Page 4 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

I roll my eyes. “Don’t know. Don’t go to church. Don’t like organ music. Or any music, really.” Trolls don’t have a lot of music. They have chanting and rock banging. It’s usually pretty violent, and none of it’s melodic.

Sunderland shrugs. “You need to get out more, you big hermit.”

“Is there a point to this, Sheriff Andy?” I grimace, knowing Sunderland hates when people compare Pine Ridge to Mayberry. Believe me, if they knew what I did, they’d never make that comparison again.

“The point is, she seems like a nice lady, and I don’t think you’re gonna get an earful. Maybe calm her down a little.”

“Me? Calm people? I mean, in a car accident, yes, I’ve been known to calm someone in hysterics. This is a cat. This is not my field.”

“You are a firefighter, you ass. This is Day One stuff. Besides, you are the definition of calm. Never seen you flustered, Gord.”

I huff and climb into the truck, taking the smallest one known as Mean Jeanine. “I’ll get the cat and tell her to take it to Dr. Peterson if it’s showing any unusual signs of heat stress or illness. It was a hot one today.”

“It was. All right, Gordo, see you tomorrow.”

“See you. And don’t call me Gordo.”

Andrea Flores paces by a tree in front of the apartment complex and flags me down with an urgent wave and a little hop, her miserable face momentarily lighting up.

“Thank you for coming!” she calls as soon as I park.

“Yep. Cat?”

“Cat. Stubborn little numbnuts,” she mutters, pointing up into the thicket of leaves.

“I’ll be a minute,” I tell her, and drag out the ladder.

“That looks heavy. Do you need help?”

I give her the once-over. I don’t think she could carry my helmet, let alone a ladder. She’s short and slender, and sure not dressed for heavy lifting. She’s in a dress that’s stained with grass but still clings to every small curve. Frankly... Andrea Flores looks like a fashion model on a bad day. She’s gorgeous, like a princess in the old fairytales, if the fairytale spat her out into the modern world and gave her a hard time.

“No, thank you.” I shoulder the ladder myself and head towards the tree.

“Are you sure? I’d come over—or go change and climb up myself, but I was so afraid that if I took my eyes off of him, he’d run off. I promise I’m not one of those careless cat owners, either. I never let him out. I know how cats are bad about finding their way home. I... It was a day.” Her beautiful dark onyx and chocolate hair cascades over her face and shoulders as she tries to twist it back up into a bun, giving me an apologetic smile.

I don’t know what’s happening to my lips, but I think they tried to return the gesture. “No problem.”

“I appreciate this so much, Officer... Oh, do you say officer or...?” Her puffy eyes and anguished face can’t disguise the fact that she’s incredibly beautiful.

“I’m Lt. Gordon Rockland. Just call me Gordon.” I lean the ladder up against the tree, pull on my coat and gloves, and give her a nod.

“They sent out a lieutenant for a cat in a tree?” Andrea sounds stunned.

I can’t blame her. “We’re a small station. Two full-time officers, four part-time.”

“That’s not much. What if there’s a fire at the college?”

“We have thirty volunteers on the list,” I grunt, then make eye contact with the cat. To my surprise, it doesn’t hiss or spit—just stares.

I start to sweat under my helmet, which I also donned, mainly for the face shield function. Cat claws on the face sound terrible. “Is he calm? Does he have his claws?”

“He’s usually a sweetheart, a total lapcat. I’ve had him since high school. I think he sensed I was leaving for ten days and he didn’t want me to go.”

“Claws?” I ask again.

“Oh, yes. It’s cruel to de-claw them, you know? Like cutting off a person’s fingertips.”

“I heard. Just like to be informed before I go in.” I scale the ladder slowly. I don’t want to scare the cat into running higher up or running and jumping onto the roof or something. “Got treats?”