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Ambrose’s Boston accent was stronger when he cursed, his words rolling and snapping harsher. “This one’s six. Bit of a climb and your ankle -”
“I got it.” Ambrose hopped up a couple of stairs and looked back as if to challenge him.
“You got it. But I’ll stay close, in case.”
“Fine.”
They started the climb and Barrett stayed within a few stairs in case the man wobbled. By the third flight, snow had begun falling at a rapid rate. Ambrose’s breaths came quickly but controlled and Barrett was only beginning to feel that strange, tilting sensation he got when climbing such heights.
“You look green,” Ambrose said as they slowly rounded the fourth story landing.
“I’m good,” Barrett huffed back, his breath roiling in the frosty air.
“You sure?” Barrett just raised an eyebrow at him and Ambrose snorted. “Okay, fine. I’m only checking.”
“You’re the one with a twisted ankle.” It was more than twisted, it was likely a bad sprain. Barrett could see the swelling under Ambrose’s running tights. They needed to get those off and relieve the pressure. “Need help?”
Ambrose shook his head and began hopping up the stairs once more. It was like being batted at by a grouchy old cat, Barrett mused as they neared the top. One moment the man was joking or reluctantly engaging in more than single sentence answers, then the claws came out and they were back to staring at each other.
Ambrose was the one looking a little green, like pea soup, when they finally reached the top. He leaned heavily against the clapboard siding while Barrett entered the door code. “Gonna be cold for a bit until I get the generator started. There’s some blankets and I can get the kettle going for you, since the stove is gas.”
“Great. Thank you.” But instead of haughty over his successful climb, Ambrose sounded weak. Barrett glanced over and saw Ambrose hadn’t moved from his post just outside the door. “Just a minute.”
“Let me help.”
“No, I got it.”
“You look like you’re going to puke.” Barrett stood in the doorway and put out his hand. “Ain’t nothing wrong with letting someone help. You climbed six flights with a bad ankle.”
Ambrose huffed at him but the sound carried little heat. Dark circles made his grey eyes look even more weary, giving his face a gauntness that made concern tick in Barrett’s chest. But the stubborn fool just pushed past him to collapse in a battered armchair near the electric fireplace. “See? I’m fine.”
“Well, then you’re fine.”
“I am.”
“I know. I believe you.” If Ambrose was digging into his stubborn nature, then Barrett had work to do. “You’ll want to get those tights off. The pressure on your ankle might be making any sprain or fracture worse. I gotta get the generator up and running.” He motioned to the radio and phone setup on the desk on the north wall. “If it crackles or beeps, hit the red button and pick up the receiver. Tell them I’m out with the generator and ask when they can get a truck out. It’ll be probably be Marge calling, if anyone does.”
“Right. Red button, receiver, generator.”
Ambrose didn’t look like he was going to be moving, given how he’d deflated in the chair, but Barrett didn’t have time to babysit someone so stubborn. “Good memory. I’ll be fifteen minutes tops. Don’t move other than to get your tights off.”
Ambrose shivered in his seat, staring hard at the floor. Something about his expression made Barrett think he was almost embarrassed. “Is there a blanket or…”
“Yeah.” Barrett dug through the supply chest and found two scratchy wool blankets, which Ambrose quickly unfolded without a single wrinkle of his nose. Good. They were probably musty from disuse but they were better than bare skin in the cold of the tower. While Ambrose fussed with the blankets, Barrett gave the tower a once over.
The fire tower was one big room save a bathroom just big enough for a shower and toilet. A fully stocked kitchen, some worn furniture, and in the middle was a massive table groaning with maps, guides, binders, and anything else a firewatch needed during their stay. Alpha tower was Barrett’s favorite, and he’d spent enough seasons in it to replace the shitty bed with one that didn’t make his back ache every morning. He’d even installed a curtain that ran around a large pipe bracketed to the ceiling. Great for keeping out light and even better for hanging mosquito nets during the summer.
There were cobwebs and dust, but the supplies were stored away. Barrett flung open a cabinet and grinned. “Water for tea, and there’s a container of tea bags on the counter, mugs in the drawer.” He held the green glazed teapot up with a smile. “And ol’ Froggy here should be boiling soon.”
To his shock, Ambrose cracked out a laugh as soon as he saw the handmade frog teapot. “Then leave me to ol’ Froggy and get some heat on in this godsforsaken place.”
Barrett gave him a sharp salute, put the teapot on the stove, and headed outside. The snow was falling hard and fast now, the wind chilling him to the bone, and Barrett had a feeling they were about to spend the night in the tower. It was far better than being stuck outside or in his truck, but this was not how he’d planned to spend his evening.
Chapter five
Hisanklewasabruised, swollen mess. Ambrose wasn’t good with blood or injuries in general, and seeing the ball of his ankle doubled in size over the top edge of his shoe made the room spin sickeningly. He’d managed to get the shoe off but now, with some of the pressure relieved, the throbbing was intense. Almost too much.
And he was alone, with Barrett outside. It was like something switched in the other man and Ambrose thought over their conversation as he stared down at his ankle. He knew he’d been a stubborn asshole but letting people do things for him had always left him feeling off-kilter and strangely raw. Add in the injury and the cold and….
