Blaze (The Firefighters of Darling Bay Book 1) (13 page)

She was right. Grace softened her voice but kept going. “Your defensiveness makes me worry that I’m going in the right direction.” 

Samantha stood, wincing as she did so. “I’m getting out of here.” 

“Where are you going?” Grace watched as Samantha shoved clothes into a duffel bag. “You can’t just go.” 

Samantha didn’t say anything. She just moved into the bathroom and began collecting her toiletries into a plastic case. 

“Come on. Talk to me. I’m only concerned about your well-being.” 

Pausing, a bottle of eye-makeup remover in her hand, Samantha turned to face Grace. “I don’t think you are.” 

Pain knifed through Grace. “Of course I am. I’m never anything
but
concerned about you.” 

“That’s the whole problem. Your concern isn’t flattering.” 

“But—”

“I’m not a junkie.” 

“You—” 

“I had a problem with drugs. I was an addict. But I’m not anymore. I’m clean. I’m sober. I’m healthy.” 

“But this guy—” 

“Is none of your business, Grace.” 

It felt like a sucker punch. How many times had Grace heard this from her sister? How many times had Samantha said she was fine, only to call a month later from a bus stop in an inland state, needing fare money home? And then never arriving? 

“You have to tell me at least something. What his last name is. Where he lives. Where you’re
going
.” 

“I have a place to stay.” Samantha threw an eyelash curler into the bag. 

“With him? Isn’t he still in the hospital?” Grace had tried to check on him in the hospital but the nurses hadn’t let her go inside the ICU. No one but family. 

“Gracie,” Sam said in a soft voice. “You should call that guy.” 

“Who?” Grace tried to keep her face blank.

“Please. I know why you were late this morning to get me. It was obvious. Call Tox and have a good time.” 

“No.
You’re
the most important thing in my life.” It was true. It would always be true. 

Samantha said, “But you have to let me make my own mistakes.” 

Not when you’ve already made so many.
“Are you in love with him?” She followed Samantha through the living room and out to the porch. 

“Of course I’m not. I just met the guy. But I know where his key is, and he’d already asked me to stay. I talked to him in the hospital and he said I could crash at his place.”

Grace threw her hands in the air. “Why not? You already crashed with him once.”

“Oh,
come
on, Grace.” 

“You can’t do this. You’re better than this.” 

“I know,” said Samantha. “You did an amazing job of teaching me that, okay? But I can’t handle you anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” Grace would agree to anything at all, if Samantha would just stay here, where she could keep an eye on her. Where she could check on her at night. Make sure she was fed. Safe. Healthy. “I’ll back off. I know I can be pushy.” 

“Pushy?” Samantha dropped the bag at her feet and faced her, hands on her hips. “If I make hot chocolate at night, you get up to check whether I’m doing it right.” 

“The two-percent is just better for you.” 

“I like whole. Just like sometimes I stay up too late and I’m tired the next day. Sometimes I eat the whole pint of ice cream.
In one sitting.
” 

Grace flinched. 

“My body, my rules. How many times have you told me that? I get to make my own decisions, that no man can make them for me?”

“No man can.” Grace reached out a hand. “Don’t let him.” 

“I won’t. And I’m not going to let you either. It’s my life. Not yours.
Mine
. You know I love you, Grace, but you need to take care of yourself. And no one else.” 

Samantha went down the steps, turned right, and set off on foot down Taylor Street, toward the water. Grace sank with a thump to the top step of the porch. 

It was a perfectly valid argument. 

That was the hardest part. Her sister was right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Methyl was terrorizing Station One. 

Even though Tox hadn’t let her out of his sight since he’d arrived to work that morning, she’d already managed to chew up Bonnie Maddern’s right boot, Mazanti’s A’s baseball hat, and a full pack of paper plates, leaving nothing but slobber and rubble. Every time he blinked, every time he thought about waking with Grace yesterday morning in her warm bed…every unfocused moment was a moment Methyl ate something ill-advised. 

Warm smells of garlic bread wafted from the kitchen where Knowland was fixing his famous blue cheese spaghetti plates. On the big screen, the baseball game was only important to Hank. 

“I thought you said she was sickly.” Bonnie held up her boot. “You gonna pay for this?” 

“What? The station dog doesn’t get a free pass or two?” 

“The
station
dog?” Chief Barger came into the day room carrying a destroyed iPod charger. “When did we get one of those?” 

Tox looked sideways at Bonnie who wasn’t hiding her laughter. “Just for A shift, when I’m here. And I have an extra one of those cords in my locker. I’ll give it to you.” 

“You better. And you better check with HR about having a canine in the house.” 

Methyl chose that moment to race into the day room, make one fast lap around the long table, and then sit comfortably on Chief Barger’s foot. 

“She likes you, Chief. I haven’t seen her do that to anyone else.” He hoped no one told the truth—that Methyl’s favorite place seemed to be on anyone’s shoe. Or under a table, chewing on a shoe. 

Barger bent to scratch her head. “Well, heck. That’s something, isn’t it? Huh.” 

Methyl made a move as if to go to Tox, so he held up his hand.
Stay
. 

Maybe the mutt knew what was good for her. She tilted up her head so that Barger could better reach her ears. 

“Cute little thing. I suppose…” 

Tox waited, surprised to find he was holding his breath. He needed this dog to stay in the fire house with him when he was at work. He worked forty-eight hour shifts—the dog
had
to stay with him. And something about this dog just turned him inside out. 

The dog and Grace. They softened him. He wasn’t at all sure if that was a good thing. But it was something important, so much more important than he could have dreamed. 

“Wait.” Chief Barger locked eyes with Tox. “She’s yours?” 

“Yep.” 

Barger laughed. “The Angel of Death has a dog? How long you expect to keep
her
around?” 

“Ah, quit it.” He would have told anyone else to shut up. “Me and Methyl are gonna go play fetch in the south lot. And none of you are invited.” 

Good-humored laughter followed him through the bay and outside. Tox tried to laugh along with them, but it wasn’t that funny. He didn’t mean to be the guy in whose arms people died. He never asked for that role.

From the parking lot, the station had a partial view of downtown Darling Bay and a slice of the harbor. The sun was just setting, and when Tox got over his mild irritation at the ribbing of his coworkers, he realized he was enjoying the heck out of this—tossing the tennis ball he’d found with the sports equipment in the storage room, watching Methyl tumble toward it, tripping over her own golden legs. “You’ll get it, girl. You’ll catch on.” 

She was smart, that much was obvious. In the three and half days he’d had her, she was close to getting “sit.” But he’d keep working with her. Even if she wasn’t the brightest flare in the box, she was his. Every second that she wasn’t chewing on something or sitting on people’s feet, she was pressed against him, as if to remind him she was still there. 

Dang it. Tox had fallen for two girls in the space of a week. He’d fallen hard. The image of Grace’s coffee-colored eyes overshadowed the sunset in front of him, and he wondered what she was doing right now. Was she thinking about him? Moving in that little kitchen of hers, cooking something heart-healthy and organic? Soup, maybe, with the smells of oregano and thyme filling the air? Tox tossed the ball and Methyl chased it under the oleander bush with enthusiasm. 

She hadn’t called him back after he’d left her a message yesterday. He hadn’t tried again yet today. Tox had been trying to give her some space, and he’d made it clear the ball was in her court. But god. He wanted to kiss her again. 

The truth was, Tox kind of felt like kissing her every night, which was completely ridiculous. He barely knew her. 

It was like she’d infected him. 

Doggone it, he would call her again tomorrow, on the second day of his tour. Then maybe the next day they could have dinner at his place. No, hers. That way she’d feel comfortable and safe, surrounded by her own things. Home was important to her, he could tell. She needed to control her environment. He could understand that. Would she mind if he came up behind her in the kitchen and nuzzled her neck while she rinsed the knife before asking him to turn on the grill? 

Tox shook his head, watching the dropping sun light the harbor a golden-edged pink. He was going soft in the head over a woman. 

It felt good. 

The tones went off, four of them in a row. Tox snapped his fingers. “Methyl. Come.” He waited, clicking on her leash. If the engine was on the run for this call, he’d leave her here, tied to one of the concrete posts that protected the fuel pumps. He’d already placed a bowl of water and some kibble there, along with a thick wool blanket, in case a call came in. He hoped she didn’t howl when she was left alone, but he didn’t really have a choice. He anchored her safely to the post.

Sue’s voice, more grating than Lexie’s, came over the loudspeaker. “Engine One. Multiple calls, smoke and flames showing from two windows.” Tox ran for the bay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Grace was finishing a solo dinner—a baked fillet of cod with too much basmati rice because she had no idea how to cook rice for one—when her phone made a foreign beep. 

It was the fire app Samantha had installed on her phone yesterday, before they’d fought. “So you can hear if your guy goes somewhere,” Samantha had said, showing her how to turn it on. 

“He’s not my guy.” She hadn’t even returned his phone call yet.

Samantha had shrugged good-naturedly. “Then just to keep you apprised of what goes on in your town.” 

The phone kept beeping. “
Structure Fire
,” read the pop-up box on her phone. She hit the open button, and suddenly her phone was making noise, voices saying words she didn’t really understand. The map showed that it wasn’t far away. A couple of blocks. Come to think of it, she’d thought she’d smelled something burning in her oven when she was cooking the fish but now that she stuck her nose out the kitchen door, she could smell smoke on the wind. 

Tox’s voice, startling and clear, cut through all the chatter on the live radio dispatch. “Engine One, on scene. Two-story residential house, flames showing on the bravo and charlie side. Citizen reports explosion. Possibly hazmat, cook house. Incoming units, use precaution. Next due, charge the LDH. Engine One has Miranda Command.” 

Grace felt a mixture of fear and unwarranted pride. He sounded so…in charge. Competent. Like he was going to blow out the fire himself, with his own breath. 

A dispatcher who wasn’t Lexie responded, her voice electric with intensity. “Command, be advised, reports of two people inside. Repeating, possible two people trapped, last seen in the second floor hallway, one male adult, one female juvenile. Command copy?” 

Tox was terse but clear. “Copy. Engine Two on scene, passing command. We’ll be rapid intervention crew, making entrance.” 

“Copy, Engine One RIC.” 

Grace didn’t know what all the words meant, but she knew one thing—it didn’t sound good. She was pulling on her running sneakers before she knew what she was doing. It wasn’t until she’d laced them and her hand was on her front door that she realized she was being ridiculous. She couldn’t go to a
fire
. How could she have even thought of doing that? What would Tox say, if he looked out from doing his job to find her in the certainly inevitable crowd of lookie-loos? 

She would help nothing. She
could
help nothing. 

It was a terrible thought. No wonder people wanted to be firefighters and doctors and nurses. Helping was altogether a better, easier choice than choosing to do nothing. She walked back into the kitchen and started the kettle for tea.

Grace sat at the kitchen table, pushing away the plate of half-eaten fish and rice. In one hand, she held her phone, staring at the house on the map where the fire units were. She listened to Tox say something about a second alarm, his voice tight with stress but still easy to understand. In the other hand, she gripped her mug of tea. It cooled as she forgot to drink it. 

The squawks from her phone bled into each other. Grace heard beeps and then Sue recited a list of more engines and trucks. 

“I need medics on the bravo side,” said a man’s voice. Not Tox’s. “We’ve got three victims. One firefighter down.” 

Grace felt a chill run through her. She might not know anything about firefighting, and it was only a guess, but her intuition knew who would have been taking the risks inside that house. She knew which firefighter was down.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

When Tox opened his eyes, he saw yellow. A lot of yellow. Yellow helmets, yellow turnouts, even Coin’s vaguely yellow, sick-looking face. 

There was an oxygen mask on his face. He yanked it down to his chin. “What the…” He tried to sit up and gasped with pain.

“Oh, no, brother.” A firm hand—Hank’s—pushed him back down. 

He looked around. They were moving, and he was in pain. That was all his smoke-addled brain could figure out. 

Behind Hank’s head he saw a medical cabinet as familiar to him as his own first-aid box at home. Okay, he was in the back of the rescue ambulance. And wow, he hurt.