Hot Mess (4 page)

His father was silent on the other end of the phone.

"Dad?"

"I'm here." Sam's dad expelled a sigh. "I'm sorry son, but I can't help you. Your mother handled all that school stuff with you. I know she met with teachers, and she advocated for you, but I have no idea what went on at those meetings. She would just come home and say that it had been handled." His voice was sad, filled with regret. It was unusual for his dad to show so much emotion.

Disappointed that he couldn't get the answers he needed, Sam said, "It’s okay Dad. I'll figure something out. Maybe there won't be any problems."

"Just hope for the best, Son."

Sam finished his conversation with his dad, distracted by memories of his mother, as he knew his dad was too. His dad had worked a lot when he was a kid, and his mother had done everything with him: took him to school, fixed his lunches, chaperoned field trips, president of the PTA, entertained him on rainy summer days with home made finger paints, and chased away his bad dreams with lullabies. When she'd gotten sick, Sam felt like he owed her for all of her dedication as a mother to take care of her through the chemo and the surgeries until she'd finally wasted away into death.

She'd been angry with him at first because he'd given up a partial scholarship to college to take care of her. But his dad was working, and they couldn't afford for somebody to come in and take care of her and pay for the rest of his college. It didn't seem like much of a choice to Sam. Tuition was expensive, even with scholarship money, there were books, housing, food. And paying for a nurse to come and take care of his mother had been out of the question. So, he did what he felt like he had to do. Sam stayed at home with his dad, took on a part time job at the local diner in the evenings, and tried to take care of his mom during the day. He'd managed to keep her at home, until the end, when hospice took over. He wasn't sure if it actually improved her quality of life any, but it made him and his dad feel like they'd done everything they could for her.

After she'd died, he'd needed the adrenaline of fire fighting to take his mind off the sadness. He'd found he loved his job, being able to save people, help them, especially since all he'd been able to do for his mother was watch her die.

Realizing what time it was, he shook his head to clear the morbid thoughts, and focused on something more positive. Rachel Fairchild.

A woman hadn't affected him like this in years. He tried to remember the last time he'd felt such a strong attraction to someone and couldn't remember ever feeling it. Digging a pair of navy blue Dickies out of his drawer and an undershirt, he locked himself in the bathroom, not trusting Brenda to stay out while he was in there.

Immersing himself in the hot spray, he couldn't focus on his first night on the job. His thoughts kept roaming back to Rachel. He found that the adrenaline rush that he'd gotten from anticipating his first night at Serendipity's firehouse matched the rush he felt when he remembered meeting the woman with the purple Impala.

Rachel's eyes were like melted pools of chocolate, he could go swimming in. And her mouth was a little bow-shaped thing he wanted to trace with his fingers so badly, just to see it open into a tiny little "o." Her lashes were long and thick, and he remembered the way they fluttered wildly at him, completely of their own accord, as if they had a mind of their own. The flush that stole up her neck, over her pale skin made him want to see where it came from, under the bulky sweatshirt she wore. The sweats did absolutely nothing to cover her curves, and he looked forward to seeing more of her. His imagination was running wild, imagining what she looked like in jeans, shorts, a bathing suit, naked.

She was a mom, first and foremost. He could tell that just by what he'd seen so far. She picked her child up from school, which meant that she sacrificed a career to be in the car for her daughter. He thought she might be the kind of woman who knew where her daughter was at all times. She cooked real food for dinner. She seemed actively involved in her child's life, like he was trying to be, minus the cooking part. And the keeping tabs part. He briefly relived the panic at waking up to find Amanda was gone. He reminded himself that it had all turned out alright. He couldn't dwell on it.

The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Knowing that Brenda would answer, but curious who would come calling at this hour, he hurriedly got out of the shower, and without really drying off his body, pulled on his dickies, before grabbing his undershirt and leaving the bathroom.

When he saw who was at the door, he did a double-take, before grinning widely.

He sauntered over to the door, and leaned on it. Brenda was standing by, and he said, "Will you go make sure 'Manda has her homework finished? It's almost time for her to get ready for bed." Turning to Rachel, he said, "Hey there." She was still wearing the sweats, and her face was flushed. "It's getting colder, you want to come inside?"

Her eyes raked his body, and he realized that he was still mostly wet from the shower, and steam was coming off his shoulders as the cold air from outside was hitting them. Sam felt a little smug at her obvious discomfiture. Her mouth was in that little "o" he'd imagined, and he let a smirk lift the corners of his lips.

She shook her head, quickly, eyes still on his chest. He flexed his pecs to tease her a little. This cute little waif sure was getting an eyeful. "No. I just had a quick question."

Damn.
"Shoot. What's up?"

When she finally drug her eyes up to his he saw she looked nervous, suddenly, and his curiosity was piqued.

"When Amanda was at my house earlier, the girls were playing in my jewelry box. I normally don't mind, but one of my rings is gone now, and I was wondering if maybe Amanda had brought it home accidentally?"

"I didn't see her with a ring. She's not really into jewelry."

Rachel seemed to steel herself. "She wouldn't have been wearing it, I don't think. It may have been in a pocket, or something."

His hackles rose, and the smirk was gone. He kept his voice low, and put a menacing growl behind it. "Are you accusing my daughter of something?"

Her beautiful brown eyes widened, turning his stomach over, despite the topic of conversation. "No! Of course not. I just thought that while they were playing, she might have slipped it into a pocket or something."

He stalked out the door, slamming it behind him, so Amanda and Brenda couldn't hear. Sam was suddenly livid, his papa bear instincts kicking into over-drive. "So you came over here to call my daughter a thief," as if Amanda didn't have enough problems right now to deal with.

Rachel didn't cower. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, and Sam thought that if she hadn't come over to accuse his daughter of stealing, he would have admired her spunk. He was a big guy and was doing his best to be intimidating, here. He thought he liked Rachel, but not if she was the type to throw accusations around.

"The ring in question was my grandmother's ring. It has immense sentimental value to me. I just want to find it. I've searched Sophie's room, and it's not there. The logical conclusion was that Amanda somehow left with it on her person. I am not calling her a thief."

Sam moved his bulk directly in front of Rachel, towering over her, smelling her in spite of himself. "Yes. Yes, I believe you are calling her a thief." Vanilla and femininity. Jesus, she smelled good. His resolve to be intimidating melted a little and he had to force himself to stiffen his spine.

"I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt here, Sam. I don't want to believe that your daughter stole my ring. Can you just ask her? If she looks, maybe she can find it?" She wasn't backing down. In fact, she had risen to her toes, and her eyes held a pleading look.

"I most certainly will not ask her. She has enough problems right now, without thinking that I believe she's a thief."

"I understand, but…"

"You understand nothing, Rachel. Goodbye." He opened the door, stepped into his house, and slammed it shut.

He should have been cold. It was forty degrees outside and getting colder, but he was furious, and the fury was keeping him warm.

Of all the nerve for that woman to come here and accuse his daughter of stealing. Why would she steal an old ring, for crying out loud? She didn't even wear jewelry. Goodness knows he'd bought her stuff like that, and she never wore it.

"Daddy?"

He turned to see Amanda sitting on the couch, and wondered how much she'd overheard. He had tried to speak softly while the door was open, but little pitchers have big ears, or some shit like that.

"Yeah, Punkin?"

"Are you nervous about your first day of work?" Her eyes were wide, questioning, and he wondered how anybody could think she would steal. She was so innocent. Alarmingly so, considering what she'd been through in her short life.

"Yeah. I am, a little. It shouldn't be too different from JFD, though." Sam looked at his watch and realized that if he didn't get a move on, he'd be late. "I gotta go, sweetie. Be good for Brenda. Okay?"

"I love you, Daddy." His heart squeezed at the moniker coming out of her tiny little mouth. Something about the word Daddy made his heart flutter in a way that was indescribably to someone who'd never heard it spoken to them.

"I love you too, Punkin." He kissed the top of her head. "Don't ever stop calling me that, promise?"

She giggled, a sweet innocent sound. "I promise, Daddy."

"How is school going?" He was hoping that his impressions were wrong.

Amanda shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, we'll be settled in soon. It'll take a little time." He kissed the top of her head, realizing he was going to be late if he didn't get a move on.

He shrugged into his Serendipity Fire Department tee shirt, grabbed the black bomber jacket off the hook by the door, and found Brenda in the kitchen, wiping off the table.

"Hey, you don't need to get here so early. Seven-thirty is fine." He didn't really want to spend so much time with the babysitter. Although he was sort of glad she'd gotten there a little early today. Otherwise, Brenda wouldn't have woken him up, and he wouldn't have found Amanda missing, and he wouldn't have gotten to meet the exquisite neighbor. Brenda just needed to spend the night, not get all family values on him. He was the dad, he didn't need a faux mother figure in the picture. Amanda was confused enough as it was.

Sam arrived at the firehouse early, though not as early as he had planned. The Battalion Chief was waiting for him near the front door.

"I'm glad you got here a little early. We need to get you situated before your shift starts." A tall barrel-chested man, Chief Bennet, was balding, but apparently he was making up for the lack of hair with a full facial beard. He led Sam into the garage, where there were lockers lining a wall. "Your gear is in twenty-two. I'd like to watch you check it."

Sam understood the implications. This was a test of sorts, although he knew he'd be tested for months by all of the crew. He was the new kid on the block and would have to prove himself. So, he got started.

Opening the locker, Sam found his gear hung up neatly. He pulled it out, checking for rips, making sure everything was clean. At the bottom of the locker was more. He checked all of it to make sure everything was in working order. This was standard. Everybody checked everything as soon as they got on shift. Nobody would have time to make sure their gear worked when a call came in.

Nodding that everything was satisfactory, he looked to the Chief.

"Welcome aboard, Son. It'll take awhile for you to get situated, I'm sure. We'll have you riding around with the guys for the first week, while you watch all the training videos. After that, you should be good to go. Just get to know the crew tonight, and we'll work on the rest. As long as there's no calls, training is second morning."

"I understand, Sir. And I appreciate it. Thank you."

The chief nodded, gruffly. "Good. Let's go meet the crew." He turned abruptly and led Sam out of the garage and into a large den-like room, where there were four other men playing a game of pool. Sam smelled chili in the air.

"Boys, this is Sam. He's going to be riding along, until he finds his way around town, Then he'll be driving. Sam, this is Derrick, Cade, Justin, and Dave. Juan and Morris are in the kitchen. I don't know where Mike or JT are, but they're around somewhere. Y'all be nice to the newbie, now. I'm going to my office." With that, he left Sam to the wolves, who didn't all look particularly happy to see him.

The tall one of the bunch, Derrick, was wiry and dark. He straightened, holding his pool stick in one hand, and perused Sam with open hostility.

"So you're the transfer?" He let out a derisive snort and lined up his next shot on the table. His lean body was tense, like a predator ready to pounce.

"Yeah." Sam stood his ground. He would have to prove himself to these guys, just like he'd had to in Jacksonville. Fire fighters acted tough, and he needed to measure up, gain their trust, or they wouldn't be able to work together as a team.

"Don't mind him. He gets cranky when he's hungry. You play?" Cade, the other dark haired man, was asking him. Cade was shorter than Derrick, though not by much. Cheerful eyes and laugh lines told Sam that Cade was a good deal friendlier than Derrick. He had been eyeballing the area and noticed the free weights sitting in the corner.