Ten minutes later the sun was low in the sky when the men ushered the stallion into the trailer. The mare, Summer, followed docilely. Tyson shut the trailer doors and turned to the rangers. “How’d they get loose?” The ponies had managed to get clear across the long bridge connecting the barrier islands—a feat that had happened only twice before to Tyson’s knowledge.
“Best we could tell, some tourists accidentally blocked their escape route. Me and Greg chased ’em on foot half a mile and across the bridge. Thankfully they found some nice grass here and stopped for a spell, or they might’ve been halfway to the mainland by now.”
Or been tragically hit by a car. The rangers had set up a portable corral to contain the ponies until members of the volunteer fire company could come get them. Though the US government owned Assateague Island, the Virginian herd was tended by the Chincoteague Fire Company, who leased grazing rights from them.
“Thanks for your help.” Luke’s wavy hair gleamed copper under the late-afternoon sunlight, contrasting with his pale blue eyes.
Tyson gave a nod. “We’ll get them back home.”
Once the pair returned to the truck, Tyson started it and turned toward the bridge, careful of his load. People waved and honked their horns, no doubt grateful for both the show and its end. “We’ll need to find the break in the fence and fix it. Otherwise we’ll be doing this all over again.”
“Sure didn’t expect all this when I rolled out of bed this morning.”
“Riptide likes to keep the grapevine buzzing. Today’s little jaunt will be one for the record books.”
“He’s a pistol, that one.”
Luke had been Tyson’s best friend since high school, and they’d also graduated from the academy together. Though Tyson was a fourth-generation firefighter, Luke was the first in his family to join the company. He was a hard worker and had earned the respect of their fellow firefighters.
The bridge to Assateague was empty of cars, the traffic having been blocked on the other side as well. Though they were barely into May, the season was getting underway. His home island of Chincoteague was only ten square miles and home to about three thousand residents. But that number swelled during the summer, culminating in as many as forty thousand in late July for the Pony Penning Days, all coordinated by the volunteer fire company.
Luke adjusted the air-conditioning. “How’s that other matter going?”
“What matter?”
“Come on, Ty. Maybe I haven’t been through it yet, but it has to be hard, losing someone.”
The image of that seventeen-year-old kid, brown eyes full of fear, flashed in his head for the millionth time. He shook it away. “Part of the job.”
“Sure it is. But that doesn’t make it easy.”
Tyson didn’t want to talk about the incident from four weeks ago, a car accident—vehicle versus tree. He’d give anything to go back and do things differently.
“You’ve hardly missed a call since then.”
“I don’t have a wife and kid like most of the others.” And Ty just wanted to erase that night from his memory.
“It wasn’t your fault, man.”
He gripped the steering wheel. “I know that.”
“We’ve been friends a long time. I can tell it’s eating at you.”
“Don’t want to talk about it.” He felt Luke’s eyes on him.
“Maybe not, but you shouldn’t let it fester.”
It wasn’t festering. Okay, maybe it was. But at least he’d learned something valuable from that terrible night. He’d been burning the candle at both ends since his divorce last fall. Dating had become an Olympic sport, and he made the mistake of getting tangled up with Marissa Moran, one of the two paramedics who operated out of the firehouse.
Stupid.
His idea of casual and hers hadn’t been the same apparently. The dustup had created tension at the station, and there wasn’t a single volunteer unaware of it.
“At least Marissa seems to have settled down,” Luke said. “Not that she had any right to get up in your face like that.”
“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with her.”
“You’d only been on two dates, for crying out loud. And everyone on the island knows you’ve been sowing your wild oats the past six months.”
