Protecting What's Mine(14)

Her smile was understanding. “About as often as a family practitioner gets to intubate a patient in a helicopter?”

“Bingo, Dreamy. You and me, friend. Two peas in a pod. So if you need some kind of distraction from the grind—”

“The still essential grind,” she reminded him.

He nodded, giving her that. “Someone’s got to take temperatures and write scripts.”

“And someone’s got to organize the guys running into the fire.”

“And gals,” he said with a wink and a point.

“And gals,” she agreed. She sighed and took another look around the room. “Place suits you.”

It had. Linc wasn’t sure if that was still true. Recently, he noticed a restlessness creeping in on the contentment he’d known for so long.

“Who’s that?” she asked, nodding at a photo on the wall.

“That’s my sister. She lives in Sedona with her three kids. Do you have any?”

“Siblings or kids?” she clarified.

“Both. Either.”

She waited a beat. One just long enough that he knew what followed was either a lie or only a small part of a complicated story.

“Nope. Neither. And on that note, I need to get to work.”

He rose with her and followed her to the door, Sunshine on his heels.

“Good luck organizing all those tongue depressors, doc.”

“Have fun with all your paperwork today, chief.”

He opened the door for her and enjoyed watching her amble across the asphalt to the sidewalk.

No car, he noted. Interesting.

Doctor Dreamy was a puzzle that begged to be solved.





7





The Benevolence Fire Department was housed in a new two-story building where the faucets didn’t leak, the drivers didn’t have to mind the piddly four inches of clearance on the garage doors, and the furniture didn’t smell like decades of firefighter farts.

They’d made the move three years ago after a lifetime of fundraising and a few generous grants.

But part of Linc still felt nostalgic for the original brick station with the garage doors that stuck, the cracked concrete floors, and the wood-paneled living quarters with their creaky, uneven floors.

“Morning,” he called, strolling in through the open bay. Shift change officially happened at seven every morning, but after bigger incidents, volunteers usually came in early to get the scoop from their counterparts.

“Morning, chief,” the crew echoed.

“How’s the shoulder?” Assistant Chief Kelly Wu asked, nimbly hopping down from the engine and slamming the access panel.

She cruised in at five feet six inches with jet black hair that she kept cropped in a stylish pixie cut. It fit under her hood and helmet better that way, she said. What she lacked in long legs, she made up for in fast feet and freakish strength. At forty-five, she ran long-distance mud races for fun and got matching tattoos with her eighteen-year-old daughter.

“Right as rain,” he fibbed. Sore as hell was what it was.

Sunshine raced around, greeting everyone with equal enthusiasm. She accepted Kelly’s head scratch and then happily bolted for the stairs and kitchen where a variety of dog treats waited.

The garage smelled of diesel and fresh cleaners. To Linc, the scent meant new starts. No matter what the apparatus and equipment had been through the previous day, it was reset to like-new.

Two of his day shift volunteers were already going over the engines, checking the med kits and emergency lighting, while last night’s crew filled them in on the accident clean-up.

Every day began with a thorough check of all equipment and vehicles. Personal gear was stowed, equipment tested, and each apparatus gone over with a fine-tooth comb.

There was something satisfying, almost meditative, about the daily check. It prepared them all both physically and mentally for anything.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a sling?” Kelly asked in her best mom voice.

“Shouldn’t you be buying your kid another hamster?”

“Deflecting,” she shot back. “And it’s on the agenda for tonight. Still not sure how the last furry little bastard got out of that damn ball.”

“You’re the one who named him Houdini.”

“I just hope he doesn’t turn up in an air vent or something.” She sighed. “Then we’ll have five.”

The glass windows gleamed in the morning sun. The crew took pride in their new station. Saturday was cleaning day. It was a hell of a lot easier—and more satisfying—to clean a brand-new facility than try to scrub through the decades of sludge on twenty-year-old turd brown carpet.

The novelty of a new facility had yet to wear off.

“Want an unofficial briefing?” she offered.

“If there’s coffee involved,” he yawned. He stopped himself mid-stretch when he felt the twinge in his shoulder.

He’d slept like a log but could have used another hour or two.

Kelly followed him up the stairs where they ducked into the kitchen.

“Morning, chief,” Zane “Stairmaster” Jones greeted him with a bagel in one hand and his gym bag in the other. The deli in town always dropped off bagels the morning after a tough incident. Yet another benefit of small-town life.