Page 4 of Hollis (The Moore Men #2)
“Oh shit, what?” Remi bites out.
“Uh, so… may have used a little water.”
“Christ,” he hisses before I hear him call out to somebody in the background.
“It’s spreading,” I state, my pulse racing and mouth dry while I watch in horror as the flames take hold of the curtains above the sink. I fucking knew those goddamn curtains were a bad idea. “Wait— I have a fire extinguisher!”
“Do not!” Remi barks through the line. “Don’t use the fire extinguisher. That’ll be just as bad as the water. We’re on our way, but it’ll take us around five minutes to get there.”
“Okay, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I ask, the roughness in my tone giving way to the panic steadily rising in my chest. “Sit here and watch it burn?”
“Do you have any bakin’ soda?”
Thinking for a moment, I say, “Yeah.”
“Good, grab that,” he orders me.
With a shaky hand, I open the cabinet to the left of the stove, finding the little orange box easily. “Got it,” I confirm as I take my place in front of the sink again, waiting for his next instruction.
“Pour a good amount of the baking soda onto the fire, but carefully .”
“How much of it do I use?” I ask as I do what he said while also trying not to get burned in the process.
“The whole box, probably,” he replies. “I don’t know how much you have, but it takes a lot. If you have a metal lid, you can cover the pan with that when you’re done. The fire should consume all the oxygen and put itself out.”
Emptying the rest of the baking soda from the container, I set it on the counter before searching for a lid. “Metal?” I ask. “It can’t be glass?”
“Glass will shatter,” Remi mutters. “We’re pullin’ into the ranch now. Should be at your place in a minute. If you have a metal one, use that. If not, just wait.”
After I grab what I need out of the cabinet, I drop the lid not-so-graciously on top of the skillet in the sink. “Okay, got it,” I confirm, my shoulders relaxing a little as it appears to be working.
The call disconnects, and a moment later, I hear the front door that’s almost never locked—perks of living in the middle of a several-hundred-acre ranch—open, then the sound of heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor.
Remi’s the first face I see, followed by Chandler and Sam, two of his co-workers, and Ford, his hot-as-sin captain.
They’re done up in full gear, and even though I know there’s bigger fish to fry, I can’t help but drag my gaze as inconspicuously as possible down the length of the sexy, older, and—sadly—very married man standing at the entrance of my kitchen.
Fuck, why must the good ones always be married?
Clearing his throat, my gaze slides forward to Remi, who clearly caught me checking out his boss. A smirk tugs on my lips as I breathe out a chuckle. “Fire’s out,” I offer enthusiastically, gesturing toward the sink. “Curtains ain’t salvageable, though.”
“We’ll take a look at everything in here,” Captain drawls, pulling my attention back to him.
A zip of excitement shoots down my spine as I watch his gaze lower before coming back up to my face just as quickly.
His thick brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, tight line before he adds, “While you put some clothes on.”
It’s not until the words leave his mouth that it dawns on me that I’m still only wearing a pair of briefs. “Oh, yeah.” I snort. “No problem.”
By the time I get dressed and go back to the kitchen, they’re finished with whatever looking around they needed to do.
Ford lectures me on the importance of safety in the kitchen before I walk them out, watching all but Remi file inside the truck—sorry, the “engine,” as Remi never fails to correct me, as if he expects me to remember every last bit of fireman lingo he teaches me.
Patting a hand to my best friend’s shoulder, I say, “Thanks for comin’ out.”
“No problem, man,” he drawls. Arching a brow, Remi adds, “But next time, call 9-1-1 first. If I wouldn’t have been able to answer your call and tell ya what to do, that could’ve ended a hell of a lot worse than it did.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.”
Remi shifts his body so he’s fully facing me, his back to the engine. Lowering his voice, he says, “There’s somethin’ I want to ask ya before we go, but keep quiet about it.”
“Right, because I’m such a town gossip,” I tease. “What’s up?”
Breathing out a laugh, Remi throws a quick look over his shoulder before bringing his attention to me. “Was hopin’ you could talk to Daddy Moore about renting out one of the spare cabins y’all got.”
“Why?” My brows pinch, but my curiosity is piqued. “For who?”
“Ford,” Remi all but whispers, like the captain’s got supersonic hearing. “He’s goin’ through a divorce and has been staying at the firehouse while he looks for a place to live. I think one of the cabins would be a perfect temporary spot for him until something else comes up.”
Oh shit, divorce? My curiosity is more than piqued now.
“Kind of a big ask, my guy,” I drawl, groaning dramatically and rolling my eyes, as if the idea of having a newly single, fine-ass specimen of a man living on the property would put me out whatsoever. “But I suppose I could do that for you.”
“Oh, please,” Remi scoffs with a shake of his head.
“I’m just kiddin’.” I laugh. “Of course, I’ll talk to my dad. Shouldn’t be a problem, man.”
“Cool, thanks. And remember, keep quiet.”
I mock solute my friend. “Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.” Remi strolls down the stairs, throwing me a glance over his shoulder once he reaches the bottom. “And no more fuckin’ fires. People are goin’ to start thinkin’ y’all are doin’ it on purpose.”
“Yup, The Moore men—cattle ranchers by day, pyrotechnics by night.” I chuckle.
Several months back, our barn caught on fire—an electrical issue—and the whole town came together to help us repair it.
That one was a hell of a lot bigger than this one, but thankfully, nothing catastrophic.
We got lucky. The damage could’ve been a lot worse.
“And who knows, maybe I’m startin’ the fires as an excuse to see my very best friend, who never makes time for me. ”
Remi barks out a laugh that’s contagious. “Because hangin’ out several days a week for sure qualifies as never makin’ time, ya fuckin’ dramatic fool.”
“If y’all are about done gabbin’ like a coupla old bitties, can we get this show on the road, Buchanan?” Ford shouts.
“Yeah, Buchanan, can’t keep him waiting.” I snort as Remi pins me with an unamused look and flips me off.
“Comin’ Cap!”
As he jogs away from me toward the engine, I wave at Ford, who’s staring at me through the windshield with an expression I can’t quite place. Whatever it is, though, doesn’t look pleasant. “Thanks for the assistance!” I call out, biting back a laugh at the scowl on his face as they drive off.
Shit, who pissed in his Cheerios this morning?
Remembering what Remi shared with me about Ford’s situation, his mood does make sense, I guess. Not that I have any experience as far as marriages and divorces go, nor do I ever plan on it. But I’d imagine going through something like that would probably make anybody a little grouchy.
Still, he should really work on that resting bitch face.