The Perfect Match (4 page)

When the Duluth Fire Department received the inquiry for the interim fire chief, she’d jumped on the opportunity faster than a bulldog on a sirloin. She’d had to spend more than a few hours in extra training and place her neck on the chopping block, but for the next three months, the job of fire chief rested in her hands. She alone had command over the fleet of volunteer firefighters, and if she did her job right and well, three months could stretch into a nice long future.

Finally, then, she might stop roaming. She’d turn in her road maps, invest in furniture, and maybe even land a piece of real estate. She’d done hard time to earn this job, and she deserved the shot at it. Five years in school, then a decade filling in at fire stations around Minnesota, trying to etch a niche for herself. She’d worked everything from forest fires to urban chemical blazes, and she knew how to organize a five-alarm attack, how to sift through the ashes, and when to call the investigators. She hoped landing this contract would allow her to stand still long enough to catch her breath, snatch the pieces of happiness that seemed just out of her reach, and somehow make sense of the patchwork of sorrows that defined the fabric of her life. Starting with Seth’s death.

Now that she’d had five hours of sleep, a decent breakfast, and had pedaled away her fatigue into a sunny afternoon, sanity took hold. The questions that
had plagued her at dawn were only the desperate cry of her alter ego, the eighteen-year-old who had followed her brother across two states to impress him.

Or had it been to impress God? That thought flickered through her brain, then died. It didn’t matter. She refused to weave through the past to uncover her motives. She’d had a sure footing in the kingdom of heaven since a small child, and just because her church-attendance chart over the past few years looked sporadic didn’t mean that she had forgotten her maker or her salvation. She read her Bible when she could, spent many a Sunday curled up on her sofa, exhausted, listening to praise music and reading through the Psalms.

Still, she had to admit, she felt like she’d hit a glass ceiling with God. She wanted the peace Seth had seemed to exude like a fragrance and spent most of her time trying to figure out the magic words or perhaps the right moves to break through to that level of spirituality. Lately, however, she’d begun to believe that a deep relationship with the Almighty of the universe might be reserved for the special, the
good
people in life. People like Seth.

People like Dan.

The pedal up the hill had been grueling—sweat had dried on her temples, run down her spine. But now, with the wind tangling her hair and the fresh lake balming her face, the ride back down seemed adequate reward. She worked her brakes as she coasted into town. Taking a right at Fourth Street she deliberately cruised past the Simmons place. In the glare of day, the remains looked ghastly, the smell of cinder and ash still thickening the air. Water filled muddy holes in the trampled lawn, and yellow police tape outlined the property. A neighbor,
dressed in a pair of faded jeans and an old sweatshirt, raked leaves and the debris into a pile. She waved to Ellie.

Ellie smiled and returned the greeting. She would stop by later, wearing her steel-bottom boots and armed with a rake, and do a walk-through. Dan’s worry that the home had been deliberately torched by the owner would have bearing on the insurance claim, and it fell under her new jurisdiction to follow up on that gut feeling.

Cutting down McGill Street, she braked at the bottom of the hill. Friday afternoon had brought in the outlanders, and cars lined Main Street. She saw families feeding seagulls, a man jogging along the beach, a couple sitting on the porch of their Victorian home. Walking her bike onto the sidewalk, she noticed the house wasn’t a private residence but a bookstore and . . . a pottery shop? The smell of fresh coffee and something delicious in the air turned her up the walk. She leaned her bike against the steps.

Franklin would have to wait for his afternoon jog along the beach. It wasn’t as if he lived to chase gulls. The old dog had about as much energy as her ninety-year-old grandmother, and Grandma Audrey might even have the animal licked in a fifty-yard dash.

A bell jangled as Ellie opened the door, and she found herself in the gleaming, quaint entrance of two little stores. To her right, through an arch, a bookstore complete with overstuffed green and blue sofas and a coffee bar called to her like a sweet fragrance. To her left, a craft shop beckoned. Pottery, quilts, and artwork from the area filled a room that looked as large as her mother’s family room. Ellie stood there a moment, not quite sure which haven to enter first.

“Hi, there,” said a woman coming out of a door at
the end of the hallway. “Welcome to the Footstep of Heaven.” Her dark eyes twinkled, and she flipped back her long black braid tied with a piece of leather. Around her neck looped a beaded, turquoise-and-red necklace, similar to the jewelry Ellie had seen crafted by the Navajos in Arizona. The piece fit with the woman’s faux suede turquoise jacket and her flare-legged black jeans.

“Hello,” Ellie responded, wondering suddenly if she’d taken a turn into some hippie hangout.

“C’mon in.” She moved past Ellie and into the crafty side of the store. Like a child after the Pied Piper, Ellie felt her legs moving to follow. “Anything in particular I can help you find?” She sat down at a metal table painted in various shades of red, turquoise, and white.

Ellie shook her head, not quite sure what had brought her into the store. She didn’t collect anything except a few picturesque postcards, and she certainly didn’t want anything that might break in the bottom of a duffel bag. Still, the quaint designs of the mugs, plates, and bowls tugged at the simple side of her. She picked up a mug. Deep enough for a serious cup of hot cocoa—Ellie’s drink of choice—it fit her hand well, with a notch for her thumb at the top of the handle. “These are beautiful. Are you the potter?”

“I am. Liza Beaumont.” Liza folded her hands on the table and beamed one of the warmest smiles Ellie had ever encountered. Something about the woman felt . . . friendly. Perhaps it was the fact that she worked with her hands, something Ellie appreciated from her piano-playing years. Or maybe it was the fact that the woman didn’t seem to fit into the flannel-and-denim stereotype of Deep Haven. Nevertheless, Ellie found herself
wandering around the store, picking up pieces, admiring them. She stopped at a collection of photographs depicting various views of Deep Haven and the surrounding forest. “Are you also a photographer?”

Liza groaned. “Ack. No. I also sell on consignment. Those are by a friend of mine who travels through here occasionally. He did a wonderful series on the town lighthouse if you want to see them.”

“I saw the lighthouse. I’m staying next door at the Gull’s Roost Hotel.”

“Oh, I love that place. Have you eaten their blackberry waffles? You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Ellie smiled. Well, she wasn’t quite ready for that yet, but . . . “I did have a donut from the little stand across the street.”

“World’s Best? Oh, that’s a dangerous place. I think I’ve gained ten pounds on their fried cinnamon rolls alone.”

Ellie eyed the woman, built like a soda straw, and highly doubted her words. “I had a long john. I don’t think I’ll need to eat for a week.”

“Well, Deep Haven doesn’t lack for yummy places to eat.” Liza ticked off a number of restaurants while Ellie inspected the photographs and a collection of painted rocks. “By the way,” Liza said suddenly, “would you like some coffee? On the house?”

Ellie turned, warmed by Liza’s offer. Why not? She certainly needed all the friends she could find if she hoped to survive public opinion. “Sure. Thanks.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Black, please.”

Liza made a face, then smiled. A moment later she returned with a hot cup that smelled like vanilla. “The
specialty of the day . . . Macadamia Nut Crème.” Liza motioned her over to a wrought-iron chair. “So, are you here on vacation?”

Ellie sipped her coffee, weighing her answer. In the light of day, not surrounded by a couple of macho firefighters, the truth felt less like she was sticking her head out for the executioner. “No. I’m the new interim fire chief.” She watched Liza for a stunned reaction. Maybe a grimace or even a frown that would reveal her prejudices.

Liza wrinkled her nose as a smirk edged up her face. “That is about the best news I’ve heard all year.”

Ellie stared at her.

Liza laughed. “Oh, I’m so sick of Mitch Davis strutting his stuff around town. He thinks that since he was the captain of the volunteer force, he’d automatically be named chief. The man’s ego is blinding, and if I have to listen to him wax eloquent from Mona’s side of the shop one more minute I might have to stick a pot over his head.”

Okay, Liza had just charmed her way into Ellie’s heart. Ellie took another sip of coffee. “This stuff is good, by the way. I’m used to drinking the half-petrified sludge from the bottom of the firehouse pots. I’ll have to make a habit of dropping by.”

“Did you check out the bookstore?”

Ellie shook her head. “I’m not much of a reader.”

Liza put her hand over her mouth in mock horror. “Another mutant like me!”

Ellie frowned but couldn’t help but smile. “Mutant?”

“Oh, I’m surrounded by a regular army of readers. I secretly think they believe that people aren’t really human unless they read.” She folded her hands and nodded with a solemn look. “Mutants.”

Ellie laughed. “Well, here’s to finding another mutant.” She raised her mug.

Liza grabbed a can of Lipton ice tea and raised it. “Here’s to our new fire chief. Long may she reign!”

Okay, yes, Liza was definitely a keeper. Ellie let out a giggle like she hadn’t since her teenage years. “Thanks, Liza.”

“So have you met our very handsome firefighters yet?” Liza waggled her dark eyebrows.

Ellie’s smile faded. “A few. I showed up at the fire last night. Saw them in action.”

“Oh yeah, the Simmons place.” Liza shook her head. “What a tragedy. And just when Leo seemed to have his past behind him. Joe said it might have been suicide?”

Ellie shrugged, unwilling to make accusations. In her position, even speculation could render trouble. “I’ll need to do a cursory investigation before I know whether to call the state fire marshal.”

“What a nightmare for Cindy and her kids. Joe tells me they’re in intensive care.”

Ellie stared into her coffee. “Yeah, they looked in rough shape when we brought them in.”

“So you were at the hospital?”

Ellie nodded.

Liza went silent, her eyebrows drawn together. “Wait, you’re not the woman who had it out with our pastor, are you?”

Ellie sighed. Small towns. They could spread gossip faster than a firestorm.

Liza slapped the table. “This is great. Okay, tell me everything.” She leaned forward, eyes twinkling, as if they were lifelong friends. “According to Mona, she and
Joe walked into a heated conversation that was one spark shy of exploding. What did he do?”

Ellie took a deep breath. “Nothing actually. Poor guy, I sorta . . . got offended by something he said.” She paused. “He reminds me of someone who used to be against my firefighting. I guess I took Dan’s comments personally.” She looked up at Liza and decided to invest in her friendship. “Actually, he reminds me of someone I cared about.”

Liza’s eyes widened. “Pastor Dan reminds you of an old boyfriend?”

Ellie laughed. “No! Seth was my brother.”

Liza nodded, as if she might have been a psychologist before her life as a potter. “I see. So . . . not a boyfriend . . .” She steepled her fingers. “Pastor Dan is single, you know.”

“No, thank you. The last thing I’m going to do in Deep Haven is fall in love—especially with a firefighter. And aside from the fact that the man works for me, he’s the town pastor. It would feel like stealing a nun from her vows.”

Liza chuckled. “It’s not like that. Dan is just a regular guy. He’s not a priest or anything.” Her eyes darkened suddenly. “Um . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take anything for granted. Dan’s also a Christian. So he’s . . . well, he’s not really available unless—”

“I’m a Christian too, Liza.” Ellie smiled at the warmth in Liza’s expression. “I have been for years. I just . . . well, I just haven’t attended church for a while.” She shrugged, trying to avoid the indictment spearing her soul. “The job. It keeps me busy.”

Liza had a look that told Ellie she saw right through
her. “I can imagine. Well, I hope that you find the Deep Haven fellowship . . . embracing. I attend Grace Church. And Dan is my pastor, which would of course give someone, like a single girl, a good opportunity to meet him in a less-than-threatening way. Outside, say, the
regulations
of the firehouse.” Liza grinned in a way that made Ellie smile and shake her head.

“Thanks for the suggestion, but seriously, Liza, I’m not here for love. I’ve met the pastor up close and personal, and I got the gist of his feelings about me.” Dan’s threat rang in her ears. “I’m here to do a job, and no one,
especially
Dan, is going to stand in my way.”

S
aturday morning. Showdown in the Deep Haven fire station parking lot.

The late-morning sunshine had scraped away the chill of the day, but it did nothing to warm Dan’s bone-cold unease. Tension gathered in the air like static electricity as half the town arrived for a semiformal town meeting to listen to Romey Phillips introduce the new fire chief. A scant wind, carrying with it the smells of autumn and the freshness of the lake, scattered leaves into the air. Men and women clumped in conversation, dressed in all varieties of flannel, fleece, and sweatshirts, some drinking coffee, others devouring fresh donuts from World’s Best. Dan counted all twenty-one members of the fire department and noted the vast majority wore expressions of grim curiosity.

“Women and firefighting go together like women and the military,” Mitch Davis groused to Doug Miller, comrade-in-arms. “It ain’t safe. Besides, the men spend most of their time digging the ladies out of trouble.
Makes for problems, if you ask me.” Mitch looked very Rambo-like today in an old army jacket and long scraggly hair, his beefy hands curled around a cup of black coffee. His dark eyes cruised past Dan as if hoping the pastor caught his remark.

Dan refrained from jumping on Mitch’s comment. He might share the man’s general hesitation to plunge women into a fire, but Ellie Karlson wasn’t just any woman. She had enough grit to stare down a fire and douse it to a whimper, and she certainly could toe up to Mitch Davis and his gang of troublemakers. But it would take all of three seconds for Davis to ignite Ellie’s ire and set off an explosion that would rock the foundation of this little town. Sides would be drawn, and in less than a week Dan would face a firestorm sweeping through the fir-lined avenues of Deep Haven. It wouldn’t be long before his board of elders called him up to establish some sort of theological precedent against women working in jobs of danger.

Not to mention the fight he’d have with his natural,
God-given,
protective tendencies.

No, he didn’t worry about Ellie having enough grit. At the moment, it had him scared to the bones.

“Beauty of a morning,” Joe Michaels commented as he handed Dan an elephant ear in a grease-dotted napkin. He indicated with his mug of coffee Dan’s left shoulder, his arm still slung to his body. The arm of his jacket hung limp and armless. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Sore.” Dan adjusted his sling, as if testing out his conclusion. “Yep, achy and tight.”

“Give it a few days.” Joe sipped his coffee. “I got thrown from a horse once down in Mexico and popped
my left shoulder out. Wanted to die on the spot. But a couple weeks later I was back in the saddle with the rest of the gauchos.”

“Is there anything you haven’t done?” Dan asked. Joe’s adventures, transcribed in his fictional Jonah series books, had become something of folklore around Deep Haven. Dan had a hard time getting past the easygoing Joe to picture him hauling in fish in Alaska or herding reindeer in Siberia. The man had lived a rich life before moving to Deep Haven. Of course, Joe would argue—especially around his wife and brother—that his rich life had begun when he moved to the tourist town and signed on as Mona’s handyman.

“Yep,” Joe said, his gaze roaming over Dan’s shoulder. “I’ve never picked a fight with the fire chief on her first day on the job.”

“Hey, she started that. I simply told her—” Oh, right. The last thing you need is to betray your near-death declarations to a woman who trampled them to slush or the fact that she sucked you back in time to face your broken heart.

Joe shot him half a smile. “Told her what?”

“Nothing.” Dan finished off his pastry. “We weren’t fighting. She has a way of turning my words around that just—”

“Gets under your skin?”

Dan glared at him. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Michaels. No. The woman is defensive and hotheaded at best.”

“Well, the hospital room definitely felt hot when we walked in.” Joe continued to grin like the cat who’d caught the canary.

Dan narrowed his eyes. “Not hot . . . cold. Miss Porcupine has the bedside manner of an icicle, and all you saw was me trying to be friendly. She didn’t like it, that’s all.”

“Friendly. Okay. I agree that she might need some friends.” He shot a pointed look at Mitch and his huddle of hotshots. “So, now that you’re not strapped to a hospital bed, are you ready for round two?”

“Not on your life. I’m going to stay out of her way and hope I don’t lose my job—”

“Or get burned?” Joe had an annoying twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Stop, Joe. Seriously. She’s not looking to make friends in this town. She made that abundantly clear.”

But as Dan watched the subject of their conversation climb out of a yellow Jeep, straighten her jacket, grab a clipboard, and stride toward the center of the parking lot, he couldn’t help but remember that fleeting look of vulnerability that had risen in her eyes when she spoke about making a difference in Deep Haven. In that moment, she’d looked like she needed a friend. He imagined it couldn’t be easy to prove herself in the fire-fighting world of swarthy and swagger.

Nevertheless, today she’d donned her default don’t-mess-with-me expression, stoic and gritty and utterly masking any unspoken fears about her job. She’d pulled her hair back into a tight braid, and her eyes glinted, without humor, as she surveyed the group. She wore a black jacket and matching pants that he supposed were designed to drive any hint of femininity from her aura.

It didn’t work. She looked like a million and a half bucks, and for a second Dan wanted to scoop her up and
run for the hills. A soft place inside him hated both the opposition that simmered against her and the fact that he had somehow lined up on the side of her aggressors.

Mayor Romey Phillips had also arrived, dressed casually for a Saturday in jeans and a down vest. He met Ellie with a sound handshake and a smile. A small man with a quick brain under his hairless head, Romey had helmed the town council for longer than Dan had been serving this community. If anyone had a heart for Deep Haven residents, it was Romey. Perhaps they should also trust his choice for interim chief.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Romey started, raising his hands.

Dan and Joe moved to the front of the crowd. Ellie stood slightly back, her chin raised, her eyes dark. Dan caught her gaze and offered a smile. The smallest hint of a frown crossed her face before she looked away. Dan felt a stab of disappointment. Obviously she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to apologize.

Apologize? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? He clenched his jaw and listened to Romey introduce Ellie, listing her credentials and her interim status. She would be among those considered, of course, for the permanent position, and Deep Haven was ever so grateful to have her direct their department on such short notice.

When Ellie thanked him and stepped up to address the crowd, she had steel in her expression. Dan braced himself for her listen-up-and-listen-well speech.

“Thank you for your attendance today,” she said loudly with warmth. The crowd shifted slightly. Dan frowned. “I know this has come as a shock to many of you, and I thank you for your support.” She smiled then,
a white, bright smile that said,
I’m here to serve
. “I’ve had the pleasure, by the way, of working with one of your crew before. Paramedic Steven Lund worked with me in Duluth a number of years ago.” She waved to a tall man leaning against a black Suburban. Lund smiled back with what seemed like genuine affection. “Steven knows some of my training techniques, and he’ll be assist—”

“We’ve already been trained,” yelled Mitch. He’d discarded his coffee and now stood, arms folded, looking like a soldier of misfortune in his fatigues and muscles.

Ellie didn’t flinch. “I’ve seen you in action, Mr.—”

“Davis,” he supplied with a growl.

“Thank you. Like I said, I saw you attack the Simmons fire, and while I merit you on your determination to get to the heat and save lives, your methods were haphazard. My job is to form you into an efficient unit that can attack a blaze from many fronts. I plan to teach the forensics of firefighting, the different methods and chemicals used for various types of blazes, and I hope to hone you into a team.”

“We are a team. We don’t need a new leader.” This from Ernie Wilkes, one of Mitch’s forest-ranger cronies. Dan squelched the urge to run over and bang both their heads together.

Ellie nodded, as if she expected this response. “I’ve been training and fighting fires for over a decade so I know how fire crews work. They’re a special kind of family, and I don’t want to break that up.” The breeze off the lake played with the loose tendrils of her hair, softening her hard look. “If you’d permit me, I’d like to introduce you to some of the newest techniques.” She
pulled a light green, rectangular object from her pocket, roughly the size of a claymore mine, and for a second Dan wondered if she was going to lob it into the huddle of opposers trying to turn her to rubble with their smoldering glares. She held it aloft. “For example, do you know what this is?”

Nothing but silence accompanied the weight-shifting postures of the crowd.

“It’s a super PAL,” she answered. “Otherwise known as a Personal Alert Safety System or PASS monitor. The newest models turn on automatically and detect motion. Firefighters, if you’re felled, your PAL emits a noise that helps us find you, and it just might save your life.”

Joe nudged Dan and nodded. Dan ignored him.

Ellie angled a smile at Mitch and Doug that didn’t seem as warm as it did authoritative. “I’m glad to have your cooperation, men.”

Dan smiled as he recognized the tone of voice. Next she’d pull out her sarcasm and the bloodshed would begin. Dan had to give her points, however, for toeing up to Mitch and his pack with patience and grace. She had half the man’s girth and, at best, could look him square in the Adam’s apple. Still, she refused to be knocked to her knees by his snarl.

Dan had to wonder—what had
he
done to ignite her wrath? Certainly he hadn’t been as offensive as Mitch, had he? Had he turned into an offensive jerk in the hospital, symbolically throwing his body in front of a woman who didn’t want to be saved? He shuddered to think that he hadn’t learned anything from the past. Or were all men destined to pound their chests in male machismo when they saw a woman in danger?

Perhaps the best way to protect her wasn’t to tackle her ambitions but to befriend her, watch her flank, and keep the real enemies—namely Mitch, Ernie, and Doug—from sabotaging her future.

Dan watched Mitch fume as she read off her list of current volunteers, all present, and took the names of three wannabe firemen. Dan noticed that Guthrie Jones stepped forward into this group, and he wondered if it had to do with the fact that his older sister Cindy Simmons was now fighting for her life in a Duluth hospital. When Judy Franks and Marnie Blouder introduced themselves as dispatchers, Ellie’s smile immediately warmed.

Ellie spent the rest of the morning arranging the firefighters into crew groups, extracting experience and information, and passing out training schedules. She also issued them pagers to be worn 24/7.

When Joe tested his pager, Dan nearly jumped out of his skin. “That’ll wake the dead.”

“Or me in the dead of night, I suppose,” Joe said. “Poor Mona. She hasn’t slept a decent night through since she got pregnant.” Joe pocketed the beeper. “I never knew pregnancy was so tiring.” His eyes held a twinkle.

“I think the fun is just starting, pal,” Dan commented as he tried out his own pager. “What does Gabe think, by the way?” Gabriel Michaels, Joe’s younger brother, lived in a home for the mentally challenged not far from Deep Haven.

“He’s thrilled. Can’t wait to be an uncle.”

Dan noticed that in all Joe’s exuberant musings about their developing baby, he carefully left out his bone-deep fear that the baby might carry a gene for Down
syndrome—Gabe’s condition. Until Joe was willing to bring it up, however, Dan steered around it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how this fear might seep into the Michaels’ joy.

“She certainly seems capable,” Joe said, looking at their new fire chief. Dan followed Joe’s gaze and watched Ellie as she helped Guthrie figure out his pager.

“Yes, she does,” Dan said with a low moan.

Ellie threw a piece of driftwood into the Lake Superior surf. “C’mon, Franklin, go get it.” The basset hound stared up at her, baggy eyes blinking. He looked in the direction of the stick, back at Ellie, then with a huff, flopped down and closed his eyes. “Oh, super, I can’t even get
you
to obey me.”

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she closed her eyes and let the wind brush the hair from her face. Cool and crisp, the wind carried with it the slightest hint of rain. Good. She noticed that the fire alert in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area had been notched up to high. They could use a good shower.

The sun hovered just above the shoreline, a brilliant flame painting the wave tips red. Around her, gulls eyed her as if she might be a benefactor, their heads bobbing as they called out their complaints. “Shoo,” Ellie said, balancing her supper—a turkey croissant she’d picked up from the Loon Café—on her knees. She had no doubts that the greedy birds would dart in and snatch it the second she relaxed her guard.