Free Slow Burn: A Colorado High Country Novel by Pamela Clare Page A

gear, helmet beneath one arm, air pack hanging from one hand. His yellow coat made his shoulders seem even broader, a look of determination on his face. He put the air pack in the back of his truck, then opened the door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and held out his helmet. “Can you hold this?”
    “Of course.” She took it from him, surprised at how heavy it was.
    They had to fight traffic again going the other direction, but people gave way more readily this time. The blaze was a couple of blocks away, so it was just a matter of minutes before Eric pulled up behind a big fire engine and parked. He silenced the siren, but left his lights flashing.
    Ahead and to her right, a small white house was completely engulfed, flames lapping at the roof through shattered windows. Two teams of firefighters sprayed water on the blaze through two hoses, while another firefighter stood by himself, hosing down the neighbor’s roof to keep it from catching.
    She rolled down the window, got a blast of hot air on her face. “Oh, man! I can feel the heat from here. How can anyone possibly get close to this?”
    “That’s what the fancy suits are for.” He took his helmet from her, climbed out of the truck, walked around to her window. “You can keep the window down, but stay in the vehicle. Got it?”
    “Yes, Mr. Fire Chief.” She saluted.
    His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “Damned straight.”
    She watched him move through the scene, talking first with his crews, then with a sheriff’s deputy, then heading back her way. He walked over to a small, thin man with a scraggly ponytail and mustache who stood in the shadow of the fire engine. The man wore nothing but faded jeans, every vertebra and rib visible.
    “Sorry to see you in this sad situation, Hank.”
    So that was Hank. Vic had thought him just a spectator, maybe a neighbor who’d come down the street for a better view.
    “Do you think they can save it?”
    “Save your house? No, buddy. I’m afraid it’s gone.” Eric spoke in a voice that held both compassion and a sense of authority. “Are you hurt? If you are, we need to check you and get you patched up.”
    “I’m fine.” Hank gave a little laugh. “You shoulda seen me, man. I jumped about twenty feet in the air and ran like a deer on speed.”
    “When the fire is out and I walk in there, please tell me I’m not going to find a bunch of butane canisters and a big pile of weed.”
    Hank’s gaze dropped to the ground.
    “Damn it, Hank, I warned you. I told you that if you were going to break the law, at least do it outdoors. You’re damned lucky you’re not burned to a cinder.”
    “I know. I know.”
    Eric rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. “They’re going to arrest you, buddy, and there’s nothing I can do about that. You understand?”
    His concern for Hank made Vic’s heart melt. He wasn’t just trying to ensure Hank’s safety and protect property. He was doing what he could to shepherd the man through this ordeal, even though it was of Hank’s own making.
    “You think I should run, go to Mexico maybe?”
    “No, I don’t. I think you should stand your ground and face the consequences. That’s the only way to move forward.”
    “I’m afraid I’ll get pounded in the ass. I’m not like you, Hawke. I’m weak and small for a man. I’ll end up being some guy’s bitch.”
    “Jesus, Hank. Prison isn’t what you see on TV. Besides, you don’t know that you’re going to prison. Take it one day at a time. I’ll make a few calls, get you a lawyer. I’m not going to let you face this alone.” He put his arm around Hank’s shoulders, the smaller man making him seem huge by comparison. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
    “I’m pretty shook up, but I’m okay.”
    “I’m going to get you a shirt.” He walked to his truck, opened the door, and grabbed a shirt out of the back—a Team T-shirt. “Megs will have my hide if she hears you wore this to jail, so let’s turn it