Colorado Fireman Read online

  “Can I stay at your place?” Adam begged. Matt and his wife, Beth, lived in a large home their brother Jack had built them in a picturesque valley outside town. Adam would love to live in that same valley one day. Someday. After he’d confronted his demons.

  “Sure. I did tell you Sarah’s teething, didn’t I?”

  “No, you didn’t. Now that you mention it, maybe I would be better off at home,” Adam said, and followed Matt to his vehicle. Although where he’d sleep, Adam had no idea, since one of his three nieces was occupying his old bedroom.

  As it turned out, his tomboy of a niece Daisy was only too happy to give up her room to her “hero” uncle. So Adam slept among her animal posters and woke up during the night with a lump under the mattress that turned out to be a stirrup. He pulled it out, tossed it on the floor, coughed up more black goop and went back to sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Awakened the next morning by pandemonium from the kitchen, Adam recognized the deep pitch of several of his brothers’ voices and an occasional “Shh!” from his mom.

  He stumbled out of bed, washed his face but didn’t bother shaving and went downstairs, hungry enough to eat one of their prize black Angus steers all by himself. He’d missed dinner since he’d taken the much-wanted shower and fallen into bed, exhausted, and slept through the night.

  Sunday mornings, the family usually gathered at Two Elk Ranch for breakfast. However, today was Saturday, Adam noted as he strode into the kitchen, a huge room that accommodated the family dining table. Today it was packed to overflowing with all his brothers.

  “Here he is!” Celeste, his youngest niece, cried and ran to him, her arms outstretched.

  Adam bent to lift Celeste the way he’d done a hundred times before, but as he did, a muscle twitched with pain. He grunted and nearly dropped her.

  His reaction had most of the occupants of the kitchen rushing forward to help him. He held out a hand to restrain them and ruffled Celeste’s hair. “Next time, kiddo,” he said. “I must’ve put out something in my back.”

  He rubbed at the spot, but couldn’t quite reach it.

  “Then it’s lucky Carly is a massage therapist,” his brother Will said. He came around the table to clap Adam on the back, making him wince. “And in case I didn’t say it yesterday, well done, little brother. Anyone who saves a dog is good people in my book.”

  Speaking of the dog, he wondered where she was. Adam tried not to groan as Will slapped him again.

  “You should have Carly look at that,” his mom said.

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Adam glanced around and found the woman with too many children, with the littlest one perched on her hip. She seemed slightly less vulnerable than she had the last time he’d seen her. The toddler’s face was covered with goo that might or might not have been oatmeal. He smiled and waved at Adam. Adam forced himself to smile back. He smiled at the mom, too—but not an overly friendly smile, since she and her kids were responsible for getting him booted out of the apartment above the stables.

  He wished he could disappear. He wasn’t comfortable with crowds, even if he was related to most of the people there. How he missed the seclusion of that apartment.

  Then his eyes fell on the newspaper spread across the table and his stomach lurched. The headline, Hometown Hero, glared up at Adam, along with a photo of him carrying the child out of the burning apartment building. A smaller one showed him and Molly lying on their stretchers side by side. Unfortunately, it also featured Louella kissing him. The caption beneath read Mayor’s Pet Pig Thanks Heroic Firefighter Adam O’Malley.

  Adam hated seeing the word hero associated with his name. He was no hero. Heroes didn’t let their friend take the rap for a fatal car accident.

  His dad came forward and clapped him on the back. Like his two oldest sons, Luke and Matt, Mac O’Malley was a man of few words. Adam figured his mom more than made up for it. He didn’t expect his dad to say anything, so when Adam saw tears brimming in his eyes, he nodded and let his dad pass by him and leave the kitchen.

  His brother Jack came over and was about to clap him on the back, too, but Adam held up his hand and Jack dropped his. “Sore, eh, buddy?” Jack asked, and Adam nodded.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Jack said. Then tears welled in his eyes, as well.

  Oh, jeez, this was what he didn’t need, an outpouring of emotion from the O’Malley men. Although he and Jack were separated in age by only eleven months, they were pretty much opposite in temperament. Jack wore his heart on his sleeve; Adam wasn’t sure if he even had a heart.

  Coming back to town had been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have accepted that one-month posting to Spruce Lake to cover an absence in the department. He should’ve gone somewhere else in Colorado. Anywhere else! But his mom had pressured him to take the posting, saying he was missing out on seeing his nieces and nephews growing up.

  Adam had enough guilt to deal with, so he’d agreed to the job, telling himself it was only for a month. He could survive a month without having to get too close to anyone or having to care too much. And then he could return to Boulder, where no one knew anything about his past and no one ever pried into his private business.

  “Thank you for saving Molly, mister.”

  Adam looked down into the pale blue eyes of the Carly woman’s daughter. Sheesh! Her eyes were brimming, too.

  He patted her on the head. “You’re welcome, kid.” And then to deflect the gratitude of the rest of the children who were moving in his direction, he asked, “So where’s Molly?”

  “She’s right here, Uncle Adam.” He heard Luke’s middle daughter Daisy’s voice from somewhere behind the crowd in the kitchen. He walked toward it and found her seated on the floor, the dog’s head in her lap. Daisy had always had a way with animals.

  As much as it was possible for a basset to look anything but deeply saddened by life, the dog had an expression of bliss on her face as Daisy stroked her ears.

  Molly was lying on a blanket. A blanket Adam recognized from his childhood. A blanket he was very fond of.

  “That’s my blanket,” he couldn’t help saying, and turned accusingly to his mother.

  She flapped the spatula at him and said, “You haven’t used that in years. So I’ve given it to Molly. She needs it more than you.”

  “I might have wanted to use it,” he muttered. It was the principle of the thing. He mightn’t have used the blanket for more than twenty years, but it was a well-worn and much-loved childhood companion, and for some stupid reason he felt a sense of possessiveness about it. It sure as hell didn’t deserve to be used as a dog blanket.

  “It’s Molly’s now,” Daisy piped up.

  His oldest brother, Luke, who ran the family ranch, pressed him down into one of the vacated chairs at the table that occupied the huge country-style kitchen. The table easily sat ten, twelve at a pinch, and today people were rotating chairs as they finished breakfast and made way for the next shift.

  He took his seat—beside Carly—and studied the occupants of the kitchen. Although heavily pregnant, Luke’s wife, Megan, was helping his mom prepare and serve. Luke’s oldest daughter, Sasha, was talking to Will’s stepson, Nick, while Celeste, Luke’s youngest, was chatting animatedly with the little girl who’d thanked him before. The two boys who belonged to Carly were bolting down second helpings of oatmeal like they hadn’t been fed in a week. Maybe they hadn’t, Adam decided. Their apartment wasn’t exactly in the town’s high-rent district.

  And where was their father? he wanted to ask, not for the first time. Shouldn’t he be taking care of his family?

  “Where’s your husband?” Adam blurted, before he could stop himself.

  Silence descended on the kitchen and Adam wished the floor would open up.

  She lo
oked back at him with a frankness that was daunting and said, “He’s dead.”

  CARLY SPENCER TOOK GRIM satisfaction in watching Adam O’Malley’s discomfort as he swallowed her answer and half hoped he’d choke on it. She’d already told Adam’s family that her husband, Michael, was a firefighter who’d perished in a warehouse fire in San Diego. She’d been seven months pregnant with Charlie at the time.

  And now she felt bad about her bald statement. She, of all people, having been married to a firefighter, should’ve been more circumspect. But something perverse had made her answer his question as rudely as it had been asked.

  What was it with this guy? He had the nicest, most welcoming family, but he was so emotionally distant, it was almost scary.

  He’d done the bravest thing yesterday, not only rescuing her son Charlie but defying his battalion chief’s orders and saving Molly. Yet when she’d tried to thank him, he’d been so offhand it bordered on arrogant.

  She’d wanted to call him on his behavior, but there was something in Adam O’Malley’s dark brown eyes that spoke of a hurt far greater than Carly suspected he ever revealed to others. So instead of challenging him further, she asked, “Would you like some bacon?” and passed the plate to him without waiting for his answer.

  His mother came up behind him and scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate, kissing the top of his head as she did.

  Carly didn’t miss the deep blush beneath his tan. That was interesting, the relationship between him and his mom. She got the feeling Sarah irritated him at times. Like now. She was bent over him from behind, hugging him.

  “Mom. Please?” he murmured.

  “I’m just so happy to have you home. And alive,” his mom said, and kissed the top of his head again before releasing him. The guy was clearly embarrassed by his mother’s display of affection. Sarah, however, seemed to revel in exasperating—if that was the right word—her youngest son, as if she was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction.

  She returned with the coffeepot and poured Adam a cup, then went to put cream in it. He took the jug from her hand and murmured, “I can do it myself, Mom.”

  “Of course you can, darling,” she said, totally unfazed, “but you’re a hero, and I intend to make you feel like one.”

  Carly noticed that her own sons, sitting across the table from them, were transfixed by the exchange. To diffuse their interest, she said, “I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced to my children. The one who caused you so much trouble yesterday is Alex and the one beside him who’s eating as if he hasn’t been fed in a week is Jake. My daughter is Madeleine. And this little guy,” she said, indicating her youngest, sitting on her lap, “is Charlie.”

  Charlie, far from being grateful to his savior, chose that moment to flick a spoonful of oatmeal at Adam. Then he laughed.

  TO HIS CREDIT, ADAM didn’t leap from his seat or demand an apology. Instead, he wiped the oatmeal from his cheek with his finger, then wiped his finger on his napkin. “It’s gratifying to be reminded of what the public thinks of we who serve them,” he said, and dug into his eggs.

  Will patted him gently on the back. “That’s the spirit, buddy. Nothing like some creative criticism to bring you back to earth. Can’t have you walking around the ranch with a head bigger than a black Angus bull.”

  Luke laughed from where he stood beside the kitchen range and raised his coffee mug in agreement.

  Carly liked the oldest of the O’Malley brothers. Hey, she liked them all. She was trying to like Adam, too, but he wasn’t exactly making it easy for her. What’s his problem? she wondered.

  He was eating in silence. Probably trying to ignore her. Well, that was fine because she didn’t want to make conversation with him, either.

  She sipped her coffee, savoring the richness of the blend—a far cry from the budget brand she usually drank. Various conversations flowed around the kitchen and she caught snippets of them and smiled. Maddy and Celeste seemed to have hit it off. They were both in first grade but in different classes and hadn’t met each other before. Carly liked Celeste. She was an angelic-looking child with a sweet temperament and outgoing personality. Maddy was more withdrawn, but Celeste seemed to have struck a chord with her as they shared a love of drawing. The pair were presently giggling over pictures they’d drawn of Adam.

  Carly wanted to see how he’d react to them and asked, “What have you got there, Maddy?”

  Her daughter held up the picture. She’d given Adam curly, dark brown hair and a smiley face. Carly glanced at Adam. His hair was indeed dark brown, but cut so short, it was hard to determine if there was any curl in it.

  Then Celeste held up her picture. She’d given Adam even curlier and longer hair. The child apparently knew her uncle well enough to have done that. However, instead of a smiley face, Adam’s expression was angry.

  “Why did you draw your uncle looking so annoyed?” she asked Celeste.

  “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 hav
e 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.