The Perfect Match (20 page)

“Are you going to bring her to Noah and Anne’s
wedding?” Liza pressed on, raising an eyebrow. He had the uncomfortable sense of being a piece of clay on her potter’s wheel.

“Uh, I hadn’t thought of it.” He groaned inwardly at how easily he folded to Liza’s prodding.

“Hmm.” It was what she didn’t say that made him shift uncomfortably.

“Do you think I should?” Oh, that sounded so . . . desperate. The last thing he wanted was Liza managing his romance. Then again, she and Ellie were getting fairly tight. Maybe he should listen to her advice. He worked up a smile.

“Oh yeah, Preach. A good wedding gets under a woman’s skin.” Liza nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Take her to the wedding.”

Dan nodded, suddenly enjoying Liza’s teasing. The thought of Ellie on his arm made him tingle. He could get used to having his name linked with hers, knowing that at the end of the day she came home to him. He could make her dinner and listen to her as she talked about—

Firefighting? Her latest dangerous escapade?

His smile fell. Okay, so maybe theirs wasn’t a match made in heaven. Yet. But for the right man, perhaps in time she’d give it up. However, that’s what he’d thought about Charlene. But hadn’t he told Ellie he had been wrong? that her profession didn’t matter?

He shook Craig Boberg’s hand, forming a smile, but inside he felt uneasiness rubbing against the soft edges of his heart.

It didn’t matter.
Really.
He’d made that decision the second he took Ellie in his arms. She may not have told him she loved him, but her response spoke volumes. He
didn’t have to love her job, but a future with Ellie was worth falling to his knees in prayer every time she got a call.

Dan walked into the vestibule, where Joe stood with Mona, the baby, and the boys. Dan bent and shook Jordan’s hand, then gave Jeffrey’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You boys know your mama loved you, right? And that she’s with Jesus?”

They nodded, and their solemn expressions knocked him back on his heels with a fresh wave of grief. These boys deserved a loving mother like Cindy. They deserved a father who cared enough to teach them to be men of God. Dan stood and looked at Joe and Mona and felt his throat thicken. “Do you suppose that after the interment, I might have a word with both of you?” He ran his hand over baby Angelica’s head as it bobbed on weak neck muscles. She smiled—a toothless, innocent toddler grin.

Mona tucked the child’s head into her shoulder and nodded.

The late afternoon graced them with fragments of sunshine between gray clouds while they laid Cindy Simmons to rest beside her husband. Dan had debated that decision, but Marilyn Jones, Cindy’s mother, insisted that Cindy would stick by her husband even in death.

“She ran a good race,” she said to Dan as the guests departed, some for home, others to the reception at Grace Church. “She trusted in God ’til the end.”

Dan embraced the frail woman, touched by her faith. “Yes, she did. Even when Leo served his time, even after Angelica’s birth, she trusted in God’s strength to get her through each day.”

Marilyn nodded, her hazel eyes so much like Cindy’s,
always glowing with hope. She’d aged a decade since her husband’s death to cancer five years earlier. Her gaunt face betrayed long days and the ever present worry about Guthrie’s dangerous profession. But she modeled a faith that tugged at Dan’s soul. “My daughter won’t be forgotten, not on earth—”

“Nor in heaven. I am sure God welcomed her with ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’ ”

Tears edged down Marilyn’s wrinkled cheeks. “Thanks, Pastor. I needed that.”

She moved away, and Dan wondered for a moment how he’d come up with those words. But he hadn’t thought them—he’d
felt
them. Perhaps that made the difference.

The murmur of somber voices emanating from the church basement told Dan that most of his congregation had beat him back to the church. He went into his office, took off his suit coat, and draped it over a pile of boxes that sat in the corner. Reading the labels on the sides . . .
napkins, candles, tablecloths,
a small box that had
warning
on the front of it snagged his attention. Dan opened it and found a box of Sterno canisters, used for keeping food hot while it was served. The hospitality committee certainly covered all their bases.

Closing his door, he prayed that Mona and Joe were downstairs, enjoying being parents for the day.

The hospitality committee had scrambled their resources and put out a buffet to rival Smoky Joe’s. Potato salads, baked beans, sloppy joes, and fruit
salads. In the middle of the table a basket of white lilies, snapdragons, and gladiolas gave the room an aura of hope. Of heaven. Just what Cindy would have wanted. Dan spotted Joe heading to a round table, three cups of punch in his hands. Dan caught his eye and waved him over.

Joe delivered the drinks, then skirted the tables and followed Dan back into the hallway, where the din subsided. “How are you doing?” Dan asked.

“Good. I’m hurting for those boys, though. They have a rough road ahead of them.”

Dan nodded. Now that he’d screwed up his courage, he wasn’t sure where to start. “I’ve been praying for quite a while about what to do about the kids, and I’m wondering if . . . well . . .” When he looked up, the concern in Joe’s face bolstered his words. “. . . if you and Mona would consider adopting them.”

Joe’s jaw didn’t actually drop, but he looked at Dan with such a stunned expression it didn’t have to. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I can’t think of a better couple to raise these youngsters. Especially Angelica. They need to stay together, and you and Mona would be great parents.”

Joe moved out of the way to let Guthrie pass him into the men’s bathroom. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, we’d like to be parents someday. But Mona’s still grieving. She’s not ready to try again.” His face twisted.

“I understand. The thing is, I already talked to social services, and they’re willing to approve you as temporary foster parents until you get your paperwork finished. You could take the kids home today.”

“Today?” Joe’s expression hinted at fear. “Wait—”

“You don’t have to make a permanent decision today. I just hate to take them back to the hospital.”

“You didn’t find anyone else to watch them?”

Dan shook his head. “Marilyn is too weak, and her siblings are gone. We’d have to move them to Duluth into their social-services department and hope they could find a way to keep them together.”

“They’d never see each other again.” Joe folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “We do have an extra bedroom. I could move out my computer.”

“I could commandeer a crib from the church nursery.”

“I’ll ask Mona.” A smile tipped his lips. “In the short term, I think we could work it out.”

“God bless you, Joe. Thank you.”

“I think we’re the ones getting the blessing here.” Joe took a deep breath, nodded. “And we’ll pray about the long term.” He clenched his jaw, as if to force back the swell of emotion. “Thanks for asking, Dan.”

E
llie raised her face to the sky and gazed at the periwinkle clouds, fat with precipitation, letting the waning hint of summer soothe the ragged edges of her sorrow. Burying victims had never come easily—the fact that the woman had been the mother of three young children sliced deep. Franklin nosed around the beach as if searching for exactly the right nook to do his business.

Ellie crossed her arms and sat on a large boulder, watching the seagulls as they scrutinized Franklin’s movements. When their beady eyes settled on him, they’d cry out, lift into the air, and resettle themselves on the waves, where they scolded him from a distance, riding the swells with regal disdain. Thunder rumbled through the mottled sky.

Cindy Simmons had left her mark on the world, as evidenced by the closed businesses on Main Street and the line of cars that had exited the church parking lot and followed the hearse to the cemetery three miles up the Gunflint Trail.

Ellie had lingered at the edge of the crowd, not wanting to intrude, hoping to pay her respects, mostly doing her duty as the town fire chief. A few had acknowledged her: John Benson, Ruth Schultz, Craig and his wife. She’d made eye contact with Dan more than once, and the grief in his eyes felt like a seeping wound.

“C’mon, Frankie, hurry up.” She clapped her hands, the urge to return to the church nipping at her. Dan looked painfully wrung out, and she wanted to shed the fire chief attire, don her jeans, and just hold his hand while they walked along the beach. She couldn’t erase the sorrow, but she longed to help carry it.

On days like this afternoon, as the slight wind carried the breath of autumn around the mourners, she wished she had a different job. One minus the loss of life but with the joy of service.

Joy? She huffed a disbelieving laugh. She hadn’t felt real joy in her job since . . . well, never. Firefighting wasn’t something she chose . . . it chose her. Her debts compelled her into service. Not to atone but to give Seth’s death significance. Dan’s eulogy tumbled through her mind, along with the verses he read in Philippians 3:
“I am focusing all my energies on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I strain to reach the end of the race and receive the prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us up to heaven.”

Cindy Simmons had run well and long. She’d won her prize and left behind fans and an imprint in the community. Children and family who loved her. Ellie pushed the toe of her pump through the stones. If she were to die today, what would she leave?

Nothing but a fat basset hound and a trail of moments
she hoped counted in her favor in God’s tally book. He couldn’t deny that she’d tried. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if all her hard work in this life had accomplished exactly nil. She’d have a sum total of two at her funeral. Her parents, burying the last of their children.

What had Cindy done that left an entire town grieving her loss? Ellie mentally cataloged the speakers from today’s service. The choir director, a Sunday school teacher, Cindy’s mother. All relating stories about Cindy’s love for her family, her church, her community.

Perhaps it wasn’t so much
what
she did as
how.

“Lord,” Ellie said, lifting her eyes to the horizon, where the sun sizzled and a magenta canopy bled into darkness, “You know I came here wanting to make a difference. I wanted to serve You in Seth’s place. But I feel like I’ve been running in place? I’ve done nothing but stir up a strong wind. I want to make a difference in this life. In this town. Please, show me how.”

The waves washed the shore. Seagulls cried, the dog snuffed at her feet. Ellie closed her eyes, still for what seemed like the first time in weeks—no, months, even years.

Abide.

She opened her eyes, even looked behind her, wondering if perhaps someone had spoken it aloud.
Abide.
She frowned as familiar words flooded her mind:
“Those who remain in Me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from Me you can do nothing.”
Dan’s sermon. It had bothered her before. It didn’t feel any safer now.

If she didn’t abide in God’s love, did it mean her hard work meant nothing?

Certainly God didn’t discount the thousands of lives touched by people, such as herself, who reached out simply because they wanted to change the fabric of life? If she didn’t do it while in the embrace of the Almighty, did that mean she added nothing to her spiritual bank account?

Or rather, perhaps it meant that if she didn’t abide, she missed out on the joy. She again recalled Liza’s words about our works on earth being something that drew us closer to God. Could it be that abiding made the work—any work—meaningful? Even if it was washing dinner dishes after Wednesday night prayer meeting or serving on nursery duty.

The entire concept twisted her brain, and in her distraught condition it made her feel about three million years old. She kneaded away a pulsing headache with her fingers.

Maybe her problem wasn’t so much lack of abiding but wondering if she was good enough for God’s attention in the first place.

Franklin plodded over, spilling rocks, an apple core in his mouth. “Oh, gross. Give me that.” Ellie pried it out of his mouth, made a face, and pitched it into a nearby trash can. “That’s it. We’re outta here.” She snapped on his lead and trekked back to the fire station. The hotel desk clerk’s patience had started to wear thin so she’d had to keep Franklin holed up in her office. A few more weeks and she’d know if she was going to be looking for rental housing or packing her Jeep.

It felt like an eternity.

Or way too soon to say good-bye. She wanted to belong here. To stand by Dan’s side at the back of the
church and invest in the lives of his congregation. The urge to be a pastor’s wife didn’t push her to her knees at night in desperate petition, but perhaps then she’d find that tendril of joy that seemed elusive in her lifelong profession.

Or maybe she’d find true love. Maybe being in Dan’s arms would give her the peace that seemed slightly out of reach.

She should stop fighting. Tell the guy she loved him. She certainly acted that way, kissing him without declaring her heart. Her mother would be aghast at her behavior. Well,
she
was aghast. In truth, she ached to tell the man she loved him, but she hoped he could see through her to her heart. Dan seemed to know her every other thought. He knew when to hold her hand, when to stop her in midsentence and tell her to slow down.

No one but Dan could drive her to her last nerve one second and make her laugh the next. Could move her to tears and make her feel like only she could unlock the sunshine. That somehow she was a part of the oxygen in his every breath.

Not even Seth.

Oh, I wish you could know him, Seth,
she thought as she let herself into the quiet-as-a-tomb firehouse. She’d approved Simon’s and Ernie’s requests to attend the funeral, but it seemed odd they hadn’t returned yet. She’d track them down at the church and give them her fire chief nudge.

She changed into her flats and put on a pair of dress pants she kept in her office closet. Tucking in her blouse, she grabbed her jacket and her keys and headed back to the church, hoping for time with Dan.

Maybe tonight she’d tell him she loved him. Throw her future to the wind and embrace the moment.

To her dismay, cars still overflowed the parking lot, but she found a spot at the far end. Rain spat on her as she ran for the church. She heard the murmur of voices downstairs—obviously the reception was still in full attendance. She felt and looked like a drenched hamster. She’d simply wait for Dan in his office. She’d done that once before after work—he’d sent her there while he met with the worship team.

Easing open the door, she stepped inside, flicked on the light. The overhead fluorescence bathed the room, and she couldn’t escape a slight rush of clandestine adrenaline. She hung her coat over the edge of his desk chair, then sat down in it.

Dan sat here. The image of him bending over a Bible or with hands folded in prayer started a flow of warmth through her. Dangerous Dan the Preacher Man. What a paradox. A delightful, charming package that no woman in her right, sane mind would say no to.

And he loved her. No,
cherished
her.

Yes, she’d tell him she loved him and pray that God worked out their future.

Dan’s slightly open window allowed in a breeze. It chipped at Dan’s coat, piled on a stack of boxes, and suddenly the coat slid to the floor. Ellie rounded the desk to pick it up, set it on the stack, and froze.

The small box on top was open, and the warning label on its side screamed out like a siren. She peeked at the contents. Tiny boxes of Sterno canisters, and one was missing. Ellie stared at the empty space, a sickly acid welling in her throat. Sterno canisters. Filled with alcohol.
Made of aluminum that, when burned in twelve-hundred-degree temperatures, would melt into tiny aluminum disks, the kind she’d found at the Simmons and Garden fires. Her chest tightened, nearly cutting off her air.

Surely there was an explanation.

She checked the pile of boxes. Paper napkins, tablecloths. Innocuous supplies. She picked up a box that held a canister and turned it in her hand. Dan would have an explan—

“Fire!”

The panicked voice came from the basement, along with a smattering of screams growing louder.

Ellie raced to the office door, and the stampede up the stairs nearly flattened her. “Stay calm! Walk!” she ordered. More people died from panic than from being trapped. She heard the church door open, more screams.

She pushed against the crowd, gripping the metal rail as she hurried down the stairs. “Let me through!”

She smelled the smoke before she saw it—the sickly sweet odor of burning plastic. Gray tufted the ceiling of the basement, thickening down one hall. As she shoved her way toward the source, she recognized Ernie and Craig herding people toward the back exit. “Where is it?” she yelled.

“The bathroom!” Joe grabbed her arm, pulled her out of the crowd. He and Guthrie were busy uncoiling an emergency hose from its place on the wall. Glass lay shattered at their feet. Guthrie glanced at her with a pained look.

“Where’s the fire extinguisher?”

Joe wrestled the hose toward the bathroom door. “Dan has it!”

Ellie’s gaze tracked to the door, where smoke huffed out in ugly, dragon breaths. “He’s in there?”

“He found it.”

Ellie stopped for a second, letting suspicion seize her around the throat. No. Dan
could not
be an arsonist.

Then simple and pure fear put her feet into action.
Dan is in there.

She ducked into the bathroom, to Joe’s dismay. Dan was crouched by the door in the three-unit bathroom, battling the flames that fought to find fuel in the Styrofoam ceiling tiles. Ellie hit her knees, keeping low. Blue flame lashed out at her in greeting, heat instantly turning her face red. “We gotta get out of here.” In this compact space, the toxic fumes could sear their lungs quickly. Dan swept the base of the fire with bursts from the fire extinguisher, foam coughing out of the nearly empty can.

“I need water!” he hollered, turning. Tears dribbled out of his eyes from the smoke.

“Joe’s right behind us!” Ellie clutched his shirt, aware that it was soaking wet from perspiration, and tugged him toward the open door. A spray of water shot over their heads as they backpedaled out. They leaned against the wall, coughing, while Joe and Guthrie advanced into the room. Smoke, then steam billowed out, the dragon hissing and fighting its demise.

Craig Boberg braced his arm against the wall, breathing hard, a
V
of sweat on his dress shirt. Mitch stood behind him with a pale expression waxing his usual sneer.

“Is everyone out?” Ellie asked between coughs.

Craig nodded, watching Joe and Guthrie. Steam spiraled out now, along with a haze of moisture.

“Get me the axe,” Ellie ordered Craig. “We need to open the ceiling and make sure we stopped it.”

As Craig handed her the axe, she turned to Dan. He sat, sooty and exhausted, his arms dangling over his knees, looking like he’d wrestled a grizzly.

If he thought the fire wore him out, just wait until they were alone, and she was able to vent the fury, the hurt that boiled through her chest. She saw the color of the flame, even smelled the alcohol as it burned. If this fire wasn’t started with the missing Sterno canister, she’d turn in her badge and start flipping burgers. She barely forced out the words through her clenched teeth. “You . . . don’t go anywhere. I want to talk to you. Better yet—” she faced John—“get Chief Sam on the horn—”

“I’m right here.” Sam stepped up behind John.

“Good. Take . . . Pastor Matthews into . . . custody. I’ll talk to him down at the station.”

She didn’t miss Dan’s or the rest of the crew’s openmouthed shock when she marched into the sodden, charred bathroom with the axe, knowing she’d have no problem sending it through the wall and probably into the next county.

As usual, Ellie drove Dan’s emotions to the edge, then nudged them over. “What?” Dan sprang to his feet, knowing in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t handle this well. “Custody?” He shot a look at Sam, who hadn’t moved but let shock suspend him into hesitation.