Read Online It's a Wonderful Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novella (The Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel) by Jennifer Bernard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Bernard
Ads: Link
execute the plays, he loved the mental aspect, the way you could really get your brain into the game. And he loved the physical part, exploding off the plate, sliding into second, unleashing a throw to home plate.
Ever since he’d started playing at age twelve, when his mother needed a place to park him while she tried to get back on her feet, baseball had felt like home. The game had taken him in and offered him discipline, joy, and brotherhood.
Right now, he held a great talent’s psyche in the palm of his hand. What was more important, getting a few hits off him in the future, or watching this brilliant kid claim his place in the game?
“You have a tell,” he blurted before he thought better of it. “You jerk your chin before you drop the curve.”
Caleb lifted his head off his arms and peered blearily at him. “I do?”
“Yeah. Without that, I would have gone oh for three, no question.”
“Holy Mother Mary.” The despair seemed to lift off the young player like a thundercloud blown away by the wind. “Why did no one ever tell me?”
“It’s subtle. Probably no one knows. I have one of those brains that notices shit like that. And once I notice it, I have to figure it out. I’m a little obsessive, I guess you’d say.”
Caleb clapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly missing in his drunken enthusiasm. “Maybe I have a chance in this game after all.”
“Yeah.” Hart had a chance all right. The kind of chance someone like Mulligan could only dream about. “I’ll see you in the sports pages.”
“What are you talking about? You’ll see me next season, bro.”
“Nah. I’m quitting.” The thought that had been brewing all season burst into speech. “This is it for me.”
“Why? You can’t just walk away, Mulligan. You’re a good player.”
“Yeah, I’m all right. But I’m no Caleb Hart.” He offered a grim smile, draining his beer mug. “If I had one-tenth of your talent, you couldn’t pry me away from the game. But I don’t. Tell you the truth, I’ve been studying for the firefighter’s exam.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah. Sort of a backup in case Major League Baseball never figures out what a rock star I am.”
“Good luck to you, man.” Caleb swiveled the stool to face him and stuck out his hand. But Mulligan ignored it, looking over Caleb’s shoulder at a disaster in the making. One of the tiki torches was leaning over too far, making the flame splutter and spark.
A girl pushed her chair back from the table next to the torch. The chair leg collided with its base, giving just enough of a nudge to make the bamboo pole slowly topple in the direction of a waitress. Oblivious, she stood with her back to the falling torch as she took someone’s order. In a flash, Mulligan took in the entire situation, the flammability of the waitress’s fake-grass skirt and the angle of the tiki torch. He calculated the chance that the flame would be snuffed out by the speed of its fall, the damage that even a lick of flame would do to human skin.
He launched to his feet, pushing past Caleb, who spun around on his bar stool with a “What the fuck?” He scrambled across the room the same way he’d chase after a runaway grounder. The torch hit the floor, one flame leaping onto the grass skirt. He heard the waitress’s scream, saw smoke rise from her hem. He ripped a tablecloth from one of the tables, sending several skull-shaped mugs flying through the air. Then he dove on top of that waitress as if she were home plate and wrapped the tablecloth around her. He felt the burn of the hot grass.
The waitress was still screaming, but she sounded more shocked than hurt. When he was sure the fire was out, he rolled off her and checked the damage. The skirt was charred, exposing her legs underneath, but he saw no obvious signs of burn.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
She put her hand on her butt, felt the scorched hole in her skirt, and burst into tears. “I . . . I think so.”
He didn’t
Ever since he’d started playing at age twelve, when his mother needed a place to park him while she tried to get back on her feet, baseball had felt like home. The game had taken him in and offered him discipline, joy, and brotherhood.
Right now, he held a great talent’s psyche in the palm of his hand. What was more important, getting a few hits off him in the future, or watching this brilliant kid claim his place in the game?
“You have a tell,” he blurted before he thought better of it. “You jerk your chin before you drop the curve.”
Caleb lifted his head off his arms and peered blearily at him. “I do?”
“Yeah. Without that, I would have gone oh for three, no question.”
“Holy Mother Mary.” The despair seemed to lift off the young player like a thundercloud blown away by the wind. “Why did no one ever tell me?”
“It’s subtle. Probably no one knows. I have one of those brains that notices shit like that. And once I notice it, I have to figure it out. I’m a little obsessive, I guess you’d say.”
Caleb clapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly missing in his drunken enthusiasm. “Maybe I have a chance in this game after all.”
“Yeah.” Hart had a chance all right. The kind of chance someone like Mulligan could only dream about. “I’ll see you in the sports pages.”
“What are you talking about? You’ll see me next season, bro.”
“Nah. I’m quitting.” The thought that had been brewing all season burst into speech. “This is it for me.”
“Why? You can’t just walk away, Mulligan. You’re a good player.”
“Yeah, I’m all right. But I’m no Caleb Hart.” He offered a grim smile, draining his beer mug. “If I had one-tenth of your talent, you couldn’t pry me away from the game. But I don’t. Tell you the truth, I’ve been studying for the firefighter’s exam.”
“No shit.”
“Yeah. Sort of a backup in case Major League Baseball never figures out what a rock star I am.”
“Good luck to you, man.” Caleb swiveled the stool to face him and stuck out his hand. But Mulligan ignored it, looking over Caleb’s shoulder at a disaster in the making. One of the tiki torches was leaning over too far, making the flame splutter and spark.
A girl pushed her chair back from the table next to the torch. The chair leg collided with its base, giving just enough of a nudge to make the bamboo pole slowly topple in the direction of a waitress. Oblivious, she stood with her back to the falling torch as she took someone’s order. In a flash, Mulligan took in the entire situation, the flammability of the waitress’s fake-grass skirt and the angle of the tiki torch. He calculated the chance that the flame would be snuffed out by the speed of its fall, the damage that even a lick of flame would do to human skin.
He launched to his feet, pushing past Caleb, who spun around on his bar stool with a “What the fuck?” He scrambled across the room the same way he’d chase after a runaway grounder. The torch hit the floor, one flame leaping onto the grass skirt. He heard the waitress’s scream, saw smoke rise from her hem. He ripped a tablecloth from one of the tables, sending several skull-shaped mugs flying through the air. Then he dove on top of that waitress as if she were home plate and wrapped the tablecloth around her. He felt the burn of the hot grass.
The waitress was still screaming, but she sounded more shocked than hurt. When he was sure the fire was out, he rolled off her and checked the damage. The skirt was charred, exposing her legs underneath, but he saw no obvious signs of burn.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
She put her hand on her butt, felt the scorched hole in her skirt, and burst into tears. “I . . . I think so.”
He didn’t
Similar Books
