Leaving Normal (5 page)

The radio was playing and, as Tony hosed water off the red paint, he sang along to an old Bread song. '"I want to make it with you,' Doug."

Frye's face soured. "You're making me nervous, Tony."

Tony simply grinned.

Tony Cruz had a masculine confidence that rarely, if ever, buckled. He was secure in himself, knew what he was good at, what his strengths and weaknesses were. He didn't have an ego, wouldn't know what to do with one if he did. Acknowledging he was well liked was something he prided himself on. If he gave his word, he meant it. If he said he'd take someone's shift, he was there.

He stepped around the shoreline—the electrical cord that kept the engine charged to a battery. When the truck was washed and dried he stepped out of his work pants and boots, put on a pair of jeans and Nikes and he swapped the button-down for a long-sleeved, navy tee with Boise Fire Dept. written across the back.

As he drove down the residential street where the fire station was located, he noticed all the people out shoveling snow. The skies had dumped six new inches on top of an already heavy snow cover.

Tony dialed his cell phone with one hand, waited for the rings and then a voice picked up.

"Rocky's Tavern."

Tony cracked a smile. "You wish."

"When I retire, Cruz. Just wait and see."

Hoseman Rocky Massaro worked the A Shift at Station 6 on Franklin Road. Assigned to the ladder
thick
, he sometimes forgot to be humble on the job, but it was that trace of arrogance and pride that Tony respected in his friend. He and Rocky had graduated from the same fire-academy class and had formed a pretty tight friendship during the last eight years of service in Boise.

After their shifts they often met at the local gym to work out together; mostly they talked bullshit about the job while lifting weights. Sometimes their talks got serious if one of them was having personal problems. Rocky was single, no steady girlfriend; he just dated a bunch of women and kept things easygoing. Tony felt comfortable telling Rocky about Kim and the pressure he struggled with in not wanting to start a family right now. Nobody knew about that, not even his mom. It just wasn't something he discussed with everyone, but Rocky didn't criticize him. He pretty much just listened, and offered a little advice when he was asked.

"I heard Gable raided 13 last night," Rocky chuckled.

"You don't even know how pissed I was."

"I know you well enough mat I can figure it out. What's the payback?"

"Still working on ideas. Maybe Nair in his shampoo bottle—the guy's already blowing a gasket about going bald—or a lady's thong in his duffel. Frye told me Gable just started seeing a woman he likes."

"I say go with the thong." The radio in Rocky's car was blaring to a rock-and-roll song. "So are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Probably. The roads suck. Let's forget the gym this morning. I just want to go home and crawl in bed with my wife."

"Reading my mind. I want to go home and crawl in bed with your wife, too."

"Shut up." Tony shook his head while laughing. "I gotta go. Talk to you later."

"Yeah, later."

Tony drove down the sanded roads, traffic moving at a slow pace.

He hated the winter. It was long and cold. Thinking about how many Kelly days he had banked, he could take a two-week vacation this summer. He wanted to go someplace tropical. Hawaii. Cabo. The Virgin Islands. Kim had mentioned the latter.

His wife would be waiting for him at home, just getting Parker up for school. He'd been married for just over two years and had bonded with his six-year-old stepdaughter. She had irresistible dimples, and a head of white-blond hair. She'd been after him to get her a kitten for Christmas and he'd been thinking about it. In fact, he'd gone to the pet store yesterday just to see what they had. He'd opted out of buying one, deciding to go to the animal shelter instead.

Pushing through the morning commute while the radio played in his truck, he thought about all he had going for him in his life. At thirty-four, he had a great job—an eight-year veteran with the Boise F.D.—he owned his own house and had a fairly solid marriage. The sex was good…but it was the lack of emotional intimacy that sometimes kept things more unsettled than they should be.

He loved his wife, was faithful to her, but there was something in his heart that kept him from committing to having a child with her. It was an indefinable thing, but the uncertain emotions were there.

Kim had wanted a baby with him for the past year and he just hadn't been able to give himself over completely to the idea. At first, he thought his reservations stemmed from the fact that he wanted Parker to feel important to him, safe and secure, before he brought another child into the house. But that wasn't it.

The intangible reasons troubled him because, more than anything, he wanted a child of his own. Kim had been waiting for him to come around, but Tony had sensed a distance in her lately. He worked one twenty-four-hour shift, then was off for forty-eight. Recently, during the time when he was away overnight, he'd begun to get an, unsettled feeling.

Tony pulled into his driveway and caught sight of Natalie Goodwin across the street. She was tackling the snowpack blocking in her car.

Killing the ignition, he climbed out of the Ram and paused. He was dead-ass tired, really wanted to go inside, take a hot shower and go to bed with his wife after Parker left for school.

But something stopped him. A recollection of something Natalie had said.

He pocketed his keys and walked across the street.

"Mornin'," he greeted, catching Natalie unaware. She looked up, a line of worry on her forehead. The tip of her nose was red from the cold air, her cheeks flushed against her pale complexion. Green eyes lifted to study him with a sense of hope.

Folding his arms over his chest, he said, "Having your car stuck in the garage is a bad way to start off the grand opening."

The firm set of her shoulders softened and she sighed.

Then she did something he hadn't anticipated. She threw her arms around him and gave him a hug.

Happy Holly-Daze

Tony was no stranger to being shown appreciation— a touch on his arm, an embrace, smiles and thank-yous. But he'd never had a physical reaction like this. Natalie's soft body pressed against his felt incredibly good. Her cheek slightly touched his as she stood on tiptoe, arms wrapped around his neck.

His breathing shortened, caught in his throat. A fist of arousal hit him low in the gut. The rapid, and almost reckless, way he responded threw him for a curve.

"You remembered," she said, her breath warm against his face.

Without his being aware, his hand had come around her back and he held her in return.

She backed away, her expression guarded, if not embarrassed, as if she just realized what she'd done. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm a little stressed out." She gave a nervous laugh. "Okay, a lot stressed out. Do you think you could… I hate to ask, but—"

"Don't worry about it. I was going of offer." He grabbed the shovel. "You're wearing the wrong shoes for this kind of job."

She gazed at the pointed-toe black shoes with heels that she had on. "You're probably right."

"No probably about it."

"I was in too much of a hurry to change into my snow boots."

She wore a long coat and slacks, and nice shoes that were meant for an office and not clearing a driveway. A forest-green scarf wrapped around her neck, an almost perfect match to her eye color. Her makeup wasn't overdone, and she'd applied a shade of pink lipstick he thought attractive.

Her lips parted, and he couldn't help but smile when she confessed, "I set my alarm two hours earlier than necessary, but I hit the snooze and that was a big mistake. I barely got ready on time."

"Really?" he responded in jest. "I thought you wore mismatched gloves on purpose."

She stared at her hands, noting one brown and one black leather glove. "Oops."

He chuckled as she dashed into the house and came back wearing a matching pair of black gloves. "Thanks. My mind is just crazy today. It did have to snow buckets last night." Her breath misted as she spoke. "I can't believe this…I'm going to be late for the biggest day of my life."

"I always thought a woman called her wedding day the biggest day of her life."

"Actually, I think that's what I called my divorce."

A half smile gathered on his face.

"Oh, that was horrible of me. My ex-husband isn't that bad."

:

Tony ran the shovel across the width of the driveway in one long run, lifting a weighted scoop without effort. As he moved to the opposite side of the walkway, she followed him.

She put a hand over her heart, sincerity in her gaze. "This is really nice of you and I appreciate it."

"Not a problem."

"I'm sure I could have done it, but it would have taken me twice the time and…really, this is just so incredibly nice of you."

She gave him a warm smile.

He couldn't really guess her age—whenever he dealt with patients, he never made assumptions. Perhaps Natalie was a little older than him. If she was, it couldn't be by much. The fact that she owned her own business and seemed to be financially stable was an attribute he commended. Not every woman could be single and self-sufficient to live this comfortably.

She lived alone, her daughter was in college. He wondered if she ever got lonely. God knew he did, even sometimes when Kim was home. They'd sit on the sofa together, each at their own end, and watch a TV program without really talking to one another. During those times, he wished he was at work.

But there were nights at the station when he'd come in from a call at one, two or three in the morning, and he just couldn't fall back asleep. It was the adrenaline, the fact that he'd been woken up in a foggy sleep that kept him from crashing hard again. Once awake, he had to struggle to capture that completely relaxed state once again. The room where he stayed was small with just a bed and a locker and sometimes he'd lay in his twin bed and read. Other times he'd go into the television room, pick one of the many recliners to lie in and watch the tube. If he was lucky, he'd doze off with the clicker in his hand.

"I want to thank you in some way. Please come by the shop," she insisted. "Pick out whatever flowers you like and I'll make them into something nice for your wife."

"I might just do that."

"I wish you would. I'm sure you had a rough night and this is the last thing you need to be doing."

"It's actually a good stress reliever." He'd never minded shoveling snow; in fact, he liked the tediousness of it after a night of unpredictable events.

In a thoughtful tone, she asked, "Did you have some difficult calls?"

He shrugged. "No more than usual."

"I guess I'm curious. Anything in particular you've found hard to deal with?"

Thinking to himself, he was reminded about that DOA—a code blue called in by two people who worked with the victim. A sixty-two-year-old woman who'd been dead in her home for a couple of days, as far as the coroner could tell after a cursory exam. Idaho Power had killed her electricity—a notice was tacked to the door. No heat in the house. While it was obvious to assume that she died of exposure, that wasn't the case. She had failing health; a half-dozen medication bottles were on the kitchen table.