Charming the Firefighter. Beth Andrews
and horrified at the very idea, even as the small part of her brain that was still functioning logically wondered why it had taken the emergency responders so long to arrive. Definitely something she needed to take into account if something ever happened to Andrew.
Gracie, in the act of eating yet another brownie, dropped the spatula guiltily. Nodded. “When I was outside turning off the gas to the grill.”
Penelope checked her watch, squinting to make out the numbers. Approximately eight minutes for them to get here from across town. Not bad, she had to admit. Though five minutes would have been better.
The siren got louder. And louder. Closer and closer.
She did a mini twirl, her mind telling her to escape, her feet having no idea what she was doing. No. No, no, no. The last thing she needed was everyone in Shady Grove knowing she’d done something so completely stupid. And they would. She’d lived here for less than a year, but she already knew the paper was notorious for printing things like this, usually smack-dab on the front page.
Oh, dear Lord, she could imagine the headlines: Local Accountant Left Heartbroken and Alone After Son Refuses to Spend Time With Her. Almost Blows Her Own Head Off to End Her Grief.
She’d die of embarrassment.
No. She definitely did not want the fire department here, parked in her driveway for the entire neighborhood to see. Did not want them trying to help her. She was fine. Slightly charred, yes, but overall no real harm done.
The sirens were close now, the sound incredibly loud. Gracie hurried toward the front door as if she owned the place, her flip-flops slapping in the most irritating way.
“This way,” she told someone.
A moment later, she returned followed by a tall, darkly handsome firefighter—in boots, a heavy jacket and even a helmet—looking as if he was ready to battle a raging inferno instead of dealing with a now stone-cold grill.
“This is a nightmare,” Penelope whispered, shutting her eyes. “A complete and utter nightmare.”
“Are you kidding?” Gracie asked breathlessly, her eyes dreamy as she stared at the good-looking man. “If I’d known the local firefighters looked like that, I would’ve let that stove fire keep burning last year instead of putting it out with the extinguisher.”
Penelope doubted all the firefighters in town looked like the one approaching her. He was one of those guys. Too handsome, with dark, wavy hair visible underneath the helmet, deep brown eyes and a charming, boyish grin.
One that said, why yes, I do know I’m God’s gift to women. Drink it in, ladies. Drink it in.
The worst kind to a woman’s sense of self, willpower and virtue.
Not her, of course. Other women. She was too old for him. Had too many responsibilities and more important things to focus on in her life other than dating or, heaven forbid, a relationship.
Especially when she’d already proved she wasn’t any good at them.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I’m Leo Montesano with the Shady Grove Fire Department. Could you tell us where the grill is?”
Ma’am. See? Even he knew she was too old for him.
Why she was disappointed and a little ticked off, she had no idea.
It must have been that disappointment that had her taking a moment to realize what he’d asked—and that he wasn’t alone. A huge bear of a man, his wide face as ordinary as the dark-haired one’s was extraordinary, stood behind the younger firefighter.
All she could do was lift her hand and point to the door.
“I’m on it,” the second fireman said, heading out the French doors.
“Could you tell me what happened?” Firefighter Montesano—or whatever title he went by—asked, taking his helmet off.
Even mussed, his hair was perfect, dark as night and waving sinfully, almost artfully, around that sculpted face.
“I was reading in my room,” Gracie blurted, stepping between them. “I had the window open because it’s such a nice day, when Leighann—that’s my best friend—called. She was upset, again, over her boyfriend. I was talking her through yet another romantic crisis—I mean, it’s obvious he only wants in her pants so I’m not sure why she’s so shocked each and every time they’re alone and he tries something and then he gets mad and storms off when she says no.” She frowned at the firefighter. “Are all guys like that? Or is it just a teenage thing? Because most of my friends have the same problem.”
Shedding his jacket, the firefighter raised his eyebrows at that overload of information, but didn’t seem embarrassed by the question. “I’m going to respectfully decline to answer that.”
She sighed as if in resignation—or else she was simply taking in the firefighter in all his six-foot-plus glory. And what glory it was. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and biceps that proved the man spent a great deal of time in the gym.
“Fine.” Gracie shrugged. “I’m only trying to get some insight into the inner workings of the adolescent male brain.”
He grinned and yes, it was even more potent than Penelope would have imagined.
“Believe me,” he told Gracie. “The last place you want to go poking around is a teenage boy’s mind.”
“Amen,” Penelope muttered so fervently she wouldn’t have been surprised to see a choir of angels drift down from the heavens to sing it with her.
Then again, if she could see into Andrew’s head, she might have a better idea why he hated her so much.
Sending that devastating grin her way, the firefighter helped her sit.
“Anyway,” Gracie said, “I was telling Leighann she needed to dump him when there was this big boom—”
“It wasn’t that big—” Penelope interjected.
“It was! It shook the windows. I hung up on Leighann and hurried over. By the time I got here, Ms. Denning was awake but like, stunned. The grill wasn’t burning or anything so after I helped her inside, I shut it off and called 911.”
“Smart thinking,” the firefighter told her.
“When you have five brothers under the age of eight, you learn the ins and outs of fire safety. The twins especially are fascinated with anything that burns. Or explodes,” Gracie said, helping herself to another brownie. “Still, I was terrified I’d find poor Ms. Denning dead or in flames when I got here.”
Poor Ms. Denning?
Penelope shut her eyes. She’d been called many things in her life—smart, reserved, aloof. Cold. But never poor Penelope. Not when she’d been a child and had moved ten times before her fourteenth birthday, forced to attend a new school almost every year, always the new, awkward girl no one wanted to sit with at lunch. Not when her marriage had fallen apart and Todd had found comfort in the arms of another woman. Not even when her son was so sick that many people, including his doctors, feared he wouldn’t make it.
She wasn’t someone to be pitied.
“I’d offer you a brownie,” Gracie said to the firefighter, “but I can see you take your physical health very seriously and probably don’t eat sweets or junk food or anything that, you know, tastes good. How many hours a day do you work out?”
Penelope caught his gaze. “Make it stop,” she whispered. “For the love of God, make it all stop.”
His grin broadened and he knelt in front of her. “I take it you’re Ms. Denning?”
“Yes. Penelope Denning.” She’d gone back to her maiden name a few months ago when her ex-husband had remarried. She hadn’t felt right being Mrs. Freeman anymore. Not when another woman also claimed that title.
She