Firefighter Daddy Read Free

though, and for Buick to soak up the sun.
    “Oh, I hope you don’t mind that I have a cat,” Rory said. “He’s old and lazy and he stays inside all the time, but he’ll love the balcony.”
    “I don’t mind at all. Now tell me, how do you know Annie?”
    “She’s an old friend of my mother’s. I’ve been staying with her since I moved to San Francisco a couple of weeks ago, but her apartment is very small.”
    “It is that, all right. Annie and I have been friends for years, too. I wonder if I know your mother.”
    “You might—her name is Copper Pennington.”
    “You don’t say! I haven’t seen Copper in years, but I’ve been following her career. Doesn’t she have a show later this month?”
    “In two weeks. Annie and I are going to the opening. You’re welcome to join us.”
    “I’d love to,” Betsy said. “So, what do you think of the apartment?”
    “It’s perfect. When is it available?”
    “Right away, and it’s yours if you want it.”
    “Really? Thank you! Annie told me how much the rent is. Would you like me to fill out an application and give you a deposit?”
    “Heavens, no. Any friend of Annie’s is a friend of mine. We can look after the money when you move in. Do you know when that’ll be?”
    Rory was tempted to say right now, but that wasn’t practical. “Would Saturday morning be okay?”
    “It would. I’ll be sure there’s someone here to help you carry your things upstairs.”
    “I should be able to manage,” Rory said, although after several trips up and down those stairs, she’d probably wish she didn’t have so many books and clothes. And shoes. And purses.
    “It’s no problem. Come on downstairs and I’ll get the key for you.”
    Five minutes later, Rory was back in her van with the key to her new apartment dangling from her key chain. All the karma her mother said she’d been storing up was finally paying off.
    The fire-safety book with Mitch Donovan’s phone number still lay where she’d tossed it on the passenger seat. The messages he’d been sending out that afternoon had definitely been mixed. Here’s my number. But then it seemed as though he was thinking please don’t call. And now she had to call, but for all the wrong reasons.
    One of the boys in the class had shoved Miranda off the steps during afternoon recess and she had retaliated. Although neither child had been badly hurt, it was school policy to talk to the parents when these things happened.
    Since she’d moved to the city a couple of weeks ago, Mitch was the first interesting man she’d met—and calling him to arrange a class field trip would have been the perfect excuse to talk to him again. Calling to tell him his daughter had misbehaved…not so much.
    There was a very good chance that he was spoken for, she reminded herself. At least, she assumed he was still married to Miranda’s mother, even though the way he’d looked at her suggested he was either single or would like to be.
    Single or not, she had noticed that he had great hands, and there’d been no wedding band. She’d learned the hard way to pay attention to details like that. Not that the absence of a ring meant a man was single—another lesson learned the hard way.
    Would a firefighter wear a ring while he was on duty? Maybe not. And now that she thought about it, Miranda often spoke about her father but she’d never mentioned her mother. The details were probably in Miranda’s permanent file, but she hadn’t read any of her students’ files. She preferred to get to know them on her terms. Miranda was bright and creative, but at times she was moody and unpredictable. This afternoon had been one of those times. Maybe she should look at Miranda’s file tomorrow. A quick peek couldn’t hurt.
    She picked up the fire-safety pamphlet and took a closer look. The numbers he’d written on the cover were large and neatly formed. A man’s hands—and his handwriting—said a lot about who he was, so she always paid