Hot for Fireman (8 page)

Doug looked happy with that answer, or as happy as Doug ever looked. “Then we can do it together. It’ll be like before.”

“Doug. You know we’re in a new phase of our relationship now.”

“The friend phase,” he said sullenly.

“Yes. I’ll always be your friend, Doug. You know I care about you.”

She wanted to put her hand on his, but she knew it was a slippery slope. She’d had to institute a no-physical-contact policy after the last time she’d hugged him and he’d put his hand on her breast.

“I always thought we’d end up together.” His voice dropped further into moroseness.

Katie gritted her teeth. When Doug sulked like this, she used to be terrified that he was relapsing. Now she knew better, knew how he used his moods to get a reaction, and all she wanted to do was get the hell out. Go crank some Rolling Stones or something.

“Who knows where we’re going to end up? We’re still young. But I know we’ll always be friends.”

“Let me do it,” he said suddenly. “You’ve always been there for me. I’ll do this for you.”

“I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I want to. It might be hard for you, with all the history there.”

Katie was surprised into silence. Moments like this made her remember why they’d been together. Unless . . .

“Um . . . I’m not going to sleep with you,” she said cautiously.

He rolled his eyes. “I got that part. We’re in a new phase of our relationship. The criminal phase.” A spark of humor lit his muddy brown eyes. He almost looked like the cute, gangly-geeky teenager she’d once fallen for.

He lifted his cast and showed her the flames he’d drawn around the demon faces.

She snorted. “Very funny.”

He clutched at his arm with a fake look of agony. “It burns, it burns!”

“Stop that. No one’s going to get burned.” She shivered. That sounded a little too much like famous last words. “You’d have to do it early in the day when no one’s around. Like, for miles.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. I’ll check at the fire station first and make sure the fire engines are there.”

“That makes sense.” She hadn’t even thought of that. Maybe Doug did know what he was doing. Then she shook her head, feeling a little sick. “It’s too crazy. Forget it. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You’re
over
thinking, Katie. You always do that. No one’s going to miss the place. Think about how relaxed your dad would be if he didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Your mom told me the bar actually gave him that heart attack.”

No wonder her parents hadn’t seemed upset about yesterday’s fire. Doug was right. What was she so worried about? Katie steeled herself. “As long as no one is hurt, it’s a victimless crime, right?”

“Exactly,” Doug, the lawyer’s son, sounded utterly confident. “Don’t worry. Remember the extensive Boy Scout training my father forced me into? I still remember the important stuff. I can start fires and dig a snow cave in the wilderness.”

“I feel better already.”

Chapter Eight

O
nce again, Ryan woke up with every intention of studying the San Gabriel Fire Department’s Manual of Operations. He even spread it open on his knees while he ate his fried eggs and rye toast. But all he did was get crumbs between the pages. Who could worry about details like the various diameters of hoses when he could look forward to teasing Katie?

He still hadn’t gotten a chance to interrogate her about Doug. The guy gave him a bad feeling. The possessive, smirky look on Doug’s face when they’d left together rubbed him wrong. He wanted to make sure Katie knew she deserved better, but the bar kept him too busy. Business was picking up and the clientele was improving, at least from his perspective. Not that he didn’t enjoy the Drinking Crew. But you wouldn’t find him complaining about adding females to the mix.

He abandoned the manual and decided he might as well head to the bar. He’d gotten into the habit of showing up an hour early. Once Katie had clarified that she wouldn’t pay him for the extra time, she didn’t seem to object. It gave him a chance to put things into the kind of order he appreciated after his years at the firehouse. If Katie showed up to do paperwork or shoot the shit with him, all the better. He found himself looking forward to that part of his day more than any other.

He chose not to investigate the reason why.

He found Katie banging around in the small kitchen behind the bar. They didn’t really use the kitchen anymore—it was left over from the days when the Hair of the Dog used to serve “Great Dane Burgers” and “Golden Retriever Fries.” Apparently the menu items had attracted attention from animal rights groups. Instead of renaming them, Katie’s father had ranted about the modern-day lack of sense of humor and stopped serving food altogether.

The back door stood open, letting the hot midday air into the kitchen from the vacant lot out back. Katie stood at the long stainless steel counter next to the gas range. She was making a pile of big aluminum pots, stacking one inside the other. He took a moment to take in her appearance. She wore shorts with frayed edges. Her bare legs looked moon-pale, as if they hadn’t seen the sun lately. Maybe he ought to chase her around a beach for a while.

But even though the color of her legs would frighten a blind man, he had to admit their shape was just about perfect.

“Top of the morning to you, boss. What are you doing? Are we bringing back the lunch specials?”

She whirled around. “What are you doing here?”

“Do I have to explain it every single time?”

“I mean, this early. I told you to sleep in today. You’ve been working too hard.”

True, she had told him that. But, frankly, he’d rather do just about anything than face that damn manual. “I want to see if I can get that old jukebox going. This place could use some music.”

She gave him an exasperated look and plopped a lid on top of her pile of pots. “Why didn’t I just hire Mr. Fix-It instead of a bartender?”

“Now you got both. Need a hand with those pots?”

“Nope.” She took the lid off the pot, as if forgetting she’d just put it on a moment ago. What the heck was she doing? She sure was acting strange. So distracted. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to tease her about Doug the One-Armed Bouncer.

He shrugged and went into the bar to tackle the jukebox. It sat near the front door, to the right, and many a time he’d seen people lean over it, pick out some tunes, then pour quarters into it, only to see them pour right out. He’d finally made Katie tape an “Out of Order” sign on it, but it always seemed to disappear. And in his opinion, a bar needed a soundtrack.

He’d brought his own toolbox with him, since he’d never managed to find one at the Hair of the Dog despite extensive searching. He dragged a table next to the jukebox, put his toolbox on it, and dug around until he found the right kind of screwdriver to remove the side panel of the machine. When he stood up, Katie was right next to him.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, reaching past her to tackle the first screw.

“The stupid jukebox can wait. It’s waited this long. And, honestly, if we play music people will start dancing. And that could lead to . . . Just leave it alone.”

“Why?”

“Because I . . . um . . . I need you to run an errand.”

Why did she sound so nervous? “Oh no. I’m a bartender. That means someone who tends the bar. And this jukebox is part of the bar and requires tending. It’s been neglected. Like a lot of things around here.”

He winked at her, just to see the flush rise in her cheeks. But for once she didn’t react.

Instead she fiddled with the end of her ponytail. “Okay, it’s not exactly an errand. I was going to see if you wanted to get some coffee with me.”

Was that why she was so jittery? Because she wanted to ask him out for coffee? But when he looked at her closely, he saw no hint of flirtation. She wasn’t putting the moves on him. Something else was going on.

“I’m already coffee-ed up, thank you.”

She paced around in a little circle. Ryan smiled to himself. Whatever she was up to, it was bound to be entertaining. Maybe now was his moment to needle her.

“If you’re needing some coffee, or some company, why don’t you give your friend Doug a call?”

She jumped about a foot. Ryan congratulated himself; his instincts had been dead on.

“I’m sure he’ll come running. Poor dude.”

She pressed her lips together in a pink line. Katie was the only girl he knew who never wore so much as a dash of lip gloss. Maybe that’s why her lips had tasted so fresh and delicious  . . .

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about Doug. And you. Boys and girls. Birds and bees. I know the signs. That boy’s into you.” He lifted off the jukebox’s side panel and peered at the mechanisms inside.

“For your information, not that it’s any of your business, we have a platonic relationship. Friends only.”

A thrill of satisfaction made him smile into the depths of the jukebox. That’s what he’d wanted to know.

“Does he know that? Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“He knows. Of course he knows. I’ve told him enough times. Look, this is stupid. End of conversation.” She spun around and began straightening chairs around the tables.

Oh no, it wasn’t. It was too much fun to end. “So he wants you, but you don’t want him. That hurts. No wonder he always has that look in his eyes, like a beaten dog.”

“Stop that! Doug is my best friend. He’s always been there for me.” A strange wave of wistfulness passed through him at those words. “We just don’t make a good couple.”

Ryan pulled his head from his inspection of the bowels of the jukebox. “That means you used to be a couple?”

Her face turned strawberry-red. “None of your business.”

“Doug is your ex-boyfriend? And he works here because . . .” He shook his head. “Poor bastard. He wants back in.”

“Shut up. Seriously.”

“No wonder he looked like he wanted to shoot me yesterday. I had you in my arms.”

“Because I slipped. That’s all.”

“Well, sure, but he didn’t know that. He must have thought I was coming on to you. Maybe he thought I was going to kiss you.”

“That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t have let you kiss me.” She paused in the middle of moving a chair from one table to another.

Ryan took in her flushed face and furious expression. In his expert opinion, they’d been awfully close to another kiss. Until the ex-boyfriend had walked in. “Why not? You said Doug is your
ex
-boyfriend. I haven’t seen any non-ex-boyfriends wandering around. Maybe Doug doesn’t let them in the door. I gotta tell you, I’m not sure having an ex-boyfriend as your bouncer is good for your social life.”

She raised the chair high. Her eyes shone with dark fury. She wouldn’t . . . really, she wouldn’t throw a chair at him, would she?

To be safe—and remembering that kick on the shin at their first meeting—he took his hands out of the jukebox and braced himself.

But it wasn’t a flying piece of furniture that grabbed his notice. He sniffed, then sniffed again.

Smoke.

Not cigarette smoke, not normal smoke that might float through the air from time to time. This smoke came from a fire, and a close one.

“Did you turn something on in the kitchen?” he asked Katie.

Her expression went from furious to horrified in the space of a second. That was all the answer he needed. He pushed past her and ran across the room. He swung himself over the bar in a move he knew Brody would have yelled at him about.
Too risky, too much chance of injury, take the extra second and run around the bar.
He flung open the swinging door that separated the bar from the kitchen.

Smoke and flames billowed from the gas range. One of the burners had been turned too high, and the flame must have caught the edge of the dish towel that was now a piece of black, nearly incinerated debris. From the dish towel it had managed to find a roll of paper towels, which now burned ferociously. The breeze from the back door fed the flames and sent scraps of burning paper all over the kitchen.

He scanned the kitchen. Not a lot of fuel for the fire to feed on. No more dish towels or paper products nearby. But if there was the tiniest hint of a leak in the gas line that fed the range  . . .

He didn’t have to look for the fire extinguisher. Out of long habit, he’d located all three of the bar’s extinguishers as soon as he’d started working here. Unfortunately the one in the kitchen was mounted next to the back door, on the wall on the other side of the stove. He knew what Brody would say.
Go around. Run out the front door, around to the back door where you can reach the fire extinguisher without getting too close to the fire.

But in emergency situations, Ryan’s brain moved at a speed beyond logic. It performed calculations, measured risks, and decided what to do without much conscious input from him. He knew himself, knew how fast he could move.

Besides, Brody wasn’t here. And he was on a leave of absence.

Quickly he pulled his shirt up to protect his mouth and nose, shielded his face with his arm, and dashed across the room. The heat seared his sleeve as he passed the fire. He snatched the fire extinguisher off the wall, aimed it at the flames, and pulled the pin.

Nothing came out.

Goddamn it, didn’t they keep their fire extinguishers charged? He couldn’t take the time to run back into the bar and find another one. Not even Brody would expect that. He ripped the shirt off his back. Lucky he’d worn a long-sleeved overshirt today. He tossed it on top of the fire. It dampened the flames for a moment, but not enough. In another second, the fire would consider his shirt fuel. He tore off his T-shirt and threw it on top of his shirt.

That slowed the flames enough so he could cross to the sink and turn the faucet on high. He grabbed one of the pots Katie had been piling up and filled it until he saw the flames starting to eat through his T-shirt. Hurrying, he dumped the half-filled pot of water on the flames.

“Katie, come help!” He figured it was safe enough now to get her involved.

“Right here.” She appeared at his elbow.

“Keep filling pots of water. As fast as you can.”

They worked without talking for the next few frantic moments, Katie filling pots of water and Ryan dumping them on the range, on the counter, everywhere a piece of burning paper had landed. He wanted to make sure every speck of fire had been extinguished. He knew all too well how dangerous kitchen fires could be. He’d seen entire homes destroyed by an initially innocent-looking grease fire.

When they were done, the kitchen was drenched, and so was he. He looked as if he’d just walked through a car wash. Katie stared at the mess, looking all shaken up. He almost felt sorry for her, but not sorry enough to spare her the lecture she had coming.

K
atie made herself
look at the sodden, blackened kitchen for two good reasons. First, so she couldn’t escape the consequences of what she’d set in motion. Second, so she didn’t stare too hard at Ryan’s bare chest. She knew it was wrong to ogle someone in the midst of a crisis. But good Lord, the way he’d jumped into action, his swiftness, the way he’d stripped his shirt—two shirts—off his body without a second thought . . . well, she’d nearly melted along with the paint on the walls.

“Katie. Katie. Look at me.”

She couldn’t. She was afraid of what her face would reveal. But then she didn’t have a choice, because he was standing right in front of her with both hands on her shoulders. He smelled like smoke. God, that fire had come so close to burning him. She shuddered.

“Did you leave a burner on?” he demanded, in a voice that held not one shred of its usual playfulness.

She bit her tongue. Of course she hadn’t left a burner on. But the less she said about the origins of the fire, the better.

“Forget the burner. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on that one. But Christ, Katie, don’t you know you’re supposed to keep your fire extinguishers ready? You’re supposed to test them every year.”

“No one does that.”

“You’re going to. From now on.”

She opened her mouth to ask what made him think he was in charge, and why did he seem to know so much about fire extinguishers, but then she remembered the sight of him running
into
the flames and snapped her mouth shut.

But he still wasn’t done. “Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

“Yes,” she ground out. “Keep the fire extinguishers up to date.”

“And don’t leave burners on.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

He gazed down at her with a suspicious expression. His hands felt strong and warm on her shoulders. Tendrils of awareness filtered through her entire body. “Why aren’t you arguing?”

“Well.” Blunt as she was, it went against the grain to withhold the truth. “I want to argue with you. But whenever I try, I get a picture of you nearly getting burned to death.” She ducked her head to hide the tears that suddenly, annoyingly, sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“I didn’t nearly burn to death, silly.” He squeezed her shoulders. The sternness left his voice, and something husky and tender took its place. “At most, I might have gotten a scorch mark here or there.”