I smile. “You should always be worried.”
“Okay, then,” he smiles a comforting smile. “But seriously, I hope you get it.”
“Thanks.”
My eyes drift back to Cody. He’s just looking at me with that same kindness he’s had my whole life. Neither of us look away. I wish I could read his mind.
“Well, I’d better get going. Dad has a list for me when I get back.”Dad? Really, Carli? Way to show Cody you’re not the youngest Buckner.
He simply nods with understanding.
I wave to the guys.
“Keep us posted,” Patrick says.
“I will.” I pause, smiling. “Not that I’ll have to. I’m sure you’ll hear before I do.”
“Maybe,” Dustin says, laughing. “It’s Waterford, after all.”
I turn and walk back down the driveway. Is Cody watching me go? I’d watch him. No doubt.
When I get home, I drive to my cottage first, changing out of my city clothes back into what’s normal and familiar—jeans, boots, a henley and my coat. I drive over to the main house. Mom’s stirring a pot on the stove. Dad’s in a chair in the living room, resting. No one asks how the interview went. The quiet says enough. I step out onto the porch before walking over to the barn to top the feeders.
Leaning up to the railing, I take a deep breath.
Everything’s changing.
My life feels like the pre-spring ground, muddy, but promising.
Chapter 8
Cody
Nobody loves life like an old man.
~ Sophocles
Today’s my day off,but Captain asked us to come in overtime after the rain. The regular alternating crew is busy with extra medical calls and basement pump-outs. We’re heading out to the washed-out section on Old Salt Lick Road. Only a few older farms and some larger rural properties are out this way. They all lost town access when the road flooded yesterday.
The roads are still damp from the storm, a mist hangs around everything. Patrick is helping with a downed tree across town, so it's just the three of us. Dustin's singing softly to himself in the back seat and Greyson's quiet as usual.
The image comes out of nowhere: Carli dressed up, looking all professional, standing on the driveway of my fire station. What will it mean if she gets the job?
Dustin says something. I just nod along. I should listen.
We pull the brush truck up in front of Old Salt Lick Road, parking so we block access. The county trucks are already on site, including a dump truck filled with gravel.
“Hey, Jerry,” I say to the county utility worker who’s also been a friend of mine since high school.
“We just got here,” he tells me. “Coming off two other jobs.”
“We’ll make light work of this and get you off the clock so you can rest,” I tell him.
The air is crisp and moist, making the world feel soft around the edges. It’s the kind of morning that makes you wish you had nothing but spare time to sit on your porch or saddle up your horse. But instead, you’re digging branches out of a creek bed and patching old dirt roads.
I walk toward the crossing to assess the damage. The water receded overnight, leaving us easy access. The road is soft from the rain, bits of gravel are scattered like corn in a hen house, buried just beneath the surface of the mud.
I put all thoughts of Carli out of my head—I’m not thinking about the way her long hair fell across that silk top and how her eyes lingered on mine. I’m on the job. She’s not it.
