Too Near The Fire. Lindsay McKennaЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 begin familiarizing herself with the equipment and where it was stowed. Each compartment held some particular instrument that might be needed on a moment’s notice at the scene of a fire. In one, all the electrical cords, a fan, and extra outlets were stored. In the rear of the main pumper were several spare air bottles. During a hot blaze, a fire fighter could go through two or three cylinders; each tank only contained thirty minutes’ worth of air supply, and fighting fire made a person breathe deeply and heavily because of the physical exertion.
She had spent more than a half hour out in the bay alone when she heard someone walking up behind her. Turning, she saw it was Duke Saxon.
“Whatya doing, trying to impress the lieutenant by being gung ho?” he sneered.
Leah moistened her lips and ordered her body to remain relaxed although her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. She lifted her chin and met his hooded stare.
“I don’t have to impress anyone.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Look, it’s pretty obvious you don’t want me around here, and I can live with that,” she began tightly.
“Bet you had to live with that down at the academy, too. You may be a good-lookin’ broad, but that don’t make you no fireman, honey. Hell, if you weigh over one-forty, I’ll quit the force.”
“Weight’s got nothing to do with it,” she countered icily.
“Like hell it don’t. You tryin’ to tell me that if I get in trouble in a burning structure and you gotta drag me out with air pak on that you can do it? I weigh close to three hundred pounds with all that gear on.” He snorted, his eyes narrowing. “No way, honey, no way.” He raised his finger, pointing at her. “But I’m gonna tell you something and it had better stick the first time around—you screw up with me and it will be your last day on the force.”
Her body was galvanized with fury. “I’ll remember that, Saxon,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You do that, honey. Sam and Apache feel the same. None of us wants you around here except that damn lieutenant of ours.” Duke shook his head. “He’s an outsider like you are, so what the hell does he know?”
“Stevenson?” It was Gil’s voice ringing through the bay. She gasped softly, turning in his direction. Through the dimness she saw his head and broad shoulders, looking incredibly strong in the shadows. Saxon gave her one last glare and turned away, then melted back into the darkness, avoiding Gil completely.
“Listen, before you turn in tonight I want—” he stopped, frowning. “You all right?”
“Yeah, sure,” she muttered.
Gil looked around and then back at her. “You look pale,” he observed.