Too Near The Fire. Lindsay McKenna

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      “Three.”

      She stared at him. “And you’ve made officer already?” There was a newfound respect in her voice. Being a fire officer wasn’t some cushy job gotten through political pull. No, the man or woman selected had to have a lot of intelligence and experience to be sending a fire team into unknown and many times dangerous situations.

      “I’m good at taking tests,” he said, trying to minimize his credentials, as he led her around to the opposite wall where the turn-out gear was neatly hung.

      “You have to be more than a good test taker to get the rank,” she observed seriously, stopping at his shoulder.

      “Hmm, I suppose. Let’s try and find some gear that will fit you.” He emphasized the word fit. For the next half hour Leah tried on every coat and every pair of boots and bunker pants in the station. Nothing fit. It was all too large. Especially the boots. She sat on the chair, sliding off the last pair.

      “We’ll have to order you an outfit,” Gil acknowledged as he hung the last coat back up on its hook. “Probably take a couple of weeks, if I know our dispatcher.”

      Leah looked up at him sharply. “I’m not about to sit out fire calls for that period of time!”

      “I wouldn’t let you anyway. For now, let’s get the closest fit, and tomorrow when we’re off duty I’ll take you up to Cleveland and we’ll get you some decent gear. Deal?”

      Either he was an angel or he had an angle, Leah decided, mulling over the tempting invitation. She had just rented an apartment and most of her articles were still packed. It wouldn’t be much fun spending the day there alone. Furthermore, she was unacquainted with the area and knew it would be better if he were along. Still…she didn’t want to socialize with anyone here at the station. She had read enough articles in Fire Chief Magazine by women fire fighters to realize that irate wives would probably be calling to see if their husbands were “safe” from the new female at the station. Idly, she looked at his left hand. There was no wedding band there. That didn’t mean anything, though, and Gil had mentioned that he did like his days off. Many times the stress of fire fighting drove a wedge into a family, and divorce was too often the result.

      “Well?”

      “Oh…sorry, I was thinking. I’d appreciate it, Lieutenant, but I don’t want to take you away from—”

      “No problem,” he returned smoothly. “I’ve made it a point to make sure my team has the best protection and the most training possible, and you’ll be no exception to that rule. You can’t effectively do your job in a pair of poorly fitting boots. You’d be falling all over yourself.”

      Leah grinned. “That brings back a lot of memories. For the first two weeks at the academy I had a coat that was four sizes too big and boots that came off my feet every time I took a step.”

      “You must have been damn good, then,” he praised, “because I got a chance to look at your academy records. Lousy-fitting gear would be enough to put some fire fighters out of commission altogether.”

      She put her sensible black shoes back on and then stood up. “I couldn’t let that happen to me. I just gritted my teeth and told myself I was going to do it better than any of them, and I guess I did.”

      He tilted his head, studying her in a new light. “I like your aggressiveness, Leah. Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the crew. It’s almost time to pick straws to see who makes dinner tonight.” The other three fire fighters looked up when Gil escorted her into the kitchen-and-dining area. Leah automatically tensed, sensing the coldness in the air.

      “Fellas, this is Leah Stevenson, our new member. She’s got eyes like a cat, from what she tells me.” He pointed to a small wiry man who had dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. “This is Tony DiGeronimo, but everyone calls him Apache even though he’s Italian because no one can pronounce his last name in a hurry. He’s been on board for seven years and is one hell of a fire fighter.”

      Tony sized her up. “Welcome aboard,” he said, smiling openly.

      “And this good-looking string bean is Sam Wilson. He’s our driver and pump operator. He’s been on board for fifteen years and there isn’t a thing he doesn’t know about Darley pumps.”

      Sam managed a sour grin, nervously turning his coffee mug in his hands, his lanky arms on the table. “Except for the Beast out there.”

      She smiled shyly, trying desperately to appear relaxed beneath the men’s intense scrutiny. “Hi, Sam.”

      Gil motioned to his right toward a man who was scowling darkly at her. “This is Duke Saxon and he’s been with us for three years. I think he’s been involved in about every dangerous structure fire we’ve ever made a run on. Always been at the wrong place at the right time.”

      Duke stared in her direction; his black eyes were vicious looking. He was a huge, heavily muscled man, and it was clear he resented her presence.

      Gil pulled out a chair for her. “Have a seat, Leah. How about some coffee?”

      She turned. “That would be great. Thanks.”

      “Since when did you ever wait on any of us?” Duke growled.

      The rest of the fire fighters laughed nervously as Gil walked nonchalantly to the draining board and pulled down a cup. “If you were as good-looking, Duke, I might have done the same for you,” Gil retorted, his smile fixed. There was an unspoken warning in his look.

      Leah sensed an immediate antagonism between the two men. Great, she thought, that’s all I need, to walk into the middle of a sparring session between an officer and a fire fighter. She thanked Gil nervously as he placed the cup in front of her, then took a quick sip and burned her tongue.

      “Okay, who’s cooking today?” Gil asked, leaning against the draining board.

      Duke snorted. “Let her.”

      She raised her head, meeting his black glare. “I wasn’t hired as chief cook and bottle washer, Duke. I’ll take my turn like everyone else.”

      The silence froze around them like brittle ice. Leah heard Gil sigh as he came over to the table. There was a deck of cards on the table and he picked them up, spreading them into a fanlike position. “Okay, everyone pick a card. Low man—that is, person—will be cook and bottle washer for the shift.”

      To Leah’s relief, Apache got the two of hearts and he growled, getting to his feet.

      “Okay, guys, you’re gettin’ spaghetti and meatballs—again,” he warned.

      Sam Wilson groaned. “Give me the Rolaids now….”

      The fire fighters kept up their banter all evening, excluding her unless Gil made a concerted effort to include her in the conversation. Leah sat in one of the old frayed chairs and watched television with the rest of them, but she wasn’t really listening to it. Her heart was filled with pain at the undercurrent of bitterness the men felt toward her. Duke made no bones about it at all and Sam ignored her as if she didn’t exist.

      Wanting something to do, Leah got up and went out into the semilighted bay, walking around each engine to СКАЧАТЬ