Colorado Fireman

His oldest brother, Luke, who ran the family ranch, pressed him down into one of the vacated chairs at the table that occupied the huge country-style kitchen. The table easily sat ten, twelve at a pinch, and today people were rotating chairs as they finished breakfast and made way for the next shift.

He took his seat—beside Carly—and studied the occupants of the kitchen. Although heavily pregnant, Luke’s wife, Megan, was helping his mom prepare and serve. Luke’s oldest daughter, Sasha, was talking to Will’s stepson, Nick, while Celeste, Luke’s youngest, was chatting animatedly with the little girl who’d thanked him before. The two boys who belonged to Carly were bolting down second helpings of oatmeal like they hadn’t been fed in a week. Maybe they hadn’t, Adam decided. Their apartment wasn’t exactly in the town’s high-rent district.

And where was their father? he wanted to ask, not for the first time. Shouldn’t he be taking care of his family?

“Where’s your husband?” Adam blurted, before he could stop himself.

Silence descended on the kitchen and Adam wished the floor would open up.

She looked back at him with a frankness that was daunting and said, “He’s dead.”

CARLY SPENCER TOOK GRIM satisfaction in watching Adam O’Malley’s discomfort as he swallowed her answer and half hoped he’d choke on it. She’d already told Adam’s family that her husband, Michael, was a firefighter who’d perished in a warehouse fire in San Diego. She’d been seven months pregnant with Charlie at the time.

And now she felt bad about her bald statement. She, of all people, having been married to a firefighter, should’ve been more circumspect. But something perverse had made her answer his question as rudely as it had been asked.

What was it with this guy? He had the nicest, most welcoming family, but he was so emotionally distant, it was almost scary.

He’d done the bravest thing yesterday, not only rescuing her son Charlie but defying his battalion chief’s orders and saving Molly. Yet when she’d tried to thank him, he’d been so offhand it bordered on arrogant.

She’d wanted to call him on his behavior, but there was something in Adam O’Malley’s dark brown eyes that spoke of a hurt far greater than Carly suspected he ever revealed to others. So instead of challenging him further, she asked, “Would you like some bacon?” and passed the plate to him without waiting for his answer.

His mother came up behind him and scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate, kissing the top of his head as she did.

Carly didn’t miss the deep blush beneath his tan. That was interesting, the relationship between him and his mom. She got the feeling Sarah irritated him at times. Like now. She was bent over him from behind, hugging him.

“Mom. Please?” he murmured.

“I’m just so happy to have you home. And alive,” his mom said, and kissed the top of his head again before releasing him. The guy was clearly embarrassed by his mother’s display of affection. Sarah, however, seemed to revel in exasperating—if that was the right word—her youngest son, as if she was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction.

She returned with the coffeepot and poured Adam a cup, then went to put cream in it. He took the jug from her hand and murmured, “I can do it myself, Mom.”

“Of course you can, darling,” she said, totally unfazed, “but you’re a hero, and I intend to make you feel like one.”

Carly noticed that her own sons, sitting across the table from them, were transfixed by the exchange. To diffuse their interest, she said, “I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced to my children. The one who caused you so much trouble yesterday is Alex and the one beside him who’s eating as if he hasn’t been fed in a week is Jake. My daughter is Madeleine. And this little guy,” she said, indicating her youngest, sitting on her lap, “is Charlie.”

Charlie, far from being grateful to his savior, chose that moment to flick a spoonful of oatmeal at Adam. Then he laughed.

TO HIS CREDIT, ADAM didn’t leap from his seat or demand an apology. Instead, he wiped the oatmeal from his cheek with his finger, then wiped his finger on his napkin. “It’s gratifying to be reminded of what the public thinks of we who serve them,” he said, and dug into his eggs.

Will patted him gently on the back. “That’s the spirit, buddy. Nothing like some creative criticism to bring you back to earth. Can’t have you walking around the ranch with a head bigger than a black Angus bull.”

Luke laughed from where he stood beside the kitchen range and raised his coffee mug in agreement.

Carly liked the oldest of the O’Malley brothers. Hey, she liked them all. She was trying to like Adam, too, but he wasn’t exactly making it easy for her. What’s his problem? she wondered.

He was eating in silence. Probably trying to ignore her. Well, that was fine because she didn’t want to make conversation with him, either.

She sipped her coffee, savoring the richness of the blend—a far cry from the budget brand she usually drank. Various conversations flowed around the kitchen and she caught snippets of them and smiled. Maddy and Celeste seemed to have hit it off. They were both in first grade but in different classes and hadn’t met each other before. Carly liked Celeste. She was an angelic-looking child with a sweet temperament and outgoing personality. Maddy was more withdrawn, but Celeste seemed to have struck a chord with her as they shared a love of drawing. The pair were presently giggling over pictures they’d drawn of Adam.

Carly wanted to see how he’d react to them and asked, “What have you got there, Maddy?”

Her daughter held up the picture. She’d given Adam curly, dark brown hair and a smiley face. Carly glanced at Adam. His hair was indeed dark brown, but cut so short, it was hard to determine if there was any curl in it.

Then Celeste held up her picture. She’d given Adam even curlier and longer hair. The child apparently knew her uncle well enough to have done that. However, instead of a smiley face, Adam’s expression was angry.

“Why did you draw your uncle looking so annoyed?” she asked Celeste.

“He’s not. He’s thinking,” the child corrected her. “He frowns when he thinks. Like he is now.” Celeste indicated her uncle with a flick of her head, bit into a bagel her father had smeared with cream cheese and honey and went back to her drawing.

An odd combination, Carly thought as Celeste wolfed it down. She turned to Adam. Sure enough, he was frowning. But he was miles away and not part of the conversation, nor had he seemed to notice the girls’ drawings of him.

“A penny for them,” she ventured, wanting to make friends with the man who’d saved her son’s life.

“What?” he said, coming out of his reverie.

“You were deep in thought,” she said. “If your back is bothering you, I’d be happy to give you a massage. It’s the least I can do.”

He put down his coffee cup and looked at her. “Thank you, but no.” He stood. “I have to be going. There’ll be a disciplinary meeting because I ignored my chief’s orders,” he said to the room’s occupants.

“And saved Molly,” Carly finished for him, knowing he’d never say the words himself. “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble. If there’s anything I can say to whoever you have to answer to, I will. I’ll testify that Alex would have run into that building to get her if you hadn’t.”

“I doubt a kid would be any match for a firefighter,” he said, his voice sardonic, then abruptly left the kitchen.

The rest of the adults had taken their seats at the table and were looking at her.

“I … I’m sorry, I don’t know what I said to make him leave like that.”

Sarah leaned over and touched her hand. “Don’t pay any attention to him, dear.”

She didn’t go on to excuse his behavior or explain it, so Carly busied herself with clearing the table. “I wanted to thank you again … for welcoming my children and me into your home.” Carly could feel her voice breaking, but she continued, hoping to find the strength she needed.

She could do it. She’d survived her husband, Michael’s, accidental death. She’d survived this past year and a half without her parents’ support or knowledge of how bad things were for her financially.

Her dad had suffered a stroke early last year and Carly had no intention of burdening him or her mother with her latest woes. They had enough to deal with.

She could survive the aftermath of this fire and start fresh. Just like she had before.

She’d used Michael’s insurance money to pay off their house in San Diego. And to pay off his credit card debts, which had been considerable. His fascination with the latest toys—from snowmobiles to Jet Skis, Windsurfers to water skis—had been a bone of contention in their marriage. Carly hadn’t realized how tangled their finances were until she opened the bills addressed to Michael after his death.

Once she’d paid off the mortgage, she’d felt more secure, knowing that no matter what, her children would always have a roof over their heads. But less than a year after doing that, Carly had wanted to get out of San Diego. Not so much to escape the memories but to escape the unwanted attentions of Michael’s best friend and fellow firefighter, Jerry Ryan.

Jerry had been a wonderful support after Michael’s death, but his behavior had become too familiar, bordering on obsessive, and Carly had felt trapped. She’d decided to move away from San Diego, the memories—and Jerry.

She’d rented out her home, effective January 1, intending to live off the rent and her work as a massage therapist.

Neither her parents nor Jerry were happy with her decision to move out of the state, but Carly remained resolute.

Offered a job at a new spa hotel opening in Denver, she’d accepted. She and the children had spent Christmas with her parents, then moved to the Mile High City a week before the hotel was slated to open in the new year. She’d enrolled her children in school and paid the security deposit to rent an apartment near work. But the day before opening, the hotel was firebombed. Fortunately, nobody had died, and both police and press speculated that organized crime had been responsible.