Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match Read online

“Davis,” he supplied with a growl.

  “Thank you. Like I said, I saw you attack the Simmons fire, and while I merit you on your determination to get to the heat and save lives, your methods were haphazard. My job is to form you into an efficient unit that can attack a blaze from many fronts. I plan to teach the forensics of firefighting, the different methods and chemicals used for various types of blazes, and I hope to hone you into a team.”

  “We are a team. We don’t need a new leader.” This from Ernie Wilkes, one of Mitch’s forest-ranger cronies. Dan squelched the urge to run over and bang both their heads together.

  Ellie nodded, as if she expected this response. “I’ve been training and fighting fires for over a decade so I know how fire crews work. They’re a special kind of family, and I don’t want to break that up.” The breeze off the lake played with the loose tendrils of her hair, softening her hard look. “If you’d permit me, I’d like to introduce you to some of the newest techniques.” She pulled a light green, rectangular object from her pocket, roughly the size of a claymore mine, and for a second Dan wondered if she was going to lob it into the huddle of opposers trying to turn her to rubble with their smoldering glares. She held it aloft. “For example, do you know what this is?”

  Nothing but silence accompanied the weight-shifting postures of the crowd.

  “It’s a super PAL,” she answered. “Otherwise known as a Personal Alert Safety System or PASS monitor. The newest models turn on automatically and detect motion. Firefighters, if you’re felled, your PAL emits a noise that helps us find you, and it just might save your life.”

  Joe nudged Dan and nodded. Dan ignored him.

  Ellie angled a smile at Mitch and Doug that didn’t seem as warm as it did authoritative. “I’m glad to have your cooperation, men.”

  Dan smiled as he recognized the tone of voice. Next she’d pull out her sarcasm and the bloodshed would begin. Dan had to give her points, however, for toeing up to Mitch and his pack with patience and grace. She had half the man’s girth and, at best, could look him square in the Adam’s apple. Still, she refused to be knocked to her knees by his snarl.

  Dan had to wonder—what had he done to ignite her wrath? Certainly he hadn’t been as offensive as Mitch, had he? Had he turned into an offensive jerk in the hospital, symbolically throwing his body in front of a woman who didn’t want to be saved? He shuddered to think that he hadn’t learned anything from the past. Or were all men destined to pound their chests in male machismo when they saw a woman in danger?

  Perhaps the best way to protect her wasn’t to tackle her ambitions but to befriend her, watch her flank, and keep the real enemies—namely Mitch, Ernie, and Doug—from sabotaging her future.

  Dan watched Mitch fume as she read off her list of current volunteers, all present, and took the names of three wannabe firemen. Dan noticed that Guthrie Jones stepped forward into this group, and he wondered if it had to do with the fact that his older sister Cindy Simmons was now fighting for her life in a Duluth hospital. When Judy Franks and Marnie Blouder introduced themselves as dispatchers, Ellie’s smile immediately warmed.

  Ellie spent the rest of the morning arranging the firefighters into crew groups, extracting experience and information, and passing out training schedules. She also issued them pagers to be worn 24/7.

  When Joe tested his pager, Dan nearly jumped out of his skin. “That’ll wake the dead.”

  “Or me in the dead of night, I suppose,” Joe said. “Poor Mona. She hasn’t slept a decent night through since she got pregnant.” Joe pocketed the beeper. “I never knew pregnancy was so tiring.” His eyes held a twinkle.

  “I think the fun is just starting, pal,” Dan commented as he tried out his own pager. “What does Gabe think, by the way?” Gabriel Michaels, Joe’s younger brother, lived in a home for the mentally challenged not far from Deep Haven.

  “He’s thrilled. Can’t wait to be an uncle.”

  Dan noticed that in all Joe’s exuberant musings about their developing baby, he carefully left out his bone-deep fear that the baby might carry a gene for Down syndrome—Gabe’s condition. Until Joe was willing to bring it up, however, Dan steered around it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how this fear might seep into the Michaels’ joy.

  “She certainly seems capable,” Joe said, looking at their new fire chief. Dan followed Joe’s gaze and watched Ellie as she helped Guthrie figure out his pager.

  “Yes, she does,” Dan said with a low moan.

  Ellie threw a piece of driftwood into the Lake Superior surf. “C’mon, Franklin, go get it.” The basset hound stared up at her, baggy eyes blinking. He looked in the direction of the stick, back at Ellie, then with a huff, flopped down and closed his eyes. “Oh, super, I can’t even get you to obey me.”

  Shoving her hands in her pockets, she closed her eyes and let the wind brush the hair from her face. Cool and crisp, the wind carried with it the slightest hint of rain. Good. She noticed that the fire alert in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area had been notched up to high. They could use a good shower.

  The sun hovered just above the shoreline, a brilliant flame painting the wave tips red. Around her, gulls eyed her as if she might be a benefactor, their heads bobbing as they called out their complaints. “Shoo,” Ellie said, balancing her supper—a turkey croissant she’d picked up from the Loon Café—on her knees. She had no doubts that the greedy birds would dart in and snatch it the second she relaxed her guard.

  She’d better toughen up her defenses if she hoped to eke out a smidgen of respect from the men she’d met today. She’d been mildly disappointed to discover that the Deep Haven Fire Department didn’t host even one woman. The two ladies who showed up to run the emergency dispatch felt like a cool drip in a hot spring.

  She mentally categorized her crew—John Benson, Doug Miller, and Craig Boberg formed the backbone of the company. With ten years or more experience each, she’d be able to trust their gut instincts and would lean on them for leadership. She’d put probies Guthrie Jones, Lionel Parks, and Simon Sturgis through their paces, but with her slim crew, they’d have to man hydrants, drag hose, and fill in the gaps until they were ready to face a fire. A group of other lumberjack types formed the bulk of the crew, headed by Mitch Davis and Ernie Wilkes, who hated her guts if she read their body language correctly. That left Joe Michaels, Bruce Schultz, and Dan to win over. Joe seemed friendly enough with his wide smile and twinkling eyes. And Bruce Schultz had shaken her hand with a solid grip that told her he wasn’t afraid to let a woman lead. But what about Dan?

  His words from their dismal meeting at the hospital still rang in her mind: Over my dead body. Dan wouldn’t seriously try and derail her job here, would he?

  She shouldn’t let the preacher frighten her. Twice she’d caught him looking at her, grimacing. It didn’t help that he looked like a hero fresh off the pages of some sweet romance novel, with his dark hair raked by the wind and a slight stubble of whiskers on his chin. It nearly rocked her from her stoic emotional footing. She could admit that for a second, against the backdrop of adrenaline and fear, Pastor Dan had chipped a piece out of her heart. She’d be better off to forget him. It wasn’t like they’d be taking strolls in the sunset. In fact, such strolls might unravel all her hard work. She could just imagine the ribbing they’d get from the firemen . . . ribbing she couldn’t afford in the heat of a fire. She’d have to maintain a professional distance if she hoped to etch respect in the eyes of her fire crew.

  She finished her sandwich, glaring triumphantly at the seagulls, then wrapped her arms around her bent legs, staring into the waves. The wind played with her hair, now down and tangling. In track pants and a U of MN-Duluth sweatshirt, she felt nearly normal, free of the tightly strung fire-chief persona. Briefly she wondered why she worked so hard for a job she dreaded.

  The sound of crunching rocks made her look up. She scowled as the man of her most recent thoughts tromped his way toward her. And wouldn’t you know it, he wore a U of
MN hockey jersey over his sweatshirt, dredging up a spray of bittersweet memories.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you and I should have a talk.” Dan sat down beside her, obviously not at all ruffled by the lack of invitation. “You skipped out on me at the hospital.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Weren’t you finished threatening me and telling me what a fool I am? I guess you rallied your pals. I had a regular fan club down at the firehouse today. Thanks.”

  “Wow.” Dan’s eyes widened. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t ‘rally’ anyone. Mitch and Ernie have a genetic predisposition toward apelike behavior. It takes very little to whip them into a frenzy. And as for the other night, I was tired and most likely under the influence of heavy painkillers. I didn’t mean what I said.” His voice turned dangerously soft. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked away, afraid that her emotions might be written in her expression. How dare he make her feel like the villain. Her throat threatened to close. “You’re not forgiven.”

  He drew in a long breath, then picked up a stick and began to draw in the rocks. The wind reaped his freshly showered scent and sent it back to her, picking at her sour mood.

  She felt like a heel. “Okay. Fine. I forgive you.”

  “Can we be friends?” He held out his hand, and that, along with his smile, demolished her last barriers of annoyance.

  “Just friends, okay? No more dream girl declarations or he-man threats.”

  Was it her imagination, or did he color slightly? It looked devastatingly cute with his tough hockey shirt and wind-whipped hair. “You got it.” His grip felt soft, wide, and strong. She let go almost immediately.

  “So what do you want to talk about—besides my abhorrent profession?” She looked away before those way-too-piercing eyes drilled into her soul.

  He laughed, and the sound of it, full and sweet, tugged a smile out of her.

  “How’s your shoulder?” She gestured to the sling. “I guess you won’t be swinging a stick anytime soon, huh?”

  He blinked at her, his gaze clouding.

  “The hockey jersey. I just assumed—”

  “Oh, right.” He looked at himself, as if stunned by his attire. “I’m a wing. Deep Haven Hotshots.” He shrugged, but his eyes lit up. “And I’ll be fine for practice.”

  “Hotshots? As in forest firefighters?” She sunk her head into her hands. “I should have guessed. I’ll bet half my fire crew is on the hockey team, right?”

  He shrugged. “We do have snow and ice for eight long months. Not a lot to do around here—”

  “So, in other words, if we get a call I just need to phone the hockey rink?”

  “Or the church. Most of those guys . . . well, with the exception of a few, are regular attendees. Like I said, not much to do around here.” He smiled and spiked an eyebrow. “Hey, you don’t sing, do you?”

  She made a face. “Only in the shower, and even then Franklin howls.”

  Her dog had decided to check out the comfort status of Dan’s tennis shoes. Dan rubbed the dog behind one of his floppy ears. “Franklin. As in . . . Ben?”

  Why that question spiraled right to the soft tissue of her heart, she didn’t know, but she felt warm to her toes. “Good guess. I thought it appropriate to name him after the first firefighter.”

  “I used to have a dog. Petey. Cocker spaniel and black Lab mix. Great dog.” Franklin opened an eye at Dan’s monologue and rolled over. “He was hit by a car a couple years ago. Never could bring myself to replace him. I guess I’m a one-dog fella.”

  “Gets lonely that way, I’ll bet.” Oh, where did that come from? She wanted to wince, but suddenly she had to know. Why wasn’t he married? He was the town pastor—didn’t he have to take an oath that he’d get married straight out of seminary or something? Or . . . maybe he’d taken a different kind of oath, one that would ensure that her reputation was indeed safe as they sat on shore, talking into the twilight. She suddenly felt a tad ill at even noticing his white smile, his dark, run-your-hands-through-me hair, and his gentleness with her dog.

  “Oh, I keep busy,” he answered without a twinkle, as if her question—no, her probing—went right over his head. Good. She shouldn’t be—wasn’t!—interested anyway. “So, you’re from Duluth?” he asked.

  “Yep. Born and raised in a little house on the hill. Woke up each morning to the foghorn. I used to love watching the boats motor into Canal Park. It seemed like such an exotic life. Forlorn, perhaps, but exotic.”

  “And . . . you like exotic?” His eyes had darkened and his tone deflated, as if weighted by sadness.

  “I guess so. Maybe. It’s better than forlorn.” She chuckled, and he responded with a one-sided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s it like—being a pastor? I suppose you hear a lot of sob stories.”

  The sun had sunk beneath the western rim of the lake, leaving a trail of maroon in its wake. Dan threw a rock into the waves. “Now and then. I’m a pretty good listener if you ever need an ear.”

  Oh no . . . that was the last thing she needed—to let the man go searching around her soul, only to discover her scarred heart. “Thanks. But . . . well, I have Franklin.”

  “Yeah, he looks like the listening type.” Dan glanced her way, and there was friendship in his eyes.

  It dragged the truth out of her before she knew it. “Well, he doesn’t preach at me, and that helps.”

  When Dan winced, it was clear she’d hurt him. “I’ll try not to preach.”

  She felt like an insensitive clod. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry. I just . . . well, let me just say it aloud. I’m a Christian. But I work hard, and that means I don’t always make it to church. So don’t come around and start leaving blank attendance records on my desk. Got it?”

  He narrowed his eyes slightly, and it gave him a way-too-dangerous, threaten-her-emotional-boundaries-type look. “Uh-huh.”

  The air suddenly felt thick, and she fought the urge to get up and run. Fast.

  He considered her for a long, painful moment before he spoke. “You know, being a pastor is a challenging job. I have to admit I struggle for words sometimes. I’m never quite sure if I’m making a difference, to tell the truth. It’s not like fighting a fire. When you’re done, you know if you’ve won or lost—if the fire has bested you, or if you’ve escaped. Sometimes you escape with burns, but you always learn something. It’s not like that in ministry.”

  In the gathering darkness, his dark profile seemed young, his face fierce and passionate. “The man who died in the fire last week was one of my parishioners. I failed him, Ellie. Instead of confronting the man about his downward spiral, I let him struggle. I sidled up beside him and lobbed him spiritual truths when I should have waged a frontal attack. Stopped his head-on collision with despair . . . I don’t want that to happen again.”

  “Dan, you can’t save everyone,” Ellie said, dodging the uncanny feeling that he had a finer point to his story, one that should make her squirm. Still, with his magically tender and even vulnerable voice, he’d moved her emotions from defensive to empathetic. The guy had a way of making her feel . . . soft. Aware of the gentler side of herself, the one she tried to ignore or even hide.

  “No, Ellie; in fact I can’t save anyone. But I can point them to their Savior, the only one who can save. And in this particular case, I blew it.” He tightened his jaw. “And I don’t want to make a habit of that.” While he looked at her, the passion in his eyes made her mouth run dry. Suddenly he wasn’t Dan the pastor, but a young smoke jumper with blond hair, loading his parachute. “I know I don’t know you well, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not so easily hurt, you know,” she said, but her voice caught. “I do know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you? I hope so.”

  She tried to answer, but nothing came out of her knotted throat. Seeking escape in watching the seagulls riding the waves, she rubbed her hands on her arms and wondered why she coul
dn’t unlock the dark chambers of her heart. He did say he wanted to be her friend. But some wounds were too deep for casual inspection.

  “Listen, I didn’t come to Deep Haven to defend my profession to you or anyone else,” she finally said, knowing her voice sounded choked and way too vulnerable. “I have a job to do. And I’m good at it. If you want to stand in my way, you’re going to get trampled.”

  “I’m not going to stand in your way.”

  “Good.”

  “But I am going to watch your back. And if you start to get into trouble, I’m going to be there to pull you out.”

  “Oh, like when you went after the Simmons kids? You nearly got killed. And thanks, but I don’t need another death on my head.” She cringed at her sudden outburst, but the words were already out.

  “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?”

  He looked so wretched, so sick at heart, it chipped away at her anger. “Not if it will save your life,” she said, then managed a slight smile. “Listen, I’m here to watch your back, Pastor. And it would do you well to remember that.”

  His expression changed, and those smoky eyes turned dark, intense. “And what if it’s your life that needs saving, Ellie? Who are you going to trust then?”

  5

  The church bell echoed against the pine and birch that embraced the city, its sound accentuating the beauty of the sun-drenched Sunday. Ellie paused her sleuthing through the soggy remains of the Simmons home and stared through the charred window frame, watching the family across the street hustle out of their house. It raised a spur of memory:

  “Ellie, hurry; we’re already late!” Her mother’s voice would trumpet through their bungalow, followed by the smell of burning toast and the sound of her brother’s raucous laughter.

  “Forget it, Ma. She can’t find the right tube socks to match her dress!”

  The image faded on the sound of Seth’s laughter and left a burning trail of sorrow in its wake. Grief had the ability to pop up at the most unexpected times and grab her by the throat. She swallowed hard and turned back to her work, trying to ignore the residue of guilt. Just because she wasn’t a regular church attendee didn’t mean that she should feel like a delinquent teenager.