troop dutifully followed him outside, past the circular fan. Careful not to bump into it herself, Christina hovered at the door as several firefighters began to show the girls the equipment on the fire truck.
“Well, that’ll keep them occupied for a bit,” Mrs. Sims commented as she approached.
“Yes,” Christina said, her gaze never leaving the scene in the parking lot. “Even though it appears everything’s okay, I should probably go out there and supervise.”
“That sounds wise. I’ll get the crafts set up. The girls are pretty much finished eating. At least one thing will go right tonight. I don’t know what Lula was thinking. A smoke machine.”
“What a fiasco,” Christina agreed.
“Mistakes happen to the best of us. Don’t worry, Christina, those guys get called out of their homes all the time and at all hours. They know it when they sign up to volunteer.”
“Volunteer?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Sims’s brow creased for only a second. “I forgot that you’re not from here. Morrisville’s fire department is an all-volunteer force. No one’s paid. Even Batesville’s fire department is entirely volunteer, and Batesville is a much larger town that’s home to a Fortune 1000 company.”
Christina winced. She hadn’t realized that volunteer fire departments still existed. Actually, up until two weeks ago, she hadn’t realized quaint little rural communities like Morrisville, population 4,231, still existed. When she’d first interviewed with the law firm of Lancaster and Morris, she’d received a tour of the place, but it had lasted all of ten minutes—the time it took to drive from the Highway 74 exit, through the town square, to the farms on the other side of town.
“Most people around here who aren’t farmers work ten miles away in Batesville at one of the Hillenbrand Industries,” Reginald Morris, the senior partner, had told Christina during the tour. “There are several other smaller manufacturing companies in the area, but none with a large output. We’re hiring you for the case against the Morrisville Garment Company, a small company located just on the outskirts of our town. A Title VII class-action suit is being brought on behalf of a group of Hispanic women, mostly of Mexican descent. One priority for our success in this harassment case is having a partner who can speak Spanish and relate to our clients.”
“That’s a task I’m ready for,” Christina had replied. As a Hispanic female herself, she was drawn by the opportunity to help those women. They belonged to the same ethnic group as Christina, but they had never had any of the chances Christina had had. She felt compelled to help.
Of course, being an hour’s drive west of her philandering ex-husband Kyle in the city that revered him as a football god was also a bonus to landing the job. Bella could see her father, and Christina could meet the court-imposed distance restriction.
She’d been in Morrisville two weeks now, and had used the time to rent a house, enroll Bella in school and get herself involved with some of Bella’s classmates’ parents, before starting work on Monday, November first.
When she’d been asked to help with the Brownie-troop function, she’d jumped at the chance. And had made an absolute mess of things.
She approached the fire truck, and caught an ongoing conversation.
“He’s so hunky,” one of the little girls was whispering to a friend as the fire ladder lifted skyward. “My mom’s always wanting a new man. Says my daddy sleeps too much.”
“Mr. Hunk,” some other little girl agreed, latching on to the nickname.
With a smile to die for and a body to match, the man was compelling. Mr. Hunk. Christina could definitely agree with that assessment of the sexy firefighter.
Then again, Kyle had been a hunk, and look where that had landed her. Just because a man was as handsome as a prince didn’t make him one. These days a woman was better off if she was selective. Thankfully, Bella hadn’t overheard the girls’ conversation regarding the fireman. Christina had no desire to explain what a hunk was.
“Come on, girls, let’s do our crafts,” Mrs. Sims called from the cafeteria doorway.
“Coming,” Bella called.
“I’m going to go check the gym again,” one of the firefighters said. He followed the girls back inside.
Christina turned to the firefighter who had spoken to her earlier. Mr. Hunk. Although the moniker fit, she really had to purge how attractive he was from her mind. Finding a new man was not a priority. Establishing her career and raising her daughter away from the glitz of Cincinnati was. “Thank you for your patience.”
The firefighter shrugged, the high-wattage smile bestowed on the Brownies dimming fast. “It’s all part of the job.”
“Yes, but it isn’t actually your job. You volunteer.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Exactly. I volunteer to do this job. We choose to do it because we help the community. This has been one of my easier calls.”
“You’re not disappointed when there’s no fire?” Christina pressed, oddly finding herself wanting to understand what made a man like him tick.
His crossed his arms. “In a way I am. Once the adrenaline high wears off, though, believe me, we don’t mind false alarms at all.”
“But you dropped whatever you were doing, and on a Friday night.”
“Yeah, well, that comes with the territory.” He paused as one of his partners passed by with the big fan. “Seems like the place is all aired out. Duty calls to help load up. Excuse me.”
Christina stood there for a moment. He deliberately ignored her presence and walked off, entering the school to retrieve the other equipment.
She laced her arms across her bare midriff and followed at a safe distance. Perhaps she was being too intense, too serious. She’d been so driven her whole life to prove herself—to her family, to Kyle. Perhaps she should just take things at face value. Maybe the firefighter meant exactly what he’d said. This was Morrisville, Indiana, and she was a fish learning to live in new waters.
And just because Mr. Hunk was the first man who’d aroused her interest in years—that meant nothing. Even if he found her appealing, she wasn’t ready to date again.
She reentered the cafeteria, and within moments the last of the firefighters had left the school. Soon the fire truck pulled away, taking Mr. Hunk with it. Thank goodness she’d never see him again, Christina thought. She could bury the bad memory of this night forever.
BRUCE LANCASTER TOSSED his firefighter gear on the coatrack and hooked his black helmet over a peg. He stepped through the laundry room and into the kitchen of his small three-bedroom ranch. He’d dropped everything the moment the fire call had come through, and the TV still blared the ESPN sporting event he’d been watching. His plateful of chicken strips was gone, his dinner now in the stomach of the very sleepy and contented cat sleeping innocently near the heat register.
Bruce set the bag of just-purchased fast food on the kitchen table. Wise men with chicken-loving felines knew how to make stops at drive-through restaurants on their way home from firefighting gigs.
Bruce sighed and snagged a French
