Read Kilt at the Highland Games for Free Online Page B

ensure a smooth finish. “Go ahead and kill the music. I don’t want to stop in the middle of this.”
    Like Dan, Sandy was self-employed. He owned Dance Central in partnership with his wife, Zara. Years ago they’d both been members of the same touring dance company Liss belonged to, before a knee injury ended her career as a professional Scottish dancer. Later, when the company disbanded, Sandy and Zara had decided that Moosetookalook would be a good place to settle down and raise a family.
    Dan laughed about it now, but when he’d first met Sandy, he’d been jealous of Liss’s former dance partner. Sandy was a bit shorter than Dan’s 6’2” and a couple of years older, but his jet black hair and dark blue eyes and the fact that he looked good in a kilt always made women give him a second glance. Although Dan wasn’t exactly Frankenstein’s monster, he knew his own looks to be ordinary—light brown hair, brown eyes, and regular features. Fortunately for everyone, Sandy had been head over heels in love with the woman who was now his wife. In the years since, Dan had become good friends with Liss’s “best pal.”
    Sandy had been in the shop often enough to know where the controls for the sound system were located. With the music off, he eased himself onto a high stool to one side of Dan’s oversized work table. “Zara’s been after me to buy her one of your puzzle tables.”
    â€œYou’ll get the neighbor discount, but you’ll still have to wait a couple of months for me to make you one.”
    â€œDoing that well, are you?”
    â€œCan’t complain.”
    Dan usually had seven or eight orders backed up, and it took about a week to complete each jigsaw-puzzle table. He wasn’t making a fortune by any means, but he liked working with his hands, and he liked being his own boss. The trade-off was worthwhile.
    â€œGreg’s called a meeting for tonight,” Sandy said.
    Dan wasn’t surprised. Like a coach following a game, Greg Holstein, Moosetookalook’s fire chief, liked to gather all the town’s volunteer firefighters together after a fire to discuss what had gone right and where they needed to improve.
    â€œHe wants you there,” Sandy said.
    â€œIssue me a pager and he won’t have to send a messenger.”
    Dan continued applying polyurethane, but he no longer found the repetitive motion soothing. The frustration he’d felt the night before came rushing back. He hadn’t contributed much, and that nagged at him.
    Sandy stopped toying with a small piece of discarded wood to send a questioning look his way.
    â€œSorry. It’s my own fault. I haven’t made time to finish the classroom stuff and pass the CPAT. I should have started the whole process a long time ago.”
    â€œGreg’s talking about setting up a training session, making the equipment available so everyone can practice carrying the hose and raising the ladder.”
    â€œI’ll be there.”
    â€œIt’ll be fun at this time of year. Ninety degrees in the broiling sun, suited up and lugging fifty pounds of equipment.”
    Dan shot him a disgruntled look. “I can manage.”
    â€œUh-huh. Then there’s the stair climb. You’ll have to wear additional weights—two of them at twelve and a half pounds apiece.”
    Dan managed to suppress a groan. “What about the other CPAT components? Any chance of practicing things like forcible entry and the ceiling breach and pull?”
    Sandy shrugged. “Maybe. Greg’s hoping to get permission to set fire to an old barn in Little Moose. The roof collapsed last winter under the weight of the snow. It’s going to fall down on its own, so we might as well have the good of it.”
    Little Moose was one of the four villages that made up the town of Moosetookalook. Moosetookalook village, with its town square and municipal building,