Four Weddings and a Fireman (14 page)

“Of course you did.” Maybe it wasn't cool to be so smug about it, but he couldn't help it. If nothing else, he and Cherie knew how to satisfy each other in bed. “You whimpered and you don't even remember it. Bonus.”

“
Bonus?
This isn't a game, Vader.”

“Would you relax, Cherie? I know it's not a game, but it's not life or death either. Sex is supposed to be fun, remember?” He ran a finger across the bold curve of her hipbone. “Just once, can we enjoy the afterglow without you going through some kind of nervous breakdown?”

She pushed his hand away from her body. “I'd better go check on Trixie.” As she rolled toward the edge of the bed, he lifted himself on one elbow and pinned her in place with one long arm. “Sorry, Cherie. You don't get to fuck and run.”

His choice of words made her draw in a shocked gasp. “Don't use that word.”

“You're the one trying to turn this into something bad. I'm not ashamed of anything we do in bed. But you keep acting like we just broke all Ten Commandments at once. I'm here, Cherie. I'm here for whatever you want. You want to get married? I've already asked you twice.
You're
the one who treats this like dirty laundry. Like some kind of sweaty socks you want to bury at the bottom of the hamper.”

Her eyes were fixed on him, wide and gray as the open ocean, a storm brewing in their depths. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The hell you don't.”

In a surprise move, she tried to dislodge his wrist with a sudden push, but he didn't bench-­press three hundred for nothing. When she gave up trying to budge him and tried to squirm through the cage of his arms, he flung his thigh over hers and flipped her onto her back.

He stared into her eyes, refusing to let her look away. “Give me something here, Cherie. Give me one good reason why Trixie wouldn't be okay with us having sex while she's catching up on her sleep.”

“You're not acting like a gentleman,” she gasped.

“No. I'm just a straight-­up guy who loves you. And you don't know what to do with that, do you?”

Flat on her back, caged beneath him, she bit her lower lip and glared up at him. “If you think this is going to make me talk, you don't know me.”

“You're right. I don't know you. And every time I try, you throw up one roadblock after another.” With a grunt of disgust, he sat back on his heels, setting her free. “I shouldn't have to freaking interrogate my girl to get some simple answers.” He flung up a hand. “Don't say it. You're not my girlfriend. You never said you were my girlfriend. You have a heart attack when I talk about marriage. But when we're in bed it's a different tune. It's ‘Don't hold back,' and ‘Don't stop' and whimpers and screams and—­”

“Shhh! My sister.”

“That's it. I'm done.” Vader scrambled over her and flung himself out of her bed. With this kind of fury raging through him, he couldn't be around her. Couldn't be around anyone. “You think you can control everything, don't you? You think your sister's going to sit at home and follow orders?”

“I can handle my sister.”

“The hell you can. And what about us? You think I'm going to keep fucking you and never want anything more? Well, I'm not that guy.”

He thrust one leg into his board shorts, then jumped on one foot while he straightened out the fabric of the other leg. His still-­purple bruise produced a stab of pain.

“If you want that sort of guy, there's plenty of them out there.”

What was he saying? Was he telling Cherie to go find some other man? Obviously, he'd completely lost it. He inserted his other leg into his shorts and fastened the Velcro at the waistband. Still bare-­chested, he pointed at her. “But you're not going near them. Because they're not right for you. I'm the one you want and that's why we keep ending up
there
.” He swung his arm to indicate the rumpled bedcovers. She sat, wide-­eyed, in the middle of the bed, clutching the sheets around her like some sort of security blanket, her hair a vivid splash of wine red against the milky white.

“What I don't understand is why you don't see that? Why we keep ending up like this.” He thumped his chest. “With me storming out the door and you telling yourself a big lie that it doesn't matter. That it's better this way. Well, baby.” Two long steps and he was bending over her, nearly nose to nose. “It's not better. But if this is how you want it, this is how you get it.”

He snatched up his T-­shirt and wheeled toward the door.

“What do you mean?” she called after him. “What are you trying to say?”

“I'm saying what you've been wanting me to say. I'm leaving you alone.”

“But Vader . . .”

His hand on the doorknob, he turned to face her one last time. “I'm a firefighter, Cherie. It's not in me to give up on a call. But when the commander says, ‘Pull out, we're going defensive,' you have to get the hell out because there's no saving that sucker. That structure is going down. That's where we are, sweetheart. If you don't start getting real with me, this thing between us is going down in flames.”

At her bewildered expression, he softened his tone, adding a touch of wry humor. “No matter what I do with that big hose of mine.”

Even though it hurt like hell to leave her looking so shaken, he forced himself to turn the doorknob, push open the door, and heave his body through it.
Pull out, we're going defensive.

 

Chapter Thirteen

I
t took all his considerable willpower, but Vader managed to put Cherie at the back of his mind while he tackled his other mission—­convincing everyone that he could be captain. Not just any captain, he decided, but an outstanding captain.

The first session at the San Gabriel Elementary School went great. Vader and a ­couple of firefighters from other stations in town went from class to class, demonstrating how to use a fire extinguisher and teaching the kids about dialing 911.

“What do you do if you smell smoke?” Vader put his hands on his knees, bending down to their level, and making a comical smoke-­sniffing face.

“Cough!” one kid yelled.

“Throw up!” said another.

One quiet little girl raised her hand. He pointed to her. “What would you do?”

“Tell my grandmother.”

“What if your grandmother's in another room? How would you make sure she heard you?”

She thought for a moment. “I'd yell.”

“Really loud, right? Like, how loud?”

Giggling, she tried a soft yell, what he would have classified as a loud whisper. He cupped a hand around his ear. “What was that?” He pretended he was deaf. “Come again, missy?”

This time, both her giggle and her yell were louder. He motioned to the whole class to join in, and soon the room was filled with shouts of “smoke” and “fire.”

“Okay, so you've woken up the entire neighborhood. Great job! But now the fire has gotten into your room. What do you do?”

No one had an answer. Vader couldn't believe it. Didn't they teach kids fire safety anymore? At home, he kept a fire extinguisher in every room, and he'd trained his mother how to drop and roll, then drag herself across the room with her elbows. It was a damn good thing he'd signed up for this job.

“Have you guys heard the phrase ‘Stop, drop, and roll'? No? Yes? Some of you? Well, this is how it goes. You can practice it at home.”

He took a step forward, then came to an exaggerated stop, like Road Runner. “First you stop, so you don't make the fire worse. Then you drop to the floor.” Making every movement like something out of a cartoon, he dove to the floor and covered his face. “And don't forget to roll back and forth, in case a spark landed on you. Like a Tootsie Roll. That's how you roll. Oh yeah, oh yeah.”

The kids screamed with laughter as he bumped into a chair and knocked a pile of books onto himself. After an exaggerated double take, he rolled in the other direction, right into the feet of Joe the Toe. Joe, hands on his hips, glowered and shook his head at Vader's antics.

“Anyway, you get the idea, right?” Vader hopped onto his feet and straightened up. “Let's hear it. What do you do if there's a fire near you?”

“Stop, drop, and roll!” the kids shouted.

“You have to admit, they won't forget it,” Vader said to Joe the Toe as they strolled away from the sunny campus, followed by a chorus of good-­byes.

“You know what's worse? I won't forget it. It's branded into my eyeballs. Vader the bloody Tootsie Roll,” said Joe.

“Don't go spreading that around, now.” Vader's cell rang with the ring tone he'd assigned to Trixie—­the theme of
Jaws
. “Uh oh, trouble.”

“Of the female persuasion, I presume?”

“Not exactly. Cherie's off-­limits little sister. Feel free to spread that around, by the way. Off-­limits with a capital O-­L,” he answered. “What's up, Trix?”

Her Southern accent floated over the phone line. “Well, the thing is, Cherie wanted me to clean the bathroom, which is fine, but I needed some stuff from the supermarket, so I walked over there and only then did I discover that I left my little change purse back at the house, along with my house keys. Luckily, the sweetest bag boy is letting me use his phone.”

“Why are you calling me? You know Cherie doesn't want me in the middle of anything.”

“That's her problem. I don't know what bug crawled up her butt, but I think you're cute.”

Joe cocked an eyebrow at him. “Trouble,” mouthed Vader.

“Besides, she's in the middle of her bowel movement class.”

Vader nearly choked. “Movement therapy, Trixie. Not bowel movement.”

“I don't know, Vadie-­poo. Have you seen the kind of moves they make in that class? I'm not sure it's decent.”

“What'd you just call me?” Vader glanced over at Joe, who was doubled over with laughter.

“I'll tell you when you get here. I'm at the Red Apple on Main Street.” And she hung up.

“Oh, hell no.” Vader was pretty sure steam was coming out of his ears. He gave Joe a little kick in the side. “You laugh like a rhinoceros.”

“I absolutely must meet this girl,” gasped Joe, rolls of laughter rippling his huge body. “Red Apple, we're on the way. Brilliant.”

Vader brandished his phone in the air. “This makes the third time she's called me for help. The last time I was in the middle of a committee meeting. Do you know what that made me look like? I had to pause my presentation just in case it was an emergency.”

“Your
presentation
?”

“Yeah.” Vader realized he hadn't told Joe the Toe about his plans to become captain. “I have to call Cherie. I'm not going to cover for Trixie, she knows better than that.”

But Cherie's phone went to voice mail. Try as he might, he couldn't suppress his rescuer impulses enough to ignore Trixie's call. While he ferried her home from the Red Apple, he heroically managed to avoid asking her how Cherie was doing.

Even so, she dropped a cheeky “Cherie misses you like crazy,” as she hopped out of the truck.

When Cherie returned his call later that day, he was ready. “Thought you had your sister under control. Didn't you mention something about ‘handling' her? That must have been someone else who called me for a ride, not Trixiebelle Humility Harper.”

“I'll talk to her.”

“Are you still making her stay home all day?”

“Don't worry about it,” she said tersely. He could picture her hands going white-­knuckled on her phone, her forehead creasing in that worried frown. The image twisted his gut.

Dropping his antagonistic tone, he asked, “Are you sure you're okay?”

For a moment she didn't answer, which made his imagination go wild. Something must be happening with Cherie, something she didn't want to share.

Of course she didn't want to. She didn't want to share anything. That was the heart of the problem right there. That was why he had to stick to the declaration he'd made while walking out of her bedroom.
I'm leaving you alone. Pull out, we're going defensive.

“I'm fine,” she finally said. “Don't worry about Trixie. She has a way of coming out okay. I'm not sure what she's up to, but we'll be fine. I do appreciate it, though, Vader. I'm sorry she bothered you.”

The finality in her voice made panic race through him. He gripped the cell phone tight, hanging on to it like an anchor. What if his tactic didn't work? What if it backfired? What if leaving her alone did nothing but . . . leave him alone?

“Okay,” he managed, and ended the call. For a long time he stared at the breaded chicken breasts he was frying for dinner at the station. A speck of grease leaped up and landed on his arm. He started.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered to the chicken. “I'm on it. Don't worry. I'll get over it. She's just a woman. Millions of 'em out there. Billions. I have other things to do than chase after a girl who doesn't want me.”

The chicken sizzled—­sympathetically, he thought. He picked up the spatula and eased it under one of the pieces.

“Thing is, she does want me. I know she wants me.
She
knows she wants me. But there's something stopping her.” He flipped over the piece of meat, which settled comfortably on its other side. “I can't exactly tie her up and make her tell me.”

Then again . . . tying her up worked for him. If he knew his Cherie, it worked for her too.

“You know something? That's genius.” He poked at the chicken. “I think we're on to something. I just have to get her back into bed.”

Someone cleared his throat. Someone very close behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Sabina, Fred, Ace, and Mulligan were all watching him, their faces red from the effort of holding in their laughter.

“Did you just call that chicken breast a genius?” Sabina asked in an unsteady voice.

He shrugged one shoulder and turned back to the pan. “Don't worry about them,” he told the chicken, which was turning a lovely brown. “They wouldn't recognize genius if it laid an egg right in front of them.”

All the firefighters lost it then, letting loose with howls of laughter. Vader ordered himself to keep his cool. Every firefighter was the butt of a joke at some point. The trick was to let it roll off your back.

A call came in just then, and half the crew took off. Vader finished frying the chicken, but no other brilliant ideas regarding Cherie occurred to him. He'd tried barging through her defenses, but it just didn't work. He had to hold firm and make her come to him. If she didn't, maybe they weren't supposed to be together. Even though he knew in his bones that couldn't be true.

In the two
weeks since Vader had stalked out of her bedroom, nothing had gone right for Cherie. Trixie had left “challenging” behind and zoomed toward “impossible.” With no paying housemates and extra food expenses, Cherie had to work extra shifts just to make ends meet. In her absence, Trixie kept finding excuses to leave the house. The second she got in a jam, she'd call Vader with the new disposable cell phone she'd somehow acquired. Vader, being the hero that he was, kept rescuing her. How did he even find time for Trixie's drama when he was trying to win a promotion? In two weeks, she'd called on Vader for at least five rides and a few temporary loans. Which was mortifying, since Cherie had essentially told Vader to mind his own business.

Trixie, clearly, was not following that plan. And Cherie had to admit she was grateful every time she walked in and found Trixie on the couch, flipping through TV channels. In her heart, she knew it was thanks to Vader that Trixie was okay. But how could she let Vader know that, without giving in to his demand for more honesty? Without welcoming him back on new, more intimate terms?

She wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Something told her the other shoe from Arkansas hadn't dropped yet. Until it had, she had no business involving Vader.

But all of that logic and reasoning had no effect on what was going on in her heart. Her heart ached from missing Vader. And not just her heart either. Vader had invaded her mind. It was as if he'd strolled in, picked out a comfy armchair, put his feet up, and refused to leave. At night she dreamed of him, felt his hands soothing her body, his big chest under her cheek. She'd wake up with her leg stretched over the empty spot next to her, where Vader was supposed to be.

Scratch that.

Where Vader used to—­occasionally—­spend the night. It wasn't as if they'd ever had a permanent, official, defined relationship. She'd never even been to his house, for pity's sake. Until the incident with Nick, she hadn't even known he lived with his mother. Until he'd mentioned his mother's medical tests, she hadn't known his mother had health issues. And she didn't ask about that kind of thing because that would open the floodgates to
his
questions.

None of that added up to a solid relationship.

So why did she keep pining for Vader? Why did she keep going over every stupid thing she'd said to drive him away? Why couldn't their relationship have stayed exactly the way it was?

It hadn't been perfect, she had to admit, with those two rejected proposals hanging between them. But at least Vader had been part of her life, instead of hovering around the edges like Trixie's personal guardian angel.

But first things first. She had to deal with Trixie. She called in sick at the hair salon and sat Trixie down in the kitchen with a big bowl of popcorn with butter and Parmesan cheese. Cherie scanned her sister's outfit, which was entirely made up of items from her closet. But she put them together in a way Cherie never would have. That flowing white top that Cherie usually belted over a skirt—­well, Trixie wore nothing under it but electric blue stockings and silver ballet slippers. With her tiny frame, the look worked on her. But Cherie wouldn't want her leaving the house like that. She pushed the topic of outfits to a later date; right now they had more important things to discuss.

“Trixie, I know you're itching to get out there and meet boys and have fun, but I want you to take it slow. The way we were raised, you don't know anything about the dangers out there. And that's not even counting the Internet. You've been going online, haven't you?”