Unexpected Love (James County Fire Rescue #1)

1. Cal

Cal

“ E ngine Three is on scene.” The radio at my lapel squawks as James County Fire Rescue’s Engine Three rolls to a stop in front of a set of older row houses on the outskirts of town.

Decades ago, this small community housed workers for a nearby textile manufacturing company. Now it’s just known as the mill village.

Through a broken window, flames lick up the side of the weathered building, growing larger by the second. Billowing black smoke mars the otherwise perfect sunrise on what promises to be a beautiful spring day.

“Woo, looks like a good one,” Bigsley or Barnaby—or whatever the fuck his name is—exclaims from the driver’s seat. “Let’s see if your city-boy ass can keep up, old man.”

It rankles that a guy barely old enough to drink legally is in charge of this million-dollar apparatus.

Driving me around, treating me like a rookie.

I’ve got almost a decade in the fire service but only six months with James County Fire.

And this guy is an asshat who’s given me shit the entire shift about being the FNG—fucking new guy.

I’m over it already. With two hours to go until our eight a.m. shift change, maybe this call will be enough to keep me from decking him.

I stretch my arm as wide as possible in the tight confines of the cab, trying to loosen the muscles in my shoulder, feeling the familiar twinge at the spot the bullet entered. Not enough to be real pain, but enough to let me know it’s there.

On instinct, I scan the surrounding buildings as I pile out of the engine and connect the hose to the hydrant. A big guy whose name I can’t remember is at the panel, initiating water flow.

“These old shotgun houses were built before building inspections,” he calls. The houses are all wood, all weathered and aged. All lined up within spitting distance of each other. Nestled so closely together that if one goes, the next one will too. “They’re a fucking tinderbox waiting to happen.”

Shattering glass punctuates his statement and sends my heart rate into overdrive. “Get a move on,” I yell at my young partner. “We’re about to lose it.” God knows I don’t trust this guy to have my back once we go in.

Yanking on my breathing apparatus, ignoring most of the rest of the radio traffic, I scan the scene once more, half expecting that telltale crack of a gun, followed by burning agony in my shoulder.

I shake off the memory of that horrible day last fall and secure my mask, going through the motions to adjust the flow on my air tank.

Deep breath in. Cross the yard, knock down the flames, get out alive .

Easy-peasy.

A tug at my sleeve has me glancing down to find a boy staring at me with huge eyes.

He looks like maybe he could be a young teenager, but what the heck do I know about kids, other than this one is in the wrong place.

He’s a little wide-eyed, but not freaking out, barefoot, and wearing a pair of threadbare pajamas.

I slip my air mask up so he can see my features more clearly. “Hey, buddy.” Snaking an arm around his shoulder, I hustle him to the rear of the engine and away from the burning structure.

“Mister, can you save my mama?” He’s a little… off. I’m not sure if he’s in shock or if there’s something more to it. His face is blank except for the wide eyes pleading up at me. Small hands clench my turnout jacket. “She’s still in the house.”

Oh god.

I follow his outstretched arm to the room he’s pointing at.

I hand the kid off to a nearby cop and sprint to the window, clicking the radio mic at my shoulder as I run. “Possible victim entrapped.”

Flames lick up the interior wall and across the ceiling as I reach the closest window. It’ll be a miracle if this woman is still alive, as hot as this beast is.

Maybe that little shit I’m partnered with will actually get his head out of his ass and help me make a difference. I know without a doubt that a backup engine is on the way. I heard them call en route as we left our station. And another squad will show up in the roving rescue truck.

But right now, we’re the best shot this woman has at surviving.

The kid’s words ring in my head. Save my mom.

Bixby or Barabbus—fucking young’un—meets me in the yard, dragging the hose behind him, while the engineer mans the water panel. I grab the nozzle and race back to the structure, dousing my entry point with a blast of water.

Save my mom. Save my mom.

But I don’t.

And we lose the battle against the flames.

And it wrecks me.

The faint tinkle of a bell sounds as I push through the door of the Daily Brew. My mouth waters as the smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me, overriding the remaining scent of house fire and death.

Located right on the court square, the Daily Brew is one of the things I miss most about not working in downtown Newman anymore. Now it’s a rare treat I allow myself whenever I’m passing through.

Making the move to the county fire department had strictly been a financial decision and had seemed like a good one at the time. With the overtime they mandated, I was able to get myself better established and still send money back to my little sister, Dani.

It’s been the only way I’ve been able to assuage some of the guilt of leaving her behind in that shithole we called home. For years, I’ve been begging her to trust in me. To take refuge with me.

Finally, she’s gotten her head out of her ass and has taken the offer of my spare bedroom. She and Charlie arrived last night and will be at my apartment when I get there after I grab this much-needed cup of caffeine.

The coffee shop is in full swing as I wait in line behind a group of businessmen. I suck in another breath, trying to get rid of the post-shift fog. The atmosphere is electric without feeling stressful. Just busy people doing busy things.

I’ve definitely missed my regular trips to this place. It’s cheerful. Homey. And the townsfolk must think they sprinkle magic in every cup, because the place is usually packed.

“Can I help you?”

I step up to the counter, offering what I hope is a smile to the petite brunette manning the register. She’s also a reason I like to stop by this place. “Large Americano to go, please.”

“You want a scone to go with?” Her sweet, welcoming voice washes over the ragged edges of my bruised heart. And the hint of recognition in her gaze soothes me even more. For half a heartbeat, I consider being reckless and asking for her number.

Maybe another day, when I haven’t just done a body recovery. When the sound of a kid wailing isn’t ringing in my ears. Maybe then I’ll take the leap and ask her out.

Reluctantly, I break eye contact, shoving down my disappointment with the day, with myself. “No, thanks. Just the coffee.”

She gives me my total, and I whip out my card and tap the device.

Her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink as she watches the payment screen. “Um, could you try it again?”

I tap my card once more.

Her brows furrow. “Maybe try the swipe. Or insert it…”

Heat creeps up my neck as the last few hours flash like a horrific slideshow.

The fire.

The missed calls while I was on scene.

The fraud-alert text messages I ignored .

“I think it’s my card.” I keep my voice low because this is fucking embarrassing. “I got a fraud alert while I was on scene and couldn’t respond. I just got off and totally forgot to check into it.”

My heart trips in my chest as I check my wallet again. The remaining dregs of energy I’d had drain as I search each stupid leather fold, hoping I’d been smart enough to replace my emergency twenty. I’d even use my credit card for this caffeine if it weren’t tucked safely away in my lockbox.

Jesus Christ. I only want a cup of coffee and to go home, hug my sister, and cuddle my niece before sleeping off the horrible shift. Is that too much to ask?

“I’m really sorry…” I mutter, glancing at her name tag, “Jules. You can cancel my order.”

So much for thinking about getting her number. Too many instances of my card declining, of scrimping every dime for a meal, takes me back to my dark past. A place of humiliation and embarrassment.

Somehow, this gorgeous woman seeing me in one of my most embarrassing moments makes this shitty day even worse.

“Cal?”

I glance over my shoulder at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Hey, Capt.” I turn and offer my hand to the man who’d once been a captain on my shift at Newman Fire Department as he approaches the order counter.

Mac had been there when I was in the hospital getting a bullet removed from my shoulder. He’d visited as much as he could, even while shit broke down at city hall when the mayor tried to sack the fire chief, Mac’s soon-to-be wife.

“How’s retirement treating you? Pretty good, from the looks of that beard you’ve got started.” I’m trying for light and friendly, even as I shove my empty wallet back into my pocket.

His eyes twinkle with his smile.

Mac Collins’s eyes fucking twinkle . Never thought I’d see the day.

“I told Liv I was going to grow it long enough to braid it.” He runs a hand over his facial hair, gathering it below his chin. “Rosie threatens to trim it every day.” His new fiancée and their daughter are a class act, but I can totally see them giving him shit about it.

“How is Chief Hawkins? When’s the wedding?” His fiancée is the fire chief at NFD and the reason he retired.

“She’s great. Threatening me about finding a job or a different hobby. Apparently, I’m a lot to handle when I’m bored and run out of home-improvement projects. We haven’t set a date. She’s stressing too damn much about it. I think I’m gonna steal her away one day and surprise her.”

Behind Mac, the door opens, and two other men I had the pleasure to work with at NFD come striding through it.

“What’s this, homecoming day at the coffee shop?” I greet Nate and Thoren with handshakes and bro hugs.

“Hey, man,” Thoren says, clapping me on the back. “How’s the shoulder? And things at the county? Heard y’all had a rough night. Were you on that house fire?”