“That was great, Chief, a fabulous start,” Ellis said, pouring on his West Coast persona.

  “He didn’t show any skin,” Austin said, causing the group to laugh.

  “What till your turn, Austin, people’ll be saying he didn’t show any clothes.”

  The group reacted with more zings at the young stud, who blushed under his pale skin.

  The portly Dicky Tenders was next up for February and the gang laughed again, Topher saying he got the shortest month on purpose, “so no one has to look at your ugly mug any longer than they should.”

  “Hey, wait, is it a leap year?” Chief O’Connell asked.

  “Yeah, as in leap over the entire month.”

  Dicky took the amiable ribbing like the veteran fireman he was. Ellis had him dress in his gear, and with his handlebar mustache and a large axe over his meaty shoulder, he looked like the quintessential member of the bravest. Getting him to let go of his natural scowl was hard work and the session ended up going longer than the first, but ultimately Ellis proclaimed he’d secured the needed shot and released Dicky to the porch, where he sat down to rest.

  “Okay, who’s got March?”

  Austin stepped forward, saying, “That would be me.”

  “Beware the ides of Austin,” Trent added, and again laughter filled the area around the rustic cabin.

  Austin didn’t get off as easy as the first two models. Ellis had him strip off his shirt, and then don the pants of his fireman’s gear, instructing him to put the braces over his shoulders. A bit of black make-up was smeared on his face, and another across his strong, compact chest. He had a smattering of gold-colored chest hair in between his hard pecs. He looked self-conscious as Ellis began to fire off shot after shot, but gradually he loosened up and even tried to have fun, Ellis reminding him he was gay and that Tucker was watching and really turned on.

  “That’s my son you’re talking about,” said an indignant Chief O’Connell.

  He was kidding, but even so Tucker gave his father a swat on his arm. “Let him be.”

  Austin tried various poses, front, back, looking sideways, against the trees, lying on the ground and when he got up pine needles stuck to the brush of chest hair, and Ellis snapped away happily. He was done quickly enough, and after that, the guys understanding what was needed, the shoot began to move faster.

  Simon, the redhead from Honor Hills, showed off his powerful torso and thick biceps, a highlight for April.

  May went to White Pine veteran Topher Davis, who undid a few buttons of his dress blues, revealing a smooth chest, and donned a surprisingly sexy pose that he claimed his wife had taught him only last night.

  “Yeah, sure, I was wondering how you kept her satisfied all these years.”

  Angel’s turn came next, and Ellis whistled when he removed his shirt before being asked to. “I know my place, I’m the exotic beefcake,” he said, ruffling the darkened mat on his chest. Trent saw that he’d cleaned up good, not even a trace of his come could be found stuck in that thick carpet, how shiny it looked now against his mocha skin tones. The medallion dangling from his neck gleamed as the sun beamed down in it.

  Ellis gave him a fire hose and told him to strike a provocative pose, and in seconds Angel was working the crowd like a stripper with a dirty toy, the gang encouraging him with hoots and hollers. All the while Ellis danced around him, getting him from different angles and telling him he was a natural, he should have been a model, and Angel retorted that had he not gone the route of firefighter he wouldn’t know his way around a hose.

  “You’ve got plenty of experience with hoses,” Trent said.

  “I’ll second that,” Austin added.

  Angel stood proud of his prowess, his body, and at the last minute he tossed the hose over his left shoulder, bringing forth a smile seemingly as wide and bright as the nearby canyon. Ellis jumped in and snapped a few more and finally, Angel Montero, ham that he was, had filled up June. He went back to the group, where he pounded his chest like a conqueror claiming his victory. He went over to Trent and planted a kiss on his lips, a hint of what was to come after the gang had departed.

  Ellis suggested a mid-year break, and the guys relaxed a bit, grabbing more to eat or drink, Chief O’Connell checking in with the boys who had stayed back at the fire station to keep watch over White Pine. All was quiet, no calls, and no abandoned structure going up in flames. Trent grabbed another beer knowing he didn’t have to drive afterwards, and also because he was three months till his turn, and he was nervous about not only having his photograph taken but in what state of undress Ellis had in store for him.

  At last they were ready to resume, with Nick Lynch being called up.

  Nick, who had been noticeably quiet the entire day, in particular avoiding Joey Silva, got up, directed by Ellis to hop aboard the fire truck, where he was told to take off his shirt. He did as instructed with little protest, showing off a smooth and well-defined chest of corded muscle, his abs more eight pack than six, the highlight his thick, muscular arms. Trent wouldn’t mind giving him a feel to see what else was thick and strong. Nick was probably the most handsome of all the firemen here, probably one of the most attractive men in all of White Pine, but Ellis was having trouble getting a smile out of him.

  “Come on, Nick, give me something.”

  For all he asked, Nick was obviously not receptive to what Ellis was trying to get him to do. July wasn’t going so well, one of the hottest months of the year had one of the hotter guys adorning it, but his smile wouldn’t even light up the sun for an hour’s stretch. Finally, Ellis gave up, asking Nick to just cross his arms in that defiant, distant way of his, and so Nick did. His muscles bulged and his stomach grew flatter, and at last Ellis had a shot he could use.

  When Nick was done, he put on his shirt and retreated inside the house.

  He didn’t look at anyone, nor say anything. Austin excused himself, said he’d go talk to him.

  So August arrived in the form of Joey Silva. Ellis brought the burly, bearded firefighter from Honor Hills forward, his hand on his hips as he thought about what to do with him. They had all seen Joey, not just on the front page of the Gazette but in the showers at both White Pine and Honor Hills, and they knew underneath his clothes he was a furry giant. Ellis went up to him, doing the unbuttoning himself, Trent noticing he did so with a certain familiarity. Perhaps that was the reason Nick had stormed off, knowing August was Joey’s turn and not wanting to see what was no longer his. Austin, too, had had a fling with Joey and perhaps he was avoiding what should be quite the display.

  Ellis unbuttoned Joey’s shirt down to his belly button, opening the folds of his shirt to reveal the thick whorls of his chest, causing the guys still present to start howling like wolves, or beating their chests like gorillas.

  “In gay speak, it’s bear,” Ellis said, addressing the crowd.

  “Yo, Chief Silva, you a hairy beast like your son?” Dicky Tenders said.

  “You’ll just have to wait until the end of the year,” Alex stated, arms folded across his chest.

  “Ah, an idea,” Ellis suddenly said, springing into action.

  He handed Joey one of the bigger axes, and had him heft it over to a grouping of trees. He asked the other men to grab a hose and then checked with them if they could light a match. With this many firefighters in attendance including two fire chiefs, they would maintain order over an intentionally started fire. The created a ring of fire on the ground, hoses at the ready in case the situation got out of control, and then he had Joey step in, his shirt fully off. As smoke billowed around him, Ellis told him to strike the axe at one of the trees. He did as asked, again, again, and Trent noticed there was something so sexual in the way he moved. The shots were great, this mix of sexuality and bravery, and with the hirsute Joey smiling his masculine allure, it was no doubt going to be one of the highlights of the calendar, a frame of artistry and heat. His willing subject had no doubt inspired Ellis, and Trent wondered just how much they had been rehearsing.

  Ellis turned around, pointed at Trent. “Okay pretty boy, see you in September.”

  Trent finally had his turn, the cabin his backdrop. He ended up shirtless, too, but he wore a helmet over his white blond hair, and Ellis had someone put the hose to him, drenching him to where his chest gleamed when caught by the sun, illuminating his hard nipples. He took to the porch, pretending to knock in the door, testing the door for heat, rushing in. Ellis took those final shots from inside the cabin, catching the fierce determination on Trent’s face.

  “Oh, you’re gonna be a popular month,” Ellis said, pointing, shooting, encouraging.

  “But he’s mine the rest of the year,” Angel said.

  When Trent was done, he donned his shirt and rejoined the group, glad to have that over. Angel hugged him and told he’d been great, he couldn’t wait to see the proofs, asking Ellis if he might frame a few for them.

  “Okay, Tucker my friend, hope you’ve been working out.”

  Tucker O’Connell, the only non-firefighter among them, stepped forward. He was given a walkie talkie as a prop and told to put on one of the heavy fire coats.

  “That doesn’t feel right,” he said, “I’m uncomfortable.”

  “You wanna go shirtless, too?”

  “Yeah,” Austin said, “he’ll give Angel and Joey a bit of a run for their furry money.”

  Tucker flushed with red-faced embarrassment, and as he fumbled with his buttons Austin came over to help. Not just with the buttons but with his nerves.

  “Looks like that’s not his first time,” Dicky said.

  “Keep it up, Dicky, you’ll be experiencing yours.”

  “Yeah, Dicky, you’ve been awfully attentive to all the shirtless shots,” Angel said.

  The laugher seemed to help settle Tucker, who was soon standing under the sun with hot rays beaming down on his torso. His chest wasn’t as strong, or as powerfully built, as any of the others, but he had a fine rug of dark brown hair that thickened as it grew down his flat belly. Ellis remarked that he’d forgotten how hairy his friend Tucker was, and Trent had to laugh inwardly, thinking that any man who had been fucked royally by Joey Silva might think everyone else in the world qualified for twink-dom.

  So Tucker then donned the jacket but left it unbuttoned, using the radio as a prop, giving him the look of someone taking charge. He grew into his new role, and in the end was suggesting various poses with a random accoutrement. The shot that had Ellis applauding had Tucker hanging off the end of the fire engine, the flaps of the jacket open and revealing the dark swath on his chest, the scruff of his light beard enticing as well. The smile on his face was what made the final cut, one that was inviting and warm. But that was Tucker.

  The last month arrived, November, and it was finally Chief Alex Silva’s turn. The silver haired man stepped forward, dressed in his fancy blues, looking as authoritative as O’Connell but sexier. It was his swagger, his devilish grin, and if you had to wonder where Joey Silva got his confidence you only to look no further than the father who sired him. Ellis took several format portraits, wanting to keep the level of respect, but finally Alex spoke up and said he didn’t mind, “getting down and dirty.” Leaving on his cap, he loosened his tie and undid several of the buttons on his shirt. Underneath lay a carpet of salt and pepper hair that sprang to life, thick and full, not unlike his head of hair.

  “Yup, Joey’s his son,” Trent said.

  Alex undid the rest of the buttons and opened up his shirt, his hand stretching the material until it revealed his surprisingly muscular chest, especially for a man in his early sixties. Again, a thicket of hair followed down his open shirt, not even defined as a trail down his stomach; it was just a dense coating, sexy and appealing, the classic silver fox. Ellis photographed him again, and then he took more shots, encouraging him, feeding him, and Trent, as he watched, could tell that Alex Silva was having a blast being the sex symbol for the older generation, in photographs that would no doubt be the surprise hit of the calendar.

  Finally the afternoon wound down, the coolers were drained, and some of the men had to return to duty. Ellis Van Pelt packed up and the fire engines from both villages retreated down the tree-lined drive and went roaring down Highway 50 toward White Pine, leaving just Angel and Trent, Austin and Tucker.

  “That was a once in a lifetime experience,” Trent said, “and not one I wish to repeat.”

  “It’s for a good cause,” Angel said, rubbing his hand on Trent’s knee.

  Trent raised his beer bottle, the three others following suit. “To December,” he said.

  “To December.”

  Somewhere inside the cabin, the ghost of Paddy Rodgers was donning his dress blues and readying for his close-up. It would be the perfect, fitting ending to a yearlong celebration of the men who braved their lives for the safety of others, and they raised their glasses once more to the heavens, and those who inspired them.

  “To fathers,” Trent said, “like Paddy Rodgers.”

  “In memory of Eduardo Montero.”

  “To Devon O’Connell, who we are still lucky to have lead us.”

  Trent noticed that it was the one cheer Austin Walker didn’t participate in.

  Chapter Eleven

  Austin

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with us, Austin.”

  He took note of Chief O’Connell’s use of the word “agreeing.”

  As though he had a choice.

  When you get a phone call first thing in the morning to come down to the fire station and meet with not just the chief but Charlie Anderson, the county’s fire investigator, there was very little agreeing to be done. You said yes, you made fast time, and you spoke when spoken to.

  “I’m happy to help where I can,” Austin said, looking from the chief to the investigator. He was a large man with huge hands, and at the moment they held a manila envelope sealed with a metal clasp, as though its contents were still yet to be revealed. “Is this about the fire the other night at the Lucky Scent factory? I know I screwed up and jeopardized one of my own…”

  Chief O’Connell held up a hand. “We’re square on that one, Austin, just as I assured you two days ago.”

  “Okay, good, thanks. Then I don’t understand why I’m here.”

  “This is about the fire at your father’s former home,” O’Connell said.

  “And about the man you rescued,” Anderson added.

  Okay, now Austin was confused. “My father,” he said, his voice hollow.

  “Yes, Allan Walker,” Chief O’Connell said. “I knew him, years ago, we’re both products of White Pine, just a few years apart in school. We were never friends, as I didn’t run with the same crowd as he, if you catch me drift.”

  “He was trouble,” Austin said.

  “That was then,” O’Connell said.

  “What we want to know is now,” Anderson said.

  Austin looked from one man to the other, seeing how serious both of them looked. “You want to know if he’s still trouble?”

  “Austin, we’re not asking you to rat out your father…”

  “That’s exactly what you’re asking of me,” Austin said, leaning forward. “Tell me what I can do.”

  The fact that he was so easily swayed to the side of the authorities confirmed there was something to be uncovered. The look exchanged by Chief O’Connell and County Fire Inspector Charlie Anderson said it all. Allan Walker was not the picture of domesticity he’d been pushing since his mother had taken him back. He was a man with a mysterious past, and perhaps a dangerous one.

  It was two days since the photo shoot, five since the fire at the Lucky Scent factory, and thus ten days since the man who claimed the title as Austin’s father had re-entered his life in scorching, dramatic fashion. Austin remained as unhappy about it as his mother was thrilled. While he wasn’t keen on going against the mother who had supported him all these years, essentially betraying her--which is in fact what they were asking of him to do--in his churning gut he knew Allan Walker would inevitably disappoint her, or worse.

  “Tell us again about your rescue,” Anderson said.

  “You have the paperwork, the report I filed,” he said.

  “Austin, just cooperate, okay?”

  “Right, chief, sure. I mean, it should have been just an easy put-out, a fire racing through an abandoned building. No one expected to find someone inside, least of all me.”

  “That’s exactly our question, Austin. If no one expected it, how come you did?”

  Again, confusion set in. “You don’t think I knew ahead of time…”

  “We’re just asking questions, no one knows the answers, and certainly we’re not putting them in your mouth,” the chief said.

  “Good, because I had no clue anyone, much less my father was inside that building—I didn’t even know the connection between that house and my family until after my father had been discharged from the hospital. I hadn’t even given him any thought in years, he was a non-entity for me when I was growing up. Left when I was six.”

  “And now?”

  “He remains a non-entity. I don’t acknowledge him as my father.”

  “Your mother, Alberta…”

  “Mom’s been lonely for so long, I think a stray puppy would have won her heart.”

  “With fewer complications,” Anderson said. “Anyway, back to your story. You knew he was in there…or rather, someone was in the burning house…how?”

  “I guess I heard someone, or maybe something. A scrape, or a cry? I just don’t recall.”

  Chief O’Connell clasped his hands together. “But enough to make you go inside.”

  “Yeah…I guess. I mean, if I even thought for a second that someone was stuck inside a burning building, how could I turn my back? It’s my job.”

  “And you do it well,” Anderson said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “In particular that day, you went beyond the call of duty, you were brave beyond words.”