One Bride for Three Firemen

“I think talking to Roger is your best move? Just off the top of my head?” she suggests.

Maybe it is the heat, but I am woozy just thinking about it.

“Perhaps some cookies?” she continues gently. “You can never go wrong with cookies. Men only think with two parts of their bodies, and stomachs are one of them.”

“Jeez, Betty,” I roll my eyes, barely able to speak.

She reaches out and pats my hand reassuringly. “Well, let’s hope you don’t have to do anything for the other part of his body, okay? Let’s start with cookies.”

“Fine. Cookies.”

I don’t get up from the sofa right away. The thought of turning on the oven right now is just too much to bear.

“First, Jeopardy?” she offers, plucking the TV remote off the coffee table.

“Yeah,” I sigh as the familiar strains of the game show theme song fill the air. The cookies can wait. Right now I just want to relax on the sofa with my lady friend and watch Alex Trebek roll his eyes at contestants who get the questions wrong and correct their pronunciation.

It’s fine.

I do have five days, after all. Something good could happen. Sure it could.

Chapter 4

Pete

I wake up way before Trigger and Stephan, as usual. Trigger’s robust snores fill the dorm room we all share, echoing off the high brick walls and timber rafters.

The firehouse is about a hundred and fifty years old. It’s rustic. The newer firehouses have much more modern accommodations. Individual bedrooms, or maybe one roommate, especially the new guys, to keep them humble. Private baths. Windows that keep the weather out.

But to tell you the truth, I don’t mind the old building. In fact, it has some advantages. It’s one of the oldest in the entire state. Yes, we do still have a brass pole that we could slide down to get to the fire engine in the main room below. We have these dorm rooms and the fire engine is in the same space as the dining room.

We also still have stables in the backyard because originally the fire trucks were pulled by horses. That was quite luxurious at the time, too. Smaller towns up and down the river may have only had a single hand-pulled cart, or might have had to share with a neighboring community.

So even though it seems kind of quaint and backward now, this represents the cutting edge of technology a hundred fifty years ago. St. Charles was an advanced and luxurious community, even then.

Normally I wouldn’t get stuck living in the same room with the guys who work for me, either. Three of us together is not the usual way. As their supervisor, I should probably get my own room. But there are only three bedrooms in this building, and Bubba gets one. Until he retires, I am stuck with these frat boys living way too close to me for my comfort.

The third bedroom is usually not occupied. It is reserved for the other shift of firefighters. With the budget cuts, we usually get a couple of guys from one of the other stations loaned to us here and there. But they usually make excuses about how they need to be somewhere else, which I’m sure is just a coincidence. Over time, that room has gotten overrun with storage. I guess we never really expected them to come back.

Technically we are always supposed to have a crew of three people here, but not just us. The guys and I are supposed to be able to have three and a half days off every week. In reality, we usually just end up hanging out here. It means we don’t end up having to create coverage problems in case there is an emergency, and it also saves me a whole lot of money on rent for an apartment I would never see anyway. I can retire maybe ten years early because of this cost savings. I am not going to complain about that.

Emergencies are few and far between. We are trained and ready, but the events are thankfully rare. Other stations are called first for ambulances, since we don’t have one. We are also the last station to get the call because the more modern stations are better equipped with more trucks and some of the other high-tech stuff.

It’s like a living museum, and we are the exhibit.

Just as the sunlight is cutting through the old blinds, leaving fruit-colored slices on the floor, I roll out of my bed directly onto the oval rug that covers the wood floor. Twenty push-ups feels great. Fifty feels even better.

It’s just a quick sweat, something to help me wake up. Immediately I feel my core tighten like a spring. Blood starts refilling me, reinvigorating my muscles after a long night.

Jumping back to my feet, I hop over to Trigger’s bunk and give it a nudge with my foot. He ignores me and rolls over. I kick it harder. Then harder again. When it seems like he’s going to keep it up, I raise the side of the bed in my hands and heave until he falls out.