Brent parked a reasonable distance back and they took at a run. Evan collided with a fairer version of himself. “I don’t know what happened,” the third man said. “We saw the smoke, made sure everyone was out, called 911. It all happened pretty damn fast.”
“Nobody’s hurt?”
“No. All accounted for.”
“Good.” Evan covered his mouth with his hand. “What’s affected?”
“We don’t know yet. They’re not letting us in.”
“If we lose the skinny dipping line…”
“We could buy other wine. Or get another contract. They know us.”
“I know. It’s just—” Evan swore again, kicking the ground.
Brent wanted to hug him. He wanted to hold him tight and absorb some of that impotent rage. Instead, he stood there feeling helpless. But he wasn’t useless. He could assess the scene.
He stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Brent Doran. I’m a firefighter. If I can be of any assistance in communicating with the local response, I’m happy to help.”
“Ty West. You’re Jessica’s husband, right?”
Did everyone in town know who he was? “Yeah.”
“Glad you’re visiting. Come on, we can get a bit closer.”
Between them and the production building, there were two pumper trucks and a ladder truck, with a rescue unit off to the side. As they strode in that direction, another truck arrived behind them.
That told Brent the first responders had upgrade the call when they arrived. That wasn’t great news, but he kept it to himself. So far, all he could see was smoke.
When they curved around the perimeter, though, he realized the response was more significant than he’d first seen. More trucks were on the far side of the building, and they were concentrating on what looked like an ante building.
“What was that?” he asked, pointing. Was being the operative word. The small structure was nothing but a metal frame now.
“A greenhouse.”
“If the fire was limited to that, and they got the rest of the building protected, you may be in better shape than it looks right now. I know all these trucks are terrifying, but if your local crews reacted quickly, it’s better to have all hands on deck like this.”
“They got here fucking fast. Pardon my language.”
Brent waved him off. “Day like today, you can use whatever language you want.”
A supervisor found them soon after and confirmed Brent’s guess. The fire had started in the greenhouse, and with the quick response time and reinforcements from Essex, the local department had managed to isolate it to that space.
Ty took off to spread the good news to their workers while Brent stayed with Evan to get the full report. “The exterior wall of the main building is damaged, and we’re going to need to watch it for a while to make sure there aren’t any hidden hot spots, but this could have been a lot worse. This could have been a catastrophic loss. You got lucky today, Mr. West.”
“Do you have any idea what started the fire yet?” Brent asked.
“There were wooden pallets stacked in the greenhouse, at what looks like the area of origin. Warm day, glass roof, combustible material. Possible accidental accelerant is a factor, and the fire marshal will investigate, but the burn pattern doesn’t look suspicious. This started in one spot, not the most damaging to the business—”
Evan swore under his breath. Brent realized up until that moment, arson hadn’t even been on his mind. He reached out and squeezed Ev’s upper arm.
“Excuse me, Mr. West, I don’t want to alarm you. What I’m saying is, we don’t suspect anything suspicious.”
Brent’s supervisors back in London wouldn’t give that much up on the scene, but then they rarely knew the people whose businesses and homes they were called out to. Big city versus small town life, firefighter edition, he supposed.
When the supervisor went back to this team, Brent pointed Evan back in the direction of his truck. He knew he couldn’t get his…whatever Evan was to him. His friend, his lover wasn’t going to leave—not now, probably not any time today—but they could take a breather on the far side of his truck.
“Holy fuck,” Evan said once they were alone. “I thought the worst might have happened.”
