The Perfect Match (11 page)

She cast a glance over the inhabitants, and her heart fell. These adults were special . . . the pleading words of the woman returning. She frowned. “Is this a residence?” she asked into her radio.

Joe’s voice came back. “Yes. For the mentally challenged.” With his grim tone, saving their house took on new meaning.

“Where’s my second squad?” she yelled into her radio.
They were going to save this house if she had to go in there herself and stamp out the fire with her bare hands.

Doug had exited without checking in and was helping Bruce with the windows on the porch. She counted the rest of her men. Two on the hose in the house, two on the roof, Craig at the pump. She couldn’t see Joe. Anger flared in her chest. “Michaels, where are you?”

“I’m upstairs . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Joe?” Her voice betrayed an edge of panic.

“I’m here. I’m just . . . I’m coming out.”

“Now! That’s an order.”

Silence hissed over the line.

She watched the men battle the house, organized chaos. Where was Joe? On the roof, Dan was chewing up a new section with his saw, venting more smoke. She couldn’t see Mitch either.

Never had fear for her crew felt so invasive, like claws around her heart. She’d been a fire captain for three years in Duluth, and even then, while she cared about her men, she hadn’t felt actual pain at watching them fight a fire. “Joe!”

Nothing.

“Joe?”

Dan stopped chopping, looked at her from the roof. “FAST team now,” she ordered.

Was Joe wearing his PAL? Was he down? She started toward the door, desperation fueling her steps.

“Ellie, stop!”

Dan’s voice in her ear made her freeze. What was she thinking? Dan was already halfway down the ladder. Bruce Schultz and Doug Miller, the other FAST team members, had also responded. “Get back, Ellie. We’ll find him.”

Ellie stared at the smoke tunneling out of the doorway. It stung her eyes even from twenty feet away.

“You do your job; we’ll do ours.” Dan ran up to her, took her arm, pulled her back. He looked downright fierce in his turnout gear, mask, air pack, and the definite glower on his face. “You’re not going in there.”

Before she could sputter a response, Joe appeared in the door, on all fours, holding something to his chest. Dan let her go and ran up to him. Joe got up and sprinted out the door, not even coughing.

Relief spilled through Ellie. “You’re in big trouble, Michaels,” she growled as she sent the FAST crew back to their positions.

Dan had tried not to panic. He really did. He tried to let her do her job, to let her stalk around the fire without his interference. For a couple of seconds he even forgot she was down there, and then he’d hear her voice over his radio and the worry would return with a shudder.

He died a thousand deaths when she rushed toward the door. Where was the woman’s common sense? She had him dreaming of his SCBA gear in his sleep—what was she thinking heading into the blaze without it? Besides, such situations were why she’d trained the FAST team—to rescue fallen firefighters. The system worked . . . if the fire chief did her job and kept her panic under wraps.

The fire had been doused, with damage only to the bathroom, kitchen, and two upper bedrooms. Unfortunately, the rest of the residence, at least on the kitchen
end of the building, was a soggy, oily mess. Dan finished fixing the tarp onto the hole he’d just made in the roof, then climbed down the ladder.

Joe was wrapped in conversation with Ruby and his brother, Gabe. Dan recognized the item Gabe clutched to his chest—a picture of Joe and his brother as children, standing with their mother, taken shortly after their father had abandoned them. No wonder Joe had risked his life for the snapshot—the brothers knew the importance of saving memories. If Dan remembered correctly, their mother had died shortly after Gabe moved to the Garden, a permanent residence for mentally challenged adults.

It was also a strawberry farm, and Dan didn’t even want to imagine what the firemen might be doing to the fields in back. He shot a quick prayer skyward that their garden had been spared.

Ellie was supervising the overhaul of the place, the walk-through that would guarantee every ember had been extinguished, every hot spot cooled. She barked orders like a five-star general, reminding the crew of the most elementary task. Tear open the mattresses from the damaged bedrooms, open the eaves, and fog out the house with huge fans. Her commands saturated the wet, smoky air.

Did she think the Deep Haven Fire Department was totally incapable? that she’d spent the last month training a bunch of chimpanzees? that they couldn’t figure out which end of the axe to use? Somehow they’d survived, with nary a casualty among the crew, for the last three years without her. They’d muddle on somehow.

Now that Dan had his emotions safely under lock and key, he could admit, only to himself, that frustration hadn’t been the primary emotion ravaging his nerves.
Fear, pure and simple, had grabbed him by the throat when Ellie ran toward that house. Every golden moment they’d spent together flashed past his eyes. In the thirty seconds it took for him to get down that ladder, he realized that fear had nothing to do with protecting Ellie, a member of the fairer sex.

It had to do with protecting himself. The blinding pain he’d experienced watching her fling off safety and run into danger told him he’d invested more into their friendship than he’d intended.

He should have recognized that fact last Sunday when she all but bolted out of the church to avoid him. He still hadn’t recovered from the ache that nonverbal rejection had left in his heart.

Dan tromped over to Craig Boberg, who was slowly draining one of the hoses. “Fine way to end your shift, huh?”

Mild-mannered, blond Craig, with his basketball height and years of experience, smiled slightly. “Are you on tonight?”

Dan nodded. And if he had it his way, he was going to corner that spitfire chief and force her to tell him why she’d turned the cold blast on. It didn’t escape him that this was the second time he’d thrown caution to the wind when it came to Ellie Karlson. In fact, just being near the woman had him off balance. The same qualities about her—courage, determination—that drew him to her also scared him numb. From the moment he’d met her, he couldn’t seem to rein in these spurts of emotion. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. His ability to order his actions, his words, had always given him a sense of control. Of righteousness.

But being with Ellie made him feel the blood in his veins, the air in his chest. Her chilly roundabout felt like a slap.

He watched her as she exited the house and stomped through the muddy pools in the yard toward Joe and Ruby, the house manager for the residence. Ellie looked like a woman on a mission, her fire-chief face pasted on. Dan tightened his grip on his axe and headed into the house, suddenly wishing he could extinguish the fire she’d ignited in his heart.

E
llie stood, hands on her hips, staring into the remains of the lodge. She hoped Doug and Mitch were going through the electrical wiring like she asked. She’d caught their rolled eyes at her request but decided to ignore it in favor of doing a thorough overhaul. The last thing she wanted was to return here in a few hours to douse smoldering flames in the eaves.

Two police cruisers had arrived while she and Chief Sam were taking Ruby’s account of the fire.

The poor woman, who, Ellie suspected, usually managed the place without breaking a sweat, stood clenching and unclenching her fists as she spoke. “We were in the back having our annual harvest party.” Her hazel eyes looked like they could be etched with wisdom but today were overshadowed by horror. “I went in to get a refill of potato salad from the fridge when I saw the smoke.”

“Where did it seem to be coming from?” Chief Sam asked. His presence at the scene and the respect he gave
Ellie bolstered her lagging sense of victory. Yes, they’d saved the house, but thirty or so mentally challenged adults would have to add this tragedy to their repertoire of struggles.

“I think it must have started in the bathroom. I smelled smoke, and when I opened the door, the entire room went up. Poof, just like that.” She shook her head, and despair leaked out of her expression. “I closed the door and ran.”

“You did the right thing.” Ellie logged her words, then frowned. “The bathroom? Did you see anyone inside, someone who could have set the blaze?” Her mind tracked back to the Simmons fire and the fact that it too started in the bathroom, smoldering until it found enough oxygen to flash over.

“No, I saw no one. We were all outside. I thought the caterers had gone home. I told them I would clean up. It cuts costs that way.”

“Caterers?” Sam asked, glancing at Ellie. “Smoky Joe’s BBQ?”

“Yep, that’s them. They host our party every year. It’s sort of a tradition with us, and the residents love it so.” She glanced at her group of residents. “I feel just sick for them.”

Ellie couldn’t agree more. And the fact that Joe had a brother here only added to her nausea. She wanted to fire the fireman or at least hang him by his toenails for snatching up that photograph from his brother’s room. But the poignant scene of his handing it to Gabe turned her fury down to low boil. She’d give him a warning. Maybe.

“Did one of the caterers use the bathroom?” Chief Sam asked.

Ruby shrugged. “I was outside in the back. I did hear their truck leave, though.”

“I’ll do a walk-through later after the smoke has cleared,” Ellie said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry.”

Four hours later, as Ellie hauled out the hoses for drying at the fire station, the blaze at the Garden hung in her mind like the smell of creosote. Something didn’t sit right. The fire starting in the bathroom, the evidence of a fueled flashover. She still hadn’t received word about the Simmons debris she’d sent to the fire marshal in Minneapolis, but fifteen years of experience poked her.

She lugged the last of the hoses into the three-story hanging room. She’d already inspected the other hose hanging from the ceiling like a snake in a tree. Hand over hand she wound the next hose along, inspecting for tears, cracks, and other pressure-related weaknesses. The Deep Haven equipment wasn’t new by any means, but if it was cared for it should last. She hooked one end on a pulley and hoisted it in the air to let it dry. A horizontal dry would be better, but this option would at least keep it out of the sun.

When she walked through the garage to the kitchen, she noticed through the open doors that Franklin had decided to leave his mark on their polished floor. Poor dog had been neglected in the aftermath of the incident. With a sigh she grabbed a mop, dragged the bucket over to the puddle, and began to sop it up.

“Now that looks more like woman’s work than what I saw today.”

Ellie turned and dread hit her like a wrecking ball. Mitch Davis, his timber-sized arms folded across his chest, leaned against the door to the kitchen. His dark brown hair had been washed and slicked back, his chin freshly shaved. He had the aura of a very wet, clean mastiff. “Hello, Mitch. What are you doing here?”

The look he gave her made her feel about two inches tall. “I’m on the schedule.”

She tried not to scowl. She’d attempted to maneuver Mitch’s schedule so she never had to be in the station during his shift. Obviously, she’d overlooked his name on today’s roster. “Okay. Well, the turnout gear is piled in the laundry room. If you could get going on cleaning it, I’d appreciate it.”

“In your dreams,” he said.

She took a deep breath. Why, oh why, did he have to bare his teeth at her every request? She finished cleaning, then plopped the mop back into the bucket, wheeled it over to the wall. “Right. Well, that’s part of your job, and I know you did it when Halstrom was chief, so please—”

“Oh, honey, I think that you can probably take care of that. I mean, what’s a woman for?” He lifted one side of his mouth as he said it—half smile, half sneer.

“Don’t think I won’t fire you, pal,” she said in a glacial voice, wondering if she could back up her words. It was common knowledge that Mitch had more experience and training than any man on her crew. “Laundry. Now.” She strode past him, fighting to keep herself glued.

She felt Mitch’s gaze on her back, hot and not at all gentlemanly. Scheduled or not, she wasn’t spending the night with Mitch the Menace on the premises. Lifting
her chin, she marched to the schedule sheet. Her heart fell slightly when she saw Dan’s name penciled in. No wonder she hadn’t noticed Mitch’s name. Yes, she’d definitely be hightailing it back to the hotel. Not that Dan made her skin crawl, like Mitch did, but the last thing she wanted to do was face Mr. I’m-Here-to-Save-You, especially after her near dash into danger—or being accused of it. She’d felt like a disobedient kindergartner when Dan barked at her in front of her crew. It made her want to strangle him.

Except it felt strangely . . . sweet. And that fact had her emotions in a tangle.

She moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She had specifically purchased a number of frozen dinners to help the guys adjust to their new routine. “I stocked the fridge with sodas and sandwiches. You should be set until tomorrow.”

“What? You’re not staying over?” The way he said it and the proximity of his voice made her freeze.

“Uh, no.” She turned. Yep, Mitch had closed the distance between them, and the dog in him had turned predatory. She tried not to feel like cornered prey as she leaned back against the sink. “I stayed here last night, and . . . well, I don’t think it’s . . .” Her voice trailed off when he took another step closer. The smell of beer leaked off him, and her fear morphed into fury. “You’ve been drinking!”

He advanced, wearing a lazy smile. “I’m stone-cold sober, baby. But maybe you need a drink? Something to make you a little less tense?” He reached out and touched her shoulder.

She always thought that the expression “cold with fear” was just that—an expression.

But no. Ice raced through her veins, and she actually went numb. Mitch’s hand tightened, and the other reached behind her and braced on the counter, neatly pinning her to the sink.

“Please don’t, Mitch,” she said just above a whisper. Where was the girl who’d fended off a camp full of smoke jumpers and hotshots, and managed to maintain one of the few unsullied reputations in six different EMS departments across the state of Minnesota?

That gritty girl had obviously jumped up and ran for the hills, leaving behind this wimpy scarecrow of a woman. Swallowing hard, Ellie somehow slammed her hand against Mitch’s chest. “Leave me alone, Davis.”

“No, you don’t want that, do you, Chief? See, I’ve seen you making friendly with our good ole pastor. By the way he looks at you, it seems to me it’s more than firefighting tips you’re handing out. I was thinkin’ that maybe you’d like to share . . . you know, win over a few more converts to your way of thinking? Sort of a firefighter perk?”

She’d had her share of ugly propositions. But the way he said it—condescending, ridiculing—jump-started her muscles and pumped courage into the cowering biddy inside. Ellie slapped him hard. The sound rang through the station as his head jerked. When he met her gaze, fury filled his eyes. An expletive left his mouth, but she’d already ducked under his arm and was halfway across the station. “You’re fired, mister!” she yelled, right before slamming the door and throwing the lock.

Her heart hammered against her chest, and she held her breath, listening. She heard another foul word, then, “You’ll regret this!” The entire station shook as he
slammed the door. She closed her eyes, her breath ragged and hot.

Obviously she’d bitten off way more than she could chew. What had she been thinking when she practically begged Romey to hand her this position? That she could actually pull it off and become the first female fire chief in the state of Minnesota?

She tottered over to her chair and sank into it. Great, just great. What had she just done? Brutus or not, Mitch knew how to fight fires and she needed him. She hung her head in her hands. After reconsidering, Ellie decided to place the oaf on disciplinary probation, giving the dog a cooling off in hopes that she wouldn’t have to permanently cut loose one of her most capable captains.

A rap at the door nearly sent her out of her skin.

“Mitch, I told you to leave!”

Silence. Mustering her nerve, she rose, stalked to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open.

Dan stood in the doorway, looking clean, sweet, and way-too-heroic in a gray T-shirt and enough muscles to communicate that he could toe up to Mitch without flinching. Except he was a
pastor.
“Ellie, are you okay? I just saw Mitch leave, and well, he looked like he could spit nails.”

He looked so gentle standing there with his hands in his jeans pockets, his brow furrowed, concern in his eyes. Words locked in her chest, and she tightened her jaw before it shook.

He ducked and looked her square in the eyes. “Did he hurt you?” His concern changed into the slightest flicker of fury. He stepped back and took his hands out of his pockets. They clenched into fists. “Did he?”

She gripped the doorframe, hoping he wouldn’t see her shake. “No.” But it came out in a whisper.

He obviously didn’t believe her because his face twisted and a growl emerged. “What did he do?”

She closed her eyes. “I just want to go home.” Then, suddenly, she slid to the floor, touched her head to her knees, and began to sob.

Dan died just a little watching Ellie crumple and her shoulders shake. He crouched beside her, his heart aching. “Ellie, what’s the matter?”

She shook her head.

He touched her shoulder, longing to draw her into his arms. “Please, tell me.”

“I can’t do this, Dan. What am I doing here?”

Her quiet voice shook the emotional bedrock he’d held on to for dear life this week. She had no idea how hard it had been for him not to hold her hand, touch that silky brown hair, tuck her under his arm as he walked her along the shoreline to her hotel. And if she kept crying, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t dive over the line she’d drawn and drag them both into deep trouble. He braced himself, hanging on to his honor with both fists.

“No one listens to me, half my squad either hates me or thinks I’m some sort of female mutant, and I can’t help feeling that someone is setting these fires deliberately, but I don’t have a scrap of evidence to track him down. I’m failing this town.”

Dan sat down opposite her, took her hands, and searched her beautiful blue eyes. They were red-rimmed,
and tears trailed down her cheeks. Seeing Miss Grit shatter made him feel raw and a little afraid.

“Why do I do this to myself?” She raised her hands as if talking to heaven. “I know I’m going in over my head, and yet I sink myself before I even start.”

“What are you talking about?”

She turned to him. Her eyes were glossy and dark. “I’m just tired. Tired of trying, tired of fighting. Tired.” She took a deep breath, and when she exhaled her shoulders slumped. “Maybe I should quit.”

He tucked a stray lock behind her ear, and she responded with a melancholy smile. “Maybe you’re just trying too hard. No one expects you to save this town or us. You’re a good leader, and sooner or later the rest of the guys will see that.”