Flame (The Firefighters of Darling Bay Book 3)

by Rachael Herron

  But heck. There was no rule they had to talk on the ambulance, aside from what was necessary to the job. They didn’t have to be friends. It was only ten days a month, she told herself. She could handle anything ten days a month, even a guy like Caz. Walking up the driveway in silence with him, Bonnie realized she was actually missing Jimmy’s persistent throat-clearing.

  Bonnie knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  Caz reached around her and knocked louder. Yeah, he probably thought he could even do that better than she could.

  From inside, they heard a woman yell, “It’s open!”

  Inside, the house appeared somewhat clean. That was just about all it had going for it. The decades-old wallpaper—green and yellow stripes—was in as good repair as the peeling paint outside. The thin orange carpet at their feet must have been installed in the sixties or seventies. It smelled, as always, of garlic and lentils and something sweet, maybe a tropical air freshener.

  In a tattered recliner sat Ava, an elderly woman who looked as if she’d been in place for as many years as the carpet. “Hello, hello!” Her curly white hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, and she wore three pairs of glasses—one on top of her head, one on her face, and one hung around her neck by a long blue plastic cord.

  “Hiya,” said Caz easily. Oh, so he could talk.

  Bonnie came forward with her bag. “What’s going on today, Mrs. Simon?” There was no television in the sparely furnished room, just a couch and a small red table with two matching wooden chairs. She wasn’t holding a book, nor was there anything in her lap. Had she just been sitting there? For how long?

  Caz reached forward, “Caswell Lloyd, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you. I’m new on the ambulance.”

  He was trying to charm her? He knew how?

  “Ava Simon,” the woman said. “So glad you’ve come. I wish I could offer you a cup of coffee, but I’m fresh out.”

  “Not to worry. I had my required pot before I left the station.” He crouched in front of her, smiling. “What can we do for you today? How are you feeling?”

  At least the man was a little less scary-looking when he smiled. He went from resembling the Matthew McConaughey of True Detective to the one in Magic Mike.

  The woman’s face brightened. “Oh, my. I’m just fine, thank you for asking, you big hunk of good-looking, you.”

  Bonnie stepped forward. “All righty. Let’s get a read on your blood pressure. Did you take your medicine today?”

  Ava frowned at her and pushed away the BP cuff. Sitting forward, she peered around Bonnie and smiled at Caz. “Caswell Lloyd, you said? Any relation to Harrison Lloyd?”

  “My grandfather, ma’am.”

  “Oh,” said Ava with a giggle. “I had such a crush on him years ago, when we attended the same church. Such a fine man he was. And handsome! Just like you. You got your blue eyes from him, eh?”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am. Now. What’s the problem today?”

  Ava batted her lashes at Caz. “It’s my toilet, honey. Something’s just not right.”

  “Your toilet?” sputtered Bonnie. “That’s why you pushed your alarm? Okay, that’s just not—”

  Caz cut her off. “I’m sure Bonnie won’t mind giving that a quick look while I look at something a little prettier. Mind if I take your pulse?”

  Bonnie stomped down the hall. The guy had nerve.

  Plumbing was the worst. There was a reason she didn’t work the truck with its water removal tools. She hated the way water glugged through a clogged pipe and she literally had to call a plumber to get the hair out of her own bath drain—the look of a sodden clump of gunk being pulled out was enough to make her gag.

  Working on someone else’s toilet really wasn’t what she’d gone into the fire profession to do.

  But it was better than watching Caz Lloyd flirt with Ava Simon. How was she going to work a whole year with him?

  Five minutes later, after quite a bit of plunging accompanied by increasingly creative under-her-breath cursing, the toilet was almost clear. She could hear Caz and Ava laughing.

  Oh, good. They were having a fine time while she used brute force and listened to pipes gurgle angrily.

  “I’m doing fine! Thanks for asking!” Bonnie blew her short blond hair out of her eyes. She gave one final shove of the plunger, but she did such a fine job of it that she couldn’t pull it back out again. She put one foot against the toilet and pulled harder. “Dang it, do not tick me off, you old porcelain bucket, you.” One more pull.

  With a small scream, Bonnie toppled backward as the toilet came off its seal, pulling away from the wall. There was a crash as the porcelain bowl and tank smashed into a thousand pieces, followed by a flood of dirty water that covered her from the waist down. The brown water was quickly followed by a frigid high-pressure spray of clean water, which jetted out of the pipe in the wall, hitting her in the face.

  From the living room she heard Caz roar, “What’s going on in there?”

  “Don’t worry!” she yelled back. “I’ve got this!” Then she drummed her legs against the floor in a quick wordless fit, took a moment set her lips into a determined and very firmly closed line. Then she lunged at the pipe.

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