Firefighter Daddy (5 page)

The little girl stroked the cat’s thick black fur. “I’ll keep Buick company, too. I think he likes me.”

“I can see that.”

Buick rolled onto his back and Miranda giggled.

Rory opened a box of books and started sliding them onto the shelves that lined one wall in the living room.

“Lots of books,” Betsy said as she arranged the rest of the plates on the shelf. “Are those travel guides?”

“I love to travel. Every summer since I started teaching I’ve picked a state and visited a national park.” She held up an Arizona guidebook. “This year I went to the Grand Canyon. My father sends me a lot of books, too. This will be the first place I’ve lived that actually has enough space for all of them. These built-ins are great.”

“Mitch’s father built those, and pretty much everything else up here.”

“He did a wonderful job,” she said. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He died five years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“So am I, but no one lived a fuller life than he did.”

Mitch appeared in the doorway, carrying her thrift-store slipper chair with a pile of cushions on the seat.

“Grams has a boyfriend now,” Miranda said. “His name’s Thomas and he looks like Santa Claus.”

Mitch set the chair next to the sofa with a loud thump, clearly a reaction to his daughter’s reference to the boyfriend, since he’d been pretty unobtrusive until then.

Best to let it go, Rory decided. “Is that everything?” she asked.

“Seems to be.” He fished her keys from the pocket of his jeans. She thought he might toss them to her but he didn’t, so she watched him watch her walk across the room. She stopped in front of him, held out her hand and waited. He set the keys on her palm, the same way she’d given them to him earlier, and there was no mistaking the subtle touch of his fingers.

When she turned around, a smiling Betsy was busy arranging cups and saucers in a glass-doored cabinet. “You have lovely things.” She set an old hand-painted floral-patterned teapot on the shelf next to the cups.

“Thanks. I’m always on the lookout for a good bargain and I love vintage furniture and china, so I do a lot of shopping in thrift stores and secondhand shops. That chair Mitch just brought up is my latest find.” The rose-patterned upholstery was slightly faded, which made it even more charming.

“Need help with anything else?” Betsy asked.

Although she tried, she couldn’t think of anything. Betsy was already finishing up with the kitchen, which left Rory’s clothes and her mother’s artwork.

“I’ll want to hang my mother’s paintings, but it’ll take me a while to decide where they should go.”

“I’m sure Mitch would be happy to help with that.”

Call me crazy, but Betsy seems like she’s doing a little matchmaking.
Before Rory had a chance to say she could hang the paintings herself, Betsy brought up her mother’s exhibit.

“We’ve been invited to the opening of Rory’s mother’s art exhibit in a couple of weeks. It’ll be a great experience for Miranda, don’t you think?” she asked her son.

His nod seemed reluctant, but Rory took it as an affirmative.

“That’s great. I’ll be sure to give you all the details.”

Betsy put the last few utensils into a drawer and slid it shut. “That’s it. These things might not be organized exactly the way you want them, but at least they’re unpacked.”

“No problem. Everything looks great.” The dress fitting later that afternoon meant she had less time than she’d like to get settled, so she appreciated all the help.

Mitch glanced around the small apartment, as though he was looking for something. “Is there a smoke alarm up here?”

“This house is
filled
with smoke alarms.” Betsy moved the cushions off the chair and sat down. “A few years ago he gave me a case of them for Christmas,” she said to Rory in a stage whisper.

“Did you install one up here?” he asked.

“It’s over there by the skylight.”

“When was the last time you tested it?”

“If I said yesterday, would you trust me and not check it yourself?”

“Did you test it yesterday?”

Betsy shook her head.

Rory laughed at them. Although neither seemed to realize they answered one question with another, their conversation was threaded with affection and Rory found it engaging.

Mitch walked to the other end of the apartment, reached up and pushed a button on the smoke alarm. Nothing happened. He removed the unit and looked at it. “There’s no battery.”

“Really?” Betsy didn’t seem surprised. “The last tenant must have taken it out.”

Mitch shook his head. “I have some downstairs. I’ll go get one.”

Rory couldn’t decide if he was really being helpful, or if he was just looking for a reason to stick around. Either way worked for her. She rolled a couple of suitcases over to the closet and went back for the baskets full of shoes and handbags that Mitch had left at the top of the stairs.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can help with?” Betsy asked.

Rory inspected the apartment. There were still plenty of things to do, but her landlady’s help had made a huge difference. “Would you like to make some tea? I could use a break.”

“Will do.”

Betsy was filling the kettle when Mitch returned with a battery for the smoke detector. After he reinstalled it, he pushed the button again and it let out a loud squawk.

“Yikes.” Rory clamped her hands over her ears. “I won’t sleep through that.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Hey, you scared Buick,” Miranda said. “I think he needs something to play with. Does he have any toys?”

“He has a catnip mouse, but it must be still packed.”

The little girl bounced to her feet. “I have a ball in my room. I’ll go get it.” She raced out the door and down the stairs.

“Why is he called Buick?” Betsy asked, reaching for the teapot and a tin of green tea.

“When he was a kitten, my mother said his purring sounded just like an old Buick my dad used to have. Apparently I was conceived in the backseat of that car.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, but Betsy laughed. “Lighten up, for heaven’s sake,” she said to him. “It’s funny.” He was
so
not amused. In fact, Rory was beginning to wonder if he had a sense of humor at all.

Miranda dashed back into the apartment, ball in hand. She rolled it across the floor and was crestfallen by Buick’s disinterest.

Mitch seemed to relax. “We should get out of here and let you get settled,” he said.

And before I say something else inappropriate,
Rory thought. “Your mom’s making tea. You and Miranda are welcome to stay if you’d like.”

“Please, can we stay, Dad? Please, please, please?”

“We should go,” he said.

“No fair. I hardly ever get to have tea.”

Rory unfurled two gowns from the top of the basket and hung them on a hook by the closet door.

Ignoring her father, Miranda crossed the room and ran her hand longingly over the cotton-candy-pink chiffon one. “These are like princess dresses.”

“Not exactly,” Rory said. “They’re bridesmaid dresses.”

“You’ve been a bridesmaid two times?” The little girl was wide-eyed and clearly impressed. “I wish I could be a flower girl someday, if anybody I know ever gets married.”

Mitch’s face went a little red, and Rory could swear she saw him squirm. Miranda seemed to know better than to push the issue any further, but it pretty much confirmed Rory’s suspicion that the little girl’s mother was no longer in the picture.

“These would be so awesome for dress-up,” Miranda said.

Mitch stepped in. “You can’t expect Rory to—”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Rory said. “I’ll never wear them again. Tell you what. You can come up and visit me sometime and we’ll have tea and play dress-up. As long as it’s okay with your dad,” she added quickly.

Miranda’s hopeful little face gazed up at her father, and she was rewarded with a tentative nod. “That’ll be so much fun,” she said, turning her attention to the emerald-green dress.

“Another friend of mine is getting married next month, so there’ll soon be three dresses for you to try on.”

Miranda’s eyes widened appreciatively. “Three?”

“You know what they say about three times a bridesmaid,” Betsy said, grinning.

“What do they say?” Miranda asked.

Rory had heard it all before. “Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

“What does that mean?” Miranda asked.

“It means women who are always someone else’s bridesmaid never get to be a bride themselves.”

Miranda gave her grandmother a horrified look. “Does that mean Miss Sunshine won’t ever be able to get married?”

Mitch shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking as though the subject made him uncomfortable.

“It’s just a superstition,” Rory said, amused by Miranda’s question.

“What’s a superstition?”

“Hm, let’s see. Have you ever heard anyone say that Friday the thirteenth is an unlucky day?”

The little girl nodded.

“Well, that’s a superstition. That day is no more unlucky than any other day, but people like to say it is.”

“I see,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “So you
will
be able get married.”

“Actually, your grandmother’s right about me not getting married. I’m not the marrying kind, but that has nothing to do with all the times I’ve been a bridesmaid.” Although if she ever did get married, all these weddings had given her a clear idea of what she
didn’t
want to do. Starting with putting her four best friends in outrageous gowns.

“I never regretted not having a wedding,” Betsy said.

“You eloped?” Rory asked.

“Mitch’s father and I never got—”

Before Betsy could finish, she was interrupted by loud throat-clearing from the other side of the room. She smiled sweetly at her son. “Mitch’s father and I were
together
for thirty-five years and I never regretted a second of it. A
wedding
couldn’t have improved that.”

“You’re lucky. The bride and groom from this wedding…” Rory indicated the emerald-green satin dress. “They’ve already split up. My parents separated and got back together more times than I can remember, and their divorce was…well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.” And then there was Dean—a guy she’d dated for nearly six months before discovering he was still married to the woman who’d shown up at Rory’s door, brimming with accusations and a suitcase crammed full of her husband’s clothing. It had only taken Rory a couple of seconds to realize she didn’t want him any more than his wife did.

“That has always been the problem with
conventional
marriage,” Betsy said. “Getting out is a lot harder than getting in.”

Mitch cast a disparaging glance at the ceiling, but he didn’t say anything.

Interesting. Betsy and Mitch’s father hadn’t made a trip down the aisle…they hadn’t even made it to city hall…but they’d obviously had a real marriage in every sense of the word. Unlike her parents, her friend Paige, her scum of an ex-boyfriend or, it would seem, even Mitch and Miranda’s mother.

“If you don’t get married,” Miranda said, “you won’t be able to have kids.”

Again, all the grown-ups in the room exchanged looks.

“That’s okay,” Rory said. “I have twenty-four children in my classroom. That’s a lot of kids.”

Miranda giggled. “We’re not your
real
kids.”

Rory hugged her. “But you’re all just as special to me.”

“Then I want to stay in your class forever.”

Rory laughed at that. “Third grade is a whole year away. For now I think we should concentrate on having fun in second grade, okay?”

“It’s very sweet that the kids call you Miss Sunshine,” Betsy said. “How did they think of that?”

Eventually, her name always came up. “I have both of my parents’ last names—Pennington-Borland—which is quite a mouthful for my students. Sunshine is my middle name, so I use that instead.”

Mitch leaned against the doorframe and, for the first time that morning, looked mildly amused.

“Rory is your first name?” Betsy asked.

“Not quite. It’s short for Sonora.”

“After the town?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s where my parents got married.” The first time. “They’ve always called me Rory, though, and I think it suits me better.”

“Mitch’s father and I had always said that if we had a girl, we’d call her Joni. Since we had a boy, we settled on Mitchell.” That was
exactly
like something her parents would have done. “She’s still one of my dad’s favorite singers. We used to sing ‘Clouds’ in the car when we drove down the coast from Mendocino. I was fascinated by the idea of ice-cream castles in the air.”

“It would be
so
fun to live in an ice-cream castle.” Miranda turned away from the pink bridesmaid dress, eyes wide with excitement. “I have an idea. You should come to Fisherman’s Wharf with us this afternoon. Me and Dad are going there for ice cream.”

Tempting, but not a good idea for so many reasons. “That sounds like fun and I love ice cream, but I have plans this afternoon.”

Miranda looked disappointed, but Mitch’s relief was palpable. Did he really think she’d tag along on their family outing?

“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?” Miranda asked.

Rory tried to think of one she
didn’t
like. “All of them,” she said.

Miranda laughed with her. “Me and my dad always get the same thing. My mom used to say we have no imaginations, but then she died and we stopped going for ice cream.”

Oh. God.

Rory had
not
seen that coming.

Chapter Four

The downtown bus was packed. Rory clung to the overhead handrail and did her best to ignore the rap music blaring from the earbuds of the young man standing next to her. She’d missed the bus she should have taken and now she was running late. Argh. She should have driven instead. On the plus side, the walk to the bus stop and the ride downtown gave her a chance to digest the bombshell Miranda had dropped.

Mitch’s silent and preoccupied manner made so much more sense now, and the death of Miranda’s mother likely explained why the little girl was so mature for her age. Mitch had whisked her away almost immediately after her inadvertent confession, but Betsy and Rory had ended up chatting over a pot of tea, which was why Rory was late and still wearing her moving clothes.

Betsy had volunteered a few details about her son’s circumstances. His wife had gone to get Miranda from a birthday party, but she’d never made it. A drunk driver had crashed into her car and she’d died at the scene. Mitch had been supposed to pick Miranda up, but he hadn’t been able to get away from the fire hall. Of course, he blamed himself.

That had been more than a year ago. Last month, he and Miranda had moved in with Betsy so she could look after her granddaughter when Mitch was at work overnight. She had half-jokingly said that having them in the house cramped her—and Thomas’s—style. And Mitch hadn’t wanted to return to his old neighborhood, so they were all still adjusting to the new arrangement.

How could anyone
not
want to live here?

Rory had always dreamed about moving back someday. Now she was teaching at the very school she would have attended if her parents had stayed, and living in their old neighborhood. Everything was exactly as she had hoped it would be, except she hadn’t expected to be living in such close quarters with a man who intrigued her more than any man had in a long time. Mitch Donovan had a lot of baggage, though—more than she was prepared to deal with, that was for sure—and she needed to be careful, especially given her track record with married men.

He’s not married now,
she reminded herself.

He’s a grieving widower,
herself reminded her back.

Her memory served up an image of his hand, large and strong, resting gently and protectively on his daughter’s shoulders. He had amazing hands, and she had thought about them far too often since he’d visited her classroom.

Stop thinking about his hands,
she warned herself.
Think about all the reasons why you, Sonora Sunshine Pennington-Borland, are not getting serious about anyone, especially not the single dad downstairs. That would be way too complicated.
Not that it would ever be an issue. He’d been annoyed that she’d called him about Miranda’s behavior at school, which was puzzling at the time and even more so now that she’d seen them together at home. He was a good father who wanted the best for his daughter, so why the resentment?

She reached out and rang the bell for the next stop. The back door opened and she was nearly trampled by two teenaged boys who shoved their way inside, looking for a free ride. On the sidewalk, she hitched her oversize tote bag onto her shoulder and headed toward the bridal shop a few blocks away.

“Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride” worked for her. Marriage was hard. Marriage didn’t last. Married couples fought, they cheated on each other, and then they got divorced.

Like her loser ex-boyfriend Dean, and her friend Paige and especially her parents. They’d met here in San Francisco during the infamous summer of love and had been living in an arrested state of flower childhood ever since. They just hadn’t spent most of that time living together. Copper Pennington was happily ensconced in the little house they’d bought in Mendocino years ago when her career as an up-and-coming artist was taking off and she’d landed her first big commission. Sam Borland led a pseudo-bohemian existence in an upscale loft on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. His last novel had held its own near the top of various bestseller lists for months, and it looked as though the new one would do the same.

For years now, Rory’s mother had been in a casual, on-again-off-again relationship with her neighbor—the man who’d made the pottery Betsy had admired. Her father’s current girlfriend had apparently been hired to set up his upcoming book tour. Rory hadn’t met this one, but then she hadn’t met most of the women who came and went from his life. She adored her dad but usually only saw him once a year, and she was grateful that their precious yearly visits didn’t include his girlfriend of the hour.

Compared to her parents’, Rory’s life was remarkably conventional. She’d gone to college and landed her first teaching job right after graduation. At the same time, she was the least conventional of all her friends. Unlike them, she had no desire to get married and raise a family. She had meant what she said to Miranda—she loved her students, and they were all the family she needed.

She dodged a young mother pushing a baby stroller and narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an elderly woman who had stopped to admire the gurgling infant.

Come on, people. It’s a baby. You’ve seen a million of them.
And this one had a viscous-looking glob of drool bubbling down its chin. Ugh.

I’ll take seven-year-olds any day.
She loved teaching second grade. Kids that age were bursting with curiosity and enthusiasm, and they made going to work every day a joy. After ten years, teaching second grade still didn’t feel like a job.

Seven-year-olds could follow simple instructions without questioning every step along the way. They could tie their own shoes. They could articulate ideas, at least in a basic way, and they threw themselves wholeheartedly into every opportunity presented to them. And they didn’t drool.

She especially loved watching them while they wrote in their journals. Younger children hadn’t yet developed the skills to put thoughts on paper, while older kids would sit and stare at a blank page, hypercritical of every idea even before it was fully formed. Second graders put pencil to paper without hesitation. They were quick-witted, yet naive enough to take things at face value. And they weren’t afraid to use words they couldn’t spell.

Seven was the perfect age. At school, Miranda was exceptionally energetic and imaginative—exactly the kind of child Rory loved having in her classroom. At home with her family, she seemed quieter and more serious. More like a miniature adult than a normal kid. Not surprising, given what she and her dad had been through, but Rory still hated to see a child grow up too quickly.

Even adults needed to relax and have some fun once in a while, and Rory liked to think she was still good at letting her inner child come out to play. Rory’s father often joked that the nut didn’t fall far from the tree, the tree in this case being Rory’s mother. Copper Pennington’s lively high-spiritedness sharply contrasted and often conflicted with Sam Borland’s more serious bookishness. There was really no denying it…Rory was very much like her mother.

But that didn’t mean
she
wanted to be a mother. In spite of having a wonderful relationship with both her parents, she was never one-hundred-percent convinced they’d wanted to be parents, either. If it hadn’t been for that one night in the backseat of the Buick…

Rory sidestepped a half-dozen giggling teenaged girls who seemed to think they had the sidewalk, maybe even the world, all to themselves.
Am I the only person in downtown San Francisco who’s in a hurry?
Even though a dress fitting wasn’t high on her list of priorities today, she loved to spend time with her friends. Still, it would have been good to hang around the house and finish unpacking. Maybe catch a glimpse of Mitch.

You’re not going there. Too much baggage, remember?

Baggage aside, a girl could still look. And admire the view.

She pushed through the door of the bridal salon, thinking that with everything else she had going on, she was lucky that being a maid of honor had turned out to be such an easy job.

Nicola and the others were seated at the back of the shop in a half circle of chairs facing a round dais and several full-length mirrors. The bride-to-be jumped up, brandishing her BlackBerry.

“There you are! I was just about to call you. I was starting to worry.” But she didn’t look worried. More like a force to be reckoned with. Her short, sleek, dark hair was perfect, as always, and her tan-colored linen pants, white silk shirt, slender gold bangles and metallic ballet flats were as understated as they were expensive.

“Sorry I’m late. Since we’re going out for drinks I left my van at home and took the bus.”

The bride-to-be gave her a quick hug. “You should have called. I would have sent Jonathan to pick you up.”

“I completely lost track of time. I would have called after I was on the bus but I left my cell phone at home.” She waggled her fingers at Paige and Maria. “Hi, girls.”

“Did you get moved into your new place?” Paige asked, squinting as she cleaned her glasses with the hem of her bulky gray sweater.

“I did, and it’s perfect. My new landlady and her…her family helped me haul everything upstairs. They even helped me unpack, which is why I got sidetracked.”

“You look gorgeous, as always. I love those colors on you.” Maria, the truly gorgeous one with the Mediterranean complexion and captivatingly brown eyes, patted her protruding belly. “I’d get up and give you a hug, but it’s too much work.”

“How are you feeling?” Rory asked.

“Great. Except for all the kicking going on in here.”

Rory stared at her friend’s abdomen and tried to imagine how it would feel to have another human being living inside her. Her imagination failed her.

A young woman stepped out from behind a rack of dresses. She was small-boned and lively, with a mass of shiny dark curls held off her face by a wide, red headband. “You must be the maid of honor,” she said to Rory.

“She is,” Nic said. “This is Rhoda, my seamstress.”

“Have a seat with the other gals. Their dresses have already been fitted. I’ll bring out yours in a few minutes.”

Rory dropped her bag on the floor and settled into a chair. When she stretched her legs and crossed her ankles, Nicola eyed her painted canvas sneakers. “Please tell me you remembered to bring shoes.”

She reached down and patted her bag. “I brought a pair that might go with the dress, but once I’ve seen it I might look for something else.”

“I knew I could count on you. Wish I could say the same for Jess.”

“Jess doesn’t own any dressy shoes. You know that,” Paige said.

“Where is she?” Rory asked.

Nic nodded toward a curtained cubicle. “Jess? What’s taking so long?”

A slit appeared in the curtain and Jess’s head popped out, all flashing green eyes and fiery red hair. “Should I take off my bra or leave it on?”

Nicola exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Leave it on. The dress won’t fit properly without it.”

“So it’s okay that the straps are showing?”

The others laughed. Nic did not. “Can you slip the straps off your arms and tuck them inside the dress?”

“If I do that, I might as well take it off.”

That brought on the bride’s characteristic eye roll. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Leave it on and let us see the dress.”

The curtain parted and Jess stepped out. The hem of the blue dress dragged on the floor, a pair of dingy white bra straps emerged above the top, and her arms were tightly crossed under her breasts. “I need help with the zipper.”

The seamstress quickly came forward and zipped the dress. “Stand up here and let’s have a look at you.”

Jess climbed onto the dais, revealing a pair of battered black-and-white high-topped sneakers. She still hadn’t unfolded her arms.

Rory grinned at Nicola. “I see what you mean about the shoes.”

“That’s our girl. A total disaster and still so darned lovable. I’m counting on you to help her find a pair of shoes and some decent lingerie.”

“Why me?” Shopping with Jess was as much fun as a trip to the dentist. Or the gynecologist. Or both. On the same day.

Nic’s eyes sparkled. “You’re my maid of honor. It’s part of your job.”

A job that suddenly didn’t seem so easy after all. “You’re evil.”

“Hello?”
Jess said. “I’m standing right here. It’s not like I can’t hear you.”

Nic ignored her. “She and Maria would end up arguing, and she’d run roughshod over Paige. You’re good at getting people to do things. It’s what makes you such a great teacher.”

All true, Rory thought, even as she acknowledged Nicola’s blatant use of flattery to get what she wanted. But shopping with Jess? The girl’s wardrobe consisted of jeans, T-shirts, the men’s dress shirts she wore with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and lingerie that may very well have been purchased in the previous millennium.

Still, Nicola’s affectionate comment about Jess being lovable was so true. She was fiercely independent and generous to a fault. She’d struggled her whole life to make ends meet, and yet she’d give you one of those godawful shirts right off her back. She could also be painfully honest, and this was one of those times.

“No offense, but you could have picked dresses that had sleeves and weren’t so poofy.”

Instead of being offended, Nicola laughed. “None taken, and I’ve already told you, we need a dress that can be altered to fit Maria, and this one is perfect for her.”

Once again Maria ran her hands over her enormous belly. “Don’t blame me,” she said. “This is all the fault of my darling husband. Tony weighed just over ten pounds when he was born, and he was the smallest of his three brothers.”

“You have a ten-pound baby in there?” Jess asked.

“Note to self. Check birth weight of prospective husbands.” Paige gazed longingly at Maria’s baby bump. “So you know it’s a boy?”

“No, we don’t want to know ahead of time. As long as it’s healthy, we don’t care if it’s a boy or girl.” Maria gave them a sly smile. “But I’m secretly hoping it’s a girl. And Tony not-so-secretly would like a boy.”