Page 18 of Protecting What's Mine
“Just thinking about how much we have in common.”
“Oh, really?”
“I’m fire chief here,” he said. “I always wanted to be a firefighter. Was a good one, too. Good enough to move up the ranks. Guess how often a chief gets to run into a burning building?”
Her smile was understanding. “About as often as a family practitioner gets to intubate a patient in a helicopter?”
“Bingo, Dreamy. You and me, friend. Two peas in a pod. So if you need some kind of distraction from the grind—”
“The still essential grind,” she reminded him.
He nodded, giving her that. “Someone’s got to take temperatures and write scripts.”
“And someone’s got to organize the guys running into the fire.”
“And gals,” he said with a wink and a point.
“And gals,” she agreed. She sighed and took another look around the room. “Place suits you.”
It had. Linc wasn’t sure if that was still true. Recently, he noticed a restlessness creeping in on the contentment he’d known for so long.
“Who’s that?” she asked, nodding at a photo on the wall.
“That’s my sister. She lives in Sedona with her three kids. Do you have any?”
“Siblings or kids?” she clarified.
“Both. Either.”
She waited a beat. One just long enough that he knew what followed was either a lie or only a small part of a complicated story.
“Nope. Neither. And on that note, I need to get to work.”
He rose with her and followed her to the door, Sunshine on his heels.
“Good luck organizing all those tongue depressors, doc.”
“Have fun with all your paperwork today, chief.”
He opened the door for her and enjoyed watching her amble across the asphalt to the sidewalk.
No car, he noted.Interesting.
Doctor Dreamy was a puzzle that begged to be solved.
7
The Benevolence Fire Department was housed in a new two-story building where the faucets didn’t leak, the drivers didn’t have to mind the piddly four inches of clearance on the garage doors, and the furniture didn’t smell like decades of firefighter farts.
They’d made the move three years ago after a lifetime of fundraising and a few generous grants.
But part of Linc still felt nostalgic for the original brick station with the garage doors that stuck, the cracked concrete floors, and the wood-paneled living quarters with their creaky, uneven floors.
“Morning,” he called, strolling in through the open bay. Shift change officially happened at seven every morning, but after bigger incidents, volunteers usually came in early to get the scoop from their counterparts.
“Morning, chief,” the crew echoed.
“How’s the shoulder?” Assistant Chief Kelly Wu asked, nimbly hopping down from the engine and slamming the access panel.
