Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / Surrogate and Wife / Lying in Your Arms

Her hand slipped into his and he gripped it, focused on her silvery eyes. And that dusting of freckles across her nose. What would it be like to kiss each and every one? She looked like happiness personified. He knew she’d had some hard knocks herself, but they didn’t get her down. For a moment he envied her. He’d give anything to turn the clock back. To be the man he once was.

The moment passed. Another. The restaurant came back into focus—people enjoying the good food, the laughter and conversation conveying their pleasure. He drew a deep breath.

“Did you want dessert?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. Mariella was like a lifeline. Was that the clue? Not lock himself away but be with her all the time?

He’d give almost anything to do just that.

They decided against dessert. Soon they headed back to the car, glad the rain had stopped—if only temporarily. The dark clouds showed the storm had not completely passed.

She remained sitting in the car when Cristiano stopped in front of the Bertatalis’ home. Dante was asleep in his car seat, the stroller folded in the trunk.

“It’s been a nice day despite the rain. Thank you for lunch,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

“Your family’s restaurant is so nice. I really like it. You’re lucky to be a part of that, even if you don’t work there.”

That might change. If he couldn’t return to firefighting, what would he do? Join his sister in the restaurant?

No public job. If he got that bad, he would never be able to be certain he wouldn’t have another flashback. He gripped his hands on the steering wheel. Better he’d been killed in the bombing instead of injured. No one would ever have known about the reactions he couldn’t control.

He would do his best to make sure no one ever found out.

“Thanks again,” she said, opening the door.

“I’ll get the stroller.” Cristiano got out and retrieved the stroller from the trunk while Mariella took Dante, car seat and all, from the car.

The nightmare woke him again. Cristiano came awake amidst terror. He clenched his hands into fists and fought the tattered memory that wouldn’t let go. Flinging off the blanket, he rose and went to the window. Breathing hard, he pushed open the window and drank in the cold night air. Gradually he calmed. He hadn’t had a nightmare in days. He’d thought, maybe—was he forever doomed to relive the bombing?

He flung on some clothes and went to the kitchen for some coffee. No going back to sleep after that. He glanced around as he waited for the water to boil, feeling frustrated and angry. Noticing the laptop still on the table, he forced himself to remember Mariella using it. He could picture her blonde hair falling forward when she leaned closer to the screen. Her fingers had flown across the keys. Just thinking about her lowered his anxiety level. He almost smiled, wishing he could see her right now.

Of course starting any relationship with a woman he could scare to death if they slept together and he awoke in the throes of a nightmare would be foolish beyond belief. The kettle whistled and he turned to make the coffee. Still, the thought tantalized. She brought sanity into his life, made him hope for more than he had in a long time. He liked being with her. Wanted to know every speck of information about her life, her hopes, her dreams, now that she had a child to raise.

He wanted her in his life. Dared he risk such a chance?

Once he filled his cup, he prowled around the cottage. He considered going to the workshop and continuing with his project, but felt too edgy. Draining the cup, he grabbed the keys to the motorcycle. He’d ride through the remainder of the night and hope to find peace come dawn.

The roads were lonely, scarcely used even in the summer. No traffic. Few residences scattered miles apart. The world seemed different at night. No people. No animals he could see. Just the strip of asphalt illuminated by the headlight, the rest shadows whipping by, undefined vague splotches of black melding together as he increased the speed of the bike.

He made the circuit he’d completed many times before. Slowing as he approached the village, he looked toward the Bertatalis’ cottages. The last time he’d done that one had been on fire. No sign of flames tonight. But the cottage Mariella was staying in was lit up; light spilled from every window.

He turned into the lane that led to the cottages. Stopping by hers, he considered his next step. Knock on the door to see if all was well? Would that scare her? A knock in the middle of the night? What if she’d merely fallen asleep with the lights on?

He glanced toward the east. A slight lightening of the darkness. Dawn was not that far away.

He heard the baby cry.

Quickly he went to the door and knocked.

A tearful Mariella and wailing baby opened the door.

“Cristiano, what are you doing here?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside.

“He’s been crying most of the night. I can’t get him to stop. I’ve checked everything, given him warm milk, but he doesn’t even want the bottle. I don’t know what to do.” With that she burst into tears.

“Here, give me the baby,” he said, preferring dealing with a crying child than a woman’s tears.

She complied and then wiped her cheeks. “I’ll be right back.” She fled.

The baby continued to cry and Cristiano juggled him, remembering another baby who had cried. The smoke and cement particles floating in the thick air had only exacerbated his distress. He would never take fresh air for granted again.

He bounced the baby gently. Watching Dante, he took a breath, testing the limits. Nothing but a warm cottage and a crying baby.

“Hey, little man, none of that. You’ve kept your mamma up all night by the looks of it,” he said easily.

The baby scrunched up his face and looked ready to let fly again.

“Now, now, what’s wrong?”

Cristiano rested him against his chest, upright so his head was by his own. Slowly he rubbed the baby’s head with his cheek.

Dante hiccuped and then stopped crying, swaying back enough to look at Cristiano. His face was wet with tears, his eyes red. But he looked at Cristiano as if examining a wondrous thing.

“That’s better. Give your mother a break. People normally sleep at night.”

Mariella entered, having washed her face and pulled on a sweatshirt over her nightgown.

“What are you doing up so late at night? People normally sleep. And how did you get him to stop? He’s been crying since before midnight!” Mariella peered at the baby. He still looked as if he’d start crying any second, but so far he was distracted by Cristiano.

“I woke early, took a ride.”

“It’s freezing outside.”

He shrugged. Nothing colder than the way he felt after the nightmares.

“Well, I’m glad you did. Do you think he’ll feel like going to sleep?” she asked hopefully, worried eyes studying the baby.

“I don’t know, but you look like you could keel over without a problem.”

She nodded and brushed her hand lightly over Dante’s head. “I am so tired. But if he can’t sleep, neither can I. I think he’s teething. It’s what the baby books say for this age. He won’t eat, won’t sleep, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Take a nap. I’ll watch this little guy.”

She looked at him.

The hope brimming in her eyes made Cristiano laugh.