Falling for the Firefighter Page 2

  “We have a little Christmas gift,” he said with a grin, nudging her into the sedan, closing the door behind her.

  A gift?

  The car’s heat enveloped her, a welcome change from the bitter weather outdoors, and Simone wondered what the gift could be. She gave a reluctant sigh, then pulled the seat belt across her hips, wincing as it pressed against her sore injection site. She needed to either get over her queasiness with needles so she stopped bruising, or conceive. Preferably the latter. And the sooner, the better.

  Her father helped Tricia into the front passenger seat with uncharacteristic care. Was she unwell? What was going on? Simone leaned forward, hoping to catch a hint of what was coming.

  Although when she thought about it, her father had always treated his second wife like gold. And even though Tricia and Simone were only a few years apart in age, there had always been an annoying double standard in terms of his treatment and expectations. The woman was quiet, unassuming, and as far as Simone had noted, possessed no desire to succeed or get ahead in the world, making her wonder what her father saw in Tricia. She was Simone’s opposite in almost every way when it came to personality, but still managed to bring out Simone’s competitive edge every time.

  “What’s wrong?” she repeated. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I was talking to your mother,” Thomas said.

  Oh, boy. Things were definitely amiss. As far as Simone knew, her parents hadn’t spoken in ages. As it was, Simone and her father connected only about three times a year, and almost always she phoned him, on his birthday, Father’s Day, or Christmas Day. But never Christmas Eve. And he was here in person.

  Not good.

  “She has the flu,” her father added, checking his blind spot for traffic as he pulled away from the terminal. “She asked that I pass on the word that you shouldn’t come over tonight.”

  Simone felt an uncharacteristic pang of abandonment as well as an irrational flash of anger toward her father. Why was he suddenly involved in their lives? Why hadn’t her mother called to tell her? Why did she tell Thomas, of all people? Now, instead of it being two old maids spending the holidays together, Simone was simply alone.

  “She said she will likely be feeling better tomorrow afternoon and that you could come over then.”

  Things were definitely getting weirder, and Simone pulled out her phone to send a text to her mom, hoping her father was mistaken. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “You were working today?” he asked.

  “A meeting.” One she wasn’t sure she would have the honor of participating in again.

  “Good for you. So many people think they can take the day off just because it has Christmas in its title. People like that will never get ahead.” He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Mark my words.”

  “I know,” she breathed, predicting the next line of argument, about how she needed to work harder and smarter than everyone else to get to the top. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt and found its style didn’t suit her as much as she’d thought it would.

  “Are you working tomorrow? There’s no reason not to, since you don’t attend church.” Her father’s voice was louder, telling her he’d noticed that she’d tuned him out and that this was his second time asking about her plans.

  She sighed, feeling a sudden plunge of exhaustion. “Yes, Dad.”

  “Good. You can reach further than you have been. Be smart with your time, delegate. What are you working on next?”

  Simone hedged. “I’m just wrapping up details from my latest deals.” Would it kill him to say, “Good job. I’m proud of you”? She knew she shouldn’t care what he thought and that she should have stopped trying to impress him ages ago, but she still heard his voice in her mind, driving her forward as she worked toward her goals, spurring her to get up and tackle the next mountain, to dust herself off when she got knocked down, and to zip back in, head down, ready to charge.

  It was exhausting.

  “So?” he prompted. “What’s next?”

  “Nothing I can talk about yet.” And nothing you would approve of.

  “You need a plan. You need to be able to see your next five steps.”

  “I have it under control, Dad.”

  “Thomas, let her be,” Tricia scolded gently, and Simone was surprised she’d spoken up on her behalf. “Simone is doing really well.”

  “Thanks,” she said quickly. Things were getting weirder and weirder and she was relieved to see her father finally pulling over to drop her off for her next flight. She climbed out, hauling her laptop and overnight bag along behind her. “Thanks for the ride. Have a nice Christmas.”

  “Simone…” Her father came around the car, hurrying to meet up with her on the sidewalk.

  Tricia climbed out, too, smiling, mittened hands clasped in front of her.

  “Are you guys okay?” Simone asked, feeling worried. She rarely saw the couple and had no clue what was going on in their lives, only that this was unprecedented and definitely unnerving.

  Tricia grinned, her shoulders up around her ears, hands out as though expecting a hug, as Thomas said, “We’re expecting a baby.”

  2

  Josh Carson stopped midstep in shoveling his neighbor’s driveway, contemplating the friend he hadn’t seen in well over a month.

  “What have you been up to these days?” Dustin repeated.

  Josh had begun to hate the question and the awkward dance of elusiveness he inevitably ended up doing to avoid giving himself away. And worse, this time it would be with a fellow smoke jumper. Trust was of the utmost importance between jumpers, as they often held each other’s lives in their hands, and now he was going to lie by omitting the one part of his life that finally felt right.

  But he knew a man such as Dustin wouldn’t understand, and that there would be too much ribbing, too much that Josh wouldn’t be able to take without lashing out as he’d done so many times before. But this time, instead of protecting someone else, he’d be protecting himself.

  “Staying out of trouble,” he replied, leaning against the shovel for a moment as though contemplating whether he had dutifully summed up the past several months of his life. He gave Dustin a cocky grin before continuing on with his job. “Got anyone knocked up yet?”

  “None that I know of.” His friend chuckled, slapping him on the back with a gloved hand, his laughter punctuated by clouds of warm air that burst from his lungs.

  Josh gave the man a friendly yet unencouraging smile. It was Christmas Eve and he had plans that didn’t involve bailing a pal out of trouble.

  “What about you? Finally find someone to keep you warm?” Dustin asked.

  “Nope.”

  Women were inherently problematic. They liked to stick the thin edge of their crowbar into his life, hoping to crack him open and spill out the contents as if he were a piñata. No, thank you.

  “Nobody?” Dustin asked in disbelief.

  Josh, unlike his friend, had become weary of the trouble that usually came with a no-strings-attached good time.

  “Did you go gay?”

  “No,” Josh snapped, struggling to block out memories of men crowding around his father, asking the same pointed question. The disgust in their voices. The taunting. Shoving. Attempts to punish the man for having the courage to show he was different.

  There had been more than one occasion where Josh had seen his father’s nose bloody, his gut hit so hard he couldn’t straighten up to stand tall against the attacks. Josh had learned to fight fast and dirty in order to protect his dad, who had, years later, decided to undergo the transformation from Patrick to the person he had always meant to be—Patricia.

  His father’s sex change wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t something Josh brought up, particularly in testosterone-fueled gangs such as the smoke-jumping crew. If you were different, you got beat up in life. It was that simple.

  “Then why aren’t you out chasing tail? We’re in our prime, man.” Du
stin flexed his biceps to illustrate how much firefighting had done for their bodies, the impact lost under layers of winter outerwear. “I need a wingman and the chicks dig you.”

  “Not interested.”

  “You all right?” Dustin asked.

  “Fine.” Josh had returned to clearing the driveway, jerking the shovel harder than he had to in order to send snow flying onto the piles lining the asphalt driveway.

  “Oh, right. You’re touchy about that whole homosexual thing.” Dustin deadpanned with an expressionless face. “Because you’re gay.”

  Josh continued working as though he hadn’t heard the ribbing, aware he was probably going to break the shovel’s handle if he pushed any harder.

  Awkward silence settled over them until, feeling as though he was being judged, Josh said, “Live and let live, man. No need to be like that about something that doesn’t impact you.”

  “Is your third leg as soft as your heart?”

  Josh raised an eyebrow in challenge, unblinking, as the odd snowflake drifted down, the sky continuing to darken, bringing with it a blanket of colder air. The smoke jumpers had dubbed him The Finisher for the way he ended any fight, always coming out on top.

  “I’m soft?”

  Dustin lost the staring contest by looking away first. “Well, except for that mean left hook of yours.”

  He continued to glare.

  Dustin sighed. “And that swing kick thing you do to knock people down.”

  Josh tossed a handful of snow at him, showing him that all was forgotten and forgiven.

  His friend smirked, ducking. “Easy to see why you’re single. Softy.”

  Josh snorted, thinking how his buddy wasn’t that far off base. His latest projects were definitely far from masculine.

  He wordlessly pushed his shovel against Dustin’s chest, then picked up a wider one from the snowbank by the garage. Together they finished clearing Mrs. Star’s driveway before she could come out and fuss like nobody’s business.

  “Hey, I wanted to ask…” Dustin began as they dumped the borrowed shovels beside Mrs. Star’s garage. Immediately, Josh knew his friend had a woman on the line and something was standing in the way of him discovering the color and texture of her lingerie.

  “It’s Christmas Eve. I have a commitment,” Josh replied.

  He planned to warm up his half-frozen hands, then drive over to Bracebridge to have a hot chocolate and Bailey’s with his half sister Polly as per their ongoing tradition. It had begun around the time the two of them had moved out of their blended-family home and needed to steel themselves before returning there on Christmas Eve. To her father and his mother—biological, not the medically and hormonally enhanced version he used to call Dad—and all the family politics and pressure that went on with the little not-so-fun reunion.

  Seeing as Polly’s divorce was now under way, he figured she was going to need an extra shot of something warm and fortifying before facing the firing squad of advice from their meddling parents.

  “Aw. Come on, man,” Dustin begged. “Please?”

  That level of whining? Had to be a Scandinavian. “Blonde?”

  His friend grinned.

  “Blue eyes?”

  The grin got wider.

  Josh merely shook his head, watching a courier van stop in front of his place. A young woman about their age popped out, her dyed golden locks woven into a high bun similar to a ballerina’s. Josh watched his friend out of the corner of his eye. The woman strode toward them with a grace that hinted at flexibility and fitness.

  “Hi. I’m looking for a Josh Carson?” She waved a box.

  Dustin intercepted Josh. “Working Christmas Eve?”

  “I know, right?” She brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead, beaming up at Dustin.

  “What could be so special that needs delivering today? Shouldn’t a nice woman like you be home with someone doting on you, instead of schlepping through the snow for doofuses like my friend here who can’t figure out when to order their gifts so they arrive early?”

  She blushed, due to the intensity of Dustin’s steady gaze, and Josh elbowed him out of the way to scrawl his signature across the delivery confirmation screen.

  “When do you get off?” Dustin was leaning in, pouring on the charm. “I have a lot of time at the moment. I’m a smoke jumper.”

  Josh could have sworn her knees softened, ready to buckle as she gazed up at his friend. Josh made a swipe for the box, but Dustin tucked it out of reach, not wanting to interrupt the spell he was weaving like a web.

  “Isn’t Miss Scandinavia waiting for you?” Josh asked loudly.

  Dustin gave him a sour look as the spell broke, the courier babe slipping away with a quick “Merry Christmas!”

  “That was uncalled for woman interference,” Dustin said, smacking him in the chest with the box as the van spun away. “I owe you one.”

  Josh shrugged, grinning. He clutched the package with both hands, but his pal refused to release it.

  “What is this, anyway? A gift for me?” Dustin twisted the box so he could see the Customs declaration form. His face darkened with disappointment as he read the contents.

  Time to put up the walls.

  Dustin glanced at him in disbelief. “A BeDazzler?”

  “It’s not for me.” Josh wrenched the box free, losing his battle to be cool. “It’s Christmas.”

  “What are you up to? You’re up to something.” His friend was tracking closer, eyes on the prize—Josh’s secrets.

  “Beer?” Josh tucked his BeDazzler under his arm and opened the front door to his one-story. The welcoming warmth of the entry reminded him how cold it had become outside and how unforgiving Canada’s winter could be. They were in for some weather tonight.

  “Nah. Maybe next time. I’ve gotta run.” Nevertheless, Dustin stepped inside, throwing an arm around Josh’s shoulder in a brotherly way. “Just came by to wish my bachelor friend a merry Christmas.” He gave him a big, cheesy grin.

  “That’s why text messages were invented.” Josh gave Dustin’s arm a pointed look and his friend awkwardly dropped the embrace.

  “Right. So. I was hoping you could do me a small favor.”

  “I’m committed.”

  “I’m supposed to get something to Evander de la Fosse—I’m helping out Tyrone Bellingham tonight. You know the guys? Big. Former military. Working on security systems over at the Baby Horseshoe Island development? Ringing any bells?”

  Josh nodded. Evander had hooked up with one of Polly’s friends, Daphne Summer.

  “Tyrone’s sister is smoking hot, by the way,” Dustin interjected. “Anyway, I told Tyrone I’d get the item to Evander. Tonight.”

  “And?” Josh asked, ready to push his buddy out the door and close it. Lock it. Move on with his evening. He wasn’t in the mood for a wild-goose chase. And anything involving Dustin always ended in some sort of scavenger hunt.

  “I kind of double booked myself. There’s this hot woman…” He shaped an hourglass in the air with his hands. “Fireplace, red wine… You know how it is.”

  “I have plans.”

  “Hey, didn’t your sister get divorced?”

  “She’s off-limits.”

  “I’ll let you jump out of the plane first next season if you let me comfort her.”

  Josh had spent two years fighting house fires, then moved on to the ego’s equivalent of leveling up—smoke jumping. While he didn’t mind the way women looked at him when he told them what he did for a living, the job was starting to mess with his head, and a part of him doubted he’d be there to jump next spring. Lately, he’d been overreacting to anything fire related and had installed extra smoke detectors in his home—above and beyond code. He’d even found himself testing the devices in his friends’ homes, as well as checking fire escapes on taller buildings. It was becoming a problem. An embarrassing one he suspected would go away if he found something else to do for a living.

  With the box still balanced under
his arm, he shoved Dustin out the door. “Good night. Merry Christmas. Good luck.”

  His friend, a desperate gleam in his eyes, shoved his foot in the doorjamb. “She’s Swedish.”

  Josh laughed.

  “She leaves the country the day after tomorrow.”

  Josh laughed harder. Dustin’s problems were so minor.

  “Five hundred bucks.”

  Josh stopped laughing. “You’re serious about this one?”

  “A grand. Please?”

  Wow. Dustin was actually begging. And Josh could use the money. Another reason he hadn’t left smoke jumping yet. A guy like him didn’t have a ton of options in this economy. Plus it didn’t help that he was well-suited for smoke jumping. Even as a kid, he’d always had escape plans at the ready. How to get away if things got bad. Always made sure he had at least two exits, as well as a backup plan. Which made him great at his job, sticking another gold star on his ego.

  “A grand?” he confirmed. His friend had to be joking. But a thousand bucks would buy a lot of supplies and could be worth any wild-goose chase.

  No. He couldn’t do that to Polly. Not tonight. He’d made a promise and she was way more important than Dustin’s flavor of the week.

  “She needs my help, Josh.”

  “What do you mean?” He was aware his voice had taken on a hard edge. “Is she in trouble?”

  “I need to show her that not all men are bad.”

  “Meaning what?” He moved closer, his senses sharpening.

  “Her last boyfriend was a little abusive.”

  “A little?” The cardboard box with the BeDazzler bent under Josh’s arm.

  “Emotionally.”

  “Emotionally?”

  “He called her fat.”

  “Forget it.” Josh tossed the dented box onto a pile of shoes by the door. He should have known better than to listen to Dustin unless they were in the midst of a forest fire—then the man was always dead-on.