The Fireman: BWWM Romance Series (The Handyman Series Book 4)

  The Fireman

  BWWM Romance Series

  Jamila Jasper

  Jamila Jasper Romance

  Contents

  Complete Series

  1. The Fireman

  2. FREE SAMPLE: The Builder

  Afterword

  More Jamila Jasper Romance

  Patreon

  Social Media

  Acknowledgments

  Complete Series

  The Pool Boy

  The Plumber

  The Gardener

  The Fireman

  The Builder

  1

  The Fireman

  After my conversation with Shontal, I found myself more determined than ever to stick to my vow of celibacy. I had stuck to my vows for over 20 years and as of yet, I saw no reason to break those vows. I had held steadfast for 20 years after all. Now that I was approaching 61, why should I change?

  What man could do something for me that I couldn't do for myself? I was the pure definition of an independent woman in every sense of the word.

  20 years was a long time to hold true to a value like that. In the world, people expected me to just find a man and settle down. No man had treated me well enough or done enough for me. I loved my cats, but that was about it. A man had never proven himself to me and I had never held that against most men. Men were simply inadequate.

  I mean ask yourself... When's the last time you men a strong, strapping man with a good income, no baby mamas and a strong Christian work ethic who liked a real down to earth woman? I struggled to find a man like that since I'd started searching.

  I considered myself luckier and luckier the older I got. If the perfect man was going to come along, I could meet him at any time.

  I kept my cats organized in the most peculiar way — at least others believed my methods peculiar while I noted their efficacy. Each one of my princes had their very own home outside, their very own water dish, and their very own food dish. Each morning, I would cook up a fresh meal of sausages and other delightful meats for my pets. I treated them as if they were friends. They were friends.

  Sometimes, I would even make them creamy coffee which they lapped at with their soft little tongues. In a way, they were my closest friends aside from the girls, Kishawn, Shontal, Ronice and Tasha. The cats were more loyal to me than any man had ever been.

  My three favorite cats out of all my collective were named Horace, Homer, and Virgil. All of them were named after Greek writers. I loved reading the classic Greek myths especially the ones involving Zeus and Hera. Reading those myths, I wondered why on earth Hera would ever put up with a husband like that – – a man who cared nothing for her and only cared for getting his own needs met. That was one of the main reasons I was single. I saw the truth in these myths. I saw that most men are just like Zeus. They were only after one thing.

  One afternoon, I sat on my porch sipping iced tea and watching as Horace and Homer frolicked in the grass. They enjoy playing with each other in the afternoon and they would race around pouncing on each other and then rolling around into balls of fur until one or the other got the upper hand and sent the other one running along its way. As they were frolicking and fighting, neither cat noticed a truck barreling down the street.

  I stood up, clutching my iced tea as droplets of condensation dripped down my palms. my heart thudded in my chest as I anticipated the inevitable.

  "Careful!" I screamed.

  My voice alarmed the cats just enough for them to break apart and terrified for their lives they separated and fled in opposite directions to escape the oncoming truck.

  Horace had crossed the street, but Homer had launched himself up the tall oak tree in my backyard. I shrieked again, this time dropping the iced tea to the ground. The glass didn't shatter but my spilled drink splashed all over my feet.

  I didn't care. All I cared about was Homer. In his terror, Homer had climbed so far up the tree but there was no way he could jump down. With my bad hip and arthritis in both my hip and wrist, I had a very slim chance of getting to him myself.

  When I was a younger woman, I might have been able to shimmy up the side of the tree and coax Homer to at least jump into my arms. I had plenty of tree climbing days in my youth but those days were behind me. Now, I was an older woman, my sixtieth birthday had been Midsummer. I was fairly powerless to convince the cat to come down on his own. Not even fresh cooked turkey giblets could convince him to leap into the wicker basket I extended to the sky.

  Homer let out a pitiful mewling sound. The sound filled me with anguish.

  I knew my kitty needed help, but none of her neighbors had returned home from work yet. Even the friendly neighbor boy Nelson Jones had just found himself in employment and would be nowhere nearby to help. I had to do the unthinkable. I had to disrupt our small town's volunteer fire department and get one of these volunteer firemen to mosey on over away to my place just to help me get my cat out of a tree.

  I was becoming a stereotypical cat woman and I had no one to blame but myself. For a long time, Tasha and even Ronice warned me that my problem was getting out of control. Tasha, of course, wasted no time in telling me that I would be single for life if I did not get rid of at least half of these cats. How the heck could I get rid of my friends? They had been reliable and by my side for as long as I could remember. I took care of them as if they were my kids.

  And, as I approached 61 and eventually retired, it would be for the best if I kept my friends close.

  I hustled inside as fast as my throbbing hip could take me to get to the phone. I have a nonemergency line for the fire department lying around because I'm an older woman and I get a bit paranoid. I had a suspicion something like this could happen at any time and finally, my worst fears had come true. I needed help. And I needed help from a man to make it worse.

  Laden with shame, I picked up my phone and dialed the number. I knew most of the volunteer firemen especially the chief who had gone to university with me oh so long ago. His nickname back then had been Turtle, so I still referred to him as such affectionately.

  "Turtle! I need your help. My cat is stuck in a tree I can't get him down."

  After chortling at my pain, he assured me that he would be sending one of his best men down to help me.

  "Who is it?"

  I wanted to know exactly which of the guys Turtle planned to send to help me. Not all the volunteer firemen had the same level of skill and talent. Some of the younger ones were particularly lazy. When Ronice had a small fire at her backyard barbecue the previous year, they'd taken a full forty-five minutes to show up!

  "I'm sending the best, trust me."

  Turtle hung up and I realized that I really did have no choice but to trust him. I hastened over to the oak tree and cooed to Homer, promising that very soon someone would be on their way to help set him free.

  Meow!

  Some response. He didn't seem too comforted by my promise of the fireman on his way would be one of the best (if Turtle) were to be believed.

  I waited agitated at the end of my driveway for some sign that a volunteer fireman would eventually show up. Didn't Turtle realize how important this was to me? After a long ten minutes that seemed to stretch out for eons, a forest green Dodge pickup truck pulled down my cul-de-sac and parked in front of my driveway.

  A man that I did not recognize jumped out. He had short black hair and dark brown eyes, with deeply tanned skin. I ascertained he was a fireman only by the sticker on his car. He walked towards me with a scowl on his face.

  "Are you Mrs. Zelda?"

  "Just Zelda, thank you.
"

  He grunted.

  How rude! I thought to myself.

  "Good morning Sir," I said pointedly, hoping I could point out to this useful and arrogant fireman good manners never killed anybody.

  "It was a good morning. Mind telling me what the problem is?"

  His frustration agitated me.

  Now I hate a man with a bad attitude. I'm sorry, it's just not something I can stand. I could tell this fireman needed an attitude adjustment. If he didn't fix his act up, I'd get Turtle back on the line pronto.

  "No. I'm not going to tell you what the problem is until I find out your name.

  He grunted again. But this time, he had the good sense to tell me his name afterward.

  "The names Lance. Lance Lumber."

  Lance Lumber? I didn't remember hearing that name before. In fact, I didn't recognize the name at all. He must have been new in town. Maybe that or I just didn't know many men so many years younger than me. Lance Lumber couldn't have been a day over 35. He had a sharp angular face and thick arms that bulged from his shirt like tree trunks.

  "Are you new?" I asked in disbelief. I had a hard time believing that a volunteer fireman would have such a bad attitude. What on earth was wrong with this guy?

  "Not new. Just busy. Busy and tired of civilians calling us firemen for nonsense."

  "It's not nonsense! My cat is stuck in that tree. Now you get him down right this instant!"

  I was not usually the sort of woman who got angry or raised her voice. But when it came to my cats, I was as protective as a mama bear. I refused to let Lance Lumber get away with acting like Homer's plight was unimportant. He was a volunteer fireman after all. This was his job -- by choice!

  I was ready to tear into him but I noticed his response to my comment. His nose wrinkled and he unfolded his arms, relaxing just a bit.

  "Wait. This isn't a burned popcorn house?" "

  "No! My cat is stuck in a tree and I need your help getting it down."

  His expression softened.

  "My apologies, Zelda. I've had a number of false alarms this week and Turtle keeps sending me to deal with these damn teens who won't stop burning popcorn and activating their systems. I thought this was another incident.

  "Is that why I got all that bad attitude?"

  "Again, my apologies. If there's any way I could make it up to you…"

  "Just get my cat down!"

  "As you wish ma'am."

  Lance asked me to direct him to the tree, which I did.

  I approached the base of my oak tree and my eyes traveled all the way up to where my beautiful cat sat crouched between a branch and the tree trunk, shaking in terror.

  "The little guy looks scared. What's his name?"

  "This is Homer. I've got other cats too. But he's one of the weakest. And the dumbest."

  Lance chuckled.

  "What do you know? I love cats. The dumber the better."

  He flashed a smile for the first time I noticed that Lance Lumber was not an unattractive man. Sure, he was more than 20 years my junior. That made him off-limits even if I would have ever considered breaking my vow of celibacy.

  But when you're like me and you venture into a vow of celibacy, it does not hurt to look. And believe me, I looked. Lance eyed the height of the tree and determined that he would have no choice but to climb up himself. My tree grew in such a strange way that he could not fix a ladder against it safely. The ground at the base was uneven to boot -- a problem caused by my former gardener, Kai Lord.

  I cautioned him, warning Lance, letting him know that I did not want to be liable if he were to fall and crack his neck.

  "Don't worry. I like a challenge."

  I had no choice but to trust him. If he thought he could climb that tree and get my cat down and if Turtle had said he was the very best, all I could do was hope that neither of them had been exaggerating their talents and my kitty would soon be home safe.

  "Don't say I didn't warn you.”

  Lance eyed the tree, determining the best path up.

  “Hot today, ain’t it?” He said.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  I was in no mood for small talk. Homer let out a whimpering meow that didn’t just tug at my heartstrings — it yanked. I just wanted Lance to hurry up and bring him home without any further muss or fuss.

  “I don’t think I can make it up there with this shirt on…”

  Before I could protest, Lance reached for the base of his white shirt and stripped it off, exposing his bare fireman’s chest. My hand clasped to my mouth. Had this man essentially disrobed before me?! Before he could turn around and notice the look of shock on my face, I composed myself. He’d already worked up a sweat. Every inch of his thick sinewy body was covered in muscle. He had a few tattoos of birds traveling up the left side of his body. His abs pulsed in the midday sun.

  He raised his hand to cover his eyes as he stared up the tree.

  “I’ll wrap this shirt around him to get him down. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Are you sure?!”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  His confidence impressed me. In a matter of a few minutes, Lance had assuaged my concerns. I can't help but be mesmerized by a man of action.

  Before I could protest, Lance began to shimmy up the side of the tree. He hoisted his thick body up as if it were weightless. Grasping one thin branch, he swung his body up to a thicker one that was more certain to hold his weight.

  “Be careful!” I called up to him.

  Lance grunted in response. Homer let out another anguished meow. I rushed to the base of the tree, tilting my head up towards the canopy of leaves, hoping to make out exactly where my silly cat had stuck.

  “I got it!” he called back.

  He climbed even higher, near the top of the oak tree. From the ground, he looked so small but I'd seen his muscles and knew he had the strength to pull himself up and get down. I trusted that he'd save Homer. I didn't have much of a choice but to trust him.

  He'd gone so far up that I couldn't make him out. The sun blinded me and all I could do was listen to the rustling of leaves, Homer's occasional meow, and Lance's grunts as he climbed higher and higher.

  I heard a loud yowl and then Lance called down to me, "I got him!"

  "Is he okay?"

  "A bit shook up but he'll be fine!"

  Lance scooped Homer under his arm, wrapping him in a shirt so his sharp claws couldn't dig into his flesh. He descended cautiously, using his one free hand to balance himself as he stepped from branch to branch. About eight feet from the bottom of the tree, Lance sat on the branch and leaned down.

  "Come get him."

  "Mama's coming Homer!" I called, running to Lance's position and grabbing the cat from his hands, holding him close.

  Despite the comfort of my affection, Homer still longed for his paws to touch the ground. He wriggled out of my arms and darted off towards Virgil who sat on the porch with a disapproving gaze plastered on his furry white face.

  Lance chuckled.

  "He looks happy."

  "Thank you so much!"

  "It's no pro----"

  Lance let out a yell and instead of finishing his sentence found himself flat on the ground. I shrieked. The branch he'd sat on hadn't been strong enough to hold his pure muscular body and he fell to the ground.

  "Lance!" I called.

  He groaned. I rushed to him, thinking he might have hit his head and inadvertently sacrificed his life to save my cat.

  "Lance are you okay?!"

  I leaned over him and he groaned again, his eyes slowly fluttering open.

  "I'm fine..."

  "Should I call an ambulance?"

  "No!"

  He sat up and blood gushed from a large scrape on his back.

  "You're hurt!"

  "I'm fine..."

  "I can't let you leave here like this! Turtle would never send another guy here to help me."

  He grunted.

  "Stand up,
I insist you come inside this instant!"

  Lance raised his eyebrows but he didn't protest. That's right. One thing about us older black women is we know how to command respect. He brushed his jeans off and grumbled, "Okay, I'll come inside. I just need a band-aid."

  "A band-aid? Mr. Lumber, your back is scraped up nearly to oblivion. You need more than a band-aid. You need this wound to get cleaned up and you need some gauze on it."