“Okay.” Her muffled response had Roman dropping down. “I’m fine,” she said before he could speak. She met his eyes and felt a moment of gratitude for their calming dark depths. He had things under control, she thought, as he gave her a sharp nod.
Frankie lifted her chin, saw two pairs of hands wrap around the chain. She lowered her head into the mud and felt it squish up around her ears. Her hands, sore and cold, kept a vise lock on the hook, her thumb poised to release it when the order came.
“Parker, remember what we talked about? I need you to move nice and easy. There you go.” Roman’s voice drifted above the roaring in her ears; the same roar she’d become accustomed to in her nearly ten years as a firefighter. “Good boy, Parker. Now scoot just a little closer to the door. I’m going to reach out and when you can, I want you to take my hand, okay? You’re going to do a bit of flying. Just like a superhero.”
“Like Frankie?” Parker asked.
“Just like Frankie,” Roman confirmed. “On the count of three, okay? One...two...”
“Three!” Matt and Kendall yelled as they pulled down hard on the chain. The car over Frankie dropped down, pushing her deeper into the mud. She felt metal brush against her nose. She tasted oil in her mouth as she struggled to maintain her hold on the hook.
“Got him! Let it go!” Roman yelled.
“Now, Frankie!” Matt hollered.
Frankie popped the hook free just as Matt and Kendall released their hold on the car. The world moved into slow motion. The car arced up, the ground dropping from under the back tires, and for a moment, Frankie thought the vehicle would land on top of her before it crashed into the ravine. Two pairs of hands locked around her ankles and pulled, hard, dragging her through the mud and toward the SUV. She released the chain before it smacked her in the face.
The deafening crash of the car hitting the bottom of the ravine echoed in her ears as she lay there, inches deep in mud, staring up at Matt and Kendall.
“And me without my camera.” Matt grinned and held out his hand. “Looking good, Frankie.”
She grabbed hold, slightly tempted to drag him into the mud with her, but instead, she surrendered to the obscene sucking sound that erupted when she was pulled to her feet. She wiggled a bit, felt mud slip down the back of her shirt, the back of her pants. The back of everything. Instead of shaking it off, she spun toward Roman and found him holding Parker, the dark-haired little boy clutched around his neck like an octopus. “How is he?”
“Got quite a bump on the head.” Roman leaned back, moved long bangs out of Parker’s face. “Some scrapes and bruises, but he should be okay. Wouldn’t hurt to call an ambulance.”
“Already done,” Matt said as another patrol car arrived, lights spinning. “Hey, Sheriff. You missed all the excitement.”
“Looks like.” Luke Saxon climbed out of his car and beelined for Frankie. “You okay?”
“Never better.” Her chest hurt. Her arms ached. She wanted a shower more than she wanted oxygen, but the adrenaline continued to surge. She planted her hands on her knees and focused on breathing. “Oliver’s still out here somewhere. Fletcher’s already searching, but we need to get a move on.”
“Grandpa went to get help.” Parker turned his head against Roman’s shoulder. “He said he’d be right back.”
“How long ago was that, little man?” Roman asked.
Parker shook his head. “I don’t know. I felled asleep.”
“Over here!” Fletcher’s voice echoed from across the road on the other side of the engine. “There’s a blood trail.”
Frankie followed Matt across the gravel road and found a line of brush that had been broken through. “Here!” She dived into the trees even as she felt the mud drying and stiffening her clothes. A good twenty feet off the road, she found Fletcher crouching over Oliver Hideman who was lying facedown. She touched his neck, felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,” she told Fletcher, who nodded. “But it’s thready. Going to need help getting him out of here.”
“I’m here.” Roman dropped down beside her. “Luke has Parker. What do we have?” He helped roll Oliver over onto his back.
Frankie fell into the routine she’d been trained for. She checked Oliver’s extremities, looking for signs of broken bones, contusions, and stopped when she got to Oliver’s chest. “At least one broken rib. Here. Low. I don’t think it’s punctured a lung.” She ripped open his plaid flannel shirt and trailed her fingers lightly over the skin. “No bruising. Looks like the blood loss has slowed. We need a backboard to get him out of here.” She looked up at Roman and found him nodding in agreement.
“He’s got at least two good wounds on his head. I don’t want to risk a back injury, too. We’ll wait for the ambulance.”
“Ten minutes out.” Fletcher pushed to his feet and looked around. “Must have been disoriented to come this way. All he had to do was stay on the road and he’d have found help.”
“Mrs. Mulvaney lives just half a mile down the road.” Frankie leaned down to sniff. “I don’t smell alcohol. Could be this was just a freak accident because of the deer Parker told us about. Fletcher, can you get my medbox out of the SUV? I want to check his vitals.”
“Sure thing.” Fletcher returned to the SUV.
“Nothing accidental about the hazard those ravines pose,” Roman said. “This entire area should be hacked back. Barriers put up.”
“Hard to justify the cost when only a handful of families and people live up this way,” Frankie told him. “But you’re right.”
“I know I am.” Something akin to anger flickered in his eyes. “Should have waited before I talked to the mayor, but you can bet we’re going to have another conversation. I did get things settled about Jasper, though. So.” Roman shrugged. “That’s something.”
“Yes,” Frankie said, swallowing her surprise and wondering what that odd expression was on his face. “That’s definitely something. Thank you.”
The unreadable expression vanished under surprise. “You’re welcome. You did great, Frankie. Really great.”
“I guess that’s a truce called then?” Matt called from a distance away. “I can tell Lori there won’t be bloodshed at the firehouse any time soon?”
“Can’t promise that indefinitely, but for now?” Frankie nodded at Roman. “Yeah. Truce.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHAT’S THIS?”
Roman, reaching up into the top cabinet for an oversize stock pot, glanced over his shoulder and found Frankie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a piece of paper clutched in what looked like a white-knuckle grip. He pulled the pot down, set it on the back burner of the stove and faced her. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to see the truce he and Frankie had called just a few days ago was teetering. The heat in those eyes of hers could spark a forest fire. “New duty schedule.”
“Why?”
“Because in my experience, three ten-hour shifts followed by forty-eight hours off better suits this kind of environment.”
“In your experience. Remind me, please.” The sweet tone of her voice didn’t match the expression on her face. “How long has that experience been for, exactly?” She looked to the scribbled-on calendar hanging on the wall.
“After observing the last few days—”
“Two days.” She slammed the paper on the counter. “You’ve been on the job less than a week and you think you know the best way to run this department.”
“It actually is three days if you count Saturday and the car...” He trailed off, deciding against triggering a new bout of temper. He was willing to give her a bit of leeway for the foreseeable future. Calliope had said Frankie had plans for this place, but now probably wasn’t the time to ask about them. “There were only two calls yesterday. That’s two calls during a twenty-four-hour shift, which means you spent most of your day looking for things to do.” Not
exactly easy, given this place was already running at maximum efficiency.
“I told you from the start calls are even more unpredictable here. And honestly? I’ll take few calls and running out of things to do over others having to deal with potentially serious situations.”
“I won’t argue with you there.” The best days he’d had as a firefighter had been ones with few to no calls. Not that there had been a lot of those days. Until he’d moved to Butterfly Harbor.
“But you’re still going to change the schedule. What are you doing?” The exasperation in her voice triggered a smile.
“Getting ready for Thanksgiving.” He unloaded the overflowing grocery basket that had been delivered that morning from Duskywing Farm. Onions, carrots, peppers, fresh garlic, about a gazillion tomatoes, which Roman eyed suspiciously. Tomato season was long over, and yet these looked as if they’d been grown and picked at the height of summer. Rather than bundles of herbs, like he’d expected, he found full potted plants of basil, oregano, thyme and rosemary tucked into the corners of the bag. “This is amazing. Here, smell this.” He held a tomato under Frankie’s nose.
“I know what a tomato smells like, thanks.” Her expression shifted to one of frustration. She leaned over and peered into the almost empty bag. “What exactly are you making?”
“Lasagna.” He grinned, enjoying the confusion in her eyes. “I know, sounds odd, but this is tradition in my house. And yes, we also cook a turkey and all the accompaniments, but first and foremost, every holiday begins with lasagna.”
“It’s Wednesday,” she repeated. “We cook on Thursday.”
“Maybe you do. The longer the sauce cooks, the better it is, and seeing as we’ve been having a slow—”
“Don’t say it!” Frankie held up both hands, but it was too late. The dispatch bell blared out of the overhead speakers. Frankie dropped her chin to her chest and sighed. “You said it.”
Roman followed her out of the kitchen just as she picked up the receiver, waiting until the statement finished before she responded. “BH station one responding. ETA fifteen minutes out.”
“Roger, BH station one.”
“I’ve got this,” Frankie told him as she sprinted outside to the SUV.
“Hang on. Aren’t you suiting up?” Roman shoved his feet into the pants puddled over steel-toe work boots and dragged them up by the suspenders. He had his protective jacket and helmet on before Frankie returned. “And fifteen minutes? That’s a long—”
“Chief—”
“The dispatcher said a Tom Thursday’s been stranded at the homestead. What if he’s hurt? Regulations state we go full gear, in the engine.” He grabbed his tank and mask, hefted it with him into the engine. “And what about volunteers?”
“Ah, we don’t really need—” Frankie arched a brow when he glared at her. “Okay.” She let out a sigh and nodded. “You’re the chief. It’s your call. You want volunteers, we’ll get some volunteers. One second.” She pulled out her cell and tapped the screen. “You sure you want—”
“Regulations, Captain,” Roman snapped.
“Right.” She gave him a sharp nod. “Whatever you say, sir.” Seconds later, she was suited up and sliding behind the wheel of the company engine.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.” She motioned to the laptop situated between them. “You can pull up the map if you want to get an idea.”
“Lights and sirens?”
Frankie grabbed his hand when he reached up for the switch. “Sir, there’s more than regulations to consider in situations. And there’s more than unpredictability. There’s also, let’s say, a code for calls like this.”
Roman leaned into the turn she made on Monarch Lane. “A code?”
“Yes, sir. Like a shorthand for those in the know.”
Roman didn’t miss the dazed expressions on people’s faces as they drove down the main street of town. “They look as if they’ve never seen a fire truck before.”
“Honestly? They don’t a whole lot. For most of the calls we take Dwayne. The SUV’s faster and more maneuverable. Especially—” she glanced at him with what he swore was an amused glint in her eyes “—for Tom Thursday.” She looked down at her phone, which was blinking and buzzing with responses from their volunteers. “I’ve got Kendall, Ozzy and Kurt Murphy on their way. They’ll suit up at the station, grab Dwayne and meet us at the call.”
“That should be enough of us,” he said.
“Yes,” Frankie muttered. “Yes, it will.”
Roman brought up the map as Frankie made another turn and headed them down the road parallel to the freeway. The radio crackled with static and the echoes of other calls going out to departments in the area. Roman kept half an ear open and tried to get a bearing on his surroundings. He’d already taken all of Saturday to drive extensively around the area. He wanted to see it firsthand, in the daylight, for those times Frankie wasn’t around to guide him. He needed to know every corner of Butterfly Harbor.
“So this Tom Thursday.” He’d had to have been blind to miss that quirk of Frankie’s full lips. “I haven’t met him yet, I don’t think.”
“No, I don’t suppose you have. He only pops up around this time of year. Thanksgiving and Christmas. New Year’s, too.” She hit the turn signal and waited to drive into a large parking lot across the road. “Look, Chief, I know you’re trying to make a good impression, but honestly—”
“Is that him?” Roman cut her off when he spotted an elderly man with a walker waving a white handkerchief in the air. He was surrounded by a familiar-looking group of older folks, most of whom he recognized from the other morning in the diner.
“In a manner of speaking.” Frankie shook her head and maneuvered the truck in front of the group huddled together by the front door of the Homestead Pack & Sack. “Chief, wait, don’t—”
Roman shoved out of the truck, ignoring Frankie’s clutching hand as she reached to grab him. “Mr. Thursday?” Roman pushed his helmet onto his head and strode over to the group. “Which one of you is—”
“Land’s sake, what’s all the fuss about? Is Dwayne in the shop?” A slight gnome of a woman with bright tangerine hair walked past him to the truck, a wicker purse tucked into the curve of her arm. “How are we all going to fit in there?”
“Ah, ma’am?” How indeed? Roman’s stomach dropped to his toes as heat surged to his face. “Ma’am, please be careful.” But he wasn’t quick enough to stop her from ducking around the still-open door and peering inside the cab.
“Hello, Frankie,” Myra said. “Ain’t room in here for more than three of us. Maybe four. Oscar, you and Harold might have to wait for backup.”
“Ma’am?” Roman tried again.
“Look at him, all dressed up.” A rotund woman with what looked like turkey feathers sticking out of her bobbed white hair circled him like a shark. “Isn’t that a picture? Oh, yes. Penny, take our picture. I want to put it up on that InstaFace Frankie helped me set up.”
“He is a sight, that’s for sure, Polly.” Penny—at least Roman supposed that’s who she was—began digging around in a bag Mary Poppins would be proud of and crowed, “Get on over by him, too, you lot. This will look great on our bulletin board. Does he dance? Do you dance?” She beamed up at him, hope twinkling in her eyes.
“All right, you guys.” Roman blinked dazedly at Frankie as she dropped out of the truck and joined them. She’d ditched her jacket and helmet, one suspender looped over her shoulder, the other hanging free. “You all know very well the new chief isn’t up on our secret code.”
“Thought you’d have filled him in on that by now, Frankie.” Penny fluttered heavily mascaraed eyes at her phone as she moved it in and out. “Can’t say I’m disappointed to see him in the flesh, so to speak. I can’t get this darned thing to focus.”
“You have it on selfish mode.”
The balding old man with a death grip on his walker leaned so far forward Roman wondered if there was about to be an emergency after all.
“Guys!” Frankie stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled. “I know he’s nice and shiny, but focus. What happened to your ride?”
“Darned grandson of mine,” the tall, gangly man with slicked-back hair and a Marines Kick Butt T-shirt grumbled. “He got called into work just when we were picking out our turkeys at the store. He just up and left.”
“We told him we could get another ride. And here they are. But Myra’s right.” Penny frowned at the fire truck. “Don’t see where there’s room for all of us.”
“Uh, Tom Thursday is—” Roman’s voice sounded dazed even to him.
“Their Thanksgiving turkey.” Frankie patted his arm as she shooed the women away as if they were teenagers entranced by their favorite boy band.
“We got two birds this year,” Myra announced. “So the men would stop fighting over the legs.”
Silently, Roman groaned. He was never going to hear the end of this, was he?
“Now you guys, we talked about this,” Frankie chided. “What if someone really needed us for an emergency, Delilah?”
“That’s why you use Dwayne,” Delilah, her flowered shirt bright enough to be used as a landing beacon, tsked and shook her head. “Did you forget and get in the wrong car, Frankie? I’ve done that. Memory’s tricky sometimes.”
Roman opened his mouth to answer for her, but Frankie stepped back and planted her heel firmly on top of his foot. He couldn’t really feel it, not with the steel reinforcements, but he got the message.
“I suppose I must have. Chief Salazar wanted to give the engine a bit of a run—you know, his first important call and all. We’ve got reinforcements coming to get you all back to the house.”
As soon as she said it, the department SUV circled into the parking lot. Roman closed his eyes for a brief, mortifying moment. What he wouldn’t give for a manhole cover to crawl under right now.
The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish Page 9
