Chapter Two
He slid out of his coat, releasing a slow breath as he recognized that the room was also unoccupied.
Maybe he’d dodged a bullet, and his unwelcome visitor had given up and gone home.
Though he couldn’t avoid the former chief’s sister altogether if she was determined to speak with him, he hoped she would at least wait until he’d officially punched the clock.
But since he’d already located his new office, he decided to look around before navigating the back halls to the day room, which would include the station’s kitchen, dining room and living area.
A yelp came from what had been a dark corner the moment he flipped the wall switch. He blinked the now-bright room into focus. On the far end of the sofa sat a pretty brunette with a pair of dark-haired little girls draped over her like a blanket, both sound asleep.
The woman, who had to be Rachel Hoffman, struggled to sit up under the children’s dead weight. Wispy tresses that poked out every which way from her loose bun, along with a coat she’d balled up as a pillow, offered hints that the kids weren’t the only ones who’d been napping in his office.
“Uh, hello.” He fought a grin but lost the battle.
His guest squinted at the rude invasion of light as she scooted the girls off her lap, earning a chorus of groans. Once they were on the cracked leather cushions, their matching dark pink jackets draped over them, they spooned together and settled back into their dreams.
If only all that cuteness had been enough to keep him from noticing the girls’ mother as she struggled to a seated position.
She yanked down her short red V-neck that had ridden high enough to reveal a slice of pale midriff.
That image, combined with those still sleepy eyes, the soft-looking mouth and the mussed hair that might as well have been fanned on a real pillow, hit him squarely below the belt.
But the ice storm in her sable-colored eyes when she caught him watching warned him to never stare at her again.
At least not without wearing a cup. Why the devil had he looked in the first place when Peter had given him a heads-up over who to expect in his office?
He wouldn’t recommend checking out any woman he met at the firehouse, but gawking at a relative of the ejected official whose fingerprints still lingered there topped the list of lousy ideas.
He focused on the gaudy lamp over his shoulder, giving the woman time to situate herself. When he turned back, she’d righted her clothes and patted down her hair. Still not looking his way, she rubbed a finger along her lash line, removing makeup smudges that formed shadows on her light olive skin.
“I should say ‘Wake up, Goldilocks,’ but it looks like you’re already awake.”
Again, she glared at him, grading his attempt at humor—his go-to in uncomfortable situations—a fail.
“If you say, ‘Who’s been sleeping on my couch?’ don’t be surprised if you get punched in the face.”
At least it was just the face. “I’ll keep that in mind. Besides, we wouldn’t want to cause a ruckus by calling in the Mount Isabel PD and awakening the two little bears.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” she deadpanned.
When his guest sat forward and crossed her arms, causing the upper curves of delicate skin to peek from her sweater’s vee, he averted his gaze. Even if only a monk—one actively praying—could have avoided noticing Rachel Hoffman, he didn’t have a death wish.
“Why don’t we start over? I’m Mick Prentiss…the new fire chief.”
The tight shift of her shoulders told him he should have stopped with the name.
He lowered his outstretched hand and stepped behind the desk, figuring that a barrier between them would be wise.
After draping his coat over the back of the office chair and settling in it, he gestured for her to take one of the visitors’ seats.
Her gaze narrowed, but she surprised him by following his instruction.
“You must be Mrs. Hoffman.” He cleared his throat, recognizing that she shared her brother’s surname. “I mean, Ms.”
“It’s Rachel. And, actually, it’s Miss.”
His gaze shifted to her hands that she’d stacked on her lap. The third finger on her left one was bare, like his was these days, but she wore an emerald ring with a cluster of tiny diamonds on her right. Catching him watching, she crossed her arms, covering both.
Mick rolled the sleeves of the flannel shirt he wore open over a T-shirt. What was it to him that she’d never married?
“And who are these sleeping beauties?”
“Thought they were bears.”
As the corner of her pillowy-looking lips lifted, Mick swallowed, his mouth dry.
Why did everything about this woman keep reminding him of pillows?
And why was he acting like a sex-starved teenager?
He was thirty-seven years old. He barely remembered his twenties, and he hadn’t been hungry for even the diddle dash that the hookup apps promised since the fire. And the divorce.
“Those are my daughters,” she said. “They’re six. And identical twins if you haven’t guessed.”
“They’re yours?” He took in the matching sizes, complexions and even short hair styles that would have made him do a double take earlier if he hadn’t been so riveted on their mother. “You don’t look—”
“I know. I don’t look old enough to be their mother. I am. I’m twenty-five.”
Mick recognized a sensitive topic when he heard one. He gestured to the girls. “They look exhausted.”
“We’ve been in here a while. The guys told me they expected you to arrive—” she paused to glance down at her watch “—ninety minutes ago.”
“I can’t believe they let you stay all this time.”
“I told them I wasn’t leaving unless they carried me out. Most of them have known me long enough to believe what I say.”
Even acquainted with her for less than ten minutes, Mick would have put money on any announcement Rachel Hoffman made as well.
That didn’t mean he would have let her set up camp on the fire chief’s couch for two hours no matter how alluring she was.
Or how long it had been since he’d touched feminine skin or wound his fingers in long, satiny hair.
He shot a look through the blurry glass and into the hall. Had his crew invited Hoffman’s overly hot sister to show up as a firehouse prank on the new guy? If so, they’d soon learn that paybacks were hell when coming from the boss.
“That’s right. You probably grew up around the old Station 1. I bet you recognize all the furniture in this office.” He managed not to ask her if she’d napped on any of it before.
Her eyes softened as she scanned the room, from the odd lamp to the chair and the desk. Then her gaze snapped back to his, icicles burying all that tenderness.
“I’m not here for a walk down memory lane, Chief Prentiss. But I do want to talk about recent developments here.”
He was still digesting the way she’d said his title—like a profanity—when the second part registered.
Her dad and her brother. If seeing Rachel in his office had made him forget about the reports he’d read in the past few days, he could have at least remembered the information Peter had offered not twenty minutes before.
“Please accept my condolences about your father. I’m sorry about your brother’s…uh…situation as well.”
Though he didn’t know what she expected him to do about Riley Hoffman’s job loss, he still had a soft spot for the loved ones of alcoholics. He’d taken more than his share of turns on the slip-and-slide of his dad’s addiction, so he could relate.
“Thanks, but I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, either.”
Mick laced his fingers, resting his wrists on the edge of his desk. So much for ten minutes. The woman probably wouldn’t leave before her daughters’ bedtime.
“Look, Miss Hoffman, I can see that this change must be difficult for you. Your family’s been a part of the MIFD for decades.
But I had no part in past personnel decisions.
In fact, I was hired because I’m an outsider since—” He stopped himself, considered and began again. “Since investigations are ongoing.”
“You’ve got that part right. You are an outsider. They’re not welcome here.”
“I’d sensed that.”
She rested her hands flat on his desk. “You should also prepare yourself for things not being what they seem.”
He knew better than to respond to that, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming. “It can be tempting to try to shield a loved one who’s hurting, but—”
“You can stop your careful stepping around it because I’m not enabling my brother or dismissing his addiction.”
She stared at him for so long that he shifted in his chair, its cushion as unforgiving as he’d predicted. “Then I’m not sure what we have to talk about here.”
Rachel settled back in her seat and crossed both her arms and legs this time.
“You must have read the history on my family before you agreed to come here. I’ve done some research on you, too. Three-alarm fire last September. Three casualties. Two of them members of your crew.”
Mick pressed his forearm against his rolling insides as the faces of those men appeared on the desk’s surface.
Suárez, of course. But even Wheeler, who didn’t deserve his sympathy but still should have walked away from that fire.
It didn’t surprise him that Hoffman’s sister had searched for ammunition against him before showing up in his office, but her words still struck him like a fresh gash, appearing alongside others that had barely crusted over.
“The council knows about what happened in Chicago. I held nothing back.”
“Not even that you quit right after it happened?” She tilted her head, delicate brow lifting. “That you were ready to hang up your helmet for good?”
“Yes, they know that I took a break.” One that he’d planned to be permanent. He didn’t mention that part. “If you researched me, then you know I was cleared of any responsibility in the accident.”
“Are you saying you were innocent?”