Building a Surprise Family
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Anna J. Stewart
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CHAPTER ONE
“AND SWIPE RIGHT.” Ozzy Lakeman waited for a ping of excitement, a ping of...something as the app responded and added another name to his list of potential romantic matches. Even as he set his phone down to finish his breakfast, that something never materialized. Instead, amidst the aroma of frying bacon and brewing coffee of the Butterfly Diner, the anticipation he hoped for was replaced with an odd feeling of, well, dread.
It was official. His dating pool had dried up.
“Who’s today’s lucky lady?” Brooke Evans set the coffeepot on the black speckled Formica counter and leaned her chin on her hand, the gold band of her wedding ring glinting against the florescent lights. “Oh, come on. Let me see.” She mock-frowned and sighed at Ozzy paying meticulous attention to the last of his egg-white veggie omelet and fresh fruit. “You have to know you’re considered a hot commodity in town, Oz. Sheriff’s deputy turned firefighter, eligible bachelor. Homeowner.” Her grin had him chuckling. “Trust me, that last one is a definite plus. And you’re a nice guy to boot. That’s a pretty rare combination these days, my friend.”
“Be careful, Brooke. Taken or not, you might end up on my wish list.” Fat chance. If there was one thing Butterfly Harbor, California, boasted about, it was their happily-ever-afters. And Brooke was newly married and very, very happy.
Six months ago, six long months ago, after spending years bearing witness to most of his friends getting married and starting families, Ozzy had, after attending yet another town wedding solo, decided to take the full-on plunge into the dating scene. He’d been paddling ever since.
From internet dating sites that required sign-up fees and hours spent filling out his profile, to cell phone apps with fifty character description limits, he’d gone all in. The results had eroded his bank account and left him wondering if he should accept the final challenge of letting his now-married friends start setting him up.
Nope. He wasn’t that desperate. At least, not yet.
“You only love me for my coffee,” Brooke teased. “You’ve worked hard to improve yourself, Oz. I’m just saying you should maybe enjoy the dating game a little more. It should be fun. Not a chore or obligation.”
Ozzy swallowed the sour thought. “Improving himself” was town code for his having lost seventy pounds over the past two years, which allowed him to move into a career—and life—that not so long ago he’d have thought impossible. The only thing missing was having someone to share that life with. His friends all had someone to go home to at night and were adding children to their happily-ever-after equation. Was it so wrong for Ozzy to want the same thing? “Who says I’m not enjoying it?”
“That expression on your face, for one.” Brook circled a finger in front of his nose. “Potential romance should bring out a smile. Hope. Excitement.”
“My excitement is internal.” Not to mention buried under twenty-seven years of insecurities and reality. Even at his heaviest, he’d dated occasionally, but he’d never experienced much of a spark. There had been crushes, of course, aptly named as that’s what had inevitably happened. Nothing crushed a heart faster than being put in the friend zone.
That said, the friend zone was a very safe place to reside. Easy. Comfortable, actually.
Friends meant romance wasn’t involved and the chance of getting romantically hurt was zero. But now? He glanced again at Brooke’s engagement and wedding rings and sighed. He was really tired of playing it safe. “I like to save it up,” he added with a forced smile.
Brooke glanced around the smattering of sunrise customers. The main breakfast crowd would start trickling in around seven-thirty, but for now, the orange upholstered booths and stools were occupied by early risers, postexercisers and, in Ozzy’s case, a firefighter just off a twenty-four-hour shift. “You know,” Brooke continued, “I heard a rumor there’s more than one single lady in town hoping for an invite from you to Monty’s wedding next month.”
“You don’t say?” Appetite extinguished, he dug through his wallet for cash. It was like the universe was reading his mind. He really hoped Brooke wasn’t about to offer to play matchmaker.
“I do say. I bet you heard the same rumor, didn’t you, Urs?” Brooke stood up straight and called back to Ursula, the diner’s longtime cook, who slapped her metal spatula on the bell with her trademark scowl. “Something about a bet or a pool or something?”
“Might’ve heard something like that.” Ursula’s suspicious eyes were barely visible behind the counter as she slid a bacon breakfast special onto the pass-through window. “Order up. Table four.”
“On it.” Brooke offered Ozzy an encouraging smile. “I mean it, Ozzy. Try to enjoy yourself a bit more with this. The right woman’s out there. Probably where you least expect to find her.”
Brooke moved off, her blond ponytail swinging behind her. Ozzy swallowed his standard response. Despite a rather drastic change in appearance, he was still the same Oswald Lakeman he’d always been: the same Ozzy who had been born in Butterfly Harbor and had grown up here. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. On the one hand, there was no hiding anything given he’d lived in one place his entire life. On the other? It was more than unnerving to suddenly not be quite so...invisible.
His cell phone buzzed. After tossing money onto the counter, he picked it up, saw that his latest swipe had counter-added him to her “check me out” page. Ozzy’s shoulders sagged.
The howdy bell over the door chimed as a new early breakfast devotee strode in.
“Hey, Oz.” Fletcher Bradley, co-deputy at the sheriff’s office, offered a warm, if not tired, smile. “You just off shift or heading on?”
“Off, actually.” Ozzy’s last shift had been relatively uneventful. Other than rescuing Mrs. Hastings’s new cat, Blinky, who had taken refuge in the tree in the front yard because of her neighbor’s half-blind retriever, his shift at the Butterfly Harbor Fire Department had proceeded without much fanfare or drama.
“Yeah, me, too.” Fletcher smothered a yawn. “I’ve been getting in some overtime before Paige has the baby. Hoping to grab a jolt of caffeine before I head home to take Charlie to school.”
Ozzy frowned, thinking of Fletcher’s active and independent ten-year-old stepdaughter. “It’s not raining, is it?” He glanced out the window just as the sun began glinting off the ocean that lay beyond the stone retaining wall across the street. “I thought Charlie always rode her bike to school.”
Fletcher grimaced and wiped a hand down the side of his face. “Usually. She had a bit of a wipeout the other day.”
“She okay?”
“Skinned her chin pretty badly. Thank goodness she was wearing her helmet. But the bike’s totaled. Poor kid’s heartbroken. It was the first thing Paige bought her when they moved to Butterfly Harbor.”
Ozzy remembered. Charlie had been an instant bit of spark for their little Pacific coast town. No one could be cranky or have a bad day with the little spitfire around, but for Ozzy personally? Ozzy’s heart tilted. Ozzy would always have a special place in his heart for Charlie. If it hadn’t been for her impulsive actions a few years ago, he might not have changed his life—and his health—for the better. “Bikes can’t be that expensive to replace, can they?”
“Charlie does not want just any bike,” Fletcher declared in a formal tone as if a new law had been passed. “She wants her bike. Never mind she pretty much outgrew it last year and that I’ve spent the last two days scouring online marketplaces to find one identical to it. Looks like for now, or until I find one she approves of, I’ll be driving her to school.”
Ozzy finished his coffee, slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re a good dad, Fletch. I can’t wait to see how you’re going to juggle two kiddos.”
“Well, our good Sheriff Saxon will be my role model in that area. If he can manage his three...” Fletcher trailed off as he looked outside. “Hey, that’s something you don’t see every day.”
Ozzy followed his friend’s gaze toward Monarch Lane where a substantial blue pickup was towing what looked like a house down the street.
“What the...” He moved past Fletcher and pushed open the front door. Sure enough, a plank-sided structure with a slightly slanted roofline rolled its way through town behind a large pickup truck.
Ozzy blinked. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes for its arrival to be the main topic of conversation not only in the diner, but all around town.
“It’s like one of those home improvement channels is coming to visit,” Ozzy said as other morning diners peered out the plate glass windows as the truck and cargo made their way slowly out of sight. “I’ve never seen one of those in real life. Any idea who that might be?” Fletcher shook his head. “Brooke?” Ozzy asked as Brooke joined them at the door.
“Afraid not. I’ve been off the last few days. Ursula?” Brooke called. “Have you heard anything?”
“Might’ve.” Ursula rose up on her tiptoes. “I bet it’s the new construction supervisor here to do damage control with the butterfly sanctuary site. Word is the town council overrode the mayor’s choice and hired someone Leah Ellis recommended. Joe something.”
“Really?” Brooke’s eyes were still wide when she looked back at Ozzy and Fletcher. “I bet that was an ego blow for Gil.”
“More like a wake-up call.” Ozzy couldn’t muster much sympathy for their mayor. But Brooke was right about one thing. If the town council had gone with the suggestion made by Gil’s only rival in the upcoming election, there was probably trouble brewing in more ways than one.
“I guess I should head up to the construction site and see if they need help.” Fletcher glanced at his watch. “I don’t have to be home for a bit yet.”
“I’ll go.” Ozzy grabbed the coat he’d hung up on one of the hooks by the door. “Get some coffee, relax. Anything comes up or I need help, I’ll call you.”
“You sure?” Relief shone in Fletcher’s tired eyes. “That’d be great. I’ll owe you, man.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll add it to your tab.” All Ozzy was going to do was sleep, anyway. Fletcher had people waiting at home for him.
Ozzy bid a quick farewell to Brooke and the diner’s patrons and headed out to his new SUV, which, after more than ten years driving around a clunker, he was still getting used to.
The construction site, located on a plot of land just north of the nearby organic farm and eucalyptus grove, had been closed in late March due to an unfortunate accident that sent four of the crew, including the foreman, to the hospital with minor to severe injuries. The ensuing investigation had kept the project shutdown for over a month and revealed the initial materials purchased for the project had been substandard. With lawsuits pending and accusations flying, speculation was running as rampant as water through newly installed pipes. Whether there was enough money in the town’s treasury to absorb the cost of delays was a big topic of debate, a debate Mayor Gil Hamilton seemed determined to avoid having. The person ultimately responsible? Chances were the voters would make that decision come November.
Personally, Ozzy didn’t think they could afford not to complete the project. So much of Butterfly Harbor’s future depended on this new tourist destination, from various businesses to real estate prices. Their small coastal town had finally emerged from its long economic slump and was thriving again. New shops and services were popping up, and a lot of those places had planned their grand openings for the weeks surrounding the sanctuary and education center’s completion. Whatever debt the town needed to take on to get the project finished should be accepted so they could move forward, as far as Ozzy was concerned.
He took the long way around to the site and pulled into the gravel parking area on the other side of what looked like crime-scene tape stretched between and around thick-trunked trees. He heard the rumble of the serious truck heading up the hill as he climbed out of his car. Headlights flashed into view and he held up a hand to signal the driver.
He couldn’t stop grinning. That home on wheels was something to behold—practical with an elegant, streamlined luxury-cabin design. He could imagine how it would look nestled among the eucalyptus trees that outlined most of the area. A supervisor who brought his own house with him was someone who meant business.
The truck’s engine suddenly went silent. Ozzy walked over to greet the driver. “That is a thing of beauty,” he said as the door opened and the driver dropped to the ground in front of him.
Every thought he had disappeared straight out of his head.
Tall, curvy and with sun-streaked blond hair knotted into a messy pile on top of her head, Butterfly Harbor’s latest arrival faced Ozzy with a wide, welcoming smile on her round face. Beneath the barely-there sunlight of the May morning, her skin seemed to glisten in the chilly air. She had light brown eyes, almost amber with flecks of gold that sparkled when she smiled. She wore snug jeans that accentuated everything a man like him enjoyed, sneakers that looked as if they’d been worn into the ground and a snug short-sleeved turquoise T-shirt that displayed a surprisingly round stomach.
The new foreman was a woman?
A pregnant forewoman?
“Didn’t realize there’d be a welcoming committee.” The woman closed the truck door and stepped up to him. “I know I wasn’t expected until next week, but I wanted to get a jump on settling in. I’m Jo Bertoletti. You are not Mayor Hamilton.” She gestured to Ozzy’s T-shirt with the BHFD logo on the front peeking out of his jacket.
“Ah, no, ma’am.” Ozzy shook her offered hand. Her skin felt rough and calloused, proving she was someone who was used to getting her hands dirty. Beneath that observation, a dull buzz shifted through his system. “I’m Ozzy Lakeman. I was in the diner when you drove down Monarch Lane. Just thought I’d come up and be the first to see what was happening here.” His own smile widened as something oddly definitive dinged. “I guess that makes me the welcoming committee.”
“I appreciate that, Ozzy Lakeman of the BHFD.” She beamed at him before her expression shifted into a knowing one. “Judging by the look on your face, I’m betting you weren’t expecting someone...like me.”
“I...uh.” There had to be a way to answer that without sounding like a complete sexist or jerk. “Like you?”
Jo snickered. “Don’t worry, Ozzy. Not the first time I’ve seen that reaction when I arrive on a site. And it’s not because of the little bun I’m baking in here. Bun in the oven. That’s such a weird phrase. Although come to think about it, I have spent my fair share of time waiting for my sourdough starter to develop.”
Ozzy could only nod. His ears were buzzing and his heart did an odd little skip and jolted in a manner he’d never felt anytime he’d swiped right.
“You still in there, Ozzy?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “If you’re trying to cling to political correctness, don’t bother with me. I’ve been living and working on construction sites since before I could walk and long before I got this little one. I’ve heard it all and a lot worse that would make that cute face of yours blush six shades of red.”
“Okay.” At some point he was going to not sound like an idiot, right?
Jo stepped around him and moved toward the yellow tape. “They sent me pictures of the site. Man, when the frame collapsed, it did some damage, didn’t it?” She pointed toward the expansive grove of trees where scarred trunks and barren ground were the only remnants of the originally assembled structure. “We’ve got, what, nearly two months of construction to try to make up in a few weeks to get back on schedule?”
“The mayor is still counting on us opening in late October, early November. In time for monarch season and the butterfly festival.” More like in time for the election, but Ozzy held his tongue on that point.
Jo sighed. “It’s not the best situation I’ve dealt with, but it’s not the worst, either. With the right crew, we’ll get it done.” Hands planted on her hips, she walked the perimeter. “You expecting more problems with the site?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’m no one’s ma’am. The name’s Jo or boss. Since you aren’t crew, make it Jo.”
“Nice to meet you, Jo.” Something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn’t quite identify, but he hadn’t imagined it. “I was coming off shift when I saw you, or rather, your truck, rumbling through town.”
“From the diner, right.” She nodded. “Okay, firefighter from the diner, I’m glad you’re here. You want to help a pregnant lady hook up a house?” When she faced him, her smile told him she was teasing him. “I’m kidding.” She ripped down the yellow tape and crushed it into a tiny ball. “I’ve been hooking up this trailer for the last three years. I see the sewer line’s right over there, near the construction office. And I can plug it into that generator next to it for backup power.”
“So...you don’t need help?”
“Never have, never will.” She patted his arm and then headed back to her truck. “Stand back, Ozzy. This mama-to-be is making her nest.”
THERE WAS LITTLE Jo liked more than a challenge and there was nothing more challenging than coming to a city or town to fix a problem that others were responsible for. Shocking one of the hometown boys into relative silence definitely ranked up there on her list of favorite things. Though, no, not a boy, she corrected herself.
A very handsome hometown man. She’d hoped to roll into town undetected, be set up and ready to go by the time anyone turned up on-site, as if she’d somehow appeared by magic. It seemed, however, that this town—or at least Ozzy Lakeman—had other ideas.
He also had her feeling a bit off-kilter with that charming, shell-shocked smile of his. Typical. She’d met enough firefighters to know that, like a lot of men in construction, they often came loaded with testosterone and more than their fair share of hero syndrome. She shook her head. Nope. Not even going to let herself contemplate any man’s testosterone level. Clearly, she should have taken her doctor’s warnings about her own amped-up hormones seriously.
Between her expanding business, this job and her baby on the way, the last thing she needed was to add anyone, especially a man, to her life. She’d learned her lesson. From here on out, she was on her own.
That said, firefighter or not, Jo imagined Ozzy Lakeman threw a lot of women off-kilter. How could he not with that thick, curly brown hair and eyes the color of a forest, dark and deep? As she moved around the truck, she couldn’t help but take inventory of Ozzy’s muscular build. It spoke of attention to fitness. That broad chest was perfect to display his firefighter logo and—Good heavens, what was wrong with her?
She wasn’t in Butterfly Harbor to ogle men or, even worse, have a fling with one of them.
Like anyone would want to fling her anywhere, anyway. Still, that didn’t stop her from glancing at the firefighter’s hand to verify he wasn’t attached. At least not legally. It doesn’t matter! He was clearly younger than she was, and at thirty-five, Jo was beyond the time of helping men in their twenties find themselves. Besides, she’d be doing plenty of reassuring and guiding once her baby was born. But she had another four-plus months before she had to start fretting about that.
She ducked her head, hiding her smile as she removed the trailer from her truck, unhooked the cords and cables and got her home connected to the appropriate lines. As if by rote she then stretched out the industrial power cable to the trailer office on the off chance her solar storage decided to get temperamental.
Jo patted the back of the house. One of the main considerations she’d paid attention to when she’d built the structure was its ease of mobility. Taking her home with her from job to job, while it created some issues, had solved far more. One flip of the main power switch had the automated trailer pylons lowering and the porch steps popping out. She reached into the truck bed. Remembering the amount of effort it had taken her the last time to haul out her toolbox, she hesitated.
“Let me help,” Ozzy quickly offered.
Jo’s first instinct was to say no, but there was no denying the happy, almost jubilant expression on Ozzy’s fine face. “You just couldn’t wait for me to ask, could you?”
“No, ma— No,” he corrected when she narrowed her eyes. His smile seemed genuine enough. Friendly, accepting, warm. He picked up her toolbox and turned to the trailer. “I’ve never seen one of these houses up close before.”
“It’s my pride and joy. Built it myself. Have some upgrades to make, of course, but I’ve got all the necessities, including a washer and dryer.” Her stomach growled—maybe not only her own. “I hate laundromats,” she added with a laugh.
“You’d love ours,” Ozzy said. “We have old-fashioned arcade games in the waiting area, along with a reading room. It’s also next door to Chrysalis Bakery. Best doughnuts in...well, best ones I’ve ever eaten,” he added with a quick grin as she pulled out the key to her front door.
“If you’d leave my toolbox right down there.” She pointed to the floor once she was inside. He leaned around the doorframe and waited for her to wave him forward to deposit the box. Out of habit, she retrieved a framed photograph from a kitchen drawer and set it on the counter, so that it was the first thing she’d see whenever she came home.
“Is that you?”
“Sure is.” Pride had her straightening. “With my grandfather and my father. Joseph Bertoletti Senior and Junior. I was four here, I think? It wasn’t my first day on a construction site, but it was the first day I actually remember. The crew bought me that ‘Boss’s girl’ hard hat I’m wearing.” Her lips twitched at the memory even as her heart clenched. That hat was one of the few items she’d kept from childhood, and there was a fifty-fifty chance she’d soon have a reason to pull it out of storage.
“Now you’re just the boss,” Ozzy teased. “So that makes you Jo—”
“The third. It’s also a great fit, my dad thought, since it’s likewise the name of my grandpa’s favorite baseball player.”
“DiMaggio?”
“Got it in one. You a Yankees fan?” Impressed, Jo turned and braced her hands on the table behind her.
“Not even close.” Ozzy chuckled.
So he wasn’t perfect after all. “The name was an ode to my grandmother, as well. She loved Marilyn Monroe so much.” She shrugged. “It was a twofer.”
“Will this one be Jo number four?” Ozzy glanced down at her stomach.
“As much as I love the family tradition, I think I’ll be giving my baby his or her own identity.”
“You won’t be naming the kid after the father, then?”
“No.” That was enough cold water to douse the sparkling conversation. “Thanks again for your help, Ozzy. And the welcome. If you’ll excuse me, I need to grab some sleep before the day really gets going.”
“Sure, yeah, of course.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a card. “I’m sure you’ll be meeting plenty of people soon, but in case you need anything. Like someone to move things for you before your crew’s back on the job.” Ozzy gestured to the small but well-organized space. “I’m usually out and about. And if you can’t find me, call the station house. I’ll get the message.”
“Good to know. Thank you, Mr. Firefighter.”
His cheeks went red. “It was nice to meet you, Jo.” He backed down the steps. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“I look forward to it.” She stood in the open door, welcoming that fresh sea air. It was nice, she thought, having someone to talk to after more than three days on the road. Someone new and hospitable and, well... Let’s face it. Firefighter Ozzy Lakeman was pretty darn nice to look at, too. She couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the town had to offer. Not that she’d be sticking around long enough to gain much of an appreciation. After this, she’d be off to her new life—job, house, baby and all.
With her arms crossed over her chest, she waited until he drove away before she returned to the kitchen to find something to eat.
