Chapter 4
“Pretty amazing to watch.”
Mack stepped up beside Brad, shoulders bumping through their thick winter coats. “It’s liquid pouring out of hoses. Think you’d be pretty used to that by this point in your career.”
“Concrete isn’t water,” Brad offered dryly. “I’ve done my bit out here for the morning. Fire codes, such as they are at the moment, are being met. What were you dealing with over on the roadside?”
“They have safety cones set up, but not far enough. They’ve got permission to use the entire lane, so I adjusted the flagman and gave the trucks more room to manoeuvre.
” Mack pointed to the flagman in his bright yellow vest. “Casey said the pour is going well from what he can tell, and the foundation should be in place before shutdown this afternoon.”
On Brad’s other side, Ryan Zhao hummed, his blue-black hair moving easily as he nodded in approval. “Timeline fits. So far the developers are rock stars, although it’s a little early to do too much cheering.”
They all stared a little longer at the concrete trucks lined up to head into the work site.
Construction on the new community hall was fascinating, at least at this point when everything was right out in the open.
The security fence around the building site had gone up two weeks ago, and stage one of the process had begun.
Low wood frames filled with rebar and more lines of a thick red tubing than Brad had ever seen before slowly appeared, creating a ghostly outline of the future innards of the building.
Two days ago, the underfloor heating for the different spaces in the single story building had been completed and was now disappearing under the steady pour of concrete from the long hoses directed by the construction foreman.
A team of four raked and pulled the batter-like substance into position, while two other men had started to smooth the mixture with long-handled tools that seemed to float over the tacky surface.
Ryan spoke again. “Not having a forced air furnace in the building is going to make it so much more efficient. Cheaper to run, better control over zones—”
“Says the man who proposed the change in the first place.” Mack muttered.
“When you’re right, you’re right.” Ryan glanced over at Mack, a small smirk on his lips. “Oh, wait. I mean, when I’m right, I’m right.”
Mack scratched the ridge of his nose with his middle finger.
“Now, children,” Brad scolded, but he laughed at the same time. “I guess we can’t stand here all morning watching the floor show. You think everyone’s ready at the hall?”
Every month they gathered all the volunteer firefighters from the Heart Falls area and did training of some sort.
Physical, or technical, or something to keep their community of volunteers strong and connected.
As fire marshal for the area, Brad did his share of running the training, but Mack was chief in Heart Falls, and Ryan and two others each lead teams.
“Alex texted me. He and Ashton have the teams assembled and started training drills already,” Ryan assured him as the three of them turned away from the construction site and paced toward the fire hall. “With no formal training in January, they’re probably a little out of shape.”
“Still think it was the right idea, though, giving all the volunteers one month off. January is tough enough with school starting up again and all the rest of it.” Mack tucked his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath. “Also, it was damn cold then. February is feeling kinder, so far.”
“Good for the concrete to set,” Ryan agreed. “And the one month off was needed. The Christmas party was a blast, and between that and the Tacky Threads idea, I think the teams are in fine shape, at least on the non-physical side.”
“Brooke still good?” Brad asked Mack.
“Three months to go and counting. She’s feeling great because she’s still not at the ‘don’t tell me I’m waddling’ stage.”
“You’re a brave man to even think the word waddle about a pregnant woman,” Ryan offered.
“Her phrase, not mine,” Mack insisted. “Thanks for asking.”
They strode together in silence then, and Brad was once again reminded how grateful he was to have people to work with who were also friends. Nothing too wild, nothing too outrageous, but solid men with a ton of heart.
The fire hall shone with lights, both upstairs and down. Brad pulled the door open and stepped into loud, colourful pandemonium.
He was still chuckling as he parked in his spot outside Lone Pine ranch. As he settled at the dinner table with his wife, father, and family, he tried to explain the chaos.
“Alex had the downstairs area and was running the volunteers through workout drills with hoses and spinal boards,” he explained. “Which is great, but everyone who showed up today came dressed up…tacky.”
His fourteen-year-old daughter Crissy laughed. “The Tacky Threads challenge? They’re really getting into it?”
“It seems like,” Brad agreed, replacing two-year-old Ethan’s spoon in front of him on the table. “This goes into your mouth, not on the floor.”
Ethan sat back in his booster seat and grinned. “Oops.”
“Oops, my foot,” Brad offered back. He leaned in and showed his teeth in a mock growl. “Eat your noodles, kiddo.”
“Good to know the crew is embracing the challenge,” Patrick said, nodding his approval. “But you and your team do a good job with keeping them motivated.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Brad returned.
“How many tacky outfits are we talking?” Hanna asked, buttering a second bun then placing it in front of four-year-old Drew, who, unlike his brother, was eating everything in sight.
“And which was your favourite?” Crissy added.
“At least a dozen downstairs and the same up. Turns out Alex and Ashton divided them up by colour scheme, and downstairs were the people who went with the brighter the better. It was like one of those flashback images to an exercise class from the ’70s, with leg warmers and spandex, all in variations of neon pink and green.
” Brad shuddered and replaced Ethan’s cup.
Thankfully, it had been empty. “And to answer which was my favourite, when we went upstairs, the crew working on CPR and emergency approach strategies were the earth-toned colours.”
“That doesn’t seem very tacky,” Hanna said, amusement lighting her eyes.
Brad put Ethan’s napkin back on the table as he met her gaze straight on.
“Mixed earth tones are fine. Mixed patterns are another matter. Edison from the health unit was there with stripes that went up and down one side of his pants and crosswise on the other leg. He also wore a vest with four different fabrics repeated over and over in no particular pattern, houndstooth, swirls, chevron, and stars.”
Hanna snickered as Drew asked “What’s houndstooth?”
“Sort of zigzags,” Crissy answered. She caught Ethan’s cup before it could accidentally fall to the floor again.
Hanna held out a hand. “I’ll take that, please.”
Ethan watched as his mom put the cup in front of her own plate and poured juice into it. He reached out his pudgy hands, fingers wiggling. A small noise escaped him as Hanna deliberately took a drink. “My cup, Mama.”
One brow raised, Hanna took another slow sip as she considered. “Accidents happen. But if something falls off the table more than one time, that means you didn’t want it anymore.”
“My cup,” Ethan insisted, looking to Brad for assistance. His lower lip stuck out the right amount to tug on Brad’s heart even though he knew better. “Daddy?”
“Sorry, kiddo. Your mom has spoken.”
Then Brad braced himself for the fallout that in the past months had become a Jeckle and Hyde reaction from the usually even-tempered child.
Ethan started his whine at a low level, gearing up for a full-on nerve-scratching wail, when Patrick clapped his hands. Hard, sharp, and accompanied by a quick snap of Ethan’s name.
Impossibly, the tiny terrorist paused mid-screech.
“What did we talk about this afternoon?” Patrick asked his grandson gravely.
Lips still quivering, Ethan backed down. A moment later, eyes on his plate, he lifted his spoon and meekly shoveled a load of noodles into his mouth.
Brad stared for a moment, exchanging a glance with Hanna, but she seemed as in the dark as he was. Whatever his dad had said to the kid, Brad wanted to know and know now.
Reading the room, Crissy wisely changed the topic. “I brought home some craft supplies.” She glanced at both Drew and Ethan and then spoke quietly. “We’re going to make something special tonight after dishes are done.”
“Spethal?” Temper tantrum forgotten, Ethan stared at his big sister with abject hero worship.
“Yes,” she said, pressing a finger to her lips. She caught Drew’s gaze as well and winked. “Special secret, so we’d better finish our supper nicely so we can get to it.”
More noodles were shoved into Ethan’s mouth than Brad thought wise, but he locked his own lips together to keep from breaking the magic.
He did, however, lean toward his dad. “You bribe the kid to behave?” he joked quietly.
Patrick froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth before shrugging. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Well, damn. He had. Somehow grandpa had figured out how to bribe a two-year-old. Brad stared at his dad in awe and dismay. “How?”
Patrick wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”
Fair enough. If the kid wasn’t breaking their eardrums with his shrieks on a regular basis, Brad decided he was good with it. At least for now.
The end of the meal over, Patrick and Crissy waved off help.
Hanna pushed Brad toward the boot room. “We’re going for a walk. We won’t be long,” she told Crissy.
“Kitchen is off limits when you get back,” their teenager warned them. “Special secrets, you know.”
“Spethal se-kets,” Ethan parroted.
“Bye, Mama. Bye, Papa.” Drew was more interested in doing the dishes, He turned back to the sink, the sturdy step stool letting him reach into the water for his important task of rinsing off bubbles.