Page 9 of Burning Skies
Though judging by Trish’s next howl of terror, maybe not.
Glancing around, I realize all of my co-workers have joined Trish. I scoot my chair out and check where the sound is coming from. The snake is coiled a few feet away. Right in front of our exit. How the hell did he get in here?
“Isn’t this a fire hazard, only having one door?” I ask no one in particular as I sit on the table and rest my feet on the seat of my chair. If I was wearing jeans and boots, I could be more useful, but the snake is pretty pissed off right now, and I’d rather not end up in the emergency room.
I consider our wall of windows along the far side of the room, but they’re narrow, the kind you crank, which opens them up vertically. Laura dials 911 and puts the call on speakerphone. After she describes the problem, the operator says, “Stay calm. The fire department is on its way.”
Shit. If I’m lucky, Beau’s not working today. Because in the last seven years, he and I have not made peace with what happened at the Devil’s Den.
Ten minutes later, when that handsome bastard struts up to our department, I grit my teeth.
So much for luck.
Trish’s hysteria briefly subsides when Beau pokes his head in the door. “Heard y’all got yourself into a pickle.”
Shut up, asshole.I roll my eyes and continue grading an essay.
The snake agrees with me because his tail goes crazy.
“Beau Walker, am I glad to see you!” Trish flaps her arms around like one of those inflatable balloon men in front of a car dealership.
Annoyed, I glare at my co-worker. “What did I say about not making quick movements?”
Beau chuckles. “I’m gonna agree with Little Mac.” That fucking nickname. He says it like he hasn’t had his tongue down my throat. “Y’all should sit tight, and we’ll figure this out. I’m the department’s snake wrangler, and I’ve caught plenty of these guys. This shouldn’t take too long.”
“I love a man who knows how to handle a snake,” Trish gushes.
I’m not sure who annoys me more, Beau or Trish.
As he checks out the situation, I finally let myself study Beau Walker. He’s wearing a red and blue Wild Heart Fire Department t-shirt that stretches across his stupid broad shoulders, plus those fireman pants and thick black boots. Today, he has stubble on his rugged jaw.
I can admit he’s hot.
But what I will never admit, on pain of death, is how often I think about what happened between us that night at the masquerade party.
The bell rings, and I groan. I hate being late to class.
Behind Beau, two other firefighters stand around and chat. They ask if Beau needs help, but he waves them off. “Easier if I do it by myself. Hang back.”
While I record the essay in my grade book, Beau slowly moves in with a snake hook and a twenty-gallon red bucket. As much as I want to ignore his act of heroics here, I can admit what he’s doing is dangerous. We all still as he moves closer to the reptile.
But a bright flash from the hallway makes us collectively flinch.
Pulling the camera away from his face, Keith, one of the newspaper students, waves at us. “Heard there was a snake. Holy crap, he’s huge.”
Adrian mutters a curse under his breath. “Keith, what did I tell you about not getting into dangerous situations? You could have gotten Mr. Walker bitten. Back up.”
The kid’s shoulders fall, and he nods. “Sorry, Mr. Rogers.”
A pretty girl with red hair elbows Keith. “Yeah, dummy.”
Keith rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”
Adrian lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sabrina, that wasn’t nice. Please apologize.”
“Sorry, Mr. Rogers.”
“Not to me.” A vein pulses in Adrian’s forehead.
