Pin-Up Fireman Read online

But she had fallen in love with him and his son, and right this minute her heart was breaking.

  Yes, he’d gone through a terrible event during the night, pulling two dead children from a burning house. That would push anyone over the edge for a while. Shove him or her into a depression, perhaps a deep one. But did everyone around that person have to pay too?

  Even on a Sunday evening, she pulled into her assigned parking spot on the empty lot and ran inside. She showed the security guy her pass and explained her son had left his favorite stuffed toy in her office. The elevator was halfway to her floor before she realized she’d called Matt her son. That’s when the tears started. Dammit!

  Fella was on her desk chair waiting for someone who loved him to come claim his stuffed raccoon ass. “Don’t worry, you’ll soon be with your owner. As soon as I stop the waterworks and get control of my emotions.”

  A few minutes later, she eased her RAV-4 in front of Boyd’s townhouse. She leaned her face against the steering wheel and took three deep steadying breaths. Let’s get this over with.

  Her hand wrapped around Fella, and she strode toward the Calloway’s front door. It opened and Matt ran toward her, his arms outstretched. “Graci-Fella!” He jumped into her arms, wrapped his arm around Fella and snuggled his face against her neck. “Hold me.”

  “You’ve got your raccoon. Now, you can go to sleep and dream of taking pictures.”

  He nodded against her neck. “I love you.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I love you too. You are the best boy in the whole world.” She kissed his forehead and both of his cheeks. “Time for me to head to bed too. Goodbye, Matt, my special boy.” He slid down until his feet touched the sidewalk, and she turned for her car, knowing she’d probably never see either one of the guys again. Boyd was so angry, he hadn’t even looked out the window or door, much less walked out to greet her. The chicken shit ass.

  Maybe in time she’d understand and stop hurting so much. Right now, she needed a crying jag—and God help anyone who got in her way because she was one pissed-off woman.

  She walked into work the next day with eyes that looked like she’d cried all night, which she nearly had. Except for her eyes, she had her game face on. Millions of women across the globe had been dumped by someone they loved and survived. She would too. Now she would understand why women so often cried when they came to her to file for divorce. It was the end of their dream, their emotional security as part of a couple.

  The appointment she had with her neurosurgeon after work went well. He pronounced her healed and told her she didn’t need to come back. When she asked if she could begin workouts at the gym again, he said he thought that would be great if she started slowly.

  However, she didn’t go to the gym. She went home to see if any flowers had been delivered, just as she’d waited all day at work for a bouquet with the words “I’m sorry” attached. When there were none and no phone calls, the emptiness in her heart grew and she spent another night crying.

  About eleven the following day, someone knocked at her office door. “Come on in.” She was searching through a law book for a precedent, making notes for a brief. She shoved the pencil behind her ear and spun her chair around to see who it was.

  Boyd stood there, his fingertips tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. A blue golf shirt stretched over his muscles, looking so good he almost took her breath away. She couldn’t look at him, not with her emotions floating like crushed ice in a sea of pain. She glanced at the tiny print in the book, blinking away tears that burned her eyes.

  “If you came by my office to tell me once more what a lying, lowlife you think I am, I really don’t have the time. I never represented your wife.”

  “No, that’s not why I’m here.” He made a tentative step into her inner sanctum.

  “Although, if you want to get picky, yes, I suppose I did.” She pointed to the red file on the cabinet with the word “Closed” stamped on it. “During my time off from the accident, files were removed from my stack according to when they went to trial. My first day back to work, the day I got those emails from Darryl, I also saw a red file at the top of my list that had Chantel Calloway’s name on it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t the same Calloway, but when I opened the file and read the first two pages, I knew it was.”

  He made another step toward her. “And you never thought to tell me?”

  “No, because I told my boss, Sterling Hughes, that I was dating the respondent in the case and for me to represent her would be a direct conflict of interest. He told me to call her and tell her we could no longer represent her. He had the finance department cut her a refund check for the retainer fee she’d given Elizabeth.”

  “I came by to thank you for bringing over Fella the other night. Matt adores that thing. Almost as much as he adores you.”

  “You’re a strange person, Boyd Calloway. You break up with me over the phone and, yet, make a special trip to my office to thank me for returning a stuffed toy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “I was hoping you’d have lunch with me so we can talk.”

  She jerked the pen from behind her ear and tapped her notepad. “Gee, isn’t eating lunch going to be a little difficult for you, wearing a blindfold since you said you never wanted to see me again?”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Besides, I have lunch scheduled with a client.”

  “What about supper? I could ask Aunt Jinny to keep Matt.”

  She shook her head. “No. That would look too much like a date. What if someone saw us together and figured you were ignoring your son? As it is, I’m starting back at Marcus’s Gym today. I need something to fill my evenings. If I ever have a man in my life again—and that’s a big if after the pain I’m feeling right now—I want a man who trusts me.” She looked at him for what would probably be the last time, except for finishing a few more pictures at the station.

  “You don’t have a lot of trust, do you? You don’t have any trust in the lawyer you hired to win your case for you, which is why you wouldn’t date. And we both know you have zero trust in me because I work here. You accused me of making you fall in love with me. Meanwhile I’d fallen in love with two people, so I’m hurting doubly as bad because I’ve lost twice as much. I don’t need your kind of love. It hurts too much. Just leave. I’m not supposed to have personal meetings at work.”

  Boyd did one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He turned and walked away from the woman he loved. He’d really screwed things up with her and their future. How was he going to straighten this mess? Her eyes were swollen no doubt from a lot of crying last night and he hated he’d been the cause. But she was right. He didn’t trust easily. Not after Chantel.

  He walked out into the Florida sunshine and slipped on his wraparound sunglasses. He fired up his Mustang, drove to Beach Bum Burgers, a local sandwich joint known for its gigantic burgers. He ordered one and a large icy drink. In a few minutes he sat at a bench under some palm trees along the Gulf Boulevard. He watched the waves roll in as he relived every moment of his time with Graci-Ella, the woman who had brought him back to life.

  Leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees and his face planted in his upturned palms, he faced his own errors in his loss. She’d never once hidden the fact she was a lawyer, but he’d never asked her if she had her own practice or worked for a firm. When all that business was going on with Darryl and she talked about her boss helping her, he’d never asked who her boss was. But once he found out, he’d jumped off the deep end with accusations and telling her he never wanted to see her again.

  He leaned back, his face to the sun. “Crap, I am such an ass.”

  A car’s brakes squealed and jerked into a spot next to his. Two doors squeaked opened. Someone farted. No. Please no. Not the Bald Brothers. Not today.

  “I knew it was him. Didn’t I tell you that was Boyd’s Mustang?” Milt put-putted over to one end of the bench and sat. Sam took the other end.

&nbs
p; “Son, what’s wrong? You look like your horse done died.” Milt passed gas again.

  Sam patted Boyd’s arm. “Is your son sick again?”

  “No. He’s in school. I screwed things up with Graci-Ella though. Night before last, I told her I never wanted to see her again.”

  “Why? You nearly died when she had that car wreck last month.” Sam’s forehead wrinkled.

  Maybe if he used these two old men as sounding boards, a solution would present itself. “I could really use some advice guys. Do you have a few minutes to give me?”

  Milt’s pigeon chest puffed out. “We got all the time in the world, don’t we Sam? Especially for one of our boys.”

  Boyd gave them the short version of his marriage and divorce.

  Milt farted. “Wait, you came home to find your neighbor and his buddy in bed with your wife? She was boinking two men at once?”

  “They call that a ménage a train.” Sam nodded.

  “No, Sam, ménage a trois. He’s not into sex games the way I am.” Milt winked and elbowed Boyd.

  What the hell made me think this would be a freaking good idea?

  He proceeded with how he was served with papers after the divorce suing him for custody of Matt. How he’d hired an attorney who advised him to lead a clean life to show the court he was a good example for the child and thus the most desirable and dependable of the two parents. He explained how he refused to be part of the firefighters’ calendar, fearful even that would classify him as an unfit father.

  “But you met Graci-Ella and fell for her hard. Damn near love at first sight, just like Barclay and my Molly.” Sam pulled off his Grandpa ballcap and wiped the sweat off his bald head with his handkerchief.

  “I just couldn’t seem to stay away from her. Then the accident and the operation.” He sighed. “I was a goner, even though she never made a secret about being an attorney. I just never asked where.”

  “Oh Christ, don’t tell me…” Milt farted.

  Boyd continued with the tale of how Graci-Ella ended up with Chantel’s custody case. How he found out about it and acted like an ass over the phone. By the time he was through with the telling of his romantic misery, both of the old men had an arm around his shoulder, patting him in male commiseration.

  “This is gonna take all three of us putting our heads together.” Sam nodded.

  Boyd’s balls drew up in fear. Hell, I’m in deep shit.

  A string of gas erupted. “Whew! You stepped in a pile of crapola with this one. I’m tellin’ ya, no one can hold a grudge like a pissed off woman.” Milt jabbed his bony chest with his thumb. “I was married to one. I know. A bouquet of flowers will never undo this hell of a mess. Maybe a combination. Leave a note at her door every day. A card. A poem you wrote. A picture of you and Matt. Give us her address and we’ll take it by on days you work. Do it six days a week, so she wonders on the days you don’t. You told her you never wanted to see her again? Man, you hurt her to the core with that statement. It’s gonna take a while for her to get over it.”

  “Ring her doorbell, hand her one perfect flower and give her a short kiss. Then leave without saying a word. Keep her off balance. Invite her out on a date. Eventually, she’ll forget why she’s pissed at you.” Sam nodded at his sage advice.

  “She’ll have me arrested for stalking her.”

  Milt gave him his one narrowed eye look. “Not if you skip a day, now and then. Does she go to a gym to work out? Show up there. Anything to keep her thinking about you.”

  “Do you want to hear the real joke in all of this? The night Graci-Ella brought over Matt’s raccoon, I was on the phone with Chantel. She wants to drop the custody case. She’s pregnant and says she can only handle one kid at a time. She agreed to give up all rights to Matthew. I was at my lawyer’s this morning to have him draw up the papers for her to sign. Of course I won’t believe her change of heart until I have her signature on the agreement and it’s filed with the court. So, looks like I get the boy, but lose the woman. How’s that for a kick in the ass?” Boyd ran his fingers through his hair. “Of course I’ll be holding my breath Chantel doesn’t change her mind before everything’s official. Stable, she’s not.”

  “So, what are you gonna do, son?”

  “Guess I’ll go shopping for some cards and check into a visitor’s pass at Marcus’s gym. You two have been a big help. Thanks to both of you. He got up to leave and so did they. He wrapped an arm around each old coot. “I’m sure glad you stopped.”

  “You know all you need to do is ask.” Milt farted again. “You’re one of our boys.”

  “Wish my dad was half the man you two are. He ditched the family when I was twelve. Thank God for Uncle Toby, Aunt Jinny’s husband. He was a good man. Now I’ve got you two.”

  Both men wiped their eyes and glanced around as if they hadn’t been crying. “Good luck, boy.” Sam waved before he got into Milt’s Cutlass. Milt grabbed Boyd in an impromptu hug. “It’s you boys at the station that keeps me alive. You make me feel needed.” He got in the car, fired her up and backed onto Gulf Boulevard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Graci-Ella worked like a fiend the rest of the day, trying to forget her earlier visitor. A handsome man, with piercing grey eyes and muscles that felt both safe and exciting when wrapped around her, who stood in front of her, contrite with apology.

  Apology, my ass.

  He’d accused her of warming up to him on purpose, of chasing after him to win his heart and working deceitfully to take his son away from him. Hadn’t he come to know her any better than that? Was there no real attraction? No enduring love? No truth in his words about their future?

  Forking her fingers through her hair, lifting it off her neck, she groaned. She had to stop this. Otherwise she’d be on the verge of tears for days and she refused to give into that weakness. Which was why she had to begin exercising at the gym again. A good workout always reduced her stress levels. The way she felt today, she’d be there until closing.

  In the dressing room of the gym, she changed from her office wear into a mint Lycra tank, grey Lycra shorts and sneakers. She grabbed her water bottle and sweat towel before she strode out to the gymnasium where she hopped on a stationary bike and began a slow pedaling, increasing her speed every few minutes.

  Fifteen minutes later, she moved to the treadmills and chose one between a man and a middle-aged woman. Graci-Ella blotted the sweat with her towel as she punched in the speed and incline of the treadmill, starting off at a fast walk. She’d just increased the speed for the second time when the guy, next to her, shut down his machine, wiped it off with disinfectant and moved onto the weight machines. The lady on her other side engaged her in some polite conversation when someone stepped onto the empty treadmill and powered it up.

  A combination of events told her who the person was. The middle-aged lady’s visual reaction and her whispering, “My God, I think my ovaries just rolled over in pure joy. Check out the hunk next to you.” Graci-Ella didn’t need to. Every hair and hormone in her body was standing at attention. It had to be Boyd.

  “What are you doing here?” She shot him a scowl.

  “Working out.” He flashed her a grin. The ass.

  “I thought you used the weight room at the station.”

  “It’s my day off, so I thought I’d give this place a try.” As he glanced around nonchalantly, pretending to check out the equipment, her pinky accidently touched the speed button on his control panel—three times. He nearly stumbled to keep up with the sudden acceleration.

  “While you’re here, maybe you can educate me on some of the equipment. I only do a few pieces. The ones I know.”

  “I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re talking to me. I figured I’d get a cold reception.”

  “Why?” She gave her mother’s patented eye batting routine. “Just because you broke up with me and accused me of things that shattered my heart? One of the things the coach drills into you, playing basketball is not to hold a gru
dge, but to keep on going.” She shrugged as she ran. “An elbow in the eye or a knockdown on your ass and, once the game’s over, you forget it.”

  She pointed to one of the machines. “I’ve never used that piece of equipment over there. What part of the body does it work out?”

  He glanced around and so did her pinky, increasing the rate of incline on his machine. His legs pounded away. He looked back. “Which one?”

  “See the guy in the red t-shirt and blond hair?” Boyd nodded; her pinky tapped the speed button again a few times. “It’s the machine he’s on. See how it lifts him off the ground?”

  “Yeah?”

  She increased her own speed and incline so there wasn’t such a noticeable disparity between his and hers. “I see how he pulls his weight down, using his arms, but how does he get up there in the first place? I mean, I wouldn’t know how to get on the darn thing.”

  Boyd studied it for a moment while his legs pumped away and her pinky inched over to tap his incline and speed buttons a few more times. Sweat began to pour off him, kind of like her tears did last night.

  “I’ve got five more minutes to run and then I’m stopping. I did twenty on the bike. If I can do twenty on this, then that will be enough for my first day back.” She touched her speed button another time running hard before she began slowing the machine down in increments.

  Once the treadmill stopped, she grabbed some paper towels and a bottle of spray disinfectant. “Enjoy your time here.” She began spraying and wiping down the surfaces she’d touched. “Oh, a word of warning. I’ll be at the station tomorrow night to finish up my pictures. The guys won’t enjoy the process as much without Flash, but since I’m not allowed to see him anymore, I’ll photograph alone. I will need you for a boat shot with the rest of the marine rescue crew, but it’ll be a back shot. No one will see your face. And I’ll choose someone else for the cover of the calendar. I won’t put you in a difficult position with your trial coming up.” She tossed her paper towels in the trashcan below where the spray bottles were stored and stormed away.