Hurricane Season
Page 4
I stood with the dog, patting him on the head and calling him a good dog over and over when a pimple-faced teenager in ill-fitting department-issued turnout gear yelled at me to get back. I smiled and shook my head at his youthful enthusiasm, reminding myself that it didn't matter that I'd been a volunteer fire fighter since this kid believed in Santa Claus. He was in charge of the crowd now; I was just on vacation. I walked back to my site, leaving Jack to deal with the unleashed shepherd.
Half an hour later, I was back in my folding chair with a beer in one hand and my book in the other. By then it was clear that the camper was a total loss. The flames had reduced it to the metal frame and not much else. I felt bad for the guy who lived there. I'd heard from some of the other campers walking by my site that he was a welder on the pipeline, and that he'd just moved in with that RV three weeks ago. Once the fire was out and the firetrucks had left, I gave my book another glimpse. I was asleep within minutes.
I had no idea how long I was out before I was rudely awakened by a hard thump to my crotch. My eyes snapped open as my body curled in to protect itself from the gigantic German shepherd head in my lap. It scared the crap out of me, but his tail wagged back and forth, and I figured he knew that I was the one that rescued him from the fire. I looked around for the owner, but no one was there. I reached out to pat the dog on the head and wondered why no one had taken care of him in the wake of the fire.
"Good doggie," I said, cautiously patting the monster on the head. His tongue was hanging out, touching my bare knee, so I figured he was thirsty. "C'mon, boy." I stood, watching to make sure his tail was still wagging. He bounded along beside me, getting tangled in my feet, almost tripping me twice. I left him on the little mat at the foot of the step while I filled a water bowl from my sink.
As I plunked into my chair, the campground owner arrived with Jupiter's leash. He handed it to me and turned his attention on the dog. "There you are, Jupiter! Oh, yes. Jupey had a bad morning, didn't he?" He rubbed his hands roughly over the dog, making the tail wag right in my face. After the third mouthful of tail fur, I stood.
"Does the owner know yet?" I asked.
"We called the job site, but we had to leave a message. Those guys work until dark every night."
"Which guys? What do they do?"
"Welders on the pipeline. It's their fuckin' trucks that are tearin' up my roads. Three of 'em, right in a row." He gestured toward the burnt-up camper.
"So where is this one going to stay?" I imagined for a moment a hot bod—shirtless with chiseled abs and wearing a welding mask.
"Probably with one of the guys." His face scrunched up for a second. "Although, that might be a little awkward—" His cell phone rang, and he walked away in mid-sentence.
I yelled after him, "I'm not really a dog person," but he didn't answer. I was stuck with the monster, at least for the afternoon. "I guess we're gonna hang out awhile, Jupiter. Don't bite me, okay?" His tail kept wagging while I clipped the leash to his collar. I looked at his tags. "Good. Your rabies shot is up to date. That's good to know, isn't it?" Great. I was talking to the dog as if he were a person. "And here's your owner: Nicky McDonald." I petted him for a minute, trying to imagine what Nicky looked like. Rough, tough, probably muscular. I smiled to myself and walked Jupiter back to my chair. He lay down in the shade under the chair, and I returned to my sexy welder daydream.
* * * *
While I lit my campfire, I rehearsed what I'd say to Nicky the Welder. Hi! I'm Krista. I saved your dog! Ugh. That's the kind of thing Pimple Face would have said to get a date. I told myself to tone it down.
I'm so sorry about your camper. Here, I cooked you a steak! The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right? Maybe the steak will go over so well, he'd sweep me into his arms and carry me to the bunk in my pop-up. When he bent to kiss me, he'd ask me who saved his dog. Just before our lips met, I'd bat my eyelashes and murmur, "I did." And we'd live happily ever after.
I'd have to do better than that.
Jupiter's happy bark shattered my reverie, and a candy-apple red welding truck pulled up in front of my site. The tinted windows hid the driver from view, and my heart pounded in my chest, anticipating the big reveal. The door finally opened, and work boots hit the ground. Jupiter knocked over the folding chair that held his leash, and he ran to his master. I smiled, hoping I looked friendly and welcoming, not like a stalker.
The next thing I knew, Jupiter was bounding toward me, stopping to look back to make sure the welder was following. He stepped out of the truck and closed the door. My smile wilted.
Nicky the Welder was a woman.
* * * *
"Fighting Fire with Fire" is included in the collection Hot Summer Reads: An Anthology of Erotic Stories. Available on May 23, 2015 from Amazon.
Other Books by Patient Lee
Alive and Well (a lesbian historical letter featuring an unconventional sex toy)
Come with a Friend (a M to F crossdressing romance)
F/V Lost Agnes (a gay male romance)
I Won a Basket of Porn (a toys and masturbation satire)
Jeffrey's Murderer (a lesbian love story, coming soon to Amazon)
Skater's Waltz (a straight romance)