The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish Read online

  “I’ll get her.” Frankie nodded, and when she turned back, she saw that Fletcher and Sebastian had already dragged the connector hoses out to get the hydrant water running through the engine. Frankie retrieved her helmet and facemask just as the SUV pulled in behind the engine. Roman, Kendall and Kurt Murphy sprang out.

  “What do we have?” Roman demanded.

  “Kitchen’s in the back of the house. Sounds like a stove fire.” Frankie filled him in. “Daughter’s in a second-floor room. Won’t come out. We need to go up. Now.”

  “You said the daughter’s special needs. What’s her situation?” Roman walked beside Frankie as she headed up the walkway to the porch.

  “She’s autistic. Mostly uncommunicative with strangers, but I know her a little.” Frankie could only hope Amelia would remember her, otherwise this was going to turn into a fight, which would only compound the situation.

  “Right. Kendall and Fletcher, head in with the hoses,” Roman ordered. “Let’s hope we get lucky and it’s confined to the kitchen. Report in when you get a look. Kurt, you’ve got RIC duty.”

  “Understood,” Kurt said with a slow nod. Being the rapid intervention crew or individual meant he would remain on standby in case any of the firefighters going into the house needed help.

  “Keep an eye on those hoses, too,” Roman added.

  “Understood.” Kendall hefted the nozzle and hose over one shoulder and dragged it and Fletcher with her.

  “Let’s go—” Frankie said to Roman, but she found he’d walked away and was talking with Shirley. “Chief, we need to—” Frankie heard the distinctive release of the fire extinguishers inside. Puffs of white mingled with the gray snaking out the front door. “Chief!”

  Roman held his hand out behind him as if to say hold on. He was nodding as Shirley rattled on, hands flailing in panic.

  Frankie’s pulse kicked in double time as Kendall reported in through the intercom in her helmet. They didn’t have time to waste chatting. Smoke continued to churn out of the house, even as Kendall said they were getting it under control.

  Her blood pounded in her ears. They had to get in there, get Amelia, in case the fire sneaked past them or hit a gas line. She looked back one last time then, realizing Roman wasn’t done with his conversation, went on ahead. She pulled on her mask, tucked her helmet down low on her head and stepped into the smoke.

  Once inside the house, she noticed that most of the fire had been contained by the extinguishers. The thick smoke was still billowing. Blinding. It always stunned her how pitch-black a house could get with even the smallest fire. As she turned toward the stairs, she saw Kurt reach out and yank open the second window in the kitchen while Kendall doused the flames. Unshakable Kendall, who had served multiple tours in Afghanistan and barely lived to tell the tale. Now here she was again, right in the middle of the action. No hesitation.

  “Frankie!” Her name snapped in her ear as a hand clamped around her arm. Foot on the first stair, she looked back into the most ferocious glare she’d ever seen. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?” Roman demanded. “You wait for backup!”

  “We don’t have time to play meet the neighbors,” she snapped back. “We have to get Amelia out of here.”

  “Agreed. You lead. But we will discuss this later. Kendall! Out here!” When Kendall emerged from the kitchen, he pointed to the licking flames inching toward the staircase.

  “Got it!” Kendall confirmed. “Flames in the kitchen are out.”

  Frankie flinched, knowing full well their intercoms were linked with the three volunteers who were also on scene and had heard every word of her exchange with Roman.

  “Go, Frankie.” He gave her a nudge.

  Smoke continued to snake through the house. Wood and plaster crackled and cracked in the distance. Frankie took quick but deliberate steps, assessing each stair’s strength before moving up. They reached the second floor, and when she looked behind them, she saw the smoke beginning to thin.

  Frankie turned left, looking for the drawing-covered door toward the front of the house. “Ladder truck?” Roman yelled.

  “Can’t wait! Amelia?” Frankie screamed through her mask. She turned the doorknob and found it locked. But at least it wasn’t hot. “Amelia, it’s Frankie Bettencourt. Remember me? I took you for a ride in the fire engine a while ago?”

  “Stand back.” Roman pulled her aside and lifted his foot to kick the door open.

  Frankie raced in and found Amelia huddled in the corner of her room, an old rag doll clutched against her chest, tears streaming down her face. “Hot. Hot, hot, hot. Too close. Go away. Too, too close.”

  “Amelia, it’s me, Frankie.” Frankie kept a distance and crouched down. She pointed to her face, but she knew Amelia didn’t look people in the eye and the mask only made it more difficult. “Amelia, do you and your dolly remember going for a ride in the big truck?”

  “Wooo-wooo.” Amelia nodded fast, her thick black hair bobbing around her face. She began coughing.

  “That’s right. Amelia, we have to go. Can you come with me?” Frankie held out her hand.

  Amelia shook her head. “No go. Stay. Stay here.”

  “Hey, Amelia.” Frankie turned at the sound of Roman’s voice as he dropped down beside her. “My name is Roman. May I call you Amelia?”

  “We don’t have time—” Roman cut Frankie off with a sharp shake of his head. He was right. She could hear Kendall and Sebastian’s chatter saying the fire was completely out.

  “Amelia, I need you to be really brave for a little while,” Roman soothed. “Can you do that? Can you help me get your doll outside? She’s going to be awfully sick if we don’t leave.”

  “Dolly sick?” Amelia blinked, looked down at her doll. “Don’t want Dolly to be sick. Hot. Hot, hot, hot.”

  “It is hot in here.” The calmness in Roman’s voice made Frankie think they were taking a Sunday stroll. “And that’s not good for Dolly. I can take you outside. Will you let me put this on you so you and Dolly can breathe better?”

  Amelia coughed and, to Frankie’s surprise, she lifted her doll up to Roman. “You’ll help Dolly?”

  “I’ll help Dolly.” Roman moved closer. “But you have to come with us. It’s the only thing that will help her.”

  “Frankie?” Amelia blinked, and tears streaked her soot-stained face.

  “Let Roman help you, Amelia. Please. Your mama is so worried about you and Dolly.”

  Amelia nodded.

  “Check the stairs,” Roman ordered as he reached for a wooden box on the dresser and stuck it in his pocket.

  Frankie raced out of the room and found the heat in the hall easing a bit.

  “We’re good!” she called and watched as Roman draped Amelia and her dolly over his shoulder. He motioned for her to lead the way. She could hear Amelia crying, then sobbing, but Roman kept a solid hold on her as they descended the stairs, and soon, they were outside.

  “Amelia! Oh, Amelia.” Shirley broke free of BethAnn’s hold, leaving concerned neighbors behind as she raced forward. “Oh, my baby.” Shirley dropped to her knees as Roman set Amelia on the overgrown, scratchy grass.

  Roman removed the box from his pocket, cranked the gear and opened the lid. The tinny tune calmed Amelia immediately. He waited a moment, rested a hand on Amelia’s face as she relaxed in her mother’s arms.

  “Call for an ambulance,” Roman told Frankie, who raced back to the truck and requested one. Before she could hang up the receiver, she looked back to find Roman, facemask back in place, heading into the house.

  More sirens sounded as two deputy vehicles arrived. Sheriff Luke Saxon and Ozzy instantly began to keep the observers far enough away that Frankie and her team could do their jobs. Her intercom buzzed. She could hear the conversation between Roman and the volunteers and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard they
were coming out. Smoke continued to drift from the house, but things were under control.

  “How bad is it?” Shirley asked, fear filling her eyes. “Will I lose my house?”

  “However bad it is, you’ll be okay,” Frankie told her as she removed her helmet and mask. “You and Amelia will be taken care of, I promise.” If there was one thing Butterfly Harbor always did, it was take care of their own.

  Shirley cried, clutching her daughter and rocking her back and forth to the point that Amelia looked rather irritated, as her music box had stopped.

  Frankie waved over Ozzy to stay with Shirley before she went to Roman and the crew. “Well?”

  “It’s pretty much wiped out the kitchen,” Roman told her. “Some damage to the front hall. I wouldn’t want anyone living in there until it can be assessed, and the water didn’t help, of course. But it could have been worse.” He looked admiringly at the volunteers who were congregating by the truck, removing their masks and helmets. “It could have been a lot worse.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ROMAN CLICKED SAVE before he printed out his report hours later. While he waited for the printer to chug out the copy, he caught a glimpse of Frankie in the kitchen attacking a can of cranberry sauce with a strength that amazed him.

  He grabbed the report, scribbled his name, set it in the box for filing and submission, then took a few extra moments for some deep breaths.

  The ride back to the station house had been...quiet. Frankie had finally ignited his temper when he’d realized she’d gone into that house without him. Watching her disappear into the smoke, every cell in his body had constricted. He tried to tell himself he’d have felt the same way no matter who it had been among his crew, but he wasn’t so sure. And that, more than anything else, unsettled him.

  After a shower and a change of clothes, they’d retreated to their respective spots, with Frankie in the kitchen and Roman in the office. His irritation had lowered to a simmer.

  He returned to the stove and lit the burner. “Report’s filed.”

  “Great.”

  “Not really, no.” He leaned against the counter and shoved his hands into his pockets, mainly because he knew otherwise he’d be clenching his fists in frustration. “You never should have gone in that house without backup.”

  “Without backup or without you?” Frankie dumped the mix of carrots, celery and onion into an oversize frying pan before reaching for the thyme on the windowsill.

  “Without backup. You didn’t respond on your intercom. Why not?”

  She swung on him. “I did...so.” Doubt flickered in her eyes.

  “Did you? Or was it just you decided not to listen?”

  “You were wasting time.”

  “I was finding the right way to approach Amelia.” In his experience, keeping a calm tone, even when angry, revealed the other person’s true intentions and thoughts. “Shirley told me Amelia’s doll would be the only thing she would be worried about. She wouldn’t have any concept of her own safety. So by approaching Amelia in that sense, we got her out faster and easier than fighting her.”

  “And the music box?”

  “Her father made it for her. And it calms her down.” He prided himself on being able to control his emotions, but if things continued along this route, his temper was going to get the better of him and his professionalism would take a hit. “When we have time on a call, I open every door that’s available, literally and figuratively, Frankie. The fires aren’t just about the fires. They’re about the people they affect.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Hostility radiated from her.

  “You’re letting whatever residual animosity you have over losing the promotion impact how you do your job. I won’t work like that, Frankie. I can’t. I can learn the secret codes and the ins and outs of this town, but I can’t have someone at my back I don’t trust and who doesn’t trust me.”

  “Trust is earned.” Her tone had softened, he hoped by honest reflection.

  “Yes, it is. And so far, you haven’t earned mine. I’ve apologized all I’m going to for accepting this job, even though I didn’t owe you an apology in the first place. Whatever issues you and Gil have, work it out between you and keep me out of it. Keep it out of the station. You need to decide and decide fast if you can find a way to work with and for me. Otherwise we’re both putting Butterfly Harbor and its people in danger.”

  “Knock, knock! Anyone home?” Knuckles rapped on the door frame, and Roman looked over to a man who could only have been Frankie’s brother. He had the same frame to his face, and the same lively eyes, only where Frankie’s sparked like dormant flame most times, this man’s were alight with humor. “I’ve got my infamous green bean casserole with bacon and... I’m interrupting, something, aren’t I?”

  Roman shook his head and pushed off the counter. “Not at all. Just getting a few things settled. You must be Monty.” He walked over and held out his hand. “Roman Salazar. Nice to finally meet you.”

  “Yeah, you, too.” Monty’s congeniality shifted to concern. “Frankie? You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The snap in her voice should have made her brother wince, but he inclined his head, silently asking her if this was her answer. “Sorry. I’m fine, Monty. Rough morning.”

  “Yeah, I heard. How are Shirley and Amelia?”

  Roman took the offered casserole dish from Monty and set it in the one empty spot on the kitchen table. “They’re okay. It’ll be a while before they can go back home, so they’re staying with a neighbor until then.”

  “Which neighbor?” Monty shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on one of the hooks by the door.

  “Charlotte Scoggins. Her daughter stays with Amelia when Shirley has to run errands. It’ll be unsettling for them for a while, but like Roman said.” Frankie cleared her throat. “It could have been worse. If you’ll excuse me for a minute.” She wiped her hands on a towel and hurried out of the kitchen past her brother.

  “Frankie?” Monty reached out, but she moved too quick. He swung on Roman. “What happened?”

  “Adjustment pains” was all Roman said. “You want a beer?”

  “Depends. Would that be considered consorting with the enemy?”

  “Not by my standards.” Roman returned to building his lasagna, waiting for the calm that descended whenever he cooked. He knew a lot of firefighters considered the cooking part of the job an obligation and a chore. Personally? He loved it. But judging from the amount of food provided by various members of the community, cooking was one firehouse tradition he might have to forgo for a while. “I’m neither hero nor villain in this situation. I’m just a guy who took a job that was offered to him.” He snapped open a bottle of water he’d grabbed earlier. “You want to hold that against me, too?”

  “Consider me Switzerland,” Monty said as he retrieved a beer. “But only when Frankie isn’t around. Twin obligation and all.”

  “Twins?” Roman shouldn’t have been surprised. “Let me guess. Frankie’s older.”

  Monty grinned. “By three minutes. And she never lets me forget it. She fixing Dad’s Thanksgiving pot pie?” He took a seat, shaking his head as he looked at the mess she’d made. “Never mind. I’d recognize these remnants anywhere. And that’s lasagna, huh?” Monty tipped back the bottle. “Now that’s a new one.”

  “It usually is. Frankie tells me you charter boats. You do fishing trips?”

  “Some. Mostly it’s whale watching and coastal views.”

  “Been a while since I’ve been out on the water.” Longing tangled with grief as memories of weekends spent on the water with his father descended like a tidal wave. “How much for half a day?”

  “Depends on how many passengers.” Monty rattled off numbers. “I imagine there’d be interest from friends if you want to make it a group outing.”

  “Seems a good way to get to
know people.” And make some friends, which, Roman was beginning to realize, he would need if he was going to survive his tenure in Butterfly Harbor. “Probably won’t catch a whole lot this time of year.”

  “Like a fishing trip is about catching fish.” Monty looked over his shoulder to where his sister had vanished. “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on with Frankie?”

  “I’m sure. But, to be honest, she might feel differently.”

  * * *

  WASHING THE ENGINE had become Jasper’s job in the last few weeks. One of those probie tasks most veterans were happy to pass off. But when Frankie needed to work off a good mad, especially when mad at herself, there was little more helpful than a pressure hose and a long-handled scrub brush.

  After pulling the engine out of the bay and dousing it with water, she dug in, scrubbing every inch from the top of the cab to the bottom of the wheel wells. She was almost done when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Kendall and Phoebe MacBride heading up the hill. How, Frankie wondered for the millionth time, did Kendall not wear a jacket? That uniform of hers—jeans and a dark tank top—only made Frankie shiver, and it wasn’t even cold aside from the brisk breeze blowing in over the ocean a few blocks away.

  “Hi, Aunt Frankie!” Phoebe pulled her hand free of Kendall’s and raced up the last of the hill, launching herself at Frankie seconds after Frankie turned off the hose.

  “Ugh!” Frankie’s exaggerated groan as she hoisted the little girl into her arms had Phoebe giggling. “You’re getting too big for me to carry, Phoebs. What are you guys doing here?”

  “We’re on our way to Calliope’s,” Kendall said. “Phoebe made something for you.”

  “You did?” Frankie jostled Phoebe—who was actually small for her age—on her hip. “What did you make me?”

  “This!” Phoebe reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. “It’s an I’m sorry you didn’t get to be chief card.” She pushed the paper against Frankie’s suddenly constricted chest. “Mom said you were sad about it, and I wanted to make you feel better. It has daisies on it,” she announced proudly as Frankie set her back on the ground so she could look at the card more closely. “Daisies make people happy. Right, Mom?”