Too Near The Fire

“Bet you had to live with that down at the academy, too. You may be a good-lookin’ broad, but that don’t make you no fireman, honey. Hell, if you weigh over one-forty, I’ll quit the force.”

“Weight’s got nothing to do with it,” she countered icily.

“Like hell it don’t. You tryin’ to tell me that if I get in trouble in a burning structure and you gotta drag me out with air pak on that you can do it? I weigh close to three hundred pounds with all that gear on.” He snorted, his eyes narrowing. “No way, honey, no way.” He raised his finger, pointing at her. “But I’m gonna tell you something and it had better stick the first time around—you screw up with me and it will be your last day on the force.”

Her body was galvanized with fury. “I’ll remember that, Saxon,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You do that, honey. Sam and Apache feel the same. None of us wants you around here except that damn lieutenant of ours.” Duke shook his head. “He’s an outsider like you are, so what the hell does he know?”

“Stevenson?” It was Gil’s voice ringing through the bay. She gasped softly, turning in his direction. Through the dimness she saw his head and broad shoulders, looking incredibly strong in the shadows. Saxon gave her one last glare and turned away, then melted back into the darkness, avoiding Gil completely.

“Listen, before you turn in tonight I want—” he stopped, frowning. “You all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered.

Gil looked around and then back at her. “You look pale,” he observed.

“It’s nothing,” she ground out. “Now what is it you want me to do?”

He handed her several manuals. “If you need some bedtime reading, here are the rules and regulations of the department. If we have to make a run tonight I’m going to hold you back and let you play gopher. I’ll be working up a training schedule for you in the next week so that I can get acquainted with your weak and strong points.” He appraised her closely. “You’re pretty good at hiding things, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Startled by the concern in his voice, Leah reacted more strongly than she had intended. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He leaned against the engine, one hand resting on the side of his head. “I saw Duke sneaking back to the kitchen, so I figured you had a run-in with him. He’s not known for mincing his words and he holds a real macho attitude toward women in general. You know the type—keep them barefoot and pregnant.”

Leah felt her body trembling with repressed anger and she found no humor in his statement. She remained silent beneath his scrutiny, feeling acutely uncomfortable.

“Look,” he began heavily, “if you’re having trouble with any of these guys, let me know.”

She nearly laughed. “And rat on them? That’s great, Lieutenant. I’m sure that will go over big. No, thanks. I learned down at the academy to take my lumps and keep my mouth shut.”

Gil frowned and stood upright. “That may have worked well down there, Stevenson, but it won’t here. This is a permanent job for you and you’ll probably be with this crew for at least a year. I want to stop any problems before they get started. And I don’t consider your coming to me as ratting. It’s my job to make sure my crew works as a smooth unit not only for your sake, but for the safety of the people we rescue as well.”

She moved restlessly away from him, wanting to believe him but afraid to. “I’ll work it out my own way,” she said, then turned and went upstairs to the bunk room.

* * *

It was nearly eleven when she closed the manual, unable to stop the words from blurring before her eyes. She sighed and sat up on the edge of her bunk. There were five beds: three on one side and two on the other. It was quiet and the silence only emphasized the loneliness Leah felt. She looked slowly around the small room, feeling terribly bereft. Going back downstairs she pulled her boots and bunker pants from beneath her coat and helmet and carried them up to the sleeping quarters. Dutifully arranging the black canvas bunker pants so that they would be accessible in case of an alarm, she shortened the red suspenders for her height. After taking a pair of cotton pajamas and her robe and toilet articles, she went into the shower room. Leah was sure that the rest of the men would wait until she was safely in bed before coming up.

By midnight she was snuggled into her bunk beneath a light sheet. She lay awake, staring into the darkness. Her first job…and no one except Lt. Gil Gerard cared if she was here or not. And he seemed to think of her as one more management problem he would have to deal with. She sighed softly, her heart aching over the idiocy of it all.

What was wrong with these thick-headed firemen? She was perfectly capable of doing the job and helping to save lives. And wasn’t that what it was all about? Saving lives and property? Who the hell cared if it was a man or a woman who did the saving? Did the child she’d rescued last month care that she was a woman? And what about the old man with a heart attack to whom she had administered CPR? Or the man she’d cut out of a mangled car whose bleeding she had staunched until paramedics could arrive? Leah took a deep, unsteady breath, finally closing her eyes. Why didn’t they see the motivation behind her actions? She didn’t want to invade a man’s world; she wanted only to be given the chance to work at something that gave her a sense of accomplishment.

Two

Leah was violently thrown awake by the fire alarm droning through the bunk room. The lights automatically came on, and she threw her legs across the bed and climbed into her bunker pants and boots. She gave no thought to how she looked in her cotton pajama top as she made a leap for the pole, slid neatly down it, and landed quickly on the first floor.

CAR ACCIDENT AT THE CORNER OF CARSON AND FORBES, a disembodied voice announced over the loudspeaker set in the bay.

She could hear the men calling to one another as she quickly shrugged into her black coat and threw the heavy visored helmet on her head. Duke Saxon whipped past her, running for his gear. She turned and was confronted by Gil. His eyes were narrowed and she could see him thinking out the situation. The squad truck was fired up and so was the Darley pumper called Lady. The officer looked directly at her.

“You ride shotgun with me in the squad. Duke, you and Apache get into air pak,” he ordered calmly.

She trotted to the squad and slid into the passenger side. Before getting in to drive, Gil started up the air compressor in the rear of the squad truck. Leah automatically reprimanded herself. She should have been doing that instead of him.

The bay was filled with the sound of roaring engines, the flash of whirling red-and-white lights as they drove out into the hot, humid night. Gil pointed to the radio.

“Say ‘Squad Fifty-One Signal Twelve,’” he ordered.

She nodded, picked up the mike, and repeated the message. Blinking, Leah put it back on the clip, her lips set in a thin line as the siren wailed through the empty streets of the sleeping town.

“How far away is this accident?” she asked, her voice strangely husky with adrenaline.

“Five miles.”

“Any idea of how bad a wreck it is?”

“No. Dispatch said it was called in by the state police.”

She nodded, automatically going over the various types of equipment that might be utilized in this kind of situation.

“When we get to the scene I want you to stand by here at the squad. I hope like hell it’s a simple extrication, but you never know. Apache and Duke will pull off the inch and a half and approach the car first. If there’s fire they’ll knock it down, then be ready to cover us during the extrication. We don’t want any sparks to start a fire and blow us all away.”

Leah felt her heart pumping strongly and she pulled her heavy fire-retardant gloves on a little tighter. Like the rest of her gear, they didn’t fit and she shook her head. All she needed was a pair of bumbling hands while she was trying to work at top speed.

As they drew up on a lonely farm road, Leah spotted the white state trooper car, its light flashing forlornly in the night. Gil took the mike off the hook and ordered the engine to halt before it got to the wreck. He glanced at Leah.

“Stay here,” he ordered, then climbed out and trotted up to the scene of the accident to assess the situation.

Tightening her helmet strap against her chin until it was snug, she realized with a sinking sensation that it was a bad wreck. The entire front end of a red Buick had been smashed as it hit a utility pole. The car had come to rest in a wide, deep ditch and now looked like a folded accordion. She saw Gil raise the portable radio to his mouth and almost immediately was aware of Apache and Duke trotting forward with a charged inch and a half line. That meant fire and perhaps a gasoline spill. Her heartbeat increased. It meant twice the danger. Once positioned, Apache opened the nozzle, sending a semi-fog stream beneath the rear of the auto.

Gil returned at a steady trot and slid back into the squad. Leah glanced tensely over at him.

“What have we got?” She surprised herself. She had used the word we. Wasn’t that what fire fighting was all about…teamwork? If he noticed her use of the word, he said nothing.

“Got a drunken teenager with his legs pinned beneath the steering wheel. He’s unconscious,” he muttered tightly. He threw the squad into gear and moved just close enough to string the compressor lines to the smoldering wreck. The truck was kept at a safe distance in case the car exploded. It was senseless to wreck expensive equipment.

Leah got out, shading her eyes as the pumper’s quartz lights flashed on. The chatter of the portable generator in the side compartment of the engine added to the cacophony of sounds. A glare of surrealistic light enveloped the accident scene. The other two fire fighters were hosing down the rear of the mangled car, forcing the leaking gasoline away from the area and diluting it with the water. Gil handed her the chisel and a pry bar.

“That door is jammed. We’ve got to get it open. I’ll bring the come-a-long and the other gear.”

The trooper at the scene helped them, and within moments they were set up. Her heart rate was high, her knees shaky with adrenaline. The sharp odor of gas stung her nostrils. Gil came up.

“Cut through the door handle,” he ordered. She was glad her visor was down as Apache and Saxon approached, spraying a fine mist of water over her. The droplets blanketed her head and shoulders as she got ready to cut. The water would reduce the chance of a stray spark starting a fire. Placing the power chisel against the metal, she started it and a reverberating sound rent the air. Leah leaned her weight into the chisel, cutting through the thinner metal of the door around the handle. She prayed that it would be possible to manipulate the inner door mechanism so that they wouldn’t have to literally tear the door off its hinges.

“Leah?” Gil called.

She finished the job and quickly set aside the chisel. After kneeling down and peeling back the metal, she took a flashlight from her pocket and studied the mechanism. She was vaguely aware of Gil leaning over. Shakily she reached into the door, jerking at one of the long bars. They both heard a distinct click and Gil straightened up, ordering her to stand back. He gave the door one good yank and it fell open.