Fan the Flames (13 page)

Ian shuffled through the bin of gloves again. “Looks that way. We're not prepared for someone with mini-hands.”

“I have perfectly normal-sized hands,” she huffed, placing the oversized gloves on her hips.

Giving up his search, he returned the bin to a shelf and walked over to her. With a teasing look, he wrapped his fingers around her elbows and slid his hands down to hers. Lifting her suddenly tingling hands, he pretended to examine them seriously. “For a toddler, maybe.”

Although he'd touched only her coat sleeves and gloves, heat rushed through her, and she struggled to find a comeback. Even casual contact with Ian short-circuited her brain. “I'll have you know—” To her relief, since she had no idea what she'd been about to say, Rory was interrupted by Lou sticking her head into the doorway.

“Hey, guys. Callum wants to know if you have one of those magnetic pick-up tools in here somewhere?” Lou asked. “Jonah dropped some critical part into the engine compartment of the dive van. Callum would come look himself, but the chaos in here hurts his soul, and the chief has banned him from reorganizing. I guess no one could find anything after the last time he did that.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, reluctantly dropping Rory's hands before skirting some piles of miscellaneous stuff, a stack of rolled hoses, and a power washer to get to the back shelves. “I think there's one in the toolbox over here.”

As he searched, Lou raised her eyebrows at Rory. “So?” she mouthed.

Rory just stared at her. “What?”

Rolling her eyes, Lou pointed at Ian's back and then at Rory, before doing a finger shuffle that Rory couldn't translate. She did catch the general gist, though, and it made her blush. Since there was no way in the universe that Rory could answer the question implied by Lou's charades, she just shrugged and glanced at Ian, mentally begging him to hurry.

As if he'd heard her silent plea, he turned around, magnetic tool in hand, and picked his way back to them.

“Here.” Ian offered it to Lou, glancing between the two women, which made Rory blush even harder. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison, making Ian's frown deepen.

“Thanks, Ian.” Lou gave a mischievous grin and ducked out of the room, leaving Rory to dodge Ian's suspicious glare.

“What?” she finally asked.

“You tell me.”

“This conversation is making no sense.”

“Rory. Good.” Chief Early's voice in the doorway made Rory's shoulders sag with relief. “Glad you're here. I have some paperwork for you—if you're interested in being an official volunteer firefighter, that is.”

“Sure.” She hadn't made the conscious decision until that moment, but the agreement popped out of her mouth without hesitation. Being around other people wasn't as painfully awkward as she'd expected. She could even picture herself getting along with most of them. The strange thing was that the other firefighters—some of them, anyway—actually seemed to
like
her. The idea of having real, live friends was tempting and panic inducing at the same time.

“You all set with gear?” the chief asked, eyeing her enormous gloves.

“Think so.” Rory held up her hands. “These are a little big, but everything else should work.”

“Once you're done with your probationary period, we'll order everything sized to your measurements.” He pushed the door open wider and tipped his head. “Come on. All the paperwork's in my office.”

She followed the chief out of the storage room, the back of her neck prickling from Ian's gaze. With an enormous effort, she didn't look back at him.

* * *

The first two hours were quiet. While Soup and Ian tinkered with the engine of one of the tenders, she and Junior cleaned and organized all the compartments in the rescue trucks. It was useful, since she got a hands-on lesson on what was where. She hoped she could remember once the adrenaline was pumping when they were on-scene at a call. Jack had stretched out near a heater and fallen asleep.

One-on-one, Junior was a lot more laid-back than he was when surrounded by his buddies. To her surprise, Rory found it easy to make conversation with him as they worked. They were deep in a friendly argument about the must-have contents of a bug-out bag when the guys' portable radios blared in unison.

When the tones quieted, the dispatcher's voice announced, “Medical call at 4689 Deer Chase Court. Complainant is a sixty-eight-year-old female, having trouble breathing. She has a history of COPD. Simpson Fire, do you copy?”

Al Zarnecki, the lieutenant on duty, acknowledged the call, while the others donned their gear with the speed and ease of much practice. Rory's stomach lurched with nerves as she hurried to collect her helmet. Station One was chilly, so she'd kept on all of her gear—except for the Muppet gloves. Those she stuck in one of the many pockets covering her coat.

Jack had raised his head when the radios sounded, and Rory called him over to the training room. Once he was shut safely inside, she headed for the rescue truck that Ian had started. The overhead doors were opening, allowing in the cold wind. Despite her bunker gear, Rory shivered as she climbed into the truck, sliding over to the center so Soup could sit on her right.

The other rescue truck, with Al and Junior on board, rolled out first. Ian followed, activating the lights and sirens as he turned onto the street.

“We haven't heard from Letty in a while,” Soup said over the chatter on the radio. The EMTs in Med-One were asking for Flight for Life to be on stand-by. “I was starting to think she'd died on us.”

Rory glanced at Soup. “You've been there before?”

“Oh yeah.” He grimaced. “Just wait.”

The dispatcher spoke again. “Rescue One, Rescue Two. The complainant warned that her driveway is drifted over and is probably not passable.”

Ian and Soup groaned in unison as Soup reached for the radio mic. He waited until a grim-sounding Al acknowledged the information, and then said, “Rescue Two copies.” He released the button on the mic. “Think we should go back for the sleds?”

Tapping his finger against the steering wheel as he thought, Ian finally shook his head. “Letty's driveway isn't that long. It'll take more time to hook up the snowmobile trailer than it will to walk from the road.”

“But I want to play with the sleds,” Soup whined, although he was smirking.

“Watch it,” Ian warned. “You might get your wish. Lots of winter left.”

Ian followed the first rescue truck onto the highway and immediately accelerated.

“Are we not going as fast as last time,” Rory asked after a minute, “or am I just getting used to it?”

Soup laughed. “Don't get him started.” When Rory looked at him curiously, he tipped his head toward Ian. “Beauty here thinks Al's a granny driver.”

“He is,” Ian grumbled, frowning through the windshield. “I get it if there's a blizzard, but the highway is dry right now. Why is he driving like an elderly tourist?”

They only went another mile before turning onto a side road. It was snowpacked and narrow, but Ian still complained about Al's speed. Rory was silently glad Al was in front of them. It was nerve-racking enough to fly down the highway with Ian at the wheel. She didn't want to see how fast he'd take the slick side street.

When they turned again, it was onto an even snowier and narrower road. The truck in front of them stopped in front of a gate, and Junior jumped out and ran to open it. If the gate wasn't there, Rory wouldn't have known there was a driveway under the drifted snow.

“Are we going to try to drive down there?” she asked, frowning at the white stretching out in front of them. A small cabin sat about a tenth of a mile away from the gate, surrounded by a sea of unbroken drifts.

“Let's see what the LT does,” Ian said.

Soup grinned. “Hey, we didn't get to go snowmobiling, but we might get to do some four-wheeling.”

With a huff of laughter, Ian said, “And then we'll get to dig the rescue out of the snow.”

“You're always such a Debbie Downer,” Soup complained, making Rory laugh.

“I have to be.” Ian shot the other man a look. “Since you're Little Miss Sunshine all the time, I need to balance you out.”

Leaning closer to the windshield, Soup said, “I think he's going for it.”

They all watched as the rescue rolled forward, plowing into the snow.

“He should've gotten a running start.” Soup tsked. “They need more momentum.”

“I don't think it's that deep,” Ian countered. “They're still moving.”

“Twenty bucks says they don't make it halfway.”

“You're on.”

Soup looked at Rory. “Do you want to throw some money into the pot?”

After eyeing the snow still in front of the rescue, she said, “Sure. I think they're going to make it to the cabin.”

They all leaned forward, watching as the truck foundered, backed up, and then plowed forward again without getting stuck that time.

“Aren't you going in after them?” Rory asked.

Shaking his head, Ian said, “Unlike Granny Al, I'm going to take it fast. I'll wait until they're stuck or all the way to the cabin. If they get stuck, we'll walk, so the ambulance can get as close as possible.”

“Halfway,” Rory said as the rescue truck rolled forward through the snow.

“Damn it.” Soup didn't sound too upset. “I think you might be the winner, Rory. The worst of the drifts are behind them.”

Sure enough, the rescue rolled to a stop in front of the cabin.

“Ready?” Ian asked, and Rory groaned, making him laugh.

He flew through the gate, following the tracks of the other truck as he plowed through the drifts. It felt as if the rear of the rescue had a mind of its own, sliding sideways in the snow before gaining traction and rocketing the truck forward.

Rory closed her eyes and then snapped them open again. It was worse just feeling the motion and not being able to see. When they pulled up next to the other rescue, Al and Junior were waiting for them.

“You didn't go in yet?” Soup asked as he hopped out of the truck, landing shin-deep in snow. There was a false sweetness to his voice that made Rory suspicious, especially when Al and Junior bit back grins.

“Rory gets to go in first,” Al said, gesturing her forward.

“Hey.” Ian didn't sound happy, which made her nervous. What exactly was waiting for her inside?

“It's a rite of passage.” Soup nudged her toward the snow-covered steps. “We all went through this. Now it's Rory's turn.”

Whatever was in there, Rory could tell she wasn't going to like it.

Reminding herself that a woman was struggling to breathe inside that cabin, she forced herself to the front door and knocked.

“Fire department,” Al called in a booming voice.

“Go on in,” Soup told her.

She opened the door, stepping inside the cabin as her stomach churned with nerves.

The smell hit her like a bullet from a .45. It was cigarettes and body odor and feces and urine, mixed with the stench of decomposing garbage. Even though she immediately started breathing through her mouth, the smell was bad enough to bring bile up into the back of her throat.

Someone behind her gave her a gentle push, and she took several steps forward until she stood in the middle of a tiny, extremely dirty kitchen. There was trash everywhere, with food sitting on the counters and small kitchen table, and piles of junk lining the narrow hall. Since Letty wasn't in the kitchen, Rory moved down the narrow passageway.

“It looks like your storage room,” Rory said, and then immediately regretted speaking, because it required her to take a deeper breath of the foul air than she really cared to inhale.

“Very funny,” Ian said.

Al again bellowed, “Fire department!”

There was a strange sound, and Rory cocked her head to listen. It was a high-pitched, vibrating tone, sometimes louder and sometimes softer. “What's that noise?”

“That's Enrique,” Soup said, not very helpfully. “Turn right. Letty, we're coming in!”

There was a faint sound of acknowledgment. Reaching to grasp the knob Soup indicated, Rory twisted it and pushed open the door.

A tiny missile flew at her, latching its jaws around her pant leg. Rory tried to take a step back, but the guys were surging into the room, pushing her in ahead of them. Staring down at the Chihuahua hanging off the fabric covering her shin, she asked, “Enrique?”

“Enrique,” Soup confirmed, nudging her to the side. “Letty, put out that cigarette. You're going to blow us all to kingdom come.”

“I don't have many pleasures in life,” the woman lying on the couch wheezed. She was wrapped in a yellow blanket that had several stains that Rory didn't want to examine too closely. “I'll smoke if I damn well want to.”

“You're on oxygen,” Al said, nodding toward the tank sitting on the floor next to the couch. “You can't smoke when you're on oxygen.”

Without a word, she blew out a stream of smoke, glaring at the lieutenant through the haze.

“Letty, if you don't put that out right now, we're leaving,” Ian snapped.

Grumbling under her breath, she dropped the cigarette in a jar of yellow liquid. As horrified suspicions of what was in that jar crept into Rory's brain, the dog hanging off her pants gave another muffled growl. She looked down at him and gave her leg a shake, but he managed to keep his grip. It was kind of impressive. The tiny dog must have had the jaw strength of a pit bull.

Junior started asking Letty questions about her health history as he pulled a blood-pressure cuff from the bag he'd brought in with him. Letty levered herself into a seated position, and the blanket slid down to her lap, revealing her naked, sagging torso.

Quickly looking back to the dog still clinging to her like a Christmas-tree ornament, she focused on trying to detach Enrique from her pants. Although she knew she would need to get used to seeing naked people if she was going to be a volunteer first responder, this was only her second call. She wasn't quite ready for full-frontal yet. She'd rather look at the dog.

“I'm going to make sure the ambulance makes it down the driveway,” Soup said in a strangled voice as he hurried from the room.

“I'll…uh, supervise.” Al darted after him.

“Thanks, LT!” Junior called after him as he wrapped the cuff around Letty's upper arm. “I appreciate the support and leadership!”

When Rory gave her leg another gentle shake, it brought another round of high-pitched growling, but didn't dislodge the dog. His tenacity was beginning to concern her. She pictured having the Chihuahua as a permanent accessory.

“Um…will Enrique eventually let go?” Rory asked, her gaze darting to Ian, since she was avoiding looking at Letty, and Junior was a little too close to naked boobs for Rory to focus on him.

“Just let him hang out there,” Ian said, eyeing the dog with an amused twist to his lips. “That'll keep him out of the way until we're done here.”

“Out of everyone else's way, maybe,” she muttered, but managed to resist another, more strenuous leg shake.

“It's called taking one for the team,” Junior added before relaying Letty's blood pressure, pulse, and respiration numbers over his portable radio.

With a sigh, Rory asked, “Can I help with anything?”

“You're on dog duty.” Ian grinned at her. “That's your job.”

“This one new?” Letty's question made Rory automatically look at the other woman, which she immediately regretted. The blanket had slipped down farther, revealing pretty much everything that should've been covered.

“Uh, yes,” she answered, fixing her gaze firmly on Letty's face.

“Huh,” Letty grunted. “When did they start accepting women?”

Rory blinked. “I'm a volunteer. I think they take anyone who's willing to do this for free.”

Making a displeased face, Letty reached for her pack of cigarettes. “You're not eye candy like the rest of them. Especially not like that one.” She jerked her chin toward Ian.

“Letty! No smoking,” Ian snapped, and the older woman's hand yanked back, away from the smokes. Although she scowled at him, Letty left the cigarette pack alone.

The sound of boots clomping down the hallway brought Rory's head around. Two EMTs came through the doorway. By the expressions on their faces—a mixture of resignation and distaste—both had dealt with Letty before.

“Hey, Letty,” the female EMT said, leading the way into the room. “Having some trouble breathing, huh?”

Letty glared at her. “Didn't I tell you not to come back here?”

“Sorry.” The EMT shrugged, not looking at all put out by her patient's animosity. “It's like what they say in kindergarten. ‘You get who you get, and you don't throw a fit.'”

The male EMT, tall with dark hair peeking out from under his stocking hat, eyed the Chihuahua decorating Rory's pants and grinned. “You got dog duty, huh?”

“How could you tell?” she asked dryly, glancing down at Enrique. He was still holding strong.

The EMT laughed as he moved toward Letty. Junior rattled off her history, symptoms, and vitals before backing off and letting the two newcomers take over her care.

“So,” Junior asked quietly as he moved next to her. “How do you like the glamorous life of a firefighter so far?”

Enrique growled.

“It's…uh”—she glanced down at the dog—“interesting.”

* * *

After everything, Letty decided she didn't need to go to the hospital. Rory thought her wheezing breaths were alarming, but the EMTs both agreed with their patient. Ian produced some venison jerky and used it to coax Enrique into releasing his grip on Rory's pants. To her relief, it worked. With the meat clamped in his jaws, he ran behind the couch, growling the entire way.

“She's no worse than she usually is,” the dark-haired EMT, who introduced himself as Scott, told her once they'd left the house. “I think she calls us when she gets lonely out here.”

Rory studied him thoughtfully. “The eye-candy brigade.”

“What?” Scott laughed.

Flushing, Rory explained, “Letty said I'm not eye candy like the rest of you. Um, them.”

Leaning in closer, Scott lowered his voice. “Why, Rory. Are you calling me hot?”

“What?” She stared at him in horror, taking a step back. “No! Why would… I mean, of course not.”

When he started to laugh again, she turned away and plunged through the snow toward Rescue Two, ignoring Scott calling after her. Climbing into the warm cab was a relief, as both an escape from the cold night air and Scott's…she didn't know what.

Frigid air swirled into the cab as Ian climbed into the driver's seat. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” she snapped, hating that she was embarrassed and confused about why.

“What was that about?”

With an exasperated huff, she tossed her hands in the air. “I have no idea. He was being weird.”

“He was hitting on you.”

Rory glared at him. “He was not.”

Real humor was absent from his laugh. “Want to bet?”

“No.” After a moment, she added, “If he was, that was inappropriate.”

“Why?” Ian eyed her curiously. “Because we're on a call?”

“I don't know.” Shrugging uncomfortably, she stared out the windshield at the snow lit by the truck's headlights. “More because that house was so gross and Letty was naked.”

This time, Ian's chuckle actually sounded amused. “Yeah. Both kind of put you off the idea of sex, don't they?”

“Plus, I'm not interested in
him
.”

“Good.” The single word was thick with male satisfaction.

Her flush burned her cheeks as she stared even harder through the glass in front of them. Rory had no response to that, even if she could have shoved any words past the blockage in her throat.

He laughed again, softly. Something about the husky edge to the sound made her blush flame even hotter. To her relief, Soup yanked open the passenger-side door.

“That place is disgusting. It gets worse every time. Can't someone do something about the state of that house?” he grumbled as he settled his body in the seat next to Rory.

“The county knows about it,” Ian said, watching as Al drove the other rescue truck toward the gate.

“What's the problem? Not enough jars of piss in the living room?”

Rory groaned. “I thought that's what the yellow liquid was, but I didn't really want to know for sure. Thanks, Soup, for confirming that.”

“No problem.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Just sharing the love. Nice job with the dog, by the way.”

“That was the ‘rite of passage' you guys were talking about?”

“Yep.” Grinning, he settled back against the seat. “Don't worry, though. There are more to come.”

“Great.” Although she rolled her eyes, there was a warmth in her belly that had nothing to do with the truck's heater. Maybe there was something to this whole “family” thing.

* * *

After they helped an elderly man push his Buick out of a snowy ditch and responded to a wildland fire sighting that ended up being someone's porch light, there weren't any more calls for the rest of their shift. By the time they headed out to the parking lot, Rory was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. The early-morning sun reflected off the Bronco's shiny bits, making her squint. As she opened the back hatch so Jack could hop into the SUV, she couldn't hold back a jaw-popping yawn.

“Up for breakfast?” Ian asked.

Rory yawned again. “Mind if we get a few hours of sleep first? I'm afraid I'd doze off and face-plant into my pancakes.”

“Sure.” He opened the passenger door for her, waiting until all her limbs were safely inside before shutting it. Leaning her head back against the seat, she allowed her eyes to close.

The next thing she knew, someone was nudging her. With a groan, she peeled open her heavy eyelids just enough to see it was Ian bugging her…yet again.

“Why do you keep waking me up?” she complained, fumbling to unbuckle her seat belt.

Reaching across her body, Ian unfastened the belt. His nearness enveloped her in his scent, bringing her to full, instant wakefulness. She started leaning closer, but he stepped back. With a regretful but silent sigh, she climbed out of the SUV.

“Because you keep falling asleep on me,” he said. “I'm starting to get a complex.”

Despite her flustered awareness, Rory had to grin as she headed for the door. At the thought of the exposed, too-bright guest room, though, her smile faded as she slowed her steps.

“What's wrong?” Ian asked, resting a hand on her lower back to nudge her forward when she slowed to turtle pace.

“Nothing. Just the windows.” As soon as the words were out, she flushed. Being around Ian made her a little too honest.

“We'll figure out something,” he said, urging her toward the door only to stop abruptly.

She glanced at his furious face before following his gaze to the skinny piece of green plastic looped over the doorknob. “What is that?”

“Get inside,” Ian ordered tersely, looking around as he crowded close to her. He unlocked the door and ripped the plastic circle off the knob before urging her into the kitchen. Once inside, he locked the door, tucked her into a corner, and told her to stay. Normally, she would've made a sharp comment about how she wasn't Jack, but Ian's furiously determined expression kept her silent as he searched the house.

After what felt like a very long time to her jittery stomach, Ian returned to the kitchen, looking no less enraged.

“What is it?” She stared at the piece of plastic lying on the floor.

With a wordless, angry sound, Ian swept it up and crammed it into the garbage under the sink. “It's Billy, trying to scare us.”

“What?”

Ian closed his eyes for a second, looking like he was attempting to calm down. “A glow-stick. That was Rave's thing. If someone pissed him off, he'd leave a glow-stick.”

“But…” Frowning, Rory pictured the harmless-looking item that had been hanging from Ian's doorknob. “How is that scary?”

A muscle twitched on his jaw. “It was a message. Rave would be back to end whoever got a glow-stick.”

“Oh.” Her fingers were shaking, so she jammed them into her coat pockets to hide their revealing tremors. “So Billy's saying he's going to kill us.”

Suddenly, Ian was in front of her, cupping her face in both hands. “He won't hurt you,” he promised fiercely. “I won't let him even get near you.”

She stared at him, startled and touched by his intensity, by how determined he was to keep her safe. “I believe you,” she said, and she meant it.

“Okay.” Blowing out a hard breath, he let his hands drop to his sides. “Okay. Are you going to be able to sleep after this?” He gestured toward the closed cabinet hiding the trash can where the glow-stick resided.

The adrenaline was fading, and she felt exhaustion creeping back in. “No windows?”

“No windows.”

“Then yes.”

During the short time she was in the bathroom, Ian managed to turn his closet into a bedroom.

“Will that work?” Ian asked, frowning.

“Perfect.” She was so tired that she was swaying in place. Anything horizontal would've looked perfect to her.

“Sure?” He glanced between her face and the makeshift bed. “I feel kind of rude having you sleep on the floor in the closet.”

“It's a big closet. Plus, the camping mattress is a huge step up from yesterday.”

Ian had made a bed out of an inflatable mattress and a sleeping bag on the floor of the master closet. She hadn't been lying when she'd said it was big. It could probably sleep a family of eight comfortably.

“It still doesn't feel right—” Ian started, but Rory cut him off.

“Please,” she begged. “I'm so tired. Can I sleep now?”

He stopped glaring at the closet bed and looked at her. “Sure.” Taking a step closer, he leaned in until she could feel his breath warm her lips. She went still, wondering if
this
would be the time he kissed her. His addictive scent surrounded her, making her realize how familiar it was becoming—familiar and comforting. Oddly enough, as much as he made her heart race, he calmed her, too. He moved, and she held her breath, but he only brushed his lips against her cheek. “Sleep tight.”