Beautiful Burn (The Maddox Brothers, #4)(35)

“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.