The Medic's Homecoming

Wednesday morning, after Lucas helped Kieran get washed and dressed, he jumped into the shower. Midway through, a pounding on the door cut short the soothing hot ribbons of water streaming over his tense shoulders and back.

“Jack isn’t answering my calls,” Kieran shouted through the closed door. “We need to find another way to get to the doctor’s appointment.”

Lucas shut off the water, grabbed the bath towel and wrapped it around his waist in the thick-with-steam bathroom, then opened the door. “Why don’t you give him another call in a minute or two? Maybe he’s already on the road.”

Today’s appointment was important. It would clarify for Kieran when his leg cast might come off and, for a normally hyperactive guy, he was looking for a light at the end of this recovery. If he missed the appointment, it might be another month before he could reschedule.

His parents both owned hybrids, cars that had lots of attributes but weren’t made for people with full leg casts. Especially six-foot-four people with full leg casts. Anne had mentioned that Jack had been providing his 1980s van for Kieran’s transportation.

Lucas turned to wipe steam off the mirror.

“What the land’s end is that?” Kieran said, as if he’d noticed a gaping wound on Lucas.

At first it didn’t register, then it hit him. He’d turned his back on his father and exposed the tattoos. “Oh, these?” He played dumb and glanced over his shoulder as if he’d forgotten the raven on the backside of each shoulder blade existed.

“For cryin’ out loud, are you serious? What got into you? Next you’re going to tell me you’ve taken up smoking again.”

Lucas had actually put a lot of thought into his choice of tattoos. The ravens were Hugin and Munin, “thought” and “memory.” According to Norse mythology, each morning Odin sent the birds out to the world to report back what they saw. Lucas preferred to think of his ravens as thought and reason—because he didn’t put much stock in memories.

Sometimes, those ravens were the only things that kept him from having lousy judgment. Still, he saw that old and familiar look in his father’s eyes. Slacker. Only slackers get tats.

Yeah? Well, you don’t know everything, dear old Dad. But it wouldn’t be worth the breath to explain how it felt to have men’s lives balanced in your hands or how a wrong decision could cost a limb or eyesight or, worse yet, death. Dad wouldn’t get it.

“For your information, I didn’t start smoking again, and these are the only tattoos I have.”

It’s not like it’s a dragon or demon or snake winding up my neck. They’re ravens—just black birds. Okay, more like crows on steroids.

“The damn things nearly cover your back. Your mother will burst into tears when she sees them.”

“Are you going to call Jack or what?”

On edge over the possibility of missing his appointment, Kieran momentarily put his judgment about tattoos aside, flipped open his cell and put his special electric wheelchair in reverse. At least for now, Lucas had gotten him off his back. Literally.

Ten minutes later, Kieran still hadn’t reached Jack. Lucas ran next door.

He rapped on Jocelyn’s door, and moments later she answered, looking surprised. “Hi, Lucas. What’s up?”

She was dressed for teaching in a pin-striped pencil skirt, white blouse and black flats. Her hair was down and he liked how it gathered in fluffy bunches on her shoulders, but he wasn’t here to gawk at her good looks. He’d come to get help.

“Sorry if I disturbed anything, but …” Lucas said, pulling back on track. “Does your dad still have that big old van?”

“Yeah. It’s in the garage. Why?”

“Any chance we could borrow it?”

“No one has driven it in years. Probably doesn’t even run.”

Due to her confused expression, brows low, eyes narrowed, lips pursed—he especially liked that last part—he figured he owed her an explanation. “I’ve got to get Dad to his doctor’s appointment in half an hour and Jack was supposed to pick us up and take us. He’s a no-show.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yesterday afternoon Jack got a call at school to report for duty to fight the fire.”

Anne had already explained how Jack was a teacher at the high school and a volunteer fireman for Whispering Oaks. Wait until Anne found out about Jack getting called in to fight the fire.

“Let me find the key,” Jocelyn said. “Though the van battery’s probably dead.”

“I’ve got jumper cables.”

She found the key hanging on one of multiple hooks in the laundry room and handed it to him. Their fingers touched and the pop of pleasure immediately grabbed his attention. “Let’s see if it starts,” she said, leading him into the garage. “If it does, it’s yours.”

“Thanks,” Lucas said. “We really appreciate it.”

Once in the driveway, Lucas couldn’t help but notice how Jocelyn had to hike up her tight skirt in order to climb inside the van. Not wanting to tick her off, he averted his eyes after a quick appreciative glance.

He ran home to grab the jumper cables and to wheel his dad outside. On his way, he noticed a darkened sky with deep purple and red haze beneath and huge black clouds above a distant ridge. The wind had picked up instead of settling down, which didn’t bode well for the firefighters, including Jack. Anne would be worried sick.

After he’d gotten a relieved Kieran inside the big old red van, with his leg cast stretched across the spacious back bench seat, Lucas loaded in the wheelchair. He closed the heavy door and turned, almost bumping into Jocelyn. Up close she smelled really good, like marshmallows and flowers.

He stretched the orange cables from car to van. “Pull your car up and leave the engine running,” he said.

Lucas gave her a thumbs-up and Jocelyn started the car engine. “Now the van!” he called.

Lucas watched Jocelyn hike up her skirt again in order to slip behind the steering wheel. This time Lucas let himself enjoy the whole, long-legged show. When his eyes kept moving upward, he realized he’d been caught.

Jocelyn glanced at her lap before her lashes fluttered back up and she looked into his eyes. There went another mini jolt right through his chest—better than caffeine.

A tiny mischievous smile accompanied her glance as she turned the key and the old behemoth engine coughed and sputtered to life. Their eyes met and held a few moments, and he wondered if she felt what he was feeling. Turned on.

“Come on, you guys, or we’ll never make it on time,” said Mr. Personality from the backseat.

Lucas shot up in the dark, panting, drenched with sweat. There was fire. He smelled it. Where the hell was he? Clutching his chest, heart pounding in his throat, he searched frantically for a clue, but he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dark. It was too soft to be in a sleeping bag on the desert floor. Besides, he had a pillow, and he never had a pillow out there.

Right. He was home, at Whispering Oaks. It was two in the morning on Friday. There were wildfires in the distant hills. He was okay.

With adrenaline crawling along his arms and legs, he threw back the covers. He needed mindless tinkering. Keeping busy. Distraction. Anything to keep from thinking.

His pulse slowed a fraction as he headed for the kitchen. He avoided the creak in the hall floor outside of Anne’s bedroom so as not to wake her.

After he got his drink, when he stepped outside, he came to a halt. Something had changed. The wind had stopped. He glanced across the backyard to a glowing orange ridge in the distance. Maybe now the fire would settle down, too.

Letting the last of his nervousness drizzle out, he opened the garage door and got to work changing out the headlights on the car.

Time slipped by and, as had been the early morning routine since he’d been home, Anne eventually showed up. Tonight she had an old high school yearbook in her hand and a melancholy expression in her eyes. She’d tried not to be obvious when she found out about Jack fighting the fire today, but Lucas could tell by the way she bit her nails and twisted her hair all evening that inside she was freaking out. Something big was going on between her and Jack.

He glanced at his sister, hair every which way, nightgown hanging loose nearly to the floor, looking like some kind of messy angel. She climbed into the Mustang, talking about anything that seemed to pop into her head. It led back to high school and a love triangle between Anne, her best friend at the time and Jack. He’d tried his best to stay out of that drama back then but still recalled the heartache his sister had lived through.

When she started what he called the remember game, he tried to keep up, knowing she might throw in a curveball pop quiz. So far, the first few questions she’d thrown at him had been slow and down the center.

“Remember the night before I left for college when I came and sat here and told you that I still loved Jackson Lightfoot but I could never have him?”