The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish Read online

  “Same as always,” Myra snapped. “Clear or colored bulbs. We alternate every year, but none of us can remember which we did last year. Harold swears we did color. Marty says white. Mind you, we haven’t gotten to the discussion over twinkle or steady burn yet...”

  Roman motioned to Jasper to continue the conversation with Myra as he headed over to where the ladder leaned up against the gutter. The damp earth had sucked the stabilizing feet a good inch into the mud, and not evenly. How either of these guys had scrambled onto the roof safely would remain a mystery.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen.” Roman gave a quick wave of acknowledgment. “Perhaps this discussion would be better had on sturdy ground?”

  “We’re almost done.” Marty gestured with a tangled ball of lights as if in triumph. “Just have to untangle these and drape them over the—”

  “Those are the wrong lights!” Harold spat. “We bought new ones last year, remember? LEDs so they don’t burn out.”

  “We got those for next year because they’re white. And if we got new ones, where are they?”

  “I can’t remember where I put them. Oscar’s looking for them now.”

  “Harold? Marty?” Roman moved closer, shielded his eyes against the bright sun. “Guys, it would make Myra and Eloise and even me feel a whole lot better if you’d come down off the roof.”

  “Young’un thinks we’re too old to do our jobs.” Harold glared down at him. “I’ve been hanging Christmas lights since you were crawling around in your diaper.”

  Oh, if only his mother could hear this conversation. “I’m sure you were, sir, but that doesn’t change the fact you’re worrying your friends. Now, please, come down.” Roman locked his hand around the ladder and gave it a good jerk to test its sturdiness. “Or else I’m coming up after you.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Marty looked more offended than concerned. “We don’t need your help! We’re doing just fine.” To prove his point, he did what Roman could only assume was his toned-down version of a jig. “Whoops!” One of his feet slipped, but he caught himself and managed to avoid falling.

  “Down!” Roman was done playing nice. “Both of you. Now.”

  Given Harold had reached out to grab his friend’s arm when he slipped, the two men nodded in unison. “Okay, okay. You win. Roof’s still wet from the rain last night. That’s the only reason I—”

  “Stop making excuses and get down here,” Myra called from behind Roman. She grabbed hold of Roman’s arm and squeezed. “Thank you. Frankie’s trained you well.”

  Roman bit the inside of his cheek when Jasper covered a laugh with a cough. “Yes, ma’am.” He watched every step the two men made on their way down and breathed a sigh of relief when they were beside him. “Now.” Roman looked up to where Marty had left the bundle of lights on the roof. “I think we can all agree that the world will not come to an end if, perchance, you repeat the color scheme of last year.”

  “The color of the lights determines which additional decorations we use on the lawn,” Marty explained as if Roman were a child. “With white lights we use a Santa and his sleigh theme. If we use multicolor, we go with snowmen.”

  “Heaven forbid we make any changes,” Myra muttered. “They won’t even let us talk about the angels we’ve got that we’ve never used.”

  “Or the Rudolph we got a few years ago at a clearance sale,” Eloise called. “By the time we use him, his nose bulb will be burned out.”

  “Oh, the inflatable Rudolph!” Myra clasped her hands to her mouth. “I’d forgotten about him. We talked about using a leaf blower to blow it up.”

  The very idea of anyone in this house using a leaf blower made Roman nauseated. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Harold, Marty, you’ll supervise. But from down here. Whatever new lights Oscar finds will be what goes up this year. Jasper and I are happy to get them up as long as we don’t get another call.” He’d never been so conflicted about wanting an emergency in his life. If his radio remained silent, he’d be stuck stringing lights all afternoon. If they got a call, chances were he’d be back in a few hours replaying this entire scene.

  “You ever string lights, young’un?” Marty didn’t look convinced.

  “Used to help my dad every year,” Roman confirmed. “How about I take those old lights of yours back with me to the station and we’ll see about recycling them?”

  Harold grimaced and looked back up on the roof. “We left them up there.”

  “I’ll get them,” Jasper offered.

  “It’s okay.” Roman was already grabbing the ladder and hoisting it out of the muck. “I’m going to move this over to where it’s cement and not mud.” He looked at the two old men as if they should have thought about that themselves.

  “Oh, but we start here because—”

  “It’s not safe here.” He clanged the ladder down, planting it solidly against the side of the porch overhang. Inside the garage, he could hear muttering and swearing as someone moved boxes around. Oscar, Roman assumed, searching for their missing lights.

  “I don’t know about this.” Marty shook his head. “That’s not how we usually do it. We tried it one year. Why didn’t we do it again?”

  “Can’t recall,” Harold said. “Only know it’s not—”

  Roman ignored them as he headed up the ladder. He could see the hooks from where last year’s lights must have hung. Behind him, he heard the telltale squeak of Oscar Bedemeyer’s walker.

  “Found them!” The triumphant cry caused Roman to give silent thanks for whatever force had guided Oscar to finding the right lights so quickly. “They were in a box marked ‘plumbing supplies.’ Don’t know what darned fool...”

  Roman stopped listening. “Frankie does this every year,” Roman muttered to himself as he headed for the roof. “Woman deserves a medal.” He could see the tangle of lights across the porch overhang as he moved to step off the ladder.

  “I’ve got them. Here I come!” Oscar declared, and a telltale clang cut through the air. The ladder under Roman’s feet vibrated. As he looked down, he could see the wheels of Oscar’s walker had caught the foot of the ladder. “What in land sakes is this ladder doing here?”

  Roman had heard stories about time slowing down to the point of going still. He’d never experienced it before. Until now. In only a matter of seconds, the ladder was knocked out from under him and he’d grabbed hold of the shingled roof, splinters slicing into his fingers. He heard Jasper cry out, and from the corner of his eye, Roman saw the young man race forward, arms waving. But Roman’s hands slipped free. He felt himself fall, and when he landed, he did so with an odd crack, partially on the ladder.

  Head ringing, body numb, he rolled to the ground, trying to catch the breath that had been driven out of him.

  “Chief?” Jasper was leaning over him, hands reaching out to help before he must have remembered his training and so stopped himself. “Chief? You okay?”

  “What in green acres was he doing up there on that ladder?” Oscar demanded as he and his walker clicked his way over, the four boxes of industrial white lights stuffed into the swinging leather pouch. “That looked like it hurt.”

  Roman finally sucked in enough breath to let out a groan. The pain, when it hit, shot straight up from his toes.

  “Sir?” Jasper planted a hand on his chest to stop him from moving.

  “Hang on,” Roman gasped. “Taking inventory.” He tried to push beyond the numbness. He could feel a bruise forming on his forehead and he could taste blood, but he knew better than to try to move his neck. Better safe than sorry, even though he was beginning to feel every pain-pounding cell in his body. “I think I’m okay.” He wiggled his toes...on his left foot. On his right? Oh, man. He sucked in a breath, his hand going down to his leg. “Nope. Scratch that. Jasper, check my right leg.” He had four old faces peering down at him as if he he’d been plucked from the
planet and put on display for his alien abductors. All that was missing was a probe.

  He could feel the kid’s hands on his leg and knew by the suddenly pale color of Jasper’s cheeks he’d confirmed what Roman suspected. “I think it’s broken.”

  “Yeah.” Roman didn’t nod. He took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. “Okay, you got your cell? Call Frankie. Tell her we need an ambulance. And then have her call for some volunteers to meet you here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” Roman sucked in a breath as his chest tightened. “We need to get those Christmas lights up.”

  * * *

  “FRANKIE?”

  “Hey, Paige.” Frankie glanced up from her phone, clicking it off as she leaned an arm against the emergency room check-in desk. “How is he?”

  She couldn’t remember feeling quite so frazzled. Her hands were shaking and her stomach was leaping like an out-of-place toad at a frog-jumping contest.

  She’d known, logically at least, Roman was okay. He was in good hands, from the paramedics to the ER staff, which included nurse Paige Bradley. But as many times as Frankie told herself she had nothing to worry about, she couldn’t shake the desire, the need, to see for herself that Roman was all right.

  Luckily, Ozzy had been working out at the station and offered to keep an eye on things. Meanwhile, she headed over with Sebastian to check on the volunteers stringing what would soon become an infamous set of Christmas lights. Given Roman’s orders to Jasper before the ambulance had arrived, she knew he’d want to know his reason for going out on the call in the first place would be taken care of.

  It was. But her stomach was still a roiling mess. Roman hadn’t been on the job for a month and here he was, injured. She’d read his file. Roman wasn’t careless. In fact, his list of injuries over the past decade had been minor at best.

  It was guilt, she told herself. Guilt because she should have taken the call. She knew the Cocoon Club took special handling, but she’d sent him out there anyway. That said, who could have known Oscar and his weaponized walker would go on a rampage? She could have known, she reminded herself. She should have known. Yes, guilt. Because to consider any other emotion where Roman was concerned would just open a door to a place she did not want to go.

  “Roman’s fine.” Paige’s sunshine-yellow scrubs were so bright it almost hurt to look at her. With her neat ponytail bobbing behind her, her eyes were sympathetic but didn’t hold any concern. The combination instantly relaxed Frankie. “Well, he will be given a little time. He’s pretty bruised up. Ribs, left shoulder. And he broke his nose. Not for the first time, from what he’s told us.”

  “No.” By Frankie’s recollection, this would be number four.

  “The break in his leg is clean, so he won’t need surgery, but he’ll be in a cast for a good six weeks. More if he doesn’t follow orders and use crutches.” Paige’s tone stressed that fact specifically, and Frankie accepted the unspoken order to make certain he did as he was told.

  “Can I see him?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Paige motioned for her to follow. “We’re taking him in for an MRI in a bit. Doctor’s pretty sure he’s got a mild concussion, so he’s here at least overnight. He’s a little loopy. We gave him a shot for the pain, but also because he tried to get out of bed twice.”

  “Of course he did.” Something told Frankie her already-full hands were about to overflow. “Huh, isn’t this a sight?” Frankie purposely kept her tone light and amused as Paige led her into Roman’s room. With him in it, the space felt as if she’d stepped into a doll’s house. He took up every inch of the bed. His leg had been prewrapped for a cast and was resting on a mound of pillows. The bruise on his forehead had Frankie wincing in sympathy, as did his swelling nose. He was going to have some serious black eyes come tomorrow. “You just couldn’t make this easy on me, could you?” Relief had swept over her at seeing him. She had to clear her throat of the emotion. He was a mess, but he was alive. “Everything has to be a production with you.”

  “Hey there, Frankie.” Roman’s head lolled against the pillow, and he gave her a goofy smile. “I was wondering when you’d turn up.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone.” Paige gave her a pat on the arm. “You need anything, I’ll be at the station just out there.”

  “Thanks, Paige.” Frankie let out a long breath. “How are you feeling?” Frankie stood at the foot of his bed, more uncertain than she could ever remember feeling. That was strange, because she always knew what to do. Even when she didn’t, she moved through the uncertainty with purpose and calm. But seeing this strong man looking as if he’d gone ten rounds with Godzilla left her hesitant about what to do next. She partly wanted to yell at him for scaring her—the other part wanted to throw her arms around him. She couldn’t help it, she’d been worried.

  “I feel great.” He looked to the side, then the other side and back at her. “Everything’s really, really great.”

  Frankie covered her mouth with her hand before her smile emerged. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Splat!” Roman tried to smack his hands together and missed by a mile. “Ladder just went whoosh and I went splat. And from what people tell me, I made a decided thunk.”

  This time, Frankie had to turn away to hide the laugh. It took a bit longer than expected to get herself under control, but eventually she faced him again. On the nightstand, his phone buzzed.

  “Darn thing hasn’t stopped ringing since I got here.” Roman pointed at the phone and frowned. “Stop that.”

  “How about we see who it is?” Frankie picked up the phone. Roman grabbed her arm, his fingers warm on her skin. “What?”

  “Splat!”

  “Got it. We’ll call you Splatman from now on, okay?”

  “O-kay!” Roman gave her a thumbs-up as his eyes began to droop. Yeah, he’d be out for the count any time now.

  “Hey, Roman?” She held up his phone. “It’s your mother.”

  “Uh-oh. She’s got her mom-dar working overtime.” Roman sighed. “She always knows when something’s happened. Always knows. Let it go. She’ll call back. Hey, Frankie?”

  The call ended. Frankie didn’t like the idea of his mother worrying. She might not be an expert when it came to mother-child relationships, but she’d seen parental intuition at work. Parents knew when something was wrong with their kid, no matter how old they got.

  “Yo, Frankie!” Roman’s voice raised.

  “Shh.” Frankie stepped closer to the bed. “There are other patients here, you know. Stop being such a loudmouth.”

  “Frankie.” Roman smiled again. That sparkling, chest-clenching smile that had her grinning. “You’re a knockout, Frankie Bettencourt. Did I tell you that?”

  “Ah.” Frankie’s cheeks went hotter than an inferno. “No, you did not.” But the way he’d kissed her the other day had given her an inkling. That said, now was not the time or place to have this discussion with her boss.

  “Because I shouldn’t say it,” Roman said in a singsongy voice. “Nope. Can’t tell the knockout fireman...woman...person I work with that she is a sight to behold. That is R-O-N-G-E, wrong.” He lifted a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t tell Frankie I told you. I think she might punch me for it.”

  Frankie glanced over her shoulder and found Paige leaning against the door frame, chuckling.

  “I won’t say a word,” Frankie promised. “How about you get some sleep, big guy.”

  “Splatman,” Roman mumbled as his eyes drifted closed.

  “Oh, he’s going to be so sorry he said that,” Frankie told Paige as she picked up his phone again. “If he’s looking for this, let him know I have it. I’d better get back to the station. Um. How much medication did you give him?”

  Paige laughed and walked out with her. “Enough he won’t remember a word he said. But I’m betting you might.”


  “All the calls and hospital runs I’ve been on, I’ve received my share of confused injury-induced compliments,” Frankie said. “They don’t tend to stick in my head.” But this one? Something told her this one would be the exception. Frankie texted Jasper to pick her up at the hospital, where she’d been dropped off earlier.

  * * *

  TODAY, FRANKIE THOUGHT, might end up being the longest day of her life. She looked outside and found the sun continuing to stream. It had only been a few hours since she’d seen Roman at the hospital, but that seemed ages ago as she watched her brother and Ozzy bring furniture up from the basement. “And it’s not over yet.”

  In her back pocket, Roman’s phone buzzed again. This was the fourth time in the past few hours his mother had called. Every time it started, she told herself to answer. She certainly wouldn’t want to be the one calling and not getting through to her loved one.

  True to form, volunteers had shown up at the station once word got around about Roman being injured. Schedules were rearranged, plans changed, new ones made so that someone could be at the firehouse at all times, leaving Frankie, for the most part, in charge. Her first task? Emptying out the room they used for storage on the first floor so Roman wouldn’t have to climb stairs once he was released from the hospital.

  “Nope! By the window, guys.” She followed Monty and Ozzy into the room, pointing at where she wanted the bed. She’d snagged one of the curtain sets from an unused room upstairs and gotten them situated moments before. “That’s great.” The station’s basement had long ago become a depository for unused and unwanted furniture from people in town. Well, what they didn’t feel like putting on consignment at the antique and thrift store.

  The room had its own entry into the unisex bathroom and wide enough doorways that he shouldn’t have much issue with his crutches. With the bed in place, the transformation was complete and included an old leather recliner in the corner, a scarred desk, a sturdy chair and a low dresser where they’d set up a TV.