Breaking Protocol (Firehouse Fourteen Book 3) (12 page)

Dinner had been a relaxing, informal affair on the screened porch room. Grilled steak, crisp salad, roasted vegetables, fresh rolls. Almost too much food. But Dave had eaten all of it, earning him an approving smile from CC's mother.

The remnants had been cleaned up, the few remaining leftovers put away. Now they were sitting on the lower deck as the night closed over them, taking some of the edge off the heat and humidity. They sat around the low table, watching the water just beyond as citronella-filled tiki torches worked to keep the few bugs away.

Dave leaned back in the comfortable lounge chair, drawing on the cigar CC's father had insisted he have. He had tried to decline, never having really gotten into the cigar fad, but Ed had insisted.

And Dave figured why not. It wasn't like he'd have to worry about CC thinking he tasted like an ashtray later. And the cigar was surprisingly smooth, with just a hint of some mellow spice.

It was a nice complement to the smooth bourbon he was drinking.

A click broke the comfortable silence and Dave turned his head, surprised at the grin on CC's face as she snapped his picture with her phone. He raised a brow in her direction but didn't say anything.

"It's not exactly a smile, but I couldn't resist. You look so relaxed, puffing on that cigar, with the drink in your hand."

Dave chuckled and took another puff on the cigar. "Actually, I think I could get used to this."

Ed laughed then raised his own glass in a mock salute before taking a sip. "Nothing wrong with that, son."

Dave raised his own glass in answer, his eyes nonchalantly studying the man seated to his left. He was taller than he had expected, close to six feet, with close cropped dark hair liberally salted with gray. He had the rugged, weathered features of someone who spent a great amount of time outside, and lines on his handsome face that spoke of easy laughter, easy smiles.

CC looked nothing like him.

No, CC was the spitting image of her mother. And if her mother's natural beauty was any indication, CC wouldn't have to worry about aging.

The woman sat next to her husband, a small well-manicured hand resting lightly on his leg. Her light blonde hair was cut into a loose bob that brushed her shoulders, framing an oval face that was just barely showing any signs of age. A few laugh lines around hazel eyes, just the faintest lines near her mouth. Like CC, she was on the shorter side, not as curvy as her daughter. Yes, the mother was attractive.

But the daughter was so much more, with the looks and personality to make his blood turn hot, to make his senses sing. And thinking like that wasn't going to do him a damn bit of good, not while they were under her parents' roof.

Joyce sipped her wine and turned to face him, her clear look speculative, the hint of a smile on her mouth. "So how did you two meet?"

"Mom, geez, enough already."

"I was just curious. I'm your mother. That's my right."

"We met on a fly-out. At work. Nothing mysterious or over-the-top, okay?" CC shifted in the chair, giving Dave an embarrassed look before hiding her face with her own wine glass.

"Oh, that's right. You did say he was a paramedic. It's nice that you have something in common like that." Joyce's accented voice held a smile, her gaze still speculating as she watched both of them. CC's discomfort was obvious, and Dave realized some of it was rubbing off on him. But her father saved them both from any more potentially embarrassing questions by closing his good hand around his wife's and squeezing.

"Joyce, they just got here. Give them time to relax. You have all week to grill them."

The words weren't what Dave expected, and did nothing to reassure him. CC looked over at him, her eyes reflecting his own thoughts. Then she shrugged, as if to say sorry.

Or maybe it was just her acknowledgement that she could do nothing more than accept her mother's curiosity. Which still didn't do much to reassure him.

Ed drained his glass then stood up, offering his hand to CC's mother. "We're going to go watch some television, I think. You two stay out here and relax, enjoy the night air. Carolann, did you warn Dave about the alligators?"

Dave choked on the swallow of bourbon, his gaze going from Ed to CC and back again. "The what?"

"The gators. They generally stay away, but as a rule, just make sure you turn the light on before you come outside." Ed waved his prosthetic arm around. "You don't want to lose an arm or anything."

"Daddy! I cannot believe you just said that!"

Ed laughed then turned and climbed the steps leading back to the house, Joyce just behind him. Dave watched them leave, his mouth slightly open in shock. He turned back to CC.

"Did he really—"

"No, he didn't. And I have no idea why he said that. He lost his arm in a car accident about sixteen years ago."

"Oh." Dave looked back toward the steps where her parents had disappeared, then took a sip of the bourbon. "So he was just joking about alligators, then?"

"No, he was serious about that."

"Alligators? You really have alligators?"

"Yeah. Not many, and they're not real huge. But they like hanging around the marshy areas, and it's not unusual to see them on the banks sunning themselves. Every once in a while they'll come into the yard, so it's still a good idea to check before you go wandering around. We can go look tomorrow if you want."

Dave watched her for a few long minutes, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. But no, she was serious. He leaned forward and stubbed out what was left of the cigar, then sat back in the chair and stretched his legs out.

"I think I'll pass, thank you."

CC's laughter was soft in the darkness, wrapping around him with a comforting warmth. He reached over and grabbed her hand, threading their fingers together as they sat there, just staring out over the yard.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

And that both surprised and worried him. He'd never been one to think about settling down, never been one to plan his life around what-ifs and maybes, or thinking he needed somebody to share things with. Not that it wasn't for him, just that he had never really given it any thought.

But he was thinking it now, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He had no idea what they were doing. Were they really in a serious relationship? Or were they just two people who had met and were merely traveling the same convenient path for right now? It wasn't like they had talked about it, wasn't like they had gone through that whole annoying circling-around-each-other then dating ritual. They had simply met...and now here they were.

And Dave had no idea what to do next. Or even what he wanted to do.

"Uh-oh. Big Guy's deep in thought." CC's teasing voice pulled him back to the here-and-now. She watched him with those clear eyes, and he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Did she know what he was thinking? Did she think the same thing, or was it nothing more than a fun interlude for her?

He didn't know, and he didn't know how to ask. Worse, part of him was afraid of the answer. He sipped his bourbon, then gave a brief shake of his head.

"Not too deep. Just taking it all in, I guess." Was that disappointment he had seen in her eyes? Or merely wishful thinking?

CC turned away before he could look too closely, the night dark enough that he couldn't clearly read her expression. She lifted the wine glass to her lips and took a small sip, the clear liquid cast in shades of orange from the tiki torches around them. She looked back over at him, her head tilted to the side as she studied him, her teeth gently nibbling on her lower lip. She seemed to be considering something, her expression carefully guarded before she looked away. Her fingers tightened briefly around his as she let out a small sigh.

"He's the reason I still have my leg, you know."

The softly spoken words surprised him, only because he had been expecting something completely different. Dave said nothing for a long minute, just held her hand in his. "Did you want to talk about it?"

She looked over at him and smiled. "That's what's so great about you, Big Guy. You're just, I don't know. There. Laid back and accepting, not judging. If I'm not careful, I could get entirely too accustomed to having you around."

Dave didn't answer, couldn't even if he had known what to say. Her last comment was eerily close to where his own confused thoughts had been leading a few minutes earlier. This was the perfect chance for him to come out and ask, find out from her what she thought they were doing. But he was too worried about what her answer might be, what he would do if it wasn't the answer he had hoped for.

Which was interesting, because he didn't really know what answer he'd want to hear.

But she was watching him, expecting some kind of response, so he latched on to something else she had said instead. "Laid back? I don't think anyone has ever called me that before."

She blinked, her lids covering a brief flare of emotion seen but unrecognized in her eyes, then fixed him with a bright smile. "I beg to differ. You're very calm, very even-keeled."

Dave almost snorted in disbelief, but she shook her head, her expression serious now. "No, you are. I'm not saying you're like that all the time, but from what I've seen so far, you're pretty steady. That's a good thing, so stop complaining."

"Okay, no more complaining." He sipped at the bourbon, his gaze focused straight ahead, waiting. Wondering if she'd explain her comment about her leg, or if her tangent had been a way to deflect attention from something she regretted saying.

Night sounds surrounded them. The chirping of crickets, a hoot of an owl somewhere in the distance. The gentle lapping of waves against the shoreline fifty yards away. Dave rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, feeling the intimacy of the night settle around them. His thumb stroked CC's hand in gentle circles, her skin soft and smooth beneath his.

"That was an option, you know. Amputation." CC's voice was just above a whisper, filled with reluctance, hesitation. Dave didn't open his eyes, didn't move except for the gentle squeeze of his hand on hers. She would tell him, or she wouldn't. If she chose to, it would be on her terms, in her own way. Silent minutes stretched around them and Dave thought that maybe she had changed her mind. Or maybe she had already said everything she could say.

Dave heard the quiet sound of her sipping, knew she was drinking the last of her wine. "I wanted them to. I thought if they'd just take the damn thing off, the pain would stop. I wasn't afraid to lose it, because I knew what to expect from watching Dad. I didn't think it'd be a big deal, you know? Anything to get rid of the pain."

She paused, clearing her throat. Dave squeezed her hand in silent encouragement, waiting for her to continue. Wondering if she'd continue.

She finally laughed, a short humorless sound filled with self-recrimination. "Dad was furious. I don't think I've ever seen him that mad before. And not at the doctor. He was furious with me. A few of those weeks are still a little fuzzy, but I remember that. I was at Walter Reed, and Dad came flying into the room, yelling. I mean, yelling so loud that they almost escorted him out. And then he let me have it. He, uh..." Her voice drifted off and she cleared it again. Dave opened his eyes and glanced over at her, the flames of the torches reflecting in her bright eyes. She tilted the empty glass against her mouth then looked down at it, frowning. Dave handed her the glass of bourbon and she took it with a small smile of thanks then sipped.

"What happened?"

"He, uh." She cleared her throat and took another sip. "Well, he called me a coward, and said he didn't raise his daughter to be a quitter. And I couldn't understand why he was so upset and told him it wasn't a big deal, that he made out just fine without his arm. That just made it worse."

She stared into the glass, her moist eyes distant and faraway, and Dave knew she was reliving those moments. That they were as clear to her now as if they were just happening. "He told me that he didn't have a choice when he lost his arm, but I did. I tried to explain to him how much pain I was in, but he was having none of it. Just kept telling me how much I had to lose, telling me all the things I'd never be able to do if I let them take it. And not because I wouldn't have a leg, but because I was a quitter, taking the easy way out. If I didn't have the courage to fight through the pain, then I wouldn't have the courage to do everything else."

CC took a deep breath followed by another swallow of bourbon. She put the glass on the table, then angrily brushed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "And then...then he made me choose."

Dave swallowed against the tightness in his throat, squeezing her hand once more in encouragement, in support. "Choose?"

"Yeah." Another humorless laugh escaped her. "If I wanted to be a coward and let them take the leg, he wouldn't stop me. But I'd lose him too."

"Guess he figured that might help with your decision, huh?"

CC looked over at him, her eyes slowly focusing on him instead of the past. One corner of her mouth lifted in a sad smile as she shook her head. "Yeah, but not at first. I really didn't think I could handle the pain. But Dad is nothing if not stubborn, and he knows me too well. Being called a coward, by my own father, finally sunk in. So yeah, I made my choice. There wasn't a day that went by that I wasn't cussing him up one side and down the other. But he was there, each day, him and mom both until I was finally allowed to leave. And here I am."