Expectant Father

“SO YOU HAD NO WARNING? No wind kicked up?” Carl was trying to probe the crew into saying weather had nothing to do with the dangerous situation they’d found themselves in.

Half of the Silver Bend Hot Shots were crowded into the Medical tent. The other half had already been questioned, examined, observed by a stress counselor and released to the chow line. Becca had been smart to meet the team up on the mountain. The mood in the tent was more like that of an interrogation than a debrief, thanks mostly to Carl.

“We noticed the wind about the time we noticed the flames were riled up,” the broad man they called Chainsaw answered. The rest of the firefighters had grown silent the more Carl questioned them.

“So the wind did blow.” Carl nodded, scribbling something onto his notepad. “And then what happened?”

“We ran like hell was on our heels.” Aiden stood with his arms crossed, only giving Carl half his attention. The other half kept lasering over to Becca.

“And what do you mean by that?” Carl was persistent. Getting on everyone’s nerves, but persistent.

Aiden pushed up his shirt sleeves with sharp movements. “I mean we had no time to stop and take a reading of the wind speed. It was as if someone flipped the toaster switch to on, and we were the toast.”

“You’ll need to head into town for a sonogram and an X ray,” Maxine, the paramedic on duty said softly, staring at Becca over the rim of her bifocals.

Becca avoided acknowledging the ache in her head, avoided looking at Aiden. The way he kept staring at her had her jumpy enough to want to disappear. Her gaze fell upon a woman in Aiden’s Hot Shot crew who had bright red hair and burns on her wrists.

“I fell on my butt, Maxine, not my belly. The only thing bruised is my behind. I’ll pass on the hospital,” Becca whispered back, because other than her head, she did feel fine. That’s all she needed was a trip to the hospital during a fire. She’d be branded as weak and ineffective quicker than she could refresh her parched lips with Chapstick.

Near enough to hear their discussion, the female Hot Shot smiled as if in approval of Becca’s decision. Becca smiled back. The two women shared something unique—both operated in a man’s world where any reminder that they were the weaker sex was unwelcome.

“What about your head?” Maxine snapped off her gloves and put her hands on her hips, no longer quiet now.

It hurt, but Becca would never admit it, or the way her stomach was starting to rumble with hunger.

“It’ll take more than a bonk on a boulder to send me to the hospital in the middle of a fire.” Becca slid off the examining table—almost gracefully—and with a nod in the female Hot Shot’s direction, made to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. The evening briefing is in about ninety minutes.”

“I’ll need to run this by Sirus,” Maxine warned, clearly not approving.

“Of course.” Becca understood about liability and, if ordered by the Incident Commander, she’d go to the doctor.

But until then, it was business as usual.

“I’m off as well,” the Hot Shot with the burns on her wrists announced.

“Not much I can do for you anyway. Doc did a good job on your bandages.” Maxine patted Doc on the back as she went to greet a man limping into the tent. “Make sure you wear those gloves properly in the future.”

With a brief thank you to Doc for cleaning her up on the mountainside, Becca was out of there, somehow managing to exit the tent without having to look at Aiden again. Her head pounded, her back ached and her ankles were swollen. She’d gotten much more out of the Hot Shots as they’d escorted her back to camp than Carl was getting from them now. The airflow had come from above them, although some had felt light breezes from the direction of the creek. Almost without warning, the winds had come from over the mountain, driving the fire down on top of them like one big blanket of flame.

Becca shivered, despite the oppressive mountain heat. They’d been lucky to have Jackson Garrett as their leader. The Hot Shots nicknamed him Golden because of his knack for reading fire situations before they became deadly. According to Golden, he’d felt the pressure change and the winds stir around him, and watched the flames leap up then retreat in an area above them. He’d given the order to pull back just as the fire had roared to life at their backs.

Becca saw some of the Incident Command team grouping down by the chow line. She’d still have time to check the weather satellite one more time and start a draft of her report on what had happened to Silver Bend before the briefing.

“Excuse me.”

Becca’s shoulders tensed. There was still plenty to do and by now the rest of Incident Command would have heard of her accident, so she had to prove that the pregnant Fire Behavior Analyst was as tough as any man. A bump on her noggin? Wouldn’t slow Becca down. But the interruption came from someone she couldn’t easily ignore.

Becca turned around to see what the female Hot Shot wanted.

“What you did back there in Medical was…great. You made taking control look so simple.” The Hot Shot shifted her feet and jiggled her fire helmet with one hand as if she were nervous. “My name is Victoria… The Queen.” Self-consciously, she touched her red hair. “Would you like to have some dinner? I could use the company.”

There was an informal sisterhood in the fire community. Women helped each other with moral support, advice and a safe place to vent. But the Hot Shot’s timing was off. Becca’s job was calling, her credibility at stake. If she wanted that promotion in Boise, she had to perform above excellent, above what a man could do.

Becca opened her mouth to refuse, to suggest they catch a cup of coffee in the morning, but then she caught Aiden’s disapproving stare as he came out of the Medical tent. His attention seemed to be aimed at both Becca and the Hot Shot with her, which pushed Becca’s nurturing instincts into over-drive. He clearly disapproved of Victoria, who might have approached Becca to talk about how to deal with Aiden.

Becca sighed. Her conscience wouldn’t let her leave this until later. Besides, her stomach growled again; the baby needed to be fed.

“Can we make it quick? I still have plenty to do before the IC team meets to set up their plan of attack.”

“I appreciate it. I need to stand in line for the shower anyway.” The Hot Shot ran a hand over her hair. At some point, it had been in an intricate French braid. Now red hair hung in limp strands around her dirt-streaked face.

The last glimpse Becca had of Aiden was of his frowning countenance as they made their way to the chow line.

The sight made her smile.

“YOU COMING TO EAT, Roadhouse?” Bart asked as he wiped his face with a worn blue bandana and made to follow the rest of the Montana #5 ground crew into the chow line.

“In a minute.” Roadhouse wanted to make sure his son, Aiden, was okay. He’d heard about the Silver Bend crew’s close call on the mountain. He’d even heard there were no severe injuries. But that didn’t stop him from worrying, or ignoring his empty belly and walking on stiff knees through camp looking for his son.

Roadhouse was on a private fire crew—second-class citizens to the likes of Aiden on their Department of Forestry firefighting teams, even though the pay was better in private crews and the work often farther from the front line. DoF Hot Shot crews got the prime jobs on wildland fires, except in situations like this one, where bodies were scarce.

Non-fire civilians might say Roadhouse was lucky to be away from the action most of the time, but when fire ran in your veins, you wanted to be at the front line, with adrenaline and the dragon roaring in your ears. Why suit up otherwise?

Before he’d rounded camp once, he saw Aiden step out of the Medical tent. His heart nearly stopped. Other Silver Bend members were filing out as well. What had happened to his boy?

“Roadhouse,” a deep, familiar voice called out behind him.

Roadhouse glanced around, knowing he had to give Socrates, one of NIFC’s most respected Incident Commanders, his full attention, but unwilling to take his eyes off his kid.

“How was it out there?” Socrates didn’t call him “Old Timer” like some of the kids on the crews, because he’d been fighting fires longer than Roadhouse. He had the gray hair and scars to prove it.

“It’s a sleeper, sir,” Roadhouse stated bluntly. Wouldn’t do to hold back with Socrates. “The fire seems tame, but it’ll surprise us all at the end. You can sense it up on the line.” He could have griped about the gasoline, but Roadhouse wouldn’t complain about having to hike five additional miles to base camp. Back in the early days, firefighting in the mountains was more of a survivalist challenge. A bit of hiking was nothing in comparison.

Socrates stared long and hard at Roadhouse before admitting, “Someone finally agrees with the Fire Behavior Analyst.” Socrates scanned the camp. From the rise where they stood, they could see most of the mess area, tables filled with grubby, hungry firefighters, the Medical tent, the staging area where trucks unloaded men and equipment, and the command tents.

Aiden started up the hill toward them with the Silver Bend superintendent, Golden. Roadhouse turned around, pretending to look up the mountain, hoping his son wouldn’t recognize him with all the grime and his long hair tucked beneath his helmet. Desperate for Aiden’s company, Roadhouse had resorted to dropping into Aiden’s path when he least expected it—only because Aiden would vanish if he saw Roadhouse first. When that happened, it nearly broke Roadhouse’s heart all over again.

“Golden,” Socrates nodded to his stepson when he stopped a few feet away.

Still in his prime and liked by many, Golden was fast becoming a legend. People would tell stories about Golden around fire camps long after he was gone.

No one would remember Roadhouse when he was six feet under, fondly or otherwise, least of all his son.

Hearing a second set of footsteps, Roadhouse turned around with a sinking heart, meeting Aiden’s curious gaze, watching it harden with recognition.

When would his son learn to forgive?

WHAT A LOVELY little family reunion. Spider pulled his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Wasn’t he just a luck magnet today?