Chapter 18
Coronado’s annual fireman’s ball was held at the historic Oxford Hotel in downtown Denver. Proceeds from the gala went toward funding scholarships at local high schools, sponsoring Little League teams and purchasing new equipment for the area firehouses.
That Saturday evening, the hotel’s grand ballroom had been transformed into a winter wonderland. The floor was covered with white carpeting, a canopy of paper snowflakes and twinkling lights hung from the ceiling, and silver tree branches festooned with icicles and glass votive candles served as table centerpieces. As the elegantly dressed guests milled about, the live band serenaded them with Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration.”
Standing at the entrance to the ballroom, Prissy beamed with satisfaction as she surveyed the festive scene. As a member of the planning committee—which was composed mostly of other firefighters’ wives—she’d helped choose the theme for this year’s ball. Yesterday evening after work, she and the other women had carpooled to the hotel to decorate the ballroom, laughing and chatting companionably as they worked late into the night. Prissy was beyond pleased with the fruits of their labor.
“Everything looks absolutely beautiful, doesn’t it, Stan?”
“Definitely. You and the ladies did a wonderful job.” But Stan’s admiring gaze was on her instead of the dazzling scenery. Leaning close to her, he murmured in her ear, “I can’t wait to get you home and out of that dress.”
Prissy blushed as a shiver of pleasure raced down her spine. She smiled demurely, giving him a look beneath her darkly mascaraed lashes. “We just got here, and you’re already talking about going home?”
“Hell, yeah,” he growled softly. “You would be too if you were seeing what I’m seeing.”
Prissy’s flesh heated as his dark, glittering gaze took another slow tour of her body. He’d been devouring her like that ever since she’d emerged from their bedroom in her evening gown—a white mermaid ensemble with a fitted bodice that accentuated her voluptuous curves before the skirt flared dramatically at the knees. To complete the glamorous look, she’d asked her stylist to arrange her hair into an elegant upsweep that showcased the sleek column of her throat and drew attention to the diamond choker she wore, which Stan had given to her for their fifteenth anniversary in August.
As she’d surveyed her reflection in the mirror, inspecting herself from every angle, she’d felt a deep sense of pride and satisfaction. After months of dieting and getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise, her hard work and discipline had paid off. She looked good, but more important, she felt good.
And that was before she’d ventured out to the living room, where Stan and the boys had been reclining in front of the television. At Prissy’s appearance, Stan had gotten slowly to his feet, staring at her with an awestruck expression that reminded her of the way he’d looked at her on prom night and on their wedding day. As she’d turned in a circle to model her gown, the boys had whistled boisterously and showered her with compliments while Stan merely continued to stare. It was only when their sons began laughing and teasing him that he’d snapped out of his trance long enough to declare Prissy the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
She hadn’t stopped blushing since.
Of course, she wasn’t the only one who cleaned up nicely.
Stan was devastatingly handsome in his navy blue dress uniform, which was adorned with his rank insignia and the service medals he’d earned over the course of his career. As he stood beside Prissy—tall, dark and dashingly powerful—she had to fight the overwhelming urge to drag him somewhere private so she could peel off his uniform, layer by layer, like she was unwrapping a decadent chocolate bar.
“You keep looking at me like that,” Stan warned huskily, “and we’ll be seeing no parts of this ball.”
Prissy smiled as her belly quivered. “Later,” she promised.
“You’d better believe it.” Stan winked at her, then tucked her arm through his and led her through the arched doorway.
The grand ballroom was filled with fire department employees and representatives, city officials, local businessmen, civic and union leaders, and people from all walks of the community who’d come out to have a good time while supporting worthy causes.
As Stan and Prissy began moving through the crowd, they were intercepted by their friends, Kelvin and Roxanne Wimbush.
As Stan and Kelvin exchanged brotherly handshakes, their wives hugged like they hadn’t just seen each other last night at the decorating party. As they drew apart, Roxanne swept an admiring glance over Prissy and Stan and exclaimed, “You two look like the belle and beau of the ball!”
Prissy laughed, cheeks flushing. “Oh, girl, hush.”
“I’m serious,” Roxanne insisted. “You both look stunning. And, girl, you are wearing the hell out of that gown. Isn’t she, Kel?”
“She certainly is,” her husband agreed, dark eyes glinting with frank male appreciation as he looked Prissy over.
Stan bumped him hard on the shoulder. “Watch it now.”
Kelvin, Roxanne and Prissy laughed.
The Wimbushes were the first couple Stan and Prissy had befriended when they moved to Coronado. They’d met them at the fire department’s Labor Day picnic, and had hit it off right away. Stan and Kelvin worked at the same fire station but on different shifts. The couple’s daughter was in Magnum’s fifth grade class while their son played on Mason’s football team. The two families often got together for dinner, cookouts and fun outings at amusement parks.
Kelvin was an attractive brown-skinned man with the sturdy, athletic build of a pro running back while Roxanne was plump and petite, with skin the color of caramel, a dimpled smile and a vivacious personality that always kept things lively.
For the ball that evening, all the firefighters’ wives had decided to wear white to complement their husbands’ navy blues. So Roxanne was elegantly attired in a flowing white gown that she’d accentuated with a spray of miniature white roses in her coiffed hair.
“You look beautiful,” Prissy told her.
Roxanne beamed. “Why, thank you, hon. I feel like a fairy princess in an enchanted wonderland.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “Ever since we got here, people have been coming up to me to rave about how spectacular the place looks, saying that this is the classiest fireman’s ball we’ve ever had. So I’ve been telling the other ladies that we ought to pat ourselves on the back.”
“We’ll do it for you,” Kelvin humorously offered.
Roxanne and Prissy laughed as their husbands obligingly patted their backs.
When the playful moment passed, Kelvin said, “We were on our way to the cash bar to get some drinks. You two want anything?”
“Not at the moment,” Stan and Prissy declined.
“Okay. See you at the table.” Kelvin and Roxanne smiled before moving off.
As Stan and Prissy headed across the ballroom, they were frequently stopped and drawn into conversation with his colleagues and their spouses. In the two short years Stan had been with the CFD, he’d earned the respect of his peers and proved himself to be a worthy member of this brotherhood of firefighters.
As he and Prissy mixed and mingled, Prissy couldn’t help noticing the way women reacted to Stan, smiling flirtatiously at him and playfully cajoling Prissy to allow him to pose for the firefighter’s beefcake calendar. Even when Stan and Prissy moved on, the women’s admiring stares tracked him around the room. Prissy couldn’t really fault any of them. Without an ounce of shame or conceit, she could honestly say that her husband was the most scrumptious man at the ball. And that was saying a lot, considering the plethora of other good-looking firefighters in attendance tonight.
Shortly after eight, the emcee for the evening approached the podium and cheerfully asked everyone to be seated so the festivities could begin. After a few opening remarks by Fire Chief Ellis Buckner, dinner was under way.
Prissy and the other members of the planning committee had wanted to strike a happy medium between “macho man” fare and gourmet cuisine. So they’d chosen a menu of beef tenderloin, braised chicken marsala, scalloped potatoes, lemon herb pasta and sautéed vegetables.
Over the next hour, Stan and Prissy laughed and conversed with everyone at their table, which included Kelvin and Roxanne, Captain Sullivan and his wife Judith, two other firefighters and their spouses, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, an older black couple who’d lost their home to a fire earlier that year.
When Stan had enlisted the support of his colleagues to hold a fundraiser to help the displaced couple, the Campbells were overwhelmed with gratitude. They’d lovingly adopted him into their family, and the bond that developed between Stan and Mr. Campbell poignantly illustrated the void that Stan’s father’s death had left in his life. When the couple’s home was rebuilt that fall, they’d invited Stan and Prissy to be the guests of honor at their housewarming dinner. It was only fitting that they be Stan’s special guests at tonight’s ball.
Prissy was pleased that everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. The food was delicious, the live music was enjoyable and the jovial emcee kept the crowd entertained with good-humored jokes about firefighters and paramedics.
But shortly after dessert was served, Prissy felt an uncomfortable prickling sensation, as if she were being watched.
When she glanced around, her gaze collided with a pair of sultry dark eyes that belonged to a strikingly beautiful woman seated at the next table. The woman was staring at Prissy, her eyes gleaming with such animosity that Prissy was taken aback.
As she frowned, the woman suddenly blinked and plastered on a smile, as if she were sliding a mask back into place. When Prissy didn’t return her smile, the woman averted her gaze to her attractive male companion.
Prissy watched her, eyes narrowed speculatively.
After several moments, she turned to Stan, who’d been laughing and bantering with Mr. Campbell beside him. When Stan paused to take a sip of his drink, Prissy leaned over and murmured to him, “Honey?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Do we know that woman sitting at the next table?”
“What woman?”
“The light-skinned one in the sequined red gown. The Jayne Kennedy lookalike.”
Something inscrutable flashed across Stan’s face, disappearing so swiftly Prissy could have imagined it. As she watched, he slowly set down his glass and glanced toward the table she’d indicated.
After a few moments, he answered casually, “I think that’s Dr. Gilliard.”
“Who’s Dr. Gilliard?”
Stan hesitated for a fraction of a second. “She’s the department psychologist. I’ve seen her around headquarters once or twice, but I don’t know her personally.” Again he paused, meeting Prissy’s gaze. “Why do you ask?”
“She was glaring at me just now.”
“Glaring?”
Prissy nodded. “Like I stole something of hers.”
Flicking another glance at the woman, Stan gave a low chuckle. “I’m sure she wasn’t glaring at you, babe.”
Prissy bristled at his mildly patronizing tone. “You think I don’t know when someone’s giving me the evil eye?”
Instead of answering, Stan helped himself to a forkful of her tiramisu, then winked at her before resuming his conversation with Mr. Campbell.
Prissy frowned as a strange unease settled over her.
Seated to her left, Roxanne was saying, “I’ll be so glad when my kids are old enough to stay home by themselves so I don’t have to go through the hassle of finding a reliable babysitter.”
“Me, too,” one of the other wives commiserated. “You won’t believe some of the disastrous experiences we’ve had with sitters.”
“Oh, I can imagine. We’ve got a couple horror stories of our own.” Roxanne sent Prissy an envious look. “You’re so lucky that Manning is old enough to watch his younger brothers.”
Prissy smiled. “When he turned fourteen, we figured he was ready to handle the responsibility. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t tempted to accept when our neighbor’s teenage daughter offered to babysit for me tonight.”
Overhearing her comment, Stan turned to stare at Prissy. “Which daughter?”
She met his alert gaze. “Caitlyn, from down the street. While you were out this afternoon, Caitlyn came by and offered to watch the boys tonight. She said she’s trying to earn some extra money for the holidays, so she figured she’d offer her babysitting services to parents in the neighborhood.”
“That was nice of her,” Roxanne said.
Prissy nodded. “She seems like a nice girl, even though I’m not too crazy about the way she dresses,” she added wryly. “But her mother tells me that she’s an honor roll student, and she wants to become an attorney like her father and has already been accepted into Yale.”
“Impressive,” one of the other women remarked. “Sounds like an ideal babysitter to me.”
Prissy smiled. “I know. But I told her that we’re trying to show Manning that we trust him, so—” She broke off as Stan suddenly wiped his mouth with his napkin, dropped it onto the table and stood. She eyed him curiously. “Where are you going?”
“To call and check up on the kids.”
“Oh, I can—”
“No, stay and finish your dessert.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”
The women watched him leave, then sighed and looked pointedly at their husbands. Exchanging guilty glances with one another, the men mumbled dutifully, “Guess we’d better make some phone calls, too.”
“Could you, please?” their wives chorused sweetly.
As the men excused themselves from the table—leaving only Mr. Campbell behind—the women dissolved into laughter.
After dinner, the raffle and silent auction winners were announced, followed by brief speeches from the mayor, the fire chief and other department brass. And then it was time to present the outstanding service awards to the individuals who’d gone above and beyond over the past year.
Awards were given in the categories of Rookie of the Year, Paramedic of the Year, Unit of the Year, and Distinguished Service to retiring members of the department.
Fire Chief Buckner took to the podium to present the final award of the evening. “Last but certainly not least,” he announced in his booming, authoritative voice, “the recipient of the Firefighter of the Year award was chosen by his peers for his exemplary leadership, his commitment to mentoring other firefighters, his compassionate outreach to the community, and for serving bravely and honorably in the finest tradition of the Coronado Fire Department. Without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to present the Firefighter of the Year award to Lieutenant Stanton Wolf.”
As the ballroom erupted into thunderous applause, Stan looked stunned.
Bursting with pride and elation, Prissy cupped his face between her hands and smooched him on the lips. “You won, baby!” she cried excitedly. “You won!”
He grinned broadly at her as Kelvin and Roxanne clapped him on the back while Mr. and Mrs. Campbell beamed like proud parents and urged, “Go on up there and get your award, Stanton.”
As he stood and strode to the podium, the rowdy members of Engine Company 8 drummed their fists on their tables and chanted, “Wolf…Wolf…Wolf…Wolf!”
After shaking hands with the mayor, the fire chief and other dignitaries standing on the stage, Stan accepted his shiny plaque and stepped to the podium amid a flurry of flashing camera bulbs. He appeared slightly dazed as he looked out into the audience.
“Wow,” he began, his deep baritone pouring through the microphone.
An outbreak of lusty feminine whistles sent laughter sweeping over the crowd. But Prissy was too busy gazing at her husband to mind.
When the noise died down, Stan chuckled softly and continued, “As many of you know I’m from Atlanta, where we’re often celebrated for our Southern hospitality. But since moving here and joining the Coronado Fire Department, I’ve learned that the gift of hospitality isn’t just a Southern thing. Thank you for graciously welcoming me and my family into your community, and for allowing me to be a part of this extraordinary family of firefighters.”
The crowd applauded with warm appreciation as he paused to contemplate the plaque in his hand before holding it up. “There’s no greater honor than being recognized by your peers, so I’d like to thank each and every one of you for bestowing this tremendous honor upon me. You know, anyone who’s ever been assigned to double company firehouses can tell you all about the friendly rivalry between engine and truck guys. We like to play pranks on one another and joke about who really has the most important job. Engine,” he coughed into his hand, drawing a hearty round of laughter, guffaws and whistles of agreement.
Stan smiled quietly. “But at the end of the day, we all respect and appreciate the job everyone does, and we all know and understand that it takes teamwork to ensure successful rescue operations. No man is an island unto himself, so I humbly accept this award on behalf of all the dedicated men and women who strap on their boots every day and put their lives on the line. And I proudly share this recognition with my comrades at Engine Company 8—”
He paused, grinning crookedly as the men—and Dora—saluted him with a rowdy chorus of howls that drew more laughter.
As the audience settled down again, Stan continued soberly, “Firefighters are often hailed as heroes, but throughout my career, I’ve met so many people whose courage in the face of extreme adversity personifies heroism. People like the Campbells, who lost their home but not their ability to see the silver lining in the storm they’d weathered. I’m moved and inspired by them. And I’m eternally grateful to my beautiful wife, Priscilla, who’s always been there for me, who’s given me fifteen of the best years of my life, and who blessed me with five of the most amazing children any man could ever ask for.” His achingly tender gaze held Prissy’s. “Thank you for making our home a refuge from life’s storms. I love you, baby.”
I love you, too, Prissy mouthed back, her heart overflowing with pride and adulation as she gazed at him.
“I consider it an honor and a privilege to serve the good people of this community,” Stan concluded, once again addressing the room at large. “God willing—” He paused, his voice hitching with emotion. After another moment he continued huskily, “God willing, serving you is a privilege I will enjoy for many more years to come. Thank you all, and God bless.”
The crowd began cheering and clapping as Stan moved away from the podium. Suddenly he reconsidered and stepped back to the microphone. “One more thing,” he added. “For those of you who live in the Coronado School District, please come out on Tuesday to vote yes on the bond proposal. Our schoolchildren need your support.” He winked. “Thank you kindly.”
The audience laughed, then collectively surged to their feet and saluted him with a rousing standing ovation as he strode back to his table, where Prissy awaited him with tears shimmering in her eyes.
He handed his plaque to Mr. Campbell, then captured Prissy’s face between his hands and lowered his mouth to hers as a roar of cheers and applause erupted from the crowd.
Half an hour later, they were still stealing tender kisses as they swayed together on the dance floor beneath a twinkling canopy of lights and paper snowflakes. Lost in their own private world, they were completely oblivious to the other couples slow dancing around them to the Gap Band’s “Yearning for Your Love.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Prissy murmured, her arms wreathed around Stan’s neck as his big hands encircled her waist, holding her closer than close.
He smiled lazily. “You know I couldn’t leave that stage without putting in a plug for the bond election.”
Prissy smiled. “That was wonderful of you, and very much appreciated. But you know that’s not what I was talking about. I’m so proud of you for winning the award tonight, and for everything you’ve accomplished in your career. But most of all, sweetheart, I’m proud of the absolutely amazing man you are. I must be the luckiest woman in the world to have you in my life.”
His expression softened. “I’m definitely the lucky one, Pris,” he said huskily. “And I meant every word I said in my speech.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Why do you think I consider myself so damn lucky?”
Stan gazed wonderingly at her. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, darling. With all my heart.”
They shared another deep, stirring kiss.
As they slowly drew apart, Prissy sighed with blissful contentment. “Every time we dance together at a formal affair, I’m reminded of our prom night.”
“Me, too.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes, awash with memories of that magical night when their lives had forever changed. The details were embedded in Prissy’s memory as vividly as if their prom had been held yesterday. After she and Stan were crowned prom king and queen, they’d taken to the floor to dance to Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman.” When the romantic ballad ended, Stan had shocked Prissy—as well as their friends, classmates and teachers—by suddenly dropping to one knee and proposing.
Stunned, she’d gasped and clapped a trembling hand over her mouth. As Stan gazed earnestly at her and literally professed his undying love, tears had flooded her eyes.
Without thinking she’d blurted, “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
Because even at the age of eighteen, she’d known that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Stanton Wolf.
As husband and wife smiled nostalgically at the memory, Stan lowered his head to hers, and their lips met and clung. They simply couldn’t get enough of each other.
“Get a room, you two,” Kelvin and Roxanne teased as they waltzed by.
Stan and Prissy laughed.
“You know,” Stan drawled, eyes glinting, “that’s not a bad idea. We are at a hotel.”
“What about the kids?”
“They can fend for themselves for one night.”
Prissy laughed, shaking her head at him. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on, baby,” he cajoled silkily, his powerful thighs rubbing hers as he turned her slowly in a circle. “Just think about it. We can check into a room, take a hot shower together and make love until sunrise.”
“Mmmm.” Prissy arched her head back and closed her eyes as he ran his warm lips along her throat, nuzzling the sweet spot he’d made his own years ago. “That does sound tempting—”
“See?”
“—but I don’t think I’m ready to leave the kids alone overnight. And judging by how eager you were to check up on them earlier, I don’t think you’re ready, either.”
Stan groaned softly, then sighed. “No,” he conceded. “I’m not.”
Prissy grinned at him. When it came to their family, Stan was as overprotective as she was. And she loved that about him.
“Look on the bright side,” she purred, nibbling his lower lip. “Thanks to you being such a kickass firefighter, we have a wonderful, relaxing week at a ski lodge to look forward to.”
“Mmm,” Stan rumbled with pleasure. “That’s true.”
As the winner of the Firefighter of the Year award, he would have his name added to the permanent plaque on display at the main fire hall and would receive a check for $1,000, a paid week off and a complimentary stay at an upscale ski resort nestled in the Rocky Mountains. He and Prissy had already decided to take the kids, along with her older brother and his family, her mother and Mama Wolf, who would be visiting for Thanksgiving.
“Maybe we should just go by ourselves,” Stan murmured, gently rubbing his nose against Prissy’s. “It’d be more romantic if we were alone.”
“True,” she smilingly agreed, “but we’ve been promising to take the kids skiing ever since we moved here, so they’d be awfully disappointed if we went without them. And the cabin sleeps fifteen, so we’d feel guilty if it were just the two of us there.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Prissy chuckled, kissing the strong bridge of his nose. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure we get some privacy during that weekend, even if we have to lock everyone out of the cabin for a few hours so we can feast on each other.”
A wicked gleam filled Stan’s eyes. “Is that a promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“In that case,” he drawled, “let the countdown to the feast begin.”