“Help her!” the man pleads, panic in his eyes as he trusts the child into my arms. “I need to get back in there for my son. I couldn’t find him!”
Davis and the search and rescue team are on the other side of the truck, grabbing gear. There’s no way we’ll let the man back inside.
“We’ll find your son,” I tell him. “What I need you to do for now is take your daughter to the paramedics so they can check you both out.”
“My son... my little boy... I have to go find him.”
“You can’t go back in there,” I say in a sharp tone that snaps him out of his state of panic. “Is there anyone else inside the house?”
“Just my little boy.”
“Where did you see him last?”
“In his bedroom on the second floor.”
“Take your daughter over there.” I point at the paramedics out front then start moving toward Boon, who’s taking instructions from the Chief.
“The homeowner says there’s a boy trapped inside,” I tell them. “In a second-floor bedroom.”
“I’ll let Davis and his men know,” Boon answers, flicking on his shoulder radio to relay the message. “They’ll find him.”
I look over at Davis and his men just as they hop up onto the porch and in the front door with their axes, Halligan bars and up to seventy-five pounds of gear on their bodies. That’s where I need to be. At the center of the rescue, not standing on the sidelines. Soon.
Chief Robertson turns to look at the second ambulance arriving on the scene with sirens on full blast. “This is Chief Robertson again,” he shouts into his radio. “We’ve got four children requiring medical assistance and only two ambos on site. I need two more ambulances here now.”
I help pull hoses and start attaching another line to the hydrant at the other end of the street. It’s grunt work, but I’m happy to help out wherever I can.
Less than twenty minutes later, the building is clear, the ambulance vans have left with all the victims. Everyone inside the house has exited safely. The element of danger has long past. Hoses are pointed to the home now, dousing the flames into submission.
Deuce comes to stand at my side. “How was hose duty?” he asks, holding out an extra bottle of water for me.
“How was venting?” I ask him without answering his question.
He knows my answer. We’re only at the start of our first shift, so we can’t expect to be anything but two extra pairs of hands. Hell, back in Austin, we wouldn’t risk taking newbies into an active fire either. Still, we’re here on scene. It beats being left behind at the station to dick around with nothing to do.
Deuce and I walk over to the rest of the team. We make ourselves useful. Taking tools from their hands, we store them in the truck compartments and wait for the hose work to wrap up so we can help pack those away too.
Maybe by the end of this shift, after sufficient orientation, we’ll get our chance to prove our worth.
The building flames are quickly extinguished by the high-powered water. Gray smoke and steam billow up from the roof, and once the Chief is satisfied, we pack it all up.
“Not bad for the first hour of your first shift,” Davis tells Deuce and me when we’re all in the truck going back to the station.
“We aim to please,” Deuce answers.
“We’ll get you set up and take you through some timed drills in between calls today.”
“Great.”
Boon pats me on the shoulder and smiles. “That should be more than enough to put your Texas asses into rotation.”
Davis doesn’t take a second for granted when we get back to the station. He takes us right back to Ember to get paperwork out of the way. She’s got her back turned as we arrive at her desk, placing folders into a file cabinet.
“Guess who’s back, Ember?” Davis greets her. “I didn’t finish up my introductions earlier. This is Randall and West. Call them Hammer and Deuce if you want to keep them happy.”
I expect her to have her game face on, but as she turns toward us, she’s beaming.
“Oh right! The transfers. Hey guys,” she answers, extending her arm to Deuce. “I’m Ember. Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks.”
I shake her hand after she’s done with Deuce, impressed at how well she’s handling herself. “Good to meet you.”
“So, how was your first milk run?” she asks, her face matching her bubbly, over-friendly tone of voice. I’m not sure how much of it’s authentic, but I assume she’s doing her best to act like she normally would for a new employee she’s never met before.
“Not bad,” I tell her honestly.
“They did good, but firefighting’s not a spectator sport, Ember,” Davis adds. “Can you put a rush on having these men onboarded and putting them in the system? I’d like them active before the next call, if possible.”
“I’m on it, Lieutenant,” she replies.
“Excellent… oh, by the way…” he glances over at us and points a thumb back at Ember. “Ember happens to be the Chief’s daughter. She’s working here temporarily. Head office still has their heads up their asses from the last round of station merges. I’m sure this goes without saying, but…she’s like a kid sister to us. And by us, I mean the both of you as well. Do I need to elaborate?”
We both shake our heads, and Deuce beats me to an answer when he says, “Not at all. We got it loud and clear.”
I got it, but hell, I didn’t treat her like a member of the family in the back of my SUV.
Far from it.
But now I know better.
We’ll keep our distance if we know what’s good for us.
9
Ember
I tap the milk pitcher lightly on the counter at Baker’s Buns, each thud popping another bunch of air bubbles. It’s during times like these that I’m grateful for the escape this part-time job offers. God, do I ever need to put some distance between me and those two smoldering hot men. They’ve been working at the fire station for weeks, and it feels like I see them everywhere. If I don’t bump into them at work, I end up seeing them as I drive by their house on my way home. We’re better off keeping our distance, but fate doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.
All the air escapes from the surface of the milk, and a smooth, shimmery gleam remains. Taking the cup of espresso, I tilt it slightly and pour the liquid down the mug’s side. The coffee’s cream rises to the top, propelled by the heavier milk. With the coffee an inch away from the cup’s lip, I quickly jerk the pitcher backward. What’s left is a white, milky heart surrounded by the top layer of brown espresso. My heart shaped coffee art piece is almost ready for serving, so I swirl the pitcher around to keep the same consistency, then use the last of the milk to draw an arrow through the heart.
My magnum opus for the hour is done. I have a satisfied smile on my face as I set the cup of latte on a saucer and hand it over to one of our daily regulars. The older man lifts the cup to his face and inhales the aroma. “No one makes them like you do, Ember. And I’m not just talking taste. It’s a thing of beauty, darling. This latte is too darn pretty-looking to drink.”
I give him a nod as I wipe down the espresso machine’s steam wand. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t head back to his seat right away. Instead, he juts out his chin at me, and the loose skin on his neck jiggles a bit. “I keep saying you have real skills, young lady. You should be using them somewhere besides a hole-in-the-wall coffee and bake shop.”
“I’m still working the day job,” I tell him. “And if I took work somewhere else, I wouldn’t get to see you.”
“Don’t you worry. I’d find a way to get my hands on your caffeinated creations. Your cakes, too. What’s it going to take to get you out there doing your own thing?”
“Do you have twenty or thirty thousand dollars I can borrow?”
His thick eyebrows raise, and he whistles loudly through his rounded lips. “That much?”
“Maybe more. I’d need a custom setup, comple
te with a commercial kitchen for baking, plus the storefront to sell to customers.”
“You’ll get there. I’ve got no doubt in my mind that once you set up shop, before you know it, people will come from all over Reno to buy from you.”
“Thanks. Here’s hoping.”
He gives me one last smile and shuffles off with his latte. As he saunters off, I can’t help but think of his words as I finish wiping down the machine. On most days my dream to own my own wedding cake business seems a million years away. I’ve been saving for a while, but sometimes it feels like I’ll never get there. It’s hard to walk away from a stable, full-time city job with a good salary and fantastic benefits. But that’s what I’d have to do if I want to start my own thing. What I have to do is keep pushing forward. I’ve already committed myself to this goal. I may be in my forties when I eventually give it a try, but if that’s how long it takes to make a move, then so be it.
Deciding not to dwell on something that far out in the future, I turn my focus to my coworker, Vicky. She helps out with the Saturday morning rush, and her husband, Jeff Boon, is one of the firefighters working for my dad.
“Hey, you want to share an espresso shot with me? I’ll be too buzzed if I have a whole cup.”
She’s standing a few feet away, behind the cash register, but she doesn’t answer. Her arms are folded across her chest, staring wide-eyed at the flat screen TV mounted high on one wall. This particular channel she’s watching is a twenty-four-hour news station. At the moment, it’s covering a local factory fire.
“Is that one of our trucks?” I ask.
“Uh-huh,” she murmurs.
By ‘our’, I mean her husband, Jeff, and my father. Dad doesn’t attend every emergency call, but anytime more than one of his station trucks are dispatched, he drops whatever he’s doing to provide leadership and coordination on the scene.
And now, Hammer and Deuce can be out there too. I shouldn’t include them in my definition of ‘our’, but then again, I should. They’re part of the crew. On Dad’s team. His second family.
“It looks bad,” she whispers.
“No,” I quickly tell Vicky when the chime above the entrance dances and a woman in sunglasses comes in. “Not that bad. They can handle this.”
After serving the woman her order, I take the payment and turn back to Vicky. It’s like she didn’t hear a word I said. She stares at the TV, biting down so hard on her bottom lip it’s only a matter of time until she draws blood. It’s the first time I’ve seen her standing still since she started working here. She normally spends the entire shift serving, cleaning and stocking like a she-devil.
“I’ve seen way worse,” I tell her.
Her eyes slowly drift to mine. “Yes?”
I lean my back against the counter and nod. “You and I both know my dad’s been Chief since forever. He’s seen it all. Trust me. This one looks manageable.”
“I guess.” She drops her arms but nervously twists the wedding ring on her finger and turns back to the TV. “I’ve been on edge about Jeff lately.”
“Why? He’s got a good few years under his belt. Why start worrying now?”
“I’ve always worried, but…well, things are a little different now.”
“Different how?”
Another customer walks in before she gets a chance to answer. Vicky shuffles over to them and takes the order, so I head to the back to check on the last batch of muffins we’ll make before getting started on the lunch menu items. As I check the oven, Vicky pops her head through the swing door.
“Don’t tell anyone about this yet.” She glances down toward the floor, then rests one hand over her flat stomach, caressing it tenderly. “Can you guess why now?”
“Wait. You don’t mean…”
“I do!” She smiles. “Thirteen weeks along and counting.”
“Oh my God, you’re pregnant! Congrats Vicky!”
“Thanks. We’re really excited. My mother says I should wait until around the four-month mark to let people know, but I figured I’d better tell you.”
“I’m so happy for you! And I get it now…why you’re stressing about Jeff.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll be okay. Try not to worry. The fire station’s back to its full staffing complement now. No more killer overtime or overworked firefighters.”
She gives me a wink. “And I’ll be cutting back on the espresso. I can’t afford to pass on the extra jitters to the baby.”
“Good point.”
“By the way, Mr. Ross wants one of the chocolate chip muffins that just came out of the oven.”
“Coming up.” He drives in from halfway to Truckee every Saturday for his fix, so we try to give him whatever he wants.
“Cool. I’ll let him know.”
Vicky goes back to the customer counter, and I grab the oven mitts and turn the muffin tray upside down over the wax paper I laid out. A minute later I carry the tray of hot muffins out front to serve a pleased Mr. Ross and a few new customers who arrive around the same time. The mini-rush is cleared within a few minutes, at which point Vicky starts a new pot of brew beside me.
“How are the new guys doing?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“The transfers. Hammer and Deuce, I think. Jeff rarely talks about work, but he mentioned their names, probably because the department isn’t used to transfers coming in from out of state. And two of them at the same time, not just one. That’s a big deal for the team.”
Their names send a pleasant shiver through me. I’ve only had a real conversation with them once since they started working, and it was barely five minutes long. They know what’s at stake, and so do I. We all need our jobs. Sex isn’t worth losing gainful employment, no matter how hot and insanely satisfying—though I’m not sure how much longer I can keep denying what’s in front of me. I mean, neither of them show up here at the shop anymore since that one time. But I see them at work, then I see them at their place, working all hours to get that house in order, or figuring out the farm operations.
And there I am, wishing there was a way for us to have another escape from reality like they suggested that first time. But that was before. It’s too risky now, and just not worth it to take another chance.
On top of all that, Dad doesn’t want me dating a firefighter. He’s never explicitly said it, but it doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines he drops constantly. The older I get, the more of a point he makes about maintaining professionalism at work. Now, as I close in on my mid-twenties, I see the glances he sends my way if I even seem like I’m enjoying a conversation with any of the single firefighters at work.
Vicky taps on my shoulder. “That bad, huh?”
“What?” I say absently without turning around.
“The guys. Hammer and Deuce.”
I turn to look at her. “What about them?”
“I asked how they’re doing, but what I really should be asking is how you’re managing.”
“Managing with what exactly?”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, tilting her head so far to one side that some of her long, dark hair slips out of her hairnet. “You can’t fool me,” she whines, tucking the hair back in. “You’re banging one of them, aren’t you? Either that or you’re fixing to do it.”
That’s precisely the kind of rumor that needs to be quashed immediately before it takes root.
10
Ember
“What?” I shout at Vicky. I have to make my reaction realistic so she can read it as disbelief, not guilt. Because I’ve indeed banged not one but both of them—at the same damn time. “Why would you say that?”
“Please, honey child,” she drawls, bringing out a hint of Latino in her accent. “I see the way you get all quiet and dreamy-looking whenever I mention their names. And hell, I saw them once when I popped by the station that day Jeff forgot his lunch at home. They’re some hot-looking tamales, I’ll tell you.”
“Well, I guess they’re al
l right, but I wouldn’t go getting any ideas like that about me or them. You know what that place is like. Dad would lose his shit if I ever did anything like that.”
“You’re pretty good at avoiding a straight answer, you know that?”
I start replenishing the display case to avoid eye contact with Vicky. I don’t need her reading any hint of truth that may be playing on my face. “You should go clean those tables, Vicky…or take your break or something while the place is quiet.”
She beams the most playful smile and grabs one of the cleaning rags on the sink behind her. “Fine. Just so you know, what you don’t say can be just as much a hint as what you do say.”
Someone sitting close to the front of the coffee shop waves at me and asks me to turn up the volume on the TV when a bright red breaking news alert heading pops up at the top of the screen. The caption at the bottom of the screen reads, ‘Two residents, one firefighter injured in factory fire.’
That makes Vicky concerned. “Oh no! I wonder who’s hurt… and how badly they’re injured? I hope to God it’s not Jeff.” She slides her hand into her pocket and pulls out her phone. “I should call him.”
“No. Don’t do that. More likely than not, he’s fine…and still working on that fire. I know it’s hard hun, and that you’re worried. But this isn’t the time to distract them.”
“I wish I could just have someone confirm he’s okay.”
“They will. After they get the situation under control.”
“I know…” Her tone is somber. “They’re so quiet after anyone on the team gets hurt. It takes Jeff weeks to open up, sometimes.”
Two Firefighters Next Door: A Bad Boy MFM Romance Page 7
