Firefighter Daddy (17 page)

“Why did you let go of my hand?” she asked.

“I assumed you wouldn’t want your friends to see us.”

She slipped her arms around his waist and briefly rested her head against his chest. “I don’t care who sees us.” It was true. She didn’t.

“Are you sure?”

“They’ve already figured out something’s going on, so yeah, I’m fine with it. What about you?” She lifted her head and waited.

He didn’t answer right away, and that scared her.

“About what happened back there—” He tipped his head in the direction of the parking lot. “I’m sorry.”

If she had learned anything from her parents’ many mistakes, it was not to let misunderstandings fester into a major falling-out. “Are you sorry it happened, or sorry it happened so fast?”

Again, no response, and if she had to guess, she’d say he was blushing. Ah, yes. Nothing quite so fragile as the male ego.

“In case you didn’t notice, I was in a bit of a hurry myself. Next time will be better.” To demonstrate how much better, she kissed him—a hungry, openmouthed kiss with lots of tongue—and slid one hand along the fly of his pants. Her touch made him suck in a sharp breath, and the rest of him responded accordingly.

She tipped her head back and smiled at him, leaving her hand where it was. “Better for both of us,” she whispered. He pressed himself into her hand and kissed her back, even hungrier.

Oh, yeah,
she thought.
Next time will blow your mind.

M
ITCH GAZED UP THROUGH
Rory’s skylight and watched the night sky begin to lighten while she slept, her invitingly warm body curled against his. It had been quite a night, and she had been right. The “next time” had been better. A lot better. So had the time after that.

Rory stirred against him slightly. He gently stroked the top of her head and she seemed to settle without waking. Then she moved her leg a little higher and a certain part of him stirred in response. He’d suspect she was awake and doing this on purpose, but her eyelids hadn’t fluttered and her breathing had stayed shallow. He was tempted to wake her, but he knew she was tired.

He’d have to leave soon, definitely before Miranda woke and preferably before his mother got up. Miranda was too young to understand what was going on—at least, he sure hoped she was—but it was too soon for her to know that he and Rory were together. If this didn’t work out, she would be devastated. He had to put her needs ahead of what he wanted, and it would be better to let her get used to the idea slowly.

His mother might very well have figured out that he didn’t come home last night, but he still didn’t want to get caught sneaking in. Not that he had to sneak. He was an adult, he had nothing to feel guilty about and, a little to his surprise, he didn’t. But as crazy about Rory as his mother was, he wasn’t ready for this to be out in the open.

For all he knew, neither was Rory. Although, come to think of it, she hadn’t minded that her friends were now in the know. From the bed he could make out the outline of the bride’s bouquet where she had dropped it on the coffee table. The bride and the other bridesmaids had blatantly conspired to make sure she caught it. Jess had practically tackled two young girls in order to make it happen. Actually, that had been pretty funny.

Not far from the table, the blue gown lay in a heap on the floor along with most of his clothing. Her bra and the twice-removed panties had landed closer to the bed, still within arm’s reach, along with the shoes and the box of condoms. More than once during the night, he’d been damned glad the Murphy bed was above his room and not someone else’s.

Rory rolled onto her back and stretched, then she opened both eyes and squinted at him. “Are you awake?”

“I am. I was just thinking I should get home—”

“Before Miranda wakes up,” she said. “Good idea.”

Reluctant as he was to leave, he was grateful for her understanding. He wanted to conduct another intimate investigation of the body that was once again curled against his, but that would seriously delay his departure.

She playfully pulled the sheet off him. “Go. I’ll see you later.”

“Would you like to spend some time with me and Miranda this afternoon?”

“Love to. Know what else I’d like?”

He kissed her forehead before he got up. “What?”

“Come back tonight and I’ll show you.”

She could count on it.

Chapter Twelve

Rory staggered up the stairs to her apartment, her school bag dangling from one shoulder and a grocery-stuffed canvas tote bag in each hand. After everything that had happened between her and Mitch in the past two days, she should be feeling totally freaked out. Instead, she couldn’t remember ever feeling this domestic, not to mention exhilarated and just the teensiest bit in love. Okay, a lot in love. The past two days had been amazing—the wedding, spending the night with Mitch, going to the schoolyard yesterday afternoon and playing hopscotch with him and Miranda, and spending part of last night with him. He was at work today so she wouldn’t see him until sometime tomorrow, and that felt like forever.

She dumped the groceries on the table and let the book bag slide off her shoulder next to them. “I should have made two trips,” she said to Buick, who gazed up at her from the chair, sleepy-eyed, as she burst through the door. “Or I could train you to haul your own food up the stairs.”

He lowered his head back onto the cushion and draped a paw over his face.

“Right. Like that’s going to happen.” She changed into a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, and was putting groceries away when her cell phone rang.

“Rory, it’s Betsy. Is there any chance you can keep an eye on Miranda for the rest of the afternoon? I just got a call from the community center. The instructor who teaches their pottery classes is sick and they’ve asked me to fill in, and Mitch won’t be home till tomorrow morning.”

Rory knew exactly when he’d be home. “When do you have to leave?”

“Right away. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll be right down.” She hung up, tucked her cell into the pocket of her jeans and dashed down the stairs.

Miranda was sprawled on the middle of the living-room carpet. Rory’s chest tightened. As crazy as it seemed, she was as much in love with this little girl as she was with her father. Crazier still, the idea of being someone’s mom didn’t terrify her. It felt…right.

“Miss Sunshine! Me and Grams were going to have a game of checkers. Will you play with me?”

“That sounds like fun, but it’s been a long time since I’ve played checkers. I might be kind of rusty.”

“That’s okay. My dad taught me how to play and I’m really good at it, so I can teach you.”

Rory settled herself on the floor on the opposite side of the board.

Betsy breezed in from the kitchen. “Thank you so much, Rory. You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. I’m always happy to help.”

Rory hadn’t seen Betsy since they were at the church on Saturday, and she didn’t know if Mitch had said something to his mother or if she had figured it out on her own, but from her expression it seemed pretty clear that she was onto them.

“Can you do one more favor for me?” Betsy asked. “I’m firing a load of pottery and my new kiln is still a bit finicky. I’ve already set the kitchen timer to remind myself to check on it. When it rings, would you run down to my studio in the basement and make sure it shuts off?”

“Oh, sure, but I don’t know anything about kilns. Can you show me what I need to look for?”

“Of course. Come on downstairs.”

“Be right back, Miranda,” Rory said over her shoulder. She followed Betsy into the kitchen and down a narrow flight of stairs that led to the basement, which mainly consisted of the low-ceilinged garage.

“My studio is back here,” Betsy said.

Rory followed her into a long, narrow room that had floor-to-ceiling shelves along one wall, a workbench along the other, and a potter’s wheel at the far end. The lower shelves were crammed with boxes of clay and bottles of glaze, and the upper shelves contained Betsy’s latest creations. The air was warm and tinged with the earthy scent of damp clay. The kiln, which was much bigger than Rory had expected, loomed in the corner by the entrance.

Betsy pointed to the dials and switches on the front of the machine. “It doesn’t always shut off and cool down when it’s supposed to. Someone’s coming to look at it again on Monday.”

Rory thought it would have made sense to fire the pottery
after
the kiln had been repaired, but Betsy obviously had a lot of experience with this type of equipment.

“When it shuts down, this red light will go off. If it’s still on, just turn the dial counterclockwise to shut it off manually.”

“That’s it?” Rory asked.

“That’s it. It’s a lot like an oven.”

After Betsy left, Rory and Miranda played two games of checkers. Miranda won the first hands down, but Rory narrowly squeaked out a win in the second game.

“What would you like to do now?” she asked.

“We could go to the park.”

Rory looked at her watch. “I have to stay here and keep an eye on your grandmother’s kiln.” The timer was set to go off in about an hour.

“Okay. We could have a snack,” Miranda suggested hopefully. “We have ice cream.”

Ice cream!
“I bought some this afternoon and I forgot to put it in the freezer after your grandmother called. Come on upstairs while I put it away, and then we’ll come back downstairs and have something to eat.”

Miranda ran up the stairs ahead of her. “Can I play with Buick?”

“You bet. He’s probably catnapping, but he won’t mind if you wake him up.”

The little girl giggled as she hopped up the last few steps and opened the door to the apartment. “Grams has a catnap every afternoon. She says catnaps are better than people naps.”

One look at Buick was proof of that. He had moved to the sofa and was sprawled on his back, belly exposed.

Miranda knelt on the floor next to him. “He looks funny when he sleeps upside down.”

The cat tilted his head and his eyes opened into narrow slits.

“Hey, Buick,” she crooned. “It’s me, Miranda.”

The cat stretched and relaxed again.

Rory put her half-melted ice cream in the freezer and took everything else out of the bag. “He likes to have his tummy rubbed.” The cat didn’t have a tendency to scratch and it was great to see young children who were that gentle with animals, but she kept an eye on them as she put everything away.

“Miss Sunshine?”

“Mm-hm?” She really had to talk to Mitch about letting Miranda call her Rory, at least when they weren’t at school.

“Remember you promised I could try on one of your bridesmaid dresses?”

Rory checked her watch again. There was still plenty of time before the timer went off. “Would you like to try on one right now?”

“Yes!” In an instant, Miranda was on her feet and standing in front of the closet. “I want the pink one.”

Rory hung the empty canvas bag on the doorknob and walked through her living room to the closet. “You like the pink one best?”

“I l-o-o-o-ve pink. It’s my favorite color.”

“I thought yellow was your favorite color.”

“Nope. That was my mom’s favorite.”

“I see.” Rory thought back to the shopping trip with Mitch and Miranda, and all the yellow stuff they’d bought for the little girl. The child hadn’t once suggested she’d like something pink.

“I still like yellow a lot,” Miranda said. “’Cause it reminds me of my mom.”

That was very sweet, and Rory made a silent pledge to honor that while also letting Miranda know that it was all right to indulge in her own tastes. She opened her closet and slipped the cocktail-length pink chiffon dress off its hanger and over Miranda’s head. The cap sleeves looked like miniature wings atop the little girl’s slender arms.

Miranda stood in front of the full-length mirror, eyes wide and filled with awe. “It’s beautiful.” She sounded a little breathless. “When I’m a bridesmaid, I want a dress like this.”

“Pink suits you,” Rory said.

“You wear the green one, ’kay?”

“I wasn’t planning to—”

“Please?” Miranda pleaded. “That way we can both be princesses, just like Cinderella. Or bridesmaids.”

An idea that held a lot more interest for Miranda than it did for Rory. “Okay.”

“Yay!” Miranda admired herself in the mirror on the closet door.

“I have a pink sash in here somewhere.” Rory dug through a basket of scarves, belts and other odds and ends. “Here it is.”

She had Miranda hold the waistline in place, then she wrapped the sash around her and tied it into a big bow at the back.

“How’s that?” she asked.

Miranda twisted one way, then the other, admiring her reflection some more. “I love it,” she said. “Now it’s your turn.”

Rory pulled off her sweatshirt and shimmied into the green satin dress she’d worn at Paige’s wedding leaving her jeans on underneath.

Miranda held up the hem of the pink dress and attempted a spin. “Don’t you love twirly dresses?”

“You look like a music-box dancer.” Rory lifted the lid of an old jewelry box she’d had since childhood, and the little ballerina rotated to the tinny sound of the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” from the
Nutcracker.

Miranda twirled again, giggling this time. “I’m a princess ballerina!” She stopped and looked at Rory. “Make your dress twirl.”

Rory spun around and laughed along with Miranda. It felt good! Grown-ups needed to twirl more often.

Still giggling, Miranda had another turn. “My dress sounds swooshier than yours.”

Rory tried it again. “This dress has a crinoline that’s very swooshy.” She took it off the hanger and pulled it on under her dress and over the jeans. She twirled again.

Miranda listened, then spun around. “Mine’s still the swooshiest.”

“You’re right.”

They took turns spinning until they collapsed in a dizzy, giggling heap of satin and chiffon.

“That was fun!”

“It was!” Rory leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, waiting for the vertigo to subside.

“Let’s do it again!”

They staggered to their feet, hand in hand. “I need to wait till the room stops spinning,” Rory said.

Miranda demonstrated her dizziness with an exaggerated swoon. “Oops! Look what happened. My loose tooth!” She held the tooth in the palm of her hand and ran her tongue through the gap in her mouth.

“Better give it to me.” Rory grabbed a couple of tissues from a box, scrunched one into a ball, and handed it to Miranda. “Here. Hold this against your gum until the bleeding stops.” Then she wrapped the tiny tooth in another tissue, hiked up the dress and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.

“This means the tooth fairy’s coming.”

Remember to give the tooth to Mitch,
Rory thought.
Or Betsy.

The cat woke from his slumbers and jumped off the sofa. He seemed unusually alert as he brushed himself against Rory’s dress. She picked him up and was giving him a hug when a piercing noise filled the air.

What on earth?

Buick tried to wriggle out of Rory’s arms, but she held on to him.

Was that noise coming from inside the house?

Miranda covered her ears with both hands. “Smoke detector,” she said.

Smoke? Oh, dear God. The kiln. According to her watch, the timer in Betsy’s kitchen wouldn’t go off for another fifteen minutes. Rory opened the door to stairway. A strong odor of smoke wafted into the room. She slammed the door.

Should they try to make it down two flights of stairs? What if the stairwell was already blocked? Better to go out on the balcony, she decided. She stuffed the protesting cat into his carrier and grabbed her cell phone. “Come on,” she said to Miranda. “I’ll call 911 and we’ll wait out here for the fire department.” She flipped the phone open and forced her shaking fingers to punch in the right numbers.

Once outside, she set the carrier down and grabbed Miranda’s hand. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said, hoping she sounded more reassuring than she felt.

An emergency operator came on the line.

“There’s a smoke alarm going off in my house,” Rory said. “And I can smell smoke in the stairwell.” She should have soaked a towel in the bathroom and shoved it against the bottom of the door. Wasn’t that supposed to stop the smoke from getting in the room?

The woman asked for the address and Rory gave it to her. “The fire department is on the way. Have you left the house?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not really. We’re in the attic on the third floor. There’s smoke in the stairwell and I didn’t know if it was safe to go down, so we came out onto the balcony.” She stood with her back pressed against the wall and willed the dizziness to stop before it became nausea.

“How many people are with you?”

“Just one. A little girl that I’m looking after. And my cat.” An extremely annoyed cat who associated the carrier with a trip to the vet, and whose plaintive meows had escalated into indignant yowls.

“Any injuries?”

“No. We’re all okay.”

Miranda looked surprisingly calm. She crouched next to the carrier in a cloud of pink chiffon and tried to stroke the cat’s fur through the wire door. “It’s okay, Buick. My daddy’s a firefighter. He’ll rescue us.”

Oh, no. What if Mitch was one of the firefighters who showed up? How could she explain this?

“Where is the balcony?” the operator asked.

“Um, it’s off the kitchen.”

“Does it overlook the street?”

“No. It’s at the back.” Rory listened while the woman relayed that information to someone.

“Is there a fire escape?”

“No.” No way down. Not unless they jumped. She glanced over the railing and the remnants of her lunch roiled in her stomach.
Do
not
look down,
she warned herself. The fire department would be here soon. She hated heights, hated feeling helpless, and hated that she desperately wanted to be rescued by Mitch as much as she agonized over what he would say about this. But facing him was preferable to hanging off the side of a building with only a flimsy bit of wrought-iron railing and fifty feet of nothing between her and the ground below. She’d give almost anything to hear the sound of an approaching siren, but all she could hear were the shrieking smoke alarms inside the house.

“Do you know where the fire started?”

The operator’s voice jolted her back to reality. She was still holding the cell phone to her ear. “I’m not sure, but maybe in the basement. My landlady has a kiln down there.”