A Cowboy Firefighter For Christmas (Smokin' Hot Cowboys 1) (9 page)

Misty simply nodded.

“Now there’s an idea. Maybe I’ll teach macramé during Wild West Days over Labor Day.” Morning Glory looked Misty up and down. “Put on your necklace and let’s groove on it.”

Misty attempted to remember what Trey had said about the original Wildcat Bluff settlers. Independent cusses or something like that. Now she believed it. She slipped the smooth, knotted macramé over her head. She stroked the pendant that dangled from it.

“In case you don’t know, that brass piece is horse harness hardware. The hardware works perfectly for pendants since it comes in all sorts of designs like swans, animals, and such. Back in the day, a shiny row of those sewed on leather looked pretty on horses pulling conveyances.”

“I had no idea.” She didn’t say it, but she wasn’t even surprised that folks in Wildcat Bluff would wear horse harness hardware around their necks. Somehow it suited the place. And oddly enough, she thought the necklace pretty.

“That’s your guardian angel. Everybody needs one, particularly a Christmas angel. I knew there was a special reason I wore that necklace this morning.”

Misty stroked the wide wings, long gown, and bare feet of her angel. More Christmas. As soon as she got to her room, she’d better stow the necklace with the harp-playing angel in her closet.

“Now, you’ll do fine to teach macramé classes.”

“Teach? I’m sure others around here are better suited to help you. Besides, I’ll be back in Dallas.”

“Never try to predict your own future.”

Misty nodded again. Maybe she could make headway in her investigation. “Thank you. I just might need this guardian angel. I understand there’ve been a number of fires around here.”

“Bad mojo.”

“Have they all been grass and tree fires, like the one I helped with?”

“No. Buildings, too.”

“Good thing you’ve got such good fire-rescue volunteers.”

“That’s the truth of it. Great bunch.” Morning Glory whirled away. “I’m off to mix up a little of this and a little of that.”

As Morning Glory sashayed away, Misty wondered if the pretty woman had ventured a little too far on the wild side in her early years or if she was simply a creative personality. Either way, Misty couldn’t help but like her.

She glanced down at the necklace. She appreciated the thoughtfulness. The pendant didn’t look too overbearingly like an angel. Artfully avant-garde. She’d wear it a little while so as not to offend Morning Glory, but she didn’t need any extra reminders of Christmas.

Maybe she’d sit in the tearoom and wait for customers. Now that she thought about it, this situation could be a blessing in disguise. She’d have a great opportunity to start up conversations about local fires with shoppers as they looked around at merchandise.

She admired the bluebirds again, then sat down and looked out the front window at folks hurrying to and fro. Suddenly, a loud Klaxon sounded in the store and outside, above the boardwalk. She stood up in alarm.

“Misty, quick!” Morning Glory called from the back of the store. “Come on.”

She glanced around. Morning Glory wore a firefighter jacket over her shirt and a helmet on her head. She held similar bright yellow items in her hands.

Shocked, Misty looked from Morning Glory toward all the noise outside. Folks were streaming out of the stores, pulling on firefighter gear as they ran toward their vehicles. Hedy must have gotten the system back online and was testing to make sure it worked correctly.

“You can wear Hedy’s gear.” Morning Glory ran to the front door and quickly locked it.

“This is a fire drill, right?”

“No! We’ve got ourselves a real fire. A big one based on the number of blasts. And everybody helps out on a big fire. My pickup’s out back. We’ll take it.”

“Another fire?” Misty hated the thought. She pushed back the threatening edge of darkness as she clutched her new guardian angel. She’d fought a fire once for this town. Surely with all these people and something more than three towels, she could do it again.

“Quick. I’ve got a bad vibe about this fire.” Morning Glory tossed the extra firefighter helmet and jacket toward Misty.

She caught the gear and took deep breaths as she followed in Morning Glory’s wake.

Trey pounded a u-nail into the wooden fence post and eyed his handiwork. He liked this section of old fence line. No telling how far back in time it went, since the posts were made of bois d’arc. That was the French name, but the trees were also known as iron wood or Osage orange because Osage hunters, like Comanche hunters, often made their bows out the extremely hard wood. He figured the fence would probably outlast him. Up through the Midwest, the trees were called hedge apple. Farmers had planted hedgerows of bois d’arc back during the bad old Dust Bowl days as barriers to stop the vicious winds from lifting the topsoil and carrying it to the Gulf of Mexico. They’d also put the green hedge apples that grew on the trees in cabinets to keep out bugs.

He eased his hammer into his back pocket. Not much breeze today, so not much to keep him from baking in the sun. But it felt good, cleansing even, after the AC in the house. He took off his hat, pulled a blue bandanna out of his pocket, and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He took a deep breath of the warm, dusty air that smelled like dry grass as he glanced around the pasture. Samson stomped a hoof under the shade of a live oak tree, patiently waiting to get back to the barn. Trey had already set out hay and made sure the stock tanks were full of water for the cattle. Ranch hands were taking care of work in other pastures.

All was as it should be. He could see it plain as day. But he still felt like a horse with a burr under his saddle. Fire, heat, and drought could be the irritating culprits, but most likely his feelings were due to his Christmas angel. He’d tossed and turned all night. One kiss. A few smiles. A bit of banter. And he was getting in deep. With a city gal, no less.

A little hard, sweaty work fixing fence was just what the doctor ordered to get his mind off Misty. He’d ridden Samson out at dawn with supplies and water. He could’ve taken one of the ATVs, but he’d wanted the ride to get the kinks out of his body. Besides, Samson was an old friend, and he needed that kind of easy company right now.

But nothing put his mind to rest. Samson would turn thirty pretty soon. And so would Trey. Made a guy think about his life and where he was going with it. Samson wouldn’t always be around. That was the way of life. Trey was still living in his folks’ guesthouse. He liked the simple and easy comfort. He also liked being near his parents, but they were slowly getting up there, even if he didn’t want to think about that fact, and change was in the wind.

He stuck his hat back on his head, tied his bandanna around his neck, and eyeballed the post. Not strong enough. He plopped another u-nail into position over a strand of barbwire, held it with forefinger and thumb, and struck down hard with his hammer to pound the nail into place. At least barbwire and u-nails didn’t change.

Truth be told, he wanted more in life. After Cuz Sydney had brought Storm into the world on a wild and stormy night, he’d enjoyed the hell out of the sassy little girl. Made him want one of his own to teach how to ride a horse, rope a steer, barrel race, give big hugs, and take to rodeos. But he couldn’t do it on his own. He needed a gal to help, but not just anyone would do. He wanted the kind of long-term love his parents had managed to hang on to through thick and thin.

So far he hadn’t met the special woman who’d turn his life upside down in the best way possible. Well, he hadn’t until—Katie, bar the door—yesterday. An image of blond hair, green eyes, and a knockout body came to mind. Smart as a trick pony, too. But that fine gal was on one side of the fence and he was on the other. Not what you’d call an ideal situation, but he’d yet to quit a rodeo before he was out of the chute.

He looked down the line of fence and was satisfied with what he’d done. He’d already fixed the fence on Wildcat Road. Lucky break for them all, Misty coming along at just the right time the day before. Then again, it was about time the county got a break. And a Christmas angel to put it into play.

He’d done enough work out here for the day. He’d take Samson back to the barn and see what needed to be done there. He walked over to the shade of the live oak, rubbed Samson down his long nose, and put his hammer and u-nails in the saddlebag. He pulled out his cell. Sometimes he could get coverage out here. No new messages. He’d check again at the barn.

He put his left foot in the stirrup and swung his right leg up and over the saddle. He heard leather creak as he settled comfortably into the saddle. He picked up the reins, clicked to Samson, and headed for the barn at a leisurely pace. As he rode, he looked around to make sure all was in order. Place was a tinderbox. What he wouldn’t give for snow, so it’d slowly seep into the ground, but he’d take a rainstorm even if the water mostly ran down into the streams.

By the time he reached the barn, he was feeling relaxed about life. He’d see Misty later. Any time spent with her couldn’t be anything but good. He dismounted and led Samson into the cool shade of the barn. Other horses nickered to him from their stalls. He checked on them. A ranch hand had already mucked stalls and filled water tubs.

He removed Samson’s saddle, blanket, bridle, and saddlebags, then set them to dry in the tack room. He curried Samson’s russet coat to get rid of the sweat and dirt before giving the horse a big hug and fresh oats in his stall. All done, Trey pulled his bottle of water out of his saddlebag, took a long drink, then got out his phone.

He saw he’d missed a text and a message. He checked the text and got a jolt. Fire alert! He felt his heart rate speed up. If he hadn’t meandered across the pasture, he’d have been here to get the alarm first thing. As it stood now, he’d be late, but he knew other volunteers would already be in place and putting out the fire. He’d get there as fast as possible and help any way he could once he saw the situation. On his way out of the barn, he grabbed a couple of stained but clean towels just in case he needed them.

As he jogged to his truck, he listened to a message from Hedy. There’d been a computer glitch, so the fire alarm was late going out. Slim Norton lived on the farm adjoining the fire. He’d noticed the smoke first, but when he’d called 9-1-1 he’d gotten no answer. He’d driven to the fire station and arrived about the same time as Hedy, who’d fixed the problem and notified volunteers. As luck would have it, Kent and Sydney had been in town, so they’d piled into two rigs and headed for the blaze.

Trey was relieved to hear his cousins were on the job. He jerked open the door of his pickup, tossed the towels on the shotgun seat, and grabbed the keys from the floorboard. He set his phone on the center console, inserted the key in the ignition, backed out, and made for Wildcat Road.

Soon he joined a line of trucks heading hell-bent for leather to the fire. He wasn’t the only one in the county who’d just gotten the alert. He watched a plume of white smoke rise into the western sky. From its location, the conflagration looked to be at the Winston farmhouse or nearby pasture. If the blaze got loose and turned into a widespread brush fire, they’d have a major disaster on their hands.

When Ole Man Winston had died a few years back, his Dallas family had stripped the house’s furnishings and sold the acreage to a local businessman. Bertram Holloway had let the house turn into a dried-out husk, more firetrap than anything. Good thing the place was uninhabited, so there was no chance for loss of life—as far as he knew. Trey’s greatest concern was fire containment.

He turned onto a gravel road and bumped along behind the other pickups. They sent up a line of dust in their wake. He strained to see ahead so he’d know what they were up against, but the fire area was on a rise and he was down below it. Still, he could already smell smoke.

When he reached the top of the rise, he saw the fire and felt his belly unclench. House, not pasture. The blaze would be more containable. Better yet, Sydney and Kent were on the scene in full gear and had help from four other firefighters. They were dousing the house with water from the engine and the booster.

Volunteers ahead of Trey parked their vehicles and raced toward the fire. They carried fire extinguishers, axes, and shovels. Some had thrown on protective firefighter helmets and jackets. Others wore cowboy hats and jean jackets. They wouldn’t enter the house, so they didn’t need full turnout gear.

He stopped his truck behind the other pickups and jumped out. Smoke and heat lashed his face. And damn it all, he could smell accelerant. Somebody had set this fire with gasoline. He jerked open his back door, reached inside, and pulled out a high-visibility orange and yellow firefighter parka. He shucked on the jacket and tucked leather gloves into his pocket.

He jogged toward the fire, knowing all the bake sales and benefits had been worth it. Their new red engine had a two-thousand-GPM pump capacity and one thousand gallons of water with thirty gallons of Class A Foam. Their smaller red booster truck had a three-hundred-GPM pump capacity and a two-hundred-gallon water tank. He figured they had enough water so they wouldn’t need to pump from a pond or stock tank because there were no fire hydrants in the country.

He watched Sydney expertly wave the nozzle of the engine’s large-diameter hose and expel high-velocity water on the house. Two firefighters wrestled with the hose to keep it stable, so it didn’t twist, turn, and buck like a wild rodeo bull. Kent kept up a steady flow with the line from the booster’s water tank. Smoke and steam rose upward from the house as the streams of water fought to bring the fire under control.

Suddenly the windows exploded outward in self-ventilation, sending out shards of glass and other debris. Kent and Sydney staggered backward and went to their knees. Trey sped up to go to their rescue, thinking of little Storm’s pain if her mother was hurt. But Kent and Sydney got back on their feet and kept the water barrage going on the house.

With the glass in the windows gone, the fire quickly expanded in size as it ate up the extra oxygen. Soon the wooden structure was fully engaged and pumping smoke from every crevice and open window. Flames and smoke surged high into the blue sky. There wouldn’t be any saving the structure.

Trey caught up with the other volunteers as they spread out around the house to control stray sparks while Kent and Sydney kept up the water barrage. Firefighters were beating back the fire, despite the orange and yellow flames spitting and licking and clawing to take back what they gave up. Every fire had its own personality. This one reminded Trey of an angry cat.

At the moment, he wasn’t essential to fighting the fire, so he took a bigger view. He checked the wind. They had a slight breeze from the south that was pushing flames northward. As bad luck would have it, Slim’s farmhouse was to the north and on an elevation in the land. Fire rose because heat rose, so if the fire got loose, it’d make a beeline for Slim’s home. Containment was vital.

Trey wondered if anybody had notified Bertram Holloway. Not that it’d matter. Bert wouldn’t be around. He never was when one of his decrepit, insured buildings went up in flames. They’d find him fishing or some such thing up in Southeast Oklahoma, innocent as the day is long but richer by the end of it. Bert insisted somebody had a vendetta against him. That was possible, since it was rumored he’d made enemies by the way he did business. Still, nobody’d been caught setting fires or leaving incriminating evidence, so there was no way to prove either theory.

Bert’s building fires didn’t explain the sudden rash of grass and tree fires. High temperatures and prolonged drought seemed the logical explanation, but that idea didn’t sit well with Trey. Maybe it was too easy an answer or maybe he had a gut feeling there was something more sinister at work.

He glanced around to see where he’d be most useful. He caught his breath in surprise. Misty stood beside Morning Glory’s pickup. She held a firefighter helmet and jacket limply in her hands, but she’d made no use of them. Instead, she watched the blazing house with horror etched on her face.

What was she doing here? If she had a panic attack, he’d get her out of here as fast as possible. At least his pickup was last in line so he could get out. He probably ought to take her away anyway. But why was she with Morning Glory? He’d thought she was safely tucked away at Twin Oaks and enjoying her vacation.

Misty suddenly threw down the firefighter gear and ran toward the fire. Shocked, he rushed after her, caught up with her, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her tight against his chest.

“What in tarnation are you doing?” He fought to hold her against him. She suddenly had the strength of somebody three times her size.

“Look!” She pointed toward a clump of bushes set away from the house. “We’ve got to save those babies.”

“What babies?”

And then he saw a mother cat with her teeth clamped in a kitten’s fur on the back of the neck. She struggled to drag her baby to safety in the bushes, even though the fur on her back had been singed away.

“Let me go!” Misty kicked back at him, trying to get free.

“Not on your life. It’s too dangerous.” He tightened his grip around her as he glanced back at the house. Nobody else had noticed the cats because their attention was focused on the fire.

Mama Cat deposited her kitten in the bushes, and then she ran back to the burning house. She slipped into the open crawl space underneath the floorboards of the house and disappeared into the darkness.

“I’m going after her.” Misty panted, gasping for breath, even as she struggled to get free.

“No!” Trey turned her around so he could look into her face. “Stay here. I’ll do my best to get the cats.”

“Please don’t endanger yourself.”

“I’m a first responder. That’s what we do.” He gave her a quick kiss on her soft lips, more comfort than anything.

As he ran to the house, he zipped up his firefighter parka, pulled up the hood to protect his head, and tugged on his gloves. He dropped to his stomach and looked under the house. He couldn’t see anything in the dark, but he could feel the heat and steam, smell the acrid smoke. He had seconds to rescue the cats. If Mama Cat had her kittens near the entry, he could snatch them.