Julie Miller – Kansas City's Bravest (страница 5)

“Just one.” The chief grinned. “She was treated for first-degree burns on her paws and tail and released.”

“A dog?”

“If she saw anything, she’s not talking.”

His brief moment of concern eased and he joined the chief’s laughter.

A round of applause from the crowd, punctuated by a couple of “Woo-hoo!’s,” diverted Gideon’s attention. He turned and noticed the bright lights of press cameras angled toward the gap at the center of the crowd. A crush of reporters, waving microphones and snapping pictures, blocked his view.

He glanced down at the chief. “How come they’re not interviewing you? I count at least three news vans here.”

Bridgerton laughed. “I gave my statement. But it seems they have a real celebrity today from over at Station 16. We had quite a rescue. Channel Ten and the others wanted shots of her instead of me.”

Her? The reporters were interviewing a dog instead of a veteran, command-level firefighter?

The chief slapped him on the shoulder and backed away. “I’d better get back to cleanup duty. Good to see you, Gid.”

“Same here, Ch—” He doffed a two-fingered salute and corrected himself. “Tom.”

“Call us sometime. The guys over at the Twenty-third would love to see you.”

“Yeah.” The chief snagged a young man by the arm and pulled him along with him to take care of the next task at hand.

At thirty-five, Gideon wasn’t—by normal standards—anywhere close to being over the hill. But he was out of touch. A young pup like the one jogging off to do Bridgerton’s bidding probably considered himself invincible.

Gideon knew better. A hero like Luke Redding would be just a name in the wall of a memorial to that kid. And Gideon would be that old guy who used to fight fires. The one who couldn’t cut it anymore. The one who couldn’t save his partner.

He was top brass now. A desk jockey. Gideon stared down at the nearly lifeless fingers on his left hand. Yeah, the new recruits could learn a lot from an old warhorse like him. He tucked his hand into the pocket of his black chinos and pushed the thought aside, not knowing if that was sarcasm or wishful thinking.

Maybe he’d do better to avoid a visit to his old station house and the memories—both bitter and sweet—it held.

Gideon put his sunglasses back on and calmed his emotions on a slow exhale of breath.

He strolled toward the building, pulling out his notepad and pen. He jotted a few particulars from his conversation with Deputy Chief Bridgerton and walked the perimeter of the fire scene before going inside.

A burst of laughter from the crowd caught his attention. Pocketing the notebook, he altered his course and crossed over to see this celebrity pooch that was causing such a media stir. At a solid six-two, he was tall enough to stand at the fringe of the audience and see over most of them.

A bulky television camera blocked his view of the dog, but he recognized the tall, auburn-haired woman holding the microphone from the evening news. She looked straight into the light of the camera without blinking. “Saundra Ames, Channel Ten news, at the scene of a devastating warehouse fire in north Kansas City, between the Missouri River and Levee Road.”

Somehow she managed to relay the basic details of the blaze while continuously showing off a perfect set of porcelain-white teeth. He had to admire a woman who didn’t even pop a sweat when she was in the spotlight on a one-hundred-degree day. The lady was a real pro.

“Now I’d like to introduce you to one of Kansas City’s bravest—the firefighter who saved the puppy we met earlier.” The reporter thrust the microphone toward her interviewee. The cameraman shifted positions.

Gideon’s world froze for a heartbeat in time.

Meghan.

His heart lurched in his chest. His lungs constricted so tightly, for a moment he felt as if he were breathing in hot, toxic air.

She’d stripped her gear down to her royal-blue K.C.F.D. T-shirt and regulation black pants.

But her wholesome beauty was just as uncomplicated and straightforward as he remembered. She wore her hair pulled back in what she’d called a French braid. In shades of amber and wheat and champagne, a few wavy wisps clung to the damp sheen of her soft, honey-freckled skin.

She looked fresh and young, with no makeup except for the blush of color on her cheeks and the natural, peachy tint of her lips.

And though she smiled at the mutt that squiggled in her arms and licked her chin and sniffed the microphone, her big brown eyes still held the same guarded expression he’d come to know so well in the months they’d been together.

It was really her.

Time moved forward again as Saundra Ames asked her next question. “Are there a lot of women firefighters?”

Gideon drank in every nuance of Meg’s expression, every detail of beauty that resonated through his body—waking dormant yet familiar desires.

He breathed in heavily, trying to dampen his body’s incendiary response to the mere sight of her. He didn’t want to feel anything. Not for her. Not anymore.

“There are a few of us,” she answered. “More and more with each graduating class from the academy.”

“How long have you been a firefighter?”

“About four years.”

As the interview progressed, Gideon began to notice the way Meghan shifted on her feet, betraying the self-conscious tension she’d once tried to hide behind a tough-act facade. What had started as a physical awareness moved on to other parts of his body that were harder to control. His compassion. His curiosity. His heart.

“And yet you risked your life for a dog. Why?” the reporter asked, clearly not understanding the size of Meghan’s heart.

Meghan’s gaze went out of focus and she frowned. “She needed me.”

Gideon shifted with a bit of tension himself.

If she pressed her lips together, then he’d know her emotions were getting the best of her. Meghan could handle anything if she set her mind to it. But she’d never really liked to call attention to herself.

She squinted against the bright light shining in her eyes.

“How does it feel to be a role model for young women in the Kansas City area?”

“Role model?” Meghan’s lips flattened into a straight line. She stuttered to find her answer. “I—I’m…just doing my job. I’m not trying… Please don’t set me up to be something…” She squeezed the dog in her arms.

Gideon pulled off his sunglasses and stepped forward, obeying an unspoken impulse to move in closer to protect her. To support her. To remind her she wasn’t alone. The poor kid had always been so alone.

Meghan’s gaze flew past the reporter, past the cameraman, past the crowd, and connected with his. As if somehow she had known he was there. As if she needed him.

Her eyes widened in startled recognition. Her lips parted in a silent gasp.

Their gazes locked. A familiar, dynamic energy flowed between them. Quickening his pulse. Filling him with want and need and questions and regrets.

Meghan blinked with the force of a slamming door, severing the connection and shutting him out.

Her downcast eyes refused to meet his again.

Stale air from a breath held too long rushed out of Gideon’s lungs. Hell. What had he been thinking? As his heart hammered back to life in his chest, his compassionate instinct died and common sense took its place.

God. Two years. And he still hadn’t gotten her out of his system.

These weren’t old times.

Meghan no longer wanted his help. She’d made that abundantly clear. She’d turned down his proposal and walked out of his life.

And he’d walked straight into hell.

Throwing up a stoic wall of silence that was starting to fit him like a second skin, Gideon turned and walked into the rubble of the gutted building.

At least fire was a demon he could understand.

Chapter Two

“Yeah, yeah. Fifteen minutes of fame, my ass.” Meghan chucked John Murdock’s big shoulder to show the guys she worked with that she knew they were teasing and that she would give it right back. “You guys are just jealous that Saundra Ames didn’t give any of you her card.”

She endured their oohs and ahhs and manly remarks about prowess with women by rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue. It had taken her a long time to learn to take their flirty remarks in sisterly stride—to understand that their teasing was a means of inclusion, not criticism. Now that she was part of their team, the men usually curbed their locker room chatter around her. It also didn’t hurt that the biggest man in the unit, John Murdock, had been assigned as her partner—to compensate for her smaller size, no doubt. She knew him to be a big teddy bear who preferred books to football, despite his pro-wrestler stature. But, intimidating by looks alone, nobody messed with John.

So, normally, the nine men who shared duty with her were on their best behavior. Tolerable, at least.

But right after battling a multialarm blaze, they needed to blow off some steam. And if giving her grief about her instant stardom was the way to do it, she’d let them.

“I keep telling you boys that women like men with a sensitive side.” They paused in a circle around her, waiting for her insight into the secret ways of women. “Go get a puppy and the women will be knocking down your door to meet you.”