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Chapter 4: Jaxson

Jaxson sat at his desk, staring at the mountains of paperwork in front of him. Somehow, when he'd been a kid and had daydreamed about fighting fires and wrestling with fire hoses, he'd skipped right past all of the paperwork that he'd have to fill out as a firefighter.

Correction: As a fire chief. As a regular ol' firefighter in Boise, he'd been pretty paperwork-free. He wasn't entirely onboard with this new way of life quite yet, honestly. Too bad he really had no choice in the matter.

He looked at the ticking, utilitarian clock on the wall. 7:17 a.m. He'd had the dumbass idea of showing up to work early so he could wrestle the stacks of paperwork that littered every available spot in the cramped office to the ground and win a round, dammit. He'd forced himself to start in on the dusty stacks of papers yesterday afternoon, until Moose had stopped by and casually mentioned that Chief Horvath had quit filing paperwork months before his retirement party, because he'd thought that the new chief would "need the practice."

Pissed, Jaxson had lost all desire to continue the paper-sorting project after that announcement.

Now, Jaxson groaned in frustration as he looked around the dirty, small office. Chief Horvath was like every other red-blooded male out there - he hated paperwork, and so he'd chosen to use his upcoming retirement as an excuse to ditch his duties off onto someone else. Full stop. Jaxson was just the lucky soul who happened to be that "someone."

Jaxson pulled a file folder off the top of a precarious stack that had "Grant" scrawled across the tab in what Jaxson was starting to recognize as Horvath's distinctive handwriting. He flipped it open and began scanning through it. Apparently, the firetruck in the bay was a fairly new addition for the fire department. He scanned down the specs, his mouth twisting in disappointment as he read. The size of the tank seemed awfully small, as did the length of the hose. It didn't even have a ladder on it. The department had bought brand-spanking-new - which was unusual for a small fire department to do, to say the least - and it looked like a whole lot of the money was spent on flash rather than substance.

He'd been told that the department owned another fire truck, but that it was down at the John Deere dealership, getting some repairs done to help limp it along. He was curious what kind of shape it was in. From what he could gather, it was quite old, but if the water tank was large, it might actually be more helpful in the case of a fire than the shiny new toy currently parked in the bay.

Hopefully, Moose would be able to bring it back to the bay soon so he could do a full inspec

His black, handheld radio sitting on the counter squawked, startling Jaxson half out of his chair. "Fire down at the old Horvath mill," said an older man, urgency clear in his voice. "Calling all EMTs and fire personnel to respond. Repeat, fire down at the old Horvath mill."

Jaxson froze, half-in, half-out of his chair, staring at the radio. Horvath Mill? As in Chief Horvath? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Today was his third day on the job, and he'd only had the one get-together with the other firefighters that first morning. He barely even knew where the damn keys were at for the damn firetruck. This was not going to go well.

He'd been called out on countless runs as a firefighter in Boise. He knew just what to do there. There was structure and rules and a process in place. Here, he was the only full-time employee. Was he supposed to wait for the other firefighters to show up before he answered the call? Was he supposed to drive over right away and they'd meet him over there?

His mind raced through the possibilities. All of the other firefighters had full-time jobs. For all he knew, it could be an hour before they were able to get away and come to the station. If he sat there and waited and twiddled his thumbs...

He jumped to his feet, the chair shooting out behind him and crashing into a decrepit filing cabinet, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Apparently, Chief Horvath didn't just ignore filing. Jaxson choked and coughed as he grabbed the phone off his desk and quickly dialed the city dispatch phone number that someone had conveniently taped to the wall above the phone. He heard a weird beeping noise, and then...nothing.

Oh. Dammit. He was probably supposed to dial 9 first. He slammed the phone into the receiver and picked it up again, this time dialing 9 and then the number.

"Sawyer City Dispatch," an older male barked. It sounded like the same guy on the radio. Good. Jaxson could ask questions without broadcasting them to the whole city.

"This is Chief Anderson. Where is the Horvath Mill?"

"Main Street," the man snorted, his disdain clear. He obviously thought he was dealing with an idiot. "Down by the high school. Big brick building. You can't miss it. Especially with flames shooting out of it."

Click.

The dispatcher had hung up.

Jaxson bit down hard on his cheek until he tasted blood. He wanted to call dispatch back and inform the man that just because he hadn't lived in the same tiny, one-horse town all his life didn't mean that he deserved to be treated like an idiot, and street addresses were a thing, and...

But he stopped himself.

He couldn't do it.

Well, he could. But he wouldn't. Antagonizing the grumpy dispatcher further would only exacerbate the problem.

He looked through his interior office window out into the bay, the small red gleaming truck sitting there, waiting for him to drive it to the rescue.

He felt that familiar adrenaline rush through him at the thought. This was why he'd become a firefighter. Not to fill out grant applications or file paperwork, for God's sake, but to put out fires. To help people. Maybe it meant he had a hero complex. He didn't know, and didn't care.

All he knew was that it made him feel damn good. It was time to get to work.

As he was shrugging on his turnout gear, the bulk and weight of it as comforting as it was oppressive, the side door to the bay opened and in walked a younger kid - maybe 18 or 19? - who hadn't said much at the meet-and-greet the other morning. Dixon? David? No, it was Dylan. Jaxson raised his hand in greeting, and the kid waved back, a grin breaking out over his face.

"I was on my way out to Luke's place when my radio went off," the kid said as he hurried over to where the turnout gear was stored. "I've never been called out to a real fire before! Oh, and my boss says he'll be here shortly."

"Who's your boss again?" Jaxson asked as he slid his feet into his boots.

"Luke Nash. He's a volunteer, too. He couldn't come the other morning. I don't know if you've met him yet or not. His foreman is Ol' Willie. Ol' Willie is my uncle. Luke hired me cause Ol' Willie is getting old and needed help on the farm. Ol' Willie used to be a volunteer here too, but isn't anymore. His back is getting bad. His hip is gonna need surgery soon, too."

Jaxson's head spun. The kid talked a million miles a minute. Keeping up with his story and who was related to what was probably going to require a flow chart.

And no adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Jaxson settled for nodding his head abruptly. "Do you guys normally meet up here and then head over to the fire? Or do you drive separately to a fire and just meet up over there?"

Dylan shrugged. "This is my first fire," he reminded Jaxson. Right. He'd just said that. If Jaxson's heart wasn't racing so much, he would've caught that.

"Well, you're here and I'm here. I say we get over there and put this fire out. Do you know where the mill is?"

"Of course," Dylan said, shooting him a confused glance. "Down on Main Street. You can't miss it."

Jaxson nodded again, ignoring that last comment. If people in this tiny-ass town were going to continue to insist on treating him like an idiot because he didn't know every nook and cranny of a town he'd just barely moved to, he was gonna have to spend his off-hours driving around town, trying to memorize every block of it.

The sooner the better.

He was an outsider, and it seemed like every soul in town was not about to let him forget that.

"Ready?" he asked Dylan, who nodded, helmet and mask tucked under his arm. "Then let's go."

Jaxson grimaced as he glanced up at the utilitarian clock ticking away on the wall as he headed for the gleaming row of keys. He'd have to focus damn hard on decreasing response times. Even if there were no full-time firefighters on staff other than him, and certainly no firefighters living at the firehouse 24 hours at a time, they still needed to be able to get out the door at a reasonable speed. This messing around shit wasn't gonna work.

He snagged the keyring with the creative label of "New truck" and heaved himself up into the cab of the fire engine to start it. The diesel engine came to life, settling down into a dull roar after a few seconds. He hit the garage door opener, and the overhead bay door slowly began to rise, revealing a white, frozen wonderland outside. Dylan jumped up into the passenger seat, yanking the door shut behind him.

With a nod to Dylan, Jaxson shifted into first gear and pulled forward. At least the crew here was in the habit of backing into the bay when parking the truck, so he wasn't forced to back out of the bay when rushing to get to a fire.

Some good habits were in place. That was a start.

He hit the siren switch, the lights and siren flaring to life. This. This was what he lived for.

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