Protecting What's Mine(48)

But, historically, the longer the station went without a big call, the weirder his crew got. It was already happening, Linc noted, when he spotted a group of his volunteers sitting around a kid’s wading pool trying to flip quarters into floating cups. The men participating were sporting varying stages of facial hair. The women—well, he wasn’t close enough to tell, but in solidarity, most of them had committed to not shaving their legs.

The weird and wonderful camaraderie of a fire company.

“Hey, Cap’n!” Al, a fifteen-year volunteer and driver engineer, gave him a wave.

“What happened to your ’stache, Al?” Linc asked. The man stroked a hand over what was now only half of a sparse mustache.

“Lost a bet. Had to shave half of it.” He grinned. Betting and losing bets was a way of life in the BFD. Since making chief, Linc steered clear of the betting. Though he distinctly remembered the last one he’d lost. He’d had to dye his hair blue and call himself Papa Smurf.

“How’d Rocco take that?” Two years ago, Al had married his long-time boyfriend in a ceremony attended by the entire department. The happy couple was whisked away from the reception on the back of a ladder truck in an impromptu Benevolence parade. Linc had been prepared for flak from the city and was fully intending to cover the cost of gas on his own dime when the mayor showed up with a wedding gift and her congratulations for the happy couple.

“Rocco threatened to shave off the other half if it doesn’t look better by his niece’s quincea?era. I think the motivation will make it grow back faster,” Al said optimistically.

Linc climbed up to ride shotgun in the boxy tanker truck. Brody pulled the behemoth out of the bay doors and made a wide, slow turn onto the road. Two-thousand gallons of water sloshed behind them in the tank, ready and waiting to be put to good use.

“Your doc isn’t used to people being nice to her,” Brody said without preamble.

“Don’t I know it,” Linc said, sliding on a pair of sunglasses.

“Can’t help but wonder what that’s all about,” Brody mused. “She ever say where she got that scar?”

Linc shook his head, shot his buddy a glance. “You think they’re related?”

“Got a feeling,” Brody said, patting a hand over his heart.

Linc did, too.

“She’s pretty tight-lipped on where she’s from.”

“You could ask,” Brody suggested. “Seein’ as how you two are spending time slow dancing at Remo’s and all.”

Linc smirked. His friend knew how to time the delivery of good gossip.

“I could. But that doesn’t mean she’d answer.” He’d put money on that.

“The strong, silent type,” his friend sighed. He eased the tanker around a corner, waved to a pack of kids, home from school and desperate to play, in a front yard.

“On the money.”

“You could look her up. Run a background.”

“And ruin the fun of playing getting-to-know-you?” Linc hated to admit that he’d had the same thought. But he dismissed it after envisioning her righteously pissed-off response to the invasion of privacy.

It was better to be patient. To earn her confidence.

“Haven’t heard of you hitting the singles’ nights anywhere lately,” Brody mused, making a wide turn into the service station and tooting the horn.

“Haven’t been interested lately.”

Brody’s grin was broad. “It’s about damn time. The doc might need some convincing.”

“I’m a persuasive guy,” Linc said confidently.





“Honey, I’m home,” Linc called through the no longer squeaky screen door of Mack’s house. It was what could be dubbed an autumn night. The air was cooler, with an edge of crispness to it. Every cottage window was wide open, inviting the evening breeze inside.

Sunshine ran a celebratory lap around the living room before launching herself at the door.

“Don’t take it too seriously,” Mack said, limping over to open it for him. “She did the same thing after I came back from the bathroom.”

“How’s my beautiful girl?” he asked, ruffling Sunshine’s fur with one hand.

“I’d be better if people stopped showing up at my house,” Mack answered with a quirk of her lips.

“Long day of socializing?” he asked, noting that despite the complaint, she seemed happier than she’d been this morning.

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the coffee table where three gift bags and a fruit platter waited. “You have no idea.”

“I grew up here,” he countered. “I can imagine.”

“You’d think I cured cancer with one arm tied behind my back,” she said, gimping out of his way as he came inside. “I was just doing my job.”

“And they’re grateful for that, Dreamy. So am I.” He produced the riotous bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back with a flourish.

She sighed, and he knew he’d hit on a weakness. There wasn’t much about Mackenzie O’Neil that said soft and romantic. But the woman appreciated flowers.

“You’re giving our neighbors the wrong idea,” she complained.

“I’m hoping I’m giving you the right idea. Besides, I figured the ones from your first day at work had to be potpourri by now.”