Colorado Fireman. C.C. Coburn
“He’s not. He’s thinking,” the child corrected her. “He frowns when he thinks. Like he is now.” Celeste indicated her uncle with a flick of her head, bit into a bagel her father had smeared with cream cheese and honey and went back to her drawing.
An odd combination, Carly thought as Celeste wolfed it down. She turned to Adam. Sure enough, he was frowning. But he was miles away and not part of the conversation, nor had he seemed to notice the girls’ drawings of him.
“A penny for them,” she ventured, wanting to make friends with the man who’d saved her son’s life.
“What?” he said, coming out of his reverie.
“You were deep in thought,” she said. “If your back is bothering you, I’d be happy to give you a massage. It’s the least I can do.”
He put down his coffee cup and looked at her. “Thank you, but no.” He stood. “I have to be going. There’ll be a disciplinary meeting because I ignored my chief’s orders,” he said to the room’s occupants.
“And saved Molly,” Carly finished for him, knowing he’d never say the words himself. “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble. If there’s anything I can say to whoever you have to answer to, I will. I’ll testify that Alex would have run into that building to get her if you hadn’t.”
“I doubt a kid would be any match for a firefighter,” he said, his voice sardonic, then abruptly left the kitchen.
The rest of the adults had taken their seats at the table and were looking at her.
“I … I’m sorry, I don’t know what I said to make him leave like that.”
Sarah leaned over and touched her hand. “Don’t pay any attention to him, dear.”
She didn’t go on to excuse his behavior or explain it, so Carly busied herself with clearing the table. “I wanted to thank you again … for welcoming my children and me into your home.” Carly could feel her voice breaking, but she continued, hoping to find the strength she needed.
She could do it. She’d survived her husband, Michael’s, accidental death. She’d survived this past year and a half without her parents’ support or knowledge of how bad things were for her financially.
Her dad had suffered a stroke early last year and Carly had no intention of burdening him or her mother with her latest woes. They had enough to deal with.
She could survive the aftermath of this fire and start fresh. Just like she had before.
She’d used Michael’s insurance money to pay off their house in San Diego. And to pay off his credit card debts, which had been considerable. His fascination with the latest toys—from snowmobiles to Jet Skis, Windsurfers to water skis—had been a bone of contention in their marriage. Carly hadn’t realized how tangled their finances were until she opened the bills addressed to Michael after his death.
Once she’d paid off the mortgage, she’d felt more secure, knowing that no matter what, her children would always have a roof over their heads. But less than a year after doing that, Carly had wanted to get out of San Diego. Not so much to escape the memories but to escape the unwanted attentions of Michael’s best friend and fellow firefighter, Jerry Ryan.
Jerry had been a wonderful support after Michael’s death, but his behavior had become too familiar, bordering on obsessive, and Carly had felt trapped. She’d decided to move away from San Diego, the memories—and Jerry.
She’d rented out her home, effective January 1, intending to live off the rent and her work as a massage therapist.
Neither her parents nor Jerry were happy with her decision to move out of the state, but Carly remained resolute.
Offered a job at a new spa hotel opening in Denver, she’d accepted. She and the children had spent Christmas with her parents, then moved to the Mile High City a week before the hotel was slated to open in the new year. She’d enrolled her children in school and paid the security deposit to rent an apartment near work. But the day before opening, the hotel was firebombed. Fortunately, nobody had died, and both police and press speculated that organized crime had been responsible.
To Carly’s immense gratitude, her new landlord had been compassionate about her situation and come up with a solution. He owned an apartment building in the mountain town of Spruce Lake. In the summer it would be demolished and a new complex built in its place, but in the meantime, he had a vacancy available. If she could find herself a job in Spruce Lake, the apartment was hers. He assured her he could easily fill the vacancy in the Denver apartment she’d be leaving.
Carly had jumped at the opportunity, knowing that resort towns were often in need of massage therapists. She had her own massage table and could supplement her income by offering massages to people in the privacy of their homes.
Nearly two months had passed since that fateful day in Denver. Carly hadn’t told her parents about the firebombing and her move to Spruce Lake; she hadn’t wanted to worry them. Instead, she’d been upbeat in her emails and Skype calls.
And there was another reason she hadn’t wanted to come clean about her move. She knew Jerry kept in touch with her folks. She didn’t want him to learn where she was.
Her children had settled into Spruce Lake Elementary and were loving it. Carly liked the warmth of the community and was gradually building a client base of locals and tourists. Charlie went to daycare a couple of days a week while Carly worked. She also did a few shifts at the local spa. Finding a reliable after-school sitter for the children on the days she had to work hadn’t been too difficult—until yesterday.
If she could have replayed yesterday, she’d never have left her children with a sitter she didn’t know. And if Sarah O’Malley hadn’t come to their rescue, Carly had no idea what she could’ve done. The O’Malleys were the kindest, most giving people she’d ever met.
But the raw anger, the fear and desperation she’d experienced when she realized Charlie was missing still ate at her.
“You’ve been so … generous … and we don’t …” she started to say, but then the floodgates opened. The tears she’d held so tightly in check after the fire, the emotions she’d suppressed all through the endless night, flowed.
Conscious that she was making a complete fool of herself, Carly blubbered an apology. But warm arms enveloped her and Carly turned to cry on the offered shoulder, finding it was Mac who’d silently reentered the kitchen.
“There, there,” she heard Sarah say. “Let it all out, dear. You’ve been holding it in, being brave for too long.”
Sarah was right; she had been holding it in, putting on a brave face for her kids, and now that they’d left the room, she’d fallen apart.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Mac, lifting her head and seeing the huge damp patch on his shirt. A wad of tissues got shoved into her hand and she tried to staunch her running nose and wipe at her eyes. Mac rubbed her back in soothing circles and said, “You lean on me all you want, Carly.”
Carly sobbed at the warmth and compassion in his voice and wished her father could be there for her.
When she’d composed herself a little, she looked up into Mac’s eyes and in a vulnerable moment admitted she wished her father was there. And then she wished she could take back her words, because they were too revealing. It was too much to admit to these people who until last night were strangers.
Megan hugged Mac as well, and said, “I wish I’d had a dad like Mac. I’m so glad I married Luke.”
Grateful for Megan’s lifeline, Carly wondered what Megan’s family history had been for her to make a remark like that.
“Let’s not overdo it!” When Mac finally managed to struggle out of their embrace, he was blushing. Molly got up from her blanket and came over to nudge his leg, whimpering as if in agreement. “Women!” he muttered good-naturedly,