by Kayt C Peck
Guy stood noticeably taller as he turned to face Brad. “This is insubordination, son. I expect you to step down as deputy chief.”
Joe Bob stepped close to Guy. “Not likely.” With unplanned choreography, the occupants of the station changed position, circling the old cowboy, expressing a respect for his authority that had nothing to do with his title. “He was duly elected by this company, and he’ll stay deputy chief as long as this company says he’s deputy chief.”
Guy’s face went from red to pale. He took two steps back, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Well…well…the chief has to be in charge. At a fire—”
“Yep, at a fire, it’s important for the Incident Commander to be in charge, but I been talking with Ted Rome. The company elects the officers and the officers are responsible for company business.”
Guy turned to April. “Who invited you here?”
“I did,” Judy said.
“We did,” Kathleen corrected.
“She’s a good friend and a fine reporter,” Judy added.
Guy focused his full attention on Judy. He gave her a look that touched a cold core of fear somewhere in Judy’s heart, but she stood firm, her gaze never wavering.
“Well, you folks have fun out here. I’ll be in the office doing some real fire business, none of this publicity stunt stuff.” Guy turned abruptly and strode into the office, slamming the door behind him.
There was dead silence throughout the station. Joe Bob looked at his fellow firefighters. “I think all you folks got things to do, don’t you?” he said.
The group scattered, returning to the tasks begun before the confrontation.
“If you’ll excuse us for a minute, ma’am,” Joe Bob said to April, “We need to do a little company business, and I sure hope this hasn’t put our company in a bad light for your newspaper.”
April smiled. “I’m here tonight for a human interest story about one rural fire department, reflecting on how important you volunteers are to everyone in the Panhandle.” She looked toward the closed office door. “But I wonder if, in time, there’s not another important story here.” April pulled her notepad from a vest pocket and walked toward the two young men who had gone back to SCBA training. The officers of Coldwater Volunteer Fire watched as she moved away, and Joe Bob motioned for them to gather close.
“Is that true what you said, Brad, about the officers being in charge of company business?”
Brad smiled sheepishly. “It will be if we ever get our act together and pass bylaws.”
“Don’t worry, Joe Bob. Martha and I got sample bylaws from Ted Rome, and we’re working on a draft now,” Kathleen said.
“Joe Bob, you know the company elected you chief…maybe that’s the way it should still be,” Judy said.
The old ranch foreman rubbed at his stubbly chin. “We need to ease into this. Guy’s got us hog-tied until we can get the financial and company records out of his hands. Let’s get these bylaws done for now…take our time and do it right.”
Chapter Sixteen
Meanwhile, Back in Amber
Pookie was surprised how different it was to drive a pickup in city traffic. A native of Colorado Springs, she was no rookie to city driving, but a half-ton truck wasn’t like her mother’s low-slung sedan. She’d grown comfortable maneuvering the old rattletrap feed truck or even Judy’s newer Ford pickup around the rutted roads of the ranch. She’d had no misgivings about driving when Judy offered to loan her the truck for a trip to Amber. Judy and Kathleen sent her with a short list of items to pick up from the health food store and an over-sized ranch supply store, things not to be had in Dulson. She had the list, but they didn’t fool Pookie. Her benefactors were giving her a chance to spend time with Terry, a chance to visit her new girlfriend on Terry’s own turf.
After asking Pookie to make the shopping trip to Amber, Judy had focused on pouring another cup of coffee.
“You know, it’s an awful long day driving to and from Amber and doing all the shopping,” Judy said.
Kathleen turned her face to hide a sly smile as she picked up her empty breakfast plate and walked toward the sink. “And motel rooms are kind of expensive,” she said as she placed the plate in a sink of soapy water.
Judy cleared her throat. “If you wanted to stay the night…well…maybe you could stay with a friend.”
Pookie didn’t bother to answer before rushing up the stairs to her room. She’d hit the speed dial on her phone for Terry’s number while still on the stairs.
“Damn it,” Pookie said the second time she jumped a curb while turning a corner. There were no curbs on the ranch.
She had completed her city errands and drove out of the business district of Amber toward the quieter neighborhoods near the university where Terry worked and went to school. The electronic voice of the GPS on her cell phone led her confidently to the address for Terry’s apartment. Pookie half expected the bossy voice of her electronic guide to comment on the curb induced bumpy journey, but no such criticism ensued.
“You have reached your destination on the right,” the business-like voice said, and a street view picture of the tiny duplex appeared on the phone screen as Pookie parked the truck in front of the real thing. Pookie sat for several minutes, waiting for her pulse rate to slow. She hadn’t seen Terry since they’d become intimate, emotionally and spiritually as well as physically. Weeks had passed since Terry visited the ranch with April and Sophia. The pair made full use of the unlimited minutes on their cell phones during the interim, but the thought of seeing, touching, smelling, and tasting Terry once again made Pookie lightheaded.
Finally, Pookie opened the door and climbed from the cab to the street, starting for the front door. She was half-way through the tiny front yard when the front door swung open and Terry rushed outside. It was a cross between a collision and an embrace when they came together. Pookie had been afraid there would be an awkwardness at first, but she felt instantly at home in the circle of Terry’s arms. The kiss they exchanged was more like hunger than passion. Pookie finally pushed slightly away, glancing around the neighborhood.
“What will your neighbors think?” she asked.
Terry laughed. “Most of them will think the woman I’ve been telling them all about is finally here.” She tilted her head to one side, thinking. “Except Mrs. Burrell. She’ll think the whole younger generation is damned to hell and will probably put us on the prayer list at the First Pentecostal Church.”
“Nice to know she cares,” Pookie responded.
“Nosey and mean, that’s what she is,” Terry responded. She leaned down to pick up the small duffle Pookie had dropped on the sidewalk, leaving both arms free to greet her lover. “Speaking of Mrs. Nosey, let’s get inside. I can’t wait to show you my place.”
Terry paused momentarily, looking toward a tiny 1940s vintage Cape Code style cottage across the street. She smiled, waved, kissed her right hand, and then, with great exaggeration, blew a kiss toward the cottage.
“Mrs. Burrell’s house?” Pookie asked.
“One and the same,” Terry answered.
They walked together toward Terry’s front door. “Does she really watch that closely?” Pookie asked.
“It’s really rather pitiful. She sits in a recliner, looking out that window all day, every day. If she’s not watching, it’s because she’s in the bathroom or making a quick meal in the kitchen.”
“What about Mr. Burrell?”
“Rev. Burrell,” Terry corrected. “He died several years ago.”
“Poor woman,” Pookie said.
Terry opened the screen door, motioning Pookie to go inside, but she dropped the duffle and put her hand on Pookie’s arm, stopping her just before she entered the small duplex apartment. She gazed intently into Pookie’s eyes.
“That’s one of the things I love about you,” Terry said. “You care, even about people who hate you.”
Pookie smiled. “Learned that from my dad. If people hate me becaus
e I’m different, that’s their problem, not mine.”
As they stepped into Terry’s austere living room, Pookie stopped. She rotated in a slow circle, taking in every aspect of the room. The furniture was a mixture of Goodwill second-hand and Walmart particleboard cheapies, all rather typical college “digs.” There was a floral pattern loveseat with decorative placemats over the arms, not entirely successful in hiding the worn material beneath, and an office-style black recliner with a footstool. Pookie recognized it as a frequent Office Max sale item. Four cinder blocks with a plank across the top served as a coffee table, and a small desk rested against the wall; its obvious age and chipped paint did nothing to detract from its utilitarian nature – along with the cheap secretary’s chair beside it. Books and papers cluttered the surface with a laptop computer placed as the focal point on the desktop. A printer was on the floor beside the desk. College texts, with a few novels lightening the intellectual weight, filled a particleboard bookcase. Pookie was pleased to see both Tony and Anne Hillerman mysteries among them as well as Anne McCaffrey sci-fi. Pookie loved those fictional worlds and felt yet another bond between her and her lover. The shelves were full and a stack of overflow rested beside the bookcase. A tiny television sat atop the case, and Pookie could see attached to that television one of the antennas that picked up High Definition television without requiring paid cable or satellite.
Pookie savored the feel as well as the facts of the room. With an obviously limited budget, Terry managed to imbue a warmth and personality to the space. A poster of Vincent Van Gough’s Starry Night was taped to the wall above the loveseat, and a decorative candle rested in the center of the makeshift coffee table. A homemade banner saying, “To thine own self be true,” hung above the desk with a bumper sticker below it saying, “Well-behaved women rarely make history.”
Terry stood, obviously breathless. “Why…why do I feel like you’re seeing me totally naked?”
Pookie took Terry’s hand and faced her lover. “Do you mind me seeing where you live?”
“Mind? No. Terrified? Yes,” Terry responded.
Pookie stepped close, wrapping the taller woman in her arms. She stood on tiptoe, placing her mouth near Terry’s ear.
“Don’t fear me, love,” she whispered. “I adore what I see, whether it’s your soul or your body.”
Terry wept. She wrapped Pookie in an embrace so tight, Pookie had a little trouble breathing. Terry put her head on Pookie’s shoulder, and sobs bubbled up. Wounds old, deep, and buried found release. Terry wept as only someone who has experience deep pain can do once they have found a truly safe haven. Pookie held Terry tightly, reacting not in the least as the shoulder of her Gov’t Mule t-shirt became increasingly damp and just a little bit snotty. When it became apparent this would be far more than a brief cry, Pookie pushed gently away, took Terry’s hand, and led her to the loveseat, where they both sat. Terry took her place once again with her head on Pookie’s shoulder, their arms held tightly around each other. In time, the sobs eased, replaced by sniffles and a pronounced case of hiccups.
Finally, Terry backed away and grasped the tissue box from the coffee table. She took three tissues from the box in rapid succession and used all three as she blew her nose.
“My, aren’t I attractive?” Terry said. She turned her red and swollen-eyed gaze toward Pookie.
“You are to me,” Pookie responded.
“Even now?”
Pookie reached up and pushed a strand of tearfully damp auburn hair from Terry’s face. “Especially now,” she said.
Terry looked at Pookie’s shoulder and gasped. “Oh my God, your shirt,” she said.
Pookie contorted face and neck so she could see the object of Terry’s distress. “Yeah, looks a little like I was attacked by a jelly fish.”
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“Why?” Pookie sighed and shook her head, searching for words. “You honored me with your pain. That’s well worth a sloppy shirt.”
Terry pulled a new tissue from the box and wiped ineffectually at the damp shoulder. “Did you bring extras?”
“Yeah.” Pookie glanced toward where her duffle still rested in the middle of the living room. “Ummm…maybe it’s time you showed me your bedroom.”
Despite still swollen eyes, Terry’s face brightened. “I had planned on showing you the campus first.”
Pookie laughed. “I meant so I could change shirts.”
Terry gestured widely with both hands. “There are three doors. Bet you can guess which is the bedroom.”
Pookie looked to see the front door, the back door exiting from the tiny kitchen and one interior door. “Bathroom?” Pookie asked.
“Off the bedroom,” Terry answered.
A drying tear still glistened on Terry’s cheek. Pookie wiped it away with her thumb. “Come with me. You can wash your face before we go see the campus.”
“I must be a fright. Do I have raccoon eyes from the mascara?” Terry said.
“Yep.”
“Oh God.”
“It’s kinda cute.”
“So you say.”
Terry gently pulled at a sleeve of Pookie’s shirt. “Does this material dry quickly?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me. I’ll wash it in the sink.”
Pookie nodded agreement. “Cool! Then I’ll have a clean shirt in the morning, but first … ahhhh, I really need to pee.”
“You can do that while I wash the shirt.” Terry blushed. “That is if you don’t mind me being in the bathroom while you…”
Pookie laughed. “And so, we achieve a whole new level of intimacy.”
Chapter Seventeen
Trial by Fire
Dreams shattered like plate glass on concrete. It was the first time for all three at the Proctor Ranch to experience that sensation – the heart stopping immediate jump from sound sleep to adrenaline rush.
The fire radio Judy and Kathleen left on each night in their bedroom and its counterpart upstairs in Pookie’s room violated the night with a page tone that did just what it was supposed to do. No way in the world would anyone sleep through that electronic scream. Judy jumped straight out of bed and stood barefoot on the cold, wood floor, standing in a fighting stance, facing the radio. Kathleen sat bolt upright in bed, a dazed look on her face.
It was 2:04 a.m.
“To all Coldwater firefighters.” The dispatcher’s voice blared over the radio. “We have a structure fire at mile-marker thirty-two on Highway 385. Repeat, structure fire at mile-marker thirty-two on Highway 385. All available personnel respond.”
Pookie didn’t knock as she swung the bedroom door open and stood just inside the door, still struggling to slip on shoes and wearing a t-shirt backwards.
“What do we do?” Pookie said.
Judy calmed herself, remembering Ted Rome’s voice as he told them what to expect.
“Pee first,” Judy said. “Then we go.”
The radio came to life again.
“Coldwater One responding,” Guy’s voice said.
“Coldwater Two responding,” said Brad.
“Coldwater Three responding,” said Joe Bob.
Judy had the radio in her hand. “Coldwater Four, Seven, and Fifteen responding,” she said.
Others followed, but Judy stopped listening. It was enough to know Coldwater Volunteer Fire Department was turning out in force. Judy knew from Ted’s training that a busy dispatcher was maintaining a communications log, one that would be critical for the after-action reports.
Before Judy finished, Kathleen was already out of the bathroom and jumping into jeans. “Your turn,” she said to Judy. Pookie had disappeared, Judy assumed into the half-bath off the back porch. Ted said it was important to take those few minutes to pee because that avoided one major complication at the fire scene. Judy grabbed the clothes and boots she’d worn the day before and rushed to the bathroom.
All three women were dressed and out the door in less than five minutes. Judy
and Pookie’s gear bags were already on the backseat of Judy’s supercab truck; Kathleen paused briefly to grab her bag from the trunk of her car, and Judy helped her throw it into the bed of the truck. All three jumped in the cab, and Judy spun gravel as she shoved the truck into gear, snapping her seatbelt as she drove. Kathleen reached over to the dashboard and hit the button for the emergency flashers.
“Mile marker thirty-two…that’s the Haskell place,” Judy said.
“Jesus, I hope they’re okay,” Kathleen said.
“Isn’t Mrs. Haskell the one who makes the awesome carrot cake?” Pookie asked.
“That’s her,” Kathleen answered.
As Judy sped down the county dirt road, the truck did a brief fishtail. Kathleen placed a hand on Judy’s forearm. “Slow down, honey.”
Judy took a deep breath and slowed slightly. The truck felt immediately steadier on the dirt road.
A voice came over the radio and there was an annoying echo with all three radios going at once. Since Judy needed her hands to drive, Kathleen and Pookie turned down the volume on their hand-held units.
“Dulson One and Fourteen responding in Dulson Engine Ten,” Ted Rome said.
“Dulson Five and Twelve responding in Dulson Engine Two,” a strange voice said.
All three women sighed audibly. “Thank God Ted will be there,” Kathleen said.
“And Engine Ten is their water tender. Remember the drop tank training we did,” Judy said. They left the county road and Judy barely paused as she pulled onto the highway, just a mile from the Coldwater fire station. They were the closest and would likely be the first at the station.
“Ted can shuttle water from the station. We don’t have to worry about the pumper running out of water. What’s Engine Two?” Pookie said.
Judy tried to remember from her visits to the Dulson main fire station. “I think that’s their old Class A pumper. I’m sure they’ll keep the main pumper in town in case it’s needed there.”