Free How to Tame a Wild Fireman by Jennifer Bernard Page B

good to go. The one thing he couldn’t possibly do was stay and chat with Lara and Annabella right now. Maybe later he could put on a good front and find out what she’d been up to since she left Loveless and turned into a knockout.
    He poked his head into the Incident Command tent and spotted Deitch shaking his head at his laptop.
    “Got another mission for me, Chief?”
    Deitch barely looked up. “This somabitch ain’t following any rules, I’ll tell you what. Every time we try to calculate the rate of spread, it blows our numbers right out of the water. It’s just too damn dry around here.”
    “It is that,” agreed Patrick. “Dry and hot as hell. I forgot what Nevada was like this time of year.”
    Deitch grunted. “All the choppers are out right now. Besides, you need a break.”
    “I had a break.”
    “Not long enough, boy. You look like you’re one strong breeze away from a coma. You’re grounded for the night. It’ll be getting dark soon anyway. I ain’t sending any more choppers out.”
    “Send me out on a ground crew, then. I didn’t come all the way here from California to sit on my ass.”
    “I don’t care why you came. You get some rest or you won’t be going out tomorrow either. Now git.”
    Patrick ground his teeth. Were all fire chiefs the same? Did they all have to order you around like a kid?
    He ran his hand through his short-­cropped hair, laughing at himself. Of course they ordered ­people around. That was their job. It made sense, unlike being ordered around by a dictatorial, full-­of-­himself blowhard like his father.
    He squinted up at the sun, which was quickly dropping behind the scrubby pinyons at the edge of the fairgrounds. Okay, so Deitch had a point. No heli-­rappelling would be happening tonight. And he had to admit his muscles ached, not to mention his feet. “Psycho” didn’t mean superhuman. He’d be a liability out there. He’d hold his nose and grab a long, hot shower, ignoring the reek of a thousand stinky firefighters who’d showered before him. Then he’d sack out in his tent, get a good rest so he could kick the Waller Canyon Fire’s ass in the morning. And whatever they were cooking up in the food trailers smelled pretty darn good to him. He’d make a stop there after he cleaned up.
    Heading across the dusty fairgrounds, he glanced over at the medical tent. A small throng of ­people clustered around something on the floor—­Goldie, he saw, as two firemen shifted places. Poor Goldie would be terrified when she woke up and found herself surrounded.
    Not his problem. He’d done his part. Dragged her away from the path of the fire. She’d be fine now. Nonetheless, his steps slowed as he passed the tent. Lara’s blond head was bent over the llama’s leg. It looked like she was sewing.
    Fuck. She was stitching up Goldie. Drawing a needle and thread through the llama’s flesh. A wave of dizziness passed over him. Damn, why’d he have to picture that? A tattoo needle was one thing. It just jabbed at you, over and over, like a drill. But a freaking needle punctured the skin and the thread passed right through the hole.
    Oh hell, he was going down. All the tension and exhaustion of the day, the strain of the hike, plus the nauseating thought of those stitches, combined into one whirlwind knockout. It was either go down willingly or fall on his face.
    Surrendering, he bent over, hands on knees. Staring at the gravel under his feet, he drew in one deep breath, then exhaled. Then he drew in another, held it, and exhaled. Finally his head started to clear.
    Thank the sweet Lord. If he lost consciousness anywhere near Lara Nelson—­especially after she’d gotten knocked out by a llama—­he’d never hear the end of it.
    He was just about to straighten up when a soft voice, a familiar, wistful voice he hadn’t heard in ten years, spoke next him. “Patrick? Is that really you? Are you okay?”
    The ground came up and swallowed him.

 
    Chapter Six
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