What a Girl Wants

Ken shook his head. “My days of six-pack abs and bulging biceps are over, I’m afraid. No one wants to see this out there.” Rubbing his large stomach, he shuddered.

“That’s the truth,” Mark called from his post, where he secured the blood pressure cuff around Mrs. Norris’s arm.

The older woman, the owner of Ginger Snaps, the bakery on Main Street, shot Chief Clarke a look that suggested he was past his prime, though Bailey suspected Ginger Norris was at least ten years his senior.

“You looking to get assigned nightshift duty, Adams?” Ken warned.

“You can’t. I’ve had nights for three weeks now. Tonight is my first one off and the beginning of a rotation of days.” Mark removed the cuff and recorded the reading on a wallet card for Ginger. He handed it to her and accepted her hug, before gathering her purse and jacket for her.

“Are you sure about that?” Ken asked, checking the rotation schedule on the pegboard behind him, which was covered with pictures of his grandchildren. To say he was a proud grandfather would be an understatement.

“Positive.”

“Darn,” Ken muttered. “Well, that doesn’t prevent me from putting you on bathroom duties.”

“You already put Craig on bathroom duty for pouring salt in the sugar dish in the lunchroom last week, remember?”

Bailey watched the scene with unconcealed amusement. The men were always pulling pranks on each other at the fire hall and Ken was often on the receiving end. It was all in good fun and the guys knew they’d pay for it with extra shifts or unwanted responsibilities. Injecting some fun into their routine helped to break up the monotony of quiet days and ease tension whenever there was a real emergency.

“Anyway, I’m not here to check out the guys,” Bailey said, though it was an added bonus. “I’m here to check on truck number two.” The ladder engine was rarely used, causing the hydraulic fluid lines to clog and making it untrustworthy in the event of an emergency. While most buildings in Brookhollow were no more than two stories high, some of the newer structures in the downtown business sector were four stories or more.

“Great timing. The hydraulic motor didn’t work last week during a routine test.” He motioned behind her. “There’s Ethan. Get him to show you the problem with the rotating gear on the motor.”

Bailey held her breath as she turned to face her best friend. He was in full uniform, on clinic duty. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Relieved, she decided, yet... She cleared her throat.

“Hey, you. How’s the arm?” She nodded toward the small hand-shaped purple-and-yellow bruise visible on the inside of his strong, perfectly smooth left biceps, just below the firefighter crest on the sleeve of his dark blue shirt.

Ethan’s broad smile revealed perfect, straight white teeth and a deep dimple in his left cheek. “It’s fine. You don’t really think that move you pulled on me last night actually worked, do you? I was just playing along...for the sake of the class.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s why you looked ready to cry when I wrenched your arm behind your back?” Bailey taught a weekly self-defense class at her brothers’ gym and mixed-martial-arts—MMA—club, Extreme Athletics, and Ethan had volunteered to act as the attacker for demonstration purposes.

“I told you—it was all for show. Besides, I’ll do anything I can to get you closer to your trip to Venice.”

It had been his suggestion to charge for the self-defense class, knowing she’d been saving money for the trip to Italy. Her parents had honeymooned in Venice years before and her mom had told Bailey stories about its beautiful scenery and culture when she was growing up. She’d always wanted to go and decided it was time, but having just bought the garage from her uncle Doug the month before, funds were limited.

“Well, your injuries are definitely appreciated.”

“Come on, I’ll show you the problem with the truck.” Ethan led the way to the ladder truck in the last bay. “So where’s your sidekick today?”

Bailey followed him to the engine. “Are you kidding me? Nick would never be up this early. He works in the shop from about ten to three-ish three days a week...and even that’s too much.” Doug’s son, her cousin Nick, had started to work in the shop that summer after dropping out of the computer program he’d been attending at the New Jersey Institute of Technology the previous year. He knew nothing about mechanics and had even less interest, but Doug had insisted that he apprentice with her that summer. She only prayed he planned to return to school in the fall. Her cousin was a great guy, but having him around the shop proved to be more work than help, and he certainly didn’t enjoy being there.

“Probably a good thing. You said yourself, the guy doesn’t know a wrench from a screwdriver,” Ethan said with a shake of his head.

Climbing up onto the roof of the fire engine, she studied the hydraulic motor. “So what’s wrong with this?”

“The rotating piece of the motor—it won’t shift left to right.”

“Probably just a fluid buildup in the lines.”

“If you say so,” Ethan said with a laugh. “You’re the expert.”

“Ethan, quit flirting with our mechanic and get over here,” Mark called.

Bailey paused and glanced at Ethan.

A slow teasing grin spread across his face. “Are we flirting?” he asked loud enough for Mark to hear.

Bailey played along. “Well, if the biggest flirt in town thinks so...”

“Very funny, you two,” Mark grumbled, nodding toward Sheila Mason, who awaited her turn for the blood pressure check, her cell phone to her ear and her sandaled foot tapping against the concrete floor.

Bailey frowned. “Mrs. Mason is here?”

“Yeah, she’s helping Victoria plan the wedding. I wouldn’t be surprised if her blood pressure is a little high.”

Sheila Mason’s daughter, Victoria, had returned to Brookhollow eight months before to buy out Legend’s, the local sporting-goods store, on behalf of her client, Play Hard Sports. She’d not only acquired the store, but also rekindled the flame with her former fiancé, Luke Dawson. Bailey could understand Sheila’s anxiety. Her daughter had called off her first wedding twelve years ago just two weeks before it was to take place.

Turning her attention to the engine, Bailey fiddled with the rotating gear just as her beeper chimed on her hip. The fire-hall phone rang seconds later and Ethan dived for it. “Fire hall five...Yes, no problem...South of exit forty-eight,” he said, repeating the information flashing on her pager. Grabbing her tool kit, she climbed back down as he replaced the receiver.

“Car stranded on I-95?”

“Looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he confirmed.

* * *

ETHAN’S CELL PHONE vibrated against the console of the fire truck and he barely heard the familiar ringtone above the wail of the sirens as he sped along the highway toward exit forty-eight. His gaze flew to the call display and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. The Miami number flashed on the screen for a torturous five rings before the call went to voice mail. Emily wouldn’t leave a message. She never did. Yet lately the calls from his ex-girlfriend were becoming more and more frequent...as were the text messages that simply said she needed to talk. Yeah, well, the time for talking had long passed.

“Her again?” his brother and coworker Jim asked from the passenger seat of the engine. He’d just finished washing the truck when the call had come in and had offered to go along as the other men were busy running the clinic.

“Yeah,” Ethan mumbled, avoiding Jim’s expression. One he’d seen too many times over the past six months since his long-term girlfriend, Emily Parsons, had dumped him and left Brookhollow to follow a big corporate executive from Play Hard Sports to Miami. Greg Harrison, the vice president of sales, had arrived in town to train the new store managers and Emily had caught his attention and interest. For weeks, all Ethan had heard was Greg this, Greg that, and while he wasn’t normally a jealous person, he’d suspected Emily was interested in the man who’d driven into Brookhollow in his Audi R8 and designer suit.

So when the executive had offered her an opportunity to join the management trainee program to become a corporate trainer, Emily had jumped at the opportunity. That hadn’t surprised Ethan. Emily had always talked about leaving Brookhollow to live in a big city, but he wondered how much of her decision had been based on the job offer and how much on her new boss.

“Why don’t you ever answer it?”

“I’ve got nothing to say to her.” In fact, he had a lot to say, but he preferred to take the high road. Emily had made her choice, and while her decision to end a ten-year relationship on a whim had made him angry, there had been nothing he could do about it when she was standing right there in front of him. He doubted he could talk sense into her when she was in sunny Florida, living the life she’d always claimed she wanted.

“I can think of a few things to say. Can I answer it next time?” Jim drained the contents of his iced cappuccino and set the cup in the holder.

“There’s no point, Jim. Nothing we say will bring her back.” Ethan checked the rearview mirror and noticed Bailey’s tow truck speeding along in the lane beside him.

“Is that what you think I want?” Jim scoffed. “Tell me you’re not crazy enough to want that.”

Ethan remained silent. His brother didn’t get it. Jim and his girlfriend, Jill, had only been seeing each other for two years. They were sickeningly in love and Jim had never had to experience the pain and humiliation Ethan had suffered. Emily’s leaving had shocked him, along with almost everyone else in town. Sure, things hadn’t been great between them for a while, but they’d still loved each other. At least, he’d still been in love. And to leave him for a man she’d known less than a month was a blow to his ego, difficult to recover from.

“Oh, come on, man. She ran off the first opportunity she got.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” And his family hadn’t allowed him to forget. They expected that his anger over the situation should help to erase the pain and longing he felt for the woman who’d been a major part—maybe even the biggest part—of his life since high school. His sister, Melody, was probably the most understanding, having lost her husband two years before in a car accident, but even she thought that he would have moved on by now. And for the most part, he thought he was doing well. At least, until the phone rang and it was her. Not answering her calls when he longed to hear her voice was torture.