Beautiful Burn (The Maddox Brothers, #4)(33)

“Do you know anything about Twitter?” Chief asked, his black eyes targeting me.

“Pardon?” I said.

“The Twitter. Do you know anything about it? Someone with a lot more time and who makes a lot more money than me decided we needed to have a Twitter account, and I haven’t the slightest f*cking clue how to … what is it called?”

“Tweet,” Tyler said, trying not to laugh.

He pounded his fist on the desk. “Goddamn it! Tweet!”

“Yes. I could probably help,” I said, “but I’m here on an assignment, Mister…”

He looked at me only briefly before shaking his head and returning his attention to the computer. “It’s just Chief. What assignment?”

“I’m a … photographer for the MountainEar.” Even though it was the truth, I felt like I was lying. “I’ve been assigned to the Alpine Hotshots. Mr. Wick would like to share with the community what you guys do.”

“We tweet,” he grumbled.

Tyler breathed out a laugh. “Chief, c’mon. Miss Edson would like to—”

“Edson?” Chief said, finally deciding I was worth more of his consideration than Twitter.

Shit.

Chief narrowed his eyes at me. “As in Edson Tech?”

“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.”