In Love With The Firefighter. Amie Denman

I get our dinner cooking.” She stood and turned on the burner. “You need to eat, and I’m happy to listen and cook at the same time.”

      Jane watched Nicole scoop ingredients into the pan, and the aroma reminded her she was actually hungry. The sick feeling from the cat food was long gone. Poor Claudette. She might need to switch to dry food for a few months. And when the baby came along...how would an aging house cat, set in her ways, adjust to the change?

      How would she adjust to the change?

      “He doesn’t know,” Jane said as Nicole stirred.

      “I assumed. When he sat with us at the bar, I thought there might be something between you.” She turned and held a large spoon in the air. “But I had no idea.”

      “I have to tell him.”

      “You do,” Nicole agreed. “But not tonight.”

      Jane laughed. “No, not tonight. But it’s not the kind of thing you can hide forever. Not that I’d want to.”

      “And what do you think he’ll say?”

      “I have almost no doubt about it. He’ll ask me to marry him.”

      “That jerk!” Nicole said, grinning. “And everyone thinks those firefighters are such heroes. Everyone except me, of course.”

      “That’s exactly the problem. He’ll offer to do what he thinks is the right thing without a second thought.”

      “But you’d have second thoughts.”

      “Of course I would. I’ve known him a long time, and he’s no fan of commitment. Dated one girl after another, never staying with anyone for long. He would only marry me out of obligation, and I don’t want to be someone’s obligation. I’m worth more than that.”

      * * *

      FOLLOWING POLICE ORDERS, Charlie and Ethan waited behind the shelter of the fire truck while several officers entered the dilapidated home in a neglected section of Cape Pursuit. Far from the eyes of tourists, it was a five-minute ride from the fire station. Calls to the Dune Heights area of town often ended in a refusal of treatment, and domestic violence calls left Charlie and his fellow firefighters with the sick feeling that someone needed their help but wasn’t going to get it.

      “I hate these calls,” Ethan muttered.

      Charlie nodded. Everyone hated seeing drunk guys threaten their wives and families. His father would have cut off his own arm before threatening his wife and son. He would also have given that arm to have more years with Charlie’s mother, who died far too young of breast cancer.

      “Maybe it’s a false alarm,” Charlie said. He listened closely for any sounds coming from the house. “It happens.”

      Ethan blew out a breath and leaned against the truck. The midday sun flashed off the chrome pump. Charlie peered through the open middle of the truck, where the pump operator usually stood. Both he and Ethan wore full turnout gear and smelled like smoke. The Dumpster fire behind a fast-food restaurant in town hadn’t taken long to put out, and they were returning to the station when the call came in. The rest of their crew had returned to the station to grab the ambulance, but Ethan and Charlie went straight to the scene. The massive pumper truck was stocked with first aid and rescue equipment.

      “I’d take a false alarm,” Ethan said. “Police only came to my house once when I was a kid, despite my parents constantly drinking and fighting. It wasn’t a false alarm that day.”

      Charlie knew Ethan had a tough background. Instead of letting it destroy his life, he funneled every ounce of pain into doing the right thing. He fought fires, saved lives and never touched alcohol. He went along to the bar with his friends, and he drove them all home every single time. The eight-passenger SUV he owned probably cost him a fortune in car payments and gas.

      “My dad spent the night in jail and it educated him for quite a while about his drinking limit.” Ethan took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “I can’t believe some days they’re both still alive.” Ethan shrugged and sat on the chrome step on the side of the truck. “Well, I don’t see them much even though they live right up the street.”

      Charlie sat next to him and rested his elbows on his knees. It was hot on the shiny chrome bumper, blistering in his turnout gear. A cool shower at the station sounded like heaven, but he and Ethan would stay and sweat it out, hoping for the chance to help.

      A police officer stepped around the front of the truck, and Charlie and Ethan jumped to their feet. “You better come in here,” he said. “We took out the husband in cuffs, but the wife could use some attention.”

      Charlie hoisted the medical bag on his shoulder, and he and Ethan trudged up to the house behind the cop. The front steps had a missing board and one of the numbers over the front door was missing. A faded outline of the number two indicated where it had been. Still wearing his helmet, Charlie ducked out of habit as he went through the front door.

      A woman sat on the only cushion left on a decrepit couch. She held a kitchen towel to her head. Charlie knelt in front of her and quickly snapped on the gloves his partner handed him. “I’m Charlie,” he said gently. “I’m a firefighter and I’m here to help you. Can I look at your injury?”

      He heard Ethan talking with one of the police officers, asking if there were any other injured people in the house. The room looked like a battlefield. A table was overturned, a window was broken and there was a sizable hole in the wall above the couch.

      The woman looked warily at Charlie. He took off his helmet and set it next to him on the floor so she could see him better. He opened his hands and held them in front of her so she could see there was nothing in them. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

      She lowered the towel and Charlie didn’t flinch when he saw the bloody mess on the side of her face. Although he’d seen worse at fire scenes and car accidents, the wounds inflicted by a person’s supposed loved ones always seemed to be the ugliest.

      The police officers had left the room so Ethan and Charlie could help the victim. Ethan snapped open an ice pack and handed it to Charlie. He stood back, letting Charlie take the lead because he was the first person to talk to the patient. Charlie heard the ambulance’s siren approaching. “A few of my partners are coming, and they’ll take you to the hospital.”

      “What makes you think I’m goin’?” the woman asked. Her lip quivered when she spoke.

      “You need to,” he said gently. “Your cut needs a few stitches.”

      “I don’t know.”

      “I’ll go with you,” Charlie said, hoping he’d gained some of her trust. Ethan could take the truck back. He could wear his heavy turnout gear just a little longer. He placed sterile gauze on the open wound on her temple and held the ice pack over the bandage. She didn’t object. Her dirty hair, streaked with gray, had already stuck to the drying blood on the side of her face. Charlie was afraid she’d crumple if they tried to pick her up.

      “What’s your name?” he asked.

      “Karleen,” she said.

      “Hey,” a loud voice yelled in the adjoining room. Charlie glanced up in time to see a massive bearded man staggering into the living room. He was shirtless and disheveled. “You can’t take my brother to jail just for beating up this—”

      Charlie stood and shielded the woman on the couch, and Ethan moved swiftly and pinned the large man against the door frame. He fought back, and a lamp crashed to the floor, but Ethan was almost as large and had the advantage of a thick suit of turnout gear. Charlie wanted to jump into the fight, but his first duty was to protect his patient, so he stood his ground. Ethan was winning anyway.

      At the sound of the scuffle, two cops rushed back into the living room and were followed by Tony Ruggles and his father, the fire chief. When the assailant saw he was outnumbered by six men ready to fight, he