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“You’re a smart ass too, huh?”
“Nope. Practical.”
She looks at me with her head tilted.
“What?” I ask.
“You carried that bucket like it was full of nitroglycerin. I said they were heavy. Didn’t say they were going to explode.”
“No, but I’d bet money you’d explode if I dropped them.”
A small grin flashes on her pretty face. “My temper’s not that bad.”
Silence falls between us, then she points her clippers at me. “You don’t sleep, do you?”
“What? Is it the dark circles? My landlord is keeping me up in case you wondered where they came from.”
Her reply is quiet. “I don’t sleep either. Not since I was seventeen.”
Lindsey turns back to her roses. She’s humming again before I can figure out what to do with her admission, or how she acted like she accidentally opened a door and had to shut it again quickly.
“You didn’t keep me awake,” I say, needing to clear the air on that, but before I can say anything else, my pager goes off. The sound slices through the workroom—three high tones.
Susan’s voice from dispatch follows immediately. “Eden Fire, Engine 1, Brush 1, wildland fire, lightning strike reported, old Hollister ranch off North Fork Road. Caller reports smoke column visible from the highway.”
“Go,” Lindsey says as she wipes her hands on her apron. “The Hollister place is all cheatgrass and old hay. It’ll run.”
“Not good,” I reply and I’m out the door. I’m halfway up the stairs for my boots when she calls after me.
“Travis!”
When I stop and look back, she’s standing in the doorway with both arms wrapped around her middle.
“Be careful,” she says.
The softness of her voice would be hard to miss. Mine comes out rough when I reply, “I’m always careful.”
“Thanks for finally speaking,” she calls, and goes back inside.
As I drag on my boots, a heavy dose of guilt sets in. I should have said hello to her before. There were chances. Hell, any morning, I knew where to find her.
Only I know why I didn’t. My body had already decided Lindsey was a smoke show.
I’ve got to keep my head on the job, not that a woman like Lindsey would be interested in a man like me.
Pushing the negative, spiraling thoughts out of my head, I grab my keys. It’s been four minutes since the tone and Rob is already in the bay, pulling his wildland pack off the hook.
His hand stops midway and he gives me a studying look. He shakes his head and tosses me my helmet. “You look like you got hit by something.”
“Lightning.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob says. “Get in the truck, Sarge.”
Bear is driving Engine 1, and Clint is up front. Rob and I are in the back with the wildland packs between our knees.
Brush 1 is right behind us with another probie at the wheel. Devin Mathews, Clint’s cousin, started three days after I did.
The sun isn’t up yet, but the sky behind the mountain is turning gray. Main Street goes by the window as we rumble past. The green awning of Lindsey’s shop is a magnet for my eyes.
