Page 3 of Fireman Daddy’s Tempestuous Little

CHAPTER TWO

Drew

Stout, my four-year-old English mastiff, was a perfect gentleman and definitely not the kind of dog to go poop in a neighbor’s yard, particularly not a neighbor like Miri, who seemed to have inherited every single crabby neighbor gene in existence.

It all started with her the day I moved in. After the moving truck left, I walked next door with Stout and a bottle of expensive champagne to introduce us to Miri. When she answered the door, I literally couldn’t speak because I was so stunned by the sight of her.

Miri was easily the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, with full lips, perfect features and a body that looked like an actual woman and not the rail-thin physique that for some reason was all society seemed to want these days. She was breathtaking, and as soon as I saw her, I knew I wanted her.

Then she spoke.

The first words out of her mouth were, “What is that fucking dog doing on my porch?”

I blinked and said, “Oh, this is Stout. Don’t worry, he only looks mean. He’s a big softie. Go ahead Stout, say hi.”

She recoiled and said, “I don’t think so. Look, just keep your dog off of my property, okay? And keep the noise down.” Then she slammed the door in our faces. Stout and I shared a look, then headed home and I decided I didn’t want Miri that badly after all.

Things didn’t get better after that. When I was on duty at the firehouse, I asked our other next-door neighbor, Vince, to watch Stout. Vince was a grizzled old Vietnam vet, and he was every bit as sweet as Miri was sour. I returned to see Miri shouting at him on my porch and had to actually step in between them. I apologized to Vince and told him I would make other arrangements for Stout but he laughed and said to pay her no mind and he loved my dog. He said, “You just try to keep Stout away from me!”

I loved Vince.

Miri, not so much.

Those were only the first two in an unbroken string of complaints, both formal and informal, shouting matches, phone calls, notes, arguments, and general moments of unpleasantness. If it wasn’t for Vince and the other neighbors, I would have moved years ago.

Of course, I guess I was a little stubborn. I didn’t want to admit that Miri got under my skin. To be honest, she wouldn’t have bothered me so much if I wasn’t so attracted to her. Evidently being a brat wasn’t enough to turn me off. In fact, though I hated to admit it, her fiery spirit actually turned me on, so much that after she shouted at me in my driveway over the mystery shit I know Stout didn’t produce, I headed inside and realized I was rock hard under my jeans. I left the television playing as I took a brief cold shower to calm down.

The game was fun. Stout was affectionate. It was a good, relaxing night; and I went to bed in better spirits and decided I could live with Miri another day.

I woke in the middle of the night to pounding on my door. I opened my eyes and heard Stout barking. That was probably why there was pounding on my door. I shuffled downstairs muttering to myself. When I answered the door, it was Miri.

Surprise.

“Miri, can we do this when the sun is up?” I asked tiredly. “It’s two-thirty in the morning. I’ll quiet Stout down and we’ll argue again after coffee.”

“Drew,” she said in almost a squeal. There was actual panic in her voice. “Please help! My house is on fire!”

Instantly, I came to full alertness. I stepped outside and saw orange light flickering inside the house and a stream of smoke pouring from the window.

I rushed back inside and she called, “Drew, please!”

“I’m getting my phone,” I shouted. I returned the phone and handed it to her. “Dial 911,” I said.

“I already did,” she said, crying a little now. “They said the city fire department doesn’t service this area. They transferred me and the county said it was a city call!”

I took my phone, tapped around a second, and handed it to her again. “Dispatch is going to answer. When the operator gets on the line, tell them Drew Bridger from Company four-oh-three has an emergency at your address and I’m inside the burning house.”

“Okay,” she said, visibly shaken.

I rushed toward her yard and she called after me, “Wait, what are you doing?”

“I’m going into your burning house!” I called back.

“But I thought… Hello? Hello. Drew Bridger from Company… uh… Company…”

“Four oh three!” I called but then I ran around my house to the other side.

I rushed to the outside spigot and quickly hooked up the garden hose. It’s extra-long and almost industrial. If only it was a wider hose, it would do the job better but it’s all I can do. When it was hooked up, I picked up a rock and throw it at Miri’s nearest window with flames flickering. It shattered and I aimed the hose until the spray entered the house. Then, I propped it over the fence, wedging it between two rails. The water from the garden hose was not nearly enough to stop the fire but I hoped I could slow it enough to keep it from destroying her house or spreading to mine or other houses in the neighborhood.

I could hear the crackling of the fire now and a faint, dull roar. That was definitely not good. The fire seemed minor from the outside but it was clearly more serious than it appeared.

I hopped the fence, checked to make sure the hose was still wedged where it belonged, and ran to the front door. Thankfully, Miri hadn’t closed her door all the way. I rushed over and peered inside. I should have brought the axe I keep in the back shed for chopping wood. Damn it all, there was no reason for me to be here. For God’s sake, I actually had fire equipment in my garage, an old surplus I bought to shore up and donate to volunteer forces across the country.

But now I stood at the threshold of Miri’s house wearing a fucking tee shirt and pajama bottoms. For the love of God, I didn’t even have shoes on. Stepping into the house would be the very definition of insanity.

And I didn’t hesitate, idiot that I sometimes am.

---