THE REBOUND
The Lake Bittersweet Series ~ 5
Chapter One
Even though it was five o’clock on a rainy June morning, Jason Mosedale whistled as he strode into the apparatus bay of the Lake Bittersweet firehouse. He considered himself lucky to live in the most beautiful town in Minnesota, no matter the rain, lucky to work as a firefighter, lucky in most ways—with some giant glaring exceptions. He preferred to whistle through those.
The other crew members, volunteer and staff alike, groaned at the sound.
“You got laid, didn’t you?” grumbled Brent, a longtime member of the crew, the best driver they had.
“Isn’t that every day for him?” Colleen Hopper, one of the three women volunteers, nursed a steaming thermos of one of her herbal concoctions. She kept trying to coax the others into trying her mixes, but got no takers. “There’s hardly a woman in Minnesota who would kick him out of bed.”
“Sorry, aren’t you…?” Brent squinted at her from under his deer hunter’s cap.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” she said sternly. “But the answer is yes.”
“Uh, what’s the question?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Jason figured they were skating awfully close to some kind of human resources rule. He’d better put a stop to it, especially if he was going to apply for fire chief.
Big “if.” Would he be able to joke around like an ordinary crew member if he was the fire chief? Joking around was one of his favorite things in life. Was moving up in the world worth it? He still wasn’t sure, but he’d better figure it out soon because the board of aldermen wanted someone in place before the summer season really got going.
“Can’t a guy whistle just because he’s in a good mood?” He dumped his duffel bag next to his locker and pulled open the door. A blowup doll burst out of it, making him jump back in surprise.
The other firefighters howled in laughter. Good one, he had to admit. Nothing like a firehouse prank to kick off an early morning training exercise.
“If he didn’t get any last night, he can now,” called one of the volunteers.
“I heard he goes for the airhead type,” said someone else, triggering more laughter.
Jason composed his face into a serious expression, which was a big lift for him. His usual mode was fun-loving and easygoing. He loved life and saw no reason to hide that. He took hold of the doll and slowly, menacingly turned to face the ring of firefighters.
“What. The. Fuck…?” He spat the words out. Everyone’s smiles dropped away. Brick, the rookie, turned white and looked like he might throw up. Jason continued after a perfectly timed pause. “…are you still doing here? Can’t a guy get a little privacy?” He wrapped his arm around the doll’s plastic waist.
It took a moment, but then everyone howled with a new wave of laughter. Relieved laughter. The poor crew had no idea what to make of a seriously angry Jason Mosedale. Who would? It would be as if one of the local moose wandered out of the woods and ordered a cappuccino.
Someone at the edge of the crowd, back by the entry door, cleared their throat. “Should I come back another time? Looks like y’all are busy.”
Jason startled at the sight of Kendra Carter halfway in the door, her hand still on the doorknob. As always, even at this early hour, she looked stunning. Her hair was held back with a vivid red silk bandanna and she wore a tight-fitting white shirt.
He’d known Kendra forever; they’d even been friends in high school, sort of. Their lockers had been close together, and they’d exchanged friendly jabs nearly every day. She’d even tutored him in public speaking and American history.
But she’d jetted off early to an accelerated college slash business school program while he’d slogged through the rest of high school and then studied for the firefighter exam. Recently, she’d come back to town, and things had been…interesting between them. A little banter, some casual conversation, maybe even some flirting.
She had his attention, for sure. But as far as he could tell, she didn’t take him at all seriously.
Then again, she might have good reason for that. He remembered that he was holding a blowup doll and thrust it behind him.
“We’re about to start a training exercise, but if this is an emergency…”
“It is,” she said gravely, coming forward. “Why else would I be here before sunrise?”
The plastic arm of the doll popped out from behind his back. He shoved it down. Smothered laughter came from the crew.
“What’s the nature of your emergency?” He said it with hopefully enough sternness to make up for the absurdity of the blowup doll trying to sabotage Kendra’s impression of him.
Not that there was much to sabotage. In high school she’d thought of him as unambitious. She’d even lectured him about it.
“How should I know? Isn’t that your job?”
“Huh?” A whistling sound came from behind him. Crap—the blowup doll was losing air. It made a quiet wailing sound punctuated by odd squeals.
“Damn, Jason. You sure know how to make a woman moan,” said crusty old Sven Lundgren, who should have retired years ago, if you asked Jason.
“Is this the emergency?” Kendra asked, gesturing at the doll. “Am I supposed to do something? Remedial foreplay instructions?”
Howls of laughter came from his cursed crew. Great. He felt his face turn a slow-baked red. Normally, he didn’t mind playing the fool for laughs, but with Kendra around, it bothered him, just a little bit.
But at least he’d finally figured out what was going on. “You’re filling in for Patty?”
“Yeah, she called me this morning. Very, very early this morning. Her bursitis is flaring up and she asked me if I could play your victim.” She spread her arms open. “So here I am. Your designated damsel in distress.”
Jason couldn’t imagine anyone less suited for the role of damsel in distress. Kendra Carter was smart as a whip, good at everything she tried, independent, outspoken. On top of that, she had a longtime crew of friends and a retired blues legend for a father—Alvin “Redfish” Carter, with whom she ran the restaurant at the Blue Drake Club.
Kendra Carter was used to taking care of herself. Except that…he still didn’t know why she’d left Minneapolis and come back to Lake Bittersweet. At first he’d assumed it was because of her father, but something told him it was more than that. Since she’d come back, she’d seemed more subdued than he remembered. Something had happened in Minneapolis, but she wasn’t talking about it. At least, not to him.
He dragged himself back to the task at hand. Training exercise. Victim. She stood a few feet from him now, her arms folded across her chest. She wore a thin gold necklace that glinted against her radiant brown skin. “We’re doing a swatting drill.”
“I know how to swat mosquitoes. Those little mother-effers know they can’t mess with me.”
“I bet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
And there was the feisty Kendra he remembered from high school. “Hey, you said it. I’m just agreeing.”
“No, there was subtext. I heard it.”
He grabbed the hand of the blowup doll and slapped his own cheek with it. “That’ll teach me to keep the damn subtext out of my mouth.” He slapped himself again with the plastic hand. “And not to say ‘damn.’”
Her lips quirked. “Jason Mosedale, I did not drag myself out of bed at four in the morning to watch you play the fool.”
“It’s worth it, though, ain’t it?” called Brent.
“Definitely not.”
Jason decided he’d had enough of the peanut gallery. “You guys get yourselves some coffee while I bring Kendra up to speed on victim protocol. Back in ten.”
The other firefighters chaotically headed out of the garage, toward the common room where they usually hung out on a slow day. Lake Bittersweet had more than its share of slow days. Hence the nonstop pranks and jokes.
Kendra tapped a foot on the ground. Busy woman, places to go, things to do, said her body language. Except that Jason detected something else, a shadow behind her brightness. He wanted to ask her if everything was okay. But they weren’t exactly the confiding sort of friends, and her manner screamed “let’s get on with this,” so he didn’t.
“So what do I do in this swatting scenario?” she asked.
“Do you know what swatting is? Not the mosquito kind?”
“Nope.”
Weirdly, it felt good to know something that Kendra wasn’t already proficient at. All through high school, she’d been either at the top of every class or close to it. He’d always muddled around in the middle somewhere. It wasn’t until he’d dated an occupational therapist that he’d learned he probably had an undiagnosed learning disorder. The fact that he’d done as well as he had in school was probably a minor miracle. Nancy had insisted that he was highly intelligent, and that was what had saved his ass from complete failure.
“Swatting is when some nefarious person calls 9-1-1 to report a nonexistent crime happening somewhere. Law enforcement responds, full-force, and an innocent person finds themselves at the business end of a bunch of hyped-up first responders. Usually it’s police, but here in Lake Bittersweet, us studly firefighters respond to 9-1-1 calls, so we need to know what to do in a situation like that.”
“That really happens?” She looked appalled. “That doesn’t sound like something my people would do.”
Come to think of it, she probably wasn’t wrong. “I don’t have a demographic breakdown like that, so I can neither confirm nor deny.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Practicing for the fire chief position when you have to face the media?”
He grinned at her. “How’d you know?”
“I didn’t! I was…mostly joking. Are you really going for it?”
Was that respect in her eyes? She probably thought of him as so easygoing that he’d never push for a promotion like that. And she might be right.
But man, how would it feel to see that look in her eyes more often?
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
“Who needs the stress? It’s a lot of responsibility. I’m all about the simple life. Fishing, firefighting, good f…un.” He deliberately let that last “f” linger before completing the word.
She rolled her eyes at his dumb stab at a joke, but then turned serious.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Jason. You’d be a good fire chief.”
A compliment from Kendra? Now that surprised him, so much so that he loosened his grip on the blowup doll and it bounced to the ground. He grabbed at it. Plastic squeaked and then a pop let out all the remaining air in one big whoosh. He dropped the limp deflated plastic to the concrete floor. “Oh yeah? Tell me more.”
She burst out laughing. “Never mind. So tell me what I’m doing here, Jaybone?”
He winced at the sound of that old nickname, inspired by the fact that he played the trombone in high school. He still played, but only as part of an informal jam session organized by Redfish Carter. “I haven’t heard that one since high school, and I can’t say that I’ve missed it.”
“Really? I always thought it was cute. It suited you.”
Was she saying he was cute? He wanted to pursue that possibility, but they were running out of time.
“Here’s the drill. You’re going to play the victim of a swatting attack. All you have to do is act like you’re an ordinary person sitting at home watching TV. We’re going to swarm you as if we’re going to arrest you. You have to act like a normal innocent person. Can you do that?”
“There won’t be guns, will there? I’m not trying to get a bunch of guns pointed at me.”
“Of course not. We’re firefighters. We don’t carry guns.”
“Are you going to push me around? I don’t want that either.”
Trust Kendra Carter to set her boundaries so clearly ahead of time. He admired that about her. Along with so many other things.
“No physical contact. No one will touch you.”
She thought it over, then nodded her consent. “I got it. Patty owes me for this one.”
“Yeah, sorry. She’s our usual victim. She’s done it so many times that she critiques us afterwards. Catches all kinds of stuff.”
Kendra’s face lit up. “Ooh, now you’re talking my love language. Can I do that too? You know there’s nothing I love more than giving my opinion.”
“Sure. We’ll give you a feedback card that you can drop in the suggestion box.” He gestured at the burn barrel in the corner of the garage.
“Cute, Jaybone. Supercute.”
They grinned at each other. A moment. We’re having a moment. Me and Kendra. Or should it be Kendra and I?
Because one thing he knew for sure, Kendra would correct his grammar if he got it wrong. He knew because sometimes back in high school, he deliberately got it wrong just so she’d give him that look. The one that said, “I’m smart and hot and dream on, bud.”
“Okay then.” Just like that, Kendra shattered the moment. “I’m ready to scream my ass off because some idiot firefighters can’t tell the difference between a real call and swatter.”
Ha. Yup. Dream on.
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