The Unknown Twin. Kathryn Shay
It overlooked the rec area, where, from her own office window, she’d watched the firefighters play basketball and sometimes grill outside. Today, they were dressed in the dark blue uniform of Courage Bay firefighters, complete with badges on their chest pockets, a Maltese cross patch on their short sleeves, and name tags.
“Hello,” she said softly.
They peered over at her. “Dana?” the woman asked. She was more diminutive than the rest, but well-defined muscles stood out beneath her short sleeves. Briefly Lauren wondered what it would be like to be brave enough, strong enough to do what this woman did.
A woman like Dee.
“No. I’m Lauren Conway. I was at the newspaper’s offices when they caught fire last week.”
“Hey.” The man at the table stood. “I’m Mick Ramirez. Now I recognize you.”
“They said you were a carbon copy of Dana, but wow.” This from the woman again. “It’s hard to believe you could look so much alike and not be related. You sure you’re not?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m sure.” She held up a huge shopping bag. “I brought you all something by way of thank you.”
“Something to eat?” the chef asked. “I’m Nick LaSpino, by the way.”
Everybody else gave names Lauren knew she’d never remember.
“Cookies. I made them myself.” She glanced around. “I particularly wanted to thank Alex Shields. He, um, carried me out.”
The men exchanged knowing looks.
“Alex is out back playing a pickup basketball game.”
“Oh.” It was just as well. She’d thought entirely too much about the sexy captain in the few days since the fire. Since she’d last seen him. “I won’t disturb him. I’ll be on my way to the Courier.”
“You aren’t back in the offices yet, are you?” LaSpino asked.
“No, we’re still in the temporary space set up in the vacant building next door.”
Ramirez pointed outside. “Go out through the back. You can get to the newspaper that way and catch Alex before you leave.”
“Showing off, as usual,” the woman noted in a patronizing tone.
Lauren hesitated. “All right.” She said her goodbyes and made her way to the door. One of the guys got up and opened it for her. He towered over her. Jeez, were they all giants?
Just because you’re a shrinking violet around manly men.
Damn, she thought. Go away, Dee. She didn’t need her imaginary friend nagging at her any more than she had all week. Call him, stop by the fire house, act, you sissy.
She smiled at the man who’s name tag read Begay as he opened the door for her. “Alex’d kill us if we let you go without talking to him.” His voice sounded teasing. “They’re playing over there.”
“Thanks.” Once outside, she walked the few feet to the blacktop court, which sparkled in the May noonday sun. She stood behind a barbecue pit so she could observe.
And was mesmerized by the sights and sounds.
Grunts.
Heavy breathing.
A word of direction.
Several curses.
At one point, Alex grabbed the ball, leaped up and seemed to freeze in the air—she’d title the scene “Poetry in Motion” if she had a chance to paint it. He released the ball. It arced, then swished into the net.
“Hot damn, I’m good.” He executed a high five with another guy; two others swore.
One man grabbed the ball, jogged to the top of the court and cracked his hand on it. That must signal game in play because the four men began running all over the place.
“I’m open,” somebody yelled. The ball handler hurled the ball at him, just as Alex stepped in front. He intercepted it and turned, but somebody rammed into him, landing him right on his fanny.
“Oh!” she said with a gasp.
As a group, they turned. Alex, from the blacktop, smiled up at her. It was a male smile, one that said I’m glad to see you. “Hey, Lauren, hi.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, edging up to the court.
“Yeah, sure.”
“His butt’s as hard as his head,” one guy put in.
From the firehouse, somebody called out, “Lunch in ten, guys.”
“We’re done, anyway,” another player said. They bade goodbye, leaving Lauren alone with Alex.
Lithe as a cat, he rolled to his feet and crossed to her. She fought the urge to back up. She hadn’t remembered him being quite so big, but today, out here, he looked…overwhelming. Tall, at least six-two. Really broad shoulders under a sweat-soaked gray T-shirt. His hair was damp, his face ruddy and dripping. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It didn’t help. “Good to see you.”
“You, too.” Her voice sounded raw, even to her own ears.
He gave her a studied look. “Still not feeling well?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Your voice is hoarse.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I, um, came by on my way to work to bring you some cookies I baked as thank-you.”
He propped a foot up on a nearby bench and leaned over, resting his elbow on his knee. His legs were corded with muscles and covered with a sparse growth of dark hair. He wore heavy high-tops on his feet. “I got a beautiful little painting for my bedroom wall as thanks from you.”
“You put it in your bedroom?”
His light brown eyes darkened. “I will as soon as my house is painted.” He nodded to the fire station. “Hey, you wanna stay for lunch? We’re having sloppy joes and French fries.”
Oh, God, and eat with this one hundred eighty pounds of pure male flesh? “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
She bit her lip and his eyes focused on the action. She felt his gaze in her stomach—and lower. “I’m going to the office.”
“You’re up and running again in the place next door, right?”
“Yeah. Lucky thing it was vacant. Our press is still operating in the old building’s basement, though. It wasn’t damaged.”
“How long will you be working out of the temporary offices?”
“Another couple of weeks, I guess. The west side will have to be rebuilt, but they’ll wall it off and we can work in the rest of the space.”
“I’ve been wondering how you were.”
Then why didn’t you call me? she wanted to ask. But didn’t, of course.
“As I said, I’m fine.”
His eyes flashed with male appreciation. “I’ve been thinking about you, Lauren.”
“Oh?”
“I saw your first cartoon. I recognized Deirdre—she looks like you.”
“Did you like it?”
“Sure. Is it autobiographical?”
Yes. “Of course not. It’s just a cartoon.”
“By the way, I talked to Dana. She was fascinated to have a look-alike right in town. She’s dying to meet you when she gets back.”
“That would be nice.”
He