Passion Point Firefighters: Extended Collection

by Brynn Hale

  After doing a stint in the Army, my only brother told me that he’d been accepted into the fire academy, and I was excited for him. My father not so much. Sure, he was proud. But my father would be the first person to be clear that firefighting isn’t for everyone. It’s long hard hours. It’s time in the heat or cold. Dangerous working conditions. Without meals and fluids for hours on end. It’s hard on a person’s back, will, and family.

  And two years into my brother’s service, I found out how hard it really was. I still remember the firetruck rolling up outside of our house. My father told us to wait inside, but I couldn’t. When I heard my father cry out in denial, and Boscoe, his Station 1 Lieutenant, caught his crumbling body, I just knew. But I didn’t cry. Matt wouldn’t have wanted me to. In some ways, I’m still numb.

  But the Father’s Day BBQ went on like every other year. Just days after Matt’s funeral, we all gathered, shared memories and laughed, and I went home and stared at his picture for two days. He was the best big brother any girl could’ve asked for. And I miss him every day. My twin sister coped in her own way and we’re hoping that she’s on the road to recovery, but it’s one day at a time, every day.

  And now three years after Matt’s death the BBQ is a reminder to me. Some good and some bad.

  This year, I helped Dad get the word out to the community, using my degree in marketing and sales. I haven’t found a job to use it for much else. Twenty-three, no job, living with my parents, no boyfriend—I’m quite the catch.

  Not.

  Plus, I’ve found it takes a special guy to want all that I’m offering. I’ve never been petite or svelte or any of those words that make a person sound like they’re desirable. No, I’ve been that girl who ate the last piece of pizza, who said “Hell yes!” when it came to getting milk shakes at midnight, and who didn’t step on a scale unless it was at the doctor’s office. I didn’t need a number to tell me how to live my life, but with that said, I’d been eating healthy—er. And making an effort to get some exercise. Like today. I walked the mile to the station. I’m not panting, but I’m probably red in the face.

  I wipe off the shine of sweat my forehead with the back of my hand as I step onto the property. The trucks are parked out front so people can get pictures with them and the kids can go all wide-eyed, like I used to. Now I see them as a necessity and not a fascination.

  All the other stations have the calls for this one today. They’ll be held to the ten-minute call response time that Station 1 is notorious for. They’re the best.

  There are ten BBQ smokers out front, some big, some small. Some of the firefighters have their own system and some borrow rigs from professionals, their names on the side. And there are couple new BBQ rigs in the lineup this year—one with a temporary sign that advertises a local restaurant Season 617, owned by firefighter Kelton Cassidy’s girlfriend, Reese Dynas.

  And then there’s one that says Blue-By-Hugh BBQ and a license plate that says…Louisiana? Now, that’s a new one. Someone brought in a ringer. Dad’s not going to be thrilled about that, especially breaking the rules. He doesn’t allow that.

  I should know.

  Sneak out—grounded for days. Steal that pack of gum—have to give up my allowance for a month. Lie—grounded for months. My childhood was a little tense with my father, and occasionally a lot tense, but now that I’m an adult—well, as much as I can be at this age—I’m smarter and hopefully, understand the rules. And after Matt died, I became the model child. I slipped into his place.

  It’s been a little rough keeping up the façade, but I’ll do it to keep Dad smiling like that. He gives a wave from his place at his smoker. His apron says “Smokin’ hot Chief BBQer!”

  “Hey, sweetheart.” He kisses my forehead and I feel like I’m twelve again. It’s amazing how being in his presence makes me feel young.

  “Hey, hey, no hugging the judges!” Kelton calls out and Dad’s body bounces against me.

  “Hugs aren’t bribery! Plus, it’s a blind taste test, Cassidy. She’ll never know which one is mine.”

  Kelton chuckles, “Right.”

  “And you’ve got a trained chef giving you tips and hints!” Dad adds.

  And this is just the start of the day. There’ll be more jabs and taunts to come.

  “Oh, shit!” I hear from my left and look over to find flames coming out of the smoke box of the Louisiana rig.

  Everyone stills. You can tell the ones on high alert are the firefighters.

  “I got it! I…ouch…shit…got it! The southern twang settles into me with a twinge of being a little overwhelmed. My nipples pebble as I wonder if whoever is behind that wall of smoke has got that southern charm, too.

  Soon I see an arm brushing through the air. A muscle-bound and tan arm. And then through the cloud of gray…the golden-haired god appears.

  And I’m pretty sure my panties just spontaneously combusted.

  Oh, that’s new…

  Chapter Two

  Archie

  This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I have BBQ in my blood. Hell, up until age eighteen I thought it was one of the world’s food groups—sweet tea, beignets, muffuletta, King cake, gumbo, crawfish, and BBQ. And then I went to college in Connecticut. And I was introduced to a whole different kind of culinary pyramid—hot lobster rolls, apple cider donuts, Greek pizza, and something called hasty pudding that’s a nasty-ass version of grits. At least to me.

  My father lowers the city of Passion Point’s ViewPoint newspaper and shakes his head. “I thought you went to school to put out fires, not make them.”

  I recognize the fire chief’s chuckle behind me. I turn and wave away the cloud of smoke, and not the good kind. The kind that says something went horribly wrong and I’ve probably ruined my chances at impressing the chief and any of my coworkers who I just started working with about four months ago.

  But when the smoke clears, there’s only one person I want to impress.

  Her.

  The smoke gets into my eyes and I involuntarily wink at the angel that’s standing about twenty-feet away. She smiles back and my stomach tenses. Her big blue eyes flash and her bountiful chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. She’s adorable in a word.

  Chief Holman crosses his arms across his chest. “Grimm, do we have a problem?”

  My eyes don’t leave the woman behind him. “No. No, sir, temporary flare up.”

  He looks over his shoulder and when his face returns his jaw is set. “You have a mission today, Grimm. BBQ—nothing else.”

  His tone makes me straighten my back and lock eyes with him. “Of course, sir. BBQ today.”

  “Brisket and ribs, and there’s no dessert on the menu. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes. Yes, sir.” I step back to my dad’s BBQ rig. “Great. Pissed off the chief early today.”

  “Some things never change,” my father mumbles.

  I look at my clock. I could put my ribs on now, the brisket’s been going for two hours, but I should really wait.

  “Don’t do it…” my father warns from behind his newspaper.

  I can’t tell if he’s talking about the ribs or the woman. I decide to wait another thirty minutes on the ribs and the woman will need more thought. I start up my classic boombox that used to be my brother’s. He gave it to me when his fiancée insisted he had too much shit. He did, but still…that boombox was something we had on every trip to PaPa and MeeMaw’s cabin on the lake. It was memories. And the mixtape that’s in it is pure country heaven.

  Shania Twain. George Strait. Tracy Byrd. Alan Jackson. Dixie Chicks. Faith Hill.

  They made those hot Louisiana nights bearable. Well, them and MaryEllen Rosehill. My first girlfriend, and the one that I thought I would marry. She decided being married to a fire fighter wasn’t glamourous enough and now she’s got herself a Texas oil guy on her arm and is flying off to Abu Dhabi and Bahrain and places that I’ve never even heard of. My momma keeps me apprise.

  Wish she wouldn’t.
I don’t care.

  “Gonna go wash up, Pop.” I hold up my soot-dusted hands. “Don’t touch that. It has to be all me.” I point to the rig.

  He rolls his eyes and grabs his covered glass that I’m well aware is full of a hurricane cocktail. “I’ll attempt to keep my ass firmly planted, son.” He toasts me with a chuckle.

  I scan Chief Holman’s area but I don’t see the angel, who I’m thinking might be part devil with that bright red hair. I’m not afraid of a little sin. Hell, I come from the place where summer feels hot as hell—Destiny, Louisiana.

  But I don’t have to worry about actually going to the hot place after death, Momma has us covered in terms of praying. She’s finally settled down on sending me a prayer text every day, but I never said I didn’t want them. They made me feel protected and cared about. Even at thirty-one I’m not gonna tell Momma no. I knew it would take her a little while to get used to the thought of her baby boy being put in harm’s way on a regular basis.

  I round into the men’s bathroom hallway and Dairen Westwood, one of my favorite coworkers, pushes out.

  “Way to make an impression, Grimm.”

  We tend to call each other by our last names when we’re on station property, but it’s the other words in the sentence that I’m not so sure of.

  “You think the chief’s mad?” I ask.

  “I think you’ll find out when you’re polishing chrome tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I took the next two days off to spend with my dad while he’s in town.”

  “Well then, you’re golden. After today, he’ll take time off to go to his fishing cabin. Does every year at this time.”

  “Some reason?”

  Dairen rubs the back of his neck. “Just be careful, Grimm. The chief’s won the last fifteen years. There’s a reason he wins, and it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with his brisket or ribs.”

  I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but Dairen started walking away and I needed to get those ribs on the smoker.

  I finish up in the bathroom and I’m walking through truck bay when I see the angel staring at the glass front memorial case down the hallway toward the lobby.

  Her blossoming figure calls to me. I push into the entryway.

  Those ribs will be fine another ten minutes.

  She glances to me, and I swear I see tears in those eyes, making the blue look as deep as the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Hey, there.” I shove my hands into my jeans to stop myself from wrapping them around her and taking away the pain that’s clearly cutting into her.

  “Hi.” Her round cheeks lift with a soft pink blush and I’m a goner. I’m lucky I’m still standing with how my gut dips into my legs.

  And if I thought she looked like a cherub, her voice cements it. It’s soft and flowing and innocent. Maybe a little too innocent. I think she’s in her twenties, but I’m not a very good judge of age.

  “I’m…I’m Archie Grimm.”

  She holds out her hand. “Josie Holman.”

  I don’t hear anything over my heart pounding. “I’m sorry, you said, Maisie?”

  She chuckles as I slip my hand into her soft one. “Josie. Josie Holman.”

  Oh…shit.

  Chapter Three

  Josie

  I see it in his eyes. The fear of my father.

  But it’s for the best. He’s a firefighter. He’s off limits in too many ways. But…we could be friends. I don’t think he’s much older than I am. It’s so hard to tell with guys.

  My parents had ten years between them, but considering they divorced last year I knew that it didn’t matter how much you loved someone, it was how fate dealt the cards when you were together. They couldn’t weather the storm after Matt’s death.

  “So, you’re competing today?” I ask and release his hand.

  “Um…yeah. I…I’m doing both ribs and brisket.”

  “Wow, usually newbies choose one or the other. You’re taking quite the chance.”

  And the way my heart is beating with him close, I’m thinking I might want to take a chance. But I hear Matt’s voice in my head. Losing one firefighter was enough. My father’s at the top of the hierarchy. He doesn’t go into fires. He’s past that stage of his life. He’s the one that sits behind a desk. It’s safe.

  “I’m kinda known for being a go-getter.”

  “I bet you are,” I say the words and realize how they sound. “I mean, if you’re working for Station 1, you’re the best of the best.”

  He smiles and two dimples divot the sides of his cheeks near his mouth. “You’re related to the captain?”

  I look over into the glass case. A memorial to Matt is only inches away, but like Archie, he’s untouchable. “Yeah, that’s my father.”

  “Oh…” He backs away and I can tell that the fire’s been doused for him, too. “I…I gotta get back to the competition.” His southern drawl rolls words out like rough silk, smooth, sexy, but a little knotted.

  “Good luck,” I call out.

  “Thanks.” He looks back over his shoulder, his panty lighting smile sliding onto his face. “Nice to meet you, Josie.”

  And with that he’s gone.

  I’m better off this way, but for some reason the embers of something that I’d started dreaming about still burn in my chest. I try to put them out, but they linger.

  More water. I just need more water.

  I take the last bite of brisket. The plates are lined up and I’ve made my notes. I’ll go back to re-taste but there’s nothing like my father’s brisket, so I mark it the highest and then the second one is very close, almost too close for comfort and I’ll be interested to know who’s it is.

  The plates of ribs are rolled out and again, I taste each and then go back for a taste between two that I know could be my fathers. But then I look over at another plate. That sauce. I’m pretty sure I’ll crave it forever. But the ribs should’ve gone on earlier, they haven’t broken down yet and are chewy.

  But that sauce. It’s the moneymaker and there happens to be a best sauce honorable mention category. I put it on there.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m on the podium conducting the ceremony.

  “Thank you everyone for coming to today’s Station 1 Annual Father’s Day BBQ Competition. It was a close call for the top, but I think the judges had a consensus on the best ribs. And the award goes to…” I open the envelop. “Fire Chief Brady Holman!”

  Dad collects his trophy with a kiss to my cheek. The crowd whoops and hollers.

  “Honorable mention for sauces goes to…” I open the envelope and the piece of paper falls to the ground. I look down and then I look up and lock eyes with two dimples. “Newcomer to Station 1 and the BBQ competition, Archie Grimm.”

  The crowd is shocked, but quickly comes around to giving their respect with whispers.

  He walks forward and lowers his head until his lips are beside my ear and his breath brushes my neck. “Can I kiss your cheek, too?”

  I nod once. “Congratulations, Archie.”

  His soft lips press to my cheek and a long shiver wakes like the waves behind an ocean liner through my body. He’s upset the balance and now we’re rocking the boat.

  He holds up the small plaque and envelope that has a gift certificate to Season 617. “Thank you to all the judges. I’ll give my daddy, over there,” he points, “Hugh Grimm, all the credit. It’s a family recipe that I added a little New England kick to.”

  “You Yankee’d up my recipe?” his father calls out and everyone laughs.

  “Just a little Dad, but don’t worry, there’s still some of Louisiana’s Donner-Peltier Whiskey in there.”

  “Your momma would hide you, boy, if there wasn’t.”

  The crowd cackles, again.

  I watch him walk away. Those Levi’s jeans falling low on his hips. His toned ass popping with each step.

  “Josie…” one of the judges beckons me back with a verbal nudge and an elbow to my ribs, but my eyes fight what my bra
in says to do.

  I suck in a deep breath. “And finally, the big one, the prized and coveted Best Brisket of Station 1 goes to…” I open the envelope. “Chie--…”I stare at the name. Oh, hell no. You don’t know what you’ve done. “Congratulations to firefighter Archie Grimm.”

  The crowd is silent. My father’s jaw tightens and then he starts clapping. Others join him as he walks to Archie, holds out a hand and they shake. He leans toward him and says something to him away from prying ears.

  I can’t imagine what it is. And most of me doesn’t want to.

  But Archie’s gaze never leaves mine. It crashes into me and I feel like I might need to the jaws of life to get me out of his hold.

  My dad slaps his back in a way that’s part well done and part wait-and-see-what-you-have-coming-buddy. I can imagine Archie having to clean out the gear storage for a start and mop floors for months.

  He crosses the concrete to me. His cowboy boots click-clack and every step matches my heart. I try to make my heart beat different. Skip a beat. Wait a beat. But it’s the same. Bump-bump. Bump-bump.

  I’m under the spell of a cute smile and nice ass on a firefighter.

  Chapter Four

  Archie

  I kiss her other cheek this time and whisper in her ear, “Go to dinner with me…”

  She recoils a little and I wonder if she’s taken or at least not available. I’ve caught her looking my way too many times for her not to be interested and yeah, I was looking too. I won’t blame her for my ribs being crap, I got them on late, that was my fault. But at least that sauce was the bomb.

  I pull back and she looks me in the eye and breaths out, “Okay…”