The Woman For Dusty Conrad

Back for good? Dusty slowed his step, an odd foreboding taking root in his stomach. He glanced at his friend and absently rubbed the back of his neck. When he’d left, he’d done so without any intention of returning. John’s sincere expression told him he expected otherwise.

“Nope,” he finally said in answer. “Just back for a visit.”

When he’d left, he’d done so without talking to anyone but Jolie. He’d never stopped to consider how she might explain his absence. Even if he had, he would have guessed she’d put it as simply as possible. Say something along the lines that after the death of his brother, he’d lost his nerve…both as a firefighter and her husband.

He would never have thought that she might not explain it at all.

A full minute passed before Dusty’s eyesight adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dimness of the station as they stepped into the open bay. “Jolie around?” he asked as casually as he could, though just forming his mouth around her name did something funny to his stomach.

John shook his head. “She, Martinez and Sal are out on a run.”

Dusty wasn’t surprised. If a truck was gone, then Jolie was on it. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

John chuckled. “Not unless you’re a chicken farmer. One of Rudy Glick’s chicken trucks overturned over on Route 108 with a full load. Yeah, I’d say Jolie and the guys have their hands pretty full right about now.”

At the sound of their voices, the remaining members of Group 1, the team scheduled for duty that day, came out from the back room. Dusty weathered a swarm of back pats, arm slugs and hearty greetings from the men he’d spent a good chunk of his life with fighting fires.

“There is a God,” Gary Jones, the chief, moaned, his gray hair tucked under a station ball cap. “I haven’t had a decent meal around here since the day you left, Dusty.”

Sparks patted Gary’s round middle. “Not that you could tell.”

“Watch it, boy, or I’ll ban you from the station.” A grin smoothed the edge off his words. “Either that or retire now instead of in a few weeks, leaving the town in the lurch. Then where would you be, Sheriff Sparks?”

“Ouch.”

Dusty slid his fingers into his front jeans pockets. “Who’s on kitchen detail now?”

“Martinez.”

He winced. “I’m guessing he got stuck with it because of lack of seniority rather than any real skills in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not his skills we’re questioning. It’s his choice of foods. Refried beans are not something you want churning in your stomach when you’re called off on a run.” The guys laughed. “Anyway, we did try to enlist somebody else….” Jones’s words drifted off even as his blue eyes twinkled. “You should have seen Jolie’s face when we suggested she take over, you know, thinking she may have picked up a thing or two from you along the way.”

Dusty scratched his chin. “I can imagine. You all must have thought it was the Fourth of July what with all the fireworks that suggestion should have launched.”

Gary grimaced as he burrowed his fingers under the front of his ball cap. “Got that right. We nearly had to get out the hose. That little gal of yours sure has a temper, all right.”

All at once Gary seemed to realize what he’d said, as did everyone else in the firehouse, setting off an uncomfortable silence. Even Scooter Wahl, hanging out on the fringes, looked ill at ease.

Sparks cleared his throat. “So how long you in town for, buddy?”

“I don’t know yet….”

The strident sound of an engine horn bellowed through the house. They all turned to find the missing members of the team pulling into the drive. Behind the cab, Jolie jumped off the step onto the pavement, her heavy gear slowing her not at all.

Dusty was rendered completely speechless. Fool that he was, he hadn’t considered how he’d feel when he laid eyes on Jolie again. Hadn’t even thought to remember that just looking at her made him wonder if he’d just swallowed a handful of sand. Hadn’t anticipated his intense physical reaction to her, a need, really, that always seemed to be there, just below the surface of his skin. Even in her turnout clothes, the bulky yellow fireproof and waterproof jacket and pants, she drew his gaze like a spotlight. The bright morning sun ignited the auburn strands in her hair, her cheeks were full of color, the adrenaline inspired by any run fairly emanating from her like a heady perfume.

Then she spotted him. Her blue eyes widened to the size of baseballs, then brightened with a happiness that sent Dusty’s stomach careering down to land somewhere around the vicinity of his knees.

Simple. Right.

Dusty had the sinking sensation that nothing about this visit was going to be simple.

Joy surged through Jolie Calbert Conrad’s veins sure and strong as she stared into the face of the man it seemed she had loved her entire life. How many times in the past few months had she imagined returning to the station to find Dusty there? No fewer than a dozen at least. But he never had been. Until now. And despite the weightless sensation in her stomach, her shallow breathing, and the heat that immediately rushed to her cheeks, she wasn’t altogether sure how she felt about him being there now.

Especially since his coming here to the station, rather than stopping by the house, their house, didn’t bode well for what he was doing back.

“Did you get those dangerous, rampaging chickens picked up?” the chief asked as Martinez climbed from behind the driver’s seat.

“Dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it,” he said. “The town is safe for all to walk the streets again.”

“Hey, it’s Dusty!” Martinez rushed her husband and gave him an awkward bear hug. Jolie envied him the simple gesture, if only for the physical contact it allowed. She averted her gaze, trying to push the desire to hug Dusty herself safely away.

She swallowed the sudden emotion clogging her throat. Hugging Dusty should be the last thing she wanted to do. After five years of marriage, and a whole lifetime together before that, six months had gone by with little word from him. Except, of course, those words that came through his attorney.

She shivered despite the sunshine warmth of the day and the heavy gear she wore.

Martinez made some comment on Dusty’s getting a little soft around the middle, then said, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, buddy. Where in the hell have you been? How in the hell are you?”

“Fine,” Dusty said, his gaze never leaving Jolie’s face.

Suddenly Jolie’s boots seemed made of cement rather than specially treated leather, and her gear weighed a ton. She felt as if she’d just come off from fighting a four-alarm fire rather than chasing chickens that had been granted unexpected clemency down the highway. Something brushed against her foot and she started, making her realize that while she may appear completely at ease at seeing her husband for the first time in six months, her nerves were pulled taut and her stomach burned so much it hurt. Almost as an afterthought, she looked down at the scrap of fur that wound itself around her ankles. The usually coolly indifferent station cat traced figure eights around her legs. Jolie grimaced as Spot nudged her with more power than she would have thought possible. She stumbled forward, then played it off as if she’d meant to do that. Plucking her hat from the truck cab, she began shrugging out of her coat. Spot followed.

“Dusty,” she acknowledged, trying to treat him like any other fellow firefighter as she entered the station. Pretend she hadn’t spent the first month after he’d left crying her way through the night, then the next month dreaming he’d come back.

But as she grew nearer to him, she became all too aware of how exactly he wasn’t just a fellow firefighter. And it had more to do with just the plain gold band she still wore around her ring finger.

Dusty Conrad was her husband. The man who had promised to love and cherish and care for her until “death do us part.” And though she hadn’t checked with the pastor, she was sure that those vows in no way included a note that read, “Please forgive me,” and a disappearing act that would have made Copperfield sit up and take notice.

Chief Jones cleared his throat. “Hey, Jolie, you schedule that annual physical yet?”

She glanced at Gary, as if unable to comprehend his words. “Not yet.”

“You’ve only got till the end of the month, you know.”

She nodded slowly. “I know.” And to think, just this morning she was thinking how much she hated checking in for her annual physical. Compared to facing Dusty now, it came a distant second.

The brief exchange proved the silence-breaker and the guys started talking again, conversation centering on Dusty and his sudden return.

Jolie purposely jutted her chin out. No matter how good he looked standing there in those faded jeans and soft chambray shirt, she wasn’t going to let on how loudly her hormones screamed or how much she wanted to pin him against the firehouse wall and make up for lost time. She wasn’t about to reveal anything until she found out why he was here. And even then, it might not be a good idea to tell him how much she’d missed him.

“I’m going to clean up,” she said to everybody and nobody in particular. She sprinted for the locker room, nearly tripping over the fluff of black-and-white fuzz that was Spot blocking her path. So much for making a graceful exit.

Well, hell, that hadn’t gone quite as he’d expected.

Dusty cast a glance toward the empty kitchen doorway and wondered exactly what Jolie had gone to clean up. He’d assumed she’d meant herself. But in the forty-five minutes since she’d been gone, she could have cleaned the showers, bunkhouse and both fire engines…with her toothbrush.

Anxious, he flipped over the chicken-fried steaks he was preparing, seeking comfort in his old familiar role as cook. But his mind wasn’t having any of it. The truth was being here was a little too familiar. Too comfortable. And to think he’d purposely come to the station instead of going to the house because he’d been afraid of familiarity. Wanted to avoid the temptation of falling back into old routines.