A Firefighter's Promise

Rachel Carter licked her finger and wiped a smear of chocolate from her son’s cheek. He squirmed away from her and made a face.

“Mom, stop it,” he complained.

“Stand still, Christopher.” She pulled a tissue out of her jeans pocket to finish the job. “Are you ready?”

The boy twisted around to look at the firehouse. “This is it?”

Rachel’s gaze flickered past her son’s face to the two-story brick building. Old-fashioned brickwork surrounded three large garage doors, and a row of windows stretched across the second story. July sunlight filtered through the rustling leaves of two spreading oak trees, dappling the broad drive. From high in the branches, a squirrel chattered down at them, and Rachel paused and looked up, searching for the noisy critic.

Rachel had spent more than enough time at a firehouse like this one back in Billings. From Christmas dinners up in the barracks when her husband had to work over the holidays to quick visits over his long shifts and having to stand back and let him dash off into danger when that siren whooped. She treasured the memories of her late husband, but firehouses didn’t bring back pleasant memories for her. It was a demanding job, and not even halfway glamorous for the families of the men and women who put their lives on the line for their communities.

“This is it.” She tucked the tissue back into her pocket and regarded her son’s pensive face. “This is your firehouse, Chris.”

“Will the fireman remember me?”

“You’re pretty hard to forget, sweetheart.” She slid a hand over his rumpled blond curls, and he rewarded her with a grin. “Okay, let’s go.”

Angling around the side of the building, Rachel found the main entrance, which faced a small parking lot. She pulled open the door and was met with a welcome blast of air-conditioning. A middle-aged woman sat behind the reception desk, and she looked up with a pencil tucked behind one ear and a distracted smile.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Rachel tucked an errant strand of dark hair back into her ponytail and scooped up Christopher’s hand in hers. “Hi, I’m Rachel Carter. We’re here to see Captain Matthew Bailey.”

“Captain?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “That’s Deputy Fire Chief Matthew Bailey.”

“Oh.” Rachel nodded, registering the higher position. “Is he here?”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Do you have an appointment, miss?”

Rachel shook her head. “No. I tried calling a few times, but I never did hear back from him.”

The receptionist didn’t look impressed with her excuse, and Rachel didn’t entirely blame her. The security in a firehouse was tight, military-style, and no one just squeezed in.

“The deputy fire chief is a very busy man—” the woman behind the desk began.

A throat cleared to the side and Rachel turned to see a tall man with sandy-blond hair, a tinge of gray at the temples. A pressed navy blue uniform tapered down from wide shoulders to a trim waist, and his dark gaze swept over her as he shot her a lazy grin. Warmth rose in her cheeks.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Are you—” she paused, adjusting her mind to his new title, and firmly putting his good looks aside “—Deputy Fire Chief—”

“Matt Bailey.” He held out a broad, calloused hand.

“I’m Rachel Carter, and this is my son, Chris.”

Christopher stared up at the deputy chief, eyes wide. He pressed his lips together into a thin line. He moved a couple of inches closer to Rachel’s side, but his eyes were pinned to the tall firefighter.

“Nice to meet you.” Matt clasped her hand in a brief handshake. “You’re looking for me?” He regarded her in mild curiosity.

“I am, but it’s a little bit delicate. Is there somewhere we could talk?”

The receptionist raised her penciled eyebrows and leaned forward in unveiled interest, but Matt gestured down a short hallway. A few office doors opened up on either side, and Rachel tugged her son along with her. Matt’s polished shoes clicked against the tile floor, and he stopped at a doorway, glancing back at them with a casual smile.

“Come on in.” He gestured them inside, and as she passed him, the musky scent of his cologne tickled her nose.

The room was small and neat, consisting of not much more than a desk and a few file cabinets. Christopher sank into a chair, his gaze locked on the big man, and Rachel remained standing. Matt looked down at the boy thoughtfully, then shifted his attention to Rachel.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Seven years ago, a baby was dropped off on the doorstep of this firehouse.” Rachel’s hand fluttered toward her son’s shoulder. “We were told that Captain Matthew Bailey was the one who found him.”

“Yes, I did find a baby a few years back.” His gaze moved back to Christopher and he cleared his throat.

“This is him,” Rachel said. “My husband and I adopted Christopher shortly after Social Services picked him up.”

“Oh, I see.” Matt nodded several times. “Hi, buddy.”

“Hi.” Christopher eyed the big man uncertainly. “You don’t recognize me?”

“It’s been a while.” A smile flickered at the corners of Matt’s lips. “You’re a lot bigger now.”

Christopher nodded. “I guess.”

“So you came to see the firehouse?” Matt asked.

“We came to see you, actually.” Rachel straightened her shoulders. Was she completely out of line doing this? She wasn’t even sure. “Christopher has wanted to meet the firefighter who found him for a long time now. I’ve tried calling but never seemed to get through. I’m sorry to just drop in on you like this, but Chris was hoping to meet you.”

“Well.” Matt’s tone turned formal. “It’s all part of the job, Christopher. As a firefighter, I’m here to help the community, and that might be in a fire or at an accident, or even calling Social Services to pick up a baby.”

Pick up a baby. Rachel glanced down at her son, not missing the disappointed slump in his small shoulders.

“Did you want to ask Mr. Bailey anything, Christopher?” she prompted hopefully.

Christopher shook his head and looked down.

“But you remember Christopher?” Rachel turned a pleading gaze onto the man before her. She understood his job better than he probably realized, but a little boy mattered more than whatever meetings and paperwork awaited him, and she wasn’t going to let this slide by so easily.

“Do I remember you, buddy? Absolutely. It’s not every day that a baby gets dropped on our doorstep. Here is an interesting bit of trivia for you. Did you know that firehouses have become a safe place for mothers to drop—” He stopped and cleared his throat again.

Unwanted infants. At least he’d stopped himself. Rachel stared at the deputy fire chief as silence stretched awkwardly between them. Capping the rising irritation inside her, she smiled coolly.

“Do you think Christopher could look at the fire trucks for a couple of minutes while we talk alone?” she asked.

Matt nodded. “Sure.” A firefighter crossed the open doorway and Matt rose to his feet. “Johnson!” Was that a hint of desperation in his voice?

The man turned back. “Yes, sir?”

“Would you mind showing this young man the fire trucks for about five minutes?”