It’s not a declaration. Not a promise. But it’s something.
And when he finishes and clears his side of the table without me asking, I realize this might be how it starts.
I may not have all the answers, but maybe I can do this after all.
Eight
Remi
The call comes in as we’re finishing lunch. A structure fire at the Nielsen’s place—an address the crew knows without the dispatcher even needing to say it. It’s not the first time we’ve been out there, and it certainly won’t be the last.
I appreciate the timing since I spent the better part of the morning preparing the roast beef for the French dips, and I would’ve been annoyed if we had to leave before getting a chance to enjoy the fruits of my labor.
Cooking for the team is something I thoroughly enjoy. Being single and living alone, it can sometimes feel pointless to go all out and cook nice meals, and there’s only so many times I can eat leftovers before I’m repulsed by them. Which is why being the crew’s “chef” is the perfect alternative. I’ve been doing it for the last few years, and before me, it was Ford, but he never really enjoyed it the way I do.
As a team, we make it a point to try to eat at least one meal together each shift. Family style. It’s been that way since I was hired, and it’s a tradition I hope lives on forever.
But now that our bellies are full and dishes are piled in the sink, we’re on the way to the Nielsen’s. Our response time is quick, something we pride ourselves on. Putting out fires is my career, my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love helping the community. Although, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel different now that I’m Lukas’s guardian. Like there’s more at stake. More to lose. It makes going out on calls a little more nerve-wracking.
The fire is in their barn, and it’s got one of their horses trapped. Smoke is visible from the road as we take a right onto the property. It’s lazy and gray, not angry and black, which is a good sign. That tells me it’s at least manageable.
As I jump out of the engine, I spot Deborah Nielsen pacing in front of the barn, waving her arms like she might put out the fire from that motion alone. From what we already know, and can now see, the fire is contained to the back right corner, likely caused by an electrical short—way more common in these old barns than you’d think.
“Pumpernickel is inside!” Deborah shouts as she runs up to us, panic in her voice and her eyes wide. “You need to do something! Get her out! She’s scared!”
Firefighter Bernard guides Deborah over to the side, where she assures her we’ll do everything in our power to bring the horse to safety. She’s one of the best on our crew at calming people.
Ford nudges me with his elbow. “You’re on horse duty, Buchanan. Animals love you.”
I snort. “That’s not a real qualification, Captain.”
“It absolutely is today.”
Our team advances the line, keeping it light and controlled. The barn creaks but isn’t threatening to collapse. Another good sign. As we enter, hay smolders, sparks popping like small, reckless fireworks. Pumpernickel snorts as I approach her, thenneighs, but it sounds more like a scream. She’s wide-eyed and frozen in place like a statue.
I reach up, keeping my movements steady and my voice low. “Hey, pretty girl. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you out, but you gotta trust me, okay?”
Another frantic neigh.
“I know. This isn’t how either of us planned for our afternoon to go, is it?”
Garcia steps up behind me slowly and whispers in my ear, “If she kicks you, I’m tellin’ everybody you challenged her to a starin’ contest.”
I chuckle. “No, you will not. I have an animal whisperer reputation to uphold.”
We work together easily and diligently—me keeping Pumpernickel as calm as possible, and Garcia guiding her out of the stall—while water hisses behind us as the fire dies down. The stubborn horse finally moves, snorting indignantly as we lead her into safe, fresh air.
After passing Pumpernickel off to her very thankful owner, I lean against the engine and tip my helmet back, watching steam rise off the wet boards. As far as fires are concerned, this was an easy one. Some minor structural damages, but nobody was hurt. That’s what I call a good day. And again, with Lukas in mind, I’m relieved it wasn’t worse.
Back at the station, Ford and I work in tandem to clean up the kitchen, moving around one another like we’ve done probably a thousand times. Sure, the rest of the crew takes turns cleaning the kitchen, but more often than not, Ford and I handle it together as a way to catch up for a little bit before we get back to the chaos that so often comes with this job.
“How’s it going with Lukas?” Ford asks, tossing me a look over his shoulder as he wipes down the counter. I told him about the guardian stuff shortly after talking to my mom and sisterabout it. He was supportive, just like I knew he would be. The whole crew has. We’re all like family, sticking by one another no matter what.
“So far, so good,” I offer. “It’s only been a week, but we’re finding our groove.”
“Nice. And he seems to be adjusting well?”
“Yeah, I’d say so. On the nights I’ve been home for dinner, we’ve eaten together and talked about our days. He’s opening up a little bit more each time, which is nice.”
