It's a Wonderful Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novella (The Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel)
Authors: Jennifer Bernard
To all the wonderful firefighters, with gratitude.
I’
D LIKE TO
thank Captain Rick Godinez for his patience and expert assistance. All errors are mine, not his. Grateful thanks to Tessa Woodward, Elle Keck, Alexandra Machinist, the Avon Impulse team, and everyone who has helped bring the Bachelor Firemen books into the world. Thanks to the makers of my favorite Christmas movie of all time; this book wouldn’t make much sense without you. Thanks to the Hot Readers for making this writing gig so much fun. To everyone who has embraced the Bachelor Firemen, I’m truly honored and grateful.
Contents
An Excerpt from
The Night Belongs to Fireman
An Excerpt from
An Heiress for All Seasons
by Sophie Jordan
An Excerpt from
Intrusion
by Charlotte Stein
An Excerpt from
Can’t Wait
by Jennifer Ryan
An Excerpt from
The Laws of Seduction
by Gwen Jones
An Excerpt from
Sinful Rewards 1
by Cynthia Sax
An Excerpt from
Sweet Cowboy Christmas
by Candis Terry
O
N HIS WAY
into the training room at San Gabriel’s Station 1, Dean Mulligan ran smack into a fallen cluster of tinsel and barely avoided a spruce branch to the eye. He staggered backward.
“I’ve been hit!” he announced dramatically to the rest of the A shift, none of whom looked impressed. “Where’s Santa? I’m going to kick his bearded ass.”
“Merry Christmas to you too.” Fred Breen tossed him a candy cane. Mulligan caught it, gave it a glare, then hung it on his middle finger for safekeeping. “We’re trying to decide where to hang the mistletoe someone sent. Any ideas?”
“Yes.” Mulligan gave his middle finger a meaningful glance and wiggled it. “I’ve got room for it right here.” Not that he hated Christmas, but . . . well, he kind of hated Christmas. If everyone else had experienced the kind of Christmases he had, they’d probably cancel the holiday altogether.
Fred shook his head sadly and muttered something about Grinches.
Mulligan surveyed the shabby, workaday training room, now lit with twinkle lights and scented with spruce boughs. “It’s not even Christmas yet. Why are we doing this?”
“Christmas is in two days. When are we supposed to do it?” Vader Brown, the new captain of the engine company, gripped a steaming mug of coffee in his enormous fist.
“Don’t ask Mulligan that,” Sabina answered, strolling in from the kitchen with a red-and-green-iced doughnut. She looked cool and gorgeous as always. Mulligan used to have a crush on her, but he hadn’t thought about her that way lately. Not since he and Lizzie had started their . . . whatever it was. “Mulligan’s the original Scrooge. He actually said we should ban Christmas for safety reasons.”
“Christmas lights . . . electrical hazards . . . family stress . . . it’s a nightmare. Ask any suicide hotline . . .” Mulligan headed into the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee. “Oooh, cookies.”
“Don’t touch those,” Fred warned. “A lady wearing an elf costume brought them in. You might get Christmas fever.”
Mulligan popped a fudge cookie—the least Christmassy of the choices—in his mouth. “An elf costume. Like, a hot elf?”
Sabina rolled her eyes, while Vader made a “little bit” gesture with his fingers. Stan, the firehouse dog, trotted into the room. His head drooped under the weight of felt reindeer antlers.
“Who did that to poor Stan?” Mulligan demanded, nearly choking on the rest of his cookie.
“What’s your problem, Mulligan?” Double D called from one of the couches in the training room, where he was resting his leg, still healing from when he dropped a microwave on it. If anything, his belly had gotten bigger since the accident a few months ago. “You’re harshing my Christmas mellow.”
“Your
what
?” Mulligan nearly spewed cookie crumbs all over the counter.
“I’m learning surf from Acie.”
“You’re going to surf? I pity the ocean.”
“Of course I’m not going to surf. I’m
speaking
surf. It’s totally tubular.”
Ace, the blond surfer-boy rookie who was about to move to his permanent assignment, grinned. “Sick, brah.”
Mulligan shook his head, disgusted. He should have put in for vacation time over Christmas. But since he didn’t have a family, he usually volunteered to work extra shifts to fill in for the guys who did. He’d rather be at the firehouse than at the local bar trying to drown thoughts of his messed-up childhood Christmases.
“Am I the only one who can see how much Stan hates his antlers?” He plucked the silly things off Stan’s head. The dog violently shook his whole body, as if trying to get rid of the sensation of the hard plastic headband, then licked Mulligan’s shoe.
Mulligan bent down to scratch his head. Stan was more of an eater than a lover, and more of a sleeper than an eater. But Mulligan knew a certain spot behind his left ear . . .
After he’d helped Stan recover from the trauma and indignity of the antlers, he headed for the workout room.
“I’ll be throwing some iron around,” he told everyone. “Give me a shout when it’s time for lineup.” Even though things got a little more relaxed this time of year, every shift started with lineup, during which the captain would relay any new and important information, such as training bulletins, shift changes, and dinner rotation assignments.
Mulligan had been part of Station 1 for the past two years, and part of the A shift ever since Patrick “Psycho” Callahan had left to become a hotshot in Nevada. He’d never met Psycho, but judging from the stories, they had a lot in common. It was a good thing they’d never worked together because they would have gotten into all kinds of trouble.
In the workout room, he sat on a bench and hefted a hundred-pound free weight into his right hand. As he flexed his biceps, he focused on the burn building in his muscles. The sensation grounded him, distracting him from the disturbing effect of all the Christmas hoopla. He watched the thick scar across his forearm flex and stretch. His stepfather had left that one with a machete. A badge of survival, Mulligan told himself, just like the rest of his scars, some left by his stepfather, some gained from fights during his fiery teenage years.
He switched to the other biceps and did ten quick reps. Being in peak physical condition was extremely important to him. If he hadn’t been fast and strong, he’d probably be dead by now. Either his rocky past would have killed him, or his job as the “topman” for Truck 1 would have. When you hacked holes in burning roofs for a living, it paid to be fit.
On the other hand, maybe it would have been best if he hadn’t bucked the odds. Maybe surviving wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Life should be about more than surviving, shouldn’t it?
He ground his teeth. Effing Christmas. He went through this every single year. Christmas gutted him like a fish. He’d take a hundred Valentine’s Days over Christmas.
With fascinating timing, his cell phone beeped with an incoming text message. The name “Lizzie” flashed on the screen, sending the familiar bolt of . . . something . . . through his system. Excitement, anxiety, alertness, whatever—it mainlined adrenaline into his bloodstream.
He flipped the phone into his other hand and read the message.
Breen family Christmas. Great-aunts. Baked ham. Rum cake. What do you say?
Aw, hell. He couldn’t. He didn’t celebrate Christmas. He just ignored the whole damn thing until it was over. But if he told Lizzie he couldn’t go, she might take it as a personal rejection. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings any more than he already had.
I’ll be on shift
, he typed
.
Thank God for that.
You volunteered for Christmas?
That’s the kind of guy I am
.
Always giving and thinking of others.
He grinned, picturing Lizzie’s dramatic eye roll at that absurd claim. Lizzie didn’t put up with bullshit. She’d been raised in a family of macho military brothers; Fred was the only one who hadn’t joined a branch of the armed forces, and quite frankly, the fire service was the next best thing. From the first time he’d laid eyes on Lizzie, she’d sassed him and teased him as if he belonged with the Breens.
But he didn’t. He was nothing like the Breens, and he didn’t feel brotherly toward Lizzie. Not one bit.
Sorry. Had to excuse myself for a second to gag
, she texted.
Figured.
If you’re working on Xmas, how about Xmas Eve?
Damn. Trapped. In his opinion, Christmas Eve held all the same unpleasant associations as Christmas. Perhaps even more, because Christmas Eve was all about hope and anticipation of the next day.
Freddie wouldn’t be too crazy about me showing up.
His phone rang. Oops. He’d pushed the wrong button with that statement.
“What are you talking about?” Lizzie’s lively voice launched into the workout room as if it were a dancing girl in bangles. “What does Fred have to do with this?”
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fred is your brother. Why do I always have to remind you of this? Do you have so many they all run together?”
“I know he’s my brother, Mulligan. Don’t be an ass.”
“Oh, Lizzie. Always asking for the impossible.” He propped his phone between his ear and shoulder and picked up another hand weight, a lighter one, so he could do more rapid reps.
“I know what you’re doing, idiot. You’re trying to piss me off so I’ll forget about Christmas. And Christmas Eve. And the present I got you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Of course I did. And you’re going to like it.” Her voice got that kittenish purr that made him harder than a free weight. “It’ll rock your world. Change your life forever. You’ll be on your knees in front of me.”
“Will you be naked?”
“Except for my Christmas stockings.”
“Lizzie . . .” Mulligan growled, in extreme discomfort due to the sudden bulge in his pants.
“So you’ll come?” she asked innocently.
“No.” Not in the way she meant. “I told you, I’m working. And there’s Fred. And I don’t really bother with Christmas.”
“Well, that might be a problem,” she said sassily. He could just imagine her toying with the end of her ponytail. Her hair looked dark brown at first, but once, while they lay in bed, he’d sifted through the strands and found shades of deep bronze, mahogany, and even sherry. There was a lot more to Lizzie’s hair—and Lizzie—than it seemed at first. “Since I love Christmas.”
“It’s not a problem, because we’re putting this on hold, remember?” He spoke carefully, because not only did he care about Lizzie—as much as he could care about any girl—but she was his fellow fireman’s little sister. Lord knew he should never have gotten tangled up with her. He just hadn’t been able to resist.
“Don’t talk to me as if I’m a silly child.” The edge in her voice made him wince. “I know exactly where things stand between us. You’re being a stubborn idiot, and I’m being more understanding than you deserve.”
“That’s true. You’re being
too
understanding. You ought to hit me upside the head and kick me to the curb.”
She muttered something he couldn’t quite hear. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he grinned at that scarred, tough, broken-nosed brute. If Lizzie tried to kick him to the curb, she’d probably break her toe.
“I’m doing you a favor, Lizzie. Someday you’ll think back to the time you went temporarily nuts and went out with a broken-down old hulk of a fireman and thank your guardian angel it didn’t work out.”