Page 18 of The Blaze Between Us

"Or a walk down a muddy mountain in the rain," I correct, wincing as a particularly sharp pain shoots through my ankle when he navigates a tricky section of trail.

"Almost to the truck," he promises. "Hang in there."

I try to focus on anything other than the intimate contact or the pain. The rain has lightened to a gentle drizzle now, and occasional breaks in the clouds allow shafts of sunlight to penetrate the forest canopy, creating a magical, ethereal quality to the landscape. Under different circumstances, I'd be enchanted by the beauty surrounding us.

When the parking area finally comes into view through the trees, I feel both relief and an unexpected twinge of disappointment that this bizarre, intimate journey is ending.

"There's the truck," I say unnecessarily, just to break the strange silence that has fallen between us.

"Yep. Home free." His breathing is slightly labored now, though he's clearly trying to hide it.

"You can put me down here," I suggest as we reach the edge of the parking area. "I can hobble the rest of the way."

"And risk you falling again and injuring something else? I don't think so." His tone is light but firm. "I'm delivering you directly to the passenger seat."

He carries me all the way to his truck, somehow managing to shift me to one arm while he opens the door with the other. It's an impressive display of strength that makes me feel simultaneously safer and more flustered.

"Easy now," he murmurs as he helps me into the passenger seat. His hands are gentle yet sure as he makes sure I'm settled, his focus entirely on my comfort and safety.

Once I'm situated, he retrieves a small first aid kit from behind the seat and kneels in the mud beside the open door. "Let me take a quick look at that ankle before we head back."

I nod and try not to wince as he slowly removes my hiking boot and sodden sock. His hands are unexpectedly gentle as he examines my already swelling ankle.

"Definitely a sprain," he confirms, "but I don't think it's severe. Still, you'll need to stay off it for a few days, keep it elevated, ice it."

"I can manage that at the cabin," I assure him, though the thought of hobbling around alone while injured isn't particularly appealing.

He shakes his head. "The cabin has those steep porch steps, and you'd be on your own if you needed anything." He hesitates, seeming to debate something internally. "I think you should stay at my place, at least for tonight. We have a guest room on the main floor, no stairs necessary."

Did I hear it right?

"That's... really not necessary. I don't want to impose."

"It's not an imposition," he says firmly. "It's common sense."

"What about Ellie?”

"Ellie will understand completely," he interrupts. "And probably berate herself for not being a better host in the first place. In fact..." He pulls out his phone, frowns at the lack of signal, and puts it away again. "We'll call her once we're back in cell range."

I want to continue protesting, to insist I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. But the throbbing in my ankle and the genuine concern in his expression make it hard to argue.

"If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I finally concede.

"It's not," he says simply, then produces an elastic bandage from the first aid kit. "Let me wrap this for now. It'll help with the swelling until we can get some ice on it."

I nod, watching as he expertly wraps my ankle. Once my ankle is secured, he pulls a clean, dry sock from his backpack—slightly too large but better than nothing—and eases it over my foot. "This should keep you a bit warmer," he explains, then gently places my injured foot on the floorboard.

"Thank you," I say, the words feeling inadequate for the care he's showing. "For everything. The hike, the rescue, all of it."

He looks up, our eyes meeting briefly before he glances away. "Just doing my job."

"Pretty sure 'entertaining your daughter's friends' isn't in the fire chief job description," I point out.

That draws a short laugh from him as he closes my door and circles around to the driver's side. Once he's settled behind the wheel, he starts the engine and cranks up the heater. The warm air feels heavenly against my damp clothes and chilled skin.

We drive silently for several minutes, winding our way down the mountain road that leads back to town. I catch him glancing over at me occasionally, checking on me without being obvious about it.

"You can ask how I'm doing," I say finally, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Instead of the covert surveillance."

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