Chapter Eight
Sloane climbed out of the Jeep, stretching out her stiff back as Jolene, Jolene, Jo-leeeene played in an endless loop in her head. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the song.
Just like she couldn’t forget about earlier when Kendall had so effortlessly changed that tire.
Those strong shoulders flexed in the sun, those biceps pulled taut, and her triceps teasing.
Sloane’s face warmed at the memory. Her heart flipped like a gymnast and the skin on her arms prickled when she remembered Kendall picking up that tire like it weighed less than a pillow.
It felt as though Jolene and Kendall were battling for space in her mind, and Sloane had no idea which one to focus on, or how to get them both out of her head.
She even shook her head a little, hoping the thoughts would dislodge.
There was work to be done. Chief Stiles was meeting them in a few minutes, and it was essential that Sloane concentrated solely on the schedule for the day.
“Is that her over there?” Kendall asked, tipping her chin to a woman cutting across the fire station parking lot. Her strides were so long that she seemed to glide over the pavement.
“That’s her,” Sloane said. There was no doubt in her mind that the woman was Chief Natasha Stiles.
Everything about her screamed in charge.
She was tall, broad-shouldered, caramel colored skin with a head of curly black hair, aviator sunglasses covering her eyes, and chewing gum like it was her last meal.
“Sloane, Kendall,” Stiles said when she reached them. “Good to meet you both in person.” She shook Sloane’s hand firmly. Her grip was strong enough to crush a soda can. “I’m glad you two could make it here. No trouble finding us?”
Sloane caught Kendall’s eye and before the topic of the flat tire could make its way into conversation—she couldn’t possibly relive it again—she said, “No trouble at all.”
“Good. Now about this documentary of yours.” Stiles leaned her hip against the Jeep, folded her arms, and popped her gum. Strawberry flavored, or so Sloane assumed, since it was bright pink. “I think it’ll be a good fit for what this town’s been through.”
“We’re excited to tell the story,” Sloane said.
“We’d love to get your side on it, Chief Stiles.” Kendall jumped in. “Maybe we can do an interview with you sometime today.”
“We can definitely work something in,” Sloane said, casting a quick, pointed glance at Kendall from the corner of her eye, as if to say, What the hell are you doing? We’ve got a plan, remember? The day is nearly halfway over and there isn’t really any time to add another interview to the mix.
But Kendall looked seemingly unphased, completely forgetful that their plan today was to interview the residents, the evacuees, and those who had lost their homes. Not Chief Stiles.
Did Kendall seriously not pay attention to anything?
“Perfect,” Stiles said, clapping her hands together. “So, how about I give you two a tour of the town? We can take my truck.”
Sloane was just about to offer her Jeep, since she’d much rather be the one to drive than let some stranger escort them around Crestline, but she didn’t get the chance. Both Kendall and Chief Stiles were already bounding over to a truck parked just a few cars away.
Sloane swallowed hard, grabbed her camera gear, and followed them.
At least Kendall had the common decency to sit in the backseat.
Sliding into the passenger seat, Sloane felt the leather creak beneath her and briefly held her breath as the pine and smoke washed over her.
It was a tidal wave instead of a ripple.
Stiles pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the edge of the town.
“There’s a festival going on here this weekend.
Whispers of the Vine. Stupid name in my opinion, but people don’t mind.
They come from all over the place.” She jerked her head back to Kendall and then to Sloane, those aviators slipping down to her nose.
The glasses dipped down enough to tell that her eyes were brown like autumn leaves.
“If you two are sticking around for the weekend, I highly recommend checking out the festival. There are all sorts of stalls selling wine by the glass or the bottle. My wife and I are taking care of stall eighteen. You should come by and say hi. We’ll be there for the rest of the weekend. ”
“Sounds amazing,” Kendall sang, leaning forward between the two front seats.
Sloane nearly pushed her back down, itching to remind her to buckle up since, well, safety first, but she stopped herself. Touching Kendall, especially after the events of the day, was a thread she would rather not pull at.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Sloane said. “So, what are we looking at, Chief?” It was imperative that she focused on work, rather than the fact that Kendall’s face was close enough to hers that she could smell the coconut from her shampoo.
Stiles pointed out the window to the left as they drove past a row of houses. “You see that ridge up there? That’s where the fire started. Found out later it was from a broken beer bottle. With the dry as-hell conditions, half the town was under threat before we could even blink.”
Sloane glanced sideways and caught Kendall’s gaze. Their eyes locked for a second too long, and then she quickly looked away as her heart did a betraying little flip.
She tried to refocus as Stiles pointed out more landmarks. It was imperative she remembered all of it, since she and Kendall would do some filming later. They would be capturing every point where the fire had threatened trees and homes alike.
“That area up there.” Stiles nodded toward a hill that was now just blackened, skeletal trees. “Used to be a great mountain biking trail. My wife and I used to spend our Saturday afternoons riding along there. We had to evacuate the entire neighborhood within hours. They were lucky to get out.”
“How many people lost their homes?” Kendall asked from the backseat.
“Four families in total,” Stiles said grimly, turning on her blinker. “Nothing left but ashes. We’re going to drive by one of the sites in a minute. They’ll probably rebuild when the insurance kicks in, but till then, it’s just a waiting game.”
“Did you have to evacuate as well?” Sloane asked.
Stiles shook her head. “We’ve got a property on the other side of the lake.
Luckily, we were out of the danger zone.
” She slowed down the truck, pulling up to what was once a home but now just a charred mess of blackened beams and crumbling walls.
There was a melted swing set, an overturned steel chair, and scraps of drywall that still clung to the frame.
The acrid smell of burnt wood was still in the air, despite the fact the fire had taken place nearly three months ago.
Sloane’s heart sank well below her stomach. Hearing about someone losing their home was tough enough, but witnessing the aftermath was on a whole other level.
She heard Kendall blow out a breath, one just as sad as the one Sloane was holding. She didn’t dare sneak a glance in her direction. She didn’t want to see the sorrow mirrored on Kendall’s face and in those beautiful amber eyes.
“So,” Stiles said, veering the car back onto the road. “Are you meeting with the Stephenson family this morning?”
“We are,” Sloane replied, checking the schedule.
They were to meet Anna and Charles Stephenson at the Crest Grill in fifteen minutes.
The camera would be rolling for this one.
Sloane did a quick mental check of her gear.
Her trusty Canon C300 and a Manfrotto Befree tripod were all she needed to frame those raw emotions.
“I’ll go with you,” Stiles said. “They’re old friends of mine.”
By the time the chief pulled into the parking lot of Crest Grill, Sloane felt the tension in her shoulders ease, but only a bit.
Considering that Kendall was practically invading her space while she and the chief talked about their first-ever training drills, it was hard to relax.
By the time the truck came to a stop, Sloane basically leaped out of the passenger seat to get away from that overpowering coconutty smell that wrapped around her like a hug she had never asked for.
“I hope you two are staying for lunch,” Stiles said, taking the lead to the restaurant. “They make a mean hamburger. It’s all in the secret sauce.”
“Unfortunately, no,” Sloane said, glancing at the sun where it was hovering over a group of trees. “We’ve got a few more interviews to do today and time isn’t exactly on our side.”
The Stephenson family was already waiting for them when they walked into the restaurant.
Mom, dad, teenage daughter, and nine-year-old son were all sitting at a large table by the window.
They waved when they saw the chief and she waved back.
“Remember, they’ve been through a lot,” Chief Stiles whispered softly to Sloane.
The chief did the introductions and by the time Sloane had set up the equipment, Kendall was already deep in a conversation with the family about paddle boarding on Lake Arrowhead.
She shared a story about the time when she was sixteen and lost her paddle out on Lake Balboa and the winds had been so rough, she’d ended up stranded for over an hour.
At least the woman had managed to break the ice.
Sloane sat down, and the minute she did, everything turned serious.
The laughing stopped. The chatter ended and all the faces turned toward her.
Even the temperature in the room felt like it had dropped a few degrees.
Sloane ignored it all, including the way Kendall was staring at her, smiling, and asked, “What do you remember about the day when the fire started?”
Anna’s smile faded into something more reflective. She glanced at her husband, Charles, and then back at Sloane. “It was just a normal day, really,” she began. “Tommy was playing outside. Lily was in her room, probably on her phone.”
“I was doing my homework,” Lily moaned, rolling her eyes like all teenagers do at least once a day. As did Sloane, for that matter.
Anna chuckled, gave her daughter’s wrist a squeeze, and then carried on.
“We honestly had no idea what was coming. One minute we were making dinner and the next we saw smoke rise up in the distance. Not long after that, we got the evacuation notice. The fire was spreading fast. I remember panic setting in. We grabbed what we could—family photos, all the important documents, some clothes—but it all felt so rushed.” She paused, her brows knitting together as if a specific memory had just struck her then.
“I remember thinking, ‘What else should we grab? What am I missing?’ It’s like you can’t even process so quickly which items you want to bring with you in case you lose everything. ”
“When we finally heard our house burned down.” Charles took over. “It hit hard. All those memories were gone in a flash. Lily was born in that house, right in the upstairs tub, and we used to measure the kids’ heights against the kitchen door.”
“We even had a vegetable garden,” Tommy chipped in. “Dad showed me how to grow tomatoes and carrots and Mom even tried to grow a watermelon once. But it turned into this sad little thing.” He made a skewed kind of oval shape with his small kid hands.
“You probably have quite the green thumb,” Kendall said, leaning in.
She shifted the tone back to something lighter, airier, less heartbreaking.
Everyone seemed to notice. It was as if the room exhaled.
And it was almost… admirable, the way Kendall managed to put everyone at ease.
Including—though her pride would never let her confess it out loud—Sloane.
“The greenest.” He lifted up both hands to show the table and then dropped them just as he adopted the sulkiest-looking face. “But now we’re stuck with store-bought vegetables.”
“They’re not that bad,” Lily chimed in.
The interview carried on for another half hour before the food arrived, and Sloane and Kendall excused themselves.
Chief Stiles, who had ordered a T-bone steak and a plate of fries, couldn’t possibly leave now.
So, she had organized one of the lieutenants to pick them up and take them both back to the station.
“Where to next?” Kendall asked, slipping into the passenger seat of the Jeep.
Sloane tapped on her cellphone screen and searched her to-do list. “We’re meeting Ms. Jacobs at her home in Crescent Park. Are you up for it?”
“Never been so ready for anything in my life,” Kendall grinned, reaching for her seatbelt.