Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel (8 page)

“Like I said, this should be interesting. Luke wants a spot on the roster, but he’s got to earn it.”

“Carly’s been working for this since she was nine,” Sabina said hotly.

“Then he’ll have some competition.”

Next to her, Diane’s head whipped back and forth between them. “No need to get worked up over it,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down, mysterious stranger?”

Roman hesitated. Then shook his head. “Luke and I have a tradition. I need to sit in a certain spot, ever since he hit three home runs in one game.”

“Then we’ll . . .”

Sabina tugged at Diane’s arm. “Enjoy the practice. I hope your son does well.”

He nodded and made his way past them, down the top row to the far end. Sabina knew this because Diane gave her a blow-by-blow account, using her sunglasses as a mirror.

“Let him be. He’s my new training officer,” Sabina hissed.

“At the station? That’s just not fair. You already work with the hottest guys in town, and now him?”

“You’re welcome to him. As far as I know, he’s unattached.”

“You’re nuts. Single, gorgeous, sexy father, and heroic fireman. You sure that’s not worth breaking a few rules?” Luckily, another real estate call came in. Sabina blocked out the sound of “two bedroom, one bath” and focused on the field.

Carly and Luke were put on opposite sides for the practice. Carly’s side took the field first. As she stepped onto the pitcher’s mound, she looked nervous. She couldn’t seem to find the strike zone until the third batter, but once she had two players on base she settled down and threw two strikeouts and fielded a feeble grounder for the third out.

Sabina couldn’t help it. She turned and tossed a triumphant told-you-so glance in Roman’s direction. He gave her a thumbs-up and a nod of respect. At least he wasn’t a poor sport.

The teams switched, and Luke took the mound. Sabina searched for similarities to Roman and found them in his height and a certain confident—bordering on arrogant—presence. But his sandy, gold-streaked hair and wide smile must have come from somewhere else. He looked excited enough to bounce off the field. He exchanged a few practice pitches with the catcher, trying to get his rhythm. He looked into the stands a few times, always relaxing when he saw his father.

Sabina wondered how many times father and son had done this. Many, she guessed, with a sudden pang. Her own father was a struggling actor who’d signed away his rights without regret. She’d seen him a few times, growing up, until he’d gotten married to a powerful agent who wanted a family of her own. No more daddy outings after that.

Even as little as she knew Roman, she couldn’t imagine him ever signing away custody of his son.

Luke’s first pitch was a fastball. At least, it looked like a fastball until it swerved at the last second, leaving poor Jack Cassen lurching into the dirt, bat spinning down the foul line.

Every player on both teams went quiet and alert. The coach’s eyes goggled. A buzz spread through the stands.

The next pitch caught the outer edge of the strike zone, but it went so fast Jack never even swung. One pitch later and Jack trudged back to his teammates.

Sabina searched for Carly, who looked shell-shocked. She got up and grabbed a bat, practicing her swing in case she got a turn. She batted fourth.

No such luck. The first three players went down in about five minutes.

Sabina dared a glance back at Roman. He showed no reaction, no cheering or gloating.

Carly looked fired up when it was her turn to pitch again. Sabina had never seen her hurl the ball with so much focus and fire. But the players knew her pitches and managed a hit and a walk before she shut them down.

Good going, Carly. Keep your cool. One pitch at a time
, Sabina chanted under her breath. When Carly trotted off the field, she looked fairly pleased with herself. She glanced up at Sabina, who clapped her hands and whistled enthusiastically.

Carly was up first. She let the first few pitches pass, assessing Luke’s style, trying to get a feel for the new pitcher. Sabina’s heart was in her throat. Watching a kid play carried a lot of stress. No wonder some parents lost it. She stole another look at Roman. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching from behind his sunglasses. The sun glinted in his dark hair, picking out bits of deep brown in the thick waves.

Gah.
She yanked her attention back to the field.

Carly balanced on the balls of her feet, drew her bat over her shoulder, stared down the line at the mound. When the next pitch came in, she pounced. The sharp crack of aluminum on leather echoed through the air. The ball zoomed straight at Luke, who was still in the downswing of his pitch. Sabina jumped to her feet. The crowd of parents roared.

Luke stretched to his full height, caught the ball after one bounce, vaulted to his feet, and raced to first base. He launched himself toward Carly and touched one flying heel with his glove before rolling back onto the ground, the ball still in his grip.

Carly stumbled but continued her headlong rush to first base. Even when the umpire signaled she was out, she clung to the base, arguing her case. Finally she got to her feet, angrily brushing the dirt off her shorts. Luke trotted next to her, as if checking to make sure she was okay. She ignored him, instead breaking into a run to rejoin her teammates.

Luke shrugged and veered back toward the mound. The inning ended two batters later.

Sabina sank back to her seat. Diane ended her call. “What happened? What’d I miss?”

“Nothing yet, but something’s off. Carly’s not usually like this.” She glanced over her shoulder at Roman, who was watching the field closely, eyebrows drawn together in an ominous frown. He shifted his head slightly to look her direction. A wordless flow of communication passed between them.
Keep your eyes open for trouble
. Along with a substantial dash of:
You sure look good in civilian clothes.

Chapter Nine

R
oman didn’t like the way Luke’s first practice was shaping up. He was proud of Luke, who was pitching his usual stellar game. But the girl pitcher, Carly, though extremely talented, seemed to have some issues around sportsmanship. When she pitched to Luke, her fastball veered right at his head. Luke would have been beaned if he didn’t have incredible reflexes. She didn’t even look apologetic. He didn’t blame her for being rattled.

Sabina looked worried too. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop checking on her every few minutes. Her hair gleamed honey-bright in the afternoon sun. Her braid flowed down her narrow back like an intricate tawny river. She wore a tight sky-blue top that showed off her graceful, toned shoulders. He knew how strong she was from the drills. Strong, fast, lean, capable. She could spring into action quick as a leopard when she had to. But here, on her day off, she was simply a sexy woman and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Good thing he’d given in and acquired sunglasses.

The crowd oohed, and he realized he’d missed a play. Luke and Carly, bat in hand, circled each other halfway between the pitcher’s mound and the batter’s box. What had happened? Had Luke returned the favor and brushed her back?

Then, so quickly he barely caught it, all hell broke loose. The bat flew out of Carly’s hand, Luke tossed his glove, and Carly took a swing at Luke, who grabbed her arm to stop the blow. Horrified, Roman surged to his feet as everything seemed to shift into slow motion. The bat went winging across the grass. The coach went running toward the two kids. The two kids yelled at each other and grappled awkwardly, as if trying not to actually fight. The coach shouted at them as he closed in, then suddenly he flipped up into the air, arms and legs flailing wildly.

What the hell? Roman squinted at the field.
The ball
. The coach had slipped on the ball. He landed with a hard thump on his butt. Then the bat, which had been bouncing across the field, hit something—Luke’s glove?—and boomeranged onto the poor man’s thigh.

The coach held his leg and yelled, very loudly, a word most definitely not approved by the co-ed Little League.

The entire crowd leaped to their feet, shouting. Luke and Carly, still locked in their battle, hadn’t seemed to notice their coach’s disaster.

Roman jumped off the side of the bleachers, landing with a heavy thud, and ran toward the field. He didn’t think twice about running into the thick of it. A good firefighter was never really off duty. He spotted Sabina running from the opposite side of the bleachers. “I’ll deal with the kids, you take the coach,” he called to her.

She shot him a burning look, but didn’t argue. Roman ran to the two screaming kids, reached in, and plucked them apart, one in each hand. Both were red-faced and out of breath.

“What the hell happened?” Roman said in a dangerously low voice. Luke pressed his lips together and refused to answer. He turned to Carly, whose eyes filled with tears.

“Nothing! He . . . he . . .” She swiped a shaky arm across her face. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Is that why your coach is flat on his back over there?” He gestured toward the man. Sabina crouched over him, assessing his condition. She gently rotated his leg, listening attentively to his responses. Roman watched with appreciation. She clearly knew what she was doing.

“Oh shit,” whispered Carly. “I killed the coach.”

“You didn’t kill him. But you could have. What kind of a bonehead move was that, throwing a bat and attacking someone on your own team?”

“Papa.”

“You two are a mess and Lord knows what’s wrong with the coach . . .”

“Papa!” He looked at Luke to find his son glaring at him. “It was just a fight. It was my fault too. Leave her alone.”

Carly didn’t seem to appreciate Luke’s gesture. With a snort of disgust, she turned away from them and headed toward Sabina, who was helping the coach to his feet.

“No big harm done,” Sabina announced to the crowd of players and families. “No concussion, a little bruised, but nothing an ice pack can’t cure. To be safe, I’ve called an ambulance to take him to the ER. But I think he’ll be just fine.”

Everyone applauded in relief. The coach gave a little bow, then winced. “This doesn’t get you out of the team meeting at Chili’s. Mandatory discussion topic will be the fact that we’re all on the same side. Jimbo will lead. And many thanks to Sabina Jones and the San Gabriel Fire Department.”

Another round of applause. Roman glanced sidelong at Sabina, who waved off the cheers and helped the coach toward the sidelines. She’d handled the situation well, coolly, capably, professionally. Not that he was surprised, but damn, he’d enjoyed seeing her in action.

Roman steered his shaken son off the field. “We’re making friends left and right here in San Gabriel,” he said under his breath.

At Chili’s, a
chain Mexican restaurant with plastic cactuses and waiters in sombreros, Jimbo, the coach’s assistant, stuffed all the players in a big corner booth and launched into a lecture about sportsmanship. The parents pulled a few tables together and discussed the drama. Sabina’s friend kept asking Roman questions, but he evaded her, waiting for Sabina to show up. As soon as he spotted her walking through the door, with that graceful, long-legged stride, he jerked his head toward the bar in the other room.

When she joined him, after updating the others on the coach’s condition, he had a shot of tequila waiting for her.

“Luke never fights. Never,” he said after downing his. “What the hell happened?”

Sabina raised her chin. It occurred to him that, unlike most people, she’d never once shown signs of being intimidated by him. “No clue. Carly fights, but not during baseball. It’s always been her safe haven.”

“Same for Lukey.”

Their eyes met. An electromagnetic pull pulsed to life between them, as if a cone of intimacy closed around the two of them. “That’s the way firefighting is for me,” he said, surprising himself. He never talked about personal things like that.

“Me too.” She tilted her head, catching light from a chain of chili pepper twinkle lights dangling over the bar. Even their dim red glow flattered her. “I never feel completely right outside the fire station.”

“What made you become a firefighter?” He regretted the impulsive question as soon as he’d asked it, because her whimsical smile instantly hardened into a wary shield.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity. For me it was a family tradition.”

One corner of her mouth rose, as if she was laughing at some secret irony. “Kind of the opposite, for me. I . . . uh . . . I was at work, at my old job. A fire broke out, and some firefighters showed up and put it out in about two seconds. It made my . . . well, my former job . . . look pretty pointless. This was right after 9/11, and—” She broke off. He realized, with a chill, that she knew his history. Of course she did; news traveled fast from station to station.

“And you felt the call,” he finished for her.

“Yes. I quit soon after and enrolled in the academy.”

“Our gain,” he said, tilting his shot glass her direction. Her face lit up, creating a warm glow in the pit of his stomach.

“To fighting fires,” he said, draining the last drop.

“And stopping brawls,” she added. They both tipped their glasses, gazes meeting over the rims.

“Papa.” Luke tugged at his elbow.

“Yeah, son.”

“What are you doing talking to
her
?” Luke glared at Sabina.

“Great game.” Sabina smiled tentatively, her cheeks turning an adorable pink.

“
Great game?
That was the worst game ever.”

Just then Carly rounded the corner of the bar, stopping short at the sight of Luke.

“What are you talking to
them
for?”

“Carly!” Sabina shot her a glare, but Carly flounced away, her long brown ponytail flying behind her.

Sabina sighed. “I better go.”

Roman prodded Luke until he said a sullen good-bye.

“That’s two strikes against her,” Luke hissed after Sabina had left, the restaurant suddenly dingy and dull without her. “The Italian place and that girl.”

“You’re not the umpire here, buddy,” said Roman sharply, though it beat him why he felt the need to come to Sabina’s defense. “And you have a lot of explaining to do.”

No matter how
hard he tried, Roman couldn’t pry the whole story out of Luke, who wouldn’t say a word against Carly. “You wouldn’t understand,” he kept saying. But when Roman suggested switching to another team, Luke flatly refused. Roman finally gave up and took him to Home Depot to pick out lumber for a new bed, the movers having destroyed his old one. They spent the evening measuring boards and drilling screw holes. The French doors stood wide open and the scent of orange blossom floated through.

“If you consider man-hours, it would be much cheaper to get you a bed at IKEA,” Roman observed.

“That’s no fun. You always make my beds.”

“Yep. From cradle on up. When you go to college, you’re on your own.”

“She’s pretty,” said Luke, his head bent over the measuring tape.

“Huh?” Roman had a feeling he knew exactly who Luke was talking about.

“The one at Chili’s.”

Roman glanced sharply at Luke. They’d never discussed this sort of thing before. There had never been much cause; he’d kept his involvements few, far between, and secret. “Firefighter Jones. I suppose she is. Not that pretty comes into play on the fire lines.”

Luke stretched out the metal tape, then let it snap back into the casing. “My mom was pretty. She was a firefighter.”

“True enough. Why do you mention that?”

“I don’t know. You looked different with her. Kind of . . . never mind.”

“Kind of what?”

Luke scratched his face with the metal end of the tape measure. “Don’t take this wrong, Papa, but usually you look kind of mean.”

Roman brandished his cordless drill with a terrifying scowl. “You mean, like this? Avast, ye hearty! Walk the plank or I’ll drill holes in yer head!”

Luke snickered. “You were looking at her all happy, the way you look when you’re eating kalamata olives.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Jones is not an olive.”

“So you don’t like her?”

Roman grunted and shifted his position on the hardwood floor. “Jones and I work together.” A non-answer, but the best he could do.

“Yeah, but . . . so did you and Mama.”

The drill slipped in Roman’s hand and the bit pierced the floor, sending a spew of sawdust into the air before Roman shut it off.

Luke scrambled to touch the little hole he’d made. “Geez, Papa. Why’d you do that?”

Roman didn’t even have a non-answer for that one. He never knew what to say when Luke started talking about Maureen. It rattled him every time, the need to get it exactly right. What sort of father was he? Shouldn’t he have the proper words by now?

“Hand me those screws.”

Luke gave him the screws and changed the subject. “Papa, I’ve been thinking. I feel stupid having a babysitter when you’re working overtime.”

“Don’t even start that. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“But I’m thirteen!”

“Fuggedaboutit, kid. And no arguing.”

“No arguing?” He sat back on his heels.

“I won’t change my mind, Luke. Your grandparents aren’t here, so it’s got to be a babysitter.”

“I could stay with a friend.”

“When you have a friend whose parents I’ve met and approved, whose room I’ve inspected, and whose grades are off the charts, we’ll talk.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Partly. The “babysitter” was a professional nanny with three pages of references. It would be hard for a friend to compete with that. Roman stood the bed upright. “What do you think?”

“Not bad for a prison bed,” said Luke bitterly, flinging himself onto the couch and flipping on the TV.

Roman sighed. Lord, he hoped this move was the right thing. So far, nothing about San Gabriel was as he’d imagined.

“Help me carry the bed into your room, Luke.”

“Yes sir, Battalion Chief Roman.” One more degree of sass, and Roman would have grounded him.

Max called that
night, the next morning, and again at lunchtime. He’d booked himself a room at the San Gabriel Inn and seemed to have no other purpose in life than to pester Sabina.

He tracked her down during her evening jog, cruising next to her in his Mercedes while he sucked down a large Slurpee.

“Watch out, you might stain your seat covers,” Sabina panted, rounding a corner.

“I never thought you’d end up such a knockout, Sally Hatfield.”

“I don’t know who that is.” She’d dropped her stage name like a discarded snakeskin when she’d left the show.

“Lots of people do, though. All it takes is a search on Netflix.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m working it, baby, I’m working it.”

“Doesn’t matter how many DVDs you rent. I look nothing like Taffy anymore.”

“I’m not talking about Taffy.”

Sabina stumbled. He couldn’t be talking about . . . no, not even Max would be that low. “You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Max, you’re not playing fair.”

“Who says show business is fair? Is it fair that a knockout, talented woman like your mother can’t get a part? Is it fair that she has to start from square one after all she’s accomplished?”

Sabina spotted the park up ahead. As soon as she reached the corner, she’d cut through the playground and lose the Mercedes. Unless Max chose to embark on some James Bond sort of car chase.

“Skip the feminist manifesto, Max. I hate show business and everything about it. Actresses are supposed to love the camera. I despise it. I’d ruin your production.”

“Such drama. Such angst. You’ve still got it, munchkin, you’ve still got it.”

Sabina clenched her jaw and picked up her pace.

“Annabelle’s landing tomorrow. I’m picking her up at LAX. This is your last chance. Imagine how happy she’d be if I met her on the tarmac with a done deal.”

Sabina reached the corner of the park. Green grass stretched like an oasis in the brown desert landscape of San Gabriel. Children glided down the twisting slides, parents chatted over baby carriages. Purple bougainvillea spilled over a gateway into a nearby home. It felt so normal—idyllically normal. Max had no idea how perfectly he’d expressed everything wrong between her and her mother. Annabelle wouldn’t be happy to see her; she’d be happy to see a deal.