Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan

5

Logan

It’s 7:00 p.m. when engine one pulls into the driveway of the firehouse, me right behind them in the rescue.

This has been a nonstop day, call after call after call. Normally, I love these days. Time flies and we’re having fun. There’s always a lot of energy in the house on days like this. Only today, I’m stressing over leaving the puppy alone.

I’ve barely had enough time to check his water and clean up his poop before we’re out on another call, though I did get in a shower earlier and took him in with me, soot flowing down the drain, mostly from the pup. And Royal had been right, the dog turned out to be a beautiful and devilishly cute Dalmatian, covered in black spots of all sizes, his eyes an even brighter blue than I thought.

The scent of cooking food and spices hits my nose, and my whole body tenses up. We haven’t eaten since breakfast, but I’m going to have to deal with the puppy before I can sit down to eat. Natalie, Cole’s fiancée, knows we’ve been out all day, so she came to cook for us, which we all deeply appreciate. It would have been torture to wait for delivery, and no one’s in shape to cook.

I shed my gear and file into the house with the others, pausing at the open door to the half bathroom on the bottom floor, where I’ve been keeping the puppy. But he’s not in the room and the floor is clean.

For a second, I think someone claimed him and he’s gone. I can’t lie, my heart drops to my stomach. Then I hear yips coming from the kitchen, and relief flows through me.

“Roberts,” one of the guys calls down the hall. “Your kid wants to see you.”

I move into the house and find Natalie in the kitchen, which is open to the rest of the living area. This station is relatively new, and it’s pretty posh, with a big U-shaped kitchen and quartz counters. Actually, everything in this kitchen is big—the stove, ovens, fridge.

Natalie has blocked off the kitchen so the puppy can’t get out, and he’s pacing the row of boxes and buckets, yipping. As soon as he sees me, his whole body wags on overdrive, he pops his paws on the barriers, and yips at me while trying to reach me.

Only he tips one of the buckets over just enough to swallow him up, and he drops to the bottom of the bucket with a thump.

The guys bust up laughing. I don’t blame them, it’s funny, and the pup is okay, just scrambling to get out of the bucket.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, laughing as I lean in and pick him up. Oblivious to his misstep, he wiggles and licks my face.

Yeah, Jesus, I’m going to be so damned disappointed if I lose him.

Natalie’s mom, Betsy, is sitting on the other side of the kitchen counter. “He’s adorable, but he’s pretty energetic. You’ll have your hands full with him. He’s smart and fast and feisty.”

“Aw,” Natalie says. “He sure loves you.”

“Dogs can smell stupid a mile away.” Tucker’s comment makes the others laugh.

“Then I’m sure he’ll warm right up to you,” I tell him, which gets an even bigger response.

“Your headache,” Tucker says, shaking his head. “But Sorenson will never let you keep him.”

That reminds me this pup is going to be a hard sell. With him secured close to my body, I jog up the stairs and grab the form I created earlier in the day from the printer, then return to the family room. Unless I get the other firefighters on board to keep him, I’ll have to give him up. With my work here and the bar, I’d have to crate him a lot of the time, and that’s no life for a dog.

I stop in the kitchen. “That smells amazing. “What are you making, Nat?”

“One of your favorites, spaghetti and meatballs.”

The guys cheer from the rec room.

Natalie has a way with food. Her sauce tastes like it comes fresh from the garden, her meatballs spiced to perfection. She adds cheese to her garlic bread and makes a feta and walnut salad that changed my mind about the worthlessness of lettuce, but is still mostly a vehicle to get her champagne vinaigrette into my mouth.

“God, I can’t wait.” I groan the words. “Thanks for coming. We’d all be scrounging in the fridge without you.”

“I love cooking for you guys. And that puppy is heart-stoppingly adorable.”

Mention of the puppy makes me realize he’s quiet, and I look down to see he’s fallen asleep. “Thanks for watching him.”

“Not a problem. He’s a good pup.”

I was going to grab another shower, but with the dog asleep, I join the guys in the rec room instead. “Okay, guys,” I say to the room at large, “this is the puppy petition. Everyone who wants to keep the pup needs to sign it.”

“You think signatures are going to sway Sorenson?” Tucker asks.

“It can’t hurt.”

Royal speaks up first. “I’ll sign it if we can name him Lucky.”

“Lucky it is.” I hand him the paper, and Royal signs even though I’m not ready to name the dog. That feels too permanent for something I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep.

I turn to Carter. He looks at the paper, then the pup, then me. “I’ve got tickets to Santana next month. Take my shift so I can go, and I’ll sign.”

I don’t have anything coming up, so I agree and get my second signature.

Cole is next. “Natalie and I want to go to Hawaii on our honeymoon.”

“You haven’t even set a wedding date.”

He shrugs. “Cover me for the trip. We can work out the dates later.”

“Fine.” I hand him the sheet.

“Dinner’s ready,” Nat calls from the kitchen.

We sit at the table, and the movement wakes the pup. He scrambles out of my lap and wanders around under the table while I negotiate for signatures over dinner.

Smitty wants Christmas off.

I look at Tucker. “What do you want?”

“New Year’s,” he says as if that’s a given. “And the phone number for that insanely hot chick we picked up at the gorge last month. The blonde. If you’re not going to use her number, I will.”

I think back and remember her as a rough-around-the-edges beauty who wore her sexuality on her sleeve. She’d been jumping from the cliffs into the water and slipped, scratched up her arm pretty good, but she refused a trip to the hospital. After I bandaged some superficial cuts, she gave me her phone number. Even as I was saying I can’t date patients, she stuffed it into the breast pocket of my uniform.

“That flight attendant must have really stolen your heart. You waited a whole”—I glance at my watch—“twelve hours before chasing another chick.”

“She’ll be coming back through in a couple of weeks,” he says, “but in the meantime, I’ll touch base with the gorge chick. Always gotta keep your iron in the fire. Besides, you’re the one wasting the opportunity. You’ve got to get over Emily’s bullshit and get back on the horse, dude. You’re headed into pathetic territory.”

“Says the guy who’s never been scared out of his skin by those two fatal words—‘I’m pregnant.’”

“That’s because I’m not stupid enough to trust anything a woman tells me.”

“Fine. I’ll look for her number.” I give up. Tucker’s got a comeback for everything. “Have I told you what a prick you are lately?”

“Now, boys, stop ruffling each other’s feathers.” Betsy stands and hands me a piece of paper. “There you are, honey. All the promises you made so you can keep track.”

Fucking perfect. “Thanks.”

I’m annoyed with the guys—until Nat puts food in front of me. Before I can shovel in my first bite, Jake pushes his chair back from the table, laughing. “Dude, your dog untied my shoelaces.”

I put down my fork, move around the table to take the dog from Jake, and return to my seat. But now, with the pup in my lap, the table is in his direct line of sight, and he’s eyeballing my plate.

“Shit, I didn’t get dog food.”

“I gave him a can of tuna,” Nat says. “He should be fine.”

“Okay,” I tell the pup, “you’ve eaten. This is mine.”

Eventually, the dog yawns and curls into a comma on my lap, little head on little paws. Animals are so trusting. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to them—no lies, no bullshit, no betrayal.

Isabel crosses my mind. She’s got that trio against her for sure. She’s lying about what happened with her ex, whipping up all kinds of bullshit to cover why she’s here, and while she hasn’t betrayed anyone—that I know of yet—she did a damn fine job of it when she left town all those years ago.

“Cole said Isabel is in town.” Natalie sets a plate in front of her mom at the counter, along with a glass of wine, and takes a stool beside her. “Is she staying with you, Tucker?”

Tucker’s gaze meets mine across the table.

“No,” I say for him. “Tucker prioritized sex over family. She’s staying with me, in one of the motel’s rooms.”

“Tucker,” Natalie chastises. “She’s family.”

“If she’d told me she was coming I could have rescheduled,” Tucker says.

“I put her in seven,” I say. “She didn’t seem to mind. It’s the best room I’ve got.”

“It’s also the only room with running water,” Carter says.

“Last I heard,” Tucker adds, “it wasn’t hot water.”

I didn’t remember that until this morning on my way to work. “I offered her the apartment—twice—but she wouldn’t take it.”

“Honey,” Betsy says. “Did you offer her the apartment with you in it or out of it?”

“Out of it, of course.”

Betsy grins. “There’s your problem.”

Everyone breaks into laughter. Betsy’s become a den mother of sorts, and she’s fun to have around. “Ha, good one.”

While the others are laughing, I’m eating. One touch of Natalie’s magic sauce on my tongue and I can’t get the food in fast enough. “Oh my God, Nat, this is amazing.”

The others agree, and the room goes quiet. Someone walks in through the door between the garage bay and the house, but we all ignore whoever it is, focused on the food.

When the person stops in the doorway, I glance up, expecting to see a volunteer, but it’s Isabel, and she looks like she just rolled out of bed. She’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and a ball cap with her hair pulled through the back in a ponytail.

“Is that my baseball hat?” I ask.

“Good morning, afternoon, evening—whatever—to you too,” she says. “It was in the room, which is as good as the lost and found.”

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Tucker says.

“There’s a cat?” She’s got a deadpan expression and she looks tired, like she barely slept. “Send it to room seven. My roommates partied all night long. It’s time for an eviction.”

“Roommates?” Royal says.

“Don’t ask,” I tell him, and since Tucker’s being rude, I use my fork to point to each guy and introduce them to Isabel. There are way too many names to remember. I can’t even keep track of half the volunteers myself. “This is Isabel, Tucker’s sister.”

Isabel gives the table a wave. “Hey, guys. Why aren’t there any girl firefighters?”

Carter’s face breaks into a big grin. “Because we’re lucky?”

More laughter fills the space, but now I’m hyperaware of Isabel. She seems to take up every brain cell.

“And what happened to all of you?” she asks. “You’re a mess.”

I imagine seeing us all through Isabel’s eyes. We’re dirty, sweaty, smoky, and a few of us are cut up, including me.

“It’s been a rough day,” I tell her.

Lucky lifts his head, wags his tail, and whines while looking at Isabel.

“Are you picking up strays again?” she asks.

“He picked you up, didn’t he?” Tucker asks.

“You’re an ass,” she tells him. “Can I use the shower here?”

“You just called me an ass.”

Her gaze turns to Cole. “Can I?”

“You could have used the shower in my apartment,” I say before Cole answers. “If you’d called, I would have told you where the hide-a-key is.”

She just shrugs and addresses the table. “Everyone in favor of letting me shower here, raise your hand.”

My arm wants to shoot skyward, but I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, because I’m totally not into her. The others don’t have any such limitation, and every hand shoots straight up, Carter’s and Royal’s first, like they were already thinking about her upstairs in the shower.

“Majority rules,” Isabel says. “Thank you. I will reward everyone who voted for me—which specifically excludes Tucker and Logan—with pizza one night very soon.”

All the guys cheer and high-five each other.

“Point me in the right direction.” Isabel barely gets the words out before Carter and Royal shoot to their feet with “I’ll show you” in stereo.

“I said it first,” Royal says.

“But I’ve got seniority,” Carter says.

Isabel laughs. “Aren’t they adorable?”

“Heel, boys,” Tucker says, then tells Isabel, “Up the stairs, first door on the right.”

She turns for the stairs, and everyone’s gaze follows her until she’s gone.

“Where you been hiding her?” Jake wants to know, clear interest in his voice.

“New York,” Tucker says. “Don’t even think about it. She’ll be gone soon anyway.”

“Oh, heck.” Smitty puts down his fork. “The towels are in the drier.”

Tucker leans back toward the staircase and yells, “Isabel, the towels are—” The door shuts, and the remainder of his words escape on an exhale. “In the drier.”

All eyes turn to Natalie, a silent suggestion she bring the towels upstairs. But the oven timer dings, and she slides off the stool with “You want me to finish your dessert or pass out towels? ’Cause I can’t do both.”

“Dessert” is everyone’s answer.

“You should bring her the towels,” Natalie tells me on her way to the oven. “You did make her sleep in a third-world motel last night.”

“Didn’t you notice the puppy on my lap?” The thought of standing on the other side of a door from a naked Isabel shoots a zing of panic up my spine. “And why is Tucker’s disrespect my problem?”

“He’s right, Tucker,” Betsy says. “You should know hookups always come second to family.”

I snort a laugh.

“We all know you’re a better guy than Tucker,” Natalie tells me. “Do the right thing, Logan.”

Tucker sits back, palms up. “Why the hate?”

Carter and Royal look at each other, and I see the competition streak through their eyes. They both stand at the same time and say, “I’ll get them for her.”

“Once again,” Royal says, “I said it first.”

“And once again,” Carter says, “I have seniority. Besides, you owe me for spotting you in the workout yesterday.”

“Oh, good God,” I mutter, collecting the sleeping bundle of puppy and pushing to my feet. “Both of you sit the hell down. I’ll do it. But if anyone—and I mean anyone, including you beauties”—I aim my fork at Natalie and Betsy, making them both laugh—“touch my food, it will be a declaration of war.”

Once the guys sit down, I put the dog in Royal’s lap. He sits back. “Dude, I’m eating.”

“Two seconds ago, you were willing to bring towels upstairs.”

He accepts the pup and shuts his mouth, just like he should.

In the laundry room, I messily fold the towels, still warm from the drier, and head up the stairs. Everyone is back to talking and laughing around the table, and I’ll bet that my food won’t be there when I get back. It’s a given. I should have let Carter or Royal take them.

The water is running, and I pause in front of the door. God, I wish my mind would stop picturing her naked. I raise my hand and knock. “Isabel, I have towels for you.”

From experience, I know she won’t be able to hear anything in the shower. I knock again. Still get no answer. “Jesus.”

I finally try the door, find it unlocked, and roll my eyes. I open it just enough to reach in and put the towels on the sink while lifting my voice to say, “Isabel, it’s Logan. I’m leaving towels—”

Movement pulls my gaze toward the shower, to Isabel standing naked, her back toward me, her hand testing the water temperature. In split-second snapshots, I take in all the smooth skin, all the sexy curves, and yeah, I get a really good look at her gorgeous ass, before my attention is drawn to the bruises on her arms and fury spikes.

They no longer look like mottled yellow and purple areas. They’ve faded to a brownish yellow and are in a distinct finger pattern. There’s also a healthy bruise on her hip and one on her calf.

Isabel’s gasp pulls me back, but not in time to see her full-frontal nudity before she’s standing right in front of me, the stack of towels covering a good chunk of her luscious body.

“Isabel.” I hope my voice is less punishing than it sounds to me. “You didn’t get those bruises carting luggage.”

“You don’t know that. Have you ever driven across the country having to handle all your own luggage?” Then she adds, “As a girl, I mean?”

My sense of humor has evaporated. The sight of those bruises cuts me deep and draws all my protectiveness to the surface. “If anyone knows what abuse looks like, it’s me. I’m not going to just pretend yours doesn’t exist. You can tell Tucker and let him handle it, or I’ll handle it, or you and I can handle it together. Those are your choices.”

Her brow is pulled into an angry scowl. “Since when are you my keeper?”

“Since you’re staying in my place and since I saw those bruises. I’m not trying to come down on you, but I can’t just pretend I didn’t see them.”

She takes the towels, closes her eyes, and sighs. “Can we talk about this when I’m not naked?”

Oh, shit.“Of course, I forgot, sorry.”

I back out of the room, but catch a split-second side view of her in the mirror. Her arms and the towels cover her breasts, but I definitely got a glimpse of her flat belly before I close the door again. I turn and rest my back against the wall, eyes closed, and every little visual detail rushes back at me.

It’s not like I never see naked women. Sure, I haven’t dated since I got rid of Emily months ago, but I’m regularly exposed to nakedness of all kinds in my job. This, however, isn’t the same. Not even close, and my body agrees.

I shake out my hands, run them through my hair, and do what I can to cool my body before heading back to the peanut gallery. Even before I sit at the table again, I can see two of my meatballs are gone, but I don’t have the energy to play this game.

I cut the one I have left with the side of my fork and glance at Natalie. “Any more meatballs?”

“You know I cook for fifty,” she says on her way to the stove. “Figure that will keep you all in dinner for two nights, tops.”

She brings a plate with two meatballs.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “Just make sure whoever took mine doesn’t get dessert.”

“You were up there awhile,” Jake says. “What’d you two talk about?”

“She wanted me to get in with her, and I had to explain all about the no-sex-at-the-firehouse rule, one her brother has conveniently forgotten a number of times,” I say with a heavy dose of dumb shit. “What do you think we talked about?”

The guys laugh, then pick up conversations that don’t involve me, which is good because I can’t think of anything but those fucking bruises on Isabel’s skin. Or how she might have gotten them. I watched my mom get beaten often enough to know what attacks result in what injuries, and in my head, Cocksucker grabbed her arms in anger and held tight while she tried to get away. Then he shoved her into something, furniture probably, resulting in the other bruises.

Then the conversation I overheard slides in to provide another layer of context.

My appetite is suddenly gone. I don’t have the right to mess with her business. I know that. But I also can’t just stand by and let it continue happening. I may not have talked to her in ten years, but we grew up together, were great friends before the bottom fell out and she disappeared. Besides, she’s Tucker’s sister. We’ll always be family.

I heard about eighty percent of her conversation with Cocksucker and I know there is a dispute over money, and possibly someone named Valerie. What I could also hear was the condescending arrogance in his tone and the sense of ownership in his demands.

I push spaghetti around on my plate, pissed I have no real right to butt in.

“That smells amazing.” Isabel’s voice brings my head up.

She’s wearing fresh jeans and a dark green sweater that hugs her body. Her hair is still wet, loose, and falling in soft waves. She still looks even more beautiful without makeup. And fresh out of the shower, she’s sexy AF.

“Sit,” Natalie says. “I’ll fix you a plate.”

“Bless you.”