Ember

by Ophelia Sexton

  "And I'm sure your husband feels the same way about you," Daniel said, unable to resist her smile. "I love it when someone appreciates my food."

  Barbara nodded as she deftly folded the coats that Daniel had purchased and put them in a huge paper bag with handles. "But enough about me. You were asking about jobs in town." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Have you tried the Wildcat Springs Texas BBQ on Main Street? I know the owner, Justin, was mentioning that he was having a hard time finding experienced cooks for his weekend shifts." She gave Daniel a knowing smile. "And that he'd like to spend more time with his wife."

  From past experience, Daniel knew what she meant. Restaurant work had a tendency to consume all of your available free time, especially if you owned a place.

  "I heard that Mr. Long was out of town," he said.

  Barbara nodded. "But he should be home soon. I think Elle mentioned something about staying in Coeur d'Alene over the weekend, and coming back on Monday or Tuesday. You should definitely stop by and talk to Justin once he's back."

  "Thanks for the information," he said, gathering up the coat bag and a smaller bag containing mittens, scarves, hats, and other cold-weather gear.

  "You tell Margaret that I said 'hi,' and to please bring that wonderful apple pie of hers to the next fundraiser for the fire department," Barbara said, as Daniel walked away.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up her phone and begin texting furiously.

  Daniel stopped to put his purchases in his Jeep before continuing down the street towards the bakery.

  On impulse, he made a stop at the combination florist and bridal shop he had noticed earlier, and found himself once again answering a barrage of friendly questions from the Ordinary young woman who put together a beautiful bouquet of roses for him. He learned that Margaret was well-liked in the community and that her eldest daughter Kayla was a veterinarian who had saved the life of the florist's cat last summer.

  Laden with a huge armful of flowers wrapped in crinkly tissue paper and plastic, he walked past the Wildcat Springs Texas BBQ. The first thing he noticed was the big banner hanging over the huge plate glass window: Voted Best Eats in Lemhi County for Five Consecutive Years! Thank you for your patronage!

  Well, that was a mark in the restaurant's favor. Curious, Daniel peered through the window. The restaurant wasn't very busy, which wasn't surprising since dinner rush wouldn't start for another hour or two, but there were a couple of families and an older couple seated in the dining room.

  As he'd expected, the restaurant's interior was decorated in a rustic style, with wooden tables and chairs, and floors made from wide, weathered boards. Exposed ducting and steel header beams overhead added an industrial touch, which was counterbalanced by an assortment of framed photos and Texas-themed memorabilia covering the brick walls. Daniel spotted lariats, an assortment of cowboy hats, antique Texas license plates, a coil of barbed wire, and a stuffed armadillo, along with an old leather saddle mounted high on one wall.

  Everything in the dining room looked well-organized. All the tables were neatly set, the floor and the furniture looked clean, and all of the mirrors and metal fixtures shone with a polished gleam. All signs of a well-managed restaurant to Daniel's experienced eye.

  I don't know much about barbecue, but I could learn, he thought. Especially if Justin Long was willing to offer him a job.

  Continuing on, Daniel crossed the street to the bakery.

  It was located on the ground floor of a two-story brick building. Painted letters on the glass door read Cinnamon + Sugar Bakery & Café.

  Underneath, the sign said, Open 5:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m., Tuesday – Sunday.

  Both parts of the sign were written in a pink, curlicued font.

  Daniel checked the time on his phone. 4:30 p.m. He'd managed to arrive before closing time.

  An old-fashioned bell fastened to the top of the door tinkled as Daniel stepped inside the café. He paused to inhale the rich scents of freshly ground coffee, cinnamon, vanilla, sugar, and yeast before looking around.

  The interior of Cinnamon + Sugar was decorated in a retro style, with black-and-white floor tiles, marble-topped tables, and framed posters of vintage advertisements for chocolate, baking powder, and other baking-related items. A long row of glass bakery cases filled with a delectable-looking set of cookies, tarts, cakes, croissants, and gourmet sandwiches stretched on either side of a marble counter that held the cash register and a large, chrome-plated Italian espresso machine.

  Behind the counter, a tall, dark-haired, hazel-eyed athletic-looking young woman wearing a pink apron embroidered with the cafe's teddy bear logo was preparing a cappuccino for a waiting customer. He was a gray-haired African American man wearing a fisherman's vest studded with colorful flies.

  "Here you go, sir," said the young woman as she finished pouring steamed milk into a paper coffee cup and carefully spooned the foam over the hot mixture. "Sugar and sweeteners are on the count—"

  The customer wiped at his face, which shone with sweat, and began to reach for his coffee. He clutched at his chest and swayed for a moment. His face went ashy-gray and his eyes bulged.

  "I don't feel so good," he wheezed. He bent over, curling around the hand on his chest, then began to topple.

  Without thinking, Daniel dropped the bouquet, lunged forward, and caught the collapsing man before he hit the floor.

  Chapter Fourteen – First Responders

  The barista vaulted over the marble counter in a single graceful, powerful movement.

  "Oh my God!" she exclaimed as Daniel gently lowered the other man to the cafe's tiled floor, trying to ignore the insistent stab of pain from his fractured ribs.

  She dropped to her knees. "Sir! Sir! What's going on?" She shook the man' shoulder, but he didn't respond.

  Daniel shook his head. "Out cold."

  The barista pressed her fingers to the collapsed man's neck, just under his jaw, obviously feeling for a pulse in his carotid artery. "No pulse."

  She bent over him, her cheek over his mouth, and waited for a few seconds. "He's not breathing, either. Dammit!" She reached down and pulled a phone out of her back pocket. "I'm calling 911."

  "Good," Daniel said, feeling the familiar adrenaline rush of a crisis surge through his veins, sending every sense on high alert. Before last night, he hadn't felt that since Afghanistan. He knelt at the man's side. "I'll start CPR. Can you assist?"

  The young woman nodded as her thumbs danced across her phone's screen. "I'm studying to be an EMT."

  Daniel unzipped the man's fly vest and pulled up his shirt, revealing an expanse of dark brown skin sprinkled with tightly curled gray hair.

  He overheard a crisp female voice answer the barista's call almost immediately. "911, what's your emergency?"

  "Hey, Linda, it's Hannah. We have a possible 10-41 at the bakery. Man, in his early sixties, maybe, unresponsive, no pulse." Hannah was panting a little, and Daniel heard her heart racing, but her hazel eyes were alert and focused. She continued, "One of the other customers here is starting CPR."

  "I'll send the van over right away. You know the drill," said Linda.

  "Right." Hannah ended the call and tucked away her phone. "The paramedics are on their way," she informed Daniel as she knelt at the unconscious man's head.

  The next few minutes passed in a blur as Daniel followed the routine that had been drilled into him during his CPR training: place the heel of his palm on the lower half of the man's sternum, perform thirty chest compressions, followed by two breaths. He had to remind himself to moderate his shifter strength so that he didn't break the unconscious man's ribs.

  One of us walking around with broken ribs is plenty, he thought dryly as his own half-healed injuries protested the stress he was putting on them. Spikes of pain drove through his injured forearm and his side but he ignored them and concentrated on applying just the right amount of downward force in his compressions.

  Hannah monitored the man's vital signs
after every 30 compressions, and took over the artificial respiration.

  Despite the fact that she wasn't a full-fledged EMT yet, she was good in a crisis—calm, familiar with the routine.

  It felt like a long time until he saw the flashing lights of the paramedic van as it parked in front of the bakery, but in reality, it was probably only five minutes or so. From his experiences in Afghanistan, Daniel remembered how time would distort in combat situations, pulling out seconds and minutes like a slow, sticky ribbon of taffy.

  He heard the front door bell jangle repeatedly as two EMTs entered, lugging soft-sided first aid kits, but he didn't stop performing the chest compressions. That, too, had been drilled into him—not to stop CPR until someone else was right there, ready to either take over or evac the patient.

  There was a quick flurry of activity all around him as the EMTs set up their equipment. Daniel heard Hannah give the new arrivals a debrief, but concentrated grimly on his task. He was sweating with the pain pounding through his side, but his preternaturally keen hearing still couldn't detect any sounds of a beating heart inside his patient's chest.

  He heard the sharp ascending whine of an AED charging up, and then a deep, calm voice said, "I've got this."

  Relieved of duty, Daniel scrambled back on his heels to make room for the two EMTs to work. They were both wearing long sleeved navy-blue t-shirts with a round logo and "Bearpaw Ridge Fire Department" written across their extremely broad chests. They were both tall guys, built like linebackers, and they smelled of bear.

  More shifters.

  They opened the patient's shirt, swiftly applied the pads to his chest, then plugged the wires into the AED unit.

  "Everyone clear?" asked one of the EMTs.

  "Clear," Daniel joined in the chorus to confirm that no one was touching the patient.

  The AED unit blared with a mechanical voice, announcing that it was about to shock the patient.

  The EMTs waited until the shock had been delivered, then resumed CPR as they waited for the unit to recharge.

  Luckily, the patient's heart restarted after the second shock. An ambulance pulled up to the curb, and the next few minutes were occupied by lifting the patient onto a gurney and loading him in the ambulance while continuing treatment.

  "Mark, Dane, do you think that guy is going to be okay?" Hannah asked in a worried voice when the ambulance had pulled away.

  "I hope so," answered one of the men, as he packed away the AED. He had dark hair and a short beard, with hazel eyes like Hannah. Their features bore a distinct family resemblance. "At least we have a medical center in town now, so they won't have to drive that poor guy all the way to the hospital in Salmon."

  The other man, clean-shaven, looked like an older version of the bearded firefighter. He nodded at Hannah. "Good job, Hannah. You did all the right things."

  Her cheeks went pink. "Thanks, Dane."

  His gaze landed on Daniel, and gave him—and the bandage on his arm— a long assessing look before extending his hand. Daniel didn't miss the slight flare of his nostrils as Dane took in his scent.

  "Speaking of doing the right thing," the big firefighter said. "Thank you for jumping in. You've had training." It wasn't a question.

  Daniel took Dane's proffered hand and shook it. "At one point, I had the equivalent of EMT-B certification, but I've let that lapse." I never thought I'd need that Combat Life Saving course again. "My CPR certification is current, though."

  When he started working as a line cook, Daniel had thought it might come in handy for restaurant work. You never knew when a customer—or one of the staff—was going to keel over.

  "Good thing you did." Dane's grip was strong but not bone-crushing. He clearly wasn't one of those guys who turned each handshake into a dick-measuring contest. "I'm Dane Swanson. I'm the volunteer fire chief." He tilted his head at the bearded man next to him. "This is my brother Mark. And you must be Daniel Langlais."

  Hannah's eyes widened when she heard his name. More worrying, Daniel saw Mark's jaw muscles clench under his close-trimmed beard as the other man's hazel eyes narrowed.

  His own surprise must have shown on his face, because Dane smiled slightly and tapped his nose. "Aunt Margaret sent out a text message about your sanctuary request. Not too many other sabertooth shifters in town. I meant to drop by this evening to introduce myself and welcome you to the ranch."

  Great. This guy must be the clan enforcer, Daniel thought. He knew that bear shifter clans were matriarchal, with the most senior female calling the shots and the males serving as clan protectors and enforcers.

  At least Dane seemed friendly, if a little reserved.

  The brother standing next to him was a different story. He radiated hostile suspicion.

  With wary respect, Daniel eyed Mark's bulging biceps, clearly outlined by the tight sleeves of his fire department t-shirt.

  According to Pete, it had taken less than fifteen seconds for the bear shifter he'd tangled with to kick his ass and send him running for his life, badly injured.

  Do not ever fuck with one of those monsters, his brother had said when he told Daniel about the incident just before going on trial. He had lifted his shirt to reveal long pink stripes of scar tissue running down his side. I don't care if you're the fucking Pride First, none of us is a match for a fighting-mad grizzly bear.

  Daniel had a sinking feeling that the bear shifter in question had been Mark.

  Well, I've got two choices, he told himself. Either turn tail and run—his cat rose up in protest at this thought—or man up and see if this guy is going to be a problem.

  "Pleased to meet you, Dane, Mark," Daniel said warily. He forced himself to smile at Hannah. "And you're Hannah? We didn't get a chance to say hello before the, uh, stuff hit the fan."

  She made a visible effort to tame her stare, and stuck out her hand. "Hi, Daniel. I'm really glad you were here. I would have been a little freaked out to have to handle that on my own."

  "Same here," Daniel said, trading a quick shake with her. She had a firm grip for a woman, hinting at hidden strength. "I'm glad we were able to work together."

  "Why did Aunt Margaret offer you sanctuary?" Mark asked bluntly. But he didn't try to break Daniel's hand when they shook.

  "Because I asked her. Bunch of hostiles down south in Albuquerque tried to kill my ten-year-old nephew yesterday morning. I grabbed Chris and headed for the only place I knew of where those guys wouldn't dare chase us."

  Mark barked out a harsh laugh. "Got that right." He released Daniel's hand and stepped back with a sharp glance. "So, should we be expecting trouble?"

  Daniel shook his head. "The guys who attacked us wanted my pride's territory. They got what they wanted."

  "Thanks for the heads up," Mark said. "Just in case." He didn't look happy. And no reason he should, if he thought that Daniel had arrived with trouble hot on his heels.

  "How's your nephew doing?" Dane asked, as he bent to finish packing away his gear.

  "He's fine," Daniel replied. He decided that clan enforcer or not, he liked the big bear shifter. "The attack freaked him out, but he seems to be bouncing back pretty quickly. The kids on the ranch have been really nice to him."

  Dane nodded, and straightened up. "That's good to hear. You let me know if Chris needs anything—my son is about the same age, and I'm sure he'd be happy to share."

  Realization dawned.

  "Are you Matt's dad?" asked Daniel. "Because he and a girl named Sophie really went out of their way this morning to make Chris feel welcome. Matt's a real nice kid—actually, all of them are nice—and you should be proud of him."

  Dane grinned, and his face lit up, making him look much younger. "Yep, Matt's one of mine. And thanks—I'll pass along your compliment to my wife. She'll be happy to hear that Matt's doing the right thing even when we aren't around." He looked at his brother. "C'mon Mark, let's get going. I want to get home in time to cook dinner for Annabeth."

  Mark stooped to pick up the b
ig soft-sided first aid case.

  Daniel saw him freeze, and followed the big bear shifter's glance to the rose bouquet lying on the floor in front of the cash register.

  Mark didn't say anything, though, as he followed Dane out of the bakery.

  Just before the door closed, Dane said over his shoulder, "See you at Sunday dinner, Daniel. It's a Swanson tradition, and you should meet everyone."

  The big firefighter's tone was friendly, but Daniel knew an order when he heard one.

  He fought his instinctive bristle as jangle of the doorbell announced Dane and Mark's departure. He was a guest in Swanson territory. More than that, he was a refugee who'd turned up with gunshot wounds and a terrified child in tow.