Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday Family\Sugar Plum Season\Her Cowboy Hero\Small-Town Fireman (69 page)

Chapter Fourteen

K
arl's first few days back at the coffee shop were bumpy, but they went well enough for Karla's worries to ease. Grandpa had consented to hiring two more servers even if he hadn't come around to the fact that someone other than him needed to be managing the place. “All in good time,” Dad said, but Karla could tell the topic concerned him, too.

The anniversary celebration was clipping along nicely, as well. Sixteen different groups had signed up their decorated floats for the parade. Some, like the 4-H club with their “Noah's Ark,” proudly announced their designs. Others, like the fire department's flaming cabin she wasn't supposed to know about, kept their entries a secret.

While she'd have never thought it at first, it was a hectic sort of fun being in charge of the event. So many people had come up to her in church this morning with a question or comment. It was as if no one even noticed she didn't live here—she'd been grafted into the community without hesitation even as she was thinking about how to pack up her car to move back to Chicago. The dissonance made for an odd sensation that never seemed to leave the pit of her stomach.

“Don't forget next week's special celebration service to honor the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department,” Pastor Allen said. “If you signed up to serve on the setup or cleanup crews, see Jeannie Owens for your assignments after church. The event committee will meet in Room 4 after service as well, and the decorations committee will be—”

The firehouse siren cut him off midsentence as it sent up its distinctive wail, and everything halted except the handful of men who got up and dashed out of the sanctuary.

It was one of the things about Gordon Falls that was burned in her memory: the whole town stilled for a second when the fire alarm went off. You could be just about anywhere, and at the sound, there would always be someone who stood up and left the room. Meetings, church, restaurants, picnics—it was the unspoken rule in Gordon Falls that nothing was ever allowed to get in the way of the volunteer firemen rushing to the station to do their jobs.

Grandpa had a policy that no fireman on the shift ever had to pay for an unfinished meal—even though that meant a hefty sum since he was so close to the firehouse. He always joked that he wanted the firemen on his side if the shop ever caught fire, but Karla had long since guessed that Grandpa just figured it was his way to give back. She'd have to find some way to give back to her community when Rooster's opened, whenever and wherever that was.

Karla said a prayer with the whole congregation—as they always did in such an instance—for the health and safety of the victims and the firefighters. One of those who had risen and left was Dylan.
Keep him safe, Lord,
she prayed as she crossed his attendance off the after-service meeting. Unless this was a false alarm, she'd have to handle this meeting on her own.

No worries—she was up to it. They'd talked about this possibility several times, and things were going smoothly in the event plans. As it was, she and Dylan were right on schedule to stage their “spontaneous handoff” to Grandpa and Violet sometime in the next two days.
Thank You, Father, for giving me a smooth exit from Gordon Falls.
Even Grandpa had seemed to lose that hurt look that constantly poked at her conscience.

Twenty minutes later, Karla checked off another item on her anniversary committee agenda. “Okay, so the prizes for best float are all set, right?”

“We could use a few more items in the grand prize, but I'll take care of that,” Violet pronounced. Karla and Dylan had joked more than once that Violet Sharpton was their secret weapon. That woman could get anything out of anybody.

“The hall decorations have all been approved, and I'm renting the tables for the outside banquet in front of the firehouse. It'll be like George's retirement party, only about twice the size, so we'll need to block off the street.” Abby Reed and Jeannie Owens made an outstanding team heading up that part of the evening. “Only we'll need...”

The door pushed open behind the pair to reveal a rumpled, slightly sweaty Dylan still in his fire gear. “What'd I miss?”

Karla was completely unprepared for the way Dylan looked right off a call. His face was flushed, his T-shirt damp and clinging to a very muscular chest. For a slightly sooty, rough-hewn guy, he looked downright heroic. And from the stares of the other women in the room—including Violet—he was having the same effect on everyone.

“What?” he said, pulling a red suspender down off one shoulder. “I figured if I changed I'd miss the whole meeting. It was just a grass fire—I'm not too messed up.” As the women still stared, he added, “Am I?”

“No, hon, you're just fine.” Violet smirked. “Sit down and I'll get you a glass of water or something.”

“We were almost finished, actually.” Karla had to concentrate on spitting the words out. Really, it was ridiculous the way his appearance affected her—it was as if a blinding flashbulb had just gone off in the back of her brain. The unassuming nature she'd always seen in him was gone, as if he put on an air of authority when he donned his gear. She was ashamed of the gush of attraction that muddled her thoughts.

“Here, you can catch up from my notes while Mayor Boston goes over the volunteer sign-ups.” She pushed her agenda notes to the empty chair beside her, trying not to think about the woodsy, smoky smell that filled the room as he sat down. She'd have thought a just-off-the-job firemen would not smell as good as he did. There was a smudge of something black on his jaw and the urge to reach out and wipe it off was as strong as it was insane.
Stop that,
she reprimanded herself.
You're being silly
.

“Sounds like plans for the service are all in place. Pastor Allen...?” Karla shoved her thoughts back onto the meeting's agenda.

“Well,” the pastor answered, “we thought we'd add a bit where we could light candles for all those who served in the department but are no longer with us.”

“We've lost men in the line of duty?” Mayor Boston asked.

“The department has only lost one man on duty—back in the sixties,” Chief Bradens replied. “But I pulled the figures for Pastor Allen and there are 172 firefighters to remember over the department's history.

“Then after the service, we can release balloons for all the living firemen and those still serving. You know, let their spouse or children do the honors as a way of recognizing the family commitment.”

“I think that's a great idea,” Violet said, looking at Chief Bradens and at Dylan. “We can't say enough thank-yous to our heroes.”

Later, as the meeting broke up, Karla saw Dylan catch up to Violet in the hallway. “You say thank you to us all the time, Vi. I just want you to know that. You've been great to the firehouse.” He towered over the petite woman, and Karla got the sense that if she could reach, Vi would have tousled Dylan's hair or made some other grandmotherly gesture.

“I'm glad you feel that way. We'll be lighting one of those candles for Mr. Sharpton, you know. He was one of you in his younger years.”

“You don't say.” Dylan's smile spread all the way to his eyes.

Vi poked him in the ribs. “And who's going to hold your balloon, son?”

Karla winced. Violet could be as stubborn as Grandpa, if not more. She edged toward the two of them, ready to step in and divert the conversation if Dylan needed saving.

“Oh, don't you worry about that. I'll find someone to hold my balloon.”

Karla thought that was a pretty effective dodge, until the older woman looked straight at her. “I've no doubt that you will, Dylan.” With a wink and a chuckle, she headed off to where Grandpa was debating some topic with Mayor Boston.

The color in Dylan's cheeks heightened, and Karla felt her own cheeks burn. She knew they were both trying hard to disregard the gentle hum that had passed between them. The one that had only doubled when they'd mutually decided nothing could be done about it. That was bad enough, but when he did things like show up looking all scruffy and heroic, or treat Violet's outrageous remarks with such tenderness, it just made it all worse.

“I was thinking—” she resorted to event business to cover the discomfort of the moment “—we should ask those two to judge the parade. I don't think either of them is planning on being involved in decorating a boat.”

Dylan pretended to look shocked. “Karl's isn't going to enter a sloop dressed as a slice of pie?”

“Very funny. Luckily, this is one instance where Grandpa isn't showing his tendency to stick his nose in every town project. Have you thought about how we're going to pass the leadership off to them?”

Dylan's expression sobered. “I was waiting for you to tell him you were really leaving.” He gently touched her elbow. “I'm sorry that was so hard, by the way. But he seems to be holding up okay. Maybe it was the thing he needed to push himself back to the shop.”

“Grandpa? He needed no encouragement to come back. We were all struggling to keep him away a bit longer.”

“Yeah.” Dylan gazed down at her. “But it looks like it worked out.”

She dared to bring up the thought that had been niggling at the back of her mind. “Do you still think it's a good idea to foist it all off on Grandpa and Vi? They'll feel responsible for everything, and I'm worried it will stress them out. Won't they have more fun if we simply name them as the boat parade judges?”

“But you're leaving.” Why did he have to say it like that? With just enough of a hint of disappointment to send her imagination running amok?

“I know, but I can put it off until Sunday afternoon. Things are going so smoothly that if you can pull most of the weight this final week, I can still be ready to head to Chicago at the last minute. Only I don't want to ask so much of you.” She couldn't help but add, “I know we groaned about being stuck with it at first, but, well, I've had fun.”

“It has been fun. I'm glad we did it.”

She was, too, only her enjoyment of their partnership made everything so much more complicated.

* * *

She'd had fun. That was the last thing Dylan wanted to hear.

It was easier when she appeared bored, looked stuck with the small-town celebration that was getting in the way of her big plans. When she acted as if clocking time in Gordon Falls was just an obligation to her grandfather. That kind of attitude made it easier to write off Karla Kennedy as just another woman on the fast track to her own success. It made it easier to ignore the hum under his rib cage when she gave him one of her looks or pushed to get her way at the coffee shop or around the committee table.

Helping her leave was the right thing to do. They wanted different things from life. Sure, it had felt good to facilitate the connection between her and Jim Shoe, to show her that all the good business in the world didn't stop outside Chicago's borders. She was leaving, should be leaving, and he most definitely was set to stay here in Gordon Falls. So why did her words about leaving burn in his chest the way they did?

“Yeah,” he managed, fiddling with a snap on his suspenders, “it has been a pretty good time, despite what we first thought.” He didn't want to hand this off to Karl and Violet either, but he wasn't sure it was wise to agree with her new plan. It was getting harder to keep working with her the way his feelings were stubbornly growing. And quite frankly, it wasn't a terribly good idea to be focusing on something other than the charter business right now in the height of the summer. The weather report looked ominous for the next few days, and he hated the thought of charter trips getting postponed or canceled.

Karla shifted her weight, fidgeting. “Well—” she tucked her hair behind her ears “—I just want you to know that I'm okay with seeing this through to the end, despite what we said earlier. Only I feel like it will put a lot on you this week, and I'm not sure that's fair.”

It wasn't fair, which couldn't explain why he was so in favor of the idea. “I can handle it. They'll probably have to fuss with my boat from Thursday on anyway, so maybe I'll have extra time on my hands. Especially if the weather's bad.”

That drew a frown from her. “Bad weather? There's a forecast for storms this coming weekend?”

She really was invested in this whole thing. “They're calling for some good-sized rainstorms Wednesday and Thursday night.”

Now she looked alarmed. “Won't rain ruin everything?”

City girl. “Folks out here are used to the weather, Karla. As long as it stays dry enough Saturday night, we'll be fine. It might even raise the river a little bit, which will only give us a good current for the parade.”

“If everyone's got their float stored inside.”

He could only laugh. “Boats float on water. They'll be on water in the parade. No one's going to make boat parade decorations that can't withstand a little water.”

“Well, as long as it's just a little water. I'm not going to stand on the riverbank in a downpour to watch this parade.”

Chapter Fifteen

T
he downpour had started Tuesday night and hadn't let up yet. The “bit of bad weather” had turned into a full-fledged major storm. The only piece of good news was that it was currently projected to clear out by Friday, but that didn't help the charter trip Dylan had booked for this morning. With the parade commandeering the
High Tide
starting on Thursday night, this rain had just washed out his only booking for the week.

He couldn't blame the customers for calling and canceling last night when the rain set in. Who wanted to fish in a downpour? Still, the nonrefundable deposit wasn't anything close to the full price of a charter trip for eight, and the difference made a dent in this month's income. The Coffee Catches had helped a lot, but that didn't mean he was yet in a position to comfortably endure a stretch of bad weather.

Sighing, Dylan closed the lid on his laptop showing the weather report. He'd checked it four times since 5:00 a.m., and things were only growing worse. The rain was near roaring against his kitchen window, slashing down in steep angles that spoke of high winds. It was time to lash down the boat and hope for the best. Happy to own a set of professional-grade rain gear, Dylan took a deep breath as he did up the final snap before pulling the door open and heading out into the storm.

The lights were on at Karl's as he drove by. It didn't surprise him, despite the foul weather. The coffee shop was always the place to ride out a storm. It had become a Gordon Falls tradition—Karl's stayed open in any storm. They were on somewhat high ground, had a generator if power went out and company was always a good defense against threatening weather.

Was Karla ready for the challenge of keeping Karl's open in a storm? Was Karl? Could the old man even make it in? Karla lived right above the shop so she'd be there for sure, but this seemed too much for the old man to take on at this point in his recovery. He tried to peer into the shop windows to see her, but as it was, Dylan was hard-pressed to see even three feet ahead of his own headlights. The pooled water on many of the side streets told him what his laptop weather report had already proclaimed: the river was rising.

Dylan wasn't the only person preparing their boats for the storm. “Nasty stuff!” called Yorky, who owned a boat on the dock next to the
High Tide.
Yorky's boat was much smaller than his—a pleasure craft rather than Dylan's charter boat—but size wasn't an advantage in weather like this. “She gonna be okay?” Yorky, like almost every other boater Dylan had ever known, referred to all watercraft as females. Only tourists called a boat an “it.”

“Well,” he yelled back, wiping the water from his eyes in what felt like a futile gesture, “this is turning out to be a big one, but I think we'll ride it out fine.” The truth was, today's weather was looking as if it might be the largest storm Dylan had seen since purchasing the
High Tide.
He was starting to feel a nagging doubt in the pit of his stomach that the weekend's celebrations might very well be in danger.

Dylan pushed aside that worrisome thought as Yorky came over and held out his hand for the other end of the rope Dylan was holding. “This river gets angry when she overflows. There's too much coming down off the ridge. Summer's been too dry to handle it.”

“I know.” Dylan made an extra knot in the line as he moved the mooring from its normal position on the floating dock to high up on the piling that held the dock in place. His cell phone had begun to spout flash flood warnings on the drive over here.

“If she breaks free,” Yorky warned, “you'll find her fifty miles downriver. Maybe in splinters.”

“She'll be okay.” There was more certainty in Dylan's voice than in his gut. “Thanks for the concern.” He began taking down the canopy and anything else that would allow the wind to knock the boat around. “At least she'll fare better than those sailboats over there.” On the other bank of the river sat a half dozen sailboats with no one seeing to their security. That was a problem; if one of those broke free—which was likely if no one was preparing them for the storm—they wouldn't necessarily head straight downriver as Yorky predicted. They could just as easily drift across the river and do serious damage to the
High Tide
and her dockside neighbors.

“Weekenders,” Yorky growled, following Dylan's line of thinking. “Well, it's not like we can take 'er out to sea where she'd be safer.”

It was true; even though it didn't make much sense at first, a boat out at sea was always safer than one tied to something fixed like a dock. “No ocean handy in Illinois, Yorky. We'll just have to make do with what we've got.” The wind whipped rain in his face as he began to empty the
High Tide
of its contents, tossing all the cushions and large items into a locker bolted to the dock. The smaller stuff—tackle boxes, rods and reels, coolers, and even all the movable electronic equipment—went into a rolling locker that he would put in his truck.

Keep her safe, Lord,
Dylan prayed as he worked to secure the boat he'd come to love.
High Tide
meant so much to him; a chance to start life over, the opportunity to be his own man. He wasn't at all sure he had it in him to start over a third time if the boat was demolished.

Still, it wasn't as if he didn't know this was a possibility. Storms large and small were part of life on the river. God's creation was beautiful and peaceful and majestic, but it could also choose to flex a muscle or two and show an awesome power. Any fisherman who lost a healthy, fearful respect for the water soon learned what a brutal foe a river could be.

As the storm picked up strength, Dylan and Yorky stopped trying to talk as they pulled the extra buoys from the dock—useful in normal weather but dangerous in a storm. Dylan found himself in an active state of prayer, asking God for the safety of his boat, his friends, the guys at the firehouse, the owners of the other boats on the dock and Karla.

Every once in a while he would straighten up and look west, hoping to spy a wedge of brighter sky. Instead, it seemed the sky only grew darker. Even if the
High Tide
rode out the storm intact, Dylan had already lost. Like a farmer, he depended upon forces beyond his control; fish, weather and the fickle nature of the river. When it was good, it was glorious. But when it was bad, it was a disaster. Today, the whole balance played out right before his eyes on a grander scale.

“Well, at least they're bow into the wind.” Yorky had spoken what Dylan had just thought; it was by God's grace that both his and Yorky's boats were docked facing into the wind—the position where they were safest. For now.

“We've done all we can.” He wanted the statement to give him courage, but instead it seemed to feed the feeling of helplessness.

“Time to go inside and wait it out. Godspeed, son. I hope we're laughing about this on Friday.” With a wave, Yorky set off to his own car, and Dylan hoisted the locker into the payload of his truck.

The miserable feeling only compounded as he drove back to his apartment. Every part of him was wet, cold and muddy. His muscles ached and he'd cut himself in several places. Even swiping at top speed, his windshield wipers could barely carve out a wedge on the glass long enough for him to see. Thunder rumbled regularly across the sky, and the air smelled of storm, the tang of lightning's ozone setting his nerves on edge.

Once inside, he shed his sopping clothes and pulled a dry T-shirt over his head. With every motion, he fought the urge to head to Karl's. There was no true reason to head back out into the storm and over there. After all, he could just as easily check in on Karla and the shop by phone. If he knew Karl, the old man would be worried sick back at his house, unable to stand at his time-honored post, keeping Karl's a safe open haven in any storm. He could understand the frustration; for him it would be like being lashed to a tree while forced to watch a house burn. To know what you ought to be doing and not be able to do it? That was one of life's cruelest tortures.

It was why—or part of why—he couldn't bring himself to be the thing standing between Karla and Rooster's.

His resistance lasted all of ten minutes. By the time he'd put on dry pants, threw down a second mediocre cup of coffee—which only stoked the urge to brave a downpour to get to Karl's—he was pacing his living room, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets to keep from reaching for his cell phone.

It's closer to the firehouse,
he told himself as he reached again for rain gear.
I'm not on duty, but if they call I can be there in a flash
. Of course, that line of thinking also meant that anyone from the firehouse was already close enough to help Karla should she need assistance, but Dylan chose to deny that fact. The fact he couldn't ignore was the steady inner insistence that if anyone was going to help Karla ride out the storm and keep Karl's open, it was going to be him.

* * *

“I know, Grandpa.” Karla tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. Her grandfather had called four times in the past hour. “I'm downstairs and we're open. Oscar's here, and there are a bunch of others here, too. I agree with Dad—you need to stay put.”

“You know what to do? You know where the generator is?” Grandpa's voice pitched up with every new question. Part of her wanted to remind him that it was hard to stay open if she was spending all of her time answering the phone, but another part of her was grateful for Grandpa's voice. The burden of keeping Karl's open in a storm was starting to press down harder than she liked.

“I saw it in the back utility closet.” She wasn't exactly sure how to work it, but appliances came with directions, and Grandpa was sure to call again. “We're okay. So far so good, as far as the power goes.”
Please, Lord, could You keep it that way?

“Keep the coffee going and feed anyone who comes in the door. Karl's stays open in a storm.” It must have been the tenth time Grandpa had given her that order.

“I know. And I should go do that, okay? My cell phone's cutting in and out, but the landline to the shop still works fine so call there next time.” There would be a next time, and she was rather glad of that. For the first time since she'd arrived in Gordon Falls, Karla felt too young to be holding up a business all on her own. Which was funny, considering she'd spent the past three years planning to do just that.

“Take care of the shop for me.” Karla hated the desperation in her grandfather's voice. “Is Vi there yet? She should be there by now.”

“I'm sure she's on her way, Grandpa.” The thought of those two together, looking out for each other, struck a warm glow in her heart. They were so good for each other; anyone could see that. Grandpa deserved to be happy. And he also deserved to know his shop was in good hands. “I've got to go take care of business now. Kennedys can do, right? And Karl's stays open in a storm.”

“That it does, girlie, that it does.”

Karla liked the brightness that returned to her grandfather's voice, and she let it bolster her spirits until she checked the weather notifications on her smartphone. The radar screen showed a menacing train of powerful storms lined up one after the other. A red bar ran across the top with the ominous words,
Flood Warning for the entire Gordon River floodplain
.

Flood? A power outage was one thing, but keeping Karl's open during a flood? That felt like a whole different level of disaster. Mom was at home twenty miles away where she was safe, Dad was with Grandpa—which is where he belonged—and the floodgates were there to keep floods from getting downtown, right?

Karla tightened the knot around her apron, grabbed another bag of coffee grounds from the stock shelf and headed out to where the customers were.
Kennedys can do. Just keep saying that to yourself. Kennedys can do.

And what Kennedys can't do, God can.