Training day.
Nestled in the middle of one-hundred-twenty acres of private farm land, backed up by three-hundred acres of plush forest, stood an empty farm house that had been scheduled for fire training. Five units were on stood ready for backup while Station Seven and Station Nine trained new recruits.
At a glance, the set up appeared as if all precautions were in order and the men in position ready to begin. Having two extra teams standing around might seem like a waste of time and manpower, but every drill offered a learning contingency. Even if they did nothing but watch, their time would not be futile.
Being thirty miles from town, the secluded property presented the perfect setting for an exercise without interruption. No bystanders, no chance of anyone just happening by. Those in attendance stood waiting for instruction.
Mike popped the kinks out of his neck, then hoisted an air tank onto his back.
“They’re getting antsy,” one of the instructors said, stepping up beside him.
“Better get started then.” Mike glanced about the structure, assessing the placement of each team. Some to participate, others to watch. Even though he wasn’t in charge, he checked to see that each man was where he belonged and equipped with proper gear. Trucks and crews formed a somewhat perimeter around the old wooden structure. Including one team appointed to prevent any stray sparks from igniting outside the designated area.
The old house might be scheduled for a training exercise, but Mike took every precaution as though this was any emergency call coming through dispatch. Every fire needed precise attention to detail—a controlled burn was no different.
Two men in full gear stood off to the left, holding axes. Behind them, three more had attached hoses to the ends of trucks, preparing to open nozzles. Two ladderbacks were situated at opposite ends, ready if needed. Out of habit, Mike took notice of the wind direction, logging it in the back of his mind in case he needed the data later. He glanced to the right, finding a row of men lined up, raring to go. With many entry-level firefighters on hand, the men had been divided into teams—one experienced and one new recruit. Everyone was in position.
The instructor issued the signal to begin. A firefighter, equipped with full gear, stepped forward and tossed a flame into a first-floor open window. A ball of fire surged like a thundercloud just before the house exploded. Smoke roared and bits of flaming wood sailed through the air with massive force.
What the fuck!
Mike secured his face mask and ran into the dark cloud, shouts and screams surrounding him. He headed for the firefighter who’d tossed the torch. Mike hadn’t seen if the man had been knocked back or where he’d landed, but being that close to the house, the guy had to be seriously injured, if not dead. He didn’t have time to speculate.
This should not have happened. He, and he was sure every man there, had expected a gradual flare. Then flames should have licked the structure. Not an explosion from hell.
Mike sucked oxygen as his steps led him forward, his instincts kicking in. His heart pounded with every breath as he searched, unbelieving of what he’d seen. Two shapes emerged in front of him. He watched as they grabbed an unconscious body and hauled a man clear of the burning structure. Mike heaved a short sigh of relief.
Black smoke bellowed in a whirling arc with ten-foot flames towering above the house. Bits of the roof had shot straight up like missiles and pieces were now hanging in the trees. In every direction, burning boards and shattered walls cluttered the ground. Firefighters scurried about the debris littering earth, some battling flames while others crouched low, dragging wounded men to safety.
Christ. They’d been too close. Fiery heat and chaos surrounded him, still he managed to examine his surroundings. Two teams rushed forward with hoses leveled at the burning building, or what was left of it. A firestorm raged like hell’s furnace.
Wilson, the chief of Station Nine, shouted orders and every man scampered, doing his job. Mike stood rooted to the ground, assessing the commotion. Everything that could be done was being done. The explosion had come as a surprise, but each man had responded with proficiency. Even the emergency response medics had jumped into action.
“Mike.” He turned to find Laredo at his side. “What the fuck happened?”
“Hell, if I know. But you can bet your sweet ass I’m going to find out.”
“Never seen anything like that. Is there a gas line around here?”
“Cap would have checked that out before he cleared this place for training. Nothing should have been inside to cause the house to blow up.”
“We were lucky.” Laredo’s heavy breathing punctuated each word. “Only a few men were close enough to feel the blast.”
Thank God for that. But still, one man had been in the heart of the surge. Mike hoped the flame-retardant suit had done what it was supposed to.
“Wasn’t Ryan the one who tossed the flame?”
“Yeah,” Laredo answered. “He’s with Station Nine. Tough break.”
“Is he still breathing?”
“Was when the squad rolled out.”
“I better call Cap.” Mike adjusted his face mask as he pulled out his cell. The air heavy with smoke, he coughed, his fingers clumsily hitting the numbers on the screen. Only one ring echoed before the Captain answered. “Cap. Mike here. We’ve got a situation. The farmhouse blew up.”
“What do you mean blew up?” Shep’s harsh voice came back at him.
“Station Nine staged the drill,” Mike shouted over the noise. “Procedures were by the book. Everything looked good. As soon as Ryan threw the torch, the damn house exploded. As if a gas line was open.”
“That’s not possible,” Shep shouted back. “No gas. No electricity. It’s a deserted house. Already cleared. Hell, even the water lines were turned off.”
“Yeah,” Mike said, glancing at the burning structure. “Too bad about that. We could use some extra water right now.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know. I can only tell you what I saw. The flame hadn’t even cleared the window when a ball of fire ignited.” Mike recalled the scene in his mind, rewinding it in slow motion. He’d never seen anything like it. And he hoped to never see it again. A training maneuver gone bad. Real bad.
“Anyone hurt?”
“Ryan must have been knocked back thirty feet. It took a while to find him. The medics put him on oxygen and rolled him out. A few others got hit with the blast.”
“Find out everything and report back to me. You get it on film?”
Mike glanced about and found a photographer bracing a camera on his shoulder. Every training session was recorded. The films were used as the second part of training maneuvers, so firefighters could see how things were done and discuss scenarios. At least the guy had enough sense to stay out of the way. Maybe there would be something on film that could help explain what the hell happened.
“Yes sir,” Mike said. “It had to be gas. I don’t know what else could have made this place go up like the fourth of July.”
“Station Nine is in charge. Wilson doesn’t need me in his way. But I can help by getting a fire investigator on this one. Let him know.”
A large van with the letters SAPD pulled up alongside one of the fire trucks. Mike swallowed a lump of dread as he recognized the bomb unit.
“Bomb crew just rolled on site.”
“They’ll search for explosives,” Shep’s voice rumbled through the phone. “Make sure the fire is out, clear everyone and wait for the results. As soon as you have something, get your ass back here.”
“Right.”
Mike watched the pandemonium before him that could have quickly turned into a disaster. The whole point of the exercise was to teach men how to fight fires. A system of techniques was to be followed in an orderly process, but the explosion had ambushed them. All levels of firefighters were expected to deal with the unforeseen, in both crisis and routine circumstances—by the look of things, the new recruits had dived right in along with the old dogs.
At least no one had stood around with their dick in their hands.
***
“This was a great idea,” Cassie said as she shoved a chip into her mouth. After a long week of enthusiastic eight-year-olds in a classroom, she was ready for an evening of spicy sauce and beer. Her friend, Tammy, preferred a margarita, but tequila had a habit of knocking Cassie on her butt.
“Taco sauce and cheese dip is always a good idea,” Tammy agreed. “I fed the boys hotdogs before I took them to the Scout Hut.”
“Hot dogs?”
“Yep. Their favorite.”
Hot dogs just didn’t compare to Mexican food. El Puerto’s was one of Cassie’s favorite spots. At least once a week, the two of them would have dinner at the cozy restaurant.
She was ready to let her hair down, kick off her shoes and wiggle her cramped toes. She’d love to wear tennis shoes to school, but being a teacher, she felt the need to give some care to her appearance. Most days she wore a comfortable dress. Sandals might work in the summer, but tennis shoes were definitely not part of business casual attire.
While Tammy talked about her two boys, a red image appeared in Cassie’s peripheral vision. She glanced out the restaurant window and zeroed in on a Staunton fire truck. Right in front of the building. When another one appeared behind the first, Tammy’s voice faded away.
Her chest squeezed just as it had that night two years ago. Would the time come when she could breathe normally and not cringe when she heard a siren?
She thought she heard a voice penetrate the fog she’d drifted into.
“Cassie! Are you all right?”
She blinked. Her pulse raced, her throat felt dry and she immediately realized she needed to calm down. Her gaze returned to the sun gleaming off the shiny vehicle. The truck was not racing, nor did she hear a siren. She willed the tension from her muscles, chastising herself.
“Cassie?”
“I’m all right. I just … my mind wandered for a moment.” Still, a little pang of fear hovered. She shot another glance outside. The fire engine had disappeared. She dropped her gaze. The taco salad had lost its appeal.
“What’s got you so quiet?”
When Cassie raised her head, she noticed a streak of yellow in the long window facing the parking lot. Her attention averted again, she stared at the front of an engine as the doors swung open and two men climbed out. Then a red SUV, clearly labeled Fire-Chief, pulled up beside them. From the other side of the lot, a second yellow engine rolled in.
Her pulse sped up. She quickly scanned the inside of the restaurant. “Is the kitchen on fire?”
“What?” Tammy squeaked.
“Either there’s a fire or these guys are having a convention.” She motioned outside just as more uniforms came into view.
“Damn. Would you look at that,” Tammy said as she gawked out the window. “Six, no eight gorgeous hunks.”
“How can you think about sex when the building might be on fire?”
“So, that’s what’s bothering you.” Tammy turned around with a look of concern. “Look. There’s no siren. These guys are not racing in here. They don’t have on their bulky equipment. Although there is definitely some bulk on their bodies. Look at that guy.”
Cassie looked in the direction where Tammy pointed to the side parking lot where the firemen gathered. She studied the driver of the red vehicle. His blond hair had that wind-blown look. Black sunglasses shielded his eyes from the sun but gave him a sexy movie star-type guise. When he laughed, the knot in Cassie’s chest eased. If there was an alarm, these men wouldn’t be standing in the parking lot laughing.
She felt like a fool. A child fearing the big bad monster. When would she grow out of this? Her chest heaved as she released her frustration. “Obviously, these firefighters are not here to put out a fire.”
“But, by their good looks, bulging forearms and rigid buns, they could sure start a few.”
Tammy’s teasing remark made Cassie grin.
“Mmm, mmm. I could sit here and watch that all day.” As if she meant to do just that, Tammy propped her elbow on the end of the table and brazenly stared.
Cassie shook her head. Her friend’s flirty behavior was the best medicine for Cassie’s state of mind. No one could be around Tammy and not smile. So, she looked out the window and enjoyed the view.
Navy blue shirts stretched across tight abs and exhibited some pretty hearty muscles. Matching pants covered impressive thighs, not as constricting as their shirts, but damn distracting. Two males were taller than the others, but each guy stood at least six feet. Cassie relaxed as her previous apprehension slowly developed into carnal appreciation. Her gaze landed on the man she’d first spotted. Mr. Sunglasses. The sun brought out highlights in his hair, strands fluttering over his black shades. And his smile, all teeth with a lazy slanted grin. That guy had danger written all over him.
Usually, men with dark hair held her attention, like the guy standing beside Mr. Sunglasses. Coal black hair, brooding looks, and big arms. Mr. Muscles. Yep, she definitely preferred Mr. Muscles to Mr. Sunglasses. With biceps like his, the guy had to work out every day.
“A lot to be said for a man in uniform,” Cassie said with a sigh.
“Bet he benches five hundred pounds.” Tammy sounded breathless.
Cassie searched her friend’s face. “How do you know which one I was looking at?”
“Easy.” Tammy’s gaze turned to hers. “You always go for the dark-haired ones.”
Cassie smiled and glanced back to the men in blue. “There’s too many to choose from.” She threw the comment out as a jest. In reality, she held no belief that any of those guys would pay attention to her.
“And they’re coming in here.” Tammy said excitedly as she nodded toward the glass.
Sure enough, the entire group headed to the restaurant. Caught up in Tammy’s enthusiasm, Cassie couldn’t help but ogle the swaggering male hips. The men ranged in age from twenty something to probably forty, since one had some gray at his temples.
Silence filled the room, the firemen drawing the attention of every customer. When the door opened, the sound of the men’s voices carried throughout the quiet space of the restaurant. They’d caused quite a stir. Cassie forced her eyes forward. Tammy, of course, watched the activity with a total lack of inhibition.
By sheer willpower, Cassie resisted the urge to whirl around and gape like everyone else. She narrowed her eyes and bit her bottom lip.
“What?” Tammy asked, seeing Cassie’s scowl. “Did I suddenly grow a wart on my chin?”
Cassie had been trying so hard not to stare at the guys that she’d been completely unaware she was glaring at her friend. Tammy’s perplexed face came into focus and Cassie frowned. “Sorry.”
Tammy laughed. “Why don’t you bite the bullet and feast your eyes?”
“I don’t want to be transparently obvious.” Cassie stabbed at her lettuce.
“Why not? Everyone else is.” Tammy placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands, ogling the men in uniform.
“You don’t have to be so blatant about it.”
“I’ve never seen so much male testosterone in one place. Eight of them. Right here in the middle of this room.”
Jealousy prompted Cassie to suggest, “You could trade places with me.”
“Not a chance.” Tammy’s smile grew bigger.
“You’re embarrassing me.” Actually, she’d embarrassed herself with her senseless envy. Because, if she was to be honest with herself, she wished she had Tammy’s self-confidence. Cassie placed her fork beside her plate. “Now I’ve really lost my appetite.”
“Mine just increased.” Tammy’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
Cassie resented her friend’s taunting. “Can you tone it down a bit?” She grabbed her beer bottle by the long neck.
Green eyes shot to hers. Their sparkle of glee now glinted with annoyance. “It’s been a while, okay? I may have two challenging boys, but I’m far from over-the-hill. I’m in my prime.”
Guilt made Cassie’s face flush. Who was she to criticize when—if she had the guts—she’d do the same thing? Tammy was her best friend. A single mom, she was pretty with strawberry hair, green lively eyes, and a face that always held a welcoming warmth. She loved food, had no willpower and was thirty pounds heavier than she wanted to be. They came to the Mexican restaurant on an average of once a week, which anyone with an ounce of good judgment knew that was no way to lose weight. Cassie had ordered a salad tonight, but she loved El Puerto’s food. With the chips and salsa, she would have to run an extra mile on the treadmill.
Expecting to exercise tonight, she had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She suddenly wished she’d left it down where it could flow over her shoulders, so the lights in the ceiling would bring out the golden highlights of her natural blonde hair.
Her fingers tapped a rhythm on the wooden table while she sat there, looking daggers at her friend. She refused to turn around and display barefaced interest in the men who’d drawn such attention.
Oh, hell.
She was dying to have another look.