All Fired Up (Green Valley Heroes #7)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

HUNTER

I rub my damp palms on my pants for the third time in less than a minute, gathering the mental strength to open my car door and go inside the library.

This is so fucking stupid. Why the hell can’t I open the door? Do I think the librarians are going to take one look at me and laugh their asses off?

Well . . . they might.

Shaking my head, I force myself out of the car and into the building, keeping my head down, then pause as I realize I don’t know where to go. Crap. I didn’t check the parking lot to see if Madeline’s car is even here. Where’s my brain today?

It’s still caught up in everything you confessed to Madeline on Saturday. At the pity on her face. How she knows how fucking pathetic you are.

I roll my shoulders and dismiss the nagging thought, then approach the librarian at the desk. Her long, silver hair is wild about her head, reminding me of a witch. At least she doesn’t cackle as I ask if she’s seen Madeline Woodward here.

“She’s right over there,” she says, pointing to a table in the corner.

Madeline is hunched over the firefighting textbook in front of her, her hair nearly obscuring her face, until she pushes it back impatiently and tucks it behind her ear as she flips to the next page.

She’s so absorbed in her reading, I’m tempted to sneak up behind her and spook her, but that’s sure to get me kicked out. Instead, I pull out the chair opposite her and sit, surprised when she doesn’t acknowledge me at all. Is this a power play or something?

I clear my throat, and that’s when she finally looks up, those deep brown eyes of hers widening.

“When did you get here?” she asks, seeming taken aback.

“Did you seriously not notice me?”

Her lips tip down at the corners. “I get absorbed in whatever I’m reading.”

“Hmm.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in the chair. “We probably should work on your reactive skills, then. Need those to be a firefighter.”

She opens her mouth—probably to argue—then gives me a tight smile. “Right.”

What, she won’t take my bait? Lame.

She looks around me. “Where’s your stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Your textbook. A notebook. A pen. Something.”

I shrug. “You didn’t say I needed any of that.”

The look she gives me screams unimpressed . “It was implied.”

I wave off her statement. Does she actually think I’ve ever studied in my life before? “You can teach me what I need to know.”

She inhales deeply, then exhales. “You’re putting all the burden on me? This is supposed to be an equal exchange.”

“You said you’d tutor me. And Chief McClure said I have to help you with passing the physical test.”

She shifts in her seat. “I’m working on that. I don’t need help.”

I keep my laughter at bay. And I’m the King of England. “What are you doing to work on it ?”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, do you want me to tutor you or not?”

I finally relax at the annoyance in her tone. As absurd as it sounds, it feels more like we’re on an even playing field when we’re at odds. If she’d been pitying me today the way she was on Saturday, I don’t think I could take it.

Holding up my hands in defeat, I drop the subject of the physical test for now because I really do need her to tutor me.

Not that I’m telling her that.

When I look back at her, she’s studying me curiously. “What’s your preferred learning style?”

What’s she going on about now?

“Like, are you a visual learner? An auditory one? Kinesthetic?”

I stare at her blankly. That last one definitely wasn’t a word. “What the hell are you talking about? Can’t you teach me already?”

She lets out a sigh and rubs at her temple. “Hunter, I can’t do this if you’re going to be surly and defensive.”

I groan and thump my head down on the table. Why does she have to make everything so difficult?

She nudges the side of my head. “I’m serious. I need you to work with me here. We’re on the same team and I want us both to succeed. But we can’t do that if we’re at odds.”

Damn it. Why does she have to make it sound so reasonable?

Sitting up, I roll my head from side to side. “We’re on the same page.”

Her brows rise dramatically. “Really? Because you showed up here completely unprepared today. And if what I suspect is right, you haven’t done much of the assigned reading on your own.”

My heel taps against the floor as I stare silently at her, unwilling to address her last statement.

The silence lingers until she finally says, “I’m sorry,” surprising the hell out of me. “I’m not trying to judge you. Honestly. But my ass is on the line, too, and I’m starting to get nervous. So I need to know you’re serious about this or we might as well call it quits now.”

I let the retort that bubbles to my lips die. She’s being sincere and I...I need to get over myself. I’m never going to pass otherwise.

“I’m serious about this,” I tell her. “And I’m sorry for showing up unprepared.” The words taste bitter on my tongue but I forge ahead. “I’ll do better.”

“How much of the textbook have you read?”

I swallow hard. “The first two chapters.”

I’m such an idiot. We’re supposed to have read through chapter twelve by now. Sixteen really so we’re prepared for next weekend. But those two chapters alone had been so painful, my stomach had twisted even thinking about opening the textbook again.

So I just . . . hadn’t.

She nods once, matter-of-factly. “Okay. I’ll make a plan then to catch up on past chapters next time we meet.”

And that’s it. Nothing more about it. No berating me. No disappointment. Just acceptance and moving on.

“You’re not going to yell at me?”

Her head tilts slightly. “No sense in beating a dead horse.” She pauses, then looks at me. “Do you want me to yell at you?”

My mind flashes back to the anger and defiance radiating off of her after my pranks and the way I’d unexpectedly liked it.

That’s not happening again, though.

“No,” I mumble.

“Then I won’t. So, this week’s chapters cover the principles of fire, water supply and fire protection systems, hose nozzles and fittings, and fireground hydraulics.” She pauses and taps her pen on her notebook. “As a heads up, I skimmed through that last chapter and there was a surprising amount of math.”

I blink stupidly. “There’s math?”

“Yeah. You have to calculate pump pressure, flow conversions, pump discharge maximums, the available water flow at different hydrants...” She trails off, probably because of my slack-jawed stare. “Not that we’d likely be doing that stuff as volunteers. But it might be on the test.”

I nod, panic setting in. I can’t do that shit. Can she?

“What do you do for a living?” I blurt out instead of admitting I have no idea what pretty much everything she said meant.

“I’m a web developer.”

That’s something with coding, right? Makes sense she’d go into a field like that since she’s a genius.

“And you work at Payton Mills?” she asks hesitantly when I don’t say anything else.

I nod.

“Something with saws?”

“Sawmill operator.”

“Do you like it?”

Is she trying to make small talk?

I shrug. “It pays better than anything else I could do in Green Valley. Probably nowhere near your level, though.”

She fiddles with her pen, looking down at it. Is she...blushing? What, is she embarrassed by my compliment?

I test my theory by telling her, “It makes sense you’d have a job you need to be crazy smart for. You’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Sure, I’d told her she was a brainiac the other day, but that was with contempt. Today, I let awe leak in. And if I’m right...Yep, her blush intensifies. Maybe she was being truthful when she said she wasn’t trying to be better than anyone else.

“Well, I couldn’t do what you do,” she says to her notebook rather than my face. “And you probably have a lot of pressure to not make any mistakes with all that dangerous machinery. I spend hours sometimes debugging code and fixing mistakes.”

“I mean, I guess.” I rub at the back of my neck, never having thought of it like that before.

She finally looks up, the wash of pink on her cheeks fading, and gives me a shy smile. The action transforms her into something else entirely. Something...

I’m afraid to find the right word, to examine the thought too closely. Things were easier when I hated her. When she wasn’t looking at me like I’m...nice. Because I said she was smart? It’s not like it’s a secret.

My gaze zeroes in on her mouth, on that full bottom lip I couldn’t stop looking at the other day. Have I ever seen her smile? I can’t remember now. I’ve seen her furious. Smug. Serious.

But never smiling.

When she smiles, she looks sort of . . . beautiful.

Her eyes widen as pink returns to her cheeks.

Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?

Before I can backpedal, she says, “Why don’t we get started studying?”

I nod a little too eagerly, glad she doesn’t bring my mishap up as she opens her textbook to chapter thirteen. What the fuck am I doing saying that to her? The girl’s not the least bit interested in me.

Not that I’m interested in her. Obviously. The idea is ludicrous.

Look at her. The girl can’t even take a compliment without her cheeks turning red. How would a guy ever?—

Okay. Not thinking about this anymore. It’s a moot point.

“Well, since you don’t have your textbook,” she says, “I guess we can’t both read the chapter to ourselves and then discuss the key points. Do you want to take turns reading it?”

If we do that, we’ll be here all night waiting for me to stumble through it.

“Could you maybe read it all out loud?” I ask. “So we get through it faster.”

I leave it at that, not wanting to admit anything else. If she heard me read, she’d laugh herself right out of this library.

She considers me for a moment, and I’m afraid she’ll start in about how I’m not pulling my weight or how I’m putting more of the burden on her. I mean, I am. But it’s not intentional. It’s just...how it is.

“Okay,” she says finally and begins reading.

After each section, she stops and talks about what she thinks are the most important points, then writes them in her notebook. I’m silent, content to listen to her and soak it all in while doing my best not to let my brain wander. When else will I get an opportunity like this?

I’m getting a crash course in everything concerning the principles of fire, and even though some of it is a little too scientific for my liking, especially the things about fire chemistry and combustion, studying this way is a million times faster than attempting to do it by myself. I don’t know how she does it, but she seems to actually understand this stuff the first time reading it through based on the way she easily summarizes it afterward. Without struggling. Without having to reread it over and over again until it makes sense.

What’s she doing that’s so different from when I try it? What’s her secret? Would she laugh if I asked her?

“Okay, that’s everything for chapter thirteen,” she says, setting her pen down on her notebook.

I glance at my phone. It’s only been half an hour. Half a freaking hour. I could weep with joy. I’d have been here all night trying to do it by myself.

“We could move on to the next chapter,” she continues, “but I think we should quiz each other first to make sure we remember this one.”

Quiz each other? The previous elation running through me dries up as my muscles go tense. “We don’t need to do all that.”

“No, really. Quizzes are a great study tool for comprehension.”

“I’m good.”

“Well, can you quiz me? Recall works well for me to reinforce the information.”

She thrusts her notebook at me and I have no choice but to accept it. Her handwriting is perfect, everything proper and in its place on the page, in neat paragraphs and bullet points. If she saw my messy scrawl, she might have an aneurysm. The girl is type-A to the max.

But that’s what’s going to help me pass this test. I need her brain.

And apparently need to quiz her, too.

I pick a random spot on the page and reread it until it makes sense. “What are the four heat types?”

“Chemical, mechanical, electrical, and nuclear.”

That . . . sounds right.

I flip the page back and pick another random spot. “What characteristics of smoke should a firefighter look for?”

She taps her thumb on the table. “There’s volume and velocity. Those are easy to remember because they’re alliterative. And I think color is one. There’s one more...Oh God, what is it?”

She purses her lips as she stares at the table. “Can you give me a hint?”

I read through her notes, probably taking way too long, until I find the one I’m looking for. When I look up, she’s studying me.

“What?” I ask, probably too aggressively. What’s she looking at me like that for? Like I’m something to figure out.

There’s a beat of silence and then she shakes her head. “Clue?”

“It starts with a d ,” I mutter. “It’s a scientific thing.” At least, I’m pretty sure it is.

“Oh, density. Duh.”

Yeah, duh. Like it was so obvious. How does she remember this stuff so easily?

We keep going through questions until I think I’ve covered everything in the notes and hand her notebook back to her.

“Did that help you, too?” she asks. “Going over the information again like that?”

Actually . . . it did. Damn her for being right.

I don’t respond but she still smiles softly to herself, as if she knows. “You want a five-minute break before we start the next chapter?”

What I want is to power through this and not waste any of the time I have with her, but if she needs a break, fine. “Sure.”

She gestures to the shelves of books near us. “I know you don’t like textbooks, but do you ever read for fun?”

She’s kidding, right? “No.”

“Nothing? Graphic novels? Comics? Audiobooks?”

Is she trying to show off how smart she is? “No,” I repeat.

She makes this hmm sound, her gaze assessing me. What’s she going to do now?

“I’ll be right back.”

She leaves and I take the opportunity to stretch my legs, glancing around the library. Never thought I’d be spending any significant amount of time here. If the next chapter we go over turns out the way the first one did, though, I’m going to ask Madeline to meet here twice a week. Maybe even three times to get caught up on the earlier chapters. Would she be up for that? Is that taking too much of her time?

If she wants to pass this training program, though...that means I have to pass, too. I’m the weak link.

I scrub a hand down my face, ignoring the tug of shame and guilt mixing in the pit of my stomach. Did I bite off more than I can chew? Is all this worth it?

My eyes squeeze shut as I recall seeing that flyer about the volunteer firefighting program on our bulletin board at work. The way I’d initially dismissed it. And then how I’d kept returning to it every day during break. Reading it slowly. And then rereading it over and over until I’d pretty much memorized it. Imagining myself doing something like that. Something I’d be proud of. Being someone others looked up to.

But if I’m so proud of it, why haven’t I told anyone about it? Because a part of me doesn’t believe I’ll pass the final? If my track record with finals in school is any indication, the chances are slim. But maybe with Madeline’s help...

She returns, holding a thick book with what looks like a hot-air balloon on the cover.

“Doing some light reading?” I ask, eyeing the doorstop. That thing has to be over five hundred pages.

“It’s for you,” she says, sliding it across the table toward me.

I stare at the book, then her. “You’re fucking with me.”

She frowns. “You can’t curse in here. It’s a library.”

Which is probably akin to a religious space for her. “Fine. You’re messing with me. I thought we were done with that.”

“I’m not. I think you’d like it. And it’s not as big as it seems. I already checked it out for you.”

I glance at the cover. The Invention of Hugo Cabret . The label on the spine indicates it’s a children’s book, too. What the fuck? What kind of Harry Potter nerd children are reading books this big?

“Yeah, okay.” I take it, having no intention of doing anything with it when I get home other than using it as a paperweight.

We start in on the next chapter and after I quiz her again, we call it quits for the night. My brain is too full to cram much more in there.

“About your physical training?—”

“I said I have it handled,” she interrupts, packing her bag with all her study materials.

I don’t want to push too much for fear she might not tutor me again. I’m realizing now I can’t rely only on the instruction they give on the weekends. That’s more for hands-on demonstrations, not actual learning.

“We can talk about it more later,” I say, trying to be diplomatic. “Can we, um, meet again this week? For the next two chapters?”

I’ll swallow my pride about asking for her help if it means I pass the written exam.

“How about Wednesday?”

“Sounds good. Same time here?”

She nods, then shoulders her bag and taps the book still on the table. “I think you’ll be surprised. See you.”

She leaves and an odd feeling of loneliness settles over me, especially as I look around the library. I don’t belong here.

There’s a blonde at the information desk who calls out a cheerful goodbye as I make my way out.

“Thanks,” I mumble. Guess I’m going to be seeing a whole lot more of these people in the coming weeks.

Whether I like it or not.