“Well, thank you for saying so, Dalia. I only wish it’d been enough.” He paused, swallowed and said, “He was my friend.”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “You did everything you could.”
“Still.”
Another silence passed.
“What was the name of that border collie y’all used to have?” Mad Dog asked.
“Merle.”
“Yeah, that’s it. When I came out here to work on your dad, that dog met me at the gate and gave me an escort down the driveway. Then while I was trying to, you know...”
“Revive him?” Dalia said steadily.
“Yeah. Well, that dog did laps around the two of us the whole time. ’Round and ’round and ’round.”
“Herding behavior,” Dalia said. “Border collie instinct.”
“Exactly. Only in this case, completely useless. Sometimes in this job, I feel like a border collie doing laps. Busy, but not accomplishing anything.”
“But you accomplish a lot, Mad Dog. You have to know that. All the people you helped during the storm. My mom.”
“You’re right, I know. Some you win, and some you lose, and some wake you up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. You have to make your peace with that in order to stick it out and be of any use to the community. Not everyone can. Some guys join up for the wrong reasons. It’s playtime to them—it’s fun. Messing around with fire, operating fancy equipment, driving trucks real fast. That aspect draws in a lot of reckless, physical, showy guys. But when the fire’s out, the real work starts, with checklists and cleanup and inventory and equipment repair, not to mention training. The flashy ones get bored and drop out. You know the type, all hat and no cattle.”
“I do,” said Dalia. “That must be frustrating.”
“Used to be. Nowadays I just sit back and wait for the chips to fall. You can’t predict who’s gonna hang in there and who’s not. I’ve been surprised lots of times. Now, you take that guy right there.”
He pointed at Tony. “I thought for sure he’d be a one-hit wonder. But he turned out to have a whole lot of staying power. He doesn’t just endure the hosing down and long tedious after-fire work and other boring nonglamorous parts of the job. He makes a game out of it, keeps everyone’s spirits up. I never saw anything like it. He’s real good with trauma victims, too, and with kids. I’ve started sending him to do the yearly presentation at the elementary school, and they love him there. And he’s the best I’ve ever seen at getting surly people to cooperate. I thought at first they were just intimidated by his size, and maybe that’s part of it, but it’s not all. There was this one time, we had a drunk and disorderly mixed up in this incident involving a beer keg, a crossbow and a Kubota tractor—long story. The guy needed to go to the hospital, but he didn’t want to, and it wasn’t like we could take him against his will. He got more and more agitated, and he finally punched Tony in the jaw. Tony didn’t retaliate or even seem to get mad. He just kept on, all friendly and persuasive and nonthreatening. Ten minutes later, the guy was spilling his life’s story to him, bawling his eyes out, like Tony was his last friend in the world.”
Dalia looked at Tony on the field. “He always was a charmer.”
“Yeah, I guess I don’t have to tell you, do I? You two are about the same age. You probably went to school together.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve known Tony all my life.”
She really needed to change the subject.
“This is a good game,” she said. “No wonder everyone comes to see it year after year. It’s impressive that you have so many decent players.”
Each team had ten men on the field. That allowed for blockers, making the game a lot more interesting to watch than if there’d been just a quarterback plus a handful of potential receivers running around hoping to catch the ball.
“Well, it’s Texas,” said Mad Dog. “Football is king here. Plus, there’s a whole lot of a certain personality that joins a volunteer fire department.”
“Why don’t you play?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no. I was never a jock. I was a band kid in school. I played the saxophone, you know what I mean? I used to sort of scoff at sports, but looking back, I realize a lot of that was sour grapes. I see the value in it now, or in the sort of person who’s good at sports. Like Tony, there. All the qualities that make him good at football carry over to firefighting and rescue work. Physical strength, always a plus. Leadership. Infectious enthusiasm. And that ability to take in a complex situation at a glance and make a quick decision and act on it.”
She got up. It was really too much, listening to Mad Dog sing Tony’s praises while having to sit here watching him in all his glory.
“I’m going to go get a drink,” Dalia said.
“Alrighty, then. See you later.”
She walked away. A burst of cheering sounded behind her, but she didn’t look back.
CHAPTER NINE
“GOOD MORNING, ALL you beautiful people! Thank you for coming out today for the fifth annual fall fundraiser for the Limestone Springs Volunteer Fire Department!”
The crowd clapped and cheered, and Tony gave a nice loud whistle to keep things lively. Claudia Cisneros smiled down on them all from the portable stage, looking like a queen. She had a legal practice in town—property law, mostly—and she was like an honorary aunt to Alex and Tony, and a lot of other people, too.
“The department has many, many fundraisers throughout the year—the fajita cook-off, the chili cook-off, the bake sale,” she went on. “But this event right here is by far their biggest revenue generator. It’s the brainchild of our hostess, Renée Ramirez, and her work and tireless dedication make it possible. This was her idea, y’all. She volunteered to open up La Escarpa to the community, and even now, less than three weeks after her house was nearly demolished by softball-sized hail and hurricane-force straight winds, she hasn’t begged off. That’s the spirit that made Texas, folks. Let’s give it up for Renée!”
Wild applause. Claudia raised her own hands above her head to clap. Mrs. Ramirez, in her chair with her injured foot resting on a camp stool, held up her insulated cup and waved.
“The day’s festivities started early this morning with an exhibition football game between the volunteer fire departments of Limestone Springs and Schraeder Lake, and I’m proud to say that we mopped the floor with them for the fifth year in a row!”
Claudia’s voice rose near the end to be heard above a fresh swell of cheering. People chanted Tony’s name. He glanced over at Dalia. She was clapping, but in a polite sort of a way, and she wasn’t chanting.
Man, she looked good in that deep red tank top, those dark jeans and riding boots, with that long, thick braid of hair hanging down her back. He remembered the rush of pride he used to feel whenever they were seen in public together. Looking around at other people, strangers in a restaurant, like, Can you believe it? A girl like this, in love with me? Heck, just being near her was a high.
Claudia waited, giving the crowd time to show their excitement and settle down on their own.
“Now for some history and statistics about our fine department. Pay attention, because there will be a test later.”
The crowd laughed, and then Claudia started in with a vengeance—all about how the Limestone Springs Volunteer Fire Department was one of the oldest in the state, and how many residents it served over how many square miles and how many miles of state highway. “That’s a lot of territory for twenty men and women,” she said. Then she told how many medical calls the department had done last year, how many engine company runs, how many for brush trucks, water supply and technical rescue.
“I can already tell you this year’s stats are going to be higher because of this month’s hailstorm. All that for a department that’s manned by citizen volunteers—and that really is the spirit of Texas, isn’t it? Texans have
always been quick to step up and do what needed to be done to protect their community—whether that meant guarding the cannon at Gonzalez, joining up with Travis at the Alamo, enlisting in General Houston’s army to keep this great land of ours out of the hands of tyrants, or rescuing neighbors from fire or flood.”
More applause.
“Our firefighters are all volunteers. You know them. They are your friends and neighbors and family. I wish, folks, I wish they could be compensated fairly for their time and effort. But the coffers are strained to the limit trying to keep up with equipment and training. That money doesn’t come from taxes. So this department needs our support. Now, given everything they do for us, it would not be at all unreasonable for them to ask you to open up your wallets right now and give. But that’s not what they’re asking you to do. You get to support them by having a fantastic time! Go on a hayride. Ride the mechanical bull. Buy a pumpkin from the pumpkin patch. Match your wits with the corn maze. Have your picture taken with Scarecrow Bill. Cool off and chill out with a delicious craft beer from one of our local breweries. Enjoy live music by the Chicharrones. Take a look at our raffle items and buy a ticket for a chance to win. We have many, many other items for sale under the tent—books, crafts and, of course, the much-anticipated photo calendar, featuring actual members of the Limestone Springs Volunteer Fire Department.”
More applause, louder and wilder than ever. Eardrum-piercing wolf whistles and woo-hoo noises.
Claudia’s voice rose over it all. “Enjoy your day, and remember, every dollar you spend goes to support this department and the men and women who run it.”
The crowd broke apart. Claudia stepped down from the stage, and the Chicharrones started to play. Couples gathered on the dance floor.
Tony took a quick look at Dalia. How would it be if he asked her to dance? Would it be weird? Would she slap him or throw a drink in his face or something? Probably not, since they’d made their sort-of truce. Probably she’d just look at him like she felt sorry for him.
But what if she said yes?
There was no point even thinking about that, though. If they danced, they’d most likely talk. And if they talked, she might start asking questions that he’d have a hard time answering.
No. Things were better off the way they were.
A movement close to his right side made him startle, and when he saw what it was, he startled even more and let out a shout. It was a man-size creature with a burlap face, wearing patchwork clothing with straw sticking out at the wrists, neck and ankles. The hands were gloved, with no human skin showing. Even though the mouth on the burlap face was painted in a smile, the overall effect was creepy as heck.
People nearby laughed at Tony’s reaction, and the creature itself jumped backward in an exaggerated motion.
Tony held a hand to his racing heart and caught his breath. Everyone was watching him now, so he said, “Good job, Scarecrow Bill. Carry on.”
Scarecrow Bill cut a caper, something like a soft-shoe dance move, if soft-shoe dance was performed by a straw-stuffed bundle of clothing in human form. Then he slunk off, to Tony’s relief.
“Freaky, huh?”
The words came from right behind Tony’s shoulder, making him startle all over again. He spun around and saw big blue eyes with eyelashes so long they didn’t seem real, and a bright, red-lipped smile.
She held up her hands in an I-come-in-peace gesture. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s okay. You’re a much pleasanter surprise than Scarecrow Bill.”
She laughed. “I’d say I was flattered, but a lot of things are a pleasanter surprise than Scarecrow Bill. He’s kind of terrifying.”
“I know, right? I mean, I realize that’s Bill Darcy from Darcy’s Hardware, but man, does he freak me out in that getup.”
“I feel the same way. That blank burlap face, those button eyes. And he never talks.”
“Nope. Just shuffles around like some soulless entity.”
“Pretty sure you and I are the only ones who feel that way. The town loves him.”
“Probably ’cause he’s doing some mind-control thing on all of them. We’re the only ones who’re free from his spell.”
“Then we’ll have to stick together.” She smiled and tossed a long curl over her shoulder. “Hey, I know you, don’t I?”
“Maybe. Where do you think you think you know me from?”
He hoped she wouldn’t say she recognized him from old football pictures in the trophy case at the high school. She didn’t look young enough to still be in high school, but she was definitely younger than he was. And he was getting tired of recent graduates asking, “Hey, didn’t you used to be that football star?”
She looked him over, taking her time about it, then nodded. “I have it now. I know exactly who you are. You’re Mr. July.”
Tony smiled. “I am indeed. But I’m much better-looking in person.”
“You know, I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. But you are.”
“Well, thank you very much. And you are...?”
“Clarissa.”
“Clarissa Thompson? I remember you. I went to school with your sister Miranda. You were a few years behind us.”
“That’s me. So are you going to ask me to dance?”
“Why, yes. Yes, I am.”
He held out his hand, and she took it. “About time,” she said.
As he led her to the floor, he looked around again for Dalia, but he didn’t see her.
He’d have to settle for different highs now.
CHAPTER TEN
SLOWLY, CASUALLY, DALIA moseyed over to a table under the tent, picked up a calendar and started leafing through the pages.
There they were, the volunteer firefighters of Limestone Springs—and a remarkably fine-looking group they made, too. Being friends with Lauren had made Dalia something of a photography critic. The pictures in the calendar were good, if a bit on the nose with the whole strong-but-sensitive-rural-rescue-man theme. She saw arrangements of firefighters in old downtown buildings, on local ranches, in the fire truck, on tractors, on old trucks, in barns, with fire hats, with puppies, kittens, guitars, horses, longhorn cattle, baby goats and chickens.
She was careful to spend the same number of seconds on each page. Anyone watching would think she was showing polite civic interest, nothing more.
Then she reached July.
Whoa.
Tony’s image was in a class by itself. The other guys had looked campy or embarrassed in their over-the-top settings and poses, but not Tony. He looked happy and confident, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be standing in front of a prickly pear cactus, wearing his fire pants with dangling suspenders and no shirt, holding a fire ax over his shoulder. She was amazed by the sheer power of him. All that muscle, and yet so graceful and relaxed. His hair was a perfectly shaped sculpture, shining with gel. Tony always did like plenty of product in his hair.
She tossed the calendar back onto the table and walked away fast.
And there, on the folded-out dance floor, was the original, looking even more spectacular in the flesh, and dancing with a long-legged girl in a short skirt and rhinestone-studded cowboy boots. Dalia’s face flushed hot, and her hands curled into fists. She wanted to march over to that girl, grab a fistful of her fake curls, yank her head back and throw her to the ground.
This was exactly how it used to feel back in high school, even before they started dating, whenever she saw Tony talking to another girl, or another girl talking to him, or even looking at him, or heard other girls talking about him the way they did, gushing over his body like he was some thing.
She’d told herself it was a matter of principle, that she just didn’t like for him or any man to be objectified, any more than she liked for women to be objectified. But maybe those flares of temper were
about more than principle. Maybe she was just plain jealous.
It was an unnerving thought. She’d always considered herself a calm, levelheaded, even-tempered person. And she was...mostly. Just not when it came to Tony.
Come to think of it, that was pretty much what Lauren had said.
She went back to the tent, passing up the calendars this time, not stopping until she reached a display of books. She picked one up without really seeing it, or the couple manning the table.
“Dalia Ramirez. What a pleasant surprise.”
The voice made it clear that the surprise wasn’t a pleasant one at all. Dalia knew that voice. It was the voice that had lectured her about Goliad, and the Alamo, and Father Hidalgo, and the six flags over Texas, way back in seventh grade.
And it belonged to Tony’s grandmother.
“Mrs. Reyes,” Dalia said. “And Mr. Reyes. How are you?”
Mr. Reyes smiled. He had a stern face but a nice smile. “Hello, Dalia. It’s been a long time.”
“You’re looking well,” said Mrs. Reyes, with a look that added, you coldhearted witch.
It stung a little. Mrs. Reyes had never been one to play favorites, but she’d liked Dalia. She was the strictest, most exacting teacher Dalia ever had, undergraduate and graduate years included. Her Texas history class was legendary, with its endless demands for definitions, biographical sketches, descriptions of battles, and maps to color and label, with points taken off for streakiness. This had not made her a popular teacher, though most seventh-graders of Dalia’s year were too smart to complain in front of Tony. Dalia didn’t complain. She did the work, kept the required notebook in meticulous shape and got one of two As Mrs. Reyes handed out that year. The other had gone to Tony. It hadn’t been nepotism, either. Tony wasn’t the most diligent student in general, but he sure toed the line in his abuela’s class.
For the first time, Dalia actually looked at the book in her hand. Ghost Stories of the Texas Hill Country, by Annalisa Reyes.
“Our grandniece wrote that,” Mr. Reyes said. “She’s about your age.”
Coming Home to Texas--A Clean Romance Page 8
