Chapter Seven
“Not another Dolly Parton song,” Sloane grumbled, jabbing her finger against the next button on the stereo. “Please don’t make me listen to her again.”
The playlist Kendall had painstakingly curated just that morning was filled with the earthy melodic tunes of Noah Kahan, the indie pop beat of Ellie Goulding, and the good feeling country of Dolly Parton.
It was meant to be a road trip mix designed to soothe and energize both of them before another busy day on the job.
Instead, Sloane seemed entirely unimpressed by Kendall’s taste in music, which made little sense since Kendall had a great musical palate.
When she was four, she’d spent an entire summer vacationing at Graham Kinding’s—world-class music composer—house, watching him work his magic.
Her music knowledge was enviable. Kendall could recite the soundtrack of nearly every Hans Zimmer film, and it was downright baffling that Sloane didn’t appreciate her playlist.
“What do you have against her?” Kendall asked, itching to grab Sloane’s hand while she endlessly carried on jabbing at the button. “She’s practically a national treasure.”
“I’ve got nothing against her,” Sloane sighed, dropping her hand to her lap. “But when you’ve listened to Dolly begging Jolene to stop stealing her man three times already in the last hour, it’s normal to want to tear your hair out.”
“It’s a timeless classic,” Kendall disagreed. “The kind you can put on repeat, and it gets better… like aged cheese… or a good bottle of wine. It’s impossible not to love.”
“Well, I’m officially out of love with it,” Sloane snapped, hitting the off button with a finality that left no room for argument.
Kendall had a feeling they’d end up fighting like cats and dogs if she turned the song back on.
She was tempted. But also, she didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.
She’d already defied Sloane once. A second time would likely end up in more trouble than it was worth.
“How about we drive in silence?” Sloane offered.
“For the rest of the way?” Kendall gasped, her eyes blinking in pure disbelief.
Growing up in a house always bustling with people—a housekeeper, an au pair, even two chefs—had conditioned Kendall to crave noise.
The thought of driving in forced silence all the way to Crestline felt like a personal affront.
She needed chatter and distractions. It was part of the reason she’d let Reese move in with her.
It wasn’t for the rent. It was because she hated the idea of showing up at her house at night, alone, in the dark, with only shadows for company.
She was human. And she needed other humans… all the time.
“Yes,” Sloane replied matter-of-factly. “For the next hour, all I want is blissful silence. Now Shhh.” She pressed her finger to her lips and took in a big breath, as if she were meditating on the power of quiet.
Kendall let out an exaggerated sigh, drumming her fingers restlessly against her knee.
Her leg bounced with pent-up energy. It had been a long morning.
Both Kendall and Sloane had been cramped around a table in the inn’s dining room, plotting out their next steps.
Phone calls and paperwork and emails were sent while they had sipped on lukewarm coffee and snacked on toast and homemade jam.
She needed to move, to shake off the hours of sitting still, but all she could do was tap her fingers against her leg and watch the towering pines gradually give way to chaparral and desert scrub, before transforming into oak woodlands dotted with open grasslands.
They were on their way to Crestline, a small town tucked in the San Bernardino Mountains with dense pine forests and an entirely man-made lake built in the 1930s.
Earlier that year, a massive wildfire had threatened the town, forcing many residents to evacuate their homes, some of which had burned down completely.
“How about we play a game to pass the time?” Kendall suggested when she reached the end of her very long tether. “I’m thinking we can play I-spy?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll go first.” Kendall leaned against the window, gazing out as the road twisted through the San Bernardino National Forest. “I spy with my little eye, something—”
“I give up,” Sloane interjected, without hesitating.
Her jaw was clenched so tight that Kendall worried about the woman’s teeth.
She had lovely straight teeth, and she’d hate for them to be gnashed down because Sloane was too stubborn to lighten up.
“Besides, the only thing around us is trees. There’s nothing else to spy. ”
“Okay, fine,” Kendall relented, though still not giving up. Any sort of talking, even if it was just a reprimand, was enough to soothe her craving. “How about we talk about our plan for when we get to Crestline?”
“We’ve gone over it already.”
“Amuse me,” Kendall challenged.
Sloane exhaled dramatically but thankfully surrendered.
“Fine. When we arrive, we go straight to the fire station. Chief Natasha Stiles will meet us there. She was involved in the Crest Fire and offered to give us a tour. Specifically, where it all started, where the fire spread, and which parts of the town were evacuated.” Sloane paused, her voice dropping. “And the houses that were burned down.”
“And the interviews?” Kendall asked, grateful for the absence of silence.
“We’re set to talk to three residents who had to evacuate, and two families who lost everything. The Stephenson’s moved to Lake Arrowhead shortly after, but they’re happy to meet us at the Crest Grill.”
“And Chief Stiles?”
Suddenly, the Jeep let out a bone-rattling thud that had Kendall plastered against her seat. Before she could even process what was happening, the vehicle lurched violently to the side.
“What the hell!” Kendall yelped, clutching the door handle like it was a lifeline.
Her heart was pounding in her chest like a jackhammer, and her skin was all prickled with goosebumps.
Next to her, Sloane’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel, her face losing almost as much color as she fought against the pull of the road.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered under her breath and swerved the car to the right.
The tires crunched against the gravel of an area just wide enough for the Jeep to fit without sticking out into the road.
Dust kicked up behind them as Sloane brought the vehicle to a stop.
She let out a shaky breath and turned just enough toward Kendall that she could see the shock on her face.
“What the hell was that?”
“I think we got a flat tire.” Kendall guessed, stepping out of the car.
She stretched her arms above her head. Her heart was still hammering as she eyed the completely deflated tire.
Of course, something like that would happen to them.
It only seemed right that their day would be punctured by some drama.
If it wasn’t Sloane hating on Kendall’s music and refusing to keep a conversation, then it was the Jeep deciding to further complicate things.
She watched Sloane round the car and when her sights caught onto the deflated tire, all the color was lost from her face. “Shit! What the hell do we do now?” she spluttered.
Kendall was just about to offer up changing the tire, since it was the simplest, fastest and most sensible solution when Sloane suddenly cried, “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.
” She puffed out her cheeks and glanced about the stretch of road.
There was no town or person in sight. She immediately began chewing at the skin of her thumb.
“AAA will take ages to get here. Do we even have a signal?” She quickly snatched out her phone and checked the bars.
“Alright, I’ve got a few bars. I’ll make the call. ”
All Kendall could do was watch, wide-eyed, lips apart, stuck to the gravel as if Sloane were some alien creature that had suddenly swooped down from the sky.
Here was this woman, who seemed so effortlessly capable, so successful and independent in probably every aspect of her life, yet she was completely clueless when it came to something as basic as changing a tire.
That was a shock.
“What do you think caused it?” Sloane asked, completely oblivious that Kendall, who couldn’t yet wrap her head around what was happening, was standing silently, watching her.
“Oh wait, I’m on hold.” She walked over to the flat tire and knelt beside it.
She poked a finger at it, glared at the spot of grime, and then winced as she rubbed her hand on her pants.
It took Kendall another five seconds to snap out of her trance. She peeled off her sweatshirt, tossed it back into the Jeep, and walked over to the trunk. “How about we just change the tire ourselves instead of waiting for AAA?”
“Change the tire?” Sloane’s brows dropped so low they touched her lashes. “What do you mean, just change the tire? Do you know how?”
“Of course I do, and I’m shocked you don’t,” Kendall shot back, embracing the heat of the sun on her bare skin.
Her tank top showed a fraction of her midriff and, of course, her shoulders.
Kendall wasn’t one to flaunt her muscles on purpose, but she wasn’t about to hide them, either.
She liked the way her arms looked. She’d put in the work, after all.
Back at the station, Kendall had even outdone her colleague, Steven, in push-ups once.
Though, to be fair, he was recovering from back surgery two months prior. Still, it had been an achievement.
“Umm…” Sloane started, her gaze lingering on Kendall’s biceps for a beat too long before she quickly turned her head to glance at the trees lining the road.
Was Kendall just imagining things, or had Sloane’s cheeks gone a little pink? Although, nothing resembling the color in Kendall’s own cheeks last night.
“I guess I never needed to change a tire,” Sloane continued. “Someone else was always there. You know?”
Kendall understood. She’d only changed her first tire when she joined Station Six.
Before that, she’d always relied on someone else.
A man usually. But there was a certain freedom in being able to do something so practical on her own.
It felt empowering, like she was claiming a piece of independence that had always been just out of her reach.
She was taking control, refusing to be the damsel in distress her father so often showcased in his movies.
She was Miss Independent, thank you very much.
“Let me show you how it’s done.” Kendall grabbed the jack and lug wrench and got to work. First, she loosened the lug nuts and then she popped the car up with a few quick pumps.
“It’s easy,” she claimed, well aware that Sloane was doing absolutely nothing except watching her. She was standing with her arms crossed, her phone loose in her hand, while Kendall walked back to the trunk.
It was unnerving.
It was flattering.
Kendall’s heart rate was doubling in speed as she grabbed the spare wheel, becoming far too aware of her shoulder muscles flexing under the weight of it.
If she’d known the woman would stare at her like that, she might’ve thought twice about ditching her sweatshirt.
But then again, maybe not. Maybe Kendall even liked the attention, the unmistakable admiration in Sloane’s eyes.
And judging by the way Sloane’s breathing had sped up, the way her chest was rising and falling noticeably faster, like she was panting, made it clear Kendall had an effect on her.
But what kind of effect?
What did it mean?
Why was she even thinking about Sloane staring at her? She had a tire to change. A destination to get to. Work to do.
“And now it’s all about putting everything back,” Kendall said, a little light-headed at all the attention.
She swapped the flat tire for the spare and tightened the lug nuts.
When she was done, she could still feel Sloane’s eyes tracing her movements, following her every step as she cleaned her hands with water from her water bottle. “Next time, it’s your turn.”
Sloane suddenly blinked. “What?”
“Your turn,” Kendall said, pointing at the Jeep. “If we get another flat, you’re fixing it.”
“Oh right. Yes, of course. My turn.” Sloane still looked befuddled, as if she was still recovering. Slowly. “Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”