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“No children,” she said. “Three nieces and two nephews so far, plus some honorary ones. What about you?”
“Never been married,” he said.
“Me neither,” she said.
“So no children,” he continued, as though finding out she was single hadn’t meant anything. She was single.
He looked down at the two children sitting between him and Lucia. Men weren’t supposed to have the ticking biological clock, but he did. He didn’t like the sudden realization that even if he found a woman today that he’d like to marry, he was still several years away from having children.
“You mentioned a sister—”
“With a little girl,” Rafe said. “Yeah. She’ll be two soon. They live in Atlanta.”
“A long way from here.”
“Yeah.” For the ninety-ninth time over the last day, Rafe thought maybe he could talk his sister into moving closer if her marriage ended. If, he reminded himself. Better that things work out in her marriage instead of his selfish wish to have her closer.
“What do you do, Rafael Wright?” Lucia asked with a smile, “when you’re not putting out fires and rescuing small children and damsels in distress?”
“Put out fires,” he said, looking steadily at her and thinking a man could lose himself in her dark eyes. “Don’t rescue many damsels, though.” When she raised an eyebrow in question, he added, “I’m the superintendent for the Sangre de Cristo hotshot crew.”
“You’re a firefighter?”
“Big difference between structure fires and wildfires,” he said.
“But you’re a firefighter?”
He nodded. “I’m also a volunteer for the city wildfire volunteer squad.” In the year he had been here, the volunteers had been called upon only once, since the city had a well-trained wildfire unit. He liked being involved, though, and feeling as though he was part of the community.
“Well, that at least explains why you’re so calm,” she said, glancing toward the smoke clinging to the upper part of the room. “Most civilians would have been climbing the walls by now.”
The radio crackled to life once more. “We’re coming in,” came her partner’s voice at the same moment as the door was pushed open, shoving the wet drape out of the way.
The big firefighter who came through the door had removed his mask. He grinned when his gaze lit on Lucia. “Way to go, partner. Sit in here where you can hug the kiddies while Jackson and I do the hard work. You slacker,” he said without a bit of heat in his voice.
“I love you, too, Donovan,” Lucia said from where she sat on the floor with little Teresa in her lap.
“Everybody in here okay?” asked another firefighter who came through the door.
Rafe stood. “She needs to be checked out,” he said, nodding to Lucia. “The explosion knocked her out.”
“That would be down, not out,” she said tartly. “There’s a big difference.”
Donovan’s attention sharpened and he pinned Lucia with a laser-sharp stare. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you—”
“I’m fine.” As if to prove it, Lucia handed him the little girl, then stood in a fluid movement. “Say hello to Teresa.” Smiling reassuringly at the little girl, she patted Donovan’s turnout coat and said, “Teddy Bear.”
“Teddy Bear?” Teresa repeated.
“That’s right.” Lucia grinned at the big firefighter. “Be nicer to her than you are to your own little girls.”
“Don’t you start,” Donovan said to Lucia before smiling at the child. “Everything is going to be just fine, little one.”
Lucia grinned at Rafe while waving toward the big firefighter. “This lug is Luke Donovan.” She nodded toward the other firefighter. “Gideon Jackson.”
“Rafe,” he said, extending his hand first to Jackson, then to Donovan. “Rafael Wright.”
“Wright. I remember you,” Jackson said. “I was in one of your classes last spring when I was getting recertified to fight wildfires.”
“Nice to meet you again.” Rafe drew Teresa’s brother forward. “This is Ramón. These two have a sister here somewhere and I bet parents looking for them, too. They don’t speak any English.”
“No problem,” Jackson said, offering a hand to the little boy and heading for the door. “We’ll go find them. ¿Cómo se llaman su mamá y su papá?”
Rafe smiled as Ramón told Jackson his father’s name as they went into the hallway.
“Where’s Vance?” a gruff voice demanded from the hallway.
“In there,” came Jackson’s answer through the open door.
The stocky fireman Rafe had seen earlier came into the chapel, an angry scowl on his face. “This is the final straw,” he said, waving toward the blackened hallway. “Do you have any idea how much damage was done out there because you left your post? You’re on notice, Lucia Vance, and when I’m done with you, you’ll be finished as a firefighter.”
THREE
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rafe took a step toward the man. “She didn’t abandon her post.”
“No?” The battalion chief gave Rafe a scathing once-over. “Here’s some advice for you. Keep your nose out of things you don’t know a thing about.” He looked over at Lucia. “Get out there on the mop-up crew. Since you sat out the fire, it’s the least you can do.”
Obeying the order the way Rafe would have expected of his own people, she left without a word while he folded his arms over his chest. The difference was, he was reasonable. Lucia’s chief wasn’t. “That explosion threw her against the wall. She could have died out there if—”
“That would be just like her,” O’Brien said. “Find a pretty boy to tell pretty lies for her.”
Feeling his temper rise, Rafe pointed a finger at the man. “She was nothing but professional, which is more than I can say for you.” He headed for the door, then turned around. “Your name is O’Brien, right?”
The battalion chief nodded. “What’s it to you?”
Rafe shrugged. “Personally, I like to have my facts straight when I file a report.” He gave the other man a smile that was all teeth, adding, “Battalion Chief O’Brien.”
Rafe strode out of the chapel, then came to a dead stop in the hallway. Ceiling tiles were curled and melted, and the Sheetrock was charred. Here and there, the metal framing beneath the Sheetrock was visible, the metal studs twisted into grotesque shapes. Not just surface smoke damage, but real structural damage, Rafe thought. That said a lot about how hot the fire had been and how close it had been to getting out of control. He shuddered as he imagined what might have happened to Lucia if he hadn’t been there to pull her out of harm’s way. That thought brought him back to square one with Chief O’Brien. No wonder Lucia didn’t respect the man. In Rafe’s book the man was an idiot.
Lucia Vance, he thought. Vance. Vance, as in Mayor Vance, who had been shot several months ago and who was still in the hospital? Rafe figured he had to be right. How many other Vances were likely to be in this hospital in intensive care? What made no sense was why the daughter of a wealthy and powerful family was a firefighter.
He looked around, hoping for a glimpse of her. He’d have to ask her about that the next time he saw her. And he knew he would be seeing her. For the first time in his life, he had envisioned his children’s faces within a woman he was attracted to.
“Are you really okay?” Lucia’s mother asked a couple of hours later in the hallway outside the intensive-care room where her father was still in a coma.
“Fine.” Lucia didn’t dare hug her mother, much as she wanted to, since she was still in her filthy turnout gear and her mom was dressed in chic black linen pants and a turquoise jacket. “I can’t stay. We’re headed back to the station in a few minutes.” She looked toward the room where her father was. “No change today?”
“I think his color is better,” her mother said. She always had something positive to say about any sliver of improvement in his condition. Lucia studied her father through the window between the hallway and his room. He looked the same to Lucia, but she hoped the change her mother saw was indeed there. When her dad woke up, they had a lot to talk about. First on the list was the apology she owed him for an argument they’d had the day before he was shot.
“What’s with the coat?” Her mother pointed to the jacket in Lucia’s arms.
Lucia glanced down at the well-worn leather bomber jacket she had found in the chapel after she had checked on it the last time. Rafael Wright’s name was neatly printed on a label on the lining. She didn’t dare blurt out that the least she could do was return the man’s jacket since he had saved her life—at least not to her mother, who didn’t need to know how close a call it had been. “It belongs to a guy who rescued a couple of little kids in the chapel,” she said, striving for a nonchalant tone. “He was so kind that…”
“One of the staff can take care of getting it returned,” her mother filled in after Lucia’s voice trailed away.
“Yes, I’m sure they could.”
“But you’re taking it back to him.” A statement of fact.
Lucia nodded.
“He must have made an impression.”
He had and, though Lucia knew her mother would have figured that out anyway, she wasn’t ready to say so aloud. Her mother would say something to her brothers, and with their police and FBI connections, they’d probably run a criminal history on Rafe before allowing her to get close enough to return the man’s coat. It wasn’t like she was planning on marrying the man, or even dating him, for that matter. She just wanted to return his coat.
“Lucia?”
She jerked her gaze to her mother’s. “Don’t mind me. I’m just a little muddled, that’s all. Reverend Dawson has another prayer service scheduled for Dad tomorrow night.”
“I know.”
“Since I’ll be off work then, I’ll be there, too. And I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to spend a couple of hours with Dad. Emily said she’d come after me so you can have most of the day to yourself.”
Her mother glanced through the window to the bed where her father lay, and Lucia’s gaze followed. For all her life, her dad had been the strongest man she knew—invincible. Logically, she knew he was in a coma, but emotionally—where she still felt like a six-year-old where her father was concerned—she wanted to believe he was merely taking a nap. Each day he remained in the coma added to her worry that he might never recover.
These long months since he had been shot by an unknown would-be assassin had taken on a grotesque normalcy, where her mother kept a vigil while the rest of them took turns spelling her and pretended to live life as though it wasn’t in limbo. Lucia wondered if she would recognize normal if it ever came again. She could only hope.
The one thing that had remained constant through these months of waiting for her dad to wake up was their sustaining faith. As her mother had often said, whether her dad awoke or not, he was in God’s hands. Though Lucia knew that, she longed for her dad to simply open his eyes.
“You better get going,” her mother said, ignoring Lucia’s filthy gear and planting a kiss on her cheek. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Once more, Lucia resisted the urge to sink into her mother’s arms and managed a smile that, she hoped, hid how needy she felt. She moved toward the stairwell. “Tomorrow.”
When she came out of the hospital toward the pumper, she’d hoped to make it back to her crew without any further comment from Battalion Chief O’Brien. No such luck, though. He watched her approach with narrowed eyes.
“Any time you’re ready to go, Vance.” He had taken off his turnout gear and his slacks and shirt were crisply pressed, as though he hadn’t just been through a fire.
Gideon Jackson mildly said to him, “We just got the hose rolled back up, Chief. She’s not late.”
“She wasn’t here, which is more to the point,” O’Brien said. “You want to go on report, Jackson?”
“If you think you’ve got something that should be brought to my attention,” Gideon replied in that same calm tone.
Without saying anything more, O’Brien got in his red SUV, the insignia on the door identifying his rank.
After he was gone, the rest of the crew took off their turnout gear and finished stowing the equipment. Once they were underway, Gideon Jackson said to Lucia, “Don’t let him get to you. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on, and the rest of us know it.”
Donovan grinned at her over his shoulder from the front seat. “That happens when you walk around with your foot in your mouth all the time.”
“Did you guys find those two little kids’ parents?” Lucia asked instead of telling the two she appreciated their support. Donovan wouldn’t respond to anything mushy, and Gideon would be embarrassed.
“Yep,” Gideon said. “It was a happy reunion all around. You never did say how you found them.”
“I didn’t,” Lucia said. “I didn’t have any idea anyone was in the chapel. The explosion threw me across the hall and I must have landed near the chapel door. Next thing I knew, this guy pulled me into the room, and there were the kids.”
“All I can say is it’s a good thing Wright was there,” Gideon said, “and a good thing the door to the chapel was steel with reinforced glass. We were afraid for a few minutes that fire was going to get away from us and take the entire floor.”
Lucia shuddered, remembering the burn marks on the ceiling and wall in the hallway. She didn’t know what had led Rafe to be on the floor, but she was thankful. If not for him, today’s call could have turned out very differently. It was definitely something to include in her evening prayers later.
The rest of the shift went without incident, and though she was able to sleep during part of the night that finished her twenty-four-hour shift, Lucia was exhausted when she got home the following morning. She knew her emotional upheaval was the cause, not the lack of sleep. As usual, her big orange tabby, Michelangelo—nicknamed Gelo—greeted her at the door.
“Hey, you.” She picked up the cat, enjoying their ritual of being mutually needed. Emotion clogged her throat, and she pressed her cheek against the cat’s soft fur, a purr rumbling against her face. Gelo kneaded her arm and continued to purr loudly as Lucia headed for the kitchen to brew a pot of green tea. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”
The cat gave her a soft meow.
“Good.” She sniffed, then squared her shoulders, mentally going through the list of why she shouldn’t be so weepy. Setting Gelo on the floor, she brewed the pot of tea, choosing a favorite pot that she had purchased during a visit to Italy with her mother.
Lucia knew she was a good firefighter who had done her job well, no matter what Neil O’Brien thought. She hadn’t been seriously hurt. Her fellow firefighters had rallied around her. Compared to her father’s injuries and the worry that that was causing her mother, Lucia’s problems with Chief O’Brien were small potatoes.
The front doorbell rang, and the cat ran toward the door. Lucia followed, peeked through the security peephole, then held open the door for her good friend Colleen Montgomery. As the two youngest children of their respective large families and the only daughters as well, they had become allies early on.
Colleen breezed into the living room with her usual boundless energy. “I heard about the hospital fire. Just came by to make sure that you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“According to Gideon Jackson—who would cut off an arm before lying, I might add—you were trapped in the chapel on the pediatric wing and had been hurt—” She took a breath to give Lucia the once-over. “You don’t look hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“And you rescued a good-looking guy and his two kids.”
“I didn’t rescue him. And they weren’t his kids.” Lucia headed toward the kitchen, where she pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard.
Colleen grinned. “And he’s not ugly.”
Feeling her cheeks heat, Lucia shook her head. “No, he’s not ugly.”
“That, my friend, is a topic we’re going to pursue later.” Colleen raised her eyebrows while patting the outside pocket of her purse, which was large enough to hold a notebook and other things she needed as an investigative reporter for the Colorado Springs Sentinel.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“The lady doth protest too much.” She handed Lucia a clipping she had pulled from her purse. “This was in yesterday’s paper.”
Lucia read the large print of text put into a black-framed, two-column-wide box like an ad. “‘Let fire come down from heaven and consume you, for our God is a consuming fire.’”
“Pretty strange, don’t you think?” Colleen lifted the lid of the teapot to peek at the brew. “I checked, and nobody knows who paid for this. But I think this is related to the fire at the hospital.” She raised a hand. “And I knew this was a Bible verse, even though I couldn’t figure out which one, so I called Pastor Dawson and he says it’s actually two verses, one from Kings and one from Hebrews.” Pointing at the clipping, she added, “So whoever bought the ad was sending someone a message, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.” Lucia handed back the clipping, then poured tea into the two mugs. “But if you think so, then you should turn this over to my brother Sam.” Since he was a detective on the Colorado Springs police force, he’d know how to track things down if this was as suspicious as Colleen thought. “Or maybe you should talk to Brendan.” He was Colleen’s cousin and a special agent with the FBI.
