Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(84)

“She ain’t my problem,” said Cain, his face losing its teasing and excitement.

“Huh,” said Woodman, stepping into his boots, then pulling the pants down over them.

“This is a bad ’un!” yelled Scott Hayes, the Battalion Two captain. “Double-time it, men! Suit up!”

Cain and Woodman pulled their Nomex hoods over their heads at the same time, grabbed for their bunker coats, and shrugged them on.

“How’s the foot?” asked Cain as he reached for a helmet.

Woodman grabbed a radio from a charger and attached it to the strap near his shoulder. “Fine. Cleared for duty.”

Cain nodded. “But I heard all that was recent. How long has it been since you were inside a live one?”

“Don’t worry ’bout it,” said Woodman, placing his helmet on his head and hustling toward Scott. “I had the same trainin’ you did. Cleared is cleared.”

Cain looked dubious. “Whatever you say.”

“Where you need me, sir?” Woodman asked Scott.

Scott pointed to Engine Two. “Stay back for tonight, Woodman.”

“I’m good to go, sir.”

“Stay back,” said Scott again.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“I’ll follow Woodman?” asked Cain from behind him, and Woodman bristled. He didn’t need a f*cking babysitter. Not tonight. Not when he already felt like half a f*cking man.

To his relief, Scott said, “With me. Engine Three. Lineman. Got it?”

They both hurried into the bay, side by side, but Woodman grabbed Cain’s arm before he headed for Three.

“When we get back, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Ginger.”

“Christ, Josiah. Stop beatin’ a dead horse. I got nothin’ to say.”

“I do,” said Woodman grimly, just as the sirens started to wail.

“Fine,” said Cain, turning toward his assigned truck. But a moment later he turned back. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Always, brother,” said Woodman.

Cain saluted him with a grin and Woodman watched him go.

Watched him go.

***

“You heard about it?” yelled Logan McKinney over the scream of the sirens.

“Not much. Tell me,” said Woodman, holding on to the bar in front of him as the truck lurched out of the garage and raced down Main Street.

“Barn fire at Laurel Ridge. Heard it’s bad. They got, like, fifty, sixty horses there. No hydrants on the property. Fred Atkins called twelve more stations to assist. Overheard him say it might take twenty to get it done.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Bad, right?”

“Don’t sound good,” said Woodman.

“You been through shit like this, Woodman?”

“Barn fire?” He shook his head. “Ship fire was more my style.”

“I’ma say a prayer until we get there, okay?”

Woodman nodded grimly, watching as Logan, who’d only joined the department last year, clasped his gloved hands together and bowed his head, his lips moving in prayer.

It vaguely occurred to Woodman that maybe he should say a prayer too, but his prefire prayers had always started with “Everyone goes home,” which was every firehouse’s mantra. Everyone home. Except that Ginger had always been his home, and after he broke off their engagement later tonight, he wouldn’t have a home anymore. He’d have a cold and empty place inside, where Ginger had always lived, where he’d loved her, where she’d let him love her. Even if everyone else came home tonight, he wouldn’t. His home was all but gone.

“Amen,” said Logan. “I said a few words for you too, Woodman.”

“Thanks for that,” he said, though he felt deeply the words were in vain. Without her, he’d be entering a dark valley without hope, without meaning, without a future. He’d be poor ole Woodman, whose cousin took up with his ex-fiancée. He’d be pitied, when for the better part of three years he’d fought for respect and equality, pushing away pity with all his might.

Logan interrupted his thoughts. “Fred’s got me settin’ up an unmanned monitor in sector Charlie. Most of the flames is in sector Alpha, I guess. How ’bout you?”

“I’m s’posed to help you,” said Woodman, cupping his hands over his mouth so that Logan could hear him.

Logan’s face, which had looked a hair shy of frightened, relaxed a little, and he grinned at Woodman. “Oh yeah? Hey, that’s a relief. Thought I’d have to go in alone.”

“No, sir,” said Woodman, looking ahead, where fifty-foot flames licked the clouds and a mass of brownish-gray smoke, acrid and heavy, made the sky dark as eternal night. “Everyone goes home.”





Chapter 21


Cain



Twenty minutes into the blaze, the water in Engine One was gone, and Cain was holding a foam pipe that was running low too. A tanker from Lexington was about to be pulled into their space to take over.

Cain had seen electrical fires, aircraft engine fires, and even a couple of mess fires during his time in the Navy, but he’d never seen anything that felt as huge and as bad as this. So far eight departments had shown up with their engines and tankers, trying to bring enough water to quell the flames, with little luck. The horses had been removed from the inferno, thank God, but the wind had just changed, and the flames were licking through the center of the barn now.