A Firefighter's Promise

“I doubt it.” He laughed. “She might be new to the firehouse, but she’s also the church pianist. The familiarity is already there.”

“You really can’t win, can you?” she teased.

A cooler breeze enveloped her in a chilly embrace. Clouds rolled in more quickly now, a dark, smudgy blanket moving over the town, carrying with it the electric scent of promised rain.

“With all the people you know around town,” she began, “why did you ask me to help you? I’m sure you know teachers and day-care providers, and—”

He looked down at her, regret swimming in his clear eyes. “I’ve applied for a job across the state,” he said. “It’s not definite, so I need to be discreet. Anyone else would pass the word in a heartbeat.”

She attempted to cover her surprise by looking down. So he wasn’t planning on sticking around Haggerston anyway. That would be a good thing to keep in mind when Chris got to know him.

“Oh...” She cleared her throat.

“I hope that isn’t crass.” He grimaced. “I’m not suggesting that you have no friends—”

She attempted to smile casually. “No, I get it. It’s no problem. I’ll keep that little detail to myself.” It wasn’t her place to pass around rumors, and she wasn’t naive about the speed of gossip in a place this size.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

So he was heading out of town, if all went according to plan. It was good to know, and it helped. Matt Bailey was charming and handsome, and it certainly gave her more willpower to know that he wasn’t going to stick around—not that she actually needed any more excuses to stay out of a relationship. Chris had gone through enough changes lately, and she doubted he could handle it if his mom started dating. Besides, a firefighter’s life held no mystery for her. She knew all about the long hours, the middle-of-the-night calls to fill in for someone who was sick, the constant danger and the wear and tear on a marriage. That uniform might be appealing, but the lifestyle was not.

As if on cue, thunder rumbled overhead and Rachel squinted up at the ever-darkening clouds.

“It’s going to rain,” Matt said. “Come on.”

“Shouldn’t we head back?” she asked, quickening her pace to keep up with his long stride.

“This is closer,” he replied. “I live just down Oak Street.”

Rachel ducked her head against the first mist of rain and she grimaced inwardly. Rain and moisture were going to do a number on her straightened hair.

I’m the mother of a first grader, still worrying about my hair blowout.

A clap of thunder boomed overhead, and with it came a deluge of rain, pounding down onto them like a thousand tiny fists. Matt scooped up her hand in his and broke into a jog, tugging her along, pulling her closer against his broad, muscular shoulder.

“We’re going to be drenched!” Rachel laughed breathlessly. Water dripped down her face, slicking her fuchsia T-shirt against her skin. Matt’s hand tightened around hers as they crossed a street, his head ducked against the rain.

“Looks like.” He chuckled, the sound warm and deep. “Don’t worry. I’ve got coffee.”

As they jumped over a puddle already forming by the curb, Matt pointed to a little house across the next street, a white-trimmed bungalow, blurred by the falling rain.

“Almost there.” His voice was low and close to her ear. With another boom of thunder, they made the last dash toward shelter.

* * *

Matt unlocked the front door and they stumbled inside just as another flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed seconds later by a deafening peal of thunder. Their footsteps echoed in the entryway, and he flicked on a light to compensate for the premature darkness of the storm. He normally kept a pretty clean house, but he did a quick glance around to make sure he hadn’t left a T-shirt on the sofa or his barbells on the floor from his morning workout that would betray his manly ways. Rachel stepped inside and shivered. Her hair dripped, the previously smooth waves springing up into sodden curls.

She has curly hair.

He wasn’t sure why this discovery made him smile, but it did.

Rachel looked down at the puddle she’d made on the floor. Her jeans were dark with rain and goose bumps prickled across her arms.

“I’m making a mess,” she said.

“No more than I am,” he replied. His uniform clung to his arms and legs, a steady trickle of water meandering down his back. “Tell you what. If it wouldn’t be too awkward, let me give you some of my clothes to wear while we toss yours into the dryer.”

She contemplated for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t see a way around it. I’m drenched.”

While Rachel changed behind the locked bathroom door, Matt grabbed a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans for himself out of his dresser drawer. He changed quickly, tossing his wet clothes into a hamper on his way out of the bedroom, and headed toward the kitchen.

Matt grabbed the filters and coffee grounds from the cupboard, feeling more cheerful than he had felt in a while. Outside the kitchen window, the rain came down in sheets, trees heaving with the gusts of wind. His patio chairs rattled in the wind and collected pools of water on the seats, and he paused to watch the low, boiling clouds.

It didn’t matter where you went in Montana, the sky remained the same. The same summer storms swept over the state, and he couldn’t help wondering if South Maitland would be different enough to drown his memories.

“I found your dryer myself. I hope you don’t mind.”

Matt turned from the coffeemaker to find Rachel in the kitchen doorway, dwarfed in one of his T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. Soft wisps of hair began to dry around her cheeks and spiraled into silky curls. She held up the pants with one hand and sank into a kitchen chair.

“I’ve never felt less put together.” She laughed.

“All you need is coffee,” he replied with a grin. “How do you take it?”

“Cream and sugar.”

The coffeemaker sputtered soothingly in the background. Her gaze wandered around the kitchen, sliding over his black stove and dark cupboards and stopping at his fridge.

“Aha,” she said, a triumphant smile coming to her lips. “Finally something personal.”

She crossed the kitchen and perused the photos that were stuck there with various magnets.

“Who’s this?” she asked, pointing at a wedding photo.

“My brother, Craig, and his new wife, Gloria.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the familiar photo. Craig was pulling Gloria close against him, and her head was tilting down to his shoulder. They both beamed into the camera. Matt stood next to his brother in an “at ease” stance, and the maid of honor stood in a pinkish-orange dress, her flowers clutched in front of her. Matt remembered the happiness of that afternoon. Craig and Gloria could have gotten married in a mud puddle and it wouldn’t have dampened their spirits.

“You make a very dapper best man.” She shot him a smile. “It looks like a beautiful wedding.”

“He tried to get out of it,” he said with a short laugh.

“You’re kidding.” She cast him a surprised glance.

“The morning of the wedding, he told me he was leaving town. So I did the only thing I could.”

“Called the bride?” Rachel asked.

“Duct-taped him to a kitchen chair and talked some sense into him.”