Blowing a Fuse (Redwood Bay Fire #5)

Chapter 1

Julian

I was just starting to wonder if things were somewhat getting back to normal in my life. But I should have remembered that ‘normal’ is a rare occurrence here at the One-Thirteen.

“Okay, what have we got?” I call out as we hop down from the rig. The rest of my crew fan out around me as we take in the situation.

We’re parked outside one of the fancy hotels situated between Redwood Bay and San Clemente.

As it’s a Saturday, I’m not entirely surprised that the people rushing toward us are dressed in formal attire.

Dispatch didn’t exactly give us a lot of details to go on, other than someone needed assistance.

But it’s clear that we’ve arrived in the middle of a wedding.

“You have to help!” a glittering blonde woman in a frilly lime green dress howls, flapping her hands by her head. Considering there are a couple of others dressed the same, I assume she’s a bridesmaid.

I wonder just how much the bride hates her friends.

“I got it all on camera!” another guest cries, waving his phone as guests flock around us in the parking lot.

“It was fucking hilarious,” a younger guy snickers before swigging from a beer bottle. Judging by his lime green cravat, I’m going to guess he’s a groomsman.

I sigh and look for my lieutenant. Rico Flores looks as weary as I feel, but he musters a smile for the public. “Clear a path, people. First responders coming through. Who needs help and where are they?”

“It’s Chad!” someone cries.

“The groom!”

“The ring bearer went berserk and attacked him!”

That almost makes me pause, but my training and experience are far superior to whatever surprise I might be feeling.

The ring bearer? Perhaps I haven’t been to enough weddings, but I thought that job usually went to a kid?

Has a child managed to frighten several dozen adults so badly they felt the need to call 9-1-1?

Before I can worry that something serious is going on, I catch a couple of groomsmen laughing their asses off. I’m still not sure what we’re heading into, but at least I shouldn’t need to be concerned that my crew are in danger.

We continue around the side of the hotel out to where the ceremony was evidently supposed to take place in the gardens outside.

It probably would be a nice setup despite the lime-green ribbons and orange flower arrangements.

But half the chairs have been knocked over, and the tower of Champagne coupes has mostly crashed to the ground.

The guests are frantic and the registrar has her hands pressed against her temples like she’s fending off a migraine.

As we hurry down the aisle, scattering orange petals under our feet, I raise an eyebrow at the sign that says, ‘LAST CHANCE TO RUN!’ Presumably that’s a message to the man we’re here to rescue.

I bet they’ve also got one of those cake toppers with a miniature bride dragging a disgruntled mini groom toward the altar.

I swear, some people don’t even want to get married, yet they waste thousands of dollars on a ceremony anyway.

It rubs me the wrong way. Probably because when I was growing up, I didn’t think I’d ever be legally allowed to even get married as a gay man.

Some folks have no idea of the privilege they hold, clearly.

To me, marriage should be sacred. If you say ‘Till death do us part’ that ought to mean something. Like it did for my parents.

For a moment, grief threatens to crash over me like a tidal wave. It’s been several weeks since my dad passed, but just like with my mom years ago, it’s shocking how the loss can sneak up on me without any warning and snatch my breath right out of my lungs.

But then our Driver Engineer, Gene Haskell, claps me on the shoulder and grins.

Almost as if he knew I was on the verge of spiraling and needed pulling back into the here and now.

“I think this is going to be one to tell the kids, Cap,” he says with unusual mirth.

Usually, he likes to grumble about everything from the news to the weather to politics to whatever it is that the younger members of our crew are into on any given day.

I find it comforting in a strange way. Like something I can rely on.

His barely contained glee makes me nervous.

I push that aside. There’s a job to be done. We hurry along with the others toward where the guests are indicating is the reason for the 9-1-1 call. I’m still not convinced a child could cause such a frenzy. Maybe they mean the best man rather than the ring bearer.

Nope.

They meant the ring bearer.

It’s not a child, though.

It’s a five-pound snarling ball of fluff.

“Pickle, stop!” the bride screams tearfully at the tan-and-black chihuahua currently yapping and growling at the base of a large oak tree. A dozen feet up, the groom is clinging precariously to the trunk, looking down like the devil himself has set a hellhound on his heels.

“Marsha, get that thing away from me!” he shrieks, waving at the dog like that might deter them in any way. If anything, little Pickle gets more aggravated, snapping their tiny jaws and bearing all their sharp teeth.

I stop and scratch the back of my head.

“Don’t laugh,” one of my guys, Anton Quick, says tightly. It’s no guess who he’s talking to as the One-Thirteen gather and assess the scene. His best friend, Sawyer Nelson, barely manages to contain a snort.

“Nothing funny about this at all,” he retorts once he’s caught his breath. “Oh, good. The guests are live streaming.” He flashes us all a smile and rubs his hands together.

Lili Kwon rolls her eyes. “Are you ready for your close-up, Mr. DeMille?” she asks with a smirk.

“Mr. DeMille was the director,” our youngest and most recently qualified firefighter, Teddy Foster, says absently, squinting up at the groom. “I think even without the dog, Cap, that guy’s pretty stuck.”

“Agreed,” I say with a nod. “Okay, people!” I address the rest of the squad loudly before they can get out of hand.

This may not be a life-or-death situation, but we do still have someone in distress than needs us.

“Let’s get the ladder and see if we can’t get this gentleman down in one piece.

” I turn to the crowd. “Who does this dog belong to?”

“Me!” the bride wails, her mascara running down her face. “Pickle, what has gotten into you, you bad boy? You love Daddy Chad! We’re going to be a family!”

Pickle is unmoved. In fact, once he’s done with his current round of yapping and snarling, he cocks his leg and pisses on the base of the tree.

“Heeeeelp,” the groom whimpers pitifully, trembling as he regards his nemesis with fear.

“Ma’am,” I call patently out to the bride. “Can you please pick your dog up?”

The look she flashes me is filled with manic fury.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” she squalls.

“He won’t listen to reason! And I didn’t starve myself for months and work out like a motherfucker only to get bitten and scratched before we’ve hardly taken a single photo.

Pickle, please! It’s…it’s…it’s Mommy’s special day! ”

She breaks into hysterical sobs. The bridesmaid who greeted us first rushes to her, throwing her arms around her shoulders as she tries to console her friend.

“It’s supposed to be my special day, too,” the groom grumbles sulkily from up the tree.

“Should we call animal control?” Flores asks me, but I shake my head.

“I reckon we can handle this ourselves. Ma’am? Your dog isn’t rabid, is he?”

“No, of course not!” she snaps before dissolving into more sobs interspersed with high-pitched squeaks. “And nobody is going to touch him! He’s a very delicate little soul! Oh, Pickle. Why would you do this to Mommy? Mommy loves you!”

“He’s doing it to me, not you!” the groom bellows at her.

“You’re not helping, Chad!” she screams back at her beloved. “You must have done something to upset him! Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

“I told you this wedding was a bad idea,” an older woman says to a man that looks like her husband.

“Not now, Mom!” the groom bemoans.

I sigh and shake my head. “Quick and Nelson, get the ladder. Bell?” Lochlan, the resident Viking on our crew, perks up at hearing his name. “Glove up and see if you can’t Doctor Dolittle some magic with that pup. He’s smaller than Rocky’s head, I’d wager.”

“No!” the bride snaps. “I said no one is going to touch him!”

“Ma’am,” I tell her patiently. “I promise you that Firefighter Lochlan is a bonafide dog whisperer and will be extremely gentle with Pickle. You want us to get your fiancé down from that tree, don’t you?”

She bites a French manicured thumbnail and doesn’t answer right away.

Bell makes the decision by grinning and saluting at me. “Consider it done, Cap!” he cries before starting to circle the tiny, crazed chihuahua.

Although his Dalmatian, Rocky, has never been anything other than a sweetheart, he’s the only one of us that’s gone to canine obedience classes. As far as I’m concerned, that makes him the next best thing to animal control we have available.

“Or maybe someone just needs to speak Pickle’s language.

” A woman has appeared next to me. She is also dressed in one of the hideous bridesmaid dresses, but with her voluminous red curls, she’s the only one who halfway manages to pull the color off.

It also appears that she’s helped herself to one of the un-spilled Champagne coupes.

As she takes a sip of her drink, she smirks.

I tilt my head at her. “Ma’am, if you know of a way to subdue this dog, please do so. Fast. We need to de-escalate the situation.”

She scoffs and speaks so only I can hear her. “Oh, that’s exactly what I was doing. De-escalating this marriage before it can happen.” Her eyes narrow at the groom still languishing in the tree. “Maybe now Chad will regret cheating on my sister for the past year.”

I blink and look sideways at the smug bridesmaid. “For real?” I mutter.