An Honorable Man

“Any kids? Gang colors?”

Priscilla paused, searching her memory. “Two Hispanic boys, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Probably should have been in school. One was wearing green and black—that’s Dawg colors, right?”

“You got it.”

She described them in detail, down to the fact one of them had a chipped tooth, the other a broken shoelace. “They seemed real curious.”

“Could you recognize them?”

“I think so.”

“Good. I might show you some mug shots.” He already had an idea who those characters might have been. He’d talked to them before about some Dumpster fires, but he hadn’t been able to prove anything. Maybe they’d escalated to sheds.

“So did I do something wrong?” he asked suddenly.

Priscilla straightened to look at him, and for the first time he sensed true regret from her. “No, you did nothing wrong. I was the one misbehaving.” She smiled sadly.

“So why is it you run from me like I have typhoid?”

She returned to her task, meticulously labeling one of the evidence bags. “I told you before—I’d just come out of a relationship.”

Okay, now he was getting somewhere. “So I was your rebound lover.”

“Yes. And that really wasn’t fair. You seemed like you wanted something more than a playmate, and I wasn’t ready for anything like that.”

“But that was months ago. Surely you’ve recovered from whatever your previous scumbag boyfriend did.”

That got another smile out of her, not quite as sad this time. “What about that rag? Should I collect that?”

“Yes, and you’re changing the subject.”

“I just don’t want a boyfriend,” she blurted out, sounding a little desperate.

“I don’t buy that. Nobody wants to spend all their nights alone.”

She sighed and looked anywhere but at him. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time.”

“I don’t understand it myself, so how could I explain it to you? But, trust me, you really wouldn’t want me for a girlfriend. I have issues.”

“Everyone has issues. You deal with them or you live with them, but you don’t just stop living.”

She straightened up and turned to face him, her gaze direct and unwavering. “The fact is, Roark, I like you too much. I was so anxious about the whole thing I just…needed to get away from it. I’m one of those people who can’t stand uncertainty. I like to be in control. Around you, I had no control, and I really couldn’t tolerate it.”

Roark knew female logic was different than male logic, but this blew him away. “Let me get this straight—you liked me too much so you broke things off.”

“I know that sounds crazy.”

To put it mildly. “So you don’t even want to try?”

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t have time. Between work and paramedic training, I’m overscheduled as it is.”

“And yet you still have time to go on these dates your mother sets up.”

“Only once in a blue moon. Don’t try to defeat this with logic, Roark. I’m surprised and flattered you would want anything to do with me after the way I behaved during training. But I’m not ready to date anyone except on the most casual basis. And you and I couldn’t do it casual.”

She was right about that. With Priscilla, he would not be content with seeing her once or twice a month.

He took the samples she’d collected. “McCrae is looking a little impatient with us. Guess I better let you go.”

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me help with the evidence.”

“You’re a quick learner.”

She turned to leave, but he couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I could still be your fictional boyfriend.” Not that the role would be a big stretch.

“Thanks, but no. I just need to be more firm with my mother.”

Roark had done all he could do. He gave Priscilla one last long, steamy look, reminding her of what she was giving up. Then he walked away from her. Damn, it was hard knowing he’d never hear from her again.

Chapter Two

Twenty-four hours later, Priscilla wanted to eat her words. She was helping her mother fix Sunday dinner and she needed a boyfriend in the worst way.

Lorraine Garner, who was well known for her cooking skills, had been only too happy when Priscilla had shown an interest in the kitchen for the first time in her life. Now that Priscilla had discovered how essential cooking was to her popularity at the firehouse, she had practically begged her mother to teach her to cook.

In between instructions on preparing lasagna, Lorraine couldn’t resist interrogating Priscilla.

“How is your nurse training going?” she asked as she demonstrated how to properly crush garlic without even chipping her manicure. She wore a cream-colored silk dress and pearls around her neck and she never got a spot on herself.

“It’s paramedic training,” Priscilla gently corrected, “and it’s going fine so far.”

Her mother would probably be much happier if Priscilla had become a nurse. She’d been horrified when her daughter had announced she was going to leave the home decor shop she’d been managing since she graduated from college and become a firefighter. Lorraine hadn’t liked the whole blue-collar aspect of it, but even more than that she’d been worried for her daughter’s safety.

Priscilla, however, had been bored to death as a shopkeeper. She’d wanted to do something active, something that would make a difference in the world. She’d needed to turn her life in an entirely new direction so she wouldn’t brood about Cory.

She’d always been fascinated with fire trucks. She’d even played fireman when she was a little kid, rescuing her cousin Marisa’s dolls over and over from various flaming tragedies. It was pure impulse that had prompted her to apply to the fire department, and she’d wondered at the time if she’d gone a little crazy. But the very first time she’d fought a blaze in training, she’d liked that feeling and wanted more of it.

Eventually Lorraine had come to accept her daughter’s new vocation and had stopped hoping it was a phase she was going through. But she had not stopped trying to fix what she perceived to be Priscilla’s tragic lack of social life.

“Are they going to give you time off to attend the bridesmaids’ dinner?” her mother asked.

“Yes, I have that day off.” And she knew what was coming next.

“Have you decided who you’ll take as your escort?”

“Mother, I really don’t think Marisa is going to care whether I bring a date to the dinner.” Her cousin Marisa was the bride. Lorraine and Priscilla’s aunt Clara, her mother’s sister, had been pitting the girls against each other since they were babies.