changed?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing other than his meeting with Marissa tomorrow, that is. But that was none of Steve’s business, and if Steve knew, he’d definitely take it out of context. Jacob had his fill of department gossip a few months ago when a woman he took out one time decided to pop in the station the next day with two dozen brownies. Needless to say, she hadn’t taken his gentle rejection very well. He shuddered at the memory.

  “There’s got to be something,” Steve persisted. “Another hot date?” The food on the stove splattered and hissed behind him, and he darted back into the kitchen. “Make sure this one brings brownies again.” He laughed.

  “No date. Business.” But even though Jacob said they’d discuss the fundraiser and the birthday party for Olivia, more and more it seemed the only thing he really wanted to discuss was Marissa Hawthorne. Who was she? What did she like? What did she do in her free time? Something about her smile seemed infectious, and business or not, he was looking forward to tomorrow night probably more than he should.

  Steve let out an exaggerated sigh from the kitchen. “Surprise, surprise. You never date—with the exception of the brownie girl.”

  “Her name was Lisa.”

  “You should have taken her out again. She could cook.”

  It figured Steve found that one particular quality alone worthy of a long-time commitment. Jacob snorted and grabbed a motorcycle magazine from the coffee table. “Why don’t you worry more about our food in there and less about my love life, huh?” He flipped through the glossy pages. More like lack of love life. It was true he hadn’t dated a lot lately. To his regret, the last few women he’d taken out were like Lisa—overeager, clingy and more interested in the physical than getting to know one another. He might be a red-blooded male, but his faith came first. Besides, they hadn’t connected. It was simple—either the spark was there, or it wasn’t.

  With Marissa, there were so many sparks his palm felt like the Fourth of July when they shook hands.

  He turned another page. Not that it mattered. They were going to be planning a fundraiser together, so her beauty didn’t count in that respect. So what if she was sweet? He smiled. And funny. And had eyes that seemed to reach clear—

  The smoke detector in the kitchen blared at the same time as the overhead distress alarms. Time to go. Jacob jumped up and tossed the magazine on the table, glad he’d left his boots on. Steve moaned from the kitchen as a
lid slammed against a pot. “Figures! Right when dinner is almost ready.”

  Captain Walker brushed past them toward the bay, snorting as he headed for the trucks. “We’ve had enough soot and ash today already, Steve. It’ll keep.”

  “It wasn’t looking that bad.” Steve grabbed the broom they kept in the pantry and jabbed the smoke detector on the ceiling. The piercing shriek stopped, but the fire alarms continued to sound.

  “Engine four, trauma four. Fire reported at 6500 Dudley Square. Flames and smoke visible.” The dispatcher’s tone echoed through the small living area. “First party report. All units advise.”

  “House fire.” Adrenaline rushed through Jacob’s chest, overflowing his senses with the familiar combination of anxiety and excitement. He followed Captain into the bay, the scent of exhaust fumes and disinfectant assaulting his nostrils. He hoped this house wouldn’t be a goner like the last one his shift had worked a few weeks back. As often as he saw the destruction left behind by a fire’s greedy pulse, the sight of ruined memories and heirlooms never failed to burn something deep inside him. Jacob grabbed his bunker gear from the hooks on the wall and shrugged his arms into the sleeves before swinging up inside the backseat of the cab.

  Steve took the driver’s seat and cranked the engine, his earlier joking set aside as professionalism took over. Captain buckled his seat belt as Steve flipped on the sirens. “Here we go.”

  Jacob tugged on his Nomex hood, then grabbed the overhead bar as they squealed onto the street, lights flashing. He peered out the window as they accelerated around the curve. Man, he loved his job. Despite the politics, firefighting ran in his blood. Around him, the world continued to revolve as usual—drivers heading to various destinations, pedestrians strolling the sidewalks and enjoying the warm spring air and the aroma of flowers blooming on the landscaped street corners. But a few blocks away, someone’s world had gotten yanked off center.

  And with God’s help, he would help make it right again.

  Chapter Three

  Thick clouds threatened to block the warm evening sun as Marissa exited the parking garage and strolled across the imitation cobblestoned street of the Boardwalk. Her high heel wobbled once, and she suddenly wished she’d worn flip-flops and jeans. Owen had been the one to choose the silky red top she paired with black dress pants—probably because he’d been racing his equally red fire truck around her closet floor at the time. Was the look too professional for the Boardwalk? The shade of red too loud for a date?

  Not date—business outing, she corrected. In which case color shouldn’t matter. Too late now, anyway. She was already five minutes late after dropping Owen off at her neighbor’s.

  Marissa paused by a cotton candy vendor and scanned the open pavilion of shops for Jacob, willing the nerves in her stomach to settle. Although she often met clients outside the office to discuss party plans, it was usually at their homes or for a casual lunch. Never had she met a single, attractive male—in the evening. Alone. Did it give the wrong impression?

  A mild breeze cooled the perspiration on the back of Marissa’s neck and fluttered the hem of a child’s sundress as she ran past Marissa, clutching a tall cone of cotton candy. A teenage couple ambled by, holding hands, and a handsome man in a pale blue dress shirt leaned against the railing overlooking the colored water fountain a few yards to her left. He turned as if he felt Marissa’s scrutiny, and raised his arm with a smile.

  Jacob. Marissa’s breath caught and she clutched the thin strap of her purse. He looked different than he had the other day, more distinguished—yet still borderline familiar somehow. Dark hair, almost touching his collar, set off his tanned, healthy complexion, and a hint of five o’clock stubble dotted his jaw. He’d been clean-shaven last time she saw him.

  She couldn’t decide which look made him more handsome.

  At least he’d dressed up a little, too, which eased her apprehension about her own attire. Marissa made her way toward Jacob, hoping her smile revealed professionalism and not lingering nerves. She really should get out more if a mere business meeting set her off like this.

  “Hey, there.” Jacob’s gaze, seemingly electric against the blue of his shirt, drew her in as she joined him at the railing. A myriad of colored water sprayed cheerily into the air before them. If she didn’t know better, she would have found the setting more than a little romantic.

  “Hi. Sorry I’m a little late. Owen couldn’t decide what he wanted to bring with him to the babysitter’s.” Marissa braced her weight against the railing. “I had to talk him out of taking every toy he owns.”

  Jacob grinned. “If Owen is anything like my niece, I’d guess that wasn’t the first time you’ve had that conversation.”

  “You’d guess right.” Marissa relaxed under his appreciative gaze. “My mom usually comes over to watch Owen on the rare occasions I need to go out, but she wasn’t available tonight. Nanas tend to have more patience with that sort of thing.”

  “I know my parents spoil Olivia rotten. But she’s a good enough kid not to let it go to her head.” Jacob gestured to the row of shops to their right. “Shall we start with the plant nursery?”

  “Sounds good.” Marissa’s spine tingled at the light pressure of Jacob’s guiding hand as they turned toward the garden store. She’d been around attractive men before, but something about Jacob felt different. Unnerving, and a little foreign—in a good way.

  Maybe too good. He was, after all, her new client.

  They walked side by side past the storefronts. Jacob paused in front of a toy store window and grinned. “I’ve always found it funny how kids seem to instantly know which family member they can wrap around their finger the tightest. With Olivia, that person is definitely her papa—my dad. Of course, he never minds.”

  Marissa turned her lips up in a smile, but the motion felt forced. Hopefully Jacob wouldn’t notice. This wasn’t the time to get into a conversation about Owen’s lack of relationship with his own grandfather. But she couldn’t help the melancholy ache that spread across her chest. Memories of their argument from yesterday clouded her previously good mood. She pretended to study the collection of dolls on display until the heavy moment passed.

  “You okay?” Jacob turned away from the window toward her, concern etched in his expression.

  Marissa tried to brighten the plastic smile as they started walking again. “I’m fine. It’s that … Owen isn’t close to his grandparents. My mom, somewhat, but not my dad.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Which is partly my fault. I’m not close with my dad, either.” She looked away, sudden heat flooding her neck. Great, Marissa, why don’t you just plop your family issues right here on the cobblestones in front of him?

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Jacob hesitated before pulling open the door of the nursery. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  Marissa shook her head abruptly. “No. Thanks, though. It’s not a big deal. I’d rather talk about the fundraiser.”

  “If you’re sure.” Concern lingered in his expression as he pulled open the door.

  It was sweet of him to care. But this wasn’t the time—and with him as her client, there would never be the right time. It simply wasn’t his business.

  Even if the sympathy in his eyes made her want to spill the whole story.

  Marissa took a deep breath and allowed the air-conditioning rushing through the open doorway to cool her flushed face. “Maybe this place will give us some ideas for what we’ll need to finish the festival. I’d really like to find a way to include the kids that attend.”

  “This nursery is one of the best.” Jacob pointed to a row of plants lining the far wall. The large store, built onto the end of a row of shops, featured an open greenhouse area in the back that was crowded with a variety of bushes and flowers. “I often buy here for my clients.”

  Marissa gently touched the red petals of a nearby Gerber daisy. “How long have you been in the yard service industry?”

  Jacob squinted as if m
entally calculating the total. “Off and on, about ten years now, I’d guess.”

  “You must really like it.”

  “It’s not bad. Hey, look!” Jacob fairly tugged Marissa to a display at the end of the next aisle. “Olivia loves these mini-cacti. We could have a table at the festival set up with individual cartons of dirt for kids to plant in. Some of these minis don’t have sharp needles. We could set an age limit for the table.”

  “We could also set out gloves as a precaution. They are pretty cute.” Each tiny cactus had one or more equally small blooms in red, pink or yellow sprouting from the top of the plant. “I could see Owen liking something like this. He’s always digging in our flower beds with a spade.” She wrinkled her nose. “I say flower bed loosely. It’s seen better days.”

  “Kids and dirt are usually a winning combo, regardless of how worthy the flower bed.” Jacob winked. “These are on sale, and I get a discount here. If you want, I can come back and buy a few flats of the cacti to store at my house.”

  “That’d be great. I wouldn’t know what to do with them until the festival, otherwise.” Marissa stepped back as Jacob made arrangements with a salesman to reserve the cacti for pickup, then they headed back outside into the fading sunlight.

  “That went well.” Jacob checked his watch. “Where to next?”

  Marissa pointed down the row of shops. “We could check out the party supply store. It’s right around the corner.”

  They headed in that direction. “Any suggestions for Olivia’s big day?” Marissa asked. As hectic as her schedule was, she was looking forward to helping make the birthday girl’s party a hit. Girl parties were usually more involved, but also more fun—probably because it gave Marissa a break from the constant little-boy-world of superheroes, worms and fire trucks in which she daily resided.