Fireman Sam Arnold Novels & Stories

She cried out. "What are you whining about, pumpkin?" Sam asked. Sam is a 6 foot 2, 45-year-old thick woman with short greasy jet black hair and poor hygiene. You could smell her bad odor from a mile away. She's been in prison for two decades. She's a hardened criminal serving three life sentences for murdering three men in cold blood.

Ray Hart frowned and walked forward, then exclaimed, “Sam Baker, this isn’t a place for you to cause a ruckus…” Bang! Sam waved his hand and fired his gun again, this time on Ray’s left shoulder. Blood splattered all over the place. Sam leaked out another smile on his face and replied, “Would you believe me if I said that was a misfire?”

Everywhere fell quiet as they all tried to digest the new information they just got. *** Arnold checked his wrist watch for the umpteenth time in a row as he glanced up at the stairs.. "Why isn't she down yet?" Sam smiled nervously as he looked around the small living room, it's been almost twenty minutes and Chloe wasn't down yet.. Arnold took a sip out of his mug as he stared at Sam, he didn't seem to be arrogant or demanding like that Anderson's heir.. He seemed just like the guy who would give his full attention to the girl he likes..

"I believe that so long as you're sincere, your feelings will be returned just as sincerely." Samuel was very sharp, so he immediately understood what Jean was implying. He smiled and nodded at her. Howard knocked on the door as they were in the middle of eating, so Samuel got up and walked out to join him. "Mr. Ford wishes to meet with you, Mr. Hover," Howard informed Samuel, smoothly closing the door behind them. When Samuel walked over and saw Arnold smoking a cigar, his smile turned slightly more distant. "I happened to be around and heard that you were also here, Mr. Hover," Arnold remarked. "We previously only had a brief chat when we met abroad. We should arrange to have dinner someti

Marvin Saunders, Sam’s father, promptly snapped at him. His tone was severe as he said, "Watch your language! You're talking to your own brother here!" "It's alright," Ryan said nonchalantly. "Sam's always been like that. Even after all these years, he never changed."

I pointed to the table with snacks that remained organized in the reception area. "Thank you, Mr. Miller, I never turn down coffee," Bonfim smiled. He was an older man near sixty and had an almost contagious serenity. "But I'd also like to speak with my men." "Of course. Sam, please accompany the detective to my office and get him some coffee and a snack," I said, watching Samantha wipe away tears after hugging Catherine. Manu also stood up from the table and rushed to hug her friend, but was quick about it, saying she needed to answer a phone call.

When Chloe entered Arnold’s office, Samantha stood in front of his desk, smiling, waiting for him to sign some documents. She turned, shot Chloe a deadly look, and left. Chloe hunched her shoulders and wondered if that could become a problem. What terrifying thing could Samantha do to make her life harder? She was so distracted that she didn’t hear Arnold call her. “I'm sorry,” she said, glancing at him, never imagining he would be so young and handsome. She had made a misjudgment by imagining the man standing before her as someone older and more mature. Weren’t all CEOs supposed to be like that? But Arnold looked about her age and was already successful.

Sam became even happier upon receiving Ariana's praise. "I'll work hard!" Sam was a friend that Ariana had become acquainted with overseas. His father was an extremely famous and wealthy man back in his home country. Two years ago, his father had been diagnosed with liver cancer, and it was Ariana who had overseen his surgery as the chief surgeon. Since then, she and Sam had become familiar with each other. If she really allowed Sam to bring Leo back to Harvoria when the time came, then Sam's identity would be that of her boyfriend and also Leo's biological father.

His face was bruised from Andre's earlier attentions, but his eyes were soft and red-rimmed, and the moment he saw Mary in the wheelchair, he made a small, broken sound. She lifted her good hand. "Mr. Whitmore. That one. That is Uncle Sam. He is innocent. They were holding his mother, my grandmother, hostage. He had no choice but to go along with them. He was the only one who tried to help me. He fed me when he could." I gestured for Andre. "Stand him up." Sam was helped to his feet and brought to Mary's side. He knelt beside the wheelchair and took her good hand in his, and the two of them began to weep quietly together, the way family members weep when they have both survived something ter

He looked Sam up and down—Sam was currently wearing a borrowed oversized shirt of mine and an expression of exaggerated readiness. ​"Yes, Mr. Baker," Sam chirped, snapping a crisp, military-style salute. "Sam Perez at your service. I can cook, I can clean, and I can sell bread like it’s the last food on earth. Just say the word, Chief." ​Mr. Baker let out a wheezing laugh that shook his flour-dusted apron. I couldn't help but smile, too. My own personality was a quiet, brooding thing—a product of years of survival. Sam, however, was like a sparkler in a dark room. He was loud, unfiltered, and vibrantly alive despite having absolutely nothing.