Page 8 of The Blaze Between Us

"From about age twelve," I confirm. "I was the kid who actually enjoyed balancing checkbooks and tracking allowance spending in notebooks."

"A natural-born numbers whisperer."

I laugh at his phrasing. "Something like that. I like the certainty of it. The way everything has to balance in the end."

"No gray areas," he observes.

"Exactly. Unlike most of life." I step carefully over a protruding root. "What about you? Always wanted to be a firefighter?"

He shakes his head. "Military was my first plan. Career Army, like my father. The firefighting came later, almost by accident."

"How so?"

"During my last deployment, there was an incident—a fire in one of the barracks. I was first on the scene and got everyone out before the professionals arrived." His voice remains matter-of-fact, but I sense there's more to the story than he's sharing. "Afterward, one of the fire crew said I had good instincts, should consider it as a career when I got out."

"So, you did."

"Not immediately. But the idea stuck with me." He glances back to make sure I'm keeping up. "You doing okay with the pace?"

"I'm good," I assure him, though my breathing is a bit heavier than his. "Don't slow down on my account."

"No rush," he says easily. "The falls aren't going anywhere."

We continue climbing, the trail gradually growing steeper. Brock points out various plant species and wildlife signs as we go, his knowledge of the forest impressive. When we pause for water, the conversation flows as naturally as the stream we can hear burbling somewhere nearby.

"Ellie mentioned you grew up in Chicago," he says, recapping his water bottle.

I nod. "Born and raised. Concrete jungle kid all the way."

"Quite a change, coming to mountains like these."

"Life-altering," I admit, looking around at the vastness of nature surrounding us. "Makes my everyday worries seem pretty insignificant."

"That's what I love about these mountains," he agrees. "Perspective adjustment."

"Is that why you came back here? After the Army?"

Something flickers in his expression—a shadow quickly replaced by his usual calm demeanor. "Partly. Also wanted Ellie to have the same kind of childhood I did. Open spaces. Community where people know your name."

I try to imagine raising a teenager alone in this small town, creating a stable life after loss. "You did a good job. With Ellie, I mean. She's amazing."

"She made it easy. Even through the typical teenage rebellion phase, she was always fundamentally good-hearted."

"She mentioned her purple hair experiment senior year," I say with a grin.

Brock groans. "God, that was a disaster. Purple for about three days, then this bizarre greenish color for weeks."

"She still has pictures."

"Of course she does." He shakes his head, but there's nothing but affection in his expression. "Ready to keep going? We're about halfway there."

We resume our hike, the trail growing more challenging as we ascend. At one point, the path narrows alongside a steep drop-off, just as Brock warned. Without saying anything, he positions himself on the outer edge, placing his body between me and the potential danger. It's such a natural, protective gesture that I doubt he even realizes he's done it.

"This must be the death-defying part," I joke, trying to mask how his proximity affects me.

"Just watch your footing here," he advises. "The rocks can be loose after rain."

As if on cue, my boot slips slightly on a patch of gravel. Before I can even gasp, Brock's hand is at my lower back, steady and strong, keeping me upright.

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