Fighting for Elena Page 4

  The one place he didn’t look was toward the trailer with the stock tank surrounded by chain-link fence. The guys had rigged a dunk tank and they all planned on taking turns. His crew was a handsome lot and they’d agreed to go bare-chested, hoping to lure pretty girls—or their jealous boyfriends—into trying their hands at hitting the target lever which would drop a hapless firefighter into the water. Of course, if the day turned out to be as hot as predicted, that wouldn’t be a bad thing. A few of his gals had volunteered too, though they’d wear cut-offs and bikini tops.

  The big ceremony was set for dusk, when the most people would be there. During the day, it was mostly kids and teens. The folks around Tarpley worked for a living and that work demanded their attention seven days a week. They were ranchers or had jobs in other towns, some as far away as San Antonio. They’d come to dance the night away after work. Wiping the sweat beading on his forehead, he glanced at his watch. Dang. Too early for a beer.

  The day dragged on, and yeah, it got hot. The member of Tarpley VFD lined up to take their turn on the “board of doom,” and Pops avoided the area like it was quarantined. While he was wandering, he caught sight of Carly Cross. A Bandera County deputy, she was out of uniform, but she didn’t look like she was having fun. Carly was one of Tank’s little sisters—though she was all grown up and had been married. When their dad had died in that fire, the family came out to live with Pops for a time, and he still cared about all of them. They were some of his “kids.” He should make time to talk to her, find out what put that haunted look in her eyes.

  A big group of teens surged between them and he lost her in the crowd. He added it to his mental to-do list. One of his firefighters waved and he waved back but didn’t go over. Big Mac was with his cousin Ross McEvers, a firefighter from Kentucky. Ross, whose nicknames was Dub-step, had agreed to teach some classes for TVFD while he was around. Pops glanced at his watch. This day couldn’t get done soon enough to suit him.

  Three hours later, the sun set, a breeze came up, and the guy standing at the microphone tapped it, causing an ear-piercing squeal. Colonel Grayson Jones, the head of the Law Enforcement Division of Texas Parks and Wildlife stood to the side of the stage. As commander of the Texas Game Wardens, this whole thing had been his idea. Pops fought it at first. He and his four guys had done nothing that any other firefighter, volunteer or paid, would have done. But they’d saved a Texas Game Warden, and the kidnap victim of a serial killer, who happened to be that game warden’s girlfriend. So, here they all were, spiffed and shined to receive recognition for just doing their jobs.

  People were making such a big deal of this that the rides would be shut down, the food trucks closed, and the craft show paused while the presentation was made. Then the dance would commence and the rest of the fun resume. Pops hated standing up in front of a crowd. He wasn’t much for dancing either. Not anymore. He closed his eyes and rubbed two fingers against his temple. He missed Rosie. Missed her smile and laughter. Missed her fussing at him when he’d sweep her into his arms, dancing her across the kitchen. Missed her tears over sappy commercials. And he missed her homemade tamales. Almost ten years now, since she’d last smiled at him, right before she closed her eyes that last time, and the smile slipped off her face as she breathed out her last breath.

  His headache transferred to his chest and he rubbed the spot above his heart with a fist. Rosie was always with him, but she seemed to be especially close these days—had been since his encounter with the pretty woman along the River Walk. Guilt swamped him. The pretty social worker had tweaked his curiosity and considering he’d been a confirmed bachelor since the death of his wife, that was saying something. His physical reaction was disturbing, yet also intriguing.

  Before he could get too much deeper in his head, he caught the announcement blaring over the loudspeakers dotting the area. It was almost time. He checked to make sure his uniform shirt was tucked in and that his boots weren’t too dusty. He crunched the last bit of candy from his Tootsie Pop and tossed the white paper stick into a trash barrel. Resigned, he headed toward the stage. Colonel Jones stood with a small group of people. Right off the bat, he recognized Conor Paxton, the Texas Game Warden who was at the root of all this, along with his girlfriend, Erin Gardner. Pops had visited her briefly in the hospital in San Antonio and she looked a hellava lot better tonight. The two firefighters who’d been on the same crew were also there. He studied them for a moment. There was something between them. Moose—he’d learned the guy’s name was Tucker Jacobs—was all about protecting Penelope Turner. Once Pops figured out why she seemed familiar—a thought that had been niggling at him since meeting her at the fire, Moose’s hovering made perfect sense. She’d been taken prisoner by ISIS while serving in the desert. Her rescue and return had been a big deal in the news.

  Pops saw duty over there during the original Operation Desert Freedom. He totally got it. More than a few of his “boys and girls” were also vets. He watched them for the signs, intervened when he could, stayed available when he couldn’t—just in case.

  Walking up, he shook hands all around and when he clasped Penelope’s hand, he grinned at her. “How’s Smokey doin’?”

  She blushed a little but grinned while Moose rolled his eyes. “He’s doing just fine. His burns are healing, and he’s put on weight—”

  “And gets into everything,” Moose added.

  They visited for a few minutes before Reba Leonard, Tarpley’s post mistress and mayor joined them. Pops made introductions. Reba checked her watch.

  “Time to get this show on the road, y’all. I got people wantin’ food, beer, and dancin’.” She winked at the colonel. “Not that they aren’t anxious to hear what y’all have t’say.”

  With Reba leading the way, they climbed the stairs to the stage and wove through the various musical instruments to the podium and row of chairs set up along the front edge. They sorted themselves out and settled onto the chairs, the mayor fussing like the mother hen she was known to be. A tiny woman with steel gray hair and laugh crinkles around her eyes, Reba had been a Tarpley fixture for as long as anyone could remember. She’d never revealed her age and swore she’d take that secret to her grave. Thing was, she was so ornery, she’d likely outlive all of them.

  They waited through a few more announcements made via the loudspeakers as the rides shut down and went silent. People wandered into the parking lot, sitting on the asphalt, at the tables and chairs ringing it, or standing back behind. Reba stood on a step ladder behind the podium, her sharp brown eyes roving over the crowd. Once she was satisfied with the turnout, she tapped on the microphone. The crowd winced and groaned as a feedback squeal split the air.

  “Can y’all hear me now?” she asked, leaning close to the mic. Applause and cheers greeted her. “For any of y’all who ain’t locals, I’m Reba Leonard, mayor of Tarpley, the best little town in Texas. We’re here tonight for a couple of important reasons. First, and most important, I hope y’all are digging deep into your pockets to buy tickets, food, and crafts. A portion of all sales goes to help fund the Tarpley Volunteer Fire Department.”

  Her eagle eyes scanned the crowd. “How many of y’all have been helped by the TVFD?” Lots of hands went up. “Now, I got a few of the firefighters up here on the stage with me for a special deal that we’re gonna get to in a minute, but first, I want to recognize every Tarpley volunteer firefighter here tonight. Y’all stand up. C’mon, boys and girls. Up and at ’em.”

  Pops managed not to grin. Only Reba could get away with calling the firefighters “boys and girls” in public. She pointed to each one and introduced them by name. “Now, as to the rest of you fine people, you be thinkin’ about what would happen when you have an emergency and these folks don’t have the vehicles or the equipment to get to you in your time of need.” She nodded sagely. “Yep. Like I said, y’all dig deep tonight.”

  She clapped her hands, creating another squeal. “That was the sales pitch. Let’s get to the ceremonia
l stuff so we can get the band up here and we can commence with the dancin’.” This was met with applause and laughter. “Now, as y’all can see, that wasn’t everyone. I got a few people sittin’ up here behind me on this here stage. They’re the VIPs tonight. First, I’d like to introduce a man hunters and fisherman…and women, have a real love-hate relationship with. He’s a good-lookin’ man so I’m thinking a love deal.” This got more laughter. “He’s the man in charge of the Law Enforcement Department of Texas Parks and Wildlife, the head Texas Game Warden himself, Colonel Grayson Jones.”

  The colonel pushed out of his chair, helped Reba climb down from the ladder, set it off the to the side and adjusted the microphone. He gave a short speech and introduced the special guests. Conor refused to do more than stand and wave to the crowd. Moose and Penelope did the same. After he introduced each of the Tarpley volunteers, asking them to stand, Erin moved to the podium. She was a natural as she offered heartfelt thanks for saving her life and Conor’s. When she finished, she came to Pops, hugged him tightly, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for taking care of my man,” she whispered.

  “Just doin’ my job, little lady,” he whispered back.

  Then it was time for the presentation of the life-saving medals. Pops was still a little embarrassed and from the shuffling and eyes on boots evidenced by his guys, they felt much the same. Yeah, they were proud to be firefighters, but what they did during the wildfire was just their job. Any firefighter in that predicament would have done the same. The colonel called their names, and pinned medals on their uniform shirts and handed each a plague.

  “Sherman Reardon.” Tank stepped forward.

  Dirty-D came next. “Dexter Walsh.”

  “Angel Murphy.” Necks craned up as Short Shit approached.

  “Mitchell Alexander.” After a brief hesitation, Buff squared his shoulders and stepped forward. He disliked crowds and interacting with people way more than Pops did, and he had his reasons. Good ones.

  And then it was Pops’s turn. “And finally, but definitely not the least because this is the man who single-handedly saved my Game Warden, Chief David West.” He knew he was blushing but did his best to bluster through things. Not only was he presented with a personal plaque, but the colonel had a big plaque for the fire station. The colonel, with his hand wrapped around Pops’s biceps, urged him to the microphone.

  He was not prepared to make a speech. If he opened his mouth, he would likely stammer out some BS that made no sense. Everyone stared at him, anticipation growing. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he heard Rosie’s voice in his head.

  Handsome, you know the drill. If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.

  The W.C. Fields quote was one of her favorites. Okay, he could do this. He cleared his throat, and looking over at Jones, he began. “Thank you for the honors, colonel, and for comin’ all the way up from Austin to present ’em.”

  Then he turned his attention to the crowd. “Y’all know me. I’m not big on words. And neither me nor my guys…and girls…are big on glory. We all have jobs. We do ’em day in and day out. But when the alarm goes out and the tones sound, we are all doin’ what we love. Our real job. Fightin’ fires. Takin’ care of folks with medical emergencies. Responding to MVAs.” He saw a few confused looks. “Motor vehicle accidents. And ATV accidents. Tractors. Hell, we ran one last week on a horse caught in a mud hole.” That got a laugh. “See, the thing is, we don’t do this job for medals or plaques. Or recognition. We do it to serve our families and friends. Our community.”

  Brilliant, handsome. Rosie’s voice again.

  He noticed movement on the edge of the parking lot that would be used shortly for the dance and his mouth snapped shut. His gaze focused on the woman, shocked as shit that she stood there watching him. He looked down. Blinked a few times, looked up. Yup. She was still there—a pretty woman with a round, unlined face, a mass of black hair though it was pinned up in a no-nonsense twist, and brown eyes that made him think of lazy Sunday mornings in bed. What. The. Hell.

  Someone nudged him in the side, and he blinked. Oh, right. Speech. He had to clear his throat again. “We volunteer for this so while we’re doin’ a job, it’s not just a job, it’s a calling, and because of that, y’all can depend on us to answer whenever you holler for help.” He offered a shrug. “It’s what we do.”

  Chapter 5

  Elena parked her car in the lot behind the Baptist church, surprised at the number of vehicles. Unsure why she’d come, she sat there for a few minutes considering. She’d seen a story in the on-line edition of the paper and recognized one of the men in the photograph. She vaguely remembered that he’d introduced himself at the time, but she’d been so addled by being punched, his name hadn’t registered. But his face? Oh yes! That she remembered in complete detail. She could close her eyes and easily conjure his handsome face.

  After reading the article, she wasn’t too surprised to discover that he was a hero. He’d certainly stepped in to rescue her. The article mentioned he was a widower so on a wild hair, she’d made plans to attend the fund-raising carnival and stick around for the award ceremony. If they saw each other, she could thank him. Because she’d been really out of it that night and couldn’t remember if she had.

  Now, though, she had second thoughts. She really wanted to see him. Talk to him. And maybe…more. She rolled her eyes at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. I’m loco, she thought. A man as handsome as David West had to have many women in his life. And she lived in San Antonio. Though, she would admit the drive, at just over an hour, wasn’t too bad.

  Her hands gripped the top of the steering wheel and she bounced her head against them. “What are you thinking, Elena?” she chided herself. Except she knew. There was something about David West, something that interested her, that touched her deep inside if she’d be honest. Her last boyfriend had been a douche canoe and she hadn’t dated since. Her job was demanding, that’s what she told those who asked. Mainly, she just hadn’t wanted to deal with the insecurities and jerk attitudes of guys her own age. An older man—especially one as attractive as the man who’d become her inadvertent hero—seemed just the ticket.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, chica.”

  Decision made, she climbed out of the car, and headed toward the carnival. She paid the entrance fee and wandered through the food trucks, the rides, and the craft show. A few times, she glimpsed men who might have been her hero, but upon closer examination, they were strangers. She bought an Indian Taco and savored every bite of the concoction. Seasoned meat, beams, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese all piled on fry bread. She’d forgotten how good they were.

  When the final announcement for the start of the ceremony echoed over the speakers, she dumped her plate and trash in the nearest barrel. Sucking in a breath and fighting the urge to either hit the ladies room to check her hair and makeup or simply dash to her car and escape, she forced her nerves to settle. She walked over to the Community Center parking lot and found a place to watch. When David came to the podium, she moved closer. Yes, he was as handsome as she remembered. She smiled as her tension dissolved. No matter what resulted from this, she was positive she’d done the right thing to come tonight.

  As David spoke, she could tell he spoke from the heart. This wasn’t a man comfortable in the limelight and that made her like him even more. Moving closer to the stage, she froze as he stilled. Their gazes locked, and he didn’t speak for a long moment. One of the other firefighters finally nudged him, and he finished to loud applause and a standing ovation. The silver-haired lady who’d started the proceedings, with the really tall firefighter’s help moving a step ladder, returned to the podium.

  “Okay, y’all, settle down,” the woman said. “We’re gonna clear off the stage so the band can get tuned up. The sun’s down and I know y’all want to be dancin’ in the dark. And don’t forget to spend money. Right?”

  Her question was met with applause, whistles
, stomping feet, and a few whoops. Determined to see David, Elena headed toward the stage, only to be cut off by the crowd. Frustrated, she finally reached the area behind the stage only to discover that the band was there, and the firefighters had melted away into the sea of people. David was nowhere to be found. Disheartened, she headed to the carnival area. Besides the rides—a small Ferris wheel, a Tilt-a-Whirl, a pony ride and a few others, there were booths holding games. People could shoot basketballs in a race against the clock, throw rings over bottle necks, take aim with pellet guns at mechanical ducks and bears and deer all for the dubious honor of winning cheap stuffed animals. She’d also noticed a dunk tank—one manned by the members of the fire department. If luck was with her… Oh, yes, time to scope it out.

  After Reba closed out the program, Pops frantically searched the crowd for the face he was beginning to see in his dreams. She’d disappeared. Maybe he’d hallucinated her. The guys gaggled around him and pushed him toward the stairs.

  “It’s your turn…” Tank said.

  “Finally!” Short Shit added.

  “Dunk tank as soon as we put up the plaques and change,” agreed Dirty-D.

  The group of them ambled toward the fire station, down the road from the Community Center. They would deposit their awards, change out of their uniforms, and then it was Pops’s turn in the tank. He’d avoided being on the firing line all day. He dawdled getting back to the dunk tank. He’d purposely put on a well-worn pair of jeans, old TVFD T-shirt, and running shoes. He wasn’t about to ruin his boots. With luck, he could stall long enough that his crew would forget about him.

  When he arrived, Tank occupied the board, shirt off, wearing cut-offs. He was teasing and jeering at the crowd. Two high school boys each tried…and failed. Then a girl who looked to be about sixteen marched up with a fistful of tickets. She plopped them down, got her balls and put her toes on the line. Pops snickered. He knew this kid. He retrieved a Tootsie Pop from his pocket, unwrapped it, and jammed it in his mouth as he settled in to watch the show.