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After Engine 4 laid hose on the fire, Joe’s crew directed the high school kids out of the smoky building. Water slapping on the fire in various areas of the school blocked their nervous shouts.

Because he used a megaphone, Liam Murray’s voice could be heard above the racket. “To the front...that’s it...keep going.”

Hildy Grant, his best firefighter on the group, swept by with her arm around a student. “That’s okay. It’s easier to breathe out here.”

Norm Preston took up the rear, herding additional students. His voice bellowed through his SCBA. Where was the rookie? Scanning the area, Joe caught sight of Trevor Tully heading out of the building carrying a student over his shoulder. He was strong and strapping and Joe was glad the kid got assigned to his house and shift.

The radio crackled on. “Santori. Battalion Chief Altman here. Head to the back left quadrant of the school. Kids say a teacher and student are trapped.”

“Got it.” He glanced around and saw Hildy walking down the hall again. “Grant, come with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

They hurried through the corridors on foot, but as they approached their destination, the air temperature shot up. Both dropped to their knees simultaneously. Felt along the wall. The smoke was thickening, but you could still see through it. In minutes they reached their destination. And thankfully, Engine 4’s crew was already there.

“Somebody’s trapped,” Joe told TJ McManis, the captain.

“Yeah, we heard. My guys are finished dumping water from the hose. You can go back now.”

As they edged closer to the first room, Joe pulled out the thermal camera. The department hadn’t yet begun using the facemasks with a camera attached. Joe scanned the area with the device. “Two heat signatures in the right corner. Let’s go, Grant.”

A few feet away from the location, they were met with fallen wood blocking their way. Joe called out, “We’re here. We’ll get you. Stay down and cover your head.” He and Grant took out halligans—axes with picks on the end—and chopped away at the barrier. It didn’t take long to get to the duo, but by the time they did, the victims were coughing badly.

Joe approached the woman. “Can you get up, ma’am?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice was scraggly.

Gently, Grant said, “You have to let go of the student, ma’am.” The teacher was covering the kid with her body.

“Oh.” She let go, Joe helped her up and Grant took off her glove, put fingers on the boy’s throat. “Strong but thready.” She removed her mask and secured the strap over his head.

“I can walk,” the teacher told Joe. “You help Billy.”

“I can do both. Hold onto my arm after we get him situated.” Joe picked up the kid under his armpits and Grant took the feet. Thankfully, Billy was slight and didn’t weigh much.

With the teacher clinging to Joe’s biceps, they trudged to the closest exit. Grant coughed, due to smoke. “Let’s set the kid down, and you take my mask for a bit, Hildy.”

“I’m fine. Let’s get him out.”

He could force the issue, but that would slow them down. After a few more treacherous minutes, an exit came into view. Thank God. The slight student was beginning to weigh a ton.

An hour later, they were back in the firehouse. After a quick shower, Joe grabbed some coffee and went into the office to write his incident report. Next to the computer sat his phone. The screen signaled a text message.

Before he could check it, Hildy came inside. She angled her head to the computer, then pushed her dirty red hair out of her face. “Am I gonna be in that report, Lieutenant?”

Swiveling to face her more directly, he asked, “Do you think you should be, Firefighter Grant?”

She shrugged a small but incredibly strong shoulder. “Probably. But I didn’t take your mask because we had to get out of there fast.”

“What’s the protocol?”

“Share air. Obey orders.”

“Ah.” Sometimes, she cut corners but often those actions made her a top-notch smoke-eater. “I’ll let it go this time, Hildy. But you listen next time, you hear?”

“Thanks, Joe.” She headed out. He noticed her steps were heavy and was glad he went easy on her. They were all exhausted.

Sipping his coffee, enjoying the strong scent in contrast to the acrid smell of the fire, he caught sight of his phone again. Oh, yeah. The texts. When he clicked into them, he saw the first was from Holly Michaels. For some reason, he’d thought about her for the last few days, even woke up this morning with her on his mind. The chief had told him the Jordan couple had gone home with her. He called up the message.

Hi, Lieutenant. This is Holly Michaels. I wanted to thank you for all you did personally for me and my grandparents. First, of course, for getting them out of the fire. Second, for driving me to the hospital and staying with me. I know that was above and beyond the job. Obviously, I was a wreck, and though I’m trying hard to be stronger, I know I fell apart.

If there’s ever anything I can do for you in return, let me know. I teach at School 3 in the city, so I may run into you if you’re over there giving presentations or I might bump into you at the condo complex.

Holly.

Propping his feet up on the desk, he looked through the glass at the bay, but blindly. He pictured Holly Michaels, who’d raced out into the night wearing pink slippers, pajamas and a raincoat. Holly Michaels who teared up, but then, when she needed to, she showed strength. He regarded the last as an aberration. From his viewpoint, she was all fluff. And Joe always chose women tougher than nails.

Like Francey.

He sighed and laid his head back. In the two years since Francey married Alex Templeton, Joe had gotten past his animosity and anger that he and Francey couldn’t make it together. Whereas she needed something different, he still preferred women like her. The two of them could be civil now—though he had a lapse at the Fireman’s Ball that first year—and he actually liked Alex when he’d allowed himself to. Little Gracie was adorable. Unfortunately, after Francey, he found most women uninteresting. And if he chose to get married, his partner would be someone like her.

Holly pulled her car into her garage, got out and noticed the sleek yellow Mustang swerve into the driveway across the lawn to hers. Joe Santori. Rarely did he use his garage in the mild months, but left the snazzy car out in the open. She walked outside and stood on her blacktop. Soft April breezes played havoc with her hair, which she’d taken out of the clip she’d worn to school. He stayed in his car. She waited. Finally, he exited.

She waved and said, “Hi, Lieutenant.” He stared over the hood at her. She was too far away to see the expression on his face and, besides, he wore sunglasses.

So she called out, “I just wanted to say hello.”

He waited uneasy seconds. She was about to go inside when he crossed the distance between them. “Hey, Ms. Michaels.” Pushing his glasses into his hair, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his tight black jeans. The action stretched the black and white checked shirt rolled up at the sleeves.

“Call me Holly, please. After all, you’ve seen me in my jammies.”

That made him smile. Wow. He had even, white teeth, nicely sculpted lips, but it was the light that came into his dark eyes that warmed her. “Okay, Holly. I’m Joe.”

She noticed lines around his eyes and mouth, though she guessed he wasn’t much older than she was. “Tough day?”

“Another fire. This one was at a school.”

“Oh, dear. Did all the kids get out?”

“Uh-huh. A few went to the hospital, and two teachers were admitted for smoke inhalation. They stayed inside to help the kids.”

“I would have too.” She frowned. “I hope they’re all right.”

He leaned a broad shoulder against the garage wall. He was tall and slim with a runner’s build. “How was your day?”

Holly found herself wanting more conversation with this man. “Why don’t you come inside and I’ll make us some coffee? We can talk there.” She was taken aback by her own assertiveness. Usually she was a mouse.

Again, he waited.

She lost her nerve. “Never mind. You’re probably busy.”

“No, I’m not. I was going to make some calls, but I can do that later.” He angled his chin to the house. “Let’s go have that coffee.”

Preceding him, she held open the door which led to the kitchen, so he could go inside first. Her keys jangled when she hung them on the loop and set her bag down on a table in the mud room. Removing her spring coat, she slipped it onto the antique rack, then walked into the kitchen.

He’d turned and was grinning at her.

“What?”

“I usually come in the house and throw my coat and backpack on the nearest surface. I’m, um, messy at home. And, by the way, can never find my keys.”

“That’s okay. It’s probably better to be casual. I’m too tidy.” She gestured to the warm oak table she’d bought when she moved in here. “Have a seat.”

He took up a lot of space in the dining area which overlooked both the kitchen and the living room. Basically, the living space was one big rectangle with a half-wall counter sectioning off the kitchen. Holly got out the beans and the press.

“Oh my God, real ground coffee.”

“Don’t you make it this way?”

“Nah. The Keurig’s more my style.”

She measured everything while she talked. “I use mine when I’m late.”

He stretched out his legs, folded arms over his chest and arched a brow. “Somehow, Holly, I don’t think you’re ever late.”

Some women would take offense at the remark, but Holly wasn’t upset by his easy read of her. Her ex-fiancé, Linc, used to tell her she was an open book. “Only once in a blue moon.”

“Ha! My grandparents always say that. Is it okay if I check my messages while you’re doing that?”

“You’re sweet to ask. Go ahead.”

When the brew was on, she got out mugs and spoons and set them on the table. When she leaned over the table, she got a whiff of his scent—masculine, citrusy. Her gaze dropped to his chest.

“Do I pass muster?”

Now she blushed. “I, um, do you shower and change all the time at work?”

“Sometimes I wait till I get home, if I’m not too filthy.”

“And a fire makes you filthy?”

“Most people don’t realize it takes a while to get the stench of fire out of your pores.” He gave her a flirty grin. “If you come even closer, you can probably smell traces of it.”

Again, Holly’s face flushed. She cursed her light complexion. “Um...I think the coffee’s done.”

A slight chuckle from him.

After she poured them mugsful, she asked, “How do you like it?”

“The coffee?”

She caught the humor. “Yes, the coffee. Stop teasing me.”

“I like seeing you blush. I take coffee with cream and sugar.”

“Really? I thought black for you.”

“Stereotyping me?”

“Yep, as a big tough firefighter.”

“I am, but I have a softer side.”

“Well, since I take it black as night, you’ll have to put a lot of sugar in yours.”

“The guys razz me all the time about my sissy drink.”

When she sat down, she asked, “Do you work with all men?”

“No, our department is gender-integrated. At least one woman is on every shift. I have a great one. Hildy. Best of us all inside a fire.”

“Wow.”

“I know another, Chelsea Whitmore Scarlatta. She owns a gym where I work out. But when we were in the same firehouse, she trained me for a triathlon. I’m finally up to where I can bench press as much as her.”

“I admire women who are strong, both physically and mentally.”

“I think everybody does.”

Words tumbled out. “Nobody admires good old-fashioned girls like me, I guess.”

“I didn’t say that, Holly.”

He didn’t have to. She knew her limitations. She also knew she shouldn’t be flirting with this man. He was way out of her league.

“Holly?” His phone rang—the tone a waltz. His expression turned indulgent. “I have to get this. That’s my grandparents’ ring.”

“Go ahead.”

“Hi, Grandma...” He waited. “Tonight?” He checked his watch. “Sure, I can come. Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

He probably couldn’t wait to get out of here.

Tucking his phone into his shirt pocket, he said, “I have to leave in a bit. My grandparents want me to come for dinner.”

Though she was disappointed, she said, “It’s nice of you to go so spur of the moment.”

“I wasn’t always this nice to them. I-never mind.” He hated to talk about what a shit he’d been. “Are you going back to the hospital to see your grandparents?”

“No, I stayed there a couple of hours after school. My father’s with them now. My mother will come after work. I’ll call them later.”

Joe cocked his head. “Want to come with me, to see my grandparents. Kind of as a substitute?”

“What a nice thought. But won’t I be intruding?”

“Are you kidding? They’ll love you.”

“Hmm, must be they’re old-fashioned.”

“That they are. Do you need a minute? To get into comfortable clothes.”

“All my clothes are comfortable. Do we have time to finish our coffee?”

“Of course.” They made small talk, and when they were done, she nodded to the front of the room. “Let’s go out that way.”

Just as Joe opened the door, a delivery person reached the stoop, holding a bunch of flowers. “Delivery for Mr. and Mrs. Jordan.”

“Oh, for my grandparents.” Holly touched a flower. “I wonder who sent it.”

“Check now. We aren’t in a hurry.”

She read the card. “How sweet.”

“Who’s it from?”

“A friend of mine at work. This is a welcome-home gift.”

“A boyfriend?”

“A friend.” After setting the vase inside, she said, “Let’s go.”

“My chariot awaits.”

They drove to Dutch Towers, making more chitchat and sometimes in companionable silence. The sound of a horn or a motorcycle whizzing by broke it occasionally. Joe was shocked he was this comfortable with her. He didn’t even know why he’d asked her to come with him. Because she seemed lonely? Out of sorts about her grandparents? Hell, when had he become so sensitive?

He hoped it wasn’t because he was hot for her. Her scent in the car wasn’t some sexy French perfume his dates usually wore. The smell was more wholesome, flowery, like the outdoors.

And she was delicate—small-boned, only about five-four with, as far as he could see, no muscles at all.

Any attraction was a freaking big mistake.

“Joe, I asked how long your grandparents have lived in Dutch Towers.”

“About seven years. My mother and father died early on. Grandpa and Grandma moved into our house with me until I was twenty. After I got my own place when I became a firefighter, they were okay at the house for a few years, but then the place got to be too much for them.”

“How old are they?”

“In their seventies.” He drove up to the elder care unit. Six stories, it stood above a parking lot with reserved spaces. He parked in a guest one. “We’re here. They’re on the fifth floor.” They exited the car, the door of which she opened for herself. He would have done it for a girl like her.

He waited for her to go ahead of him down the sidewalk. He’d noticed earlier how the pink skirt swirled past her knees. The top was loose-fitting, white and she’d grabbed a little sweater before they left.

Best he remember he liked skinny jeans and revealing shirts on women these days.

Though he usually took the stairs, Joe led her to the elevator and when it pinged open, they got on. She seemed content to be quiet on the way up, which was a trait he liked in a woman. When they arrived on five, he accompanied her down the hall and knocked on the door of their apartment so they’d know he’d arrived, then he walked in.

He found his grandfather sitting in his chair doing a crossword puzzle. The old man looked up and smiled. Still a big, burly guy without a hair on his head, he wore brown pants and a green sweater. Joe remembered when his grandpa sported the uniform of the RFD—light-blue shirt and navy pants. “Ah, my favorite nipote.”

Joe chuckled. “I’m your only nipote, Grandpa.” He stepped aside. “This is Holly Michaels. Holly, Moses Santori.”

Now his grandpa stood. “You brought a woman? Marone!”

“Hello, Mr. Santori.”

Moses crossed to her. Took her hand. “What is this Mister? I’m Moses, Holly.”

“Nice to meet you.” She sniffed. “It smells heavenly in here. Like spicy sauce and bread dough.”

“Moses, was that...” Coming out of the kitchen, Grandma stopped in her tracks and her eyes, paler than they used to be, rounded. “Joey, bambino.” She crossed to him and kissed him on both cheeks. Though she wore her gray hair back in a bun, with her standard housedress and apron, she felt more fragile than usual. Then she turned to Holly. “Hello, dear. I’m Josephine.”

Holly went owl-eyed now. “Oh, how sweet. Joey’s named after you.”

“Yes. And his Grandpa never let his parents forget that.”

Joe knew they wished they had a whole baseball team of grandchildren, but life had given them only two, and one had died. The survivor, him, had let them down big-time and he was trying like hell to make up for that.

Grandma fussed over getting Holly seated. She offered them wine or beer. Holly chose the former of course. He couldn’t picture her with a bottle of Molson’s in her hand. They asked how Joe knew her and talked about her grandparents. “They will be all right, won’t they?” Grandma wanted to know.

“Yes, they’re coming to stay at my house tomorrow for a while. Until they figure out where they’re going to live now.” She glanced at Joe. “I drove by the house today and it’s pretty well gone.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” Grandma brightened. “This is a wonderful complex.”

“I can see that. I love your décor. She touched the angora afghan made of wonderful greens and blues. “This is lovely.”

“Grandma likes to knit and crochet.”

“And cook,” Grandpa said.

“Which reminds me. I have to check the lasagna.”

Holly grinned. “One of my favorites.”

“Joey’s too. You have a lot in common.”

Oh, Lord. Now Grandma was going to match-make. Well, he had brought the woman here.

“Come with me, dear.”

Holly only got as far as the dining room when she stopped in the wide space. “Oh, Josephine, those are beautiful.”

 From his seat in the living room, Joe studied the array of dolls displayed on the three long shelves. Him when he was young, her and Grandpa as bride and groom, him and Grandpa as firefighters. And more. She pointed to one. “Oh, is this Joe?”

“Yes. I made one of him as a child, another as an adult.”

Holly cooed over the kid one, then picked up the doll of him in his uniform. She traced the line of his jaw, then the slope of his shoulders. For a minute, he was mesmerized by her touching him.

Geez she was touching the doll, not him.

“I think I need that beer. You, Grandpa?”

The ride home started in silence. The headlights threw his face in shadows, but showed his square jaw and rugged nose. When the quiet went on too long, Holly wondered if Joe regretted bringing her to see his grandparents. Damn it, she was afraid to ask.

Get some nerve, girl.

The side of Holly who wanted to be assertive, who wanted to be spontaneous, kept badgering her. Before she could speak, he said, “You were pretty damn cute with my grandparents, Holly Michaels.”

Relief, out of proportion to the circumstances, besieged her. “I was?”

“Making a fuss over the little knit things on the tables. Her afghan.”

“Those knit things are called doilies. And they all were beautifully crafted. The afghan was priceless.”

“Too fussy for my taste. She crocheted and sold the afghans when they were first married to make extra money.”

“They’d be worth a fortune today on the Internet.”

He passed a car on the expressway and when he swerved back into the lane, he continued the discussion. “You seemed interested in her dolls.”

“I was. Joe, they’re exquisite.”

“I agree. I get a kick out of mine.”

“You should.”

“I remember Dylan, a firefighter buddy, telling me when he brought his soon-to-be wife to see them, she fell in love with the dolls.”

“Did you inherit her creativity?”

“Well, I spent my whole childhood with them.”

She started to laugh. “You didn’t crochet, did you?”

“Hell no! But Grandpa likes to draw. He encouraged it in me. I have to say I was pretty good back then.”

“Do you still do it?”

“Nah, not after high school, when I took a lot of art classes. Can you imagine how that would go over at the fire house?”

“Like with your coffee. Are male firefighters all so macho?”

“Yep.” He winked at her. It was a sexy thing, winking, and sometimes Linc used to do it when they were still together as a couple. “Big, tough, handsome guys that we are.”

“That’s too bad. Sensitivity is attractive on men.”

“So, did you have fun?”

“Are you kidding? They spoiled us. The lasagna, the cookies.” She could still taste the sugary confection. “What were they called again?”

“They’re actually similar to the fried dough that you get at fairs. But the Italian name is crispats.”

“Do you speak Italian?”

“Si, bellissima donna.”

“What does that mean?”

His gaze stayed on the road but she could see he was amused. “You’ll have to look it up.”

She thought she knew. Had he just called her a beautiful woman? And why the hell was he flirting with her?

You’re flirting too.

Was she?

When they reached the condo he drove into her side and faced her. He was macho, all right, with shoulders that spanned the width of his seat.

“This was fun, Holly.”

“Yes, it was.”

“You know, they’re never going to stop asking about you.”

“That’s sweet. I’ll remember them, too.” She squeezed his arm. “Goodnight, Joe.”

“Goodnight.”

She got out of the car as he did. And walked her to her front door. “Go inside, I’ll wait.”

“You’re a real gentleman.” She wanted to kiss him on the cheek but she didn’t dare. “Thanks again for including me.”

She unlocked her door and went inside, then down the hall to her master suite. While she got ready for bed, she thought of the unusual evening she’d spent. It was nice while it lasted. But she wouldn’t count on any more of them. Men were fickle, she’d learned from Linc, and she wasn’t going to get sucked in by another one even if he was charming. And handsome. And sexy.

Too bad!

Yeah, it was too bad.

She forced herself not to think about him. But as she turned back the covers, she looked over. Hmm, was his bed up against their adjoining wall? Impulsively, she climbed onto the mattress and touched the plaster. She whispered again, “Goodnight, Joe.”