CHAPTER FIVE

 

In Francey’s bedroom, jeans draped over the chair in the corner, blouses covered the queen-size bed and underwear piled on the floor. The mess was worse than when she was a teenager. Francey sat on the thick beige rug next to one of the stacks and sighed. Killer curled up at her sneakered feet, and she petted him absently. She was hopeless when it came to organizing her house. Probably because she didn’t care much about housework or furniture or clothes. Sometimes she wished she could go naked…

I’m not wearing swim trunks, Francesca. I’m naked.

The image came out of nowhere, and Francey felt the heat rush through her just as it had when Alex had announced his state to her. She’d been in the hot tub for a good half hour with a naked man. A sexy naked man right out of the pages of Play Girl. And she hadn’t even known that little fact. He’d gotten a big kick out of her faked indignation, and they’d both ended up laughing about the situation.

Get back to work, she told herself. And get your mind off Alex Templeton’s soaking wet, naked body.

The doorbell rang so she scrambled to her feet. Killer barked. Thankful for an excuse to postpone cleaning, Francey told the dog to stay and bounded out of the room; she reached the foyer after the second ring. Whipping the door open, she came face-to-face with Diana.

“Hello, Francesca.” Her mother’s voice was hesitant.

“Hi, Diana.” Francey’s voice was cool.

Diana bit her lip, and her eyes clouded. The eyes that Francey had inherited.

You have beautiful eyes, honey. Just like your mother’s. I always loved her eyes. Her father’s words came back to her, a fleeting moment from her childhood when Ben Cordaro had gotten nostalgic. The memory softened Francey’s attitude.

“Come on in,” she said a little more warmly, and led Diana to the living room. As usual, her mother looked stunning. She wore a dark green skirt that fell to her knees and a matching jacket that skimmed her hips. A mint green top peeked from underneath. A frothy looking scarf graced her neck. Next to her, Francey, in an ancient sweatshirt she’d stolen from Nicky and frayed jeans, felt like Raggedy Ann.

Diana put down the shopping bag she carried and turned to her daughter. “How are you today?”

“Bored to tears.” Francey glanced up the stairs to where old music blared from the radio. “I’m reduced to cleaning out closets and drawers.”

When Diana smiled, Francey had a flash of other smiles, as her mother leaned over her bed or swabbed a scraped knee; other smiles that had always made her feel better. “You sound like cleaning is a prison sentence.”

“It is.” Francey held up her arm. “This whole thing is.”

A wrinkle marred Diana’s brow. “The arm should be healing by now.”

“Yeah, this is the third week. After four, I can get a lighter cast.”

“Speaking of casts, I brought you something.”

Francey looked at the bag. “Something to eat?”

“No.” Diana laughed. It was a girlish, musical sound, again one Francey also remembered from years ago.

“Let’s sit.” Francey moved to the worn nubby-fabric couch.

When they settled, Diana held out the package. Her hand trembled. “I should have done this right after you broke your arm, but I didn’t think of it. When some new things arrived at the store this morning, I realized…Well, just open the bag.”

Giving her mother a weak grin, Francey reached inside. Clothing fell onto her lap. In various colors were lightweight strappy tops, some lacy, some satiny, all very feminine. “Oh.”

“You see,” Diana said, speaking fast, almost breathlessly, “since your arm is broken, I realized you couldn’t fasten a bra. So I thought maybe camisoles would work for a while.”

Francey stared at the underwear. A rush of a memory blindsided her—needing her first bra, shyly informing her father, who valiantly told her not to be embarrassed, he’d take her to the store that day. Francey had been nine. “What a motherly thing to do,” she said, the bite in her tone intentional.

Silence.

When Francey looked up, Diana’s face had paled and the dark green color no longer flattered her. But she held her daughter’s gaze. “Yes, Francesca, it is. That’s why I brought these to you.” Francey stared at her. “I missed doing motherly things when you were growing up.” She reached over and squeezed Francey’s hand. “I…I’d hoped we could do some together now.”

Francey swallowed hard, more touched by the gesture than she wanted to be. For a long moment she warred with herself. Then she recalled Alex’s comment. When my father got sick, I regretted not having come back to Rockford sooner. Second chances aren’t always there when we’re ready for them.

The notion tipped the scales. “Sometimes,” Francey whispered, “I want that, too.”

Diana’s eyes misted. Francey’s throat closed up. Neither woman moved for long seconds. Then Diana let out a heavy breath. “Maybe I could help up there, too.” She indicated the stairs.

“Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” Francey stood, grasping the camisoles, and led Diana up the steps.

When they reached her bedroom, a little white blur made a running leap for Francey but zigzagged to Diana when he saw the new person. Her mother bent down and scooped up the dog. “Who’s this?”

“His name is Killer.”

Diana’s laughter wafted through the room. “He’s beautiful.”

Francey snorted and crossed to the bed. “Dad doesn’t think so. He says he’s a poor excuse for a dog.”

“Your dad loves big dogs. When I first met him, he had this golden retriever named Copper. She used to sleep with us…” Diana’s voice trailed off, causing Francey to glance at her. Her mother shook her head, sending soft blond waves tumbling forward. “No matter.” She nuzzled Killer. “I like you, baby.”

“He’s getting hair on you.”

Diana shrugged, and even that motion was graceful. “All the clothes I design are wash-and-wear.” She set the dog down and surveyed the room. “What are we doing here?”

“Trying to sort out my clothes. Nicky and Tony came by last night, moved all the furniture and helped me clean and dust. Today I’m tackling my closets. I’ve got stuff here from when I was eighteen. Some needs to be thrown out and everything else has to be reorganized.” She shook her head, feeling like a rookie at her first EMS call. “I can reposition a hose in its bed faster than anyone in the house and clean my turnout gear in record time, but I can’t seem to get this bedroom in order.”

“Why don’t we start with the stuff on the bed?” Diana smiled indulgently, like a mother would at her little girl. “That way, if we don’t finish, at least you’ll have a place to sleep.”

Three hours later, they’d sorted through Francey’s clothes, the ones on the bed and still in the closet, as well as the dresser drawers, deciding what to keep and what to bag for charity. They chatted companionably as they worked. Periodically Diana commented on the music and what she remembered happening in her life when the songs had been popular. Francey made small talk about the kind of music she liked and what they listened to at the firehouse. They stopped at four for some of the cookies and flavored coffee Alex had sent to her and at five only the lingerie was left to put in order.

Diana had long since discarded her jacket and shoes. Standing with her hands on her hips by the two dressers, she scrutinized the drawer space. “Let’s put bras and camisoles in one, socks and stockings in another, panties in the third.” She reached out and ran her palm over the smooth oak surface of one of the bureaus. “These are lovely pieces. Where did you get them?”

As she separated underwear on the bed according to Diana’s suggestions, Francey answered casually. “Dad made them for me.”

“He’s still doing carpentry?”

“Yeah, more so, now that he’s off the line.”

Diana fell silent. Francey looked at her and saw that her face had gone somber again, her hand slowly, almost lovingly, rubbing the surface of the furniture. “Diana?”

Giving her head a quick shake, her mother turned. “Sorry. That just reminded me of something. Here, let me help you with that.”

The dressers reminded her of Dad, Francey thought. Diana didn’t mention him, but Francey was sure she was right. The reaction made her think of Alex, of how she knew why her mother had succumbed to her father despite knowing that she shouldn’t.

Diana crossed to the bed and sat. She picked up a pair of red lace panties. “You have some pretty things.”

“Those are mostly gifts from Chelsea.”

“Chelsea?”

“A girlfriend of mine who thinks wearing white cotton is a crime.”

Diana’s brows arched. “Isn’t it?”

Francey giggled.

“I’d like to meet your friend sometime.” Diana held up the lavender teddy Francey had gotten for her birthday.

“Having a slumber party?”

Both women startled at the sound of a booming male voice. Ben Cordaro filled the bedroom doorway, his big frame spanning its width.

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

His eyes riveted on her mother. Diana had frozen, clutching the purple silk to her chest. Finally Francey’s father glanced at his watch. “It’s six o’clock.”

Francey looked at him blankly, then slapped her forehead with her hand. “I forgot. I was going to softball practice with you to watch the teams. Jeez, I’m becoming an airhead.” She turned to Diana to explain. But the expression on her mother’s face halted her words.

Diana told herself to stop staring. But the vision of her ex-husband dressed like he was twenty again mesmerized her. He wore tight-fitting faded blue jeans, battered Nikes and a navy fire department T-shirt. A Buffalo Bills cap rested on his head.

Ben held Diana’s gaze for a moment, his dark eyes glowering. “What’s going on here?”

“Diana was helping me clean out my clothes.”

“So I see.” Ben’s gaze hardened. “I knocked but no one answered. I tried the door, came in and heard the music.” He scowled at the basket he’d set at his feet. “This was delivered when I was on the front porch.”

“What is it?” Francey asked.

“Another Templeton bribe, probably.”

“Bribe?” Diana asked.

“Seems like hotshot Templeton is flooding my little girl with gifts.” He threw his daughter a warning look; Diana remembered those looks stopping even toddlers in their tracks. “I don’t like this stuff with him, France.”

Crossing the room, Francey kissed him on the cheek. “I know, Dad. Let me see what it is.”

She picked up the basket, returned to the bed and sat, then untied the pink ribbon at the top of the gift and tugged off the crinkly purple cellophane. Scents of baked pastry and cinnamon and nutmeg wafted to her from several small loaves of tightly wrapped bread, muffins and Danishes. A card from Stavastano’s bakery read, “For breakfast tomorrow. Maybe I can join you? Alex.”

Diana said, “At least the man has good taste.”

Francey laughed. “Yeah, he does.”

Diana looked up, feeling Ben’s gaze on her. His hands were fisted at his side.

“I should be going.” She focused on Francey. “Since you’ve got plans with your father.”

“Oh, yeah.” Francey’s smile was genuine. “Hey, thanks for helping me with this.” She waved her hand to encompass the room.

For a moment, Diana allowed herself to bask in the warmth of her daughter’s gratitude. She reached over and smoothed Francey’s hair. It was the exact texture of Ben’s. “I loved every minute of it.” Diana donned her shoes and jacket, picked up her purse and walked to the door.

Ben didn’t move out of the way immediately. She drew up close enough to him to smell his aftershave. The scent was different from the one he used to wear—a little spicy, citrusy. She was forced to angle her head at him. He stared down, his arm braced against the jamb. Finally he stepped aside, and as she went by, her shoulder brushed his bicep. As always, his body was rock hard, and she remembered those arms, braced on either side of her, as he drove into her.

The memory spurred her to hurry out and flee down the stairs. She yanked open the front door and stepped onto the porch, then stopped when she got to the railing, leaned on it and took in a deep breath.

She felt a strong hand grip her arm.

Ben said. “I want to talk to you.”

oOo

Ben held on tight to Diana. She’d put on a little weight over the years. Unfortunately, he always liked her best when she’d been well-rounded, the way she got during and after a pregnancy—and now.

She pivoted and gazed at him, those violet eyes wide and surprised. “About what?”

Slowly he eased his grip on her and dropped his hand. She stepped back, and the distancing gesture made him angry. He remembered when she used to try to crawl inside his skin. “That was a pretty chummy scene I walked into. What are you up to?”

“Up to?” Her voice had turned cold, something else he hated.

“Yeah, up to. What do you want from us?”

Diana adjusted the strap of her purse over her shoulder, then tossed her head. She reminded Ben of a probie gathering his courage to face a fire. “I don’t want anything from you, Ben. Except maybe some forgiveness. My children are another story.”

“What do you want from them?”

“The same thing I’ve always wanted. To be part of their lives.”

“Yeah, well, are you sticking around this time?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, sweetheart, that the last time you said that, I let Francey visit you, encouraged her to build some kind of relationship with you, and she got hurt.”

He could still see his daughter at thirteen, teary-eyed and trembling, getting off the plane. I don’t want to go back, Dad. Please don’t make me.

“Things were working until she refused to come visit.”

“And why was that?”

Diana’s shoulders slumped. He had her cornered, and he knew it. She swallowed hard. “Because of Elise. I couldn’t control that, Ben.”

The catch in her voice defused his anger. He leaned against a porch pillar. His ex-wife looked at him with those kiss-me-senseless eyes and that don’t-be-mad expression that had always won arguments quicker than any words. “I know, Dee.”

The wind picked up and whipped the scarf she’d looped around her neck into her face. The material looked silky and smooth, just like her skin. He stared at her throat a minute. Which was a mistake, because he was bombarded by memories of planting kisses up and down it.

“Listen, I can handle you seeing her, like you do Tony. It’s probably good for Francey to have some sort of mother-daughter relationship with you.” He hesitated, then added, “I think Nicky’s another story. You’ll never get through to him.”

Diana raised her chin. “I’m not giving up on either one of them.”

“All right. Just don’t encourage Francey with this Templeton thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“The guy’s sniffing after her big time. Pulling out all the stops. I don’t want her to get ideas about a romance between them. So don’t go telling her he’s got good taste or he’s a nice guy.”

“He is.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

She arched a brow.

“Goddamn it, Diana. Don’t you see what could happen here?”

“Francesca could fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“What the hell’s the matter with you? There’s no happily ever after. Especially not between two people who are so different.” He reached out, grasped the ends of her scarf and pulled her closer. “Or have you forgotten?”

He expected her to cower.

She didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her hand and ran her palm down his cheek. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

He wanted to lean into her touch, let her soothe away all the years of loneliness. Because of that, he summoned images he knew would stop him—Francey getting her period, and how he stumbled through the whole thing; shopping for her first prom dress and having no idea what was too old for her; watching her graduate from the fire academy without a wife by his side.

He yanked on the scarf. “You better remember it all, Mrs. Hathaway. Because we gave each other nothing but grief. We paid a high price for being hot for each other, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let my daughter make the same mistake.” He let Diana go.

Again she surprised him. She stepped back, and her gaze was confident. “Being married to you was the best part of my life, Ben. I was a fool to walk out on you. Especially since I worried about you, anyway. As far as Francesca is concerned, she’s a totally different person from either of us. She’s stronger than I ever was. And she’s more flexible than you were capable of being. If she wants a man who’s different from her, she’s woman enough to handle him. Even if I wasn’t.”

With that, his ex-wife turned and gracefully descended the steps. Ben watched her until she got into her black Mercedes and pulled out of the driveway.

A swift wave of sadness enveloped him. He sank onto the porch swing and buried his face in his hands. So much lost. He thought he’d gotten over her.

Apparently not.

oOo

If nothing else, Alex thought, knowing Francesca Cordaro was an exercise in humility. First she’d rejected his offer of a romantic relationship. Now she outshone him at the gym where he’d gone with her to work out three times this week. As he gulped for breath on the treadmill like an out-of-shape old man and struggled to keep his arms in motion, she did leg squats across the room. Forget about her broken arm, which peeked out from a ragged fire department T-shirt. She ran circles around anything he could do.

“Winded?”

Alex looked up to find Chelsea next to him. The gym owner wore snappy hot pink shorts and a matching tank top under a zippered sweatshirt emblazoned with The Weight Room logo. Francey had told him Chelsea gravitated toward unusual clothing. Though blondes weren’t his type, he could nonetheless appreciate her beauty.

“Yeah, I’m winded.” He scowled. “Still.”

“You can’t recoup quickly, Alex. Forgoing your exercise routine lost you a lot of stamina and quite a bit of strength.” She reached out and pinched his waist. “At least you didn’t go to flab,” she added, smiling to take the sting out of her words.

He’d come to like Chelsea the few times they’d met. She was a serious and sensible trainer and set up a practical but demanding program for him; he’d followed all her advice.

Why wouldn’t he? She was in great shape. Francesca said

Chelsea was a competitive weight lifter, and her lithe muscles attested to that. Hell, was everybody Francesca knew in terrific shape? A few of the male firefighters also came to this gym to work out, and they made Alex feel like a slug.

Across the room, Francesca finished the squats and sat at the universal to do leg raises. She handled the weights like they were toys.

“How much can she do on that one?” Alex winced at his petulant tone.

Chelsea bit back a smile. “About one-fifty.”

He shook his head.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

Tearing his eyes away from Francesca’s nicely muscled thighs, Alex looked at Chelsea. “Of course.”

“Are you serious about this friendship thing with her?”

“Absolutely.” He cocked his head. “Why?”

Chelsea shrugged. “Because sometimes you look at her like you want to eat her up.”

“Sometimes I want to,” he said lightly. “But she’s not interested. So I’m settling for friends.”

“I’d hate to see her get hurt.”

“How could I hurt her?”

“It has something to do with the way she looks at you, too.”

Alex slowed his pace on the treadmill, feeling the sweat soak through his T-shirt. “Chelsea, Francesca and I have both admitted to the attraction between us. She’s against pursuing that kind of relationship. I think we’re both bound to wish the circumstances were different, but I don’t want to give her up because of something that might happen.”

Chelsea nodded, watching Francesca’s face redden. “No more than twenty, Cordaro,” she yelled across the room. “You’ve only been back a week.”

Francesca saluted Chelsea like an obedient soldier and smiled at Alex. His heart rate spiked over the target Chelsea had set for him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think she’s right? To shy away from anything more than friendship with me?”

“For her she is. Francey was devastated by her mother leaving. And, if you ask me, Ben Cordaro still suffers over the split. I don’t blame Francey for avoiding a similar heartbreak.” She smiled at Alex, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’d go for it, though.”

“Why?”

“Life’s too short to be so cautious. As a firefighter, I’ve learned that.” Her gaze was snagged by another customer. “Oops, I’d better go help Esmerelda. She’s got the wrong weight. See you later, Alex.”

Alex wound down his treadmill stint, dismounted the equipment and crossed to Francesca, who’d just finished her leg raises.

“Hi.” She grunted out the word.

“Hi.”

Sweat trickled down her cheek. She’d tied her hair in some kind of knot, but several strands had come loose and framed her lovely face. He looked away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. But could you go to the other side of the room while I do the bench press?”

She chuckled. “Alex, you’re not still upset that I can lift more weight than you, are you?”

“Fifty pounds more.”

Reaching out, she tweaked his arm. “Hey, you’ll get there. Dylan can bench more than me now.”

Dylan, again. “Is there anything Dylan can’t do?” he asked irritably, stretching out on the bench.

She grinned and lifted her eyebrows. “According to the women he dates, there isn’t.” She scanned Alex’s supine body. “I imagine you could keep up with him just fine in that department.”

“Now, Francesca,” he said, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through him at the compliment, “rule number two…”

“Of course, I forgot myself,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the treadmill.

Twenty minutes later she was covered with perspiration and chatting with Esmerelda, who’d come to use the machine next to hers. Alex was about done with his workout, so he wandered over to them. The two women were deep in conversation. He plucked a free weight from a rack behind the machines and halfheartedly attempted some bicep curls as he eavesdropped.

“It ticks me off that they can eat so much and not gain an ounce.” Esmerelda’s face was beet red.

“Slow down, Ezzy. Yeah, it ticks me off, too.”

“Women have it tough in every way.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Esmerelda eyeing Francey’s body. “Don’t you get tired of eating salad and yogurt just to look like you do?”

“Uh-huh.”

Alex dropped the barbell, and it clanged against the other weights. Francey glanced at him. The conspiratorial wink she gave him made him smile. She turned to her friend. “But, Ezzy, I don’t watch what I eat to look like this. I do it for my health, not vanity.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve said that before.”

“You’re doing great on this program. But this should be for yourself, not for how you look to others.”

Alex wiped his face with the towel he’d roped around his neck. He crossed to the women. “I’m heading for the showers. You almost done?”

Francey nudged his shoulder with hers. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at the desk in ten minutes.”

Alex ambled off toward the men’s locker room. For the first time since he’d asked Francesca to be friends, he wondered if he could hold up his end of the deal. Something inside him had shifted when he’d heard her lie outright to Esmerelda just to make the overweight woman feel better. Francesca was beautiful on the outside, but more importantly on the inside, where it counted.

He was startled at the strange sensation he felt in his belly. The longing to have more from her than friendship was painful. He hadn’t bargained on that. He hadn’t foreseen that. Probably because the emotion had never happened to him. All his life, he’d rarely hurt for something he couldn’t have, because he usually got what he wanted.

Maybe he needed a date, he thought as he opened the locker-room door. His accountant had been showing a lot of interest in him these days. Maybe now was the time to try to get his mind off the beautiful firefighter who’d saved his life.

Alex wasn’t a masochist, and he didn’t like the pain he experienced tonight at all.

oOo

Francey swung her pickup truck into the parking lot of Pumpers and let the engine idle for a minute. There’d been an odd sound in it since she’d left The Weight Room. She smoothed her hand over the restored leather interior of the Red Devil, as she’d dubbed her truck because the tag was what firefighters called a fire. “Come on, baby, stop making that sound. I can’t work on you with this arm.”

The truck quieted, and Francey sighed. She switched off the engine and silence surrounded her. But she didn’t get out of the cab immediately. Instead, she laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, thinking about Alex.

She’d come out of the locker room to find him helping Esmerelda into her coat…

“Do you really mean that, Alex?” Esmerelda asked him.

“Of course I do. I told you we’re looking into new cafeteria facilities for my company.” He’d pulled out his wallet, withdrawn a business card and handed it to her. “Call me.”

Esmerelda flushed. “All right. Thank you.”

Francey had grasped his arm and leaned close for a minute as they walked out of the gym together. “That was nice of you.”

He peered down at her. “Why? I am thinking about revamping the food service at Templeton Industries.”

“You made her night. She was practically swooning at your feet.”

“I hardly notice when women do that anymore,” he said dryly.

Francey bet women did swoon over Alex. As they stood by their cars, his hair damp, his cheeks ruddy from working out, a dark green thermal shirt peeking out from under a light jacket, he looked healthy and very male. “Watch it. There won’t be room for you and your ego in your Porsche.”

He smiled, but the smile was tinged with melancholy.

She said, “Are you all right?”

“Sure.”

“I’m going to stop at Pumpers. Want to come?”

“Pumpers?”

“It’s a bar about three blocks from here.”

“Don’t tell me, it’s a firefighters’ bar.”

“How’d you guess?”

Again he smiled with the same sad tone.

“I’ll buy you a beer,” she said.

“I don’t drink beer.”

“Ah, well, nobody’s perfect. I could probably spring for a—what? Jack Daniel’s?”

“Johnny Walker.”

“Okay, I’ll buy you a Scotch.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got some calls to make.”

“At nine o’clock at night? A little late for business.”

His gaze sober, he reached over and snapped the top two buttons on her jacket. “Who said it was business?”

Her heart lurched a little. “A date?”

“I think rule number five should be that we don’t share details of our love lives.”

She’d ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach and swallowed hard. “Oh, sure. Okay…”

“He’s calling a woman right now,” she said aloud into the interior of her truck. “I wonder if it’s Miss America.” The thought of Alex with Elise made her want to puke, so she shoved the image away. Like most firefighters, Francey was very good at blocking things. She’d done it all her life. She repressed the pain of growing up motherless. Of losing a victim in a fire. Some things shouldn’t be dwelled on.

Exiting the truck, she made her way into Pumpers. Long and narrow, it was a neat little bar. Pictures and fire memorabilia covered every inch of the walls. Francey’s recruit-class photo was on the left near the doorway, and one of Dylan’s many commendations was framed above one of the booths. Laminated newspaper articles were scattered throughout. The owner, Jimmy McKenna, mopped up the long mahogany bar. He kept the place as spotless as the firehouse he once worked in.

At the end of the bar, her father sat on a stool talking to Jake Scarlatta. She made her way toward them. “I’m glad this year’s recruit class at the academy is almost over,” she heard her father tell Jake. “It’s been a tough one.”

“Like you always said, if you didn’t want a recruit at Francey’s back, then he shouldn’t graduate the academy.”

“Talking about me?”

Her father swiveled and Jake smiled at her. She gave Ben a peck on the cheek.

His face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot; he was more dressed up than usual, in a navy sports coat and gray slacks. Jake wore a casual taupe linen blazer over a brown T-shirt and slacks. “Going somewhere, you two?”

“We just got back from Jessie’s concert,” Jake told her. After Jake’s divorce five years ago, he’d gotten joint custody of his daughter, Jessica, and moved back into his childhood home next door to the Cordaros. Jessie spent more time there than with his fussy ex-wife. She was a bright spot in Jake’s life, just as Francey was in Ben’s.

Francey glanced at the drinks on the bar. Each man had a beer in front of him. Next to her father’s was an upside-down shot glass. “Hitting the hard stuff, Dad?

“Just a couple.”

Her gaze snapped to Jake, who shrugged like an innocent bystander. “I’m driving,” was all he said.

Francey dropped down on the stool next to her dad. They made small talk and after a few minutes, Jake stood. “There’s Joey. I need to talk to him about something.” He picked up his beer, squeezed Francey’s shoulder and left the Cordaros alone.

For a moment Francey stared at her father, the person she loved more than anyone in the world. “You okay, Dad?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because you’re drinking hard liquor. Her eye caught a pack of cigarettes half-hidden under the napkin. She picked it up. “These yours?” Though he’d have to smoke them outside.

He grabbed it out of her hand. “You’re not supposed to see those, little girl.”

“Dad, you only smoke when you’re stressed out.”

“I used to smoke all the time. Until I met your mother.”

Francey cocked her head. “Really? How’d she get you to stop?”

Her father’s face softened. He fingered the cigarette pack. “I can’t tell you that, honey. It’s too personal.” Ben took a swig of beer and upended the shot glass. Jimmy came over and refilled it with whiskey. “Hi, France. What’ll ya have?”

“Hi, Jimmy. A beer.” She named a popular brand.

Ben tossed the whiskey down in one swallow. “Your mother was so easy to please, you know,” he continued after Jimmy brought Francey’s beer. “Everything I did made her happy.”

Francey’s heart constricted at the raw ache in her father’s tone. “Everything except the firefighting.”

He nodded. His eyes got a faraway look in them. After a minute he shook off the mood. “Did you have a good time with her yesterday?”

“Yeah. She…she said she wants to spend more time with me.

“I know. She told me that when I talked to her on the porch.”

“You were yelling at her.”

“You heard us?”

“Not the words. Just the tone. What were you talking about?”

“Alex Templeton.”

“Really?”

“I told her not to encourage you with him.”

“Dad, Alex and I are only friends.”

Reaching over, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Honey, that’s the oldest trick in the book. He’s just biding his time till he can get you in the sack.”

“No, he’s not. We’re working at being friends.”

“Why?”

If I can’t have any more, I want that. Instead of telling her father the reason Alex had explained to her, she tried to sound convincing. “Dad, don’t you think I learned my lesson from you and Diana?”

“I hope so.”

“I did. She made you miserable.”

Gazing into space, Ben said hoarsely, “She made me happier than I’ve been in my whole life.”

Francey almost dropped her beer. “What?”

“Her leaving is what nearly killed me.” He stared over the bar. “This is the liquor talking.”

“No, I want to hear it.”

Ben swiveled on the stool and faced her fully. “Francey, I tried to be fair about this when you were growing up, but I know you’ve always resented your mother for leaving.”

“With good reason.”

“No, not really.”

“Then tell me about the truth.”

Ben sighed. “Diana and I were happier than anybody could have imagined. She was a good mother and an even better wife. When she left, she took a piece of me with her.”

“Is that why you never remarried?”

“Partly.”

“I never heard the whole story about her leaving. Want to tell me?”

“You want to hear?”

“Yeah.”

He braced his arms on the bar and stared ahead. “She hated the danger of firefighting. I didn’t know that until we’d been married for at least a year. One night I came home after a fire that had been on the news. I found her rocking Tony in his room, tears streaming down her face. She was terror stricken. From then on, I tried to keep everything from her. Later, just before we split up, I realized that only made things worse.”

“She was weak, Dad. Other women handle a firefighter spouse.”

“I know. Maybe she was weak. She couldn’t take the worry. This went on for six years. My job was the only thing we fought about.”

“I don’t remember you ever fighting.”

“You were too little.” He shook his head. “You know, she got worse after you were born. Somehow, having a girl made her even more frightened.”

“What happened at the end?”

Ben shuddered, and Francey reached out to squeeze his arm. “I came home one morning after a nasty fire. The blaze had gone on for hours, and I was beat. It was March, but colder than a bitch. I pulled into the driveway and your mother—” he swallowed hard “—was sitting on the front porch. Shivering. No coat on.” Her father’s voice caught. “God knows how long she’d been there. Her lips were blue, her hands like ice. Tears had almost frozen on her cheeks.”

“What was she doing?”

“Waiting for me. She was out of her mind with worry. Hadn’t even noticed the cold.”

“What did you do?”

“I took her to Emergency. They treated her for exposure. Then I called her parents.”

“I don’t remember them.”

“You were little when they died in that plane crash on one of their jaunts to Europe. They were never pleased that their princess had married a blue-collar guy like me, but to give them credit, they didn’t interfere until that morning.”

Francey watched him like a student hanging on her teacher’s next words.

“Her father was outraged by his daughter’s state. First he yelled. Then…then he got tears in his eyes. He begged me let him take her home—his home—get her some help.”

“I knew she had some kind of breakdown.”

“Yeah. They put her in a private clinic until she recuperated physically. Then the place kept her for a few weeks for psychological help.” Ben took a swallow of his beer. “When she came back, she was never the same. She was as fragile as a china doll.” He closed his eyes briefly. “She left about a month later for good—at the suggestion of the doctors and the strong urging of her father.”

“He shouldn’t have interfered.”

Ben faced her, his eyes blazing. “I’d do the same for you, Francey. I’d take you away from a man who was destroying you.”

Francey stared at him. “Dad, it’s not that way with Alex and me.” But a chill stole over her when she remembered the times she understood the attraction—and its inevitability—between her mother and father. Because she felt the same way about Alex.

“I hope to God it’s not, honey. I couldn’t bear for you to experience what I did when I lost your mother.”

He turned away, then, and signaled the bartender for another shot.