Bleeding Green Read Free

her sooty face.
    He returned the smile. “A bit.” Folding his thick-muscled arms across the front of his chest, he rocked back and forth on his heels. “…‘bout killed that feller sittin’ in the truck, though.”
    She shook her head. “What was that guy’s problem? We had enough burn signs out for an army!”
    They both turned as Boyd walked up.
    Picking up a water bottle, Boyd took long swallows of water, draining it.
    Squinting his brown eyes, Brock said, “Boss, I could swear that beard of yours has more salt than pepper now than it did this morning!”
    A dry chuckle, that wasn’t a chuckle at all but more of a hoarse croak, erupted from Boyd’s throat. He shook his head as he looked at them. “This day racks right up there with some of the wackiest burns I’ve ever had!” He took his right glove off to stroke his mustache. “How’s our crazy hiker?”
    Brock’s voice was dry as the desert. “Our miracle man is flyin’ high on weed. I don’t think he knows where he is or what he is.”
    Boyd said, “Tell your crews to mop up 50 feet in.”
     
     

Chapter 2
     
     
    T he charred remains of the once lush semitropical vegetation looked like a smoky graveyard. Tendrils of smoke weaved throughout the acreage. Bare sticks poked up from the ashy gray ground.
    Laurel turned her back on the smoldering landscape and willed her aching feet to take her several yards into the unburned green vegetation. Sucking in deep breaths of fresh air, she noticed the sun getting low on the horizon. In the distance, the rooftops of a wealthy subdivision caught her gaze. A prescribed burn, with all the urban life, was a tough challenge. While some homeowners were grateful, she’d been yelled at by others as ashes dropped into their swimming pools.
    Turning back to the burned zone, she saw late-day sunlight flickering through the wispy smoke. The breeze had died down and the smoke columns had straightened up. She tugged off her sweat-drenched leather gloves, tucking them into the front pocket of her cargo pants. As she lifted the heavy helmet off her head, she dropped it on the ground and began stretching her neck, trying to relieve the tension. Matted damp, black curls covered her head. She rubbed the inside corners of her indigo eyes and looked at her crew.
    Exhaustion was taking all of them in its woozy grip. Placing the helmet back on her moist head, she strode toward the group. Her slight five-foot-eight frame displayed grace and athleticism through her confident, easy stride.
    “Hey, gang!” She reached on top of the fire truck and tugged a square red cooler down. “Gather round for a special brew.”
    The five weary firefighters grouped around her, some sinking to the ground, the first time that day they’d had a chance to rest.
    Laurel handed each member a frosty can of Lipton’s iced tea.
    Marie took her helmet off; her blond hair was still covered by an orange bandana. “Thanks, Laurel! This looks like a bit of heaven right now.” She lifted her can in a toast.
    Clinking his can to Marie’s, Brock said, “To our crew boss!”
    Laurel grinned. The soot on her face made her teeth appear even whiter than they were. She held her iced tea in the air. “To great teamwork!” Tilting her head back, she swallowed, feeling the glorious cold liquid.
    She studied her crew. They’d become a cohesive group. Working together. Trusting each other with their lives. She was always amazed at the way the toughest, brawniest men showed respect to a tiny slip of a woman. This was the world of firefighting. Deep respect toward your teammate—your life depended on each of the others, man or woman.
    Laurel leaned against the truck. “Mopping up time. Boyd wants all snags extinguished if they’re within 100 feet of the fire-line perimeter. If you can’t do this, then cut the snag down and pull it farther into the burned zone. Hopefully, this will stop some of the residual smoke.”
    “Lots of duff smoking,” Bill said,