Her cheeks warmed and she stepped back out of the doorway to the Shell Shack to summon her game face. Glancing down at the exercise shorts and tank top she’d thrown on, she swore to herself. She hadn’t counted on running into her captain. Hadn’t counted on running into anyone. She’d foolishly thought when her dad asked her to pick him up that maybe he’d meet her in the parking lot.
Clearly, she hadn’t fully grasped the situation. And it wasn’t going to get any better while she wasted time out here trying to figure out how to save face. Wasn’t going to happen.
Straightening her back, she headed inside, determined to hide her embarrassment and concern for her father. Those were family matters. Private.
Ignoring her colleague and supervisor, Faith went around to her father’s side and rested her hand on his forearm. “Hey, Dad. How are you doing?”
The time it took him to react to her voice and turn his head was not a good sign. “Princessss.”
Fan-freaking-tastic.
“I was just going to bring him home,” Joe said quietly. “Derek called me. Did he call you, too?” He looked toward the back room, where Derek was talking to the bartender and cook.
“No,” Faith said, trying to keep her frustration out of her voice. “
He
called me.” She gestured to her father, who didn’t seem to register the conversation going on in front of him. “I can handle this. Thank you for trying to help.”
She felt Joe staring at her as if he had something to say, but he remained silent and she didn’t look at him again. Instead, she turned her attention back to her dad. “How long have you been here?”
“Little bit.” He took an unsteady drink from the glass in front of him and frowned at the taste. “He’s givin’ me water.”
The bartender emerged from the back room as her dad spoke, and Faith mouthed a thank-you to the man for cutting him off.
“I’m here to help you, Faith,” Joe said, still stubbornly sitting on the other side of her dad.
“We’ll be fine, thanks,” she replied, her jaw stiff.
Again, the captain hesitated, and she felt frustration coming off him in waves, but that wasn’t her concern. Her dad was.
“Did you eat dinner?” she asked him, as Joe finally walked out of the bar, turning to glance at her one last time when he reached the doorway.
The fire chief seemed to think about that for a while, then shrugged. “’Magine I did.” He leaned hard on the bar, as if it was the only thing holding him up.
“We need to get you home,” Faith said. “What were you thinking, Dad?”
He tried to focus on her, then turned his squinting gaze to the bartender. And started snickering like a teenage girl in trouble, his large shoulders shaking. “I don’ know, Faithy. You tell me.”
He’d never been a hard drinker. A lot of firefighters were—their way of dealing with the things they saw on the job. They used alcohol to come down from a harrowing shift or one that ended in tragedy. But not Tony Peligni. He was hard-core and intense—and usually stone-cold sober.
Faith had been flirting with acknowledging the truth for weeks, but now there was no way to deny it. The breakup of his marriage was sending her father down a path she never thought she’d see him travel. One she couldn’t bear to watch. She had to find a way to get her parents back together. They loved each other—always had. Faith was absolutely sure of it. She needed to help her mom see what she was doing to this man and get her to come to her senses.
Later.
Now Faith needed to get her dad out of the bar before someone recognized the falling-over-drunk guy as San Amaro Island’s fire chief.
“How much does he owe you?” she asked the bartender, pulling her wallet out of her purse. She looked around for Derek, relieved to see he’d apparently taken off, as well.
“He’s clear,” the bartender said. “You going to be able to…?” He motioned toward the parking lot with his head.
Faith nodded, biting her tongue. She knew most people didn’t realize she was stronger than she looked. And her dad
was
big. But she didn’t do the female-in-need-of-rescuing well. Never had.
“Come on, Dad. Time to take you home.”
He slowly turned and narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to place where he knew her from. Faith hopped down from her stool, acting much more optimistic than she felt, and offered him her hand.
“You shou’ go home, Faith. Gettin’ late.”
She hid a sad smile, thinking how much easier it would be to have to look after only herself at this moment, instead of her sixty-year-old father.
“Let’s go,” she said gently. “You have to work in the morning.”
Realization brightened his face for an instant and he turned to the bartender. “I’m the fire ch—”
“He knows,” Faith said loudly, to cover his words, darting a look around behind them to see if anyone else had heard. “Come on, Dad. We need to go
now
.” She tugged at his arm. “Stand up.”
His movements were in slow motion, but he finally turned to the side and put his feet on the floor. He was so unsteady he slid right back to the stool, and Faith had to use her strength to keep him upright.
Okay, so this was going to be an undertaking.
“I’ll help you, but you have to walk to the car,” she told him.
She didn’t give him a choice, just yanked at him, and he did his best to get to his feet. Unfortunately, his “best” wasn’t quite enough. The bartender looked over in alarm as Faith braced herself with all her might against her father’s weight.
“We’re
fine,
” she insisted through clenched teeth as her dad finally managed to establish some semblance of balance.
Coaching his every step, she supported him to the exit, thankful there was no actual door to open. She could feel stares at their backs, but wasn’t about to acknowledge them.
“I’m parked on the street,” she told him. “Just a little farther.” She was starting to breathe hard from the effort of keeping him upright.
Before they could even clear the side of the building, her dad shifted his weight from her to the wall and leaned hard against it. “Princess, need to rest. I’ll jus’ sit here for a bit.”
She fought to keep him on his feet, but there was no way. He slid down the rough wall and landed on his backside on the wide sidewalk.
Tears of frustration burned Faith’s eyes as he stretched out and rested his head on the pavement.
Stronger than she looked, sure, but able to lift three hundred pounds? No way. Sitting down next to him and banging her head on the wall was the most appealing option right now.
“You really have a problem allowing someone to help you, don’t you?” Joe said from the darkness.
“I talked to him enough before you got here to suspect something like this could happen.”
“You were just waiting to come to the rescue, weren’t you?” Faith looked down at her dad and shook her head. Her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I guess we do need a little assistance.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get him out of here. Come on, Chief.” Joe leaned down and roused him.
The big guy muttered something and Faith avoided Joe’s gaze. The urge to touch her, to try to make her feel better, rolled through him out of nowhere.
He bent over to prop up the chief, burying his mind in the task and attempting to ignore Faith. She got into position on the other side, and together they pulled him upright. Chief Peligni came to long enough to ask where the hell they were taking him and to complain about how fast they were moving.
“To my 4Runner over there,” Joe told Faith, indicating the vehicle with a nod. “It’s close.” When they got to the passenger side, she opened the door and they awkwardly heaved him inside.
Once the door was shut, Joe locked it. He and Faith looked at each other as they caught their breath.
“Want to follow me?” she asked.
He nodded, recalling from previous visits the flight of stairs they’d have to drag the chief up once they got him home. “I’ll drive you back here to get his truck once we get him settled.” He searched until he spotted the chief’s Suburban at the end of the row.
Faith shot a frown toward her dad and bit her lower lip before heading toward her car, parked at the curb.
Joe went around to the driver’s side of his SUV. He paused before getting in and watched her walk away. Let himself admire her curves in those tiny shorts and the yellow fitted tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed for relaxing, not for impressing, and still his heart thundered in appreciation.
He glanced guiltily at Chief Peligni and climbed in, making a point of
not
checking out the chief’s daughter again. Not that the older man had even noticed; his head was propped against the window, eyes closed. Joe reached across, drew the seat belt over him, pulled it out as far as it would go and fastened it. He could just about get drunk off the fumes coming from the passenger seat.
While Faith was careful and deliberate with just about everything she did, she apparently didn’t drive the same way, speeding off like a maniac. Joe had been to the chief’s house before for cookouts, so he took his time getting there. When he pulled up, her car was in the driveway and she was leaning against the wall of the garage, arms crossed. She gestured for him to drive up close to the open garage door.
After fifteen or twenty minutes, they’d managed to get the chief up the flight of stairs, into his bed, shoes off, with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. He’d been half-awake for part of it, but Joe doubted he’d remember any of this in the morning. Joe wasn’t sure the man would be able to get up in the morning.
Faith drew a crocheted blanket over him, since they hadn’t had a chance to pull the covers back before laying him down. When she finished, she exhaled tiredly and nodded at Joe. Together they walked down the hall toward the living room.
When they reached the last door on the right, Faith went into the room, flipping on the light. Her bedroom, he realized, as he peered in like a Peeping Tom.
“I can wait outside,” he said.
“Just a sec. I need a sweatshirt, but there’s something for you in the kitchen.”
Curious, he stood there in the doorway, trying not to watch her every move as she searched through the drawers of an antique-looking white dresser. Instead, he took in the details of her room, still feeling somewhat like a voyeur, but unable to resist.
The room was…shockingly pink. Her bed was un-made, but there were lacy white ruffles around the bottom of the mattress and edging the pink floral pillowcases. The walls were painted a pale pink to match. The furniture was dainty, almost little-girllike. Clothes were scattered on the floor and he tried his damnedest to ignore the silky pink and purple underthings among the jeans and fire department shirts. He did
not
need to know what she wore beneath her uniform.
He was still staring as she approached him, pulling on an orange zip-up sweatshirt.
“Welcome to the Pepto room,” she said.
Joe grinned, fighting off images of those panties….
“For my sixteenth birthday, my dad’s treat was to let me have my room redecorated any way I wanted it,” she explained defensively.
“I never imagined you as a pink kind of woman.”
“If you wear pink, they never see the knuckle sandwich coming.”
“And you seem like such a peaceful person,” he said, following her to the kitchen.
“It’s the brothers. One in particular needed his ass kicked on a regular basis. Thankfully, Anthony lives in Dallas now, and doesn’t make it home much. Here.” She grabbed a plastic container off the counter and removed the lid.
“Cookies?”
“Scotcheroos. Baked them today.”
He took one and bit into it. “You made these?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
“I can do more than just put out a fire, Captain.” She grinned and helped herself to one. “Not that I bake often. These happen to be my dad’s favorites. Of course, he never made it home to appreciate them.” The smile disappeared instantly, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over her head.
“His loss,” Joe said, trying to keep it light.
“Take a handful. Otherwise I’ll eat more than my share. I made a double batch.”
He took one more, not wanting to steal the chief’s treats.
“You don’t like them?” Faith challenged.
“They’re the best cookies I’ve had in a long time.”
She went to a drawer and pulled out a plastic zipper bag, then shoved in as many cookies as she could fit. “If you’re lying, you can give them to your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog,” he said. “And I’m not lying. Let’s go get your dad’s truck.”
She stuffed another bite in her mouth and nodded, turning serious again. “Thank you for helping us tonight, Joe. You were right, I don’t accept help very well, but…”
“It’s no problem,” he said, mildly amused by her discomfort. “Middle of the night rescues are what I do. But then, you can relate.”
She seemed about to say something else, but only led him down the stairs and out the door.
As they drove back to the Shell Shack, he was hyperaware of the woman sitting just two feet away. Chief Peligni would have to give up the bottle, because this couldn’t happen again. Joe realized he wasn’t capable of spending time with Faith outside the station without his mind going in dangerous directions.
Thankfully, the drive was a short one. When he turned into the lot, he spotted a small object reflecting light next to the building where the chief had passed out. He pulled up behind Peligni’s SUV and told Faith he was going to check it out.
A cell phone was lying on the ground about a foot from the rough wood wall, and he bent to pick it up. When he straightened, Faith was right behind him. He ran into her, unaware that she’d followed. He turned and steadied her, and she took a step back.
“Sorry,” she said.
“This your dad’s?” he asked, holding it out.
She took it from him and glanced at the display. “That’s his.” She dropped it in the pocket of her sweatshirt. “He’s like an irresponsible teenager tonight.”
At that instant, she looked unsure of herself. Just for a moment. Unsure and…so tired. And yet pretty and young with the moonlight illuminating her face. Her eyes darted around as she did her best to act as if nothing bothered her. He wanted to tell her it was okay to be bothered. Against his better judgment, he forced eye contact, feeling a jolt when she finally focused on him.
“What?” she asked defensively. “I look like hell, I know. I was in bed when my dad called me—”
“You don’t look like hell,” he said quietly, leaning closer to make the mistake of a lifetime and not giving a damn.
He palmed her cheek. Touched her lower lip with his thumb, caressing the moist warmth of it. Felt her breath on his fingers as her lids grew heavy.
A stray lock of her dark hair fell onto her cheek, and he brushed it back.
“Joe.”
It was barely more than a whisper. Definitely not a warning to back off. So he closed the space between them and gently kissed her lips, testing her. Tasting.
The contact shot heat straight through his body. For a woman who was so tough on the outside, she was soft, feminine. Her scent was light, with a hint of flowers.
She wound her hands behind his neck and pulled him closer. He should’ve guessed that even her kiss would be bold.
He deepened the contact, thrusting his tongue between her lips. She tasted of sugar and confidence…and damn, what a turn-on. He pulled her slender body up against his, his hands resting at the point where her waist curved into her hips. Her body was firm, fit. Strong and lean. He imagined that body unclothed….
Headlights illuminated them like a sudden spotlight on an auditorium stage, and they jumped apart. Faith ran her fingers over her lips, peering at the driver. The man, probably close to seventy years old, gave them an enthusiastic thumbs-up as he passed them.
“He doesn’t know the least of it,” Joe said.
Faith’s low, nervous laugh was gratifying. Alluring.
“It’s late,” she said after a few seconds, sobering. “I need to check on my dad.”
“I bet he hasn’t moved an inch.”
They started toward their vehicles, and Joe pressed his hand to her lower back. His pulse was still hammering away, his body demanding more attention from this beauty, but his brain was now fighting it, letting in the message that this was a no-win situation.
Joe walked her to the driver’s door of her dad’s Suburban without conscious thought. She turned toward him. “You didn’t have to walk me here. I’m fine.” Back to Miss Independent.
He stole a glance at those lips of hers and was considering one last ill-advised taste when she broke the spell.
“I hope it goes without saying that this can’t get out,” she said.
“This?” he asked, surprised. “No. It’s private.”
“I didn’t mean the kiss…but yes. That, too.” Realization flitted in her eyes, and he knew the moment her regret kicked in.
“I meant my dad.” Faith made sure no one was within hearing distance. “No one needs to know about tonight. It was an isolated incident. Derek won’t say anything, will he?”
Shaking his head, Joe moved back a few inches and straightened, willing the haze of desire to dissipate.
She fidgeted with her keys, seeming uncharacteristically nervous, then hit the button to unlock the Suburban.
“Gotta go.” She climbed in and closed the door, effectively shutting him out.