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Logan shook his head. “Can’t. I’m covering Luca today, remember?”
That’s right. Today was Tuesday. Logan’s scheduled shift was to work Sunday and Monday with today off. Even though he’d picked up today for Luca, he still had to be back to work on his normally scheduled shift, which meant he had to work Saturday. Jake worked yesterday and today, so he wouldn’t have to be back on duty until Sunday.
Station 23 ran a forty-eight/ninety-six schedule. “Two-by-fours,” as some liked to call it, consisted of working two days on and four days off. Depending on the number of calls they had during that time, the second day could be a little rough, but it was worth it to have four days off in a row. They used to work the old twenty-four hours on, twenty-four hours off for nine days, followed by six days off in a row, but had switched to two-by-fours a couple years ago. It afforded a more consistently “normal” schedule, and made stuff like planning trips, family get-togethers—hell, their lives—easier. Trying to fit in anything else when you had to work every other day was a bitch.
“Sucks to be you,” Jake said.
“Sucks to beyou,” Logan snickered. “I’m not the one on KP duty tonight.”
Most of the guys, save Tori—sure, she was a woman, but still one of the guys—hated cooking. Jake wasn’t one of them. He found it relaxing. And, yes, he watched cooking shows and had his own pasta maker—and was man enough to own it. Besides, being able to home-cook a romantic meal sure didn’t hurt his dating life. Not that he’d ever needed help in that department.
“I wouldn’t go celebrating,” Jake warned. “You don’t know what I’m making yet.”
Logan chuckled and headed for the door. “Have fun peeling potatoes,” he said on his way out.
Jake smirked.
Have fun eating them made with a cup of salt.
Chapter Seven
“I can’t do this.” Laurel was standing on a tall, wooden platform, strapped into a harness that was attached to a cable above. Number seven on Skye’s stupid list was zip lining.
“Yes, you can!” Skye called from the ground below. “And you will! Double-shake!”
So not fair pulling out the double-shake reminder again.
“I already did three,” Laurel countered.
Skye had dragged her out to Horseshoe Bend, a little town about thirty miles north of Boise, that had some zip lines. Seven to be exact. Each one getting progressively longer and higher off the ground.
The tour Skye had purchased for them lasted about three hours. That time included an orientation, training, transportation to and from the area where the zip lines were located, gearing up, and then actually riding the zip lines.
The orientation went over the different parts of the zip line, from the cable you rode down on, to the “trolley”—which is what they called the harness—to the brakes, so you could stop before you smashed into a tree, snapped the cable, and plunged to your death. Okay, so maybe they said it kept you from jerkingto an abrupt stop, and not having to rely on the backup brakes. Tomayto, tomahto.
After orientation and a few quick instructions, everyone was loaded into a van and driven to the zip line course. Laurel’s group consisted of eight customers and two guides. Unfortunately, Skye had insisted on coming along, so Laurel couldn’t back out, which—let’s be honest—she would have.
The other six people in their group rode first every time, since it took Laurel forever to get up the nerve to actually step off the platform. Skye always went last, like she didn’t trust Laurel to follow through, which she didn’t. It was smart on Skye’s part, but annoying as heck.
Laurel wasn’t afraid of heights, but trusting her life to a thin wire? That was a completely different story. Didn’t matter if the cable was made of galvanized wire rope which supposedly was stronger than stainless steel, according to their guide. “Supposedly” being the operative word.
Laurel had somehow managed to survive the first three zip lines. They’d started with a line that had been twenty-five feet above the ground and two hundred feet long—“about the length of an average suburban yard and the height of a two-story house,” the instructor had informed them.
Rides two and three were higher and longer, but ride four? It was a little over five hundred feet long and seventy-five feet off the ground. She had no clue how she was going to do this one, let alone the next three that culminated in one hundred fifty feet above the ground and eight hundred feet long. The longer the ride, the more time the cables had to break.
“I did three. That’s good,” Laurel insisted.
“Nice try.” Skye cupped her hand over her eyes to block out the shaft of light sifting through the trees. “No weaseling out of the deal.”
“I’m not weaseling out of the deal. I zip lined.”
“Three,not seven.”
“So what?”
“That doesn’t count.”
“How can that not count?”It totally should count!
