Too Near The Fire
“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.
“It’s nothing,” she ground out. “Now what is it you want me to do?”
He handed her several manuals. “If you need some bedtime reading, here are the rules and regulations of the department. If we have to make a run tonight I’m going to hold you back and let you play gopher. I’ll be working up a training schedule for you in the next week so that I can get acquainted with your weak and strong points.” He appraised her closely. “You’re pretty good at hiding things, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Startled by the concern in his voice, Leah reacted more strongly than she had intended. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leaned against the engine, one hand resting on the side of his head. “I saw Duke sneaking back to the kitchen, so I figured you had a run-in with him. He’s not known for mincing his words and he holds a real macho attitude toward women in general. You know the type—keep them barefoot and pregnant.”
Leah felt her body trembling with repressed anger and she found no humor in his statement. She remained silent beneath his scrutiny, feeling acutely uncomfortable.
“Look,” he began heavily, “if you’re having trouble with any of these guys, let me know.”
She nearly laughed. “And rat on them? That’s great, Lieutenant. I’m sure that will go over big. No, thanks. I learned down at the academy to take my lumps and keep my mouth shut.”
Gil frowned and stood upright. “That may have worked well down there, Stevenson, but it won’t here. This is a permanent job for you and you’ll probably be with this crew for at least a year. I want to stop any problems before they get started. And I don’t consider your coming to me as ratting. It’s my job to make sure my crew works as a smooth unit not only for your sake, but for the safety of the people we rescue as well.”
She moved restlessly away from him, wanting to believe him but afraid to. “I’ll work it out my own way,” she said, then turned and went upstairs to the bunk room.
* * *
It was nearly eleven when she closed the manual, unable to stop the words from blurring before her eyes. She sighed and sat up on the edge of her bunk. There were five beds: three on one side and two on the other. It was quiet and the silence only emphasized the loneliness Leah felt. She looked slowly around the small room, feeling terribly bereft. Going back downstairs she pulled her boots and bunker pants from beneath her coat and helmet and carried them up to the sleeping quarters. Dutifully arranging the black canvas bunker pants so that they would be accessible in case of an alarm, she shortened the red suspenders for her height. After taking a pair of cotton pajamas and her robe and toilet articles, she went into the shower room. Leah was sure that the rest of the men would wait until she was safely in bed before coming up.
By midnight she was snuggled into her bunk beneath a light sheet. She lay awake, staring into the darkness. Her first job…and no one except Lt. Gil Gerard cared if she was here or not. And he seemed to think of her as one more management problem he would have to deal with. She sighed softly, her heart aching over the idiocy of it all.
What was wrong with these thick-headed firemen? She was perfectly capable of doing the job and helping to save lives. And wasn’t that what it was all about? Saving lives and property? Who the hell cared if it was a man or a woman who did the saving? Did the child she’d rescued last month care that she was a woman? And what about the old man with a heart attack to whom she had administered CPR? Or the man she’d cut out of a mangled car whose bleeding she had staunched until paramedics could arrive? Leah took a deep, unsteady breath, finally closing her eyes. Why didn’t they see the motivation behind her actions? She didn’t want to invade a man’s world; she wanted only to be given the chance to work at something that gave her a sense of accomplishment.
Two
Leah was violently thrown awake by the fire alarm droning through the bunk room. The lights automatically came on, and she threw her legs across the bed and climbed into her bunker pants and boots. She gave no thought to how she looked in her cotton pajama top as she made a leap for the pole, slid neatly down it, and landed quickly on the first floor.
CAR ACCIDENT AT THE CORNER OF CARSON AND FORBES, a disembodied voice announced over the loudspeaker set in the bay.
She could hear the men calling to one another as she quickly shrugged into her black coat and threw the heavy visored helmet on her head. Duke Saxon whipped past her, running for his gear. She turned and was confronted by Gil. His eyes were narrowed and she could see him thinking out the situation. The squad truck was fired up and so was the Darley pumper called Lady. The officer looked directly at her.
“You ride shotgun with me in the squad. Duke, you and Apache get into air pak,” he ordered calmly.
She trotted to the squad and slid into the passenger side. Before getting in to drive, Gil started up the air compressor in the rear of the squad truck. Leah automatically reprimanded herself. She should have been doing that instead of him.
The bay was filled with the sound of roaring engines, the flash of whirling red-and-white lights as they drove out into the hot, humid night. Gil pointed to the radio.
“Say ‘Squad Fifty-One Signal Twelve,’” he ordered.
She nodded, picked up the mike, and repeated the message. Blinking, Leah put it back on the clip, her lips set in a thin line as the siren wailed through the empty streets of the sleeping town.
“How far away is this accident?” she asked, her voice strangely husky with adrenaline.
“Five miles.”
“Any idea of how bad a wreck it is?”
“No. Dispatch said it was called in by the state police.”
She nodded, automatically going over the various types of equipment that might be utilized in this kind of situation.
“When we get to the scene I want you to stand by here at the squad. I hope like hell it’s a simple extrication, but you never know. Apache and Duke will pull off the inch and a half and approach the car first. If there’s fire they’ll knock it down, then be ready to cover us during the extrication. We don’t want any sparks to start a fire and blow us all away.”
Leah felt her heart pumping strongly and she pulled her heavy fire-retardant gloves on a little tighter. Like the rest of her gear, they didn’t fit and she shook her head. All she needed was a pair of bumbling hands while she was trying to work at top speed.
As they drew up on a lonely farm road, Leah spotted the white state trooper car, its light flashing forlornly in the night. Gil took the mike off the hook and ordered the engine to halt before it got to the wreck. He glanced at Leah.
“Stay here,” he ordered, then climbed out and trotted up to the scene of the accident to assess the situation.
Tightening her helmet strap against her chin until it was snug, she realized with a sinking sensation that it was a bad wreck. The entire front end of a red Buick had been smashed as it hit a utility pole. The car had come to rest in a wide, deep ditch and now looked like a folded accordion. She saw Gil raise the portable radio to his mouth and almost immediately was aware of Apache and Duke trotting forward with a charged inch and a half line. That meant fire and perhaps a gasoline spill. Her heartbeat increased. It meant twice the danger. Once positioned, Apache opened the nozzle, sending a semi-fog stream beneath the rear of the auto.
Gil returned at a steady trot and slid back into the squad. Leah glanced tensely over at him.
“What have we got?” She surprised herself. She had used the word we. Wasn’t that what fire fighting was all about…teamwork? If he noticed her use of the word, he said nothing.
“Got a drunken teenager with his legs pinned beneath the steering wheel. He’s unconscious,” he muttered tightly. He threw the squad into gear and moved just close enough to string the compressor lines to the smoldering wreck. The truck was kept at a safe distance in case the car exploded. It was senseless to wreck expensive equipment.
Leah got out, shading her eyes as the pumper’s quartz lights flashed on. The chatter of the portable generator in the side compartment of the engine added to the cacophony of sounds. A glare of surrealistic light enveloped the accident scene. The other two fire fighters were hosing down the rear of the mangled car, forcing the leaking gasoline away from the area and diluting it with the water. Gil handed her the chisel and a pry bar.
“That door is jammed. We’ve got to get it open. I’ll bring the come-a-long and the other gear.”
The trooper at the scene helped them, and within moments they were set up. Her heart rate was high, her knees shaky with adrenaline. The sharp odor of gas stung her nostrils. Gil came up.
“Cut through the door handle,” he ordered. She was glad her visor was down as Apache and Saxon approached, spraying a fine mist of water over her. The droplets blanketed her head and shoulders as she got ready to cut. The water would reduce the chance of a stray spark starting a fire. Placing the power chisel against the metal, she started it and a reverberating sound rent the air. Leah leaned her weight into the chisel, cutting through the thinner metal of the door around the handle. She prayed that it would be possible to manipulate the inner door mechanism so that they wouldn’t have to literally tear the door off its hinges.
“Leah?” Gil called.
She finished the job and quickly set aside the chisel. After kneeling down and peeling back the metal, she took a flashlight from her pocket and studied the mechanism. She was vaguely aware of Gil leaning over. Shakily she reached into the door, jerking at one of the long bars. They both heard a distinct click and Gil straightened up, ordering her to stand back. He gave the door one good yank and it fell open.
“Good work,” he praised. “Make a hole in the front windshield so we can get the come-along around the steering wheel.”
She struggled with her ill-fitting boots as she moved gawkily around in the darkness to the other side of the car.
“His pulse is weak,” the trooper shouted, leaning in through the passenger window to help cover the driver with a wool blanket.
Leah staggered into the ditch, pitching forward, one boot having slipped halfway off her foot.
“Come on, Stevenson!” Saxon yelled, making an angry gesture with his free arm. “Hurry it up!”
Leah pushed back her helmet, which had tipped forward, and struggled to her feet, embarrassment flooding her. As she reached the other side she took the pointed end of the pry bar and made an oblong hole along the passenger side of the windshield. That done, Gil passed another wool blanket through his side of the glass to her. Leah grabbed it, getting ready to jerk it outward and away from the inert driver.
“Keep him covered,” Gil told the trooper. The trooper nodded and pulled the protective blanket over the boy’s head.
“Go ahead,” the officer yelled, and turned his head away to protect himself from flying glass.
Gil glanced up. “Count of three, Leah.”
The windshield came out cleanly with one good jerk. The glass popped outward, dancing across the hood and splintering on the ground. As swiftly as she could, Leah came around to the driver’s side and helped station the come-a-long across the mangled hood of the car. The trooper stood clear while she wrapped the heavy chain around the steering column three times and rehooked it outside the windshield. She could hear the wail of an ambulance approaching as she leaned into the driver’s side of the car, focusing her flashlight on the teenager. Leah heard him groan and put her gloved hand on his shoulder to steady him.
“Go ahead,” she called to Gil, “start tightening it. I’ll let you know when his legs are free.” The boy moaned once again and Leah divided her attention between him and the steering column. The chains grew taut, creaking and straining, and the steering column slowly yielded to the five thousand pounds of pressure being applied by the come-a-long. She automatically shielded the boy with her body, wanting to protect him in case the chain or any part of the equipment snapped and flew loose. A broken chain could be deadly and she didn’t want the driver injured any more than he was already.
“It’s moving,” she reported. “Another two inches and we’ll have it.”
The trooper had moved back to the passenger side, and now he crawled in carefully through the open window. “Here, I got the short backboard and a neck collar from your driver,” he offered.
Sweat ran down into her eyes and she blinked them, trying to get rid of the smarting sensation. “Thanks. You just steady the kid when the rest of that pressure comes off his thighs,” she directed.
“Say…you aren’t—”
Leah grinned, her face glistening with perspiration. “Yeah, I’m a woman.” She applied the surgical collar to keep the boy’s neck stabilized in case he had sustained a spinal injury.
The trooper said nothing, expertly sliding the backboard between the driver and the seat after she had fastened the collar. Leah could feel the trickle of sweat running down her rib cage and had a wild desire to scratch it. She lowered her head, watching Gil as he bore down with all his weight against the handle of the come-a-long. In one part of her mind she thanked God he was turning out to be as good a fire officer as she had thought he would be.
Just as the last of the mangled steering column came off the boy’s thighs, Leah sat up, facing the semiconscious driver. She pushed up the protective plastic visor of her helmet. The smell of gasoline and alcohol filled her senses.
The trooper flashed his light down on the boy’s legs. “He’s coming around,” was all he said.
Leah was in the process of getting out of her kneeling position when the boy screamed, flailing his arms wildly. His hand caught her solidly in the nose and she was slammed backward, tumbling out of the car head first. Leah scrambled blindly to her knees and reached out to grab the boy’s arms. Adrenaline surged through her and she shouted at the trooper to grab his right arm while she tackled the left.
“It’s okay, okay,” she breathed heavily against the boy’s ear. With her left hand, she placed her glove against his shoulder. “You’re safe, safe…you hear me…everything’s going to be all right,” she crooned. She had seen many teenagers who mixed alcohol with drugs. They would often become wild and hysterical upon regaining consciousness. This kid was no exception.
Leah gritted her teeth, using the leverage of her body to control his wild movements. “Lieutenant—” she yelled, seeing that the trooper had no room to maneuver properly to keep the kid down. She didn’t want to hurt the boy, but at the same time, she knew he could do further damage to himself if she let him flail wildly around in the car. Gil appeared from the right, his face tense and grim.
“Okay,” he ordered huskily, “we’ll both hold him until the ambulance people can get up here. They’re bringing the stretcher now. Apache, I smell more gas. Get back there and hose the area down again.”
She was sobbing for breath as she struggled with the boy. “You’re going to be fine,” she said softly. “Just fine. In a few minutes we’ll have you on your way to the hospital….”
Her voice finally began to have a soothing effect. He suddenly stopped wrestling and leaned back, his eyes wide and dilated. Gil sucked in a deep breath of air.
“You’re okay, son. Can you hear me?”
“Ahhh, man, let me outa here! I don’t need no hospital. I’m okay.”
Leah tightened her grip on the boy’s shoulder and looked sharply at Gil, who was inches away. He met her glance and gave her a momentary nod. So much was conveyed in that one look, it was as though for a moment they had read each other’s minds. In another two minutes the boy had fainted and the paramedics were on hand to take command of the situation. Gil slid his hand beneath her arm and helped her stand.
Her knees were surprisingly shaky and she leaned against his strong body. Faintness swept over her and she called his name, her voice sounding very far away. She was aware of his arm sliding around her body. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and she closed her eyes, surrendering to the pain shooting up toward her brow.
“Leah!” he whispered, lowering her gently to the pavement. Gil anxiously searched her drawn features in the glaring light provided by the pumper. She was semi-conscious, trying to raise her hand toward her face. “No,” he ordered softly, gripping her hand. Cradling her against his body, he removed the helmet from her head. His heart beat heavily in his chest as he realized how much pain she was experiencing. In that moment Gil was aware of another feeling. He admired her courage. Even now she wouldn’t whimper or moan aloud. He yanked off his glove and cupped her chin, which was beginning to swell. He twisted to the left and yelled for Apache.