A Firefighter's Ultimate Duty

by Beverly Long

  She went to the small break room on the second floor where she’d stowed her lunch earlier. While she was there, she poured herself another cup of coffee. She was usually done with caffeine by midmorning, but she felt that she needed the extra jolt today.

  It had been almost midnight on Saturday night when she and Sophie had finally pulled into the driveway. Daisy had had a headache that three ibuprofen hadn’t touched. She was hungry again but, quite frankly, too tired to eat. After hiding her car keys, she’d gone to bed, intending to sleep late.

  Instead, she’d woken up twice in the middle of the night and had only been able to go back to sleep once she’d verified that Sophie was still asleep in her bed. Daisy had been exhausted when she’d gotten up at nine and had hoped for an afternoon nap. That hadn’t happened because there’d been groceries to buy, school supplies to obtain, and she and Sophie had looked for new paint for Sophie’s bathroom. A return to normalcy, she’d told herself as she’d literally dragged herself from store to store.

  Sleep on Sunday night had been much the same as sleep on Saturday night, proving that a return to normalcy was ridiculously easy to say but terribly hard to achieve when emotions were still raw. When the alarm clock had rung this morning, she’d desperately wanted to hide in bed, but she’d had to get both herself and Sophie out of the house.

  The first stop had been Sophie’s new school. Daisy had done most of the required paperwork online, but she still needed to stop in the office and sign a few forms. There, they’d met Sophie’s counselor who looked barely old enough to drink, let alone advise her child on anything important. But Daisy had had no choice but to leave a sullen Sophie in the young woman’s care.

  She’d left the building feeling depressed and had to really work on summoning up her energy in order to walk into the Pratt Sports Spot offices with a smile on her face. Now, as she chewed her slightly dry turkey sandwich, because she’d forgotten to buy mayonnaise, her jaw hurt from the effort of keeping said smile in place.

  At five minutes to one, she knocked on Tom Howards’s door. She heard a come in and turned the knob. His office, like hers, was on the fourth floor of a four-story building and offered a wall of windows, letting the inhabitant have a full view of the Washington coast. Even in February, when the trees were bare and the ground more brownish-gray than green, the ocean lapping up against the rocky coast was stunning. And when she’d interviewed, it had been one of the appealing aspects of the job.

  Tom was on the phone and motioned for her to have a seat in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. She sat and opened her notebook. Clicked her pen, ready to write. It took several minutes for him to finish his call. It was something concerning distribution that she thankfully was not involved in.

  When he hung up, he smiled at her. “How’s your day going?”

  “Great. Getting settled,” she said.

  “Excellent. Thanks for coming here on short notice. I’ve already talked to Hosea twice this morning. Being in the hospital with a broken hip doesn’t appear to have slowed him down any.”

  Before she could answer, his phone rang again. “It’s him,” Tom said.

  She didn’t even have time to inquire about his health before Hosea jumped in. “Daisy, this morning I agreed to be the Gold sponsor for the Spring Spectacular. It’s the firefighters’ annual dance. I want you to head up the effort. To be a cochair, working in conjunction with somebody from the fire department.”

  “Certainly,” she said. This was in her wheelhouse.

  “We’re a little late getting into the game because, quite frankly, I’d already turned down the request. But after what happened to us on our climb, I had a sudden change of heart,” he said.

  A near-death experience could do that, she supposed. “How late?” she asked.

  “The dance is in three weeks.”

  There was no way to pull an event together from scratch. The best she could hope for was that the other cochair had done some good work. “Do you have a contact name?” she asked.

  “The fire chief’s office was going to fax over some pertinent details to my assistant. You can get them from her. They gave me the name of your cochair. I didn’t expect to know him but, as it turns out, I’m intimately acquainted with him.”

  Daisy looked at Tom. He shrugged, offering no help.

  “You actually know him, too,” Hosea said. He sounded amused, as if enjoying the tease.

  It took her a full ten seconds to realize what he was saying. Later, Daisy would blame her slowness on lack of sleep. Or on optimism, that the world really wasn’t that small or vindictive.

  She placed her leather portfolio on the edge of Tom’s desk. Carefully set her pen down. Took a breath. “Blade Savick, right?” she asked, hoping that her voice betrayed none of her thoughts.

  “You’ve got it,” he said. “You can reach him at the Treaty Boulevard fire station. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. It’s going to be the biggest and best fundraising event that this community has ever seen. Just develop an in-depth understanding of his world and then figure out a way to convey that to donors. That shouldn’t be any problem. I’ve arranged for you to shadow him at work for the next week.”

  Shadow Blade Savick. She swallowed hard, thinking the turkey rumbling in her stomach might make a reappearance on Tom’s desk.

  “Any questions?” Hosea asked.

  “Uh...no. Got it. I’ll give Mr. Savick a call today. Does he know that we’ll be cochairs?”

  “No idea. Now look, I’ve got to run. Metaphorically speaking,” Hosea added with a chuckle. “No running here or dancing, but my therapist has assured me that I should be able to briefly attend the Spring Spectacular if I’m a good patient. Let’s make sure it’s an event we can be proud to have the Pratt Sports Spot name associated with.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Tom ended the call. He looked at her. “I’ve been to these events in past years. It’s a big deal.”

  She stood on legs that felt shaky. “Best get on it, then,” she said. Hosea’s office was right down the hall from Tom’s. Sandra Brogen, Hosea’s assistant, was at her desk. She held up a piece of paper in Daisy’s direction. “I assume you talked with Hosea.”

  Daisy nodded. “Very exciting,” she said. She didn’t want it getting back to the boss that she was anything but enthusiastic about the new assignment. Daisy looked at the information.

  It wasn’t much. Basically just a quick email that summarized that a few of the main tasks had been done. A date had been established. A location had been reserved—the Knoware Community Center. A caterer had been hired—Gertie Biscuit. And a DJ was under contract—Knoware Tunes.

  “This is all they sent?” she asked.

  “That’s it,” Sandra said.

  This project was going to have to go to the top of the pile. “Thank you,” she said. She walked back to her own office and closed the door behind her. Then she sat at her desk for a few minutes.

  There’s no time to waste. Call him. Just call him.

  She turned to her computer and within a minute had found the number for the fire station. She picked up her phone, then put it down. Did that twice more before she finally dialed.

  “Knoware Fire,” a man answered.

  “Blade Savick, please,” she said, then swallowed hard. Her throat was dry.

  “Hang on,” he said. “Savick,” she heard him yell. She waited.

  “Hello.”

  “Blade?” she asked stupidly.

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Daisy Rambler.”

  No response.

  “I spoke with Hosea Pratt earlier about the Spring Spectacular.”

  Still no response.

  “Are you there?” she asked, feeling more than a little peevish.

  “I am.”

  “Well
, anyway, Pratt Sports Spot has agreed to be the corporate sponsor of the event. I’m your cochair,” she added, plunging ahead fast. “Hosea has arranged for me to shadow you. I’m calling to inquire as to where I should show up.” She finished with a flourish.

  “Slow down,” he said. “You’re my cochair? And you’re going to shadow me?”

  “I just said that.”

  He paused. “How’s your daughter?”

  “Fine. Thanks for asking,” she added. “But I think we should keep this just business.” She needed to get this assignment behind her.

  “Whatever works, Daisy. I’m on duty until nine tomorrow if you want to get started today.”

  She wanted to avoid it forever. There was something about Blade that made her feel off balance. “I’ll be there in an hour,” she said. The clock was ticking.

  “Looking forward to it.” He hung up.

  She wasn’t sure if he’d been teasing her. She figured it didn’t matter. This was a shared responsibility, something they both had a vested interest in going well. That should be enough.

  * * *

  Blade went to find Charlie. Nothing happened at the station without him knowing about it. “I just got a call from Daisy Rambler,” he said.

  “Yep,” Charlie said. He sat at the table with the newspaper spread around him. It was a rare minute of downtime, and Charlie was a great believer in not squandering those opportunities.

  Also he apparently believed in holding his cards close.

  “She’s the woman who was with Hosea Pratt in Headstone Canyon,” Blade said. “Apparently, Pratt Sports Spot is the corporate sponsor of the annual fundraiser. She’s coming to shadow us. Know anything about that?”

  “Just got off the phone with the brass. Orders are to make her feel welcome and let her hang out as long as she wants to. Evidently, the sponsorship is for even more than we asked for. Pratt Sports Spot is really stepping up. Guess Hosea stepped off at a very convenient time for us,” he added, smiling. “And as I recall, looking at Ms. Rambler was no hardship.”

  Hardly.

  Charlie folded his newspaper. “You got concerns, Savick?”

  “Always complicates things when civilians get in the way,” he hedged. It wouldn’t be helpful to have Charlie know that he had an interest in Daisy.

  “I guess your job, then, is to keep her from getting in the way. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  “I suppose it would be too lucky that she cooks,” Charlie mused. “Perry can’t get back too soon.”

  Perry Lindell had been part of the team for more than four years. Prior to becoming a firefighter, he’d been a chef in Minneapolis. “We don’t want to let those skills get rusty.” That was what Charlie had told him as he’d handed him an apron and knife shortly after he’d arrived.

  Perry had ruptured his Achilles tendon two weeks ago. Their stomachs missed him.

  “I don’t think that’s the first question I’m going to ask her,” Blade said. He’d already put his foot in his mouth with Daisy once.

  “Your choice. She’ll be in your hands,” Charlie said, folding his paper. He tossed it in the middle of the table and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Blade alone with his thoughts.

  He’d spent most of the previous night contemplating ways he might engineer another meeting with Daisy Rambler. Had even seriously considered enlisting the help of his daughter by asking her to befriend Sophie. But had been able to pull back from that foolishness, with the sure knowledge that past decisions to keep his love life and his parenting in separate quadrants still made good sense.

  And now she’d dropped into his lap.

  Serendipity.

  He hoped he didn’t screw it up.

  * * *

  “You’re shadowing Blade Savick,” Jane said, sounding amused. She’d called just as Daisy was walking to her car.

  “I’m shadowing the fire department. For work. Blade just happens to be my contact. My cochair,” she amended.

  “It’s weird how the two of you keep getting thrown together,” Jane said.

  Weird. Daisy guessed that was one word for it. “It’s business.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her friend did not sound convinced.

  “I just wish I’d attended one of these fundraisers before,” Daisy said. “I’d know what to expect.”

  “I imagine that a whole lot of pictures and video exist.”

  She could ask around at work. Or do one better, she thought, as the germ of an idea started sprouting. Maybe there was a way to work up some interest and enthusiasm in the community.

  She could...

  With some effort, she pulled herself back. She couldn’t forge ahead without giving Blade a chance to have input on the idea. Which was a slightly bitter tasting pill considering that it hadn’t been that many hours ago that she’d told him to keep his opinions to himself.

  “How’s Sophie?” Jane asked.

  “I haven’t gotten a call from school yet that she’s disappeared.”

  “Good girl, looking at the positive.”

  “There’s a positive?” Daisy asked.

  Jane laughed. “Of course. But sometimes it’s buried under a bunch of sh...turf. You just got to be willing to pitch the turf aside.”

  “Lots of turf in my life lately,” Daisy admitted. Her grandmother dying; Jacob refusing to go away; her decision that the only real alternative was for her and Sophie to leave Denver.

  “Turf decomposes over time,” Jane said. “Fertilizes and nourishes.”

  “I suppose people at work won’t think it’s odd that the next time something goes wrong at work, I exclaim oh, turf!”

  Jane laughed. “Look, I’ve got to scoot. More reluctant witnesses to talk to. Good luck on the new assignment.”

  “Thanks,” Daisy said. She hung up. Luck. Skill. Whatever it took, she was not going to blow her first big project. With that in mind, she took the time to send Tom Howards a quick email. She and Blade needed to hit the ground running, and she hoped that Tom responded quickly.

  She opened her car door and climbed inside. When she punched in the address, she realized it was only seven minutes away.

  There was something wonderful about small towns. In Denver, it had sometimes taken her seven minutes to get through a traffic light.

  When she arrived, she parked on the street in front of the fire station. It was a large brick building, with three big garage-type doors. They were all closed, likely in deference to the cold biting wind that had settled in, keeping the outside temperature in the low twenties. There was a side entrance, a regular door. She debated knocking but that seemed odd so she turned the knob and walked in.

  It was a small office area. She recognized the man at the desk. He’d been on the ground when Blade and the other paramedic had climbed up to assist Hosea. He was substantially older than Blade, and she thought perhaps he might be in charge.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m Daisy Rambler from Pratt Sports Spot.”

  “I’m Charlie Smith. Nice to see you again,” he said. “With two feet on firm ground,” he added, with a smile.

  “Thank you for everything that you and the rest of the responders did. I can’t imagine how different it might have been if all of you hadn’t been so competent.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said. “I heard that you’re going to be spending some time here shadowing Blade Savick, getting to see how things work.”

  “We’re excited about making this the best annual fundraiser that the community has ever seen.”

  “We’re all in for that. We could use the funding. Come on, I’ll take you to find Savick.”

  He opened the door and she felt an immediate chill. The big doors might be closed, but that didn’t mean that the inside was warm and toasty. It might have been sixty degrees
, but she wasn’t even sure about that.

  Three people, two men and one woman, were working in the large area. It appeared that they were polishing one of the three large fire trucks that were parked inside.

  “I’ll let Savick do the introductions,” Charlie said. He pointed to a door at the rear of the building. “That way.”

  He opened the door for her, and when she stepped inside, it wasn’t warm but warmer than where the trucks were parked. It was empty with the exception of somebody who was bent over, their head and shoulders inside an open refrigerator. She had an excellent view of their butt.

  She was pretty sure she knew who it belonged to.

  Not too hard on the eyes. That was what her grandmother would have said about Blade Savick’s rear end.

  He straightened, turned, caught sight of them, and bobbled the peppers and onions in his hands. “Hello,” he said. “Didn’t realize you were there.”

  “Just got here,” she said.

  “I’ll leave you two to it,” Charlie said. “If you’ve got a kind heart,” he added, looking at her, “you’ll help him with that chili.”

  Once Charlie left, she stood awkwardly by the door. She watched Blade drop the onions and peppers near a cutting board that was on the counter.

  “Here, let me take your coat,” he said, walking toward her.

  “In a minute, maybe,” she said.

  He stopped six feet away from her. “Yeah, sorry about that. The heat in the building isn’t great.”

  She walked over to the stove. There was a big package of raw hamburger next to a pan. “Paramedic. Firefighter. Cook. You wear a lot of hats.”

  “Only the hats for paramedic and firefighter fit,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  She reluctantly started to unbutton her coat. The light blue wool would look bad with a chili stain. Once off, she laid the coat over the back of one of the chairs gathered around the table. Then washed her hands at the big sink.