Fireman Dad (13 page)

“Can’t what?” He didn’t let go, but absently rubbed his thumb over her palm.

A shiver started at the base of her neck and traveled down her spine, and she gently pulled her hand free. “I can’t talk about this right now. I have work to do.”

Jacob appraised her with a lingering glance before reaching forward and taking a cookie from the bouquet. “And apparently, so do I.”

“Owen, did you clean up your room?” Marissa shut the dishwasher with a snap and cranked the dial to Start.

“Yes, Mom,” Owen called from the living room. “Twice!”

“Well, that’s because you messed it up again right after.” Marissa smiled as she wiped the counters by the sink. She tossed the wet paper towel into the trash can, then rounded the corner into the living room. Her smile faded at the toy fire truck Owen raced around the living room floor. “Hey, why don’t we play a board game? Or work a puzzle?” She worked to keep the tension from her voice. Why couldn’t Owen play with the race cars she’d bought him? Or the train set her mom had got him last month?

“Puzzles are for girls.”

“Since when?” Marissa frowned.

He looked up long enough to smirk. “Since Olivia said she got three for her birthday.”

Marissa opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Some battles weren’t worth fighting. “Then what about a game? Chutes and Ladders? Go Fish?”

“Nah, you’ll just let me win. I like my fire truck.” He made a high-pitched siren noise as he scooted the truck under the coffee table, beside the end table and in circles around Marissa’s feet.

She looked down, literally surrounded by her worst nightmare, and closed her eyes. The urge to pray welled in her throat but she shoved it back down. God wasn’t interested in bailing her out. If He was, He’d have started long before now—like maybe on the night the chief strode up her walkway, hat in his hands, with news she’d already felt in her heart hours before. She’d be foolish to think anything had changed because of her attendance in church the past few weeks.

The phone rang, pulling Marissa from the temptation to throw Owen’s fire truck in the backyard. She snatched the phone from its stand, holding one finger over her lips in a failed effort to silence Owen’s siren noises. “Hello?” She clamped one hand over her free ear and moved toward her bedroom, away from the chaos of her son and the competing dishwasher.

“Will you believe me now?”

The gruff voice and lack of polite hello could only be her father. Marissa pinched the bridge of her nose. Another lecture—surprise, surprise. “What now, Dad?”

“Someone threw a firebomb into Station 4 a few hours ago.”

“What?” Marissa gasped, her hand falling helplessly to her side. She sagged against the wall, heart racing. “Was anyone hurt?” Her mind raced. Jacob. No, wait. He didn’t work until Wednesday. And he typically had duty at Station 6. Or was it 7? Her panic slowed along with her heartbeat and she took a calming breath.

Her father cleared his throat. “No, thank goodness. They broke the window to the sleeping quarters, but the guys were on a run.”

Marissa closed her eyes in relief. That had to be a shock—coming back from working a fire to see your own station in flames. But at least everyone was okay.

“Two arson situations in less than two weeks. You can’t tell me this isn’t connected to the layoffs and the letters in the newspaper.” The chief’s tone darkened. “I saw what people are writing in. They’re escalating. Just like the crimes.”

“Dad, you’re the fire chief. Not the chief of police. Aren’t the cops supposed to figure this stuff out?”

“This blurs the lines. Of course they’re involved but so is Jackson.”

Anthony Jackson was the arson investigator for Orchid Hill, a job that was sort of a joke since they rarely had need for him. He spent more time subbing for vacationing or retiring captains and assistant chiefs than he did detective work—a fact that reminded Marissa how ridiculous her father’s theory was in the first place. “Dad, this is Orchid Hill. Not Chicago. We aren’t exactly known for our high crime rate.”

“Well, Chicago isn’t known for laying off their men.”

Marissa shoved her free hand into her hair in frustration. “The festival is in a week. I’m not canceling it now, even if it were my call to make. But it’s not. The church hired me, and I can assure you they aren’t concerned about any of this.”

“Because they don’t know. I told you, the media reports what we tell them. Or what leaks out.”

“Then you better leak something out if you want them to know, because we’re running full speed ahead as scheduled.”

She almost picture her father’s red face as his voice rose. “If we spread the word about what’s happening, we’d likely get even more hits because of giving this jerk the attention he wants.”

Marissa remembered Liz’s comment earlier about Ryan still having connections to information at work,
and sighed. “It’s already leaking, Dad. Don’t worry about the festival.”
Or me.
She wished that was his only motivation—but she wasn’t naive enough to think her dad would suddenly care after all these years. More likely he was concerned about his own reputation.

“You’re a stubborn woman.”

She bit her tongue to hold back the retort she desperately longed to fire. “Good night, Dad.” She stabbed the off button with her finger and threw the phone on her bed. It clanked against the headboard with a satisfying thump. Why couldn’t she have normal parents? A father who cared, who helped sustain her after tragedy, instead of pushing her further away? A father who wanted to be involved in her life for the right reasons, instead of trying to control or manipulate for his own political advantage?

God, am I destined to lose everyone I’ve ever cared for?

The prayer slipped unbidden from Marissa’s heart. She pictured Owen racing his fire truck around the floor just a few rooms away, and stifled a cry.

Please, no.

She pressed shaking fingers against the tears forming in her eyes and steeled her shoulders. She refused to lose her son—physically, the way she’d lost her husband, or emotionally, the way she’d lost her father. It was up to her to prevent the pattern, to break that cycle of destruction in her family, regardless of the cost. Starting with a toy fire truck.

And ending with her feelings for Jacob.

“I
t’s been great to see you these past few weeks at service,” Pastor Rob said over the phone.

Marissa traded ears with her cell as she flipped on her blinker, guilt pinching her stomach. What would he think if he knew the only reason she went was because of Liz’s persistence and Owen’s excitement? Could the pastor tell Marissa spent half of the service locked in her own thoughts instead of hearing the sermon? She swallowed. “It’s been very … interesting.” She wanted to say she enjoyed the services, but that would be stretching the truth. Maybe one day she’d be able to say so sincerely.

If she kept coming.

She forced a smile. “My son really loves his Sunday school class.” There, that was honest.

“Glad to hear it. And I’m also glad to hear the festival is coming together under budget.” Pastor Rob chuckled. “If you can keep it that way, our budget committee will be thrilled.”

“I’ll do my best.” Marissa adjusted the rush of air filtering through the car vents to blow on her flushed face. Between the setting sun warming her shoulders through the window and the guilt rushing to her face, she could
use some relief. “Thanks for checking in. I’m heading to the volunteers’ meeting now.”

“Sounds good. We’ll talk soon.” They hung up, and Marissa dropped her cell in her lap as she turned onto Jacob’s country road. Two minivans and several cars already lined his long gravel drive, and she’d never felt more appreciative of company than tonight. Jacob had volunteered to have the meeting at his house so everyone could get a visual of where their booths would be and what they’d need for the big event. Tonight they would also go by and mark off where each booth would be set to make sure everyone had plenty of space. Hopefully they’d stay so busy, she wouldn’t think of Jacob in any way other than the nice guy allowing use of his property for a good cause. Not as the man who’d sneaked into her heart when she wasn’t looking. Not as the man who’d almost kissed her in her office.

And certainly not as the man she still wanted to kiss despite every fiber of her being knowing better.

Marissa’s cheeks flushed hotter and she quickly parked beside a blue sedan and climbed out of her car, pausing to grab her organizer and tote bag of supplies from the backseat. At least Liz had volunteered to watch Owen at her house with Olivia that night so Marissa could focus on leading the meeting and not worry about Owen running his fire truck all around Jacob’s house. That was the last thing she needed—the two of them bonding even further. She’d bit her tongue on more than one occasion since her father’s phone call last night. Once when Owen asked when he could see Mr. Jacob again, twice when he repeated a knock-knock joke Jacob had told him at church and thirdly when he commented on how Mr. Jacob could teach him all about real fire trucks.

She climbed the porch steps, noting the fireman’s flag on the walkway again, and shook her head in disgust at her own naïveté. If she would have just realized who Jacob was and what he did for a living before she’d fallen for—No, she wouldn’t go there. If she admitted the depth of her feelings, there’d be no going back.

And she had to keep moving forward.

Marissa drew a deep breath at the front door before knocking and slowly pushed her way inside. The aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies permeated the house. From the kitchen, sounds of laughter and clinking of ice being poured into glasses filled her ears. She started in that direction, and then hesitated as the photos on the fireplace hearth caught her attention. Jacob, in full uniform at his academy graduation, smiled at her from the mantel, encased in a silver frame. Beside that sat a picture of him and Ryan, again in uniform with a fire truck behind them, cheesing it up for the camera, their arms draped around each other.

She looked away, only to notice the afghan draped across the back of the leather couch—the nationwide firefighter’s emblem emblazoned in the fabric. A miniature stone statue of a fireman holding an American flag adorned the end table beside the recliner. A lump knotted in Marissa’s throat. Jacob was a fireman, through and through—exactly the way it should be. As much as she’d like things to be different, they simply weren’t. The sooner she quit forgetting that, the better.

For both her and Owen.

She quickly made her way to the kitchen, which was open to the living room by means of a bar counter and several stools, now filled with volunteers from the church, who filled glasses and set cookies on a platter. Jacob stood in the middle of the kitchen, his head tilted
back in laughter at something the woman in front of him had obviously just said.

Marissa paused, still unnoticed, unable to look away from the dimples on Jacob’s cheeks, his slightly rumpled hair as if he’d raked his fingers through it, the way his forest green polo shirt showcased his biceps.

She adjusted her grip on the tote bag, sudden melancholy rising in her chest. She was an outsider here. She might be the group leader tonight, but she wasn’t a part of their church world. Had anyone in this group of congregation members been through the tragedy she’d been through? Had they faced the storms of life and come out the other side clean and dry? Or like her, were they still floundering in the rain, unsure where to go, trying to hide how lost they felt?

They didn’t look lost—especially not the pretty brunette giggling at Jacob’s side, one manicured hand resting lightly on his forearm.

“Marissa!” Jacob finally saw her, and a rush of warmth filled her stomach as he left the group and rushed to her side. “You’re here.” He looped an arm around her shoulders and introduced her to the group, his touch burning her upper arm. “Marissa will be in charge tonight, guys. We’ve got to listen up so we can pull this festival off, all right?”

Marissa pushed away the cozy feeling that came from being tucked against Jacob’s side, and eased away. Nice as it was, and as badly as it stung watching him interact with attractive women, he was probably better off with one of them. Someone who considered him the hero he was, someone who could support the profession Marissa promised she’d never again embrace.

“Thanks for coming. If everyone will move into the living room, we’ll get started.” She clutched her
organizer to her chest and tried to smile with sincerity. “We have a lot to cover tonight.” She appraised her volunteers, determined to think of them as the kind people they were—volunteering for the cause she’d been hired to direct—and not as a group to which she couldn’t belong, and definitely not as competition for Jacob’s heart.

That was one battle she wasn’t prepared to fight.

Jacob set the last of the dirty coffee mugs in the sink. “You didn’t have to stay and help clean up, you know.” He took the plate riddled with cookie crumbs from Marissa’s outstretched hands and sunk it beneath the soapy water. “You’ve done enough tonight already.” Including making it hard for him to breathe with every toss of her silky hair, but that was almost as corny as Steve’s line about following his heart.

Corny—but still incredibly true.

Marissa made her way around the edge of the bar to join him. “I don’t mind. I feel strange leaving behind a mess.” She smiled. “Must be a mom thing.”

He met her smile with one of his own. At least she’d finally loosened up from the stiff, guarded woman who’d edged her way into his house a few hours before. As Marissa stood in front of his fireplace and delegated tasks to volunteers, patiently answered questions and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies, she’d found her element and shone.

He just wished that beaming smile had been directed toward him a few more times.

“I think things are really coming together, don’t you? Everyone was very responsive.” Marissa handed him a towel, and his fingers brushed hers as he took it and dried his hands.

The contact sent a spark shooting up his arm and he swallowed before tossing the rag back on the counter. “It’d be hard not to be responsive to you.”

Marissa’s luminous gaze darted to his and then nervously away, and Jacob sighed. “Don’t, okay?”

“Don’t what?” She kept her gaze on the soap bubbles dissipating in the sink.

He lightly gripped her elbow, letting his fingers slide down the length of her forearm before squeezing her hand. “Don’t push me away because I gave you a compliment.”

She looked up, and a soft smile turned the corners of her lips. “You saw that one coming a mile away.”

“You’re getting predictable.” He let go of her hand before it made her uncomfortable, and moved to the fridge. “Soda?”

“Do you have water instead?”

He tossed her a bottle and she caught it with better reflexes than he expected. “Pull up a chair. You’ve been standing all night.” He gestured to the table in the corner of the kitchen and they settled into the chairs.

“There is something I’ve wanted to ask you.” Marissa hesitated, and Jacob’s pulse kicked up a notch. Maybe she was finally ready to acknowledge his gifts and the meaning behind them. He took a long swig of soda, determined not to rush her.
Steady, steady. Let her speak.

“Who do you think is behind the arson fires?”

Jacob jerked in his chair, nearly dropping his soda can. So much for true confessions of the heart. He set his drink on the table and turned to Marissa with raised eyebrows. “Why are you worried about that?”

She shrugged, but concern lurked beneath her expression. “I’ve heard some—rumors—that make me suspicious.”

Rumors … from her dad? He wouldn’t ask. But judging by her averted gaze, he’d guess that was the source—meaning they weren’t rumors at all, but Chief Brady’s real suspicions. He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t be upset about it. I’m sure they’ll taper off. The police will catch the guy eventually.”

“So you don’t think the arson fires are related to the department layoffs?” Marissa played with the cap on her water bottle and finally looked into his eyes.

Now it was his turn to shrug. “I have no idea. I guess anything is possible.”

“Do you think the fundraiser is drawing extra attention to the layoffs? Maybe upsetting the wrong person?”

Ah. There was the source of it. She felt guilty. Jacob leaned forward across the table, trying to draw her in. “You’re doing a good deed, Marissa. I know how much you cut off your profit to help the church pay for this festival. Don’t stress over things you can’t control.”

“You’re right. The—rumors—are just getting to me.” She took a deep breath as if fortifying herself for the next question. “Do you think it’s possible it could be one of the men who were let go?”

Jacob finished his drink and pitched the can into the wastebasket at the end of the bar. “Trust me, I know those guys personally. There’s no way they’d stoop to that level.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so.” She nodded, but didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“Firemen are brothers, Marissa. Seriously, it’s not possible. Even if one of them would want revenge on the council or the mayor—which I still can’t fathom—they wouldn’t do it this way. Not to their own men.”

“I wish everyone were as confident about that as you.” She drank the last of her water, then checked her
watch and quickly stood. “I’ve got to pick up Owen from your brother’s house. It’s later than I thought.”

Jacob stood with her, his chair scraping against the tile floor. “Tell Owen I said hello.” He winced at the automatic words.
Great going. Way to remind her of the past when you’ve finally made some headway.

Marissa’s head tilted to the side, and she gave him what he was coming to think of as her famous appraising stare. “I will,” she finally said with a resigned smile. “He’d like that.”

Shock radiated up Jacob’s backbone, but he kept what he hoped was a nonchalant expression as he walked Marissa to the door. His heart hammered in his chest with every step. Dare he push it further? Or be grateful for the progress they’d made and leave it at that? “Thanks again for helping me clean up.”

She shouldered her purse she’d left at the entryway and picked up her planner and empty tote bag. “I enjoyed it.”

So did he. It felt right having her in his kitchen, helping him as if they’d hosted the party together. He wanted more nights like this one. A lot more. Jacob hesitated, then reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And thanks for everything else, too.”

She held his gaze, nibbling on her lower lip, and nodded slowly as his meaning sunk in. “You’re very welcome.”

Her voice was barely louder than a whisper, and he wished he had the right to lean in and kiss her. Their near-kiss from that fateful afternoon at Your Special Day had radiated warmth in his stomach that quickly spread into his chest. But he wouldn’t push her again. He leaned around her to open the front door. “Let me know if you need help with anything else.”

“With?” She eased out onto the porch and turned with raised eyebrows.

Jacob braced his shoulder against the frame, debating how much to reveal. How could he tell her he wanted to be her go-to guy? That he’d be more than willing to come inspect the yard for strange noises in the middle of the night, kill an intimidating bug or unclog a toilet? Maybe not the most romantic of notions, but his feelings for Marissa were diving much deeper than surface level romance. He wanted to be a part of her and Owen’s lives—the good and the bad.

For better and for worse.

But that much honesty would send Marissa skittering right off the porch and never coming back. He couldn’t risk the progress they’d made. Jacob cleared his throat and smiled, hoping it looked convincing. “With the festival.”

Marissa clutched the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder, her knuckles white. “Right. The festival. I’ll do that.” A disconcerting mixture of relief and disappointment lingered in Marissa’s smile. She lifted her hand in a wave. “Good night.”

Jacob said good-night, then shut the front door and leaned his forehead against it with a groan.

He knew exactly how she felt.