Chapter 34
COOPER
The cheese fries at the diner were perfectly crispy yet greasy with just enough soggy mixed in to be amazing.
“What do you think?” I asked Joy.
I had decided I needed to see her. It was an unusually slow shift.
Sitting around the station thinking about her made me crazy.
And now that I was sitting with her, I was seriously considering taking her back to my place for an evening of slow lovemaking.
I had my radio. If I got a call, I could be back at the station in five minutes.
I shook my head. No, I couldn’t do that. I was not that irresponsible.
I had to settle for dinner. We were across the street from the station. If we got a call, I could be on the rig in less than a minute.
“So, how did last night go with Katrina? Did you two get completely drunk and eat too much chocolate?”
Joy laughed. “I can’t tell you that. Girl code.”
“Girl code?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a real thing?”
“Very real. Sacred, even.” She took a sip of her Coke, her eyes dancing with mischief. “What happens during girls’ night stays in girls’ night.”
“Come on,” I pressed, though I was grinning. “I’m her twin brother. Doesn’t that grant me some kind of special clearance?”
“Especially not to her twin brother,” Joy said firmly. “You’re probably the primary subject we’re not supposed to discuss with you.”
My stomach did a little flip at that. “I was the primary subject?”
“I didn’t say that.” But her cheeks were turning pink, which was answer enough.
I leaned back in the booth, studying her face. “Should I be worried about what she told you? Because Katrina has an entire arsenal of embarrassing childhood stories, and she’s not above using them for entertainment.”
“Your secrets are safe,” Joy said, but she was fighting back a smile. “Though I have to say, the story about you and the fake snake was pretty hilarious.”
I groaned. “She told you about that? I was twelve!”
“And apparently traumatized half the camping trip.”
“It was a very convincing snake,” I said defensively.
Joy laughed again. This was what I’d been missing. It was the way she made everything feel lighter.
“Did you at least have fun?” I asked.
“We had a great time. Your sister knows how to throw a proper girls’ night.” Joy’s expression softened. “It was nice, actually. I haven’t had a friend to just hang out with in, well, in a long time.”
Something in her tone made me look at her more carefully. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. In New York, I had colleagues and people I’d go out with occasionally, but not really friends. Not the kind you can sit around in your pajamas with, eating too much sugar and talking about everything and nothing.” She shrugged. “I forgot how much I missed that.”
I was about to ask her more questions about her life in New York when my radio crackled to life. The familiar tones cut through the diner.
“Structure fire reported at 2847 County Road 15. Respond Code 3.”
The address sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the December weather. County Road 15. I knew exactly where that was, and the knowledge sat in my stomach like a lead weight.
“I have to go,” I said, already standing and pulling money from my wallet for our barely touched meal.
“Of course,” she said, rising with me. “Go. Be careful.”
I leaned down to kiss her goodbye. It was a quick, practical gesture that was meant to be nothing more than a polite farewell. But Joy caught my face in her hands and turned it into something deeper, something that was a promise she would be waiting when I got back.
“For luck,” she said against my lips, and the simple words hit me harder than they should have.
I was still feeling the warmth of that kiss when I climbed into the jump seat. Matt was behind the wheel and Tony was in the front passenger seat. Elijah was practically vibrating with excitement. He was still new to the department and had that excited energy that only a probie could have.
I pulled on my gear with the siren wailing, and we pulled out of town, cutting through the quiet evening like a knife.
“Where are we headed?” Matt asked, navigating the familiar streets with practiced efficiency. “I think I recognize the address.”
“Ziegler ranch,” I said.
“Oh shit,” he murmured.
He knew, of course. Everyone at the station knew about my history with the Ziegler family, though no one ever talked about it directly.
We turned onto County Road 15, the paved road giving way to dirt and gravel as we headed toward the property line. In the distance, I could see the orange glow that meant we weren’t too late—the fire was contained enough that it wasn’t lighting up the entire sky, which was encouraging.
The Ziegler ranch sprawled across forty acres of prime land, with a main house that had been in the family for three generations and outbuildings that spoke to decades of successful cattle ranching. I’d been here before, many times, back when I thought I might become part of this family someday.
Back when I’d been naive enough to believe that love was enough to build a life on.
We pulled into the circular driveway, and I could immediately assess the situation. It wasn’t a full-scale disaster, no five-alarm inferno threatening to consume everything in its path. Instead, I could see the telltale signs of what looked like a classic holiday cooking disaster.
It was probably the tenth one since Thanksgiving.
Old man Ziegler stood near the side of the house, wielding a garden hose with the determination of someone who’d spent his life solving problems with whatever tools were at hand.
The stream of water he was directing at the flames wasn’t extinguishing the fire, and it was actively making it worse.
He was lucky the entire house hadn’t gone up in flames.
Someone probably should have told him water on a grease fire was like adding gasoline.
Mrs. Ziegler stood beside him holding what appeared to be a fire extinguisher she’d clearly already emptied.
I could see the turkey fryer that had obviously gone spectacularly wrong.
The kind of disaster that made viral videos and gave fire departments nightmares during the holiday season.
Hot oil, frozen turkey, and the laws of physics had combined to create exactly the kind of fireball that safety experts spent every November warning people about.
“Anyone inside the house?” I called as I approached, grabbing a hose line from the truck.
“No,” Mr. Ziegler replied, not taking his eyes off the flames. “Just us. Lynn’s in Salt Lake City.”
The mention of my ex-fiancée’s name had me clenching my jaw even though I’d been expecting it.
Of course Lynn wasn’t here. She’d been living in Salt Lake City since our breakup, pursuing whatever new life she’d decided was more appealing than the one we had planned together.
Why they felt the need to tell me didn’t matter.
Did they think I was going to storm the house and look for her? Throw her on the fire?
I pushed the thought aside and focused on the immediate problem. The fire had spread to some decorative landscaping and was threatening a storage shed, but it hadn’t reached the house itself. With proper suppression, it was entirely manageable.
“Get a line around to the back side,” Matt directed. “Elijah, help me with the primary suppression here.”
We worked with the kind of coordinated efficiency that came from years of training and dozens of similar calls.
Turkey fryer fires were unfortunately common during the holidays—people who’d never used the equipment before, frozen birds creating steam explosions, and the hot oil reaching flashpoint temperatures.
Unfortunately, there was a breeze, and the flames were now jumping all over the property. The place was surrounded by dry winter trees. They were acting like torches.
It took us an hour before we had the fire completely suppressed. The turkey fryer was a total loss, obviously, and there was some damage to the landscaping and the side of the storage shed. But the house remained safe and no one had been injured.
“Could have been a lot worse,” I said to Mr. Ziegler as we finished our cleanup. “Turkey fryers are tricky. The oil gets so hot that any moisture—ice crystals on a frozen bird, even humidity in the air—can cause exactly what you experienced.”
He nodded grimly, surveying the damage. “Should have listened to my wife. She wanted to just roast the damn thing in the oven like normal people.”
Mrs. Ziegler gave him a look that suggested this conversation would be continuing long after we left. “He wanted to do a test run. We were going to serve fried turkey for Christmas. At least that’s what he wanted.”
“I think the traditional way is the best,” I muttered.
“If I might interject,” Matt said. “Have you considered smoking a turkey next time?”
I went back to the truck while Matt expressed his love of turkey legs to Mr. Ziegler. As I loaded equipment back onto the truck, I felt the familiar satisfaction that came with a successful call. No one was hurt and the property damage had been minimal. Basically, disaster averted.
It was the best outcome for a call like this. Despite what Lynn had done to me, I didn’t bear any grudges against her parents and I certainly didn’t want to see them hurt.
I climbed into my usual seat and glanced out the window.
Mrs. Ziegler was on the phone, waving her hands.
Being back at the Ziegler ranch, seeing the house where I’d spent so many Sunday dinners and holiday gatherings, where I asked Lynn’s father for permission to marry his daughter, stirred up memories I thought I had successfully buried.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d come here to put out a fire, but being in this place again felt like walking through the ashes of my own burned-down dreams.
“You okay?” Matt asked as we drove back toward town, the siren silent now that the emergency was over.
“Yeah,” I said, and was surprised to realize it was mostly true. “Just weird being back there. I haven’t seen those two in forever.”
“For what it’s worth, you handled it like a professional. No one would have known you had any personal connection to the place.”
I snorted. One of my biggest fears had always been that my personal feelings would interfere with my ability to do my job effectively. Tonight proved that wasn’t the case.
My phone buzzed with a text message as we pulled into the station.
Joy: Are you okay? How bad was it?
I found myself smiling as I typed back. I’m fine. Small fire, no injuries, everything under control.
Her response came immediately. Is your shift over?
Me: Ten minutes ago.
Are you going home?
Me: Yep.
Can I come over? I need to see you.
Me: I’m filthy.
I looked down at my gear and clothes, which were indeed covered in soot and debris. I need to clean up first.
I don’t care. I need to see that you’re really okay.
The urgency in her message was a surprise. Joy needed to see me, needed the physical confirmation that I was safe and whole. When was the last time someone had worried about me like that?
Give me twenty minutes to get home and shower, I texted back. Then come over.
On my way.
As I gathered my gear and prepared to head home, I found myself thinking about the contrast between tonight and all those other nights when I went home from calls to an empty house.
There was no one waiting to make sure I was okay.
No one needed to touch base and confirm that I had made it through another emergency unscathed.
Joy worried about me. Joy kissed me for luck and waited to hear that I was safe.
The realization hit me as I drove home through the quiet streets. This was what it felt like to matter to someone. This was what it felt like to have someone whose day was affected by whether or not I came home in one piece.
It was terrifying and wonderful and completely different from anything I had experienced before. Lynn never cared. I used to text her after a shift or a rough call but stopped when I realized she didn’t give two shits. She made me feel like I was bothering her. So, I stopped.
Joy understood that every call could be dangerous and coming home safe wasn’t guaranteed.
She understood, and she cared enough to need confirmation that I was okay.
I was still processing that revelation when I pulled into my driveway and saw Joy’s car already waiting for me.