Chapter Four
Cait loved her family. They were a large, Irish Catholic bunch: loud and opinionated, but close knit and protective. She, of course, being the eldest, lorded over her siblings as if they were her own brood of chicks.
Saturday evenings were reserved for family, and Saturdays in December were filled with festivals and activities: Christmas lightings, toy drives, Victorian house tours, and horse-drawn carriage rides.
The fire department sponsored a charity event in front of a row of Victorian mansions. Cait was in her element, running back and forth, checking off the details and making sure her brother, Connor, was costumed up, prepped, and ready for the welcome speech.
“You have to wear a Santa’s hat.” Cait waved the floppy red hat at her brother. “Come on, it’s tradition.”
“I’m a firefighter first.” Connor secured his fireman’s helmet with the chin strap.
“That’s messing up your beard.” Cait fluffed the curls of the fake white Santa’s beard pasted on Connor’s face over the strap. “If you’re going to wear a helmet, don’t be such a dork and strap it. It’s not like there’s going to be a fire or anything.”
“Hey, this dork is the fire chief.” Connor hooked his thumb at himself. “I lead by example.”
“Brian never wears his strap,” Cait retorted. “He hooks it across the back of his helmet.”
“Fat lot of good that does him if he’s looking down a stairway and his helmet falls off.” Connor slapped at Cait’s hands. “Stop touching my beard.”
Cait moved onto straightening the collar of his Santa suit. “You have to wear the fake belly.”
“No, I don’t,” Connor said, unbuttoning the red Santa’s jacket. “Actually, I’m not wearing this either. It’s too hot.”
His pregnant wife, Nadine, stood at the side giggling as Connor handed her the jacket. The suspenders for his bunker pants were showing, and all he had on underneath was a very tight black T-shirt.
“Nadine, get control of your husband.” Cait put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re going to let all those women ogle my brother’s muscles.”
Wasn’t Connor Hart the one who’d refused to have his firefighters do strip teases for charity? It looked like marriage to his dreamy artist wife had changed him. He wasn’t quite the stick in the mud he used to be.
“Not to worry, I’m wearing my turnout coat.” Connor picked up his firefighting gear.
On second thought, he was still a dork in his eldest sister’s eyes, even if he used to be San Francisco’s most desired bachelor.
“Don’t put that on,” Nadine said. She touched Connor’s biceps and ran her hands up and down his muscular arm. “If you have it, show it. Let me fix everything. Cait, you might want to check on the horse and carriage line. It’s getting long and people are leaving.”
The line snaked around the block, and sure enough, clumps of people had had enough and were seen walking away.
“I’ll make sure to limit the rides to two minutes,” Cait said. She charged over to the staging area. It was getting dark, and once Connor made his speech, all the stately Victorian homes on the street would turn on their Christmas lights, and visitors could stroll or take a horse and carriage up and down the hilly street to admire the wondrous sights.
“Larry, Larry,” Cait called to her soon-to-be brother-in-law as she power walked to the carriage booth where Jenna was selling tickets.
Larry was decked out with a Victorian top hat, bright red cravat, and dressed as a livery man in black.
He looked down at Cait. “What’s up?”
A year ago, before he started dating Jenna, Larry had hidden in the corners, embarrassed by half of his face which had been burnt and scarred in a fire where he’d rescued several children.
Today, he sat straight and tall on the carriage, greeting and laughing with the crowd, owning his scars as what Jenna called badges of courage.
Cait smiled to herself at how far he had come, but she wasn’t going to cut him any slack for the long line and upset customers.
“See that line?” Cait pointed down the sidewalk. “Once Connor gives the go ahead, you need to drive that horse at a fast clip. No more than two minutes to go up and down the street.”
“But people will want to take pictures in front of the lighted ladies,” Larry said, referring to the colorful Victorians by their Painted Ladies nickname. “I don’t want to rush them.”
“If we want to raise more money for the pediatric diabetes foundation than last year, we’ll need to move them through faster. People are leaving.”
“Relax,” Jenna said. “The tickets are good all night. Maybe they’re going to have dinner and return later.”
