Beautiful Burn (The Maddox Brothers #4) (13 page)

“Uh…” I began, not sure which was the right answer. My father had just as many enemies as he had friends. Probably more.

“She’s just a photographer,” Tyler said. “Quit busting her balls and tell her yes or no. I’m in here on my day off.”

“Yeah, and why is that?” Chief asked.

“I owe her a favor,” Tyler said.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Can she shadow the crew and take pics or not?”

“Did she get her red card?”

“Chief,” Tyler said, exasperated.

“If she can show me how to send a twit, then yes.”

I took off my coat, handed it to Tyler, and walked around the desk, kneeling next to the superintendent. “Tweet, Chief. You tweet on Twitter. And you have to have an account to tweet. Fill this out.”

He tapped on the keyboard, following the steps to create an account.

“Click on that button,” I said, pointing. “Here, you can upload a photo. I bet you have your logo in your Pictures folder.” I clicked a few times, and like I’d thought, the Alpine Hotshot logo was in a file folder. One of their snapshots from the field made for a nice header photo, and then I stood. “All set.”

“All set for what?” Chief asked.

“Click on that icon, and type whatever you want.”

“Not whatever you want, Chief,” Tyler specified. “Type something associated with the hotshots, but no cuss words. And keep it under a hundred and forty characters.”

He wrinkled his nose. “A hundred and forty what?”

“Just write about that cleanup we helped with the other day. Or the food drive we’re doing this weekend. Tell them we’re ready for the upcoming fire season and post the group photo. Short and sweet.”

“Cleanups and food drives? You guys do stuff like that?” I asked.

“Yeah. All the time.” Tyler said the words as if I should have known.

After a knock on the door, a familiar voice began to speak. “Who’s the skirt?”

I turned to see Taylor standing in the doorway. It was downright unsettling how identical he was to Tyler.

I glared at him. “I’m not wearing a skirt, nor am I a skirt. And you know perfectly well who I am.”

Taylor winked and smiled. “Be sure to tell all your Tumblr feminists you were offended first,” he said before turning for the TV room.

Tyler’s jaws pulsed beneath the skin, but then he breathed out slowly.

The superintendent’s eyes danced between where Taylor stood, Tyler, and me. “What the hell was that about?”

“Nothing, Chief. Did you tweet?”

Chief clicked the mouse and sat back in his chair, perching his elbows on the armrests. “It’s tweeting!”

“Is Ellie clear?”

“She’s clear. Keep her in the black or in the goddamn safe zone, and get the hell out of my office. I have work to do.”

“Aye, Chief,” Tyler said, shooing me into the hall.

“The black?” I whispered from the side of my mouth.

“The area that’s already been burned to a crisp,” Tyler said, mimicking me.

I breathed out a sigh of relief. “That was more difficult than I imagined.”

“He’s a good guy. He gets shit done, makes sure we have all the equipment we need, even when the brass don’t always think we need it.”

“Brass?”

“Government higher-ups. It’s a budgeting thing. Constant fight. Not why you’re here. Let’s go meet some of the guys.”

Tyler led me to the truck bay where the rest of his crew was hard at work. Two of them had the hood up on one of the trucks, two were sweeping and mopping the concrete floor, and a few more were in the corner with the equipment.

“What are those?” I asked, pointing to the axe/hammer hybrids hanging from the wall.

“Oh, those are pulaskis. Those,” he said, pointing to a shovel-like tool, “are rhinos. We make those here.”

“
You
make those?”

“Yeah, with the welder, a saw, a sander, and a few other tools. Whatever we can find, really. We have to get creative sometimes.”

I pulled out my camera, took a few shots of the tools, and then aimed at the crewmembers going about their day. Tyler approached the men tinkering under the hood of a vehicle that looked like an oversized ambulance.

“This is a crew bus,” Tyler said.

“When it runs,” one of the men said.

“The sign outside says Interagency, and you have Interagency equipment here, but also engines, and this is the city fire department?” I asked, confused.

Tyler shrugged. “Double duty. Just makes things easier, especially since a lot of us do both urban and wildland. It’s closer to town, too, during off-season.”

I nodded, pulling out my notepad and pen.

“This,” Tyler said, pointing to a man taller than him, but not as thick, “is Smitty.” The short but solid hotshot wore glasses, and was a sophisticated kind of beautiful, with olive skin and a grease smear on his cheek.

They both wiped their hands on their pants and greeted me.

“Lyle Smith,” Smitty said, shaking my hand.

Tyler pointed to the other one. “This is Taco.”

“Taco?” I asked. His red hair and freckled skin gave me no hint of a reason for the nickname.

“Clinton Tucker. My son is two. When he says our last name, it sounds like taco. Unfortunately, it stuck, but it’s not the worst nickname around here.”

“Does everyone have one? A nickname?” I asked.

Tyler shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“What’s yours?”

Smitty chuckled. “He has one, but no one is brave enough to say it to his face.”

“You’ll have to let me in on that,” I said with a smirk.

“No,” Tyler said. “He won’t.”

I jotted down their names. “Is it hard for you, Taco? Being away from your son for days or weeks at a time?”

“I guess. We don’t really know another way. It’s what I do,” Taco said, wiping his hands with a rag. “During fire season, it’s months at a time.”

“How long have you been a hotshot?”

“This is my fourth season in Colorado.”

I nodded and let them get back to their jobs, then stood in the corner to snap a few candids of them working.

“Over there is Watts … Randon Watson,” Tyler said, pausing while Watts waved with one hand, holding a mop in the other. “And that is our squad boss, Jubal Hill. Don’t let the silver hair throw you. He’s an animal.”

“Jubal?” I asked. “What’s his real name?”

Jubal dropped the broom and walked over, his light hair setting off his bronze skin and baby-blue eyes. He held out his hand. “Jubal Lee Hill. Nice to meet you.”

“Jubilee,” I repeated.

He looked down and laughed once. “It’s just Jubal. No nickname needed.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. When he walked away, I documented him like I was paparazzi. He needed to be in a calendar, or working for
Vogue
in New York and wearing designer glasses and a suit, not pushing a broom in a garage.

“It’s okay,” Tyler said. “Every female who comes through here has a crush on Jubal.”

“He doesn’t act like it,” I said.

“That’s because he doesn’t know it.”

“Right.”

“Seriously. He’s loved the same woman his entire life. Since, like, the first grade or something. They got married right after high school, and … you should see them. They’re gross.”

“Gross?”

“Like newlyweds. They’ve been married thirty years.”

“That’s gross?”

“No,” Tyler said. “We just like to give ’em hell. I bet my parents would still be like that, too. It’s kind of cool to see. The rest of them are out.”

“How many are on your crew? And what do you mean by out? Hurt? Vacation? Out sick?”

Tyler chuckled. “Crews are typically twenty men and women.”

“Women?”

“Not very many, but the toughest hotshots I know are women.”

I smiled, letting my camera hang from the strap around my neck. “So where are the rest?”

Tyler led me to a group photo in a frame. “Like I said, in off-season, when we’re not fighting fires, we’re sometimes assigned other jobs like search and rescue or disaster response assistance. We’ll also work to meet resource goals on our home units. Some guys have other part-time jobs or just take unemployment and ski or travel or spend time with family.” He pointed to the faces I didn’t recognize. “Fish, the assistant superintendent. Sage, Bucky, and Slick are squad bosses like Jubal. Sugar. Cat. Scooter. Baggins. Jew. Sancho. Runt. Puddin’. Pup.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“I’ll get you a list of full names later.”

“Real names, please. What are resource goals?”

“Thinning, prescribed fire implementation, habitat improvement, trail construction projects … stuff like that. Sometimes we go to the schools and do … you know … Smokey Bear stuff.”

“Who has to dress up?” I asked.

Tyler made a face. “That’d be me.”

I snickered. “Thanks for that,” I said, scribbling on my notepad. “I’d like to get a picture of you in the suit at some point.” He frowned, and I nudged him. “You’re a peach for showing me around and an angel for taking me to see the superintendent.”

“A peach?”

“So, how many hours do you work on average?”

Tyler crossed his arms. “We’re doing this now?”

I looked up at him from my notepad. “Yeah?”

“It depends on if it’s fire season or downtime. If we’re fighting a fire, we just sleep, eat, and work. We can work up to eighteen-hour days, but working thirty-two hours a stretch isn’t uncommon. Up to fourteen-day stretches.”

“Holy shit,” I said under my breath.

“Used to be twenty-one. Then we get our required days off—a forty-eight hour R & R—and then we’re back out. We travel all over … wherever they need us. Even Alaska, Canada, and Mexico.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“I’m a
peach
? Really?” he said, amused.

“Shut up and answer.”

“I can’t shut up
and
answer…” He trailed off, recoiling from my glare. “We’re on our third season. We were ground crew before that.”

“We?” I said, looking up at him again.

“Taylor and me.”

“Are you a package deal?”

“Basically,” he answered matter-of-factly, and I imagined him doing the same in interviews as well.

I scribbled a few sentences, and then touched the pen to my lip. “I don’t see a lot of older guys on your crew. Why is that?”

“You won’t see many at all. Wildfire fighting is brutal. If you do it more than five or six seasons, you start seeing some lingering physical issues. The superintendent goes on site, but he’s basically restricted to a desk because of his back, knee, and shoulder surgeries.”

“Jesus,” I murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’ve mentioned something about the community. What else do you guys do?”

“You mean community outreach? During downtime we have AM and PM physical training built in to the schedule, patrolling, drills, chainsaw work, fence building, signage…”

I jotted down his answers while he spoke, hoping Jojo could somehow produce a story from my random scribbles.

“Do you get time off?” I asked.

“Not during fire season. I took today off to get some shit done.”

“Do you need to…” I said, gesturing to the door.

“What? No, no, I’m good.”

“You don’t want to leave me alone with these guys, do you?”

“No, not really.”

“What will you do when you leave until you come back? What does a hotshot do on his day off?”

Tyler’s brows pulled in, and he stared at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’re leaving, right? You don’t live here, do you?”

“No, I’m not leaving.”

“So you do live here?”

“No, I have an apartment with my brother here in Estes Park. We typically only stay at the station when we’re on shift, but yeah … you’re here, so I’m here. I cleared you with the superintendent, so you’re my responsibility.”

I wrinkled my nose at the thought.

“If the guys get called out, your plan is to ride along, right?”

“Well … yeah.”

“Then I’m staying. They’ll be busy. They won’t have time to babysit you.”

“I went to kindergarten. I can follow directions.”

“I’m not arguing with you. This is how it’s going to be.”

“What about when you’re on shift?”

“Same thing.”

“Oh, so they won’t have time to babysit me, but you will?”

“Jojo wanted you to follow us around, right? This is how it’s done when we have journalists shadow. Someone has to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m assigned to you, and you’re assigned to me? I was just beginning to feel cool.”

“I’m not leaving you alone. It’s dangerous, Ellie.”

“You’re just precious.”

Tyler frowned. “I’m rethinking this.”

I suddenly felt heavy, and then panicked as bitter bile rose in my throat.

“I was just kidding. Are you all right? You look a little green,” Tyler said.

“I’m nauseous all of a sudden.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the right.”

My stomach lurched, and I gagged, covering my mouth. I didn’t wait for it to happen again, sprinting to the bathroom just in time. Just as I bent over the toilet, I thought about my camera being dunked in toilet water and covered in vomit, but it was hovering over my right ear, held by the hotshot I loved to hate.

“Why am I so stupid?” I moaned, my voice echoing off the porcelain.

Tyler was holding my camera with one hand, my hair in the other.

“Is she okay?” one of the guys asked from the hall.

“She’s fine, Smitty. She’s caught that stomach bug going around,” Tyler said.

“What a bad ass,” Smitty said. “I was in bed for two days with that shit.”

I hurled again. Both men made the same sound, equally surprised and disgusted.

“I’m super excited to have an audience for this on my first day,” I said.

“Sorry,” Smitty said. “Feel better, Ellie.”

“Not humiliating at all,” I said, puking again.

CHAPTER TEN

“Whoa,” I said, taking a step back. I’d been on several house fires and car fires, and even a few grass fires my first week, but Tyler was right. Wildland fires were different.

Tyler kept eyes on everything around him while guiding me to a safer area. I was bundled in a base layer, thermal, fleece pullover, with oversized flame-retardant jacket and pants for a top layer, making it more than difficult for him to keep a grip on my arm. He was in a fire-resistant shirt and tan cargo pants, with maybe thermals underneath, wearing goggles, a gear bag, and a hardhat.