The Protector (17 page)

“How about a coloring book?”

She reached for more ties and conveniently clipped him on the back of his knees.

“I take it that was a no.”

“How did you ever pass the lieutenant’s exam if you don’t like to study?”

Jack laughed. “I’ve got a good memory and I’m a great talker.”

“I agree with the great talker part.”

“Just to satisfy my curiosity, where do you buy all these books?”

“Estate auctions. Garage sales.”

“You’re a Saturday sales junkie?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m trying not to. Want company some time?” Jack offered.

“Will you carry the books for me?”

“As long as you don’t buy one for me to read.”

She shook her head at him as she smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“True. Cassie?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for today. I’m enjoying it.”

The spider reappeared and she batted it away again. “I’d enjoy it more if you’d quit dangling your spider every time I turn around.”

“What?”

It dropped into her lap.

And rather than lie there, it moved.

She flung out her injured hand and slapped the spider away, sending it sailing across the room. The stool tipped. She would have landed in the tree had Jack not flung out a hand to stop her. Instead of getting a face full of pine needles, she fell backward and came close to hitting the back of her head on the table leg.

“Kill that thing,” she ordered.

Jack went after the spider scurrying away and stepped on it with his foot. Cassie winced, wishing she hadn’t seen that. Wearing shoes was one thing, socks was another.

“Did you hurt your hand?”

She was shaking it to take out the sting. “I caught it on the strand of lights.” Half of the bottom strand of lights she had just struggled to put in place were pulled free.

Jack strode back over. He set the stool upright for her.

She looked at it with disgust. “I think I’ll sit on the floor for a while. I need to fix the bottom row of lights.”

Jack obligingly sat down on the floor beside her. “Let me see your hand first.”

“It’s fine.”

“Cassie—let me see.”

There was an edge of lieutenant in his voice, and the command was hard to ignore. She held out her hand. Two blisters had broken on her thumb. She was ashamed at the mess her hand was in. The blisters lay over older scars that had turned smooth skin into stiff ridges. “I don’t need your pity.”

He looked up, his gaze holding hers. The seriousness never left his eyes but a smile appeared. He curled her fingers closed. “Battle scars don’t bother me.” He tugged at her buttoned shirt cuff. “Any of them. I’ve got a few of my own. In rather embarrassing places.”

He was doing it again, putting a line of humor under what was very serious. “Do you?” she asked, intrigued.

“I sat on a broken bottle once.”

“Sat?”

“Considering I was twelve at the time, sat is more appropriate than lost my balance and tumbled off a railroad tie to land on my tuckus.”

“Sat does sound better.”

He released her hand. “I’ll help with the lights.”

She hesitated, then offered him the twist ties. “I’m sorry I thought that was you dangling the spider.”

“My fault for having done it before.”

“Promise me you’ll never use a lifelike snake.”

Jack leaned his shoulder against hers. “Promise.”

And because he had been nice enough not to laugh at her overreaction to the spider, she leaned back, using his shoulder as a support, and dumped the now tangled Christmas lights into his lap. “Fix this, please.”

Jack warily picked up one end of the mess. “Interesting…”

“No, we are not going out to buy more lights.”

“I just thought it. I didn’t say it.”

“I’m a mind reader.”

“Do I get to help with the popcorn strands?”

“Are you any good with a needle?”

“I’ll learn.”

Cassie looked over at him, skeptical. “Buy yourself a box of Band-Aids. You’ll need them.”

“O ye of little faith.”

“One of us has to be practical.”

“What’s this?” He reached across her and plucked a coin from behind her ear.

“Jack.” She was amused by the simple magic.

He walked the gold coin between his fingers and offered it to her. “Your first Christmas gift.”

It was a gold foil-wrapped piece of chocolate. “I didn’t get you anything.”

She expected him to laugh and make a joke. Instead, he just smiled and picked up the Christmas lights.

He gave gifts. She fingered the piece of chocolate stamped as a coin. “Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.” The word didn’t have enough impact to convey everything she was feeling, but she didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re cute when you’re at a loss for words.” He tugged over the box of decorations. “I’ll flip you for the right to put the angel on top of the tree.”

She sent the piece of chocolate spinning into the air. “Call it.”

“Heads.”

She caught it carefully. He leaned over to look. “I won.”

She turned over the coin. “It’s a two-headed coin.”

“Well, what do you know—”

Fifteen

C
ole had said be early. Cassie was early. According to the clock on her car dash, which was known for its creative timekeeping when the weather was cold—and this Thursday morning certainly qualified—it was just after 6
A.M.
She was back on shift work. Wide awake at five o’clock, the choice between killing time at home or going to work had been simple. She’d even rushed through breakfast; the old habit of rolling out of bed, grabbing gear, and heading to the station still was ingrained in her thinking.

Where to park had been a problem. She was missing a department sticker for the car bumper to use the official lot but ran a bigger risk of having her car towed if she parked in the visitors’ lot for the duration of the twenty-four-hour shift. She compromised by taking Cole’s parking place. There was a good chance he was driving the district vehicle and wouldn’t need the assigned parking space anyway. If he did…he could find her.

He would certainly know it was her car. Not only had he driven it from the fire scene for her, but he’d left a Post-it note on the rearview mirror suggesting she might want to rethink listening to Saules Trie at full volume. The local band was making a name for itself, and after months in the hospital she’d unwittingly become a fan because the FM radio station DJ was also a fan.

Cassie unlocked the trunk and shoved a box of books out of the way so she could get hold of her duffel bag. She’d bought it at the army surplus store because the canvas bag could easily be tossed into the wash.

She was starting to get nervous. She tugged the cuffs of her jacket down before picking up the duffel bag. The next twenty-four hours were going to be as tough as the day she had arrived at her first station assignment as a rookie.

She’d tried to brace herself for the reaction her presence would trigger. From the firefighters, she knew there would be an overeager effort to show the burns didn’t bother them. From those who had only heard about her, it would be an awkward fascination. Eventually they would work up the courage to ask her to tell them about what had happened.

There would be uncertainty over what to say around the kitchen table. Fire crews joked about what they feared, and the dark jokes about fire were legendary. She’d told a few herself during her years at the table. She knew there would be humor that would miss the mark.

For herself—she was worried about her hearing. It was difficult following conversations when she was in a noisy environment. It was acutely embarrassing to try and have a conversation with someone and have to admit she was only able to make out every other word. Concrete floors, large rooms, a constant level of background noise—the fire station was the definition of a place that would give her problems.

Most of the guys had no idea how poor her hearing had become, especially in her right ear. The first time someone called her name and she didn’t hear them— She just hoped she didn’t come across as rude if it happened.

She had one goal for this first day back on shift: surviving it.

“Morning, Cassie.”

She looked up, startled to see Lieutenant Ben Rohr, the head of Black Shift, appear. “Lieutenant.”

His smile was welcoming. “Be glad you came early. There are homemade cinnamon rolls coming out of the oven.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

He took the two straining garbage bags he carried over to the dumpster. The trash was just one of many housekeeping chores done before the shift change. She wasn’t surprised to see him pitching in with the housekeeping. The best lieutenants led by being willing to do every job. She waited for him. Ben had seen the department through years of transitions; she was curious to know what he thought of the arson fires.

“How’s the hand?” He offered to take her duffel bag for her.

The swelling had disappeared. The blisters had begun to callus over. It was healing. “Stiff.”

“Cole is here somewhere.” He held the steel door for her. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“We cleared a locker for you. Unpack, get settled in, then come join us for breakfast. I’ll introduce you around.”

A breakfast conversation would be perfect. Ben was heading off duty with the shift change. “Is everyone already up?” She knew how precious those last hours of sleep were before the eight o’clock shift change. It was rare for a firefighter to get a full night’s sleep.

There was no getting around the fact the dorm rooms were near the equipment bays. When those massive doors rose and vehicle lights came on, sleep stopped, at least long enough to notice the time of night. Even at the smaller station where she had worked, at least one or two dispatches a night were a given.

“A car accident shortly after five woke the station.”

Cassie hung up her coat on an empty hook in the walkway. A yellow caution sign was out to remind people the hall had been mopped recently.

They passed the kitchen. Two firefighters were debating how crisp to cook the bacon and a small group had taken up station near the coffeepot. The rich smell of baking cinnamon rolls hung in the air. The kitchen was always the center of social life at a fire station, the place to linger and talk. “Thanks, Ben.” She accepted her duffel bag and turned toward the women’s dorm room.

“Cassie.” Cole appeared from the equipment bay. “I saw your car. Dump your bag and come on through. I’ve got some gear for you to try on. Ben, grab her some coffee? She takes it sweet, but not as sweet as you.”

Cassie wanted to laugh as she obediently set down her duffel bag and hurried to catch up with Cole. He had never been a boss to let time slip by.

“I want to get your gear straightened out and then talk through the plan for today with Frank. I’m heading over to the scene of the last fire after roll call, and I want you to come with me and talk me through the report you gave of that night.”

Her idea that she’d get a rather leisurely chance to settle in went out the window; it sounded like she would be racing to keep up with Cole today.

She hesitated when she saw the gear Cole was heading toward. Her fire coat had saved her life even if it hadn’t been able to prevent all of the burns. There was a new one waiting for her. Her old helmet was there, the Company 65 markings still present, and by the look of it her old fire pants. She’d handled a road crew accident where hot asphalt was being laid and the black tar had permanently adhered to the left pant leg.

She had known Cole would not let her ride along as a spectator. She would be rolling out to fire scenes and for safety’s sake would have to be in gear in order to stay with the captain. She thought she was prepared for it, but the emotions came stronger than she was ready for. Difficult rescues, out of control fires, numerous drills—so many years of her life were captured in that gear.

“I wasn’t sure about the fire boots. I had several sizes sent over.”

“Nines,” she said absently, her attention focusing on what she had just seen. Cole had set out the self-contained breathing apparatus. The nightmare flashed by. She hadn’t worn a mask since the fire. She’d come close to suffocating because her air tank had run to empty.

Ash had saved her life by risking his own and buddy breathing with her, hoping that help could reach them before he too heard warning chimes. She didn’t know if she could handle facing that sensation of breathing on canister air. Using SCBA gear wasn’t as simple as the public often thought.

“You need to be able to use it just in case,” Cole said quietly. “You’re rolling out to fire calls.”

“I know.”

Faced with picking up the fire coat with her healing left hand or her weaker right arm, she reached for it with her right hand. Heavy, stiff, the nomex cloth feeling like thick rubber, she pulled it on, reaching out of habit for the clips near the collar. Tossing the collar up, she fastened the top button of the coat and worked her way downward. She worked the cinch of the belt tight. When this coat was broken in she wouldn’t have to fight the way it lay. Equipment weight would help the material pull and eventually relax.