Free Four Weddings and a Fireman by Jennifer Bernard Page B

known Cherie wouldn’t be that simple. Extracting her secrets would be like picking a lock, not kicking down a door.
    As he released her, bittersweet determination made his jaw clench. He might have lost this particular battle, but he’d be back. And he’d win the war. Losing was not an option, not when the prize was Cherie.
    That same never-­say-­die attitude stayed with him over the next few days. He took his mother in for an MRI and learned . . . nothing. The doctor couldn’t say whether she might lose consciousness again, and recommended keeping a close eye on her. No doubt about it, he was either going to have to draw a bigger salary or begin moonlighting as a male stripper to afford the extra help.
    He began his next shift determined to talk to Captain Brody and get his advice. But before lineup had even ended, they’d gotten their first call.
    â€œStructure fire for 32 Westhaven. Task Force 1, Battalion 9. Respond to Thirty-­two Westhaven. Reported ­people trapped. Time of incident 7:03 a.m.”
    â€œSomeone’s coffeemaker explode?” Ace the rookie grumbled as the firefighters ran into the apparatus bay to change.
    â€œMy money’s on burnt bacon,” said Sabina.
    â€œI call after-­sex cigarette in bed,” Vader chimed in.
    â€œVader! Focus.” Captain Brody gave them a scorching look as he slid his feet into his boots.
    â€œSorry, Cap,” Vader muttered. Doubt cratered through his gut. If he became captain, that would be his role. He’d have to make sure no one was joking around at inappropriate moments. He’d have to stop goofing around and playing the clown. Did Brody ever dance around in a bar wearing nothing but his fireman’s helmet over his dick? No. Did Brody let Lula Blue, the porn star, put her hand on his ass at the Firefighter Photo Booth? No. Did Brody win the nickname Vader by making spooky breathing sounds through his apparatus? No. Did Brody pose wearing nothing but an oven mitt for the firehouse cookbook? No no no.
    The thought of his checkered past taunted him as the crew loaded into Truck 1. Either he was completely unsuited for the role of captain and would never get the job—­or he was going to have to overhaul his personality. Maybe the fun-­loving part of his firefighting career was over, and he should just accept it. Maybe he should resign himself to a life of heavy responsibility at home, heavier responsibility at work . . . and no Cherie.
    He continued the debate in the tiller bucket, where he steered the back end of Truck 1 through the early morning sunshine gilding the streets of San Gabriel. Vader was proud of his role as the tillerman on the truck company. “Truckies” were known as hard-­charging, invincible, excellent firefighters, and his nature suited the position. He’d have to switch over to the engine company if he got promoted, which meant no more working the aerial. He loved his job, loved his crew, but maybe a change would be good. Or maybe not.
    He abandoned the issue when they reached the scene. Thirty-­two Westhaven was an apartment building that housed twelve families. Even though the building was only partially involved, the entire structure had to be evacuated. Some of the residents already stood in tight clusters on the lawn, others were leaving to grab coffee or head to work early.
    The incident commander briefed them on the initial size-­up. The idea was to keep the flames contained to Apartment 3D, which was in the back of the twelve-­unit building. The truck and the pump took the Delta side of the building, where smoke swirled in witchy spirals out the back window. A nearby propane tank posed the biggest worry. They had to make sure not a single spark got close to it.
    Still in the tiller bucket, Vader waited until Fred, the Apparatus Operator, had maneuvered the ladder to the right, then busied himself hooking up the ladder pipe assembly to