Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NICK
C rouching in front of the tiny, trembling dog, my brow furrows as I assess the situation. It’s managed to shove its head through the iron bars of a fence, but its body is firmly wedged in place, leaving it stuck and whimpering.
“This dog must have a curse on it,” Mark mutters next to me. “Didn’t we pull this thing out of a sewer drain a few weeks ago?”
I glance behind us at Mrs. Montour, who’s casting worried looks at her Yorkie, Dolly.
“Will she be okay?” she calls out from the spot I told her to stand at. She was making things worse crowding us earlier.
“You have any cooking oil?” I ask her. “Dish soap? Something we can use as lubrication?”
Mrs. Montour nods and hurriedly returns to her house.
“Definitely a curse,” I say to Mark once she’s gone. What this dog needs is some good birthday and New Year’s wishes.
I smile to myself, thinking of my last conversation with Rachel. Who knew she liked those kinds of things, too?
“You don’t think we can just pull the dog out?” Mark says, reaching toward Dolly.
Dolly whines, her eyes wide with fear as she tries to cower but can’t escape.
“You’re scaring her,” I chastise.
Mark rolls his eyes and stands. “You do it then. I don’t like yappy dogs, anyway.”
No, he’s just not a fan of the owner. Mrs. Montour caught him sneaking out of Janine Hart’s window in the middle of the night as a teenager and ratted him out to his dad. Mark claims she must have been up to something, too, if she was also out that time of night, but could never prove anything.
He heads back to the truck to radio dispatch, and I take off my glove and slowly hold it out for Dolly to sniff, waiting to see how she reacts.
Normally, she loves me, but she’s scared right now.
I’ve seen my share of upset animals on the job, and sometimes there’s no telling how they’ll react.
I keep my voice low and soothing, letting her know we’ll get her out soon.
When Mrs. Montour returns with a bottle of olive oil, I carefully rub it around Dolly’s ribs and the bars, thankful the dog doesn’t fight it. Bracing one hand against the fence and the other against the pup’s chest, I angle Dolly’s body and wiggle her gently.
With a soft yelp, Dolly breaks free and slides into my hands.
“Oh, thank God,” Mrs. Montour cries as I hand her the squirming dog.
Dolly slathers her owner’s face in wet kisses, and over near the fire truck, Mark looks on in disgust, thankfully not in view of Mrs. Montour.
I stand and Mrs. Montour flings an arm around me, taking me into her embrace, too, and Dolly switches to giving doggy kisses to my cheek.
“I don’t know what we’d do without you,” she exclaims. That’s definitely true.
Besides all the neighborly things I help her with, it’s not the first call the fire station has made out here, and I’m fairly sure it won’t be the last. “Come inside. Please. I think I have some cash I can give you as a tip.”
Mark perks up at that, but I extricate myself from Mrs. Montour, discreetly wiping my cheek, and tell her, “No, we can’t accept tips. We’re just doing our jobs.”
Mark deflates. “I’ll pack up our stuff.”
“A cinnamon roll, then,” Mrs. Montour insists. “They’re fresh from Aurora Bakery.”
Now, I won’t say no to that. So far, I’ve only tried their danishes, but I’m confident everything from there is amazing.
Not that I’m biased.
I follow her and Dolly into the house and wait as she reheats me a cinnamon roll in her ancient microwave and hands me the plate.
The first bite is pure indulgence as the chewier outer layer gives way to a pillowy-soft center that melts on my tongue.
The cinnamon sugar filling is warm and gooey, pooling in the crevices of the roll, while the sweet icing balances the deep spice of the cinnamon.
All I can think of while eating it is Rachel and her cinnamon scent. Of her unexpectedly pressing her lips to mine on her front porch yesterday, so quick I didn’t have time to react. Wishing like hell I’d known she’d do that so I could enjoy it more.
“Those Blackwell girls know what they’re doing.”
For a moment, I’m afraid I said something aloud about Rachel kissing me before I realize she’s referencing the cinnamon rolls.
“Everything I’ve tried from there is incredible,” I agree.
She eyes me more carefully than I like. “Are things good with you and them? You know, since…”
“All good between us,” I tell her, leaving it at that.
It had taken me years before I recognized her questions as fishing for gossip rather than mere curiosity.
She’s the kind of woman who knows everything about everyone—sometimes before they know it themselves.
I don’t want to be her topic of the week.
“It’s just that I saw Rachel working with you at the pancake breakfast.”
I nod, finishing up the last of the cinnamon roll as Mark joins us in the house. “She’s helping me with fundraising for the fire station.”
Mark tilts his head in a questioning way at me, as if it’s news to him. I have no idea what Chief has told everyone about it.
“We have to get going back,” he says, hitching a thumb over his shoulder toward the door.
I give Dolly a last pet, forgetting her fur is still slathered in olive oil, and grab a napkin off the table to wipe my hand. “Let us know if this one gets up to any more mischief.”
Mrs. Montour laughs lightly and picks up the dog to hug to her chest, oil be damned. “Oh, I will. Thanks again.”
We leave and on the ride back, Mark says, “You’re taking over for Henry with the fundraising?”
“Chief voluntold me.” I like how Rachel had described it that way.
He nods. “Better you than me. Or anyone else, really. Especially Daniel.”
We both grimace. The guy had accidentally set off the fire alarm at the station the other day while trying to fix something minor.
“What’s our next fundraiser, then?” he asks.
“A chili cookoff.”
“Oh, that actually sounds cool. Henry never did anything like that.”
“Yeah, I think it’ll be good.” At least, I hope. Half of me is afraid it’ll be completely shit, until I remember Rachel has a plan. We’d gone over it together at my house while we ate the chili and cornbread, which had turned out pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.
Thank God for that, because I’d be up a creek without a paddle at this fundraiser, otherwise.
But even more than being able to cook chili, thank God I’d gotten me and Rachel back on even footing after what happened on her front porch.
I could sense she was flustered by what she’d done, even if it was part of the act.
And even if I wish it hadn’t been acting at all.
When we return to the station, Chief asks how it went, declining to go on the call himself, and Mark rolls his eyes.
“That damn Yorkie must have walked under ten ladders in a row for the kind of luck it has. But good news is that Nick told me about the chili cookoff.” He rubs his hand together enticingly. “Looking forward to that.”
He heads off to fill out the incident report for the call and Chief turns to me.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. After Henry’s lack of…
interest in the pancake breakfast, I’d like you to submit a plan for everything that’ll happen.
” He mutters, as an aside, “Still can’t believe he didn’t get any meat.
A breakfast without sausage or bacon…” He shakes his head.
Wow, I had no idea that upset him so much. Duly noted if we ever do something like that again.
“Yeah, me and Rachel put together a plan.”
He looks at me expectantly. “Well?”
Oh, he wants to hear it now? I pat my pockets, as if the plan is magically in there. “Uh, Rachel has it.” She’s the one who’s been writing down all the notes.
He rubs at his jaw. “Can she stop by sometime soon so we can talk it over?”
“Sure, I’ll text her.”
I go to my locker to get my phone, noting it’s already three-fifteen in the afternoon. She said she’s out of the bakery by three-thirty most days.
When I ask if she’s available, she texts that she’ll come over in about half an hour and thankfully has the notes in her purse.
I glance around, my first instinct to make the station presentable the way I did my own house, and immediately dismiss the idea. Chief runs a tight ship, and we all know not to leave any messes. Maybe that’s why I’m messier at home, since it’s so strict here.
Sure, let’s go with that.
I wish there was someone else here to distract me, but with Mark filling out the incident report and Chief in his office doing administrative stuff, that leaves me alone without a call to go on.
With our station as small as it is, there are only two firefighters scheduled at a time to work each shift.
Every quarter we switch partners, but right now I’m partnered with Mark, Henry is with Miguel, and Jamal and Daniel are paired up.
Chief is outside the rotation and works a nine-to-five schedule on weekdays so he can keep an eye on all of us.
That all goes out the window when there’s an emergency that requires all hands on deck, but thankfully that doesn’t happen often.
I force myself to keep busy until Rachel arrives, checking hoses and organizing newly ordered gear until the moment I spot her.
Something inside me clicks into place, the energy of the room shifting.
She’s not doing anything special, merely looking around the station, but damn if the sight of her doesn’t make my day a whole lot better.
She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt with the bakery logo on it, hair in some kind of messy bun on top of her head, face bare of makeup.
She’s absolutely gorgeous.
When she finally meets my gaze, she smiles in response, and there’s a corresponding tug deep in my chest. I don’t even try to fight the grin that spreads across my face.
I stride toward her, conscious of the way my pulse kicks up a notch, even as I attempt to keep my cool outwardly. If the other guys were at the station, they’d have a field day.