Four Weddings and a Fireman (8 page)

“I'm fine,” he growled. “Go fight the fucking fire.” He sat up, brushing them off. What a freaking idiot he was. That would teach him to get crazy ideas.

“He's good to go, Cap,” said Sabina into her helmet mic.

“Tell him to sit in the engine until the paramedics get here.”

“I don't need paramedics.” Vader grabbed his helmet.

“It's procedure,” said Sabina roughly. He noticed that she looked a little shaken up. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“I'm fine. A little bruised, that's all. Nothing some ice can't take care of. I wasn't that far up. Now get the hell back to work.” He shook off Fred. “I can make it to the rig by myself.”

He did, though he could already feel the bruises forming. His left hip in particular was going to be a purple mess. But he knew his body, knew nothing had been broken or torn. Ice, ibuprofen, and a soak in a hot tub would do the job.

In the engine, he found the first two items in the first aid kit. By the time the paramedics arrived, he'd already cracked an ice pack, applied it to his hip, and downed three ibuprofen. With the fire winding down, Captain Brody came over to listen to their assessment.

“He's in the clear,” said the lead paramedic. “You got a strong guy here. Sometimes those muscles pay off.”

“Told you, Cap,” said Vader, grimacing, as he reapplied the ice pack. “Told you I wasn't wasting my time.”

“Never thought you were. Nor did the female population of San Gabriel.”

He let out a snort, then leaned his head against the back of the seat. He fully expected Captain Brody to head back to the fire, but instead he propped himself against the gleaming red engine. “You seemed a little distracted up there.”

Vader grunted.

“What was going on? I'm not prying, but it's the kind of thing I need to know.” The captain fixed him with level charcoal-­gray eyes. Vader knew Cap wanted to move on, that he wanted to go back to the academy and have more time at home with his wife and brand-­new baby. He was probably sick of moments like this, sick of supervising clowns like him.

Maybe his fall had knocked something loose, or maybe it was the ibuprofen, but Vader felt ironic laughter bubble to the surface. “You wouldn't believe what I was thinking about.”

“Try me.”

“Taking the promotional exam for captain.”

A spark of surprise lit up Brody's eyes. He tilted his head and seemed to consider the idea seriously. “Good for you.”

“Good for me? Are you serious? I just fell off the freaking Stick. Captain material, I ain't.”

“Because you had a fall?” Brody's dry tone made Vader do a double take.

“Because I'm a goof-­off.”

“Yes, well, you'd definitely be your own kind of captain. But everyone is. I'm not like Captain Kelly, am I?”

“No, but . . .” Vader fell silent.

“You want to be a captain? You can do it, Vader. But it's not easy. The exam is just part of it. You'll have to study for it, of course. A lot. There's also the civil ser­vice exam and the ‘three whole score' interview, when the Deputy Chief rakes you over the coals with fire ground questions. You want to know the books inside out. But it takes more than that to get the job. You also want to impress your superiors with how serious you are about it. You might want to consider volunteering for committee assignments. Take on a few special projects. Supervisors want firefighters who do more than just show up for the job. They want the firefighters who go the extra mile, the ones committed to the department, the ones who always show up and give one hundred and fifty percent. You have a degree, right?”

“Yes.”

“A master's wouldn't hurt either. You could take night classes, or complete them online on your days off.”

“I can't,” he said in a flat, final tone of voice, so the captain wouldn't ask why not.

“Well, it's not necessary. It's just one more piece of the puzzle. What it boils down to is that you want ­people to take you seriously. And you know where that starts, right?”

Vader shook his head.

“It starts with taking yourself seriously.”

Every bone in his body shied away from that prospect. Home was serious. Firefighting was serious. But Vader? Vader was never serious. Except about bodybuilding. And beer. And closing down bars.

“Oh, I take myself seriously. Serious as an STD,” he quipped, because that's what Vader did.

Brody gave one of his enigmatic smiles and straightened up. “Don't sell yourself short, Firefighter Brown. I think you'd be a helluva captain. If you want it.”

 

Chapter Seven

C
herie spent an anxious few days worrying about two things—­if Humility was going to show up, and if Vader wasn't. She knew that she'd upset him during their postcoital confrontation. But as soon as she saw him stride up the walkway to the studio, wearing jeans and a SGFD T-­shirt, exuding muscular, wild-­animal energy, she knew that once again she'd underestimated him. She should have known better.

When Vader said he'd do something, he did it. She couldn't think of one instance in which he hadn't. But what mood would he be in? Would he be resigned to performing his civic duty as her Firefighter for a Day? Would he be going through the motions, stifling his exuberance, breaking her heart in the process?

She channeled her confused emotions into the biggest smile she possessed. He stopped in his tracks and fixed her with a stern look. “You're not going to turn this into
that
kind of tango lesson, are you?”

About to protest, she caught his little wink. The tightness in her chest, the fear that she'd finally driven Vader away for good, eased. Maybe they could resume their usual playfulness as if nothing had happened—­as if they hadn't backslided into sex just days ago. “Don't tempt me,” she teased.

“That's my line, babe. And I'm serious.” He reached her side. All her nerve endings flared to attention. “Don't play with the animals, remember? The sexpot voice is off-­limits. And you'd better put your hair up in that school principal bun of yours.” His warm brown gaze raked her up and down. “And I think I have an old canvas tent you can wear.”

She laughed, in that despite-­herself, goofy way only Vader inspired.

“I'll teach class in your turnouts if you want.”

He took her by the elbow, opened the door, and steered her through. “See, you just don't get it, do you? You—­in my turnouts—­that's hot. That's damn hot. Now you got me going, babe. We need an empty studio, and we need it now.”

As she giggled, warmth spread through her with the speed of a shot of brandy. No one else had ever made her feel like this, as if she were floating in some kind of golden bubble, buoyed by his warmth, his desire, his appreciation. If only she didn't love being with Vader so much, if only his particular brand of lust and goofiness didn't touch some sweet spot deep inside her.

And then there was his unbelievable physique. As they stepped into the studio where a few students had already gathered, she witnessed the impact he had on strangers. Saw eyes widen, heads turn, lips lick. Felt the very air turn charged. She was used to Vader's intensely male presence—­not that it didn't still affect her—­but for the rest of the class, it was like a shot of adrenaline straight to the vein.

It wasn't every day that a six-­foot-­plus, bronzed, expertly sculpted work of art walked into the room.

Her male students didn't look happy at the sight of Vader. They were here to meet women, after all, and right now all female attention was on the broad-­shouldered, narrow-­hipped, mouthwatering hunk of man aiming a wide smile in their general direction.

She'd better move quickly, before she lost the male half of her class. Putting a possessive hand on Vader's ridged forearm, she said, “This is my partner, Vader Brown.” It was true enough. He was her
dance
partner. They could draw whatever other conclusions they wanted. “He's a firefighter here in town and he's taking valuable time away from his duties to show us how a man leads the tango.”

Vader stood with legs apart, hands linked behind his back, and offered a friendly nod to the class. “Howdy.”

Tara, a buxom brunette, raised her hand. Cherie's hackles rose. Tara was a player; she was pretty sure Tara had already slept with at least two other students.

“Have you been dancing the tango for a while, Vader?”

“Nope.” He winked. “But I promise I know what I'm doing. I had a good teacher.”

Before Tara could get too much of a flirtation going, Cherie jumped in. “Before we start, I wanted to share the results of the research I did after our discussion of the health benefits of tango last week. One study showed it helps Parkinson's patients with their balance. Other studies say it can make you feel more relaxed, less depressed, and sexier.”

“I'd say it's working pretty well,” Vader joked, scanning the class. Cherie noticed the disgruntled look on the faces of the single men in the class.

“And here's something just for you guys,” said Cherie. “Can you believe tango may also increase testosterone levels?”

“I think we're looking at Exhibit A,” purred Tara.

Cherie was starting to dislike her student. “Okay, everyone find a partner.” She started the music playing on her iPod, which she'd hooked into the studio's sound system. As the provocative notes flirted through the room, she stepped into the opening pose with Vader—­just to emphasize the point that everyone else would have to find their own partners.

“Now don't worry too much about the steps yet. The most important thing is to listen to the music. That's what it's really all about. Listen to the music and the beat, let that other part of yourself take over, the part that doesn't live here”—­she tapped her head—­“but here.” She jabbed her fist into her stomach. “Or even a little lower down.”

The class laughed. Vader's left eyebrow quirked upward.

A new student, an awkward, thin girl with a terribly unflattering haircut, whose name tag identified her as Cathy, waved her hand. Cherie walked over to her iPod and stopped the music. “Yes, Cathy?”

“What if you come from a family where dancing means snapping your fingers to ‘Jumpin' Jack Flash.' You know, the white man overbite?” She demonstrated, shifting gracelessly back and forth while biting her lower lip.

Cherie smiled at her, experiencing a rush of compassion. It could be difficult to do something out of your comfort zone, something you hoped desperately would find you true love. She had complete empathy for her students. “I know exactly where you're coming from. You know, I never danced one step until I was seventeen years old. Where I came from it was considered a sin. You know that movie
Footloose
? I lived that movie, except there was no sneaking out of the house in my family. If I could learn to dance, I guarantee all of y'all can.”

Cathy looked at her with wide eyes. “What happened when you were seventeen?”

Cherie bit her lip. Something about dance class—­the shared sweat, the intimacy created by making a fool of yourself—­made it tempting to say too much. She had no business spilling personal details when she was working. Especially with Vader listening. She'd promised Jacob.

“I left home,” she said, simply. “Now come on. From the top.” She started the music again. Turning back to Vader, she caught the arrested look on his face.
Stupid, stupid
. She should have kept her mouth shut.

“How come you never told me any of that?” he murmured as she moved back into position.

“Never came up.”

“You tell your tango students more than you tell me? What kind of sense does that make? Why'd you leave home? How'd you end up here?”

With a pointed glare, she turned up the volume on her iPod. “Okay, class. Pay attention, now.” She faced Vader, raising her hands into the starting position. Vader instantly did the same, as if he'd been dancing the tango for years. With a narrow-­eyed look that declared their conversation far from finished, he stepped forward. At her nod, he took the opening step. “Gentleman, watch how Vader holds his right arm. In that position, it's easier to guide your partner across the floor. Watch how he assumes command, but also how he pays attention to his partner. Both leading and following come down to one thing. Anyone know what it is?”

Nothing more than a sigh fluttered across the room as the two of them glided and turned across the polished floor. Why wasn't anyone answering? Weren't they paying attention? She caught her and Vader's reflection in the mirror, and nearly missed a step. Even though Vader was keeping the exactly perfect distance from her, every line of his body—­the tilt of his head, the slight hunch of his huge shoulders, the way he angled toward her—­screamed of possession and . . . well, passion.

Which was exactly what the tango was all about, but still . . .

She swallowed hard. “Anyone? What's the key to leading and following?”

Still no answer. Above her, Vader cleared his throat. “Can I take a guess?”

She gave him a gracious nod of her head. “Please.”

“It's listening. Hearing what your partner is telling you. Not with words, but with their body.” They reached the turn, and he dropped her backward, maneuvering her smoothly with arms like bands of iron.

She gave a little squeak, unable to manage more. Once again, he stepped into the breach. “You can't just haul her around like a dead ox, dudes. It's about the C word. You know, communication.” He winked at the class, breaking the spell. A ripple of laughter swept through the room.

Tara raised her hand, slanting an avaricious look at Vader. “Cherie, don't you think all of us ladies should get a chance to be partnered by Vader, so we can see what it's like?” Cherie gritted her teeth. Vader was like catnip to women like Tara. They saw him as a fun, no-­strings, surefire roll in the hay.

But Vader was more than that, much more. She resolved to keep Tara far away from Vader.

“No,” Cherie said quickly. “All the men in this room are more than capable of leading. Let's see what y'all can do now.” Her Arkansas accent was intensifying—­a sure sign she was rattled. What was so wrong with Vader partnering the other women in the room? She shouldn't mind. She didn't mind. Well, she wouldn't mind if it were any other girl but Tara, and of course Tara would be first in line.

She restarted the track, then stood back and watched as ­couples formed. As always, there weren't quite enough men to go around. Vader squinted down at her, hands hooked in the back pockets of his jeans. “Something's not making sense here. You sure you want me holding up this wall while those poor girls look so lonely?”

“I don't want to take advantage of your time. You came to help me out, not dance with a bunch of strangers.”

“I'll probably survive. Now come on, who should I dance with first?”

Admitting defeat, she heaved a sigh. No way could she admit the real truth, that she shied away from the thought of him touching another woman. She was here to teach, not to hover over her assistant like a jealous high-­schooler. “Take your pick.”

“Really? Fireman's choice?”

He'd probably go for Tara. Tara was the hottest girl in the room, and she'd been flirting with him ever since he walked in.

But Vader surprised her, as he had a way of doing. He walked over to Cathy, the awkward new student, and gave her that friendly grin that no shy person could resist. Tara looked fit to be tied, and managed to miss a step, which meant that her partner stumbled into her, causing the two of them to crash into another ­couple. Cherie rushed to sort out the aftermath before any blood was shed.

When she looked up again, the room was humming with excitement. Vader and Cathy were at the center of an admiring ring of students. They were prancing cheek-­to-­cheek across the room with no sign of awkwardness. Vader's rough-­hewn features were set in a concentrated expression, while Cathy's cheeks held two bright spots of excitement. When they reached the center of the room, he whispered something to her, she nodded, and at the next turn he lifted her off the floor, whirling her around in a perfect spin.

Everyone applauded. Cherie experienced a moment of sheer, crazed envy. That ought to be her flying through the air, weightless in the arms of the strongest man she knew.

As Vader set the breathless Cathy back on her feet, his step faltered, as if his leg had nearly buckled. He covered it up quickly, but too late.

“Break time!” Cherie called, turning off the music. “Vader and Cathy, great job. I haven't even covered spins yet. I'd prefer if you'd wait until I instruct you in the more advanced moves. Vader, can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

Vader scrunched his eyebrows, but his usual playfulness seemed a little forced. “I guess I'm in trouble now.”

“Take five, everyone! We'll be right back.”

Vader followed her to the hallway. With her expert eyes, she knew he was trying not to limp. As soon as they were alone, she turned on him. “What were you thinking? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I was just trying to show her a good time. She seemed so nervous.” His coffee-­brown eyes flicked away from her. She reached up and took his chin into her hand, turning her face back toward his, refusing to let him avoid her scrutiny. This time, she saw the pain lurking in the tightness of the skin around his eyes.

“What's wrong? You tell me right now, Vader Brown. I'm serious.”