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Logan County Love: Rekindled

Roxanne Blackhall

 

Excerpt

 

Flames leaped and crackled, tearing up the side of the makeshift building inside the Fire Research Lab, casting shifting orange-and-yellow light on the walls of the warehouse. Drea swallowed against the lump in her throat. Even through her respirator, the ashy air was sickly sweet from starter fuel mixed with the scent of burning pine. She clenched her fists and forced herself to watch as the ATF fire crew hauled out hoses. When the first hiss of water produced a cloud of steam, a tendril of panic coiled in her chest. She sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to give in to the rising tide of fear.

“Hey, Hidalgo!” The shout came from her side, and she tore her gaze away from the flames to Gabe Mattix, who had her mask pushed back, eyebrows knitted together. “I called your name three times. You okay, kid?”

Drea flipped her off—she’d known Mattix for years, their communication ranging from high fives to the bird—and shoved her mask back.

“I’m good.” She steeled herself and turned to the group of trainees. “The purpose of this little exercise, aside from giving those hose jockeys an excuse to impress us all, is to encourage observation. You’ll see things during the active phase of a fire that are clues.”

She ignored the scoffing laugh of one trainee. Peter Adams was an incurable smart-ass, but Drea thought he had the makings of a good investigator if his ego would stop getting in the way. She cleared her throat and addressed the group.

“What color were the flames? How about the smoke? These things can tell you a lot about the fire. What suppression methods were used? How long did it take?”

“I know all this shit. When are we gonna get in there and do something?”

Drea turned to face the trainee, and he had the sense to shut up.

“Well, Mr. Adams. Since you know it all, perhaps you would be so kind as to turn your back.”

He blew out an exaggerated sigh, but she waved her hand at him and waited until he turned around.

“Good. Think about the perimeter. Anything combustible?”

She didn’t have to see his face to know he had no clue. The uncomfortable shifting of his shoulders told the story.

“No, ma’am.” His response came out sounding confident.

“Turn around and look again,” Drea replied.

Adams turned and glared at her, then at the building. Drea pulled out her stopwatch, punched the button and waited for the ah-ha moment. It came nearly a minute and a half later when his eyebrows rose, and a muttered, “Shit,” escaped his lips.

“There’s a gas grill on the northeast side.” He mumbled the words, barely audible in the noisy warehouse.

“Thank you.” She turned the stopwatch, showing him the numbers, and Adams cringed.

“I’ll repeat myself.” Drea addressed the class again. “The purpose of this little exercise is to encourage observation. If you rely on what you know, or think you know, you will fail to truly observe, and you will miss things. That’s true whether you’re fighting a fire or investigating it. We’re going to break for lunch and let this thing cool down, then we’re going to get messy. Adams, c’mere.”

She expected attitude. Instead, he looked down at his shoes as he shuffled over to her. She waited until all the other trainees were well out of earshot before she turned to him.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said before she could say anything. “I mouthed off.”

Drea blinked in surprise. She’d been ready to give him a piece of her mind, but here he was apologizing.

“Did you learn something?” She waited for his nod. “Good. That’s the point of all this. I’ll be blunt. Questions are fine, attitude is not. You got a problem, you come to me one-on-one, like I’m doing with you now.”

When he didn’t smart back at that statement, or give her any other grief, she cracked a wide smile. “Instead of telling me how much you know, show me how smart you are. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t, and I believe you’ve got the potential to go somewhere with this. See you back here in an hour.”

Adams ambled off. Steam billowed off the burn, and the shouts of the fire crew faded, replaced with the roar of uncontrolled flames. It’s in my head. This is a controlled burn, not the house fire. Drea forced herself to look at the fire crew—hoses spewing water, the flames nearly out. The concrete floors of the warehouse were so wet they looked like glass. She breathed, in for five, out for five, then shoved her gear into her bag and hustled to the door, desperate for fresh air.

“I hear you’re headed back into the field soon.” Mattix leaned her nearly six-foot-tall frame against the big roll-up door, arms crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes drilled into Drea.

“Yep. Final eval with the psych is next week.” Drea did a little happy dance. “You gonna miss me when I’m gone?”

Mattix chuckled. “Shit no, Hidalgo. You’ve been a pain in my ass since your first day as a student in my fire science class. Seriously, you should switch to teaching. You’re good with these guys.”

“Oh, hell no,” Drea said. She adored Mattix. The older woman had quickly gone from teacher to mentor, and finally, friend. But after months of being in the classroom, Drea was itching to get back in the field. “I’m not staying. I got into this job to chase bad guys, not teach the good guys how to do it. As soon as I get my walking papers, I’m outta here. Love ya, but not that much.”

“No bullshit.” Mattix fixed her with a pointed stare. “How are you holding up?”

Drea waggled her hand so-so. Class time was easy. She could stand in front of a group of students and talk fire theory and investigative techniques all day. Being here, next to a burn, with soot and ash and smoke billowing was a different story. She swallowed hard and forced a smile. She’d be fine. She had to be if she was going back into the field.

“The occasional nightmare still,” Drea said, and blew out a breath. The flashbacks still happened sometimes, too, but they were getting easier to control, at least. “Even I’ll admit I wasn’t ready to get back in the field so soon the first time.”

Mattix shook her head, sending her short braids bouncing. “I don’t know why the doc cleared you.”

Drea shrugged. “I seemed good. Everything seemed good. Then the ceiling caved in and landed on me, and yeah, I had a flashback, on a cold scene, with only my partner around. Not a huge deal. I got lucky. It could have been worse.”

Mattix gave a sharp laugh and leaned back against the wall again. “And you’re good now?”

Drea flashed a bright smile. “Hey, I held it together today, didn’t I? At a live burn. I’m coping.”

“Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you so well.” Mattix grinned. “Promise me you’ll be honest with the psych, okay? If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. There’s no shame in that.”

Drea wanted to be ready. Needed to be ready. Fire investigation was her career. Not teaching.

Her cell buzzed. Unknown number. West Virginia area code. All thoughts of fires and investigations and her upcoming psychiatric evaluation disappeared. Drea had only one thought… Gramps. She drew in a trembling breath and tapped the screen to take the call.

“Hello.” Her voice was far steadier than she felt.

“Ms. Hidalgo?” The unmistakable lilt of Appalachia came through in that short greeting. The caller waited until Drea identified herself, then continued. “Your grandfather requested we call. He was hurt while helping clean up after a fire…”

Drea sagged against the wall, and her fingers clenched around her phone. Mattix shifted, her tall frame shielding Drea from any curious looks. The rest of the conversation passed in a haze of half-heard information as Drea’s mind whirled on what she had to do next. She hung up the phone and stuffed it into her pocket.

“You’re gonna eat before you go tearing off to West Virginia,” Mattix said. “No arguing. Gimme your keys, I’m driving.”

Mindless, Drea dug her keys out and tossed them to her friend. She didn’t care about food. She wanted to get on the road.

Mattix drove, ordered burgers, and pulled into an isolated parking space at the back of the lot. Drea’s hands shook as she unwrapped the burger. She tried to hide it, but Mattix didn’t miss things.

“It’s a six-and-a-half-hour drive to West Virginia, kid,” Mattix said. “You could fly.” Her eyes narrowed as she peered at Drea. Always assessing.

Drea swallowed and shook her head. “Still an hour from the airport. If I hurry, I can get to the Regional Medical Center before visiting hours end.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Drea took in a shaky breath. “Gramps had a heart attack. The doctor wouldn’t say much, only that he’s stable, but they’re keeping him for more tests.”

They finished their burgers in silence. Mattix had never been one for filling every moment with idle chatter. When she spoke, it meant something.

“I need to pack,” Drea blurted as she tossed her wrapper into the bag. “It’s the end of this session, I’ve got a couple days. The Deputy Director will understand.”

Mattix’s hand closed over Drea’s. “Don’t worry about Wilkes.”

At her apartment, Mattix helped her pack, then pulled Drea into a tight hug before she headed out the door. “Call me if you need anything.” Mattix glared at her. “I mean that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Drea waved her off and shouldered her bag. She didn’t allow herself to think until she was past the sprawl of Manassas, on her way back to Orchard Creek and the home she hadn’t seen since her grandmother’s funeral.

 

* * * *

 

Whispered conversations and the chirp of medical equipment blurred into the background as Drea’s footsteps echoed in the wide hospital corridor. She wiped her palms down her jeans, steeling herself for what was about to come.

“Andrea? Andrea Hidalgo?” A young woman in pale green scrubs came around the nurses’ station. “We’ve been keeping an eye out for you. I recognized you from your picture.”

“What? Sorry, I was woolgathering.” Where did that word come from? Jesus, she’d just rolled into town, and she was already sounding like a local.

“I’m Missy, the charge nurse. Paul told us you’d be coming. We didn’t expect you this quickly. He’s in four-nineteen, down the hall.” She pointed before turning to the nurses’ station. “Visiting hours end at nine. You’ve got about an hour.”

Drea’s feet felt like lead as she walked the rest of the hall to Gramps’ room. She stepped through the door and into a world that felt at once foreign and familiar.

The beeping of his heart monitor and the hiss of the oxygen made an unpleasant symphony, calling up memories of her own time in the burn ICU after her accident. Noisy and hushed at the same time. And the smell. Hospitals all smelled the same—over-bleached linens and heavy antiseptics mixed with the cloying scent of flowers. In the bed, a gray old man sat staring at the television. Lush white hair swept back from a forehead that was more lined and creased than she remembered. He seemed so small and frail.

Paul DeJarnet had been a big man when he was young and healthy. Strong and agile. He’d taken Drea hiking and fishing, and taught her to climb trees and rocks, despite Abuela’s protests that girls shouldn’t be getting their knees dirty and scraped up. Drea chuckled at the memory of the two of them standing on the back stoop, washing the mud off after a particularly messy excursion while Abuela stood in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, trying to look angry.

His head turned at the sound of her soft laugh, and his face lit in a broad smile that dimpled his cheeks. Still handsome at eighty-eight. He patted the bed next to him, muted the TV and beckoned her over.

“Little one.” His pet name for her. His voice was whispery, like dry leaves rustling in the breeze. Drea sat on the edge of the bed, drawing in a shaky breath. She squeezed his hand and forced a trembling smile before looking away, unable to face the man her grandfather had become.

“What happened?” Drea asked.

“I’ve been around a long time and I’m worn out.” He patted her hand. “I got out of breath.”

“The doctor said you were helping clean up after a fire. Why were you out there? Never mind. Don’t answer that.” She knew the reasons. Orchard Creek was his home, and people took care of each other. “I’m glad you’re okay. How long will you be in here?”

He lifted a shoulder. That noncommittal gesture spoke mountains. “A few days, at least. They have tests to run. And some procedure—an angioplasty. I’m sorry you had to come all this way, but I wanted to see you. Just in case.”

Angioplasty. This is no minor heart attack.

“What did the doctor say, exactly?” Drea demanded.

“That I’m old.” There was no laughter in that statement. “He said I have arteriosclerosis. They’ll do this procedure, and that should be it.”

He didn’t look at her when he answered. His gaze roamed the room, settling on anything but her face. She knew that trick. She’d tried it herself, on him. It never worked.

“Uh-huh. What else?”

He let out a slow sigh. “The doctor said he didn’t believe a bypass would be necessary, but he’d know more…” His eyes brimmed with tears, and Drea choked back tears of her own. A bypass meant surgery. She gripped his hand, her fingers curling around his.

“I should have come sooner,” she whispered, “but I’m here now, and I’m staying until you’re back on your feet.”

His eyebrows knit together in a frown as he turned his gaze back to her. “What about your job?”

“I’ve got time off,” she replied. “I took a few days leave to come see you and I can take extended family leave. It’s not a problem. The last class session finished, and I haven’t started my new assignment yet.”

He didn’t need to hear that she was uncertain what that assignment would be. She was eager to get back into the field, but also terrified. The psychiatrist said she was ready, but she had one last review before being cleared. Mattix believed in her. None of that mattered when she woke up at two in the morning, covered in sweat, a cry of pain and fear on her lips. Still, she was ready. Maybe.

A soft knock sounded, and a nurse came in. Gramps joked with her as she took his vitals and made notes on the chart. Same old Gramps. Always a charmer.

Drea sat with him while he talked, slowly, of everything and nothing. His breathing was labored and painful to hear. All too soon, his eyelids drooped, and his head nodded.

“I think you need rest,” she said. “I know I do.”

“Your room is still set up.” His voice was a soft whisper. “You’ll stay there?”

“Of course, Gramps.” She kissed his cheek, then rose to leave.