Four Weddings and a Fireman (16 page)

Vader stood rooted to the floor of Brody's office. It couldn't be Trixie. But it also couldn't
not
be. No one else would waltz into the station as if she belonged, bearing cookies and talking a mile a minute. He could only imagine what One, a veteran firefighter and woman of few words, must be thinking right now.

He and Brody shared a look of incredulous horror as One mumbled something sarcastic but inaudible.

Mulligan—­of course it would be Mulligan—­asked her something in a low rumble.

“I baked these myself, as my own personal little thank-­you to the brave firefighters who keep our city safe. Well, it wasn't my city until up about a month ago. I'm here staying with my sister Cherie. Well, she wasn't Cherie before. She was Chastisement. But don't tell her I told you that. Y'all know Cherie, right? She and Vader have a thing going on, but don't ask me to explain it.”

Brody gave a jerk of his head that broke Vader's paralysis. He vaulted out of the office. The last thing he needed was for Trixie to spill mortifying, intimate details of his relationship with Cherie to freaking Mulligan. He shouldered his way through the small crowd of firefighters that had gathered, as always happened when home-­baked gifts arrived. Or pretty girls. A pretty girl bringing homemade cookies? Forget about it.

And Trixie had gone out of her way to qualify as pretty. She wore a sparkly silver top that left the tops of her shoulders bare, along with a pair of denim mini-­shorts with striped purple leggings underneath. He fought the impulse to grab a blanket and wrap her up, stop-­drop-­and-­roll style. Even though she wasn't his little sister, as Cherie kept pointing out, he still felt responsible for her.

“Trixie, what are you doing here?” He demanded when he reached her side.

“Vader!” Her face lit up. She put down the platter of cookies and threw her arms around him. He peeled them away; if he'd had handcuffs, he would have used them. “You aren't mad, are you? I was bringing cookies for your coworkers.”

“Why?” His blunt tone seemed to confuse her.

“Why not? Where I come from, everyone loves cookies.”

“Oh, we love cookies too,” said Mulligan with a wolfish grin. He took a handful and stuffed one in his mouth. “Especially cookies with a Southern accent.”

“Cookies don't have an accent.” Trixie fluttered her eyelashes and giggled.

“What's your name, sugar pie?”

“You can call her OL,” growled Vader. “Stands for off-­limits.” Vader grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her toward the corridor that divided the sleeping quarters. Then he changed his mind and headed for the backyard. Somehow it seemed safer.

Trixie didn't make the dragging part easy. She kept trying to twist her arm out of his grip, and grab on to various pieces of furniture to stop her inevitable journey out the door.

“What is wrong with you, Vader?” She burst out when they reached the pleasant square of green lawn, which retained only the faint marks of Psycho's failed attempt to dig a swimming pool with an excavator.

“What's wrong with
you
? I never said you could come to the station.”

“It's not your private personal fire station! I read all about it online. The Bachelor Firemen. You're famous!”

Vader clutched his head with a groan. “Don't tell me you're looking for a bachelor fireman.”

“Bachelor means single, right?”

“Does your sister know you're here?”

“Of course she doesn't.” Trixie folded her arms across her chest. “She'd never let me bother you at work. I wouldn't have either, except it turns out that you work with a whole bunch of good-­looking firemen who don't happen to be married. What's the blond one's name? I like him.”

Blond. She must mean Ace, the rookie. Ace was also from the South, and was only a few years older than Trixie. In other circumstances, he might think it a good match. But with Trixie bouncing around town like a hormone-­crazed pinball, not a chance.

“Tell you what. Why don't you write him a note and I'll deliver it to him during our next call.”

“Okay, sure, but it seems like a lot of bother when you could just introduce me, since I'm here, and—­”

“
Trixie
. A call is a fire incident. During a call we're too busy to pass notes. I was making a joke.”

Completely unimpressed, she made a face at him. “Not much of a joke. Now come on. If not the blond one, then what about the scary-­looking one who grabbed half my cookies?”

“I'm not introducing you to any of the Bachelor Firemen.” Good grief, had he really called them that? “I mean, the firemen. I'll introduce you to One, if you want.”

She brightened. “Which one's that?”

“The woman.”

“That's not funny.” She scowled at him and tapped her foot. “Why are you standing in my way? It's not like it's going to help you make points with Cherie. She's done with you.”

That remark felt like a dagger to the heart, but he ignored it. “How did you get here?”

“Took a cab.”

“Is it waiting for you?”

“I sure hope not. I don't have any more money. I had no idea cabs could be so expensive. I had to make up half the fare with extra cookies.”

Vader shook his head. Somehow, he'd known it would come to this. “I can't leave work to run you home.”

“No one's asking you to. I can hang out here and watch you guys. I don't mind.”

“Sorry, we like to schedule tours in advance.” Brody's cool voice came from the doorway, which he filled with his usual air of quiet command. “Vader, you can take her home in the plug-­buggy. I've scheduled some drills out in the field today. Meet us at the training center when you're done.”

“But Cap—­”

“Go. It's fine. But don't let it happen again.”

Vader stared after the disappearing back of his captain. His mother had been right. Between the two of them, Cherie and Trixie were going to take him down. Drive him crazy and leave him for dead. “Are you trying to ruin my life, Trixie?”

She drew back, wounded. “No. Of course not. Why would you say something like that?”

He ground his teeth. “Never mind. See that red truck in the parking lot? That's the station pickup. We call it the plug-­buggy. Go get in it. I'll be there in a minute. I have to grab some gear. Don't talk to anyone on the way.”

“I swear, Vader, you are ten times worse than Prophesize and Justice-­Denied, put together and puréed in the bossy blender.” She spun around and flounced across the lawn toward the parking lot.

It took him a few minutes to gather his wits enough to say, “What?”

 

Chapter Fifteen

T
rixie chewed on her thumbnail and stared out the window of the plug-­buggy while Vader drove her home. He hadn't meant to rain on her parade, but she had no business tangling with a guy like Mulligan. His fellow firemen—­much as he respected and trusted them—­were guys. Guys who liked girls—­maybe a little too much. Or too many at a time. That's how he'd been before getting involved with Cherie. Girls had flocked to him like hummingbirds to spilled sugar, and he hadn't made a habit of turning them down.

Now, of course, things were different.

“Why do you want to make trouble for your sister?”

She shot him an irritated look. “Why are you automatically taking her side?”

Vader had always wanted siblings; now he felt as if he was getting a crash course in how to be an older brother. It wasn't exactly what he'd imagined. “I'm not taking anyone's side. It's not about sides. I know how much Cherie has going on in her life, and I don't want her to worry.”

“You don't know anything.” Trixie flipped her ponytail from one shoulder to the other. “You didn't even know Chastisement's real name.”

Ouch
. Trixie really knew how to zero in on his weak spot. “No big loss. She doesn't care about that name, so I don't either.”

“What do you really even know about my sister?”

“I know the important things.”

“Do you?” She fixed disdainful blue eyes on his face. He could practically feel her scorn singe him like a blowtorch. “Have you ever heard her sing?”

“Sing? She doesn't sing.”

“She doesn't sing
now
. Basically, everything you know about Cherie is stuff from the last six years. But there's a lot more, Vader. Have you even bothered to try to find out the rest?”

Now
that
was unfair. He'd done nothing
but
try to find out more. “She won't tell me anything.”

“Yeah well, she probably has a good reason.” With a dark look, she turned back to staring out the window, muttering something about “boys” and “impulses.”

Vader turned his attention to the road ahead and ignored her mumbled insults. So Cherie had some secret singing ability that she wanted to keep hidden? Why? What would be the harm in sharing something like that?

No doubt about it, Cherie and Trixie were going to drive him insane.

When they pulled up outside Cherie's house, the sight of her ancient, mustard-­yellow, veggie-­diesel Mercedes parked out front made his skin prickle. Cherie was actually here. He hadn't seen her since he'd decided to make her come to him, instead of the other way around. Obviously, that plan had not worked out the way he'd hoped. And his plan hadn't taken Trixie into account.

Trixie hopped out of the truck and sped up the walkway. Vader put his hand on the gearshift, ready to take off. That's what he should do, instead of lingering outside her house like some sort of stalker. On the other hand, shouldn't he make sure Cherie got the whole story of Trixie's latest adventure? Before he could decide one way or another, the front door opened. Trixie brushed past Cherie, who was just stepping out, and disappeared into the house.

Vader's first dazzled thought was that Cherie was wearing sunshine. Her dress was the color of spring daffodils. It cinched at the waist, then flounced down to her calves, where it flirted with her bare legs as she descended the porch steps. A row of buttons skipped down her front, drawing his gaze to her full breasts.

As he watched her draw closer, he felt as if someone had reached inside his body and twisted his heart into a pretzel. She was so goddamn gorgeous—­to him. He knew others might find her too curvaceous, not skinny enough. She wasn't one of those tight, athletic types. He'd never seen her wear jeans. She was always in dresses, or cute little skirts, clothes that embraced her curves and flowed with her movements.

The way she moved might be the most beautiful thing about her. Her dress hugged her body as if she were dancing a tango with it. As she reached the truck, his nostrils quivered, drinking in her fresh scent. Wildflowers and spring rain showers. Sugar and spice and everything nice. That was what Cherie was made of.

He, on the other hand, being a boy, was made of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails. If he'd had a real puppy dog tail, it would have been wagging up a storm as she leaned in the passenger side window. A hint of cleavage flashed in his eyes like an emergency beacon.

If he were in a joking mood, he would have said the emergency was in his pants. But mostly, he knew, the emergency was in his heart. He met her eyes and felt the impact of that misty, worried gray all the way to his toes.

“Hi Cherie.”

“What is it this time? I almost hate to ask.”

“She brought cookies to the firehouse. It's hard to get too mad at her for that. But then she started in about wanting to meet a Bachelor Fireman. I gave her a lecture and Captain Brody wasn't too happy either. She got the point.”

Cherie frowned, two little lines puckering the wide expanse of her forehead. “I just can't figure out what she's up to.” She ran her fingers across the side view mirror. With a sort of painful longing, Vader felt the movement across his own body.

“I hate to ask, Vader, but do you have a few minutes?”

Exultation nearly made him howl at the sun.
She
wanted to see
him
. Finally, his plan was working. But it was the worst possible moment. He was due at the training center. Brody had told him to drop Trixie off and join the crew right away. Someone who wanted the captain's job wouldn't linger with his on-­and-­off non-­girlfriend.

But . . . but . . . He'd been waiting so long for this moment. “Sure. But just a few minutes. You want to get in? Or should I get out?”

She hesitated. He wondered if she was remembering the last time they'd been alone together in her house.

Lord knew he couldn't seem to forget about it.

“How about a cup of coffee? My treat.”

Better and better. Now she wanted to buy him coffee. “Hop in.”

She opened the door and slid onto the passenger seat, filling the cab of the pickup with her sweetness. The plug-­buggy had never smelled so good. He could just imagine the ribbing the guys would dish out when they got a whiff. He didn't care.

He started the truck and cleared his throat. “Where to? I only have a few minutes.”

“I'll be quick. The closest place is the Lazy Daisy on Main.”

As he turned the truck toward Main, he felt her looking at him. He wondered if she was anywhere near as happy to see him as he was to see her. The sensation of her gaze made his body tense. Especially one particular part of his body. He hoped she didn't look in that direction.

She drew in a long breath, then released a torrent of words, her down-­South accent transforming them into pure melody. “Vader, I really appreciate you being there for Trixie, and I'm sorry I told you to mind your own business. She's making it your business. I wouldn't blame you if you told her to get lost, but you never do that. You always make sure she's okay. I know it's because you're a good guy and a firefighter and you automatically want to protect ­people. I know it's not for me. But even so, I just want you to know how much it means to me.”

Not for her?
Was she crazy? When would she ever grasp the fact that he would do just about anything for her? “Don't worry about it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Can't have her wandering around San Gabriel like a prom queen on the loose.”

“See, that's the thing. She never went to prom. Or school, for that matter. Neither did I. She's completely unprepared for life in the real world.”

That little glimpse into her past was more than Cherie had ever revealed before. He kept his eyes on the road, afraid to overreact for fear she'd clam up again. “Were you like that when you first came here?”

“That was different. I didn't have a big sister to run to. And my brother and I left home together.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I know all this must seem crazy to you. You probably had a normal childhood with parents who weren't completely off their rockers.”

Vader didn't answer. He had no idea what a “normal childhood” was, but he was pretty sure his didn't qualify. Many times, he'd wanted to tell her about his mother, but his pride had stopped him. He didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him, especially Cherie.

The silence stretched, until it was almost embarrassing. He kept hoping she'd say more.

“Fine. We don't have to talk about that.” Cherie's voice cooled. Vader could have kicked himself. Another chance blown. Add it to the hundred others. “Anyway, since you've been spending so much time picking Trixie up and dragging her home, I wondered if you'd gotten any ideas about what she's got cooking in that busy little brain of hers.”

“Are you sure she isn't just a horny teenager on her own for the first time?”

“I won't say that she isn't. But my ever-­so-­slightly psychic side tells me she's got some kind of a plan. She's on the computer a lot.”

“She said that's how she found out about the Bachelor Firemen.”

Cherie tilted her head back so it rested on the cloth-­covered headrest. Her hair flowed in a coppery mass over her shoulders. He mulled the option of pulling over, yanking her against him, and burying his face in the aromatic warmth of those spicy waves. She'd go tense for a minute, while her mind rehearsed all the mysterious reasons that they shouldn't get close. Then, as always, she'd give in and they'd melt together the way they always did.

She was saying something else. He forced himself to pay attention. “Maybe she was curious about where you work?”

“Then why didn't she just ask me to show her the station? You saw her outfit. She was looking for action. And she had molasses-­ginger-­chocolate-­chunk cookies with her.”

Cherie drew in a shocked breath, as if he'd said she had dynamite with her. “Molasses-­ginger-­chocolate-­chunk? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, that could mean only one thing.”

“What? That she likes extra iron in her cookies?” Mystified, he pulled into a parking space in front of the Lazy Daisy. It was busy as always, although the crew rarely went there now that Thor had whisked the former waitress, Maribel, off to Alaska to get married.

“She's looking for a husband.”

“Whoa.” Vader turned off the truck and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Is this more Harper family weirdness?”

She snorted. “There's plenty more where that came from. Everyone in the family knows that my stepmama made my father molasses-­ginger-­chocolate-­chunk cookies that were so good he proposed right then and there. 'Course, little did she know what she was in for, since—­” She cut herself off so abruptly someone might have slapped a gag over her mouth.

“Keep going,” he prompted. “Don't hold back all those juicy crazy-­family details.”

“Maybe later. Right now I have bigger fish to fry.” She stepped out of the truck, bright as a sunrise illuminating the drab parking lot. He followed, locking the plug-­buggy behind him. As they walked side by side toward the coffee shop, he snagged her hand, engulfing it in his.

“I'm happy to see you, Cherie. No matter what.”

Her eyes widened, and she swallowed, the muscles moving under the creamy skin of her throat.

“But don't worry. I haven't forgotten where we stand.” He held the door open for her. As she walked past him, she gave a quick glance up; maybe it was his imagination, but he could have sworn there was a flash of regret in her lovely eyes.

“I'm happy too, Vader. You know how much I care about you.”

He decided to ignore that, since it wasn't anywhere close to what he wanted from her. “Care” brought to mind Care Bears and nursing home care. Not the hot, sweet glory he experienced with her.

They chose a small table in the corner. As he pulled out a chair for her, he carefully kept his body from brushing against hers. He couldn't forget his determination to make her come to him—­for more than help with her sister. But since she'd sought him out for advice about Trixie, he bent his mind to the problem.

“Why do you think Trixie's looking for a husband?” he asked as he sat down. “Most eighteen-­year-­olds aren't thinking about marriage. And she acts like a thirteen-­year-­old at her first boy-­girl party.”

“I know. That's what I don't understand. If she wanted to get married, she should have stayed home. That's what they do there. They get married, the younger the better.”

The hint of bitterness in her voice made him look at her searchingly. She was surveying the menu, running her tongue over her rosy-­red lips. He allowed himself a moment to admire the sight, then forced his own gaze back to the menu.