"It's just a problem that needs solved. That's it. You can do this." It's my voice this time, but I hear the echo of my dad in them.
I make my way to the desk and sink down into the old leather chair. It's cracked and coming apart, but it still smells like pipe smoke and spiced whiskey. Reminders of the man who sat here for years.
His battered notebook is on the scarred wood surface, and I pull it toward me as I fire up my laptop. If the grouchy, painfully handsome mountain man won't help me, I'll just have to find a way to help myself.
And it'll feel damn good when I'm done.
5
BRAND
It still feels wrong to have turned Corbin's daughter away when she came to ask for my help. I hadn't even given her a chance to get the words out, because I'd known what she was there to do. Corbin had warned me.
"She's a stubborn girl, Brand. Once she gets her heart set on something, she won't let go of it. I can't have her walking away from everything she's started building for herself far from this little town. Much as I love it, she deserves more. So promise me, when she comes to find you, tell her no."
I'd done exactly that. And regretted it ever since.
Except it didn't feel right. Because if Lydia was as stubborn as described, she wasn't going to simply accept my refusal and walk away from this place.
I take another sip of my coffee at the diner counter and try to will away my constant replay of the way she'd looked standing outside my cabin. Defiant, proud, and so damn beautiful it almost hurt. That was one thing the old man hadn't warned me about.
Richmond Jefferson settles on the stool beside me, shaking his head. "Surprised to see you in here, Brand. It's been a while."
"I had an early morning errand to pick up supplies. Figured I might as well let someone else cook for me. And the coffee's always good."
"That it is." Rich orders quickly, and the young man working this morning calls back to the kitchen. No computerized point of sale system here. Not yet at least. They still make the old way work. "Thanks, Johnny," he says, gratefully accepting the hot mug of coffee set in front of him.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, then Rich clears his throat.
"Have you heard about Corbin's daughter submitting a training plan for the VFD? She's planning on taking it over. Has a whole list of young recruits signed up."
My breakfast plate slides into place in front of me, but my vision wavers as I try to process what I just heard.
"She's planning to run the fire department? How? She's never even been involved before."
Rich chuckles. "Exactly what I asked her when she delivered the information to me. Said there's no rule that requires her to have specific experience. And she's right. We've always just had someone willing among the volunteers who stepped up. Corbin's been running it for decades and when he passed, no one felt like they could step into his shoes."
I thought about the conversations Corbin and I had before, the two of us sitting in this diner, at this exact counter, trading stories. He'd lost people before, working fires, much like I'd lost people in battle. And again, when I retired and became a city firefighter. Those losses were why I chose this place. Away from all those reminders. Of people I couldn't save.
He'd understood. Had sat beside me and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "We can't save them all. No matter how good we are, young man. All we can do is try."
Corbin had never asked me to be part of his team. Had seemed to grasp that I wasn't in the right head space for it.
But thinking about his daughter facing a fire, putting herself in harm's way, and not having the proper training to do so, makes my stomach twist.
"Johnny," I call and the owner's son makes his way over to me. "I need to take this food to go. And some cinnamon rolls."
I've got somewhere I need to be. And I'm hoping a peace offering will convince the woman I'm going to see that she should listen to me.
6
LYDIA
My eyes are gritty as I catalogue more of my father's old collection of fire department memorabilia. So many old pieces of equipment, tucked away in back rooms of the rambling house. Interesting and strange, some even dangerous looking as I work through them. I could easily injure myself if I'm not paying attention.
Which is exactly what happens when a very unexpected loud knock lands against the front door.
My finger slips, catching on a rough edge of brass, and I instantly suck in a quick breath to fight down the pain. A bright spot of red appears on my skin, and I immediately stick the sore spot in my mouth. Another loud knock forces me to get awkwardly to my feet and make my way through the house to the front door. Which I open with my uninjured hand, still sucking on the tip of my injured finger.
