JOHN FORESTER WASN’T exactly somebody who’d slip a normal woman’s mind—not unless she had Alzheimer’s, Shannon told herself.
Maybe there was something to this reincarnation thing that Willow had talked about. Maybe Shannon had known Forester in another lifetime. Because he made her nervous as hell in this one, and the result was she talked too much.
“You probably noticed that the police headquarters are right across the compound from us—we share the outside exercise area. So far we’re beating them at basketball. With your height, you’ll be a welcome addition to our team. Losers have to supply the barbecue on the outdoor grill. Now, the grand tour. Here we have the workout room, and this is the TV room. Ta da—these are the offices, here’s our kitchen, and of course you’d never guess these are the three bays where our trucks live, one engine, one ladder, one rescue. The fourth bay is maintenance. Two entrances, one on Jefferson, one on Fifth. Two bunk rooms, two bathrooms, common shower. If the sign’s turned over, it means I’m in there.”
Cute. Not. Stop it, O’Shea. You sound like a wound-up Energizer bunny. Ask questions. Get him talking. Let yourself off the hook.
“So you’re from New York, John?” Brilliant, just brilliant.
“Born and bred. How about you, Shannon?”
Neat, fast turnaround. “Courage Bay, born and bred.” Two more members were just coming in, and Shannon introduced them. Then she led the way to the garage area.
“Bud Patchett, John Forester,” she said next. “Bud does all the maintenance and repairs on our trucks, and he also gives free advice when my poor old car breaks down.” She liked the friendly mechanic. Everyone did. “John’s our newest member, Bud, just in from New York.”
“Good to meet you.” Bud wiped off his fingers with a cloth before he shook John’s hand. “Hope you like our little city. Must seem small compared to New York.”
“I haven’t been here long enough to really look around, but I think I’m gonna love it,” John assured him.
Before they could say any more, the bells sounded and the dispatcher’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Engine One, Rescue One, Ladder One. First alarm to Forty-fifth and Smythe. Report of apartment fire.”
Shannon joined the general rush for turnout uniforms and jumped on the truck.
The call-out was a false alarm. Some kids had put a flashing red light in an empty apartment, and it looked like flames from the street. But the crew had no sooner arrived back at the hall than the alarm sounded again.
This time it was a thirty-seven-year-old man in a luxury apartment building, who’d had a heart attack. Shannon and the others resuscitated him, and he was breathing when the ambulance arrived, but when they got back to the firehouse, they heard he’d been DOA when he reached the hospital.
No one said much over dinner. Shannon didn’t know what the others were thinking, but she kept seeing the young man’s face in her mind. He hadn’t been much older than her, and now he was dead.
She glanced up from the ice cream they were having for dessert and caught Forester studying her. He gave a tiny nod and a wink, and for some reason she figured he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
There was a motor vehicle accident just after midnight with three serious injuries, and at three in the morning a woman in labor who didn’t have cab fare called the fire department instead. They got her to the hospital in the very nick of time. The baby was a healthy boy, and the atmosphere in the truck on the way back to the station was almost hysterically lighthearted. In some crazy fashion, the baby’s birth seemed to balance out the young man’s death.
Through it all, Shannon was intensely aware of the newest member of the team, and the feeling grew even stronger as the twenty-four-hour shift progressed. When she did get a few stolen hours of sleep toward morning, she was grateful that Forester was assigned sleeping space in the other bunk room. The energy between them was disconcerting.
By six the next morning, when her shift was over, Shannon felt the usual buzz, a combination of leftover adrenaline and weariness. She was pulling on her runners when John came up to her.
“I wondered if you were going to this Bar and Grill place this afternoon, Shannon?”
“Yeah, of course. Having a beer together is a tradition when a new guy arrives at the hall.”
“Where is it, exactly?”
“Right along Jefferson Avenue, a couple of blocks from here. I’ll walk over with you now and show you the place, if you like.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.” But as they started out, she wasn’t exactly sure that was true. Being close to him made her hyperaware of being female, a situation that usually didn’t come up with the guys at work. They were a team, and gender wasn’t an issue.
During the short walk to the bar, the strange and powerful attraction she’d felt earlier was back in full force. He wasn’t touching her, but every nerve ending in her body telegraphed awareness. Tension grew, and Shannon again found herself taking nervous refuge in words.
“The Bar and Grill’s smack-dab in the middle of the emergency services district,” she said. “So it’s become an off-duty hangout for the police, the firemen and the medical emergency teams.” And you’ve become a chatty tour guide.
“There’s a couple places in New York like that, too,” he said. “Family places, in a way.”
Shannon nodded. “It’s got an interesting and tragic history, actually. The owners, Larry and Louise Goodman, geared the place to the emergency teams after their only son, Peter, died ten years ago. He was a paramedic, and he died as a result of treating victims of a chemical spill at a paint factory. They’ve devoted an entire wall to photos of emergency personnel who’ve lost their lives in the line of duty.” She pointed ahead, relieved that they’d reached their destination. “That’s the building there.”
“Brick, huh? You’d almost think it was built by firefighters.”
Shannon smiled at him and shook her head. “It was an old movie theater, built back in 1914 when movies first caught on. Larry’s father bought it in the seventies and converted it to the Bar and Grill. Larry inherited it. He’s added a rooftop patio—it’s nice up there on summer evenings.”
“You can probably use it all year round in this climate.” John nodded up at the sky. “Just look at that color.”
Above the hills, the eastern sky was still streaked with gold and yellow, remnants of the sunrise.
“We don’t have this much sky in New York,” John said. “Too many tall buildings.”
“Do you miss it?”
“New York?” They’d reached the bar, and he stopped and turned toward her. The guy had a killer smile. “I haven’t been away long enough to get homesick.”
“So when did you arrive in Courage Bay?”
He named a date.
“That was the day after the first warehouse fire,” Shannon said.
“Yeah. I heard all about that. The place went up again, right?”
“It sure did. That would have happened the day you arrived here. Our chief, Dan Egan, and the arson investigator, Sam Prophet, were hurt in that second fire. There’s some indication it was arson. I heard they’ve sent in a bomb specialist. Maybe the first one was arson, too. I was there, and things went bad really fast, much faster than an ordinary blaze should have.”
“I’ve been in some like that. We had one in the Bronx, in a carpet warehouse. Place went up like tinder.”
“Was that one arson?”
“Nope.” John shook his head. He didn’t seem inclined to say any more about it. Usually when guys were loath to talk, it meant something bad had happened, somebody hurt or dead, so Shannon let the subject drop.
“Well, I should be heading home.” She adjusted her backpack. “See you here at about five this afternoon.”
He nodded and held her gaze longer than necessary. “I’ll be waiting, Shannon.”
Now what exactly did he mean by that? She had the distinct impression he was watching her as she jogged down the street. But when she turned the corner at the end of the block, she glanced back and he was gone.
So much for an overactive imagination.
WHEN SHANNON GOT HOME ten minutes later, it didn’t take any imagination at all to see that her front steps were missing. Nothing but a pile of rubble remained, and Willow was already busy loading the old lumber into a wheelbarrow Shannon hadn’t seen before.
Willow set it down and waved a cheerful greeting as Shannon jogged up.
The dogs came racing over to greet her, and Willow said, “Hi, boss. I thought I’d get started early on those steps. They could give out at any time, and I’ve heard how Californians will sue at the drop of a hat.”
Shannon was a little surprised and not a little dismayed. She’d been thinking more along the lines of repairs rather than total annihilation. But what did she know? Maybe the stairs were too rotten to save. And she hadn’t been specific.
Cleo was lying on her back on the grass, waving her legs in the air, and Shannon knelt to give her belly a scratch. It gave her a chance to recover. “Did we buy enough wood to rebuild these?” She knew they hadn’t. And her charge card was already dangerously close to maxing out.
“Pepsi, don’t you dare.” Shannon took a swipe at him just as he raised a leg above her right running shoe.
“Don’t worry about lumber,” Willow chirped. “Donald’s going for some when the stores open. He brought over his wheelbarrow, too. We’re piling all this junk in the backyard. I thought we could light it and have a wiener roast a little later.”
“Good idea.” Did she have any wieners? Shannon didn’t think so. She was making a mental shopping list as she made her way around the house to the back, dogs trailing behind her.
She stopped short when she rounded the corner of the house, and her jaw dropped. The back deck was also demolished. A ladder had been propped on an angle against the back door, obviously to gain access to the house.
A not so little niggle of concern was beginning to take the place of surprise. It was one thing to knock things down, but it dawned on Shannon that she had no real proof Willow was capable of building them back up again.
“I figured we might as well get the lumber for both,” Willow said cheerfully as she wheeled a load past Shannon and dumped it on the already enormous pile of rubble.
“Absolutely,” Shannon agreed in a weak voice, noting that the pile was almost as high as the back fence. When they lit that scrap heap on fire for their weiner roast, she’d better have an engine standing by, or the whole neighborhood could go up.
“Don’t worry,” Willow called after her as Shannon climbed the ladder into the kitchen. “I’m going to fix up a ramp so the dogs can go in.”
Shannon was getting to her feet when she noticed the countertops. The Arborite was gone, leaving a mess of worn wood and old, ugly glue.
“Omigod.” She stared at the mess. Exactly how far had Willow gone with this demolition kick? Almost afraid to find out, she made her way through the rest of her house. The walls in the hall had been generously spackled but not yet sanded. Well, that wasn’t too bad. They’d needed spackle, although it looked as if Willow had been more than a little generous with the stuff. The banister was now missing from the stairs.
The downstairs bathroom had no glass doors on the tub, which was what Shannon had planned would eventually happen, but neither did it have a rod and shower curtain. That was going to make showering a little tricky, but it wasn’t really an issue, Shannon realized an instant later, because there was no longer a shower. Instead, there was a gaping hole in the wall, which exposed the pipes.
“There was a leak in the line, and the shower was rusted, so I just took the whole thing out,” Willow said from behind her. “I haven’t done much plumbing, but I don’t think it’s too complicated. After all, men do it all the time.”
Take two deep breaths, Shannon cautioned herself. And then turn around and try to smile. Keep your hands at your sides. Remember, sometimes you don’t know your own strength.
“You don’t think maybe you’ve taken on too much, Willow? I mean, with the job at the vet clinic and all?” Gad, she was proud of herself. She didn’t sound furious.
“Heavens no.” Willow shook her head. “You know what they say—if you want something done, find a busy person.”
“Right.” Get out of here before you explode, O’Shea. “Well, I think I’ll head off to the grocery store for some mustard and wieners.”
“That would be nice. I think that’s Donald’s truck I hear. Good. He’s back with the materials we need.”
Shannon was exiting via the ladder when her uncle rounded the corner carrying a stack of lumber on his shoulder.
“Hey, how’s my girl?” He put the lumber on the grass and came over to kiss Shannon’s cheek. He was puffing hard and sweating heavily. Shannon studied him, wondering if he ought to be carting around heavy loads of lumber.
Uncle Donald was a good forty pounds overweight, and from the color of his face, Shannon guessed he might also have high blood pressure. He’d had a desk job all his working life, and he hadn’t taken up any exercise more strenuous than table tennis since his retirement four years before.
“I think Willow wants to talk to you,” Shannon lied. “Go see what she needs and I’ll finish unloading the lumber.”
“Okay.” Donald’s face registered relief. “Oh, Shannon, here’s the bill for the supplies. I put it all on my credit card.”
Shannon took the slip of paper. One glance, and she could feel her own blood pressure rising rapidly. “I’ll write you a check.” And then I’ll go see about a loan at the bank.
“No rush, honey.” He headed up the ladder, but Donald wasn’t that agile. He slipped halfway up. He caught himself before he fell, but Shannon started wondering about her liability insurance. What, exactly, did it cover?
She carried lumber until she’d cooled down somewhat. Then she went up the ladder herself, determined to lay down the law.
Willow was making coffee in the kitchen. Uncle Donald was sitting on a stool at the counter, looking at her as if she was a multibillion-dollar policy he was writing up.
Shannon took a deep, calming breath. “Willow, I want you to replace at least one set of stairs as soon as possible. I’m concerned about safety.” There, that should do it.
“Oh, absolutely.” Her eyes went big and round. Donald turned and gave Shannon a wounded look.
“We’re planning to do that right away, aren’t we, Willow? You don’t mind if we just have a cup of coffee first? And a sandwich?”
Shannon felt like crap. They were both pensioners, for God’s sake. What was she thinking? “Take all the time you need,” she muttered. “There’s ham and cheese in the fridge.” Shoulders hunched, she turned and made her way out the door and back down the ladder.
She opened the dog pen. Pepsi and Cleo burst out as though they’d been incarcerated for years. “C’mon, you two. I need a walk. And we’d better all hope the geriatric wrecking crew don’t decide on some upgrades to your doghouse while we’re gone.”
By the time she left for the Bar and Grill that afternoon, there was a ramp the dogs could manage that led up to the back door, but that was all. Willow and Donald had made two attempts before they got it right, and it had taken most of the afternoon to construct, which Shannon figured didn’t bode well for the rest of the renovations. On the positive side, Willow had decided against lighting the pile of rubble.
“Donald’s invited me out for a nice dinner instead of hot dogs,” she told Shannon. “We’ll have the wiener roast another day.”
And she’d make certain she had a hose and maybe an engine standing by, Shannon thought as she headed out the door. She wondered if Willow’s husband drank. The woman had been living with her for only a little over a week, and already Shannon felt the need for liquor.
When she walked into the Bar and Grill, the guys from the firehouse hailed her. Some had their wives and girlfriends with them. All of them were grouped around the long, U-shaped bar. John was sitting beside Spike Hilborn.
“Hey, Biceps, c’mon over,” Spike said, scooting aside to make room. “We saved a seat for ya.” She sat down between the two of them, conscious all over again of the magnetism John exuded. Was it only her, or did every woman in the room feel it?
“John just got here,” Spike said to her. “So I’m introducing him to the guys he didn’t meet this morning. This is Monte, better known as the Bull,” he related. “And Brian, also known as Sleepy. Gary, and his lady, Maria. That’s Chug, and his wife, Belinda. And the beautiful blond bartender is Carolee Pollack. Meet John Forester, everybody. He’s our newest member, which means he’s buying.”
Laughter greeted that announcement. Everybody clapped and raised their glasses to John. Carolee put a brimming mug of lager in front of Shannon so she could join in the toast.
“Welcome to Courage Bay, Forester,” everyone chorused.
Just as Shannon had known he would, Spike began the inquisition before their mugs of draft were half emptied. Spike was called the Inquisitor, and he’d earned his nickname fair and square. He leaned forward, squinting around Shannon, and said, “So, John, what brings you here to Courage Bay?”
“I saw the posting in the Bulletin and applied.”
The Bulletin was a national newsletter for firefighters.
“I always wanted to live in California,” John declared. “And I saw this documentary a while ago on Courage Bay—looked to be a really nice city.”
“You’re right about that,” Spike confirmed. “Our town’s the best kept secret on the coast. Great weather, beautiful gals, nice beaches.”
“Not much of a secret after that documentary aired,” someone commented.
Shannon had to agree. Her sister-in-law’s film had gotten national distribution and won several awards, and obviously it had attracted people to Courage Bay. Willow had seen it and moved here, and now John was saying it was the reason for his arrival, as well.
“Yeah, you’re right, I guess that documentary sort of put us on the map,” Spike agreed. “That was mostly about Bicep’s big brother, Sean, and his group of smoke jumpers. Those guys are real heroes.”
Carolee was serving more beer. “Your sister-in-law was the photographer on that film, right, Shannon?”
“Yeah, that’s how Sean and Linda met,” Shannon confirmed.
“That was so romantic,” the waitress sighed. “They got caught in that bushfire up the mountain, didn’t they? And the news helicopter rescued them.”
Shannon nodded. Carolee might not fully understand the danger Sean and Linda had been in, but she did. It still gave her cold shudders to think of it. It was a miracle they’d ever gotten out. They’d been surrounded by wildfire, just as she had been at the warehouse fire, when her silver angel came along.
Maybe the O’Sheas had a monopoly on miracles.
As if she’d read Shannon’s mind, Carolee said, “How’s that dog you saved from the warehouse, Shannon? I saw you on the news with him.” Carolee loved animals, and had a cat that she brought to work.
“He had to have his back leg amputated, but I think he’s gonna be fine.” She hadn’t brought up Salvage’s future yet, but now was as good a time as any. Raising her voice so the others around the bar could hear, she said, “If nobody claims him, what do you guys think of having a dog at the firehouse? He’s a black Lab, real nice disposition. Name of Salvage, and a trifle challenged, so he fits right in.”
“Sure.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Sounds good. He could clean up on the dinner scraps—keep Chug from gaining any more weight.”
“Bring him around, we’ll take a vote.”
It sounded as if Salvage might have a new home, and Shannon felt pleased with herself—and grateful to Willow for having the idea in the first place. She sipped her lager. At least one thing had gone right today.
Spike was grilling John again. “So how long you been a fireman, Forester?”
“This is my fifth year. My dad was a fireman. We lived in Queens but he worked at Hall Seventeen in Brooklyn. He died a year ago, and I haven’t any other close family.”
“Hey, my second cousin worked at Seventeen,” Monte said. “Jimmy Reilly. You ever hear your dad mention him?”
There was the tiniest of pauses before John answered, Shannon noted.
“Not that I can recall, but maybe he was there after my father left. Dad was retired for a long time before he died—he had bad lungs. Used to go in with no breathing apparatus.”
“Yeah, lots of the old-timers had rotten lungs from that,” Monte agreed. “They used to think they were tough—made fun of anybody who used masks.”
“I’m glad things have changed in that regard,” John commented.
“So, you married, Forester?” Spike asked. “Got any kids?”
Shannon had to hide her grin by taking a sip of her beer. Spike wouldn’t rest until he extracted every last ounce of personal information John was willing to share. And about this particular subject, she was all ears.
“Nope. Never been married. And no kids.”
“That you know about, right?” Spike joked. “Hell, at our age, there could be a lot of slips we never found out about. Remember that report on 20/20 about guys who sold sperm to those banks, and now the kids are tracing down their biological fathers? One guy could have thirty kids turn up on his doorstep one day, all asking for money for college. Now there’s a sobering thought. Any of you guys ever go that route in your younger days, selling your essence to pay the rent?”
There was laughter and denial all round. “How come you know so much about it, Spike?” Chug asked.
“Hey, don’t look at me. My sperm are all present and accounted for.”
“So do you practice abstinence, or just safe sex?” The wise mouth was one of the two rookies who’d just walked in.
“Porn movies, that’s the answer,” the other one said. “It’s cheaper than dating.”
The group erupted with hoots of derision and shouts of agreement.
Taking advantage of the noise level, John turned to Shannon and asked, “How about you, Shannon? Married, divorced, significant other?”
“Never married, so never divorced. Nothing significant or otherwise. And no kids, although I’m about to become an aunt again, which thrills me no end. I already have a niece and a nephew.”
He nodded, once again holding her gaze just longer than was comfortable. Damn, this guy raised the hair on the back of her neck just by looking at her. She used her mug as a diversion, taking another sip of beer.
“But kids of your own are in your future?”
She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’d like to think so. But who knows what the future holds?”
According to Willow everybody did, on some level. But Shannon didn’t want to think about Willow and her theories—or her wrecking ball—just now.
“The guys call you Biceps,” John continued. “Care to tell me how you got your nickname?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Nope.”
But Spike was eavesdropping, as usual. He winked at Shannon. “That started when she was a rookie, and Martin, the guy we call Nubs—you’ll meet him—was totally smitten with her, but Biceps didn’t feel the same way, see. Anyhow, Nubs hit on her until she got fed up and challenged him to an arm wrestling contest. He’s an annoying guy, Nubs. She made the rules. He won, she’d go out with him. He lost, he’d leave her alone. Now, you gotta understand that having a woman as part of the team was brand-new to all of us, so we were really interested in this whole scenario. In fact, the whole damn firehouse laid bets that day.”
“Yeah,” Chug said with a doleful sigh. “I lost a hundred bucks on that one.”
“Not me,” Spike declared. “I made a bundle. I figured she was way too smart to get into something she couldn’t win.”
Shannon was embarrassed by the attention, but she was also laughing along with everybody else. The story had become a legend of sorts at the hall, and she’d heard these guys telling it to every rookie, so it wasn’t anything new.
“Anyhow, she took him easy. Which is how he got the label Nubs. No upper body strength. Which made her Biceps.”
John pursed his lips and whistled. “Remind me never to challenge you to a duel, Shannon.” He was obviously enjoying himself at her expense.
“A duel? I’m hopeless with guns. You’d win easy.” Unless we were using another kind of weapon, up close and personal. That might be a draw.
John was looking straight into her eyes, and she felt color come to her cheeks.
“No really smart guy would take that route to win the heart of a lady, anyhow,” he said.
“No?” Chug leaned forward. “So give us your tried and true big-city formula for romance, there, Big Bad John.”
Big Bad John.
Shannon knew at that moment that John had passed the test. New members only got a label when the other guys took to them—or when they made a serious error. Firemen were ruthless, and nicknames stuck forever. This one was a kind of compliment.
“Hey, I’m no expert on that subject.” John shook his head. “I don’t think there’s a man alive who is. You oughta be asking the women.”
“Okay, Biceps, you start. What really turns a lady’s crank when it comes to guys?”
“Top of the list? Honesty. Women get so sick of you guys and your bullshit. Why is it you can’t just stick to the truth? We’re tough, we can take it.”
“Way to go, Shannon.” Carolee and Marie clapped.
“Okay, write that down, guys—honesty,” Spike said. “What’s next on the list?”
Maria spoke up. “Laughter. A guy’s got to have a good sense of humor.”
“Well, we all got that in spades, right, guys?” Chug lifted his mug in a toast. “To the funny, honest guys from Jefferson Ave.” They all cheered and drank and then he said, “Okay, go on. What’s next?”
Carolee was mixing drinks, but she didn’t even pretend she wasn’t listening. She lowered her throaty voice half an octave. “Slow hands,” she purred. “The reason we don’t tell you guys when we have an orgasm is because you’re usually not there when it happens, right, girls?”
For some reason, the women laughed harder than the men at that.
“This is getting too rowdy for me,” Chug announced. “How about a game of pool?” He picked up his beer and headed toward the function room, where there were pool tables, darts and televisions. As the others followed him, Shannon decided it was time for her to head home. She took her handbag from under the bar stool and stood up.
“See you, John. I’ve got to go. My animals will be waiting for their dinner.”
He got up, too. “I was hoping that maybe you’d have dinner with me. We could try out that roof patio upstairs? I hear the food here is good.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch. She was really tempted, but maybe it was too soon. She wanted to see what he was like at work, find out more about him before she chose to spend off time with him. The rumor mill at the firehouse worked overtime. No point getting into something that might cause awkwardness if it fizzled.
Besides, she had this nagging feeling that she knew him from somewhere, and she needed time to figure out what that was all about.
“Thanks, but I really should get home.”
“Okay. Maybe another time.” He didn’t pursue it, which impressed her. “Thanks for showing me around.” He walked with her to the door, holding it open for her.
The guy had good instincts.
Get real, O’Shea. This guy has good everything. Which made her wonder if maybe he was just too good to be true. She smiled a thank-you up into his soft brown eyes, swallowed hard when she felt an unmistakable rush, and took off, once again forcing herself not to turn around and see if he was watching.