The Perfect Match (2 page)

She shot another glance at the man and remembered seeing him at the fire, helping the less-than-brilliant victim in the next room. Fatigue etched into the lines on his sooty face, layered his burnished brown hair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fiddling with the buckle on his helmet. A woman, whom Ellie assumed was his wife, rested her head against his shoulder, her blonde hair flayed out, her eyes closed. He’d shed his turnout coat onto an adjacent vinyl chair, but even his flannel shirt looked dirty. He was probably some lumberjack down from the north woods.

A nurse, blonde pigtails belying her starched appearance, charged down the hall in their direction, shot a sympathetic look at the couple on the chairs, then entered the man’s room. Ellie caught a glimpse of a white-coated doctor blocking her view before the door closed.

She might have to tackle the nurse when the woman exited. Ellie blinked back the sight, right behind her eyes, of fireman Dan flying off the roof, his arms flailing against the backdrop of flame and ash. It still caught her breath in her throat. He’d landed practically at her feet with a gut-tightening
thwunk
and an outcry of pain that echoed through the chambers of her soul.

And then he’d looked at her like she was some sort of heavenly being—or at least an earthly dream come true. He must have jarred a few brain cells loose. She’d never been anyone’s dream. Ever. Their worst nightmare, however, oh yes. She’d been called that more times than she could count. This fireman definitely wasn’t the hottest spark in the fire. Fifteen years of scrabbling for respect in the very masculine world of firefighting told Ellie
no one
considered her a dream come true when she stepped over the firehouse threshold.

But she didn’t care. She wasn’t in town to win the firemen’s affection. Respect, obedience, and loyalty, though, yes. And pacing outside this wounded firefighter’s hospital room seemed a good way to seed a reputation that said she cared about her men.

Since when had she started lying to herself? The black, scuffed tread she’d worn on the floor wasn’t only about gaining a foothold of respect. Something about this firefighter tugged at the soft, hidden places in her heart. Setting aside his smoky gray eyes and his bravado in the face of tragedy told her he wasn’t an ordinary soul . . . then again, none of the rank-and-file firemen who deliberately threw themselves between life and death could be called ordinary. Still, something about this jakey’s gutsy determination told her he would be a man to count on in a fire.

She had to meet him face-to-face, away from the raging adrenaline and confusion of a conflagration. And, truth be told, she did like hearing his crazy, pain-filled words. Even if they’d die the second she introduced herself.

The door to his room opened. The nurse strode out.

Ellie was hot on her tail. “Is he going to be okay?” Her voice sounded exactly like the person she’d become. Hard. Demanding. Blunt. She wanted to cringe, then decided that she might need to build her reputation in this town on those merits.

The nurse stopped, turned. Her blue eyes considered Ellie with the slightest edging of sympathy. “Who are you?”

“Concerned bystander.” Ellie offered a slight smile. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but dodging the truth always made her feel grimy.

“The doctor will be out soon. But, yes, I think our pastor will be out in time to preach on Sunday.”

Pastor?
Ellie’s mouth opened, and she knew she looked like an idiot standing there, turning pale, as the nurse walked away. This wide-shouldered, face-death-with-a-roar fireman was a pastor?

Of course. She should have guessed it.

In a flash of memory, she saw another man—no, a
boy—
his ponytail flying, careening over the rutted dirt of a fire camp on a pair of roller skis while attached to the bumper of a convertible VW Bug by a water-ski line. His laughter still echoed in the canyons of her heart.
Oh, Seth.

Why was it that all the heart-stopping, real-life heroes in her life belonged to God? That realization doused the tiny flame of hope that had ignited deep inside.

She resumed her pacing, meeting the gazes of the huddled couple as she stalked by. The hall clock ticked out the next ten minutes in merciless eternal seconds. Ellie nearly flattened the doctor when he emerged, tucking his pen into his jacket. He stopped in front of the couple and shook the lumberjack’s hand, a smile on his face.

“He’s a lucky one, Joe,” the doc said. “Just a few minor burns and a dislocated shoulder.”

Ellie nosed up to the group and didn’t flinch at the doctor’s hard look. “Just checking on him,” she said. “Can I see him?”

“Well, I guess—,” the doctor started.

Ellie didn’t wait. She barged into Dan’s room.

Even with his arm in a sling, his right cheek blistered and swollen, and shadows etched under his eyes, he still had the ability to stop her dead in her tracks. Maybe it
was that tousled, dark brown hair or perhaps those lazy gray eyes that latched onto her with more than a little interest. Her disobedient heart did a tiny jig when he gave her a lopsided smile.

“So,” he said, “are you a dream?”

Oh, she could be in big, big trouble. For a second, she wanted to pull up a chair, dive into his friendship, and delay the inevitable. He seemed to have the unsettling ability to wheedle past her defenses and find her lonely places. She feared Dan the Pastor might have the power to make a girl chuck her life goals, unpack her suitcase, and paint her name on a mailbox. Solid, wise, and just a little bit of a rapscallion. A man who respected her, who thought she might be, indeed, a dream come true.

Except she couldn’t be that girl. Not with a bevy of promises pushing against her, keeping her on the run.

Besides, once she told him the truth, the antagonism would begin. She knew too well—the shock, the disapproval, and finally the cold wall that would come with her announcement.

If she hoped to etch a toehold of respect in this backwoods community, it would have to start at this hero’s bedside.

“No. I’m a very real and slightly angry reality, fireman. What were you doing on that roof?” She crossed her arms, neatly shielding her heart, and watched his smile vanish.

“Excuse me?”

“You risked your life and the lives of your fellow firemen. Thankfully, no one was behind you, but by not waiting to vent that room, you could have killed my entire crew.”

“Your what—wait . . . just who
are
you?” He
frowned, and somehow it only added to the wounded-hero effect.

She took a deep breath. “Ellie Karlson. Interim fire chief.”

His mouth opened for the shock phase. She debated smiling, but she’d need all her stoic arsenal for phase two. . . .

“No way. You can’t be—I mean, a firefighter has to be—”

“A shapely version of a man? A knuckle dragger in high heels?” She arched one eyebrow. “Have hairy fists and dangling nose hair?”

He looked properly chagrined, and she knew she’d hit the bull’s-eye. Why did men always think that a woman doing a job that required courage, strength, and stamina had to be built like a tank? Still, now that she’d doused him with the cleansing reality, she should add some painkiller to the wound. Perhaps it would ward off phase three—the big chill.

“I’m not what many people expect. But I assure you, I know what I’m doing.” She sat in the chair beside the bed, reached out, and touched his slung arm. “And, for the record, I was impressed by your dedication. We’re about saving lives, and you risked your life for that family. Next time, take a partner and your axe and SCBA gear.”

He stared at her with a potent mix of horror and disbelief. O-kay, so maybe he’d hit the ground harder than she thought. “It could have been much worse,” she offered. “Be thankful you lived through it.”

“Too bad the little boys didn’t.” When he clenched his jaw, she thought she saw tears glaze his eyes.

“But you saved them,” she said, confused.

His gaze shot back to her.

“Yes. When you vented the fire, flames ran to the oxygen. The fireball that knocked you off the ladder kept the fire from tracking to the other side of the house. They found the boys and their mother in an upstairs bedroom.”

“Are they—?”

She had the wild desire to run her hand along that whiskered jaw that seemed one shave away from his respectable position of town pastor.

Suddenly, painfully, he reminded her of a man now dancing through heaven.

Ellie clasped her hands firmly in her lap. “They’re in intensive care . . . but . . . well, it doesn’t look good.” She tried to soften the blow by gentling her voice. She never had adapted well to this aspect of her job.

He nodded, as if he expected the news, and again looked away. “It’s all my fault, you know.”

She frowned, not clear at his words, noticing how he’d bunched the covers in his right fist. “Yes. But it worked. Not a technique I’d employ, but hindsight is sometimes the best vision, especially in firefighting.”

He met her words with his own frown, making her pulse race.
Calm down,
she thought. She’d been surrounded by burly hero types her entire life, starting with her father’s fire buddies to her brother’s chums to her own fire-crew cronies. This guy wasn’t any different than every other jakey. She would just have to get used to those mesmerizing eyes and intriguing smile. Besides, he was probably married . . . but where was his wife? Her gaze flickered down to his hand, now strapped to his chest. No ring.

That could mean nothing. Plenty of firemen took off their rings before a fire. The metal attracted heat. Still,
any wife in her right mind would be pacing the corridors with worry, if not standing at the foot of his bed, directing traffic.

She would.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said in a voice that sounded slightly . . . angry? “You’re Deep Haven’s new fire chief?”

Perhaps he hadn’t jostled any brain cells in that fall—how could he with his brain packed in an outer case of granite? Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said?

“As I live and breathe. I heard the fire on my scanner and hustled over, hoping I could help.” She refused to sound apologetic.

He gave her a look—sad, disgusted, horrified—that sucked her back in time and made her feel like the rebellious teenager who’d hitchhiked to Colorado to keep up with her big brother.

It raised her ire like static electricity. Oh, please—they didn’t live in the dark ages. Women had been fighting fires on crews for over a hundred years starting with Molly Williams in 1818. Cro-Magnon man needed to enter the twenty-first century.

“Help?” he said in a one-word, caveman grunt.

Maybe she should simplify things, speak slowly, use small words . . . “Listen, bub, I’m here to fight fires and to keep you out of trouble.”

Yes, he’d definitely just emerged from the big thaw, for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Neanderthal looked at her with a chauvinistic gleam in his eye and in a low growl tossed aside one hundred years of women’s rights.

“Over my dead body.”

T
he words were out before he could snatch them back.
Over his dead body?
Where had that come from? Last time he’d spoken those words, he’d been staring down spunky Charlene Richardson, trying desperately to keep his world from crumbling.

“Wait, I didn’t mean that,” Dan said. “I mean . . . I did . . . but, well . . .
you’re
the new fire chief?”

“Do you need to see it in writing?” Her eyes flashed like lightning across a stormy sky.

“Uh . . . maybe that would be helpful.”

When she pounced to her feet, Dan felt his chest tighten. With her feet planted and her hands perched on her hips, Ellie suddenly reminded him of everything he’d lost one sunny spring day nearly fifteen years before. What was wrong with him? He was an emancipated male and was all for women working in positions of responsibility, even danger.

Well,
most
women. It seemed particularly unfair that God would again send him someone who looked
heartbreakingly cute with axle grease—or soot—on her chin.

“Just gimme a second here to catch up,” he said, attempting to calm Ellie’s ire with a smile. “I banged my head pretty hard.”

“You’ve got all the time in the world, Pastor.”

He swallowed back a choking pain and told himself that Chief Ellie Karlson was
not
the love of his life, nor would she ever rip his heart into a thousand ugly pieces.

“Okay . . . I admit that I’m not scoring many points here,” Dan said, trying to ignore the throb of old wounds. “But I’m on the town council and don’t remember hiring anyone for that position.”

“It’s an interim job. Your town manager called our district. I’m filling in until you find your permanent chief.”

Oh, boy, wait until Mitch discovered this tidbit of news. There’d be sparks flying in town hall in the morning.

“Pardon my shock, Miss Karlson, but I have this sick feeling that I’m the only one who knows this.”

Her mouth opened slightly, and in that instant he saw the slightest flint of fear. It had the effect of a spark on the tinder on his protective urges, an impulse he thought he’d extinguished years ago.

Then she sighed, as if fatigue had brushed over her. When she spoke, gone was the defense, the sarcasm. “Well, then I guess you’re the lucky first to find out.” Rubbing her forehead with a grimy hand, she sat in the chair again. She looked so utterly fragile in that moment, he again felt the wild impulse to take her hand or pull her into his arms.

“Listen,” she said, her voice weary, “I know that having a woman fire chief rubs against the default masculine ego, but I have an MA in management, ten years of experience, and a degree in fire science. I don’t expect to fill the shoes of Chief Halstrom, but I promise I’ll do my best to make sure you have the latest training and equipment to do your job. You don’t have to like me, but I’d appreciate your support.”

Not
like
her? Over an hour ago, as she’d brushed the hair back from his face and felt for his pulse, he’d experienced emotions that bordered on boyish, teenage infatuation. But perhaps she was dead-on—he didn’t like the idea of a woman at the helm of the fire station. Not that he doubted her abilities—her quick litany told him she knew more about fighting fire than Smokey Bear. But the thought of her wielding an axe or even facing heats that rose to twelve hundred degrees made him wince.

When had it become a crime to want to protect a woman? After all, hadn’t God charged men with treating the fairer sex with gentleness? And this woman, with her high cheekbones, tawny brown hair in Pippi Longstocking braids, and small-yet-solid frame seemed indeed fair.

“You’re just . . . not what I expected,” he said in a low tone. “And something about you running into a fire doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Yeah, I caught that. But guess what; life isn’t what we expect, is it? It twists and turns, and we never know how it will end up until we get there. All we can do is hold on and hope we survive. Hope that somehow what we’ve done has made a difference along the way.”

The slight tremble of her jaw belied the tough-as-an-
armadillo demeanor she wanted to convey. He frowned at her words.

“And the difference I’m going to make is to teach you guys how to save lives.” Her voice tightened, taking with it the vulnerability from her expression. Raising her hands, she closed them into tiny fists that betrayed frustration. “I might be a woman, but I’ve worked hard for this chance. I nearly had to get on my knees and beg for this job, and I’m not going to lose it to a religious he-man who can’t see beyond my braids to my brains.”

His gray matter worked to find words, but somehow her impassioned expression took the breath right out of his chest.

Her eyes darkened. “You know, for a pastor, I was kind of expecting a ‘Wow, you’re right. I am a hardheaded lug’ or maybe a ‘How are you settling into Deep Haven? Would you like some help?’ or even ‘Thanks for pulling my stupid body out of the flames.’ ” Her sassy sarcasm had returned, along with a one-hand-on-her-hip pose that screamed, “You slimeball.”

“Uh, well . . . I’m not real keen on the hardheaded lug option . . .”

Was she actually glaring at him? It had been a while since a woman did that. Even the choir director at church disguised her glares with a wry grimace.

She blew out another breath. “Okay, maybe I should rewind and do this over. Keep it short and sweet.” She stood and extended her hand. “Hello. The name is Chief Karlson. I’m your new boss, and if I ever catch you doing a lamebrain stunt like that again I’ll kick you off the force so fast you’ll get windburn. Okay?” She raised
one soft brown eyebrow and waited for him to shake her hand.

He wanted to shake
her.
“Listen, I didn’t mean—”

Three sharp raps on the door, and then it opened, halting Dan’s words. He pinned Ellie with a scowl as Joe Michaels and his wife sauntered in. Dan wrinkled his nose against the smell of smoke. “Hey,” he said, forcing a smile.

“You look like a piece of toast,” Joe said and shook Dan’s hand.

Mona curled her fingers around Joe’s forearm and held his turnout coat over her other arm. The petite blonde looked nearly as tired as her husband, her hair in tangles, her green eyes etched in worry.

Dan reached out and found her hand. “Thanks for visiting me, Mona. I know you’re tired these days.”

She rewarded him with a smile. “I’m nearly out of the morning-sickness stage, so I’m feeling much better. Besides, I’ll sleep in tomorrow and make Liza bake the muffins.” Mona shared her Victorian bookstore and coffee shop with a potter who added spice to the town of Deep Haven. More than once Dan had contemplated asking Liza out. But truth be told, Liza Beaumont, with her wild bangle earrings and flamboyant style, scared him just a little.

He needed someone who would blend with the rhythm of Grace Church and with Dan’s own low-gear speed. He didn’t know exactly who, but the standard Proverbs 31 description came to mind, along with the word
docile.

“Doc says you’re going to be okay, but I nearly had a heart attack when you flew off that ladder,” Joe said.

“Get in line,” Ellie said dryly, her arms folded. Her eyebrow raised in silent reproach.

Joe shot her a brow-furrowed look.

“Joe, Mona, this is Ellie Karlson.” For elaboration, Dan couldn’t decide between saying “our new boss” or the more revealing “the most recent thorn in my flesh.” He opted for, “She pulled me out of the fire.”

Joe shook her hand, introducing himself and Mona as local bookstore owners and neatly omitting his status as a best-selling author under the pen name of Reese Clark. With Joe’s down-to-earth demeanor and his usual faded jeans, Dan more easily pictured Joe as Mona’s handyman than the slick wordsmith featured on the back of Reese’s hardcovers.

“Thanks for your help,” Joe said to Ellie. “Although I should say that next time you shouldn’t be so close to the fire. You could have been hurt.” He smiled as if to soften his rebuke. “You don’t look familiar to me. Are you new in town?”

Funny, although Dan had known her for the space of ten minutes, he could nearly see Ellie’s gears clicking, formulating a response. He wondered what would win—diplomacy or her cutting wit. He had the sudden urge to throw his body in front of Joe before the guy got shredded.

She shocked Dan completely with a wide smile that seemed a thousand times friendlier than anything he’d received. He couldn’t deny a confusing spark of jealousy. “Thank you. That’s good advice. And . . . uh . . . yes. I just moved here. Got a new job.” Her eyes raked over Joe’s attire, flickered at Mona, and then landed back on Dan. She grinned. This time he saw a gleam in
her eyes that felt downright predatory. He wanted to pull the covers over his head and hide.

“What kind of job?” Joe asked.

Ellie took a deep breath, and that resigned, somber look returned to her face, this time without her defensive battlements. Obviously she reserved her bark and bite for the town pastor. Still, had he expected to win her affection with his “over my dead body” outburst? He suddenly felt like a jerk.

“I’m a firefighter. I heard the alarm on my scanner, and I thought I could help.”

Joe quirked an eyebrow.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Joe, this is our new fire chief.”

For the space of several seconds, Joe just stared unblinking at Ellie. Then, with a warm smile, the man transformed into Benedict Arnold and said, “Welcome to Deep Haven, Ellie. Glad to have you at the helm.”

Dan wanted to strangle the guy with his IV line.

Ellie slowed her Jeep Wrangler as she drove by the steaming, charred remains of the log cabin. With her canvas window open, the night wind carried the pungent smells of burnt wood, melted plastic, and scorched fabric. The two responding fire crews had managed to stop the blaze before it burned to the footings, but nothing easily recognizable remained inside the charred timbers. A few hearty firemen were still layering the house with water, preventing any embers from sparking. Through the broken windows, she watched firemen slogging through the patches of water and
steam, turning over singed furniture and other larger pieces with their fire rakes during overhaul inspection. At least they were thorough . . .

And tough. She’d watched this ragtag volunteer crew go at what in Duluth would have been a three-alarm fire with nothing more than two old water hoses and sheer guts. Their courage stomped her recriminations to a fine powder when she remembered how they’d risked their lives to pull a baby, two little boys, and their mother from the clutches of the blaze. If the family survived, Ellie would count it as a miracle. She hadn’t even thought to check on the baby girl she’d helped revive. She wondered how a baby with her special condition would fare if she lost her mother.

The sheriff’s department had its own group inspecting the scene, and Ellie noticed the coroner’s van, obviously here to collect the remains of the lone casualty. Although he’d been burned beyond recognition, she’d managed to pick up a few particulars from Joe, Mona, and Dan before leaving the hospital—particulars like the man’s criminal history of arson and Dan’s gut suspicion that the blaze was premeditated.

The night had turned lavender as the sun forced its way into the morning. Ellie felt like she’d pedaled about thirty miles, all uphill. Her muscles strummed with fatigue, and her brain was trying to push its way through her frontal lobe. Soot and dirt covered her jeans and probably her face, and her hair had unraveled out of her braids. She had no doubt she looked like an unkempt campfire girl. Obviously now was not the time to introduce herself to the local law. She needed a groomed, starched appearance and a demeanor that
screamed “Chief.” Not that she felt particularly comfortable being typecast as that, but until they learned to respect her years of training, her knowledge, and her fire savvy, the external trappings of “capable” would have to do.

She’d fought enough fire-station machismo to know that she’d have to keep her chin up and her skin thick to earn her status. No emotions. No fears. Especially no tears. If she wanted her firefighters to obey when she told them what and where to attack, she had to be tougher, stronger, quicker, and braver than the men she served. No one needed to know that inside she felt like she had the first day she showed up at the Colorado fire camp, a naïve teenager, wondering what she’d signed up for.

Dan’s words rang in her head:
I have this sick feeling that I’m the only one who knows this.
Perhaps now, while the cinders cooked and the need for decent leadership heated the air, was the perfect time to alert the local law to her arrival. If this little town was stereotypical, news of her appearance would be among the top headlines in the morning paper anyway.

Pulling in across the street, she gulped a breath for courage and climbed out of the Jeep.

The smell of ash and the breath of water moistened the air. She strolled up to a man dressed in a gray police uniform and a black down jacket. He stood watching the medical examiner team-bagging the victim, a twisted look on his face.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly, standing slightly behind him. “Are you the chief of police?”