The Firefighter's Baby. Alison Roberts

the oncoming crew was not a good idea this close to their finishing time of seven a.m. A late call after a busy night such as they’d just had would not be welcome.

      They entered the old house through the automatic side door that now joined it to the large, purpose-built garaging. The spacious lounge that ran nearly the whole width of the lower floor had become a common room, filled with comfortable furniture. The couches and chairs were being well patronised by weary men at the moment, half of whom had their feet resting on the coffee-tables. The other half had their footwear resting on the arms of the couches.

      ‘In the name of St Bride!’ Laura did her best to imitate the broad accent that fifty years of living in New Zealand hadn’t dampened in Mrs McKendry’s case. ‘How many times do I have to tell you boys to keep your dratted feet off that furniture?’

      To her delight, the accent and surprise factor were enough to initiate a guilty leap into compliance. Her laughter caused more than one head to turn, and then the amusement was general.

      ‘Good one, Laura!’ Tim shook his head at the firemen. ‘You should have seen yourselves jump!’

      ‘Lucky I didn’t scream,’ Cliff complained. ‘She’s just as scary as Mrs M.’

      ‘Ah…but can she cook bacon and eggs?’

      ‘And polish the furniture?’

      ‘And get nasty stains out of any clothes?’

      ‘Even Mrs M. couldn’t get the stains out of your underwear, Stick.’

      Laura shook her head and flopped into the nearest available armchair during the laughter that followed the last flippant remark. Maybe she was just too tired to feel amused. Or maybe the idea that she might measure up to the perfect housekeeper cut a little too close to the bone. She could do all those things but she wasn’t going to be some man’s housekeeper ever again. Not when that ended up being the main attraction she possessed.

      Several pairs of eyes were fastened on the wall clock.

      ‘It’s 6.15.’

      ‘Mmm. That bacon will be in the pan any minute now.’

      ‘Why don’t you do it for yourselves for once?’

      That wasn’t a suggestion one of the boys would have considered making. Laura found she had caused a brief but rather surprised silence. Jason looked positively bewildered.

      ‘What…and make Mrs M. feel like she’s not wanted?’

      Laura’s sigh revealed that she didn’t have the energy to try and re-educate the men around her. Maybe it was an impossible task anyway. Was that why John had never lifted a finger in the kitchen? Or the bathroom, or anywhere else for that matter? Had he, in fact, been a kind and caring partner who had simply been trying to show her how much he’d needed her? Ha!

      ‘She would be upset.’ Tim’s glance was speculative and Laura knew she deserved the gentle reprimand. The men of Inglewood station might complain and joke about Jean McKendry when she wasn’t around, but she was part of the family if anyone else tried it. And the kitchen was strictly her domain during her ‘office’ hours.

      ‘We’ve never asked her to do any of the stuff she does for us, you know,’ Bruce added. ‘She’s just become an institution—ever since she popped over with a plate of scones the day this station opened five years ago.’

      ‘Yeah, it just grew.’ Cliff nodded. ‘By the end of the year she was here every day, all day, cleaning and cooking.’

      ‘And making sure we all had a clean hanky.’

      ‘At least she gets paid for it now,’ Bruce told Laura. ‘And we all put in to buy all the food she insists on cooking us.’

      ‘She loves us,’ Jason said. He still looked puzzled. ‘She wants to do it.’

      ‘I know.’ Laura smiled. ‘She’s wonderful and we’re the envy of any other peripheral city station. Sorry.’ She pushed her glasses up and rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘I’m just tired, I guess, and from where I’m sitting it’s easy to take offence at the idea of a perfect woman’s attributes being how easy she can make life for others.’

      The second brief silence had a contrite air to it.

      ‘Hey, we weren’t getting at you, Laura.’

      ‘No…we don’t think of you as a woman.’

      ‘Gee, thanks.’ Not only was she the only member of Green Watch not to have earned some kind of nickname, they didn’t even see her as being female.

      ‘That wasn’t helpful, Stick,’ Jason said firmly. He gave Laura one of his killer smiles. ‘What he meant was that you’re one of us.’

      ‘One of the boys,’ Bruce put in kindly.

      ‘No.’ Jason sounded even firmer. ‘Laura is most definitely not a boy. Heck, even I’m not that blind.’

      Laura couldn’t help smiling. Or help the pathetic little glow that started somewhere inside at the thought that Jason had not only noticed her femininity, he was defending her. Then her smile faded. What had the comment really meant…that it was really so hard to see anything attractive about her?

      ‘We’re not really chauvinistic,’ Bruce said a little defensively. ‘But this job requires people with pretty assertive personalities. So does yours. You wouldn’t expect a firefighter who’s risked life and limb to pull someone from a burning house or cut open a wrecked vehicle to extricate the injured to go home and bake a cake or clean a toilet, would you?’

      ‘Why not? You’d expect me to,’ Laura told them. ‘I’ve just been squished inside a car wreck looking after the injured, but I bet you wouldn’t put up too much of a fight if I offered to go and make you all coffee or throw some bacon and eggs together.’

      ‘Mmm.’ The sound was a frustrated groan. ‘Bacon and eggs!’

      ‘Don’t worry, Laura,’ Tim said. ‘We all know you’re just as much of a hero as we are.’

      ‘Yeah.’ Cliff winked at her. ‘Maybe you need a wife as well.’

      Laura gritted her teeth. She knew they were teasing her but it was easy to think that her protest had not made the slightest impression on any prejudice held by these men. And what did it matter, anyway? She couldn’t imagine being attracted to a man who was keen to bake cakes or clean toilets. She’d never wanted to find a sensitive New Age guy. She was just twisted and bitter because John had never really wanted her for herself. Apart from the freely available sex, he would probably have been happier being married to Jean McKendry.

      Jason seemed to have picked up at least part of her thoughts by telepathy.

      ‘You should also know,’ he said seriously, ‘that we don’t consider Mrs M. to be the perfect woman.’

      ‘No.’ Stick grinned. ‘She’s about forty years past her use-by date.’

      ‘And she’s grumpy as hell.’

      ‘Yeah.’ Jason rubbed his elbow reflectively. ‘She hit me with a wooden spoon the other day.’

      ‘Well, you were sticking your dirty, fat finger in her gravy.’

      ‘I was only tasting it.’

      The mention of food provoked another general glance towards the clock and yet another short silence.

      ‘What was that?’ Laura frowned at the faint but noticeably unusual sound.

      ‘Just a cat.’

      ‘Gate squeaking?’ Cliff suggested hopefully. ‘Mrs M. arriving for breakfast?’

      ‘Jeez, we’d better not get another callout,’ Jason said unhappily. ‘I’m starving.’

      ‘You’re always starving, Jase.’

      ‘Can’t