Four Weddings and a Fireman (23 page)

“Spectacularly so.” She winked, then took his arm in a way that screamed possession. As she made a path through the crowd, no girl in the place could mistake the way she leaned against him, the way she hooked her thumb in his belt loop. Every move she made signaled ownership. Vader reciprocated by wrapping his arm around her shoulder. When they reached the door, as a final punctuation mark, he lowered his hand to her butt and squeezed.

“You know this is one step away from going steady,” he murmured in her ear, highly amused by her behavior. “This is going to be all over town tomorrow.”

“I'll take my chances,” she said with a crooked smile as they stepped into the starlit night—­or was it early morning by now? “I'm pretty sure everyone's too drunk to remember. Including you.”

“You got that wrong. I didn't even drink much. You know me, high on life.” He followed her across the jam-­packed parking lot to her ancient Mercedes, which she'd parked at the last remaining spot, if it could be called that. The poor car was crammed onto the grassy verge, a graceless position for such a dignified-­looking car.

He pulled her around the Mercedes to its dark, sheltered side. With a quick survey, he made sure no one could see them. Using his own Jedi move, he swung Cherie into his arms and pinned her against the car. “Nice parking job. Looks like you were in a hurry.”

“When my guy's in trouble, there's no time to waste.”

He lowered his head to nuzzle her sweet-­smelling hair. “Your guy?”

“You know what they say about saving someone's life. I'm now responsible for you.”

A little starburst of warmth detonated in his chest. “I didn't know it was a life-­or-­death situation. But I'm fine with that. Are you responsible for kissing me too?”

She cocked her head. “I think that's probably included.” He bent to her lips and helped himself to a long kiss, a life-­giving, cock-­hardening, world-­righting kiss. Before he lost all common sense, he pulled back. “Hang on, though. It's okay for you to rescue me, but I can't rescue you? What kind of sense does that make?”

Clutching his upper arms, she sagged against the Mercedes. How he loved that drugged, happy look in her eyes. “All I know is, when I got the text from Mulligan, I jumped at the chance to turn the tables and feel like a hero. I guess it's a two-­way street.”

Of course. How could he have forgotten that the way to Cherie's heart was to need her help? “Two-­way street. I can live with that. It's better than Lonely Street.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his bare chest. He gave a passing thought to his missing shirt, then decided it didn't matter.

“I don't really like Lonely Street either,” she murmured. “How about Let's Try This Again Lane? It's at the intersection of I'm Sorry and Please Kiss Me Again.”

Yes, he knew the spot. They'd been there before. “Have you thought about what I said last night?”

“I have. And I got the number you sent me. I decided I'm going to take your advice and talk to her about filing charges. There can't be any harm in finding out what she says, right? It's all confidential.”

“Yes. Although you can tell me if you want to.”

The fact that she'd listened to him, that she was following his suggestion, made him want to kiss her until he forgot his own name. As he dipped his mouth to her lips, a movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. He stilled and scanned the parking lot carefully. Nothing moved, but he'd bet anything someone had ducked behind a car. In any case, they had no business making out like teenagers in a dark parking lot.

“Let's go home,” he said against her hair. “I'll text Joe the Toe. He's my ride.”

“I think he figured it out.” She searched in her little fish-­shaped purse for her keys. The handle was shaped like a fish hook and fit on her wrist perfectly. She wore a tight-­fitting deep purple dress that showed off her gorgeous cleavage. She was beautiful. And she'd come to his rescue without a second thought.

“I . . .” He wanted to say he loved her, but every time he said it things got screwy. “I thank you, Cherie.”

She stared up at him with night-­shadowed eyes, as if she knew exactly what he'd left out. “It's my pleasure, Vader. We should get back. I left your mother alone with Trixie.”

“Right.”

 

Chapter Twenty-­Two

“Y
ou have to come look at this, Cherie,” Trixie called from her room on the second floor. “You're famous!”

Cherie, who was making coffee in the kitchen, groaned. She had to make it to her shift at Healing Hands in half an hour and she'd gotten only a few hours of sleep. She poured herself a cup of not entirely brewed coffee and hurried upstairs to Trixie's room. When she'd given her sister access to her computer, she'd created an addict. YouTube and Trixie were made for each other.

Trixie was bouncing up and down in front of the old Dell. “You're already on YouTube! You and Vader. Well, mostly Vader. Wow, I knew he was hot, but not that hot! It already has ten thousand views. And look at all the comments. ‘He sure knows what to do with that pole.' ‘He can come rescue me anytime.' ‘What's up with the fat chick ruining the—­' Oops. Never mind that one.”

Cherie stared at the computer screen, where she and Vader were bowing to the cheering, shrieking crowd. “The camera adds ten pounds. Everyone knows that. Of course, in Vader's case it's ten pounds of pure muscle. Holy smokes!”

Even if she did look plumper than in real life, she thought she looked okay. Vader obviously thought so too, judging by the way he pulled her into a smoking hot clinch at the end of the dance.

“You shouldn't be reading those comments, Trixie. They're rude.”

“I like them. ­People can say anything on the Internet, can't they? It's awesome!”

“Poor Vader. I sure hope this doesn't mean trouble for him at the station.” Surely a video like this would create all kinds of problems for someone trying to make captain.

Trixie clicked play again and there came Vader, sliding down the pole like Superman at a strip club.

“Whatever. It's worth it. He could quit the fire department and go into the movies or something. You know what, he should! We should send this to a movie person. Maybe the actress who's a firefighter now. Sabina Jones. I read about her when I was checking out the Bachelor Firemen.”

An odd sound caught Cherie's attention, like something getting knocked over outside.

“Shhh.”

“What, it's a good idea!”

“
Shhht.
” She motioned for Trixie to shush. “I heard a sound,” she whispered. They both went still, listening to the creaks and whispers of the old house.

“It was probably Mrs. Brown,” mouthed Trixie.

“She's still sleeping. And it was outside. Hang on.” Cherie tiptoed to the window and peered into the backyard, which was nothing but a patch of brown grass bordered by rose bushes. Since the roses had stopped blooming in June, the yard was a pretty sad sight. And a completely empty one. “It's nothing, I guess. Maybe the cat bumped into something.”

She turned back to Trixie, an uneasy feeling settling over her. “I wish I didn't have to work today. What are you up to? Can you stay with Mrs. Brown today?”

Trixie scowled and propped her bare feet on the desk. Each of her toenails had been painted a different shade of neon. She must have raided Cherie's makeup stash again. “Isn't she supposed to have a home health care nurse or something? How come I always get stuck with her?”

“Yes, she does, but she told me their insurance ran out and Vader's been paying the whole bill. If we can save them some money, why not?”

Trixie grumbled some more, but finally gave in. “Fine. Maybe she'll let me do Izzy's fur in pigtails again. That was fun.”

Cherie checked her watch and bustled back to the kitchen. After her Healing Hands massage shift, she had a Singles Tango class to teach, and she had a feeling she was going to get plenty of heat over the Firefly video. Somewhere in there she had to make time to call the lawyer, even though the thought gave her a queasy case of the butterflies.

How had Vader
managed to forget they'd entered the electronic era? As soon as he walked into the station to meet with the School Liaison Committee, the whistled versions of “Heartbreak Hotel” began. The B shift could have been a freaking barbershop quartet, the way they belted it out in four-­part harmony. He bore the whole thing stoically, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his shades firmly planted on his face.

“Chippendale's called,” said Lane, the B shift nozzle man. “They're reserving a spot for you.”

Brett, the engineer, added, “I heard you're giving pole dance lessons at the strip club.”

The B shift captain 1 paused, coffee cup in hand. “My wife sent the video to all her girlfriends. I told her she could put your phone number at the end. You okay with that?”

“No, sir,” said Vader. “I wish to remain anonymous.”

“It's a little late for that.” Captain Brody emerged from the captain's office. Vader did a double take, since Brody wasn't supposed to be on shift either. The captain stepped to the side, revealing another man just behind him—­the highly intimidating Chief Renteria, head of the entire San Gabriel Fire Department. The man looked like some kind of avenging Aztec warrior with that scowl on his face.

Vader got that horror-­movie feeling, the one where everything was about to go to bloody hell. There should have been a soundtrack playing.

Had Vader's insane little show gotten Captain Brody in trouble? Had Chief Renteria dragged Brody in on his day off? Forget making captain. He'd be lucky if he didn't get suspended.

“Is this the newest Bachelor Fireman to hit the news?” the chief growled.

“Strictly speaking, he hasn't made the news. I think we can all be grateful that Ella Joy has the week off.”

Channel Six, the local station, and its anchor Ella Joy seemed to have a lock on all embarrassing Bachelor Firemen stories.

“It's just a matter of time,” said Renteria, with a heavy sigh.

“I'm sorry, Chief,” said Vader. “If I'd known there was a camera . . .”

“There's always a camera.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Chief, let me introduce you officially. This is Firefighter Derek Brown. He's been leading the committee on revising the community relations manual. Remember that section you called a stroke of genius? The one dealing with Bachelor Firemen questions? Well, this is the man responsible.” Brody clapped Vader on the shoulder.

“Maybe I should put you in front of the cameras when they come asking about pole dances.”

“Yes, sir.”

Keeping his posture military-­straight, he stole a glance at Brody. His captain gave him a ghost of a wink. Would it be okay? Was the situation salvageable? Was there anything more he could add?

“Sir, I realize a fireman's pole is not something to play around with—­”

Someone snorted behind him. The entire B shift was probably pretending to refill their coffee cups so they could witness the show. The chief tilted his head, as if he hadn't heard quite right.

Vader tried again. “What I mean to say is, firemen's poles are important tools for—­”

This time, an outright hoot echoed through the kitchen.
Fuck it all
. Vader ignored his fellow firefighters and barreled onward. “Even though we don't use the poles as much as we used to—­”

In the kitchen, a guffaw got stifled mid-­snort. Vader fondly pictured a dish towel being stuck in someone's mouth.

“—­we should still treat our poles with respect, since they're a treasured part of our firefighting past,” he ended with as much dignity as he could muster.

The chief's fierce black eyes drilled into him. Out of the corner of his eye, Vader saw that Brody's face was bright red, as if he too was struggling not to laugh.

Well, he'd always known how to entertain the crew. Why should anything change? He waited stoically for the chief's verdict.

“Well put,” Renteria said, finally. “It's nice to see the next generation appreciating the traditions of the past. Now let's sit down and see where you are with the handbook. Brody says you've been doing good work.”

Vader allowed his shoulders a tiny slump of relief. He already owed Captain Brody in so many ways; now he could add this incident to the list. He followed Renteria and Brody into the office. As he closed the door, he looked back at his tormentors. Lane was doing the world's most ridiculous lap dance with a metal folding chair. Brett was dry-­humping the doorjamb.

Vader drew a finger across his throat in the universal sign meaning,
You're so dead
. He mouthed the words too, for emphasis. Then he stepped into the office, followed by the very faint hum of another Elvis tune, “ . . . a little more action, please.”

Brody gave him a quick head shake, as if warning him not to react. Vader knew better. The only way to end the ribbing would be to wait it out until something even better came along. He didn't care about that part anyway, as long as Renteria didn't hold it against him. So far, so good. If he could wow Renteria with his handbook prowess, maybe the chief would let the pole episode slide.

Vader sat down in the chair that Brody indicated. Chief Renteria placed one ankle over the opposite knee and leaned back. “So tell me where you are on this. Can you get it to the printer's by next week?”

“Sure can.” Vader had no idea if that was possible. But if ever a little white lie was called for, this was the time.

“Of course we want to run it by the Public Information Department and the union, maybe even the Widows and Orphans Fund,” said Brody smoothly. “They have a lot of experience dealing with the community. Best to allow a few extra weeks for all that.”

“Bureaucracy,” said the chief in disgust. “It's enough to make you run for dictator.”

“Next time they put that on the ballot, I'll write you in,” promised Brody. Both men laughed. Vader shifted awkwardly in his chair, which was much too small for his muscular self. The other two men were so at ease, so comfortable with their positions of authority. Would he ever be like that? Would he ever be someone others looked to for leadership?

Unless it was leadership down a slippery pole into a screaming crowd, of course. He'd be the go-­to guy for that mission.

His cell phone beeped with an incoming text message. Damn, he should have turned it off before he came in here for this meeting. The phone was in the lower pocket of his khakis, practically all the way down at his shin. There was no way he could subtly turn it off without anyone noticing.

The chief was already giving him the stink-­eye.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Thought I'd turned it off.” He reached down to his pocket, extracted the phone, and saw that the text was from his mother. Scanning the first line, which read,
Trixie wants you to . . .
he decided it was nothing important. He almost turned the phone off, but the truth was, he never left his phone off. A dead phone would make him so worried about his mother he wouldn't be able to concentrate. Instead, he switched it to vibrate and put it in a more unobtrusive pocket.

“Family matter,” he told Brody and Renteria, trying to make it sound important, like something a politician might say.

“You're a family man, are you?” asked the chief.

“Well . . .” Vader faltered. Did taking care of your mother make you a family man? The chief was probably talking about kids and a wife. He'd heard Renteria was divorced. “Family is very important,” he equivocated.

His phone vibrated, making his leg jump. He clenched his jaw. This was all Trixie's fault, he just knew it. Trixie was going to single-­handedly torpedo his promotion without doing anything other than being herself.

Renteria turned his attention to Brody and asked him about Melissa and their new baby. Vader grabbed the opportunity to slide the phone from his pocket. This time, he'd freaking turn the thing off, for the first time in his life.

Another message from his mother. This one also began with the name “Trixie.”
Trixie called Cherie but got no answer . . .

Why did Ginny have to inform him of every little detail of her day? Especially irritating since so many of those details involved Trixie.

He plunged the phone back into his pocket and turned his attention to the conversation.

“ . . . finally starting to sleep through the night, as long as you define night as the hours between midnight and four in the morning. I'm going to bring him into the station next week and give him his first tour. Show him the locker I have picked out for him.” Brody winked one charcoal-­gray eye. It did Vader's heart good to see the captain so happy.

Once again, his phone vibrated. That was it. Off it would go. He dug it out once more and poised his thumb over the power button. But first he'd better check to make sure it wasn't his mother reporting a heart attack brought on by Trixie.

Get over here now!
the text screamed.
A man came looking for Trixie and Cherie. Trixie's terrified. I think it might be my fault.