The Unknown Twin. Kathryn Shay

“Want to have dinner some night with me, Lauren?”

      “Dinner?”

      “Yeah, you know, like on a date.”

      “A date?”

      “Uh-huh, where two people agree to go somewhere together.”

      “Um, I’m busy.” She raised the purse she carried to her chest, effectively shrugging off his touch.

      “I didn’t give you a day or time.”

      She sighed.

      “Look, if you don’t want to go out with me, just say so.”

      “It’s not that.” She studied his sturdy, rugged form. His handsome face. “I just don’t think we’re very well matched.”

      “Never know until you try.”

      She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.” She had to get out of there. “I hope you enjoy the cookies.” And coward that she was, she scurried through the backyard of the firehouse, crossed the street and ducked into the new offices.

      She didn’t look back. If she did, she might change her mind. And that was not a good idea. She didn’t date men like Alex. She liked the poetic, sensitive, smaller kind of guy. Felt more comfortable with them.

      Oh, yeah, sure. Deirdre was back. Dating men like James Tildan is a great idea.

      Well, her ex-fiancé had been her type.

      Until he stole from you.

      God, that stung. Lauren had buried the hurt and didn’t let it surface too often. Just because James had turned out to be a creep didn’t mean all men like him were.

      Except for James, you haven’t kept one of those sensitive types around yet.

      No, and she didn’t miss them all that much. Though she did miss sex. A lot. As she stepped into her makeshift office, she let herself think for a minute what sex would be like with Alex.

      Dazzling. Exciting. Adventurous.

      She remembered how strong he was, carrying her down the ladder. How safe she’d felt when he put his arm around her in front of her house. But damn, she couldn’t handle a big, strong, tough firefighter. His physical presence intimidated her.

      Nope, she’d made the right decision.

      Yeah, sure you did, you lily-livered wimp.

      THEY WERE GATHERED around the window when Alex strode into the firehouse. Which was all he needed. He was good and pissed.

      “So, she say she’d go out with you?” Robertson asked.

      Ramirez snorted. “She get swept away by your charm like all the ladies, gringo?”

      When he remained silent, Robertson winked at the others. “Don’t tell us you didn’t ask her out. We know you did.”

      “Like hell.” They’d never let him hear the end of it if they knew she’d blown him off.

      LaSpino called out, “Hey, come look at these.”

      Saved by the chef, who had a legendary sweet tooth. Alex crossed to the table and looked down at the cookies Lauren had brought. “Holy hell.”

      There had to be twenty dozen of them. He picked one up. “A Maltese cross.” The insignia of firefighting. “It’s beautiful.” Frosted in red and yellow, Lauren had even put a badge number on it. 527. His.

      “There’s some boots and helmets, too,” LaSpino murmured. They were also frosted with details—a black line for the sole, yellow reflectors.

      “They had to take her forever,” Janey Lopez said.

      Another asked, “Why’d she wrap each one in plastic?”

      “So they’d stay fresh, moron,” LaSpino told him.

      “Didn’t she know we’d chow ’em down right away?”

      Still, nobody moved to take one.

      “Well, lookee here.” This from Alvarez. “A helmet, frosted in red.”

      “It’s probably for me,” joked Will Begay, the captain on the engine. Captains wore colored helmets so they could be found easily in an operation. Everybody knew, just like the badge number, this cookie was for Alex.

      Then why the hell had she said no to a freakin’ date? “Women!” he quipped, and stalked out of the kitchen to the bathroom. The guys’ razzing followed him.

      Under the shower’s spray, he thought about her. She wasn’t exactly Miss America. Still, she was pretty. As pretty as Dana? Hmm. He hadn’t thought about Dana in those terms for years. But Lauren was definitely as pretty, only in a different way. He could still remember how she’d drunk the tea, how she steeped herself in it. Cherished it. Hell! Just thinking of that had an effect on his body.

      And she was softer than Dana. Delicate. But delicate women were probably a lot of trouble. They’d need coddling. You’d have to do things for them. They had never been his type. Out of the shower, he pulled on sweatpants in deference to the woman subbing on their shift and grumbled, “I don’t need any wilting flowers in my life.”

      “She looks more like a vibrant little rose to me.”

      Damn, he didn’t know anybody else was in here. Will Begay had come out of one of the stalls and was washing his hands at a sink. Rubbing his head with a towel—it was too late for backpedaling—Alex mumbled something unintelligible.

      At least Will was trustworthy. The only Native American on Alex’s squad, he seemed more self-possessed than the rest of the guys. He and Alex had been friends for years.

      Will leaned against the wall as Alex dried off. “She said no, didn’t she?”

      “Yep.”

      “You haven’t been shot down in a long time.”

      “Nope.”

      “Giving up?”

      “Uh-huh. Before I invest. I got a feeling she’s high maintenance.”

      “She seemed pretty interested in you. I looked out the window, and she was watching you on the court. Acted like she was studying a foreign species, but she was fascinated.”

      “Yeah?”

      “And the red frosted helmets weren’t for me.”

      He snorted.

      Begay hesitated, then spoke. “She’s a dead ringer for Dana.”

      There was something about his tone….

      “So?”

      “That’s not why you’re interested, is it?”

      “Nope.”

      Will pushed away from the wall. “Good.”

      Alex asked, “Will? Your wife, Mareeta?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Is she high maintenance?”

      “In my experience, Shields, all women are. You just gotta find one who’s worth it.” He nodded to the bay. “We saved you some food. What time are we training?”

      “This afternoon. About four, if there are no calls.”

      “On what?”

      “Orientation for that new warehouse they just finished over on Twelfth Street.”

      The PA blared. “Car accident at Ronstat Street. Truck One and Paramedic One go into service.”

      Alex grabbed his stuff. “That’s me,” he said, and raced out of the john.

      When he got back, he did some paperwork until four, then called the group together. There