Flames of Love Page 2

  “How long have you worked here, James?” Jaxson asked. A non-confrontational topic was best; a good way to head off…whatever this was.

  “I don’t. I’m a volunteer. You’re the only one who works here.” The sneer in his voice was almost palpable as he spat the words out.

  Jaxson’s spine stiffened. This James guy needed to take it down a notch, and pronto. Jaxson wasn’t used to having people sneer at him, and he wasn’t about to start letting it happen now.

  Outwardly, he concentrated on projecting an aura of calm. He couldn’t let James know he was getting under his skin. James would only needle harder if he got a rise out of him. All bullies operated the same way – they liked the reactions.

  Jaxson wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of one.

  “You’re right,” he said evenly, keeping his gaze firmly locked on James’. He had a scruffy, longer gray-white beard and a significant potbelly. In the right costume, James would make a perfect Santa. Well, in the right costume and with a personality change. “So how long have you been a volunteer here?”

  “Twenty-two years. I was Chief Horvath’s right-hand man for pert near all of it.”

  Oh.

  It all snapped into place. Chief Horvath had retired, which was why the city had an open position for Jaxson to apply for, but instead of hiring the previous chief’s right-hand man, the city had chosen an outsider.

  Oh Lordy. I’m in for it now.

  “Then you’ll have plenty of knowledge you can share with me to help me learn the ropes,” Jaxson said calmly, trying not to let his worry show. He’d inadvertently walked into a personnel fight between the City of Sawyer and James the Right-Hand Man.

  It wasn’t Jaxson’s fault, but it was about to become his problem.

  James let out a bitter laugh. “If you think I’m gonna help you learn the job that was rightfully mine and stolen from me after years of hard work and dedication, you’re an even bigger dumbass than I thought you were. Robert, let’s go. We have deliveries to make. Some people have to work for a living.” He spun on his thick work boot heel and headed for the door, a skinny older man following right behind him. The door slammed shut behind them, the sound ricocheting off the rafters.

  Well, at least he didn’t mumble his thoughts to me…

  Chapter 4

  Jaxson

  Jaxson sat at his desk, staring at the mountains of paperwork in front of him. Somehow, when he’d been a kid and had daydreamed about fighting fires and wrestling with fire hoses, he’d skipped right past all of the paperwork that he’d have to fill out as a firefighter.

  Correction: As a fire chief. As a regular ol’ firefighter in Boise, he’d been pretty paperwork-free. He wasn’t entirely onboard with this new way of life quite yet, honestly. Too bad he really had no choice in the matter.

  He looked at the ticking, utilitarian clock on the wall. 7:17 a.m. He’d had the dumbass idea of showing up to work early so he could wrestle the stacks of paperwork that littered every available spot in the cramped office to the ground and win a round, dammit. He’d forced himself to start in on the dusty stacks of papers yesterday afternoon, until Moose had stopped by and casually mentioned that Chief Horvath had quit filing paperwork months before his retirement party, because he’d thought that the new chief would “need the practice.”

  Pissed, Jaxson had lost all desire to continue the paper-sorting project after that announcement.

  Now, Jaxson groaned in frustration as he looked around the dirty, small office. Chief Horvath was like every other red-blooded male out there – he hated paperwork, and so he’d chosen to use his upcoming retirement as an excuse to ditch his duties off onto someone else. Full stop. Jaxson was just the lucky soul who happened to be that “someone.”

  Jaxson pulled a file folder off the top of a precarious stack that had “Grant” scrawled across the tab in what Jaxson was starting to recognize as Horvath’s distinctive handwriting. He flipped it open and began scanning through it. Apparently, the firetruck in the bay was a fairly new addition for the fire department. He scanned down the specs, his mouth twisting in disappointment as he read. The size of the tank seemed awfully small, as did the length of the hose. It didn’t even have a ladder on it. The department had bought brand-spanking-new – which was unusual for a small fire department to do, to say the least – and it looked like a whole lot of the money was spent on flash rather than substance.

  He’d been told that the department owned another fire truck, but that it was down at the John Deere dealership, getting some repairs done to help limp it along. He was curious what kind of shape it was in. From what he could gather, it was quite old, but if the water tank was large, it might actually be more helpful in the case of a fire than the shiny new toy currently parked in the bay.

  Hopefully, Moose would be able to bring it back to the bay soon so he could do a full inspec—

  His black, handheld radio sitting on the counter squawked, startling Jaxson half out of his chair. “Fire down at the old Horvath mill,” said an older man, urgency clear in his voice. “Calling all EMTs and fire personnel to respond. Repeat, fire down at the old Horvath mill.”

  Jaxson froze, half-in, half-out of his chair, staring at the radio. Horvath Mill? As in Chief Horvath? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Today was his third day on the job, and he’d only had the one get-together with the other firefighters that first morning. He barely even knew where the damn keys were at for the damn firetruck. This was not going to go well.

  He’d been called out on countless runs as a fireman in Boise. He knew just what to do there. There was structure and rules and a process in place. Here, he was the only full-time employee. Was he supposed to wait for the other firemen to show up before he answered the call? Was he supposed to drive over right away and they’d meet him over there?

  His mind raced through the possibilities. All of the other firemen had full-time jobs. For all he knew, it could be an hour before they were able to get away and come to the station. If he sat there and waited and twiddled his thumbs…

  He jumped to his feet, the chair shooting out behind him and crashing into a decrepit filing cabinet, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Apparently, Chief Horvath didn’t just ignore filing. Jaxson choked and coughed as he grabbed the phone off his desk and quickly dialed the city dispatch phone number that someone had conveniently taped to the wall above the phone. He heard a weird beeping noise, and then…nothing.

  Oh. Dammit. He was probably supposed to dial 9 first. He slammed the phone into the receiver and picked it up again, this time dialing 9 and then the number.

  “Sawyer City Dispatch,” an older male barked. It sounded like the same guy on the radio. Good. Jaxson could ask questions without broadcasting them to the whole city.

  “This is Chief Anderson. Where is the Horvath Mill?”

  “Main Street,” the man snorted, his disdain clear. He obviously thought he was dealing with an idiot. “Down by the high school. Big brick building. You can’t miss it. Especially with flames shooting out of it.”

  Click.

  The dispatcher had hung up.

  Jaxson bit down hard on his cheek until he tasted blood. He wanted to call dispatch back and inform the man that just because he hadn’t lived in the same tiny, one-horse town all his life didn’t mean that he deserved to be treated like an idiot, and street addresses were a thing, and…

  But he stopped himself.

  He couldn’t do it.

  Well, he could. But he wouldn’t. Antagonizing the grumpy dispatcher further would only exacerbate the problem.

  He looked through his interior office window out into the bay, the small red gleaming truck sitting there, waiting for him to drive it to the rescue.

  He felt that familiar adrenaline rush through him at the thought. This was why he’d become a firefighter. Not to fill out grant applications or file paperwork, for God’s sake, but to put out fires. To help people. Maybe it meant he had a hero complex. He didn’t
know, and didn’t care.

  All he knew was that it made him feel damn good. It was time to get to work.

  As he was shrugging on his turnout gear, the bulk and weight of it as comforting as it was oppressive, the side door to the bay opened and in walked a younger kid – maybe 18 or 19? – who hadn’t said much at the meet-and-greet the other morning. Dixon? David? No, it was Dylan. Jaxson raised his hand in greeting, and the kid waved back, a grin breaking out over his face.

  “I was on my way out to Luke’s place when my radio went off,” the kid said as he hurried over to where the turnout gear was stored. “I’ve never been called out to a real fire before! Oh, and my boss says he’ll be here shortly.”

  “Who’s your boss again?” Jaxson asked as he slid his feet into his boots.

  “Luke Nash. He’s a volunteer, too. He couldn’t come the other morning. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet or not. His foreman is Ol’ Willie. Ol’ Willie is my uncle. Luke hired me ‘cause Ol’ Willie is getting old and needed help on the farm. Ol’ Willie used to be a volunteer here too, but isn’t anymore. His back is getting bad. His hip is gonna need surgery soon, too.”

  Jaxson’s head spun. The kid talked a million miles a minute. Keeping up with his story and who was related to what was probably going to require a flow chart.

  And no adrenaline rushing through his veins.

  Jaxson settled for nodding his head abruptly. “Do you guys normally meet up here and then head over to the fire? Or do you drive separately to a fire and just meet up over there?”

  Dylan shrugged. “This is my first fire,” he reminded Jaxson. Right. He’d just said that. If Jaxson’s heart wasn’t racing so much, he would’ve caught that.

  “Well, you’re here and I’m here. I say we get over there and put this fire out. Do you know where the mill is?”

  “Of course,” Dylan said, shooting him a confused glance. “Down on Main Street. You can’t miss it.”

  Jaxson nodded again, ignoring that last comment. If people in this tiny-ass town were going to continue to insist on treating him like an idiot because he didn’t know every nook and cranny of a town he’d just barely moved to, he was gonna have to spend his off-hours driving around town, trying to memorize every block of it.

  The sooner the better.

  He was an outsider, and it seemed like every soul in town was not about to let him forget that.

  “Ready?” he asked Dylan, who nodded, helmet and mask tucked under his arm. “Then let’s go.”

  Jaxson grimaced as he glanced up at the utilitarian clock ticking away on the wall as he headed for the gleaming row of keys. He’d have to focus damn hard on decreasing response times. Even if there were no full-time firefighters on staff other than him, and certainly no firefighters living at the firehouse 24 hours at a time, they still needed to be able to get out the door at a reasonable speed. This messing around shit wasn’t gonna work.

  He snagged the keyring with the creative label of “New truck” and heaved himself up into the cab of the fire engine to start it. The diesel engine came to life, settling down into a dull roar after a few seconds. He hit the garage door opener, and the overhead bay door slowly began to rise, revealing a white, frozen wonderland outside. Dylan jumped up into the passenger seat, yanking the door shut behind him.

  With a nod to Dylan, Jaxson shifted into first gear and pulled forward. At least the crew here was in the habit of backing into the bay when parking the truck, so he wasn’t forced to back out of the bay when rushing to get to a fire.

  Some good habits were in place. That was a start.

  He hit the siren switch, the lights and siren flaring to life. This. This was what he lived for.

  Chapter 5

  Sugar

  Sugar listened to the excited chatter of the customers, all comparing notes on the Event of the Year. Someone had set the old Horvath mill on fire, and that “somebody” appeared to be the mayor’s son. Sugar rolled her eyes as she listened to the gossip swirling around the little bakery.

  “Angus was probably out smokin’ with his buddies,” Mr. Stultz said firmly, with a nod of his head, as if agreeing with himself.

  Sugar wiped down the counter and then the coffee dispenser as she listened. All of the customers seemed to be highly caffeinated and sugared up, and weren’t in need of her services, at least for the moment. They were all too busy trying to one-up each other with “insider knowledge.”

  “What’s the mayor gonna say about that?” Mrs. Hoffmeister asked, taking a swig of her coffee. “Do you think he’s actually gonna rein in his son for once?”

  “Not damn likely,” Mr. Stultz grumbled. “I think it’s more likely that a unicorn appears in town square tomorrow, or the Shop ’N Go starts charging decent prices for their groceries, than it is that the mayor actually puts a check on his son.”

  Murmurs of agreement drifted up at that one. Sugar had to say he was right. It was well-known that the mayor let his son get away with murder, turning a blind eye to it all. Angus wasn’t above taking advantage of that fact, not one little bit.

  “Well, I think the new chief set the building on fire,” said Spittin’ Fred. A few of the customers within range covered the tops of their cups with their hands to protect them from the spray. “He wanted to prove to everyone that we actually need to pay more in taxes for his worthless ass to sit down at the station. Probably realized that if he don’t put out a fire real soon, we might realize that we can fire him. I betcha—”

  “The building is starting to go!” Peter Cowell yelled, busting in through the front door of the bakery. “Shit’s flyin’ everywhere!”

  The stampede of customers for the front door almost caused a natural disaster of its own, but Sugar found herself right in there with them. It wasn’t often that a building caught on fire, especially not an old historical building like the Horvath Mill.

  She stood on the sidewalk with the rest of the gawkers, shivering in the cold wintry air. The sky was a leaden gray – dark and oppressive – and the wind whipped along Main Street, biting and needling her bare skin.

  And also whipping the flames higher. They were shooting out of the windows of the mill, reaching into the sky, brilliant red and orange against the grays. Despite Peter’s warning, it didn’t look like the building was in any danger of collapsing, although at this rate, it might get there soon.

  She looked around for the new fire chief. Why wasn’t he spraying the building? She didn’t know much about firefighting, but it seemed like spraying the fire with water was a pretty good place to start.

  The murmurs around her grew louder as people began to ask each other the same thing. Sugar finally spotted him. He was just standing there, watching the fire burn, as the new fire truck idled beside him. A few firefighters milled around, talking to each other, but no one seemed to be much focused on actually fighting the fire.

  Sugar spun around and headed back inside. Her thin t-shirt and jeans were fine for standing behind the counter in the bakery; not so fine for standing out in the street in the first week of January. The angry shouts of the crowd swelled up behind her.

  Chief Anderson’s head was gonna be on a platter by the end of the day, and with that, he’d head back to wherever he came from.

  Sugar allowed herself only a small sigh of regret. He was never going to be anything more than eye-candy for her anyway; although she had to admit, if only to herself, that he was damn fine eye-candy.

  Chapter 6

  Jaxson

  Jaxson could feel his back teeth grinding together. He was pretty sure he’d have nothing but powder in his mouth if he kept this up.

  But it was either that or really lose his shit.

  He watched the building in front of him closely, since there wasn’t much else he could do. The flames were starting to die down, now that all of the easily flammable guts had been burnt out, so there wasn’t much for him to do except watch it burn and keep embers floating on the wind from starting fire to neighborin
g buildings.

  Of course, he wouldn’t have to conserve every drop of water in the tank on the truck if the goddamn fire hydrants worked. He felt the anger begin to rise in him again. Who’d heard of letting fire hydrants fall into disrepair for years on end? It was enough to make him wanna—

  “Hey, mister!” he heard an angry voice shout in his left ear as someone tapped on his shoulder. He spun around to confront an older man in blue-and-white overalls with a stained and dirtied Carhartt’s jacket over top. He had a big wad of chew in his lower lip that he spit and then glared up at Jaxson.

  “Ain’t you the new fire chief?” the older man demanded. He barreled on, not giving Jaxson a chance to respond. “Last time I checked, flames came from fires. Ya oughta use this here fire truck to put it out!” His voice rose in pitch as he got angrier, his cheeks starting to flame red from anger or the cold, Jaxson couldn’t tell.

  “Sir,” Jaxson said, trying to keep his voice an even keel and realizing that he was probably failing miserably, “the fire hydrant for this area is apparently in disrepair and has been for a while.” A lot longer than I’ve been fire chief! He managed to keep that thought to himself, although just barely. “The tank on this truck is on the small side. If I use all of the water in it to try to contain this fire and then the building next door catches, I’m out of luck. I need to save the water in case—”

  “Sounds like a real good excuse to just stand around and do nothin’.” The man spat a black glob into the snow. “Goddamn lazy city folk. My taxes go up and my buildings burn down. Every last one of those damn city councilmen are gonna be run out of office for this one!”

  Another older gentleman came up and put his arm around the shoulders of the man standing in front of Jaxson, cutting off whatever else he was about to say. “C’mon, Stultz, let’s go. We can talk to the city council about this later.”