Playing With Fire (10 page)

She hardly noticed. She was too busy fighting the urge to cry by gnawing on the inside of her cheek. This wasn't like her. In light of the many horrors she regularly witnessed on the job, crying over a lost promotion seemed trite. She searched her memory for the last time she'd shed tears. It had been three years ago at her maternal grandmother's funeral. The time before that had been at her mother and stepfather's wedding, and those were tears of joy. She remembered the ribbing she'd taken from family and friends, which only strengthened her resolve not to yield to clichéd feminine reactions. Lindsay was a tomboy through and through.

"Shall I call Dennis?” She wished her coworker would hurry, preferring to get the meeting over and done with as soon as possible.

"That won't be necessary.” Emilio smiled fondly. “You're good with him."

"Dennis?"

"No.” The captain gave her a funny look. “The dog."

"Oh.” The subject of their discussion had made himself comfortable, resting his head on Lindsay's lap. He blew a gust of air through his nose and smacked his lips, obviously preparing for a short nap.

"I knew I'd made the right decision."

Lindsay didn't follow. “What decision?” And what in the world did any of this have to do with her and Dennis?

"Tom, Rebecca and I have been talking and we're all in agreement. We want to keep Booter."

Now she was really confused. Emilio often consulted with the other two station captains, but the results seldom necessitated a private meeting with a crew member.

"Which booter?"

There were two rookies she knew of within the department Emilio had been watching with interest. He must have requested one of them for permanent assignment in preparation for Matt's promotion.

Emilio rolled his eyes and repeated, “The dog. We named him Booter. Cute, huh?"

"Uh, yeah."

Booter yawned, evidently unimpressed with his new name or the possible significance earning one might have for him.

"We want to keep him."

"That's great. Your kids will love him."

"No. Here. Sort of a station mascot.” Emilio's bushy, black brows rose expectantly.

"I see.” She didn't see. At least she didn't see what keeping Booter had to do with her.

The brows knitted together. “Is everything okay, Lindsay? You seem distracted."

"Do I?” Hmm. Maybe she should tell Emilio the reason behind her distraction.

You see, Cap, it's like this. Two weeks ago, I slept with Matt while still dating Joey, who, by the way, dumped me the next morning for his ex-fiancée. Matt, being the kind of guy he is, assumed he could pick up where Joey left off, like dating a coworker is no big deal. To top it off, I found out today I lost the promotion to him. Which wouldn't bother me except I studied my tail off while he barely cracked a book. Oh, and here's the really funny part, he claims he doesn't want the promotion. Can you believe it? So, yes, I'm a little distracted. Thanks for asking.

On second thought, she'd be better off saying nothing.

"Sorry. I guess I misunderstood you earlier. I thought we were meeting with Dennis."

"Argh!” Emilio screwed up his face. “I forgot to tell you. I cancelled the meeting with Dennis. There's something else I want to discuss with you first."

"Oh. Okay.”
What now?

"Booter's a little undisciplined, wouldn't you say?” His gaze traveled to the scattered pile of debris left on the floor by the dog.

"You called me in here to discuss the dog?"

"Yes."

She didn't know what to say. His answer wasn't the one she expected.

"We want to keep him, however he needs training.” He gave her a have-you-put-two-and-two-together-yet look. “You have the necessary experience."

"Yes, but—"

"And Booter already likes you.” The dog's worshipful gaze had not veered one millimeter from her the entire time she'd been seated.

"You want me to train him?"

"That's right.” Emilio grinned broadly.

"I can't."

His smile dimmed. “Why?"

Because I'm sick and tired of being the brunt of every joke around here
.

Lindsay bit the inside of her cheek again. Whiny complaints would not advance her struggle for acceptance by her peers. “You have to work with a dog twice a day minimum for the training to be effective. I'm only here every third day."

"Take him home with you."

Lindsay thought of His Highness and the cat's response to a canine interloper. Particularly a young, discipline-challenged canine interloper.

"My cat has a rule. No dogs allowed in the house."

"Keep him outside."

"The yard's not fenced. I'd hate it if he ran off or got hit by a car.” Not to mention the potential devastation to her landlady's elaborate desert landscaping.

Emilio didn't back down. He'd earned the reputation of being a steamroller when he set his sights on something. “Drop him off here when you have to go out. You don't live five minutes from the station."

Lindsay made the mistake of hesitating.

Emilio saw his opportunity and seized it. “We're only talking what, a few weeks? A month at the most?"

Emotionally depleted and unable to bear up under her captain's skillfully applied pressure, Lindsay folded. “I have a suggestion."

"I'm all ears."

"What if I come by the station on my days off?"

His broad grin returned.

"I'll need some things: a collar and leash to start with, a box of treats."

"I'll pick them up tomorrow."

Dislodging the pup's head from her lap, she stood. “Will that be all?"

"Can you start today?"

"Sure.” She'd concede to almost anything at this point, and she did genuinely like the dog. “Come on, boy,” she said and slapped her thigh.

Booter scrambled to his feet and padded after her, tongue lolling.

Emilio trailed behind them. “By the way.” He tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to stop and turn. “Try and get along with Dennis, will you?"

"I'll do my best."

"Oh, and one more thing, can you housebreak him and teach him not to chew everything in sight?"

"Dennis?"

Emilio laughed. “Good one."

They entered the common room. Matt sat at the large multipurpose table filling out paperwork while Dennis lounged on the couch watching TV.

"Hey, you two, listen up.” Emilio clapped his hands. “I have an announcement to make."

Lindsay cringed. Why couldn't this be her and the captain's little secret?

Matt laid his papers aside.

Dennis sat up and stretched. “Yo, Cap. You rang?"

"We're keeping the dog and making him station mascot. Lindsay's agreed to train him."

"Say it ain't so.” Dennis pretended to stab himself in the chest and fell back onto the couch. “My worst nightmare. Dog and woman. Together."

"Cool it, Dennis.” Emilio spoke sharply. “I want you to cut Lindsay some slack. In fact, that's an order."

"Yes, sir.” Dennis sat back up and fixed Lindsay with a lethal stare.

She ignored him. “I'm taking Booter into the apparatus room for his first lesson."

"Good.” Emilio tugged on Dennis’ shirt sleeve as he went by. “While you do that, Dennis and I will clean the kitchen."

Dennis grumbled but obliged by crawling off the couch.

Lindsay knew Emilio meant well, but she wished he wouldn't fight her battles for her. His intervention sometimes made matters worse. She avoided Matt's apologetic gaze as she and Booter passed by. He braced his hands on the table and started to rise. When she gave her head an imperceptive shake, he sat back down. She didn't feel like talking at the moment. One more ‘I'm sorry’ from him, and she'd snap.

Five minutes into the lesson, the alarm went off. Both Booter's training and washing the dishes were forced to wait.

Lindsay didn't cry.

She held back the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes and the sobs lodging in the back of her throat.

Instead, she let the steaming hot water of the shower run over her until her skin turned a bright pink. In her mind, she saw the old woman, tiny and frail, huddled in the arms of her family, her face as white as the hair on her head.

The old woman had cried.

She'd stood in the street, watching her home burn and everything she owned with it. While the firefighters doused the raging flames with water, she'd wept bitterly over what was lost. Family photographs in silver frames which had lined whitewashed bookcases. A greeting card her late husband had given her on their first anniversary fifty-two years earlier. The pine rocking chair where she'd sat and sung her babies to sleep. The drawing her youngest grandson had made for her with the box of crayons she'd given him last Christmas. Priceless, irreplaceable mementoes gone forever.

There were days Lindsay hated being a firefighter, and today was one of them.

For hours, they'd fought the flames; at first, to try and save the house and when that became a lost cause, to prevent the fire from spreading. Lindsay reminded herself the old woman's life was what really mattered. Pieces of paper, wood, and fabric weren't worth dying for.

Faulty wiring appeared to be the cause. The old woman had been watching TV in her recliner, the antiquated window air conditioner running on full blast. The next thing she knew, the room was full of smoke. Coughing and disorientated, she somehow made it to the front door and outside. Neighbors called 9-1-1, but it was too late. In the span of time it took for a single spark to ignite, her entire world changed.

Lindsay had felt much the same way herself earlier in the day after learning Matt's test scores were higher than hers. In retrospect, she'd overreacted. Her promotion hadn't been lost, merely delayed. It could be worse. She could be watching everything she owned vanish in a puff of smoke. Literally.

Putting things in perspective should have made her feel better. It didn't, which was unlike her.

Shutting off the water, she stepped from the shower and toweled dry, then donned a clean uniform. She shared the bathroom with Dennis and could hear his heavy snoring through the connecting door to his bedroom. She ran a comb through her wet hair and brushed her teeth. A glance at the wall clock above her bed told her it was past midnight. Matt and Emilio had also retired to their respective bedrooms soon after returning from the fire. She assumed they were resting as well.

Lindsay lay down on her bed eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. A hard ball of misery had lodged between her heart and lungs, making breathing difficult and sleep impossible. She begrudged Booter, who snoozed peacefully on the floor at the foot of her bed. He continued to snooze twenty minutes later when she stepped over him on her way to the kitchen.

Later, as she sat at the table sipping a cup of herbal tea, the oppressive stillness closed in around her. Try as she might, she couldn't shake her despondency. Suddenly, the ball inside her chest burst and tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. Before long, they were streaming down her cheeks.

She was crying, and no amount of effort stopped it.

A sob escaped. Lindsay snatched a paper napkin from the holder on the table and used it to cover her mouth. What if one of the sleeping men heard her and came out to the kitchen? What would they think?

They'd think she was weak. They'd think she didn't have what it took to be a firefighter.

No. She couldn't let that happen.

Another sob and then a hiccup. She had to act fast. The chair nearly toppled when she jumped up. Righting it, she bolted from the kitchen, down the hall, and through the door to the apparatus room. Where now? She needed a hiding place, preferably soundproof. The weight room was out of the question. So was the supply closet. That left the equipment room.

Tears obscured her vision as she stumbled around the rear of the engine. Ducking inside the equipment room, she shut the door. It latched into place with a reassuring click. She was completely—and finally—alone.

Pale moonlight filtered in through a small window, enough so Lindsay could see to maneuver. Making a place for herself on the bench, she sat, dropped her head, and did something completely out of character. She cried her heart out.

Time passed. How much, she didn't know. Maybe three minutes, maybe thirty. Without warning, the door opened with a soft swish. Lindsay's head snapped up. A man stood framed in the doorway, his features hidden in shadow. Nonetheless, she recognized him and averted her head so he wouldn't see her tear-stained face. She need not have bothered.

For reasons that defied logic, Matt entered the equipment room and closed the door behind him. Common sense dictated he leave Lindsay alone. Besides the inappropriateness of their being alone together, she obviously didn't want company. Especially his company. Any progress they'd made toward a reconciliation had been wiped clean with one email from Fire Administration.

His first response had been to decline the promotion. He didn't want it, or so he thought, and Lindsay did. But something inside him changed during the course of the day. The congratulatory back slappings and phone calls had felt good. Emotions he hadn't anticipated surfaced: pride and satisfaction foremost among them. He came to realize a part of himself, a larger part than he'd originally suspected, wanted the promotion. Lindsay would still make engineer. Her scores stood for two years and in that time, another position was bound to open up.

He took a step toward her, ignoring the warning bells clanging inside his head. When it came to taking risks, Matt didn't know where to draw the line. He lived on the edge and liked it. If he and Lindsay were caught, and they probably would be, he'd have some interesting explaining to do.

That didn't stop him from advancing another step. “Are you okay?” He spoke in a whisper.

She hunkered down lower and massaged her temples. “I'm fine.” Her voice cracked. “Leave me alone."

"Are you crying?"

"No."

"Yes, you are,” he said in disbelief. He'd never seen Lindsay cry. She kept her calm even during the most horrific disasters.

"What's wrong?"