Firefighter Daddy Read online

  “Lots of books,” Betsy said as she arranged the rest of the plates on the shelf. “Are those travel guides?”

  “I love to travel. Every summer since I started teaching I’ve picked a state and visited a national park.” She held up an Arizona guidebook. “This year I went to the Grand Canyon. My father sends me a lot of books, too. This will be the first place I’ve lived that actually has enough space for all of them. These built-ins are great.”

  “Mitch’s father built those, and pretty much everything else up here.”

  “He did a wonderful job,” she said. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He died five years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “So am I, but no one lived a fuller life than he did.”

  Mitch appeared in the doorway, carrying her thrift-store slipper chair with a pile of cushions on the seat.

  “Grams has a boyfriend now,” Miranda said. “His name’s Thomas and he looks like Santa Claus.”

  Mitch set the chair next to the sofa with a loud thump, clearly a reaction to his daughter’s reference to the boyfriend, since he’d been pretty unobtrusive until then.

  Best to let it go, Rory decided. “Is that everything?” she asked.

  “Seems to be.” He fished her keys from the pocket of his jeans. She thought he might toss them to her but he didn’t, so she watched him watch her walk across the room. She stopped in front of him, held out her hand and waited. He set the keys on her palm, the same way she’d given them to him earlier, and there was no mistaking the subtle touch of his fingers.

  When she turned around, a smiling Betsy was busy arranging cups and saucers in a glass-doored cabinet. “You have lovely things.” She set an old hand-painted floral-patterned teapot on the shelf next to the cups.

  “Thanks. I’m always on the lookout for a good bargain and I love vintage furniture and china, so I do a lot of shopping in thrift stores and secondhand shops. That chair Mitch just brought up is my latest find.” The rose-patterned upholstery was slightly faded, which made it even more charming.

  “Need help with anything else?” Betsy asked.

  Although she tried, she couldn’t think of anything. Betsy was already finishing up with the kitchen, which left Rory’s clothes and her mother’s artwork.

  “I’ll want to hang my mother’s paintings, but it’ll take me a while to decide where they should go.”

  “I’m sure Mitch would be happy to help with that.”

  Call me crazy, but Betsy seems like she’s doing a little matchmaking. Before Rory had a chance to say she could hang the paintings herself, Betsy brought up her mother’s exhibit.

  “We’ve been invited to the opening of Rory’s mother’s art exhibit in a couple of weeks. It’ll be a great experience for Miranda, don’t you think?” she asked her son.

  His nod seemed reluctant, but Rory took it as an affirmative.

  “That’s great. I’ll be sure to give you all the details.”

  Betsy put the last few utensils into a drawer and slid it shut. “That’s it. These things might not be organized exactly the way you want them, but at least they’re unpacked.”

  “No problem. Everything looks great.” The dress fitting later that afternoon meant she had less time than she’d like to get settled, so she appreciated all the help.

  Mitch glanced around the small apartment, as though he was looking for something. “Is there a smoke alarm up here?”

  “This house is filled with smoke alarms.” Betsy moved the cushions off the chair and sat down. “A few years ago he gave me a case of them for Christmas,” she said to Rory in a stage whisper.

  “Did you install one up here?” he asked.

  “It’s over there by the skylight.”

  “When was the last time you tested it?”

  “If I said yesterday, would you trust me and not check it yourself?”

  “Did you test it yesterday?”

  Betsy shook her head.

  Rory laughed at them. Although neither seemed to realize they answered one question with another, their conversation was threaded with affection and Rory found it engaging.

  Mitch walked to the other end of the apartment, reached up and pushed a button on the smoke alarm. Nothing happened. He removed the unit and looked at it. “There’s no battery.”

  “Really?” Betsy didn’t seem surprised. “The last tenant must have taken it out.”

  Mitch shook his head. “I have some downstairs. I’ll go get one.”

  Rory couldn’t decide if he was really being helpful, or if he was just looking for a reason to stick around. Either way worked for her. She rolled a couple of suitcases over to the closet and went back for the baskets full of shoes and handbags that Mitch had left at the top of the stairs.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can help with?” Betsy asked.

  Rory inspected the apartment. There were still plenty of things to do, but her landlady’s help had made a huge difference. “Would you like to make some tea? I could use a break.”

  “Will do.”

  Betsy was filling the kettle when Mitch returned with a battery for the smoke detector. After he reinstalled it, he pushed the button again and it let out a loud squawk.

  “Yikes.” Rory clamped her hands over her ears. “I won’t sleep through that.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Hey, you scared Buick,” Miranda said. “I think he needs something to play with. Does he have any toys?”

  “He has a catnip mouse, but it must be still packed.”

  The little girl bounced to her feet. “I have a ball in my room. I’ll go get it.” She raced out the door and down the stairs.

  “Why is he called Buick?” Betsy asked, reaching for the teapot and a tin of green tea.

  “When he was a kitten, my mother said his purring sounded just like an old Buick my dad used to have. Apparently I was conceived in the backseat of that car.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes, but Betsy laughed. “Lighten up, for heaven’s sake,” she said to him. “It’s funny.” He was so not amused. In fact, Rory was beginning to wonder if he had a sense of humor at all.

  Miranda dashed back into the apartment, ball in hand. She rolled it across the floor and was crestfallen by Buick’s disinterest.

  Mitch seemed to relax. “We should get out of here and let you get settled,” he said.

  And before I say something else inappropriate, Rory thought. “Your mom’s making tea. You and Miranda are welcome to stay if you’d like.”

  “Please, can we stay, Dad? Please, please, please?”

  “We should go,” he said.

  “No fair. I hardly ever get to have tea.”

  Rory unfurled two gowns from the top of the basket and hung them on a hook by the closet door.

  Ignoring her father, Miranda crossed the room and ran her hand longingly over the cotton-candy-pink chiffon one. “These are like princess dresses.”

  “Not exactly,” Rory said. “They’re bridesmaid dresses.”

  “You’ve been a bridesmaid two times?” The little girl was wide-eyed and clearly impressed. “I wish I could be a flower girl someday, if anybody I know ever gets married.”

  Mitch’s face went a little red, and Rory could swear she saw him squirm. Miranda seemed to know better than to push the issue any further, but it pretty much confirmed Rory’s suspicion that the little girl’s mother was no longer in the picture.

  “These would be so awesome for dress-up,” Miranda said.

  Mitch stepped in. “You can’t expect Rory to—”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Rory said. “I’ll never wear them again. Tell you what. You can come up and visit me sometime and we’ll have tea and play dress-up. As long as it’s okay with your dad,” she added quickly.

  Miranda’s hopeful little face gazed up at her father, and she was rewarded with a tentative nod. “That’ll be so much fun,” she sa
id, turning her attention to the emerald-green dress.

  “Another friend of mine is getting married next month, so there’ll soon be three dresses for you to try on.”

  Miranda’s eyes widened appreciatively. “Three?”

  “You know what they say about three times a bridesmaid,” Betsy said, grinning.

  “What do they say?” Miranda asked.

  Rory had heard it all before. “Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

  “What does that mean?” Miranda asked.

  “It means women who are always someone else’s bridesmaid never get to be a bride themselves.”

  Miranda gave her grandmother a horrified look. “Does that mean Miss Sunshine won’t ever be able to get married?”

  Mitch shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking as though the subject made him uncomfortable.

  “It’s just a superstition,” Rory said, amused by Miranda’s question.

  “What’s a superstition?”

  “Hm, let’s see. Have you ever heard anyone say that Friday the thirteenth is an unlucky day?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “Well, that’s a superstition. That day is no more unlucky than any other day, but people like to say it is.”

  “I see,” Miranda said thoughtfully. “So you will be able get married.”

  “Actually, your grandmother’s right about me not getting married. I’m not the marrying kind, but that has nothing to do with all the times I’ve been a bridesmaid.” Although if she ever did get married, all these weddings had given her a clear idea of what she didn’t want to do. Starting with putting her four best friends in outrageous gowns.

  “I never regretted not having a wedding,” Betsy said.

  “You eloped?” Rory asked.

  “Mitch’s father and I never got—”

  Before Betsy could finish, she was interrupted by loud throat-clearing from the other side of the room. She smiled sweetly at her son. “Mitch’s father and I were together for thirty-five years and I never regretted a second of it. A wedding couldn’t have improved that.”

  “You’re lucky. The bride and groom from this wedding…” Rory indicated the emerald-green satin dress. “They’ve already split up. My parents separated and got back together more times than I can remember, and their divorce was…well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.” And then there was Dean—a guy she’d dated for nearly six months before discovering he was still married to the woman who’d shown up at Rory’s door, brimming with accusations and a suitcase crammed full of her husband’s clothing. It had only taken Rory a couple of seconds to realize she didn’t want him any more than his wife did.

  “That has always been the problem with conventional marriage,” Betsy said. “Getting out is a lot harder than getting in.”

  Mitch cast a disparaging glance at the ceiling, but he didn’t say anything.

  Interesting. Betsy and Mitch’s father hadn’t made a trip down the aisle…they hadn’t even made it to city hall…but they’d obviously had a real marriage in every sense of the word. Unlike her parents, her friend Paige, her scum of an ex-boyfriend or, it would seem, even Mitch and Miranda’s mother.

  “If you don’t get married,” Miranda said, “you won’t be able to have kids.”

  Again, all the grown-ups in the room exchanged looks.

  “That’s okay,” Rory said. “I have twenty-four children in my classroom. That’s a lot of kids.”

  Miranda giggled. “We’re not your real kids.”

  Rory hugged her. “But you’re all just as special to me.”

  “Then I want to stay in your class forever.”

  Rory laughed at that. “Third grade is a whole year away. For now I think we should concentrate on having fun in second grade, okay?”

  “It’s very sweet that the kids call you Miss Sunshine,” Betsy said. “How did they think of that?”

  Eventually, her name always came up. “I have both of my parents’ last names—Pennington-Borland—which is quite a mouthful for my students. Sunshine is my middle name, so I use that instead.”

  Mitch leaned against the doorframe and, for the first time that morning, looked mildly amused.

  “Rory is your first name?” Betsy asked.

  “Not quite. It’s short for Sonora.”

  “After the town?”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s where my parents got married.” The first time. “They’ve always called me Rory, though, and I think it suits me better.”

  “Mitch’s father and I had always said that if we had a girl, we’d call her Joni. Since we had a boy, we settled on Mitchell.” That was exactly like something her parents would have done. “She’s still one of my dad’s favorite singers. We used to sing ‘Clouds’ in the car when we drove down the coast from Mendocino. I was fascinated by the idea of ice-cream castles in the air.”

  “It would be so fun to live in an ice-cream castle.” Miranda turned away from the pink bridesmaid dress, eyes wide with excitement. “I have an idea. You should come to Fisherman’s Wharf with us this afternoon. Me and Dad are going there for ice cream.”

  Tempting, but not a good idea for so many reasons. “That sounds like fun and I love ice cream, but I have plans this afternoon.”

  Miranda looked disappointed, but Mitch’s relief was palpable. Did he really think she’d tag along on their family outing?

  “What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?” Miranda asked.

  Rory tried to think of one she didn’t like. “All of them,” she said.

  Miranda laughed with her. “Me and my dad always get the same thing. My mom used to say we have no imaginations, but then she died and we stopped going for ice cream.”

  Oh. God.

  Rory had not seen that coming.

  Chapter Four

  The downtown bus was packed. Rory clung to the overhead handrail and did her best to ignore the rap music blaring from the earbuds of the young man standing next to her. She’d missed the bus she should have taken and now she was running late. Argh. She should have driven instead. On the plus side, the walk to the bus stop and the ride downtown gave her a chance to digest the bombshell Miranda had dropped.

  Mitch’s silent and preoccupied manner made so much more sense now, and the death of Miranda’s mother likely explained why the little girl was so mature for her age. Mitch had whisked her away almost immediately after her inadvertent confession, but Betsy and Rory had ended up chatting over a pot of tea, which was why Rory was late and still wearing her moving clothes.

  Betsy had volunteered a few details about her son’s circumstances. His wife had gone to get Miranda from a birthday party, but she’d never made it. A drunk driver had crashed into her car and she’d died at the scene. Mitch had been supposed to pick Miranda up, but he hadn’t been able to get away from the fire hall. Of course, he blamed himself.

  That had been more than a year ago. Last month, he and Miranda had moved in with Betsy so she could look after her granddaughter when Mitch was at work overnight. She had half-jokingly said that having them in the house cramped her—and Thomas’s—style. And Mitch hadn’t wanted to return to his old neighborhood, so they were all still adjusting to the new arrangement.

  How could anyone not want to live here?

  Rory had always dreamed about moving back someday. Now she was teaching at the very school she would have attended if her parents had stayed, and living in their old neighborhood. Everything was exactly as she had hoped it would be, except she hadn’t expected to be living in such close quarters with a man who intrigued her more than any man had in a long time. Mitch Donovan had a lot of baggage, though—more than she was prepared to deal with, that was for sure—and she needed to be careful, especially given her track record with married men.

  He’s not married now, she reminded herself.

  He’s a grieving widower, herself reminded her back.

  Her memory served up an image of his hand, large and strong, resting gently and pr
otectively on his daughter’s shoulders. He had amazing hands, and she had thought about them far too often since he’d visited her classroom.

  Stop thinking about his hands, she warned herself. Think about all the reasons why you, Sonora Sunshine Pennington-Borland, are not getting serious about anyone, especially not the single dad downstairs. That would be way too complicated. Not that it would ever be an issue. He’d been annoyed that she’d called him about Miranda’s behavior at school, which was puzzling at the time and even more so now that she’d seen them together at home. He was a good father who wanted the best for his daughter, so why the resentment?

  She reached out and rang the bell for the next stop. The back door opened and she was nearly trampled by two teenaged boys who shoved their way inside, looking for a free ride. On the sidewalk, she hitched her oversize tote bag onto her shoulder and headed toward the bridal shop a few blocks away.

  “Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride” worked for her. Marriage was hard. Marriage didn’t last. Married couples fought, they cheated on each other, and then they got divorced.

  Like her loser ex-boyfriend Dean, and her friend Paige and especially her parents. They’d met here in San Francisco during the infamous summer of love and had been living in an arrested state of flower childhood ever since. They just hadn’t spent most of that time living together. Copper Pennington was happily ensconced in the little house they’d bought in Mendocino years ago when her career as an up-and-coming artist was taking off and she’d landed her first big commission. Sam Borland led a pseudo-bohemian existence in an upscale loft on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. His last novel had held its own near the top of various bestseller lists for months, and it looked as though the new one would do the same.

  For years now, Rory’s mother had been in a casual, on-again-off-again relationship with her neighbor—the man who’d made the pottery Betsy had admired. Her father’s current girlfriend had apparently been hired to set up his upcoming book tour. Rory hadn’t met this one, but then she hadn’t met most of the women who came and went from his life. She adored her dad but usually only saw him once a year, and she was grateful that their precious yearly visits didn’t include his girlfriend of the hour.