after winning a National Championship, and one of her jumping, making a basket.
“Think you can place them in a large square?”
“Is this you, child?” Jo-Jo stared at the one of her shooting the basket.
“I made All-American with that shot.” She elbowed him. “String music. What a night!”
He smiled wide when he looked at her. “Well, I will be! As tall as you is, I shoulda figured you for an athlete and All-American too! Well, bless my stars.” He got his tape measure out to start marking where he’d hang them.
Meanwhile, she lugged in her palm tree, remembering Boyd’s leaning over to place both the plant and the large pot in her car. She set it in the empty corner so she could look at it whenever she wanted. Dear God, he was a sexy man. Nice too. She unboxed her coat tree and screwed the sections together.
Jo-Jo hung her two plants from the ceiling strips and declared his work done. “The rest is for you to do. Set up your computer, put away your books and files and set out the doo-dads you women like to have in your offices.”
“Thank you. I really didn’t think it would all fit in here with room to move. You proved me wrong.”
“Oh, yee of little faith…” he laughed and ambled up the hallway, pushing his cart holding a ladder, painting supplies and empty paint cans.
By the time Graci-Ella left work that day, her office was up and running. Her files were neatly stored. Files for trials not yet held were stacked on the narrow unit. Shelves were filled with legal books, family pictures and basketball trophies. Everything was organized at last, just the way she liked it. In fact, she was so thrilled with the transformation of her little office, she almost hated to leave it.
Boyd’s aunt dropped him at the station about five hours later. He collapsed onto a chair at the large wooden dining room table, the heels of his hands over his eyes as he mentally shifted from scared dad to macho fireman. He took a deep shuddering breath and straightened. The crew had stopped their various chores to circle around him to ask about Matt. Someone set a cup of coffee in front of him. He gave a mock salute with it. “Thanks.”
After a couple sips, he sat the cup down and laced his fingers at the back of his head. “Matt has pneumonia. They’ve got him on oxygen and an IV of meds. He was sleeping when I left. My aunt’s going home for something to eat, to grab his favorite books and her crocheting. Do you know all the nurses in the ER know him by name? Isn’t that a damn sad state of affairs?”
Jace sat a sandwich in front of Boyd. “Thanks, Jace.”
“Sure. You gotta be emotionally beat. I go nuts when little Andy gets the sniffles and cries all night. My wife stays calm, thank God, because I fall apart. It’s gotta be doubly hard on you, playing both roles.”
This group of co-workers—sometimes pains in the asses, sometimes understanding siblings—were Boyd’s family. They understood the emotional stress he was under. “Did the EMT’s tell you how bad he looked when we got there?”
Ivy Jo rubbed her hands over his shoulders, massaging his tense muscles. “I told them, Tiny. He was weak as a puff of air. As soon as he saw you, his arms rose toward you. He adores his daddy. That much is clear.” She leaned over his shoulder to look into his eyes. “Tiny, we need to get him seen by a specialist in asthma and lung diseases. Want me to look online for some?” She spoke as if this little white boy was her son or nephew. Her genuine concern had Boyd dangling by an emotional thread.
He patted her brown hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “If you have the time, I’d really appreciate it. You sure Ryder won’t mind?”
“Ryder? You still dating that ugly, old, reprobate?” Quinn winked at her. “He’s not getting too frisky, is he?”
She planted a fist on her hip. “Do I ask you questions about your sex life? Don’t be prying into mine, which is just fine and double-dandy, by the way.”
Captain Steele exited his office and asked about Matt. The siren went off and the location of the fire announced. Half-eaten sandwiches in hand, fire personnel raced to the uniform rooms. How Quinn was able to get in his uniform and gear before anyone else, no one knew. As driver of the largest and newest fire truck, Quinn expected the men assigned to his apparatus to be onboard seconds after he was settled in the seat and revving the diesel engine. Heaven help you if he had to blow the horn and holler your name, because he would ride your ass until the next slow-moving fireman rose to the top of his shit list. His truck always had to be the first one out of the station.
Smoke rolled skyward as they turned onto an older residential street. The houses were so close together, the blaze had spread to the homes on either side of the building of the fire’s origin.
Boyd dragged the main hose to the fire hydrant farther up the street and, using a large wrench with a pentagon-shaped socket, opened the hydrant and made the connection. He opened the valve and ran to attach the hose to the fire engine, which used a powerful pump to boost the water presser and split it into multiple streams for numerous hoses.
Ivy Jo handed one off to Wolf who slung the hose over his shoulder and practically ran up the rungs of the ladder to reach the roof of the middle house. Boyd co-joined other hoses so more firemen could try their best to extinguish the fires on the nearby homes. Jace took a section and followed his brother Wolf up the ladder, too, in an effort to contain the blaze from the top down.
More fire trucks rolled in and hoses hooked up to distinguish the flames. Captain Steele ordered all the occupants of the houses and onlookers to stand across the street. He inquired until he found out who lived in each house. Had they gotten out safely? Did they have their kids and pets? One mother suddenly went ballistic and could be heard screaming above the din of machinery. Her son was missing. He was with her just a few minutes ago.
The captain spoke into his mouthpiece. “Boyd, got a missing boy. Ten years old. Lives in the middle house, his bedroom is upstairs, middle door on left. His mother thinks he went back inside for a ball glove.”
“On it. What’s his name?” Boyd grabbed a hose.
“Dustin. It’s his dad’s glove. He gave it to the boy to keep until he got back from Afghanistan.”
“Oh hell, of course he’d risk his life to retrieve it.” His Matt would do the same. Boyd flipped down his mask, turned on his oxygen and charged inside to the smoky pandemonium. The blast of heat hit him like a motherfucker. What was it doing to Dustin? Would he know enough to stay close to the floor?
Boyd raced up the steps, going as light on his feet as a giant like him could. He rounded the corner and there lay the boy on the floor. Boyd ran water over the walls and carpet surrounding the kid, not wanting to hit him full force with the hose, lest it take off any of his skin. This way it would soak into him. He reached into the bathroom and hosed down some towels and laid them over Dustin’s back before he scooped him off the floor. Sure enough, the boy clutched his dad’s baseball glove.
Speaking into his mouthpiece, he told the Captain he had the boy and he was still breathing, although unconscious. “On our way out. Have a stretcher and oxygen ready.”
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