Kelly Riley - Firestorm

She trotted to the opposite end, knelt and snapped the upper hose so it stayed aligned with the lower half as Tanner rolled it into a coil larger than a bicycle wheel.

“Thanks,” he grunted. His shoulder bumped hers as the coil reached the brass fittings. He heaved the bundle onto a rack against the wall.

“This place needs a good scrubbing,” she said and grabbed another hose from the pile on the floor.

“We’re short-handed, and two structure fires last week didn’t give us much time to clean up.”

They continued to work in silence. Kitty’s mind wandered. How long ago had Tanner’s wife died? On their last day together, had Luke told his wife he loved her? Or did they part on angry words like she and her father?

She tugged her cell phone from her pocket. No messages. Not even a call from Nana. She glanced at Tanner. Did he ever feel lonely? Probably not, because his son and a father lived with him.

She steered her attention back to the chaos. However competent Tanner might’ve been on past jobs, obviously he was in over his head here.

“You need me.” Her voice echoed off the metal walls. She sat back on her heels, stunned she’d spoken that aloud.

Tanner looked up from examining a dent in a brass coupling. “Excuse me?”

Kitty’s cheeks warmed. “I mean, you could use some assistance.” She sprang to her feet and pushed open the tall bay doors. Sunlight streamed in, exposing even more mud on the floor.

“You need someone to sort through the mess in the office and clean out here. I’m a trained firefighter, so you might as well put me to use.”

“I can’t just let anyone handle those papers. There’s confidential medical information in there.”

She held up a hand. “Don’t worry—I worked here. Because I was just a paid-call employee, I bet Dad never removed me from the books. You can check, assuming you can find the personnel files. I’m legit.”

She yanked on a skinny water hose dangling from a pipe in the ceiling. She aimed the nozzle at the muddy concrete. The water stream hit a puddle of motor oil, and Tanner jumped before it splashed onto his boots and jeans.

“Sorry, but please pay attention.” Kitty released the handle. “Admit it, what I said makes sense. We can help each other.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help.”

She shrugged with indifference even though her pulse raced. “You might as well let me try. Otherwise, I’ll just have to tag around after you until I get what I need.”

“That’s harassment,” he said harshly, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Maybe.” She shrugged again and focused on washing ash and sludge off a long, beige hose. After several minutes passed, she blew out an impatient breath, ruffling her bangs. “Well?”

She turned and found herself alone. “Tanner?”

“I guess we could work out something.”

Startled, Kitty looked up to find him standing on the engine bed. He swung down beside her. “You won’t like working for me.”

Yes! She wanted to leap with victory, but she merely nodded. “I’ll survive.”

“I’m going to go fill out the duty roster for next week, and then I have some business in town.” He tossed a dingy sponge at her. “You can wash the engines. That ought to keep you out of trouble until I get back.”

Kitty picked up the sponge and wrinkled her nose as Tanner headed into the office. She would rather sort the files, searching for clues. Scrubbing the three fire engines and the brush truck would take at least two hours to do a proper job, but right now wasn’t the time to rock the boat. She was in. Ironic, though, because a few years ago she’d been dying to get out.

A siren blasted through the station. She ran toward the office in time to hear a female voice from the county Communication Center. “Station 169, Fire Investigation. Smoke reported on the south ridge below Pine Lake. Forest Service has been notified. Please verify.”

Tanner snatched up the radio mic. Kitty turned, raced out the bay doors and jumped into the driver’s seat of the red Bronco parked outside. She fired up the engine.

Tanner tapped on the window. He motioned at her to move, and when she wouldn’t budge, he yanked the door open. “Out!”

“I’m going. You just hired me, remember?”

His jaw tightened.

“I know a back way down the ridge. I can save you fifteen minutes,” she added.

“Move over.” He climbed in, his hard hip assisting her slide across the squeaky vinyl to the passenger side. Flipping on the red lights, he stomped on the pedal. Tires squealed as they shot out of the parking lot. “You’ve been an employee for what? Ten minutes? And you already think you can do whatever you want. I give the orders. You obey if you ever want to set foot inside the station again. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Kitty pulled on her seatbelt instead of saluting. He’d probably toss her from the car without bothering to slow down if he knew what she thought about his “orders.”

They sped south of town. Kitty looked out her window to where the ground fell sharply away from the two-lane road before leveling out to a plateau and then plunged down a series of small canyons. A minuscule puff of smoke drifted skyward.

“Stop!” she yelled. Tanner jerked the steering wheel. The truck skidded off the pavement, spewing up a billow of dust. Kitty pointed at the faint haze far below them. “Down there. Smoke’s coming from the Fish Creek area.”

Tanner peered through his binoculars, looking grim. “The campground is supposed to be closed because of the fire danger.” He handed the binoculars to Kitty. Even with the magnification maxed out, she couldn’t pinpoint the source.

“The old logging road is fifty yards up on the right. See the marker lying on the ground?”

“Hang on.” Tanner shifted into four-wheel drive and plowed through brush before landing on the tire tracks that plummeted down the hill. Kitty clamped her rattling teeth together as they bounced over the ruts and washed-out gullies.

After two steep miles, they reached the two metal pipes marking the back entrance to the Fish Creek Camp. The chain gate snaked across the ground, and Tanner drove over it. A bluish haze hung over the clearing, but the small campground appeared deserted. The truck jerked to a stop. Kitty jumped out and ran to where the smoke seemed the thickest. Green pine branches smoldered over hot coals in a fire ring. The pungent smoke billowed about in the breeze, stinging her eyes and nose.

Tanner strode up, speaking into his handheld radio, giving their position to the Forest Service. Kitty scrambled up on a large boulder to get a better view. “Nothing but a campfire,” she reported. “All this will entail is issuing a ticket.”

Tanner snapped the radio into his belt holder. “To who? You see anyone?”

Kitty squinted in the bright sunlight, still scanning the area. “Nope. But they can’t be far. Those branches haven’t been burning long.”

“Of all the stupid, irresponsible things to do. There are signs posted all around here warning against fires. One good wind and the whole mountain could go up in flames unless—”

“Unless that was their intention,” She finished for him, her stomach knotting. Her gaze swept the ridge. No dust clouds betrayed any moving vehicles. “We’re south of town, and the wind’s blowing north.”

“Doesn’t make sense they used the campground. If this were another arson attempt, why build a fire in the fire ring and attract attention by using green wood?”

“Who knows? Maybe they wanted to make it look like an accident. I’ll get the shovel.” Kitty trotted to the Bronco and dug the shovel out from under the piled equipment. She raced back to Tanner, panting in the oxygen-thin air.