Wildfire by Mina Khan Page A

After all, in dragon years that’d translate to what, fifteen?
Oh, great. Teenage hormones.
    Unease tugged at her, all prickly and insistent. She glanced
back.
    The man stood watching her. He winked just before Lexie shut
the door.
     
    “Pigeon poop.” Lynn’s fingers hovered above her keyboard.
Would the Herald print the phrase even as a direct quote?
    Armed with a Diet Coke, her notes and a stack of documents,
she sat at Jen’s kitchen table typing her story on the county commissioner’s
meeting. She focused on the Paradise Valley Volunteer Fire Department’s grant request
as that had been the most interesting thing on the agenda.
    Jen had marched to the podium and said: “The new fire engine
we have, thanks to you and the federal government, sticks several feet out of
the barn we’ve to park it in. So next time you see the engine and the back part
is covered in pigeon poop, don’t be surprised.”
    The audience laughed in response. Jen was a hoot. But
obviously an effective hoot. The commissioners’ awarded the VFD $50,000 of the
$100,000 they needed.
    Finally, after consulting her notes, she used the more
dignified Jen quote in the story: “We need to build a new fire station that can
adequately hold all our equipment and have an area for community gatherings.”
Lynn grinned. The girl owed her, and she’d remind her of it. Of course, then
Jen could pull out a whole laundry list of what Lynn owed in return. Okay, no
gloating.
    She typed in the last period, leaned her chair back on two
legs and reviewed the story. Short and sweet. The smiling faces of all five
commissioners danced through her head. They had seemed almost happy to allocate
the money.
    Michael Ward, one of the commissioners had said: “We read in
the newspaper what a wonderful job y’all did at the Jarvises. We want to make
sure the volunteer firefighters have everything they need to continue doing a
good job and keep the community safe.”
    Even now, hours after the meeting, Lynn basked in the warm
fuzzies of the statement. Talk about a domino effect. Maybe many people
wouldn’t consider a freelance writer an Essential Employee, but she felt
essential. She returned the chair to its upright position and glanced at Jen’s
studio door. Still shut. Oh well, she’d just have to read the story in the
paper tomorrow. Lynn hit the send button.
    She stood and stretched. Her stomach rumbled. Dropping the
empty Coke can in the recycling bin, Lynn headed for the refrigerator. No
chocolate, no dips. Looked like Jen had already halfway shifted into the raw
food idea she’d talked about. Lynn grabbed an apple and munched her way back to
the kitchen table.
    Her gaze settled on the stack of papers— material she’d
picked up at the meeting and her notes. One more look to see if she could get a
few more story ideas from any of them and then into the recycling bin the whole
pile would go. Lynn plunked into her chair, ready to work. A bit of red,
sticking out from underneath the stack, caught her eye.
    Her heart leaped. She’d forgotten all about the folder. If
it turned up something important, she’d have to send in another story right
away. Fun, fun. She flexed her fingers, and pulled it out. Nothing on the cover
indicated what lay inside. She flipped it open and began to read.
    The studio door opened and Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just
Wanna Have Fun poured into the kitchen. Lynn slammed the folder shut and
looked up.
    “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, chica .” Jen
stood, cleaning paint from her fingernails with a rag. Her hair stuck out every
which way, making her look like a lime green porcupine. “My stomach told me to
come out and fix lunch.”
    Lynn glanced up at the cat-shaped kitchen clock. Fifteen
minutes past one. Where had the time gone? “Sorry, I should have fixed us
something, but I got lost in paperwork.”
    Jen washed her hands at the sink and headed for the
refrigerator. “Don’t worry about it. So what’s so interesting?”