Читать книгу Love, Special Delivery - Melinda Curtis - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

“THERE IT IS,” Dad said as he and Ben drove toward a small grass fire on a solitary stretch of two-lane highway on the outskirts of town.

It was their first fire operating as the Harmony Valley Fire Department. Ben was excited. Finally, the work he’d become a firefighter for had materialized. The peppery smoke was thick, the red-gold flames low, and a twenty-foot patch of ground blackened.

“You knock it down, son.”

Ben stepped on the brakes too hard. “What about calling for backup?” They were only two men. “What about protocol?” A four-person crew.

“We can have this fire out long before the Cloverdale team gets here.”

“Since when did you become a renegade?” His father had always played by the rules.

“Things are different in a small fire department.” Dad grinned. “And I happen to be the fire chief.”

No one would have their backs if things got out of hand. It would just be Ben and his father. It’d never been just Ben and his father, not even when he was a kid.

Ben leaned forward to study the fire again. It was a small fire, about the size of his parents’ living room. The grass here was sparse, having survived several years of drought. Little fuel, little wind, little fire. Odds were in their favor.

“Okay, boss. We’re saving Cloverdale Fire some gas.” Ben would rather his father stay in the truck, but he needed a second pair of hands to run the system, monitor water pressure and occasionally help him with the hose. With adrenaline-fueled speed, he hopped out and strapped on his breathing apparatus—his mask and a tank on his back. Then he pulled a hose free and connected it to the truck, while Dad readied the pump.

The fire crackled and popped as lazily as a ringed campfire. Ben wasn’t fooled. One strong gust of wind and the flames would sprint to the hills and then the Mayacamas mountain range separating Sonoma County from Napa. The fire would feed on the sparse grass until it found something meatier, like an abandoned house or a grove of drought-thirsty trees.

Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Ben aimed the nozzle toward the fire. “Let’s do this!”

Dad gave him juice, and soon water doused flames. The resulting steam sent a wave of heat rolling over him.

They were lucky. In no time, they were done. They’d caught the grass fire early. It died a quick death.

Goodbye, little fire.

Shades of Mandy, talking to inanimate objects.

Ben glanced skyward, where the moon made a daytime appearance.

A flash north of them caught Ben’s eye. At the bend in the highway, a small gray car backfired as it pulled out from under the trees and drove away. It was too far off for Ben to make out the license plate or even discern the make.

“Shut it down.” Ben called it. When the water stopped, he removed his mask and pointed to the trees. “Did you see that car?”

“I was busy.” Dad sank onto a bumper, gulping air. His mask-less face was ashen. “Watching you. And the gauges.”

A rush of anger drowned Ben’s adrenaline high. He stepped forward and clutched Dad’s shoulder, giving it a shake. “Why didn’t you wear a mask?”

Dad tugged off a glove and wiped his face. “I forgot.”

“You don’t forget. You can’t forget. You’re the fire chief.” Ben bit back a rant that might break eggs.

“Well, I did.” Dad produced his inhaler and took a hit. “What did you say before?” He drew in a labored breath that gave Ben sympathy gasps. “Something about a car?”

“I’m taking you to the doctor.” Ben tried to help him up, tried to be patient, tried not to be mad toward or disappointed in or scared for his role model.

“No doctor.” Dad shrugged him off. “Your mother will worry.”

“As opposed to her grieving...” Ben began to shout. “...when you die!” He glanced down to count the eggshells he’d broken and stomped on the urge to break more. He couldn’t let his father get to him.

“Don’t be maudlin.” The color was slowly returning to Dad’s face. “Do you suspect arson?”

Ben fumed quietly for a moment, trying to decide if he should call Dad’s doctor, or Mom, or no one at all. He made a choice. The choice to respect his father and his fire chief. “Doesn’t it seem suspicious? A car left right after we put the fire out.” Arsonists often stayed to watch the havoc.

“Maybe the driver was the one to call it in.”

“Maybe.” His mind wouldn’t let the idea of arson go. He’d studied to be a fire investigator for years. It was hard not to put any of that training into play.

Granted, the fire hadn’t been fast burning, which seemed to rule out accelerant. And it was within cigarette flicking distance from the two-lane, which would lead him toward suspecting a careless driver. But their audience... It felt like someone was flaunting their dirty work.

The wind shifted, sending smoke in their faces.

Dad bent over, hacking deeply. Ben had to help him inside the truck, where the air was cool and filtered. After Dad was settled and breathing almost normally, Ben stowed the gear, keeping an eye on the blackened ground in case an ember flared to life again. Nothing did.

“Sorry I couldn’t help with the cleanup,” Dad said when Ben returned to the cab. He looked like a defeated old boxer who’d tried unsuccessfully to make a comeback.

“It’s okay. I knew what I was getting into when I came here.” Double duty. Hiding Dad’s secret. Locking away his principles for the better part of a year.

Ben put the engine in gear and headed into town, letting his mind wander. It meandered to a tin of matchbooks.

“I just didn’t think I’d feel so worthless,” Dad said, his voice barely audible above the engine.

If Dad had been among the new generation of firefighters, like Ben, he’d have worn a breathing apparatus at every fire—big or small. He wouldn’t have developed heart and lung disease. He’d be finishing a long and illustrious career in Oakland. He’d be planning retirement and trips with Mom, making jokes about poor working stiffs.

And Ben would be switching gears, working as a fire investigator.

Those matchbooks...

“Where are we going?” Dad asked when they missed the turn to the firehouse.

“I have a hunch.” There was one person in town he knew of who’d started a fire and been mesmerized. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped he was being paranoid, falling prey to a worst-case-scenario hypothesis. But being a worst-case-scenario thinker was a plus when it came to fire prevention, and Dad had just proved his judgment wasn’t the greatest.

Ben pulled in front of the post office and wished he hadn’t.

There was a small gray sedan parked in the lot.

* * *

EVEN WITH COUNTRY music blaring from the radio in the post office, Mandy knew when the town’s fire engine pulled up. The big engine rivaled the beat of the country song on the radio.

“I’m not ready for a fire inspection,” Mandy muttered, turning the music down. It hadn’t been a week since the first one.

What she really wasn’t ready for was seeing Ben again. The past few nights, she’d stayed up late before going out to see the moon because their exchange had seemed too intimate. She’d told him about eggshells. She’d told him about sharing secrets with the moon. He must think she was an idiot!

Not that this was anything new when it came to Mandy and men.

Mandy didn’t have her act together when it came to the opposite sex. And especially not when faced—literally—with a confident handsome man like Ben. He probably liked women who were petite and polished and wore heels the likes of which Mandy didn’t have in her closet. She was launching a post office and raising a teenager. She didn’t have time for pretty clothes, stylish hair or makeup. Who was she kidding? She didn’t like clothes that showed how reed-thin her body was. She didn’t like spending more than a minute on her hair. And makeup? It gave her acne.

On nervous legs, Mandy dodged the postal service maintenance crew, their ladder and the stack of boxes they’d brought containing fire alarms, extinguishers and lighted Exit signs. They’d claimed the sorting counter as their personal staging area, but they’d spread out like high tide on a flat marsh.

Utley sat in the sunshine on the loading dock in a webbed camp chair, a burning cigarette in his fingers. How long had he been sitting there? She hadn’t noticed his arrival.

Mandy touched his shoulder as she passed.

The old man startled, dropping the cigarette on the concrete, barely missing the tin of matchbooks he’d saved from the trash several days ago.

She paused at the top of the stair. “Did I wake you?” It was hard to believe anyone could sleep through her music or the whine of drills installing new signage and fire alarms.

“No.” Utley’s eyes were heavy-lidded. “I was meditating.” He lifted his fingers to his lips as if to take a drag from his cigarette, noticed his fingers were empty, and immediately brushed at his lap as if dozing and dropping cigarettes was a regular occurrence.

“It’s on the ground,” Mandy told him, hurrying down the concrete steps to meet Ben. “Don’t light another.” She’d already told him twice he couldn’t smoke on the premises.

She’d received her first mail delivery this morning and wasn’t sure how much of a stink Ben would put up about her operating without the fire control panel working. She didn’t want to admit all her safety measures weren’t in place, but she didn’t want to disappoint her supervisor and delay mail delivery either.

She reached Ben in the middle of the parking lot.

He wore his turnout gear and smelled pleasantly like the wood fires her grandfather used to make when they went camping. She’d wondered about their next meeting. Would he be the rigid fireman or the compassionate neighbor?

Question answered. Ben wore his intimidating scowl, as if they’d never spoken in the darkness about eggshells or the moon.

The post office phone rang.

Mandy yelled to Olivia to take a message before turning to Ben with a smile she hoped didn’t betray how nervous he made her feel. “Has it been a week already? It’s been a challenge to pull work crews out here. But they’re here today.” She was babbling faster than a political talk show host. “And I’m checking things off my list.” If she sounded any perkier, she might puke.

Ben stared at her as if he’d sat down at a poker table with people he didn’t like. Namely her. And then his glance moved over the cars and trucks in the parking lot. “Have you been here long?”

“All morning. I just finished sanding the flagpole.” She held up her red, raw hands, waving to Keith in the fire truck. The fact that the fire chief wasn’t getting out had to mean this wasn’t a fire inspection...she hoped. “I only went up about eight feet. I’m not very good on a ladder. I get vertigo.”

“The flagpole out front?” Ben walked backward a few feet, every step magnetically drawing Mandy, too. He stopped where they could both see the front of the post office.

“Yes, the one and only flagpole.” She’d left the ladder and supplies at its base. Was that a fire hazard? “Are you here for my inspection?” Or just to torture her?

“No one inside can see or hear you when you’re out there,” Ben noted, poker-faced. His lip was no longer fat, making the hard line of his mouth that much harder.

“It’s a two-way street. I can’t see or hear anyone inside either.” Which was a blessing when Olivia was in drama mode. “Is there something wrong? I mean, I didn’t dance naked out here. I was just sanding.”

“It’s hard work getting this place in shape.” Utley shuffled up to them, adjusting his blue postal cap to shield his eyes from the sun. He always looked like he was on a tropical vacation. Today he wore a green Hawaiian shirt with white flowers over his khaki shorts. “Glad I could help.”

If by helping, Utley meant lending moral support while he napped or reminisced about the old days, the retired postal worker was doing a bang-up job.

“Are you going to tell us about the fire?” The old man planted his sandals hip distance apart and rocked from side to side. “That’s why you’ve got your gear on, isn’t it?”

A flicker of fear for Ben skimmed Mandy’s spine, so light she barely recognized it. But not so light that it didn’t send heat into her cheeks. “Are you okay? Is Keith okay?”

“We’re good. It was just a little grass fire,” Ben said carefully, staring at her face. “It went down quickly.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad.” The heat in her cheeks changed to a prickle of discomfort at his continued scrutiny. Did she have something on her face? Ink? Rust? Cookie crumbs?

“Is that...” Ben leaned around Mandy, peering at the loading dock. “Is that the tin of matches I threw away?”

“It’s my tin of matches.” Utley patted his pockets as if searching for something. “I’ve been using them. I never let anything go to waste.”

“I tried to stop him.” Mandy tried to keep her voice down, brushing her fingers over her cheeks.

“You should have tried harder.” Yep, that was her überprincipled fireman Ben.

Few men were taller than she was, which meant few men made her feel feminine. Mandy glanced down at her tennis shoes and her blue work shorts, and sighed. Honestly, Ben was right about the matches. She was the postmaster. She shouldn’t have let Utley keep the matches after the fire department wanted them removed. At the very least, she shouldn’t have let Utley keep them here.

She continued to explain her case to Ben in a voice below hearing aid range. “He’s having a hard time adjusting to me in charge. He thought he’d be the next postmaster, and he’s heartbroken. So he nags and he criticizes, but it doesn’t mean much. The matches were a compromise.”

A crease strobed between Ben’s brows, and his lips twitched downward. She’d probably ruined her credibility by admitting she talked to the moon. She had to reestablish herself.

“Utley.” Mandy turned to her grandfather’s friend and coworker. “The matches will have to go home with you.”

Utley stopped patting pockets and reached in one, most likely for a pack of cigarettes.

She laid her hand over Utley’s, preventing him from taking it out. “And you’ll have to respect the no-smoking rule at this facility.”

“So that’s how it is.” Utley worked his wrinkles into a deeply lined frown. “All those years of service and now I’m like a stack of unclaimed mail.”

“Well, we never throw unclaimed mail away,” Mandy said, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s not right.” Utley turned and shuffled back toward the loading dock.

“About the cars back here,” Ben began.

“Wait.” Mandy snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot. I got a special shipment today. Keith has a package.” She hurried past Utley and up the stairs. “It must have broken open during transit. Someone along the way resealed it.” She picked up the white plastic bag, but something fell out. “Shoot.” They hadn’t resealed it very well.

A pill bottle rolled across the floor toward where Ben stood on the loading dock.

Mandy swooped it up and checked the name on the prescription to the address label. Satisfied they matched, she handed both the bag with several other prescriptions and the escaped pill bottle to Ben. “You might want to check the shipping manifest to make sure all the meds he needs are in there.”