Firefighter Daddy by Lee McKenzie Page A

taken Mitch a while to get used to his mother having another man in her life, but he was slowly coming around to the idea. Thomas was a quiet, thoughtful man who’d spent his working life as a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle, and who wrote poetry in his spare time. Mitch had read some of it, and he’d taken his mother’s word that it was good. Thomas had a full head of unruly gray hair and a beard to match, which reminded Miranda of Santa Claus. Next to Thomas and Betsy, Annie’s petite stature made her look like an elf.
    When the light turned green Mitch and his daughter crossed the street and went inside. San Francisco was full of art lovers, and judging by the size of this crowd, Copper Pennington’s work was well-known. The throng was shoulder-to-shoulder, and the place was abuzz with conversation and anticipation. Mitch took a quick inventory of the fire exits.
    “Do you like Rory’s mom’s paintings, Dad?”
    “They’re very…colorful.” They were modern or abstract or whatever the term was, and huge. Floor-to-ceiling huge.
    “Can you see stuff in them?”
    He had no idea what she was talking about. “What kind of stuff?”
    “Like in the clouds. Miss Sunshine says if you look at her mother’s paintings long enough, you’ll see animal shapes and other things like that.”
    He searched the closest painting, wishing this sort of thing didn’t make him feel as uncomfortable as it did. He had no imagination and he didn’t mind admitting it, but it was also possible that he couldn’t see anything in this painting because it wasn’t there.
    After they joined his mother and Thomas, Annie and Rory, the conversation focused around Miranda’s excited chatter, giving him a moment to surreptitiously check out Rory’s footwear. Lime-green sandals, turquoise toe polish and a gold toe ring. He was pretty sure his heart missed a couple of beats.
    When he looked up, she was smiling at him. “I’m so glad you two could make it. My mother is looking forward to meeting you.”
    He was intrigued by the prospect of meeting her, too. He took a quick look around to see if he could spot her. He imagined she’d be tall and blond, like her daughter, and probably wearing something even more outrageous, in keeping with her paintings. Maybe a long, flowing caftan or something. If people still wore caftans.
    Finally, Rory raised an arm and waved exuberantly. “Mom! Over here!”
    Mitch couldn’t identify the object of her enthusiastic gesture until the crowd parted and a tiny, small-boned woman emerged. She was wearing a pair of extremely wide-legged black pants, a high-necked, hip-length tunic affair made of patchwork—a quilt?—and shoes with ridiculously high heels. Even with the several extra inches, she barely cleared Rory’s shoulder when the two of them embraced.
    With voluminous hair in an orange-red shade that surely didn’t occur in nature, she more than lived up to her name. Mitch doubted she’d had the name or the hair since birth, but she was as beautiful as her daughter and she looked exactly like the kind of woman who would name her child Sunshine.
    “So?” she said to Rory. “What do you think?”
    “Definitely your best work ever. I love every single one of them.”
    “Have you picked your favorite?”
    Rory laughed. “Trust me, Mom. None of these will fit in my apartment, but I especially love the canvas behind the reception desk. The one that looks like a pod of whales surfacing at sunset.”
    “That’s one of my favorites, too. It’s called California Gray. I’ll have them mark it sold and we’ll keep it at my place until you have room for it.”
    Mitch stared hard at the painting. Gray whales? He assumed that was what she meant. And a sunset? All he saw were huge splashes of dark blue and red and orange paint.
    “I have a canvas from each of my mother’s series,” Rory told them.
    That explained all the artwork he’d carried upstairs when she moved in.
    She placed a hand on