Always on My Mind (10 page)

A
t the end of the week, Leah stopped by the station with a box of fresh pastries. The big doors were wide open to the bright sun, and the trucks were out in the driveway, being washed by the platoon of Station #24.

Cindy and Hunter were on top of the ambulance. Ian and Sam were head deep in the open compartment. Tim was untangling some hoses. And Jack was on top of the fire truck, wearing his navy-blue firefighter BDUs and reflector sunglasses.

No shirt.

Leah tripped over her own feet but managed to catch herself.

“Aw,” Tim said, getting to her first, quickly relieving her of the pastry box. “You’re the best girlfriend ever.”

Jack had straightened on the fire truck and was looking right at her. She could tell because her nipples got perky.

Tim leaned into her. “Hey, when you’re done playing with the old guy, you let me know.”

“Why?”

Tim grinned. “So I can show you what a young guy can do.”

Leah laughed and waved at Jack.

He didn’t smile or wave back, but he did hop down agilely. By the time he ambled over to her, he had to push his way through the crew. Leaning in, he looked into the empty pastry box.

“Two kinds of people here, LT,” Tim said with mock sympathy. “The quick”—he flashed a grin—“and the hungry.”

Jack slid Tim a look that might have had a smarter guy messing his pants. Pretty sure she was saving Tim’s life, Leah pulled a white bag from her purse and handed it to Jack.

“What’s this?” he asked as if she were handing him a spitting cobra.

“Look for yourself.”

He opened the bag and peered inside, his expression not changing one iota.

“What is it?” Tim wanted to know. “You leave your tighty-whities at her place?”

Jack turned his head in Tim’s direction. Leah couldn’t see what Jack’s expression was exactly, but Tim heaved out a sigh and headed back to the hoses.

“So,” she said when they were alone. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“Pretend dating you,” she said, watching him take a second look into the bag at the two cream cheese croissants she’d packed. “How am I doing at the pretend-girlfriend thing so far?”

“My girlfriends all greet me with sex,” he said.

She laughed and his mouth twitched, and she knew she had him. The relief that hit her made her knees wobble. Or maybe that was just Jack and all that bronze skin stretching across the tough, sinewy muscles in his arms and chest that tapered to a set of abs that had her mouth watering.

“Don’t do this,” he said, and her smile faded. “Don’t make it a spectacle.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, which is my point.”

And oh, how he hated not knowing every little last thing. “Maybe I just wanted to bring you a treat,” she said. “You telling me I don’t remember your favorite?”

“I’m telling you that you no longer know me. And my mom isn’t even here, so there’s no point to this now.”

“Fine.” She reached for the bag to take it back, damn him, but he was much quicker than she, lifting it out of her range.

She wasn’t a small girl. Never had been. From the fifth grade, she’d been taller than most of the boys in her life. But not Jack. Jack had a way of making her feel petite.

Feminine.

Sexy.

Damn him anyway.

He shoved his hand into the bag, pulled out a croissant, and took a large bite. Then he closed his eyes and groaned.

“Good?”

“Shh. I need a moment.”

She found herself fascinated by his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Oh yeah,” he said, voice thick and husky. Hypnotic. “This is the stuff. Save me the rest of these, whatever you have at the bakery. I want them all.”

“Let me see if I have this right,” she said. “No to the playing-the-girlfriend thing unless your mom’s watching—” She broke off when he licked some sugar off his thumb, the sound of the suction making her quiver just a little bit. “But,” she managed with what she hoped sounded like utter disinterest, “you want me to save you the rest of the cream cheese croissants.”

He tilted his head down enough to eye her over his dark lenses. “Problem?”

She sent him a smile that had far more vinegar than honey. “Not even a little bit.”

When the next episode of
Sweet Wars
aired, Jack and the rest of the platoon watched it in the station living room. Ben had come by with popcorn and a chew toy for Kevin. “Dee’s good,” he said to Jack before he could ask. “Made her soup and toast for dinner, which she ate. Lucille’s with her. They’ve got
Magic Mike
on DVD for after
Sweet Wars
.” Ben shuddered. “I vacated the premises.”

Tonight’s challenge was baklava, and Jack immediately relaxed. Granted, baklava was an incredibly difficult dessert to make because of the many layers of phyllo dough required, which he only knew because Leah said so whenever she made it. But the good news was that she did often make it for the bakery, and in his humble opinion, it was the best on the planet.

“She’s got this one in the bag,” Ben said, tossing Kevin a piece of popcorn, which he caught in midair with a snap of his huge jaws. “She tell you how she did?”

Jack turned up the volume. “Shh.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about her,” Tim told Ben. “He’s touchy as hell.”

Jack turned up the volume even more. The camera loved her. Leah looked amazing as she made the challenge look effortless, even when Rafe got in her space and started questioning everything she was doing.

“Amazing,” Ben said. “She’s amazing.” He nudged Jack. “Way too good for you.”

“This is what I’m saying,” Tim said, tossing up his hands and looking around for affirmation. “I totally have a shot at her, right?”

Jack, never taking his eyes from Leah on the screen, reached casually for more popcorn. “Take a shot and I’ll end you.”

Ian and Emily snickered.

Tim scowled. “I’m pretty sure you can’t threaten me,” he said. “It’s sorta illegal. Tell him, Ben.”

Ben slid him a look that was even more deadly serious than Jack’s had been.

Tim pulled his hand back from the popcorn bowl and sank farther into his seat. “Whatever. I could totally have a shot. If I wanted one.”

Jack was pretty damn sure that wasn’t true. Actually, if he had to go off of Leah’s behavior, there wasn’t a guy in Lucky Harbor who had a shot.

Except maybe him.

At least until he’d blown that by being an ass. Not that he was sorry. Because he didn’t want it to be real.

And maybe if he kept telling himself that, he’d believe it.

That night, Jack was sleeping like shit, wondering how the hell it was that Leah was permeating his dreams and pissing him off even there when a storm hit. The lightning flashed first, lighting up the large station bedroom like day.

Kevin leaped off his pallet and onto Jack’s bed, landing right on Jack’s stomach, knocking the air out of him as the dog buried his face in the crook of Jack’s neck and whined like a baby.

Across the room, Sam sat straight up in bed with a “what the fuck—” just as the ensuing thunder boomed, rattling the windows and shaking the building on its axis.

“Holy shit,” Tim said from his bed. “You think we’ll get a good call out of this?”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence when another bolt hit, followed by an immediate crack of thunder that nearly burst their eardrums.

“Yeah,” Tim said, excited. “We’ll get something good.”

Kevin whined again and pressed tighter to Jack. Jack hugged the big oaf close and managed to sit up. Because Tim was right. Unless the storm planned on bringing moisture with it, those lightning strikes were dangerous as hell, and they were going to get action.

At the next bolt, Kevin whimpered and tried to climb Jack like a tree. Jack held the big baby tight and thought of Leah. She’d always hated thunder and lightning. During the craziest of storms, he always thought about her. Did she still get scared? Standing up with Kevin still in his arms, Jack transferred him to Tim’s bed.

“Jesus,” Tim complained but let the dog crawl under the covers. “Your paws are cold.”

Jack strode to the window and shoved it open. The temp hadn’t dropped much, but the wind had kicked up into high gear. Tumbling dark clouds churned up the sky like dark-gray wool blankets in a dryer, but not a single drop of rain fell.

“Precip?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Damn,” Ian muttered.

“Yeah.” Jack pulled out his cell phone and stared down at it as indecision warred with the need to know she was okay. Fuck it, he thought, and slid his thumb across the screen to access a blank text.

Just as he hit
SEND
, another window-rattling bolt hit, and then, not all that surprisingly, the fire alarm sounded. A two-alarm, meaning two companies would be responding. Not good.

“Why are the fires always at three in the morning?” Ian wanted to know.

“Karma.” Jack pulled on his clothes and shoved his feet into his boots. “For every time you’ve woken us up with those stupid late-night booty-texts you get.”

“You’re just jealous now that you’re wearing a ball and chain,” Ian said. “And how’s that working out for you, by the way? ’Cause you’re grumpy as hell, so I know you’re not getting any. I thought that was the whole idea of an almost-fiancé.”

“If you’re tired of Leah, I’ll take her off your hands,” Tim offered.

Jack ignored this and got out of the room first. Tim, knowing the last one out had to do the paperwork, swore, shoved Kevin off of him, and scrambled after Jack. They suited up, boarded the vehicles, and while heading to the scene, put on their air packs.

Each firefighter was assigned a very specific job, but that job shifted with each rotation. So sometimes Jack was the ladder, sometimes the engine. Sometimes he drove, sometimes he was tails. Everyone had their favorite position. Ian preferred driving. Emily liked the ladder. Some guys were just better at some jobs. Jack was good on the medicals with teenagers or old people, so he usually got that job instead of, say, Tim, who didn’t have the experience needed and often came off as an impatient asshole.

On the way, they all dove into the bag of candy that Ian pulled out of his pocket, laughing at Tim when he dropped his and Kevin inhaled it before anyone could stop him.

“Candy’s bad for him,” Jack said. “Don’t let him have any more.”

Tim turned to Kevin. “You hear that? Candy’s bad for you. Give it back.”

Kevin licked his chops and wagged his tail for more.

The joking halted on a dime when they got to the fire.

Just outside of town was an older residential section. Hardworking, lower-middle-class families lived here, in a row of apartment buildings close together and in need of repair. In this particular complex, there were three floors of units, most likely full of sleeping families.

And flames were shooting out the roof.

The other station had responded and arrived at the same time. So did Ronald. As deputy chief and fire marshal and the highest ranking official there, normally he’d be incident commander, but he passed this off to Jack, who did a quick walk around of the perimeter while the ladder was positioned to open up the roof and let out the hot gases accumulating in the upper floor of the building.

Until that happened, the danger could only escalate.

Jack relayed by radio that they had fire out two windows of the first floor on the south side, extending up into the second floor and the attic. A third alarm was struck, and the coordinated attack began.

“Holy shit,” Tim breathed, sounding awed as he stood still at Jack’s side staring up at the flames. “Holy shit. Let’s go! We’ll head into the—”

Jack caught him up by the back of his gear. Firefighters were taught from day one to never enter a structure alone, but it was usually the first thing an excited rookie forgot. “You know you’re on exterior with Emily.” At LHFD, they practiced what was known as the two-in, two-out rule. Anytime someone entered a hazardous environment, there was an equal number of personnel available outside the hazard area to rescue those who entered in case they got into trouble.

Emily and a pissed-off-looking Tim moved into position on the exterior. Sam joined the ladder team and headed to the roof. Jack and Ian would clear the interior and make sure everyone was out.

Forcing the rear door, they hit the stairs, standing at the top floor, doing a sweep, banging on doors, getting people out. Panic and fear always made people clumsy and difficult to maneuver. Jack and Ian moved fast and efficiently together, searching each apartment, working in sync with the other platoons by radio.

By the time they’d finished the floor, the smoke was so thick they were working blind, even with their self-c
ontained
breathing apparatus.

When they finished they started again on the secondary search, even if everyone was confirmed out, because sometimes people forgot that Johnny had a friend sleeping over, or that Uncle Joe didn’t work tonight, and so on.

They were on the stairs to the second floor when they heard it, the sound of the team on the roof. They used a pike pole to push down on the ceiling below, letting smoke and gases escape from above the fire. It was always a gamble working on a roof that may or may not be able to handle the weight of the guys, the gear, and all the equipment, and tonight the weather wasn’t helping.

But from one moment to the next, the heat and smoke lifted, and everyone in the interior took a breath of relief. They worked to finish clearing the building, most people happy for the help. Of course, Jack and Ian came across the one cantankerous old guy who wasn’t. Neither was his snarling poodle. The man was waving a baseball bat, yelling about his “constitutional right to remain put.”

“You also have the constitutional right to die here,” Jack said. “But do you really want to?”