Chapter 2
Once again he cursed the contrary nature of the region’s residents who had readily gone along with his effort to get rid of the former fire chief. Hell, the man was a liar, a thief and a drunkard! However, when it came to approving Sully’s appointment to the post, the powers that be had balked. So he had to continue to fix cars, pump gas, and operate the only tow truck within about fifty miles. And serve as a key volunteer firefighter on the side.
Why the town council had up and hired some guy from a big department in the Midwest, he could not guess. How could such a man fit in or work with a severely limited budget and a department consisting mainly of volunteers? What would a city man know about fighting fires in sub-zero temperatures when the truck-carried water froze almost as it blasted from the hose, when those trucks might not start, and you had to wear so many layers of clothes you looked like the Michelin Man? Or in the summer when lightning-sparked blazes ravaged the steep terrain above the valley and might threaten the village?
Sully had a lot more questions than he had answers. He suspected only time would cover most of them and some maybe not even then. With a huff of disgust, he went inside the gas station to answer his phone. Probably some out-of-state doofus broke down up on one of the old mining or logging roads, expecting me to come to the rescueWhat a great life…
These days, if it wasn’t for bad luck, seemed he wouldn’t have any at all. Because of that call, which turned out to be a sales pitch, he almost missed seeing the faded blue Dodge pickup pull up in front of the fire station and discharge two passengers, a man and a tow-headed kid.
He skidded to a halt as he emerged from the office of his garage, eyes slewing to the wide drive in front of the fire station and the truck, one that would fit in on most of the small local ranches and farms. Lord knew almost no one around here could afford a new one.
Could it be the new chief? But a man with a kid? He couldn’t recall anything in Ashcroft’s application about a child, but maybe he’d missed it. He wasn’t sure if that put things in a different perspective or not. Well, whether or not it was the new chief, Sully figured it fell to the interim one to check matters out. Squaring his shoulders, he strode off across the street.
Missouri plate on the truck. Too strong a clue to be a coincidence.
The man must have heard Sully’s approach. The stranger turned to look Sully’s way. He wore a Kansas City Chiefs sweatshirt and a matching ball cap, pulled low over his eyes. What little the dimming light revealed of his face looked strong, rough-hewn and almost movie-star handsome. Eyes seemed very dark, as did the longish hair below the cap. Of course, a firefighter would be fit—but the snug sweatshirt and well-worn jeans revealed a lean, ripped physique. Sully’s gut clenched.
Aw shit, he has to be good-looking and probably my age or younger. That’s going to make this even harder to deal with.
Sully didn’t exactly hide his lifestyle and sexual preference, but he didn’t advertise it, either. As far as he knew, Valle Vista currently had only one other gay man in residence. Homer Jenson was at least sixty-five, claimed to be an artist, and had lost his partner a few months ago. Everyone whispered it must have been AIDS, and some even hinted the illness was probably God’s punishment for a life of depravity, a comment that rubbed Sully very much the wrong way.
With only a moment’s hesitation, the stranger stuck out his hand. “Howdy. I’m Grady Ashcroft.” His eyes met Sully’s for a moment and then he looked down at the little boy, something in his expression that caused another sharp twist in Sully’s gut. “And this is my son, Ja—er—Jim.”
The child, blue eyes wide and guileless, grinned. “You remembered,” he said as he flicked a swift look at his dad. “Thanks.” Then he shifted his attention to Sully and offered a small hand along with a bright smile, dominated by teeth too large for his narrow face. “Do you have any kids?”
Sully accepted the boy’s shake, then lifted his hand to meet Ashcroft’s firm handshake, but felt no excess pressure. A trickle of warmth made its way from his palm to his upper arm, shoulder and settled somewhere inside. “Sullivan Parker. Folks around here call me Sully.” He turned his attention back to the boy. “And no, I don’t have kids. Sorry.”
An instant later, he found the way to reverse the boy’s crestfallen look. “But I do have something for you. How does a Dalmatian puppy sound? Every boy needs a dog.”
Young Jim beamed before casting an anxious look up at his father. Ashcroft’s expression was a study, almost making the moment into Sully’s triumph.