Chapter 62

"Okay, guys. That's enough," Taren Davis said as he sat in the kitchen of the firehouse, watching the antics of his fellow firefighters.
"I'm telling you, Taren. My guns are bigger. Look!" Bret flexed his bicep and held it up to Dylan's.
"In your dreams," Dylan replied, relaxing his muscles. "You don't bench press three hundred pounds a day like I do."
"Yeah, right." Bret laughed. "You've never benched three hundred pounds in your life. Let alone every day."
"Okay. This is too much testosterone for me. I think you're all crazy." Erica rose from her seat at the table and opened the refrigerator door. She looked through the shelves and pulled out a package of cookie dough. She was the only female firefighter on the Christmas Cove Fire Department, but no one messed with her. She could definitely hold her own against these Neanderthals. "Anyone want some cookies?"
"Me!" Bret and Dylan yelled in unison.
"What? Are you two twins?" Erica teased.
Patrick peeked around the corner. "Did I hear cookies?"
Taren sighed. "Erica, I think you're right. You guys are all crazy."
"Party pooper." Bret chuckled under his breath. It was true that Bret teased him, but never pushed it too far, knowing that Taren could put him through the wall anytime he wanted to.
Erica nodded toward Bret. "Go get a cookie sheet. You're helping me."
"Why me?" Bret's voice raised several octaves.
Taren shook his head as he rose to his feet and headed toward the door.
Dylan bent down to get a cookie sheet as Bret sat on the top of the counter.
Erica smacked him playfully on the leg with a dish towel. "Get down off there."
Bret ignored her, turning his attention to Taren. "Hey. Where're you going?"
"Away from here." Taren poured himself another cup of coffee and headed toward the door. He yelled over his shoulder, "Call me if you need me."
After he walked out, Erica chuckled from the kitchen, but Taren was feeling too down to care. When he walked into the bunk room, he stopped in his tracks, for his bed--the lower bunk--was decorated with Christmas lights, flashing what seemed to be every color on the planet. And to top it off, garland was wrapped around the poles. In addition, a Santa hat laid on his pillow and candy covered the entire mattress, making relaxing impossible.
"Erica! What in the world did you do?" Taren yelled, knowing she could hear him.
She peeked around the corner. "I thought you could use a little cheering up."
"And you thought the way to do it was to turn my bunk into a Christmas tree?" Taren looked at the bed and shook his head, assessing the damage.
Erica laughed. "Hey! Why not?" She walked in and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Admit it. It made you smile."
"Nope."
"Come on, admit it."
"Nope."
"Yes, it did."
"Not a bit." Taren headed toward the door but turned and nodded toward his bunk. "Clean this up." As captain of the Christmas Cove Fire Department, he felt no remorse for giving the order.
"Scrooge!" Erica yelled after him as he headed down the hallway toward his office.
Taren hadn't planned on spending Christmas Eve doing paperwork, but he wasn't in the mood for the guys' antics, either. He turned on the desk lamp when he walked in and sat down in his swivel chair. Taren looked down at the paperwork but pushed it aside and turned his attention out the window instead, wishing he was spending the evening with his daughter, Abby.
Before going to work, he teased his mother, making her promise not to give his daughter away at the Children's Home. She swore that if someone tried to take her, they'd have to go through her first- and he believed her. His mother was also a person not to mess with.
Although he knew that Abby would have a good time at the Children's Home seeing Santa Claus, he just wished he could be there with her. When his shift fell over Christmas, he had been tempted to trade with another firefighter, but he couldn't have enjoyed himself at home with his family knowing a co-worker couldn't be with his. Taren sighed. Over the past few years, he had gotten lucky and had been off for Christmas- but not this year.
He picked up the picture frame on his desk. In it was a picture of Abby and him. He was hugging her, and she was laughing as they both looked at the camera. He knew better than to feel sorry for himself. After all, a lot of people couldn't spend Christmas with their families. He ran his hand over the picture, thinking of his daughter, knowing how lucky he was to have her.
Taren and Abby's mother, Scarlett, had been high school sweethearts, the typical high school "it" couple. He had been the football jock and she a cheerleader. In high school, he played every sport and Scarlett either competed, too, or was in the stands or on the sidelines, cheering. They had fallen in love and he asked her to marry him in their senior year. The plan was to get married and then go to college together- but plans change.
Shortly after they were married, Scarlett became pregnant. She had been excited at the prospect of becoming a mother at first, but going from high school star to instant mother with a family was too much for her. After telling Taren that she couldn't handle being a mother, she walked out, leaving him alone with a baby, and he hadn't seen her since. Abby was just six weeks old.
When she left, he had just started his job at the fire department. With shifts of twenty-four hours on and forty-eight off, how was he going to care for his daughter? His mother had offered to let them move in with her and had even offered to babysit when he was working. Knowing he didn't have a choice and grateful for her assistance, he found himself moving back home instead of going to college with Scarlett as they had planned. But each time he looked into his daughter's eyes, he regretted nothing. Having his daughter was worth any sacrifice he ever had to make- or ever would.
When he looked up, Bret was leaning against the door frame. "You know, the rest of us aren't with our families, either."
Taren sighed as he set down the picture frame. "I know that."
"So, come on out and celebrate with us." Bret walked in and picked up a red and pink heart paperweight that Abby had made for him for Valentine's Day the previous year, setting on the corner of his desk.
Taren looked up, narrowing his eyes. "Put it down."
Bret smirked, and then set it down. "Sorry, man." He sat down on the edge of his desk. "Come on out when you're ready. It's only Christmas once a year."
Taren chuckled without humor. "You're forgetting that we live in the Christmas capital of the United States, where it's Christmas three hundred sixty-five days a year."
"You know what I mean." Bret stood and stopped at the door. "Erica's cookies are ready. You'd better come out and get one before they're all gone."
Taren scoffed. "And you didn't bring me one? What's wrong with you?" he teased, rising from his seat. "Well, it looks like I'd better get one before you heathens eat them all."
"Heathens?" Bret asked in disbelief. "I have you know that I attend the same church you do- unless you forgot."
Suddenly, the emergency lights flashed brightly as the deafening sound of the alarm blared throughout the firehouse. They had a call.