Measure of a Man Read online

  Measure of a Man

  Peyton’s baby brother, Francis Adams—nicknamed Flex—means the world to her. And when he decides to move from California to Atlanta after a bad breakup with his lover, the entire family is upset. The only consolation is the news that Flex has found a new man in fellow firefighter Lincoln Carver.

  Flex hasn’t been entirely truthful—Lincoln, who is straight, doesn’t know the new firefighter is gay. And when fate brings Peyton and Lincoln together under unusual circumstances, sparks begin to fly. But when Lincoln is invited to a family wedding, will his relationship with Peyton be undermined once the truth is revealed?

  To Jasmine, Jordan, Jada and Jackson.

  For being the best part of my day.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 1

  For two hours, Local 1492 Dekalb Firefighters battled a three-alarm apartment blaze in the dead of night. December was a merciless month riddled with Christmas tree and electrical fires. With this being their third call in the past twenty-four hours, the men of Local 1492 were pushed to the brink of exhaustion.

  Firefighter Lincoln Carver ignored the pain pulsating through every muscle in his body as he hacked into a third-floor apartment. Despite the roar of the inferno surrounding him, he zeroed in on a series of coughs and cries for help on the other side of the door.

  The moment the door gave way, black clouds of smoke enveloped him and obscured his vision. Operating purely on instinct, he strained his ears for any signs of life and heard none.

  To his right, the walls glowed a dark black and orange with flames snaking toward him.

  Someone is in here. You heard them.

  Lincoln kept moving, convinced that his ears hadn’t deceived him. Sweat poured around his face as his heart chugged the disappearing supply of oxygen.

  Get out of here.

  He shook off his inner command. Someone was still in there. He just knew it.

  Behind him, a part of the roof caved in and burning debris missed him by mere inches.

  It’s too late. Get out!

  Again, he shook off the warning. He just needed a few more seconds. However, Lincoln was out of time. Something cracked and then slammed into him.

  * * *

  “Has anyone seen Linc?” Flex Adams asked. He handed over a young girl covered in soot to one of the paramedics.

  Omar Preston removed his hat and glanced around. “I thought he was with you.”

  Flex shook his head and surveyed the men around him. No Lincoln.

  “I’m going back in,” he announced and then felt a hand tug against his shoulder.

  “If Linc is still in there—”

  “Then I’ll find him.” Flex gave him a departing wink. “Be right back.” He vaulted through the smoking door and up the fire-engulfed stairs without hesitation.

  In times like these, Flex operated best on instinct. Too much thinking was a losing man’s game and action saved lives. On the second floor, flames glowed across the carpet like a radiant liquid—a river of doom. Above him something creaked and then crashed, sending a shiver of fear coursing down his spine.

  Where is he? He forced himself to remain calm. He started to enter an apartment, but thought better of it. He’s not in that one.

  The walls moaned around him as if the building were alive. Next came the explosion of shattering windows and hunks of plaster fell around him. Keep moving. He flew up another flight of stairs, unsure if he was following the path to perdition.

  * * *

  Lincoln suppressed the pain in his lower back as he slid on his belly toward a little girl trembling in a corner. She sat with her knees drawn up against her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, while her eyes were wide with terror.

  Her presence upped the ante. He had to make sure she made it out of there safe and sound. How he was going to do that was still unclear. As he approached, he guessed the child was about six years old. She was a pretty black girl with large doe eyes and hair parted down the center and fat plaits on each side. He could easily see the beautiful woman she would one day become.

  Finally when he was within inches of her, her gaze withdrew from the flames licking up the walls to meet his eyes. But he saw no relief; if anything, her terror intensified.

  Lincoln pulled himself up into a sitting position. He was surprised by the lack of pain in his back. In fact, he didn’t feel anything.

  “It’s all right. I’m going to get you out of here,” he shouted through the shield on his helmet.

  The little girl covered her face with her hands and trembled uncontrollably.

  Lincoln struggled to his feet and was careful as he swooped the child into his arms. However, the moment he took his first step, a sharp, hot pain boiled within him. When he stumbled, the girl’s hands deserted her face and slid around his neck and choked off even more of his air supply.

  He kept moving.

  In his mind he was rushing, but it seemed as if it were taking forever to get out of the apartment. His heart pounded above the roar and crackle of the surrounding fire, so much so that he fleetingly wondered whether the over-active muscle was about to give out.

  They had made it to the apartment’s entrance when darkness encroached on the edges of his vision. In the building’s hallway, flames blanketed the walls.

  He kept moving.

  A greasy sweat coated his face and dripped into his eyes as he headed toward the staircase. Suddenly, the child felt as if she weighed a ton and his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. He swore he heard shingles popping, rafters creaking and windows exploding all around. They probably only had seconds before the ceiling caved in on them.

  They weren’t going to make it.

  He was going to fail this beautiful little girl because the pain in his back and legs was unbearable now. As if sensing his surrender, the child tightened her hold and started to sob.

  Don’t give up. Keep moving.

  Lincoln wasn’t sure if those were his thoughts or if the child was transferring her own by a strange form of telepathy. Miraculously, he was still moving, but he felt dismally inadequate.

  He heard a voice—a familiar one—calling his name. Out of the roiling smoke, a miracle appeared in full uniform. Before he could respond or react, a painful muscle spasm forced his legs to give up the fight.

  They were falling.

  * * *
<
br />   Flex blinked back his shock, but managed to catch the brutal force of two falling bodies like a seasoned linebacker. After a few seconds of adjustment, he carried Lincoln over his shoulder and the child on his hip. Being a man with great strength and endurance, Flex trekked back down the stairs, dodging falling plaster, flaming bits of wood and churning shrouds of black smoke.

  In no time at all, Flex made good on his promise and returned to his men and the cold December night.

  “Somebody get me a paramedic,” he shouted and set the child down on the ground first.

  “Ariel!”

  “Nana!”

  A woman raced forward and enfolded the child into her arms. “My beautiful baby. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  Flex’s heart warmed as he watched the scene from the corner of his eyes and lowered Lincoln’s tall body onto the cold ground. Paramedics swarmed and took over his fallen brother’s care.

  He followed them until they loaded Lincoln into the ambulance and closed the door.

  Fire Chief Harold Zahn pounded a heavy hand against Flex’s back. “That was a pretty gutsy thing you did in there. You garnered a lot of respect from your new brothers.”

  Flex turned toward his superior’s ruddy features with a lazy smile. “We all do what we can at L-1492, sir.”

  Chief Zahn’s emerald gaze twinkled at him. “That might be true, but I have a feeling I’ll be seeing great things from you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Your confidence is overwhelming.”

  “Well, it’s sure going to be interesting around here seeing how you just rescued the department’s superman. He might wake up with a bruised ego. Be prepared.”

  Flex nodded. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Chapter 2

  Peyton Garner joined three of her four older sisters at their usual hangout, the Peppermill restaurant. It was a nice cozy spot in the middle of San Jose and convenient to all of their jobs and homes. The two oldest, Sheldon and Frankie, were married; Michael, who was absent, was engaged; and the two youngest, Joey and Peyton, were single.

  Actually, Peyton was newly divorced.

  “I’m so sick of metrosexual men I could scream,” Peyton said with a frustrated sigh. She jabbed her fork into her salad. “Just once I would like to date someone who knows something about cars other than how much they cost. Dennis and I were driving to Carmel last weekend and his car got a flat tire. This fool starts looking at me like I’m Rosie the Riveter or something.”

  Sheldon Casey, the oldest sister, leaned over and patted Peyton’s arm. “Poor thing. What did you do?”

  “I changed the damn flat. What else was I going to do?”

  The girls snickered.

  “It’s not funny.” Peyton lowered her fork and crossed her arms. “I can’t remember the last time I dated a man who knew how to get under the hood of a car without worrying about messing up his manicure, and that includes my ex-husband.”

  “I have to agree with Peyton,” Joey piped in. “I think you two married the last of a dying breed.”

  “Oh, come on,” Frankie cut in and waved her Harry Winston diamond wedding ring with a playful air. “There are plenty of good men out there.”

  “I’m not saying that a metrosexual man isn’t a good man. I’m just saying that I can’t tell the difference between dating them and dating women.”

  Sheldon laughed. “If you can’t tell, then maybe the problem is you.”

  “Ha-ha.” Peyton leaned back and crossed her arms. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s great that men can open up and talk about their ‘feelings,’ but they still need to know how to use a basic tool set. I’m tired of men who drink cappuccinos or fruity daiquiris. I want a scotch-on-the-rocks type of man.”

  Sheldon smiled. “And who takes his coffee—”

  “Black.” Peyton shrugged. “Okay, maybe sugar, but definitely no cream.”

  Her sisters erupted with laughter.

  Peyton bobbed her head and rolled her hands to encourage her sisters to get it out of their systems. “Laugh if you want, but I want a manly man. Someone who knows how to repair the roof and install a toilet, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Do you also want him to club you over the head and keep you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” Sheldon admonished.

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” Peyton snickered. “You’ve never worked a day in your life and when is baby number four due?”

  “She has you there,” Joey said.

  Sheldon simply rolled her eyes, while her sisters laughed. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m fertile.”

  “Or that you two screw like rabbits,” Frankie amended, and then held up her glass.

  “Amen.” Peyton and Joey clinked their glasses against Frankie’s.

  “I’m surrounded by haters.” Sheldon laughed and refused to join them in their toast. “If a handyman is what you want, then why don’t you just hang out at Home Depot and reel them in?”

  “They’re all married,” Peyton and Joey said in unison, and then snickered at each other.

  “Okay, then there has to be a step that you two are missing,” Frankie concluded.

  “Tell me about it,” Peyton said and took a sip of her drink. “You know the old saying that a man wants a lady on his arm and a freak in the bedroom?”

  Her sisters nodded.

  “Well, I want a man who can pay for the house and fix it when it breaks down. Is that too much to ask for?”

  “I take it your ex didn’t know how to install a toilet?”

  “Please, Ricky didn’t know how to screw in a lightbulb.”

  “I never knew what you saw in Ricky, anyway. He was damn near forty and was still trying to be the next Tupac.”

  “It’s hard trying to break into the music business,” Peyton defended.

  Sheldon’s smile tightened. “The man needed a better backup plan than simply marry a sugar mama.”

  Frankie and Joey sucked in a breath.

  Peyton slowly inhaled and counted to ten before she responded. “I was not Ricky’s sugar mama.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she felt foolish. Of course she was. She was married for three years and the man didn’t have a job the entire time. She rolled her eyes. “Scratch that.”

  Her sisters laughed.

  Frankie leaned over and wrapped a supportive arm around Peyton’s shoulder. “You conquered the first step.”

  “Whatever. I might be the only divorcee in the family, but I tell you what, it certainly prepared me for what I don’t want in a man.”

  Sheldon held up her glass. “Here’s to Peyton finding the man of her dreams.”

  The girls lifted their glasses. “Hear! Hear!”

  * * *

  “You saved my life, man.” Lincoln stretched out his hand to Flex from his hospital bed. “I owe you big time.”

  “Not bad for a new guy, eh?” Flex’s meaty arm pumped Lincoln’s hand with remarkable strength. “I heard you have to do rehab for a while. That sucks.”

  “Hey, if it means I don’t have to run into burning buildings for a while, I’m all for it.” Lincoln laughed and then winced in pain. “Enough about me, Mr. Hero. Omar was in here earlier showing me your mug shot splashed across the morning paper. Hell, they didn’t even get my name spelled right.”

  Flex looked uncomfortable with the praise. “It’s all in a day’s work, right?”

  “So true. I also heard you caught Chief Zahn’s attention. That’s not a
small thing, buddy.”

  “Damn. Was the National Enquirer in here this morning?”

  “News travels fast in the department.”

  “I see that,” Flex said.

  Lincoln smiled but had a hard time maintaining it. “How long you’ve been doing this?”

  “I don’t know.” Flex lowered himself into a chair next to the bed. “Almost eight years.”

  “Most of those in California?”

  “Yeah. My old man is the chief of my old precinct.”

  “Ah, following in the old man’s footsteps?”

  He nodded, but dropped his gaze.

  Lincoln understood. “Me, too. I’m a third-generation firefighter. Of course, I have a few uncles and cousins in the game, too. It’s crazy.”

  Flex flashed him a noncommittal smile.

  “Can I share something with you?” Lincoln asked and then made a quick glance over at the door.

  “Sure.”

  He hesitated. Until now he’d never uttered the words he was about to say to anyone and they came with a high degree of guilt. “I’m thinking about hanging up my hat, man.”

  A frown hung on to Flex’s broad features. “C’mon, Linc.”

  “Nah. I’ve been thinking about this way before last night. If anything, it just confirms my suspicions.”

  “Suspicions?”

  Lincoln drew a breath and hated what he had to say. “I don’t have it anymore. I’ve been doing this for eighteen years.” He shook his head. “I’m tired of tasting soot and smelling smoke in my dreams. It’s no way to live.

  “It’s not that I don’t know the danger, I do. And for years I looked danger in the eye and laughed. I challenged it.” He met his friend’s gaze. “But lately, every fire seems to be calling my name.”

  Flex folded his arms and considered him. “I haven’t known you long, but I never would’ve thought that you battled with fear.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yes, but between you and me, not too many men would admit it. Myself included.”

  Lincoln turned reflective and suddenly he wasn’t sure of anything. He loved his job. He’d dreamed of being a firefighter since he was a kid. So what was he talking about?