Page 1 of Mountain Man's Forgiveness
Chapter 1
Aiden
Flames rip through the forest canopy, exploding overhead in a deafening roar. Adrenaline surges through my veins, my pulse thundering in my ears, as acrid smoke stings my eyes and coats my throat. Although I’m trained to fight large-scale wildfires, it’s time to hustle.
My boots pound against the scorched earth as the wind shifts in a violent, treacherous gust. Heat slams into me like a freight train, my lungs screaming for clean air as I sprint toward the safety zone.
But I’m not quick enough because the flames are now racing sideways, cutting off my escape.
Fuck.
I pivot only to hear the sickening crack of a dead tree right before white-hot pain explodes through my leg, terror flooding my chest. My radio crackles with frantic voices, but they’re fading, growing distant. Then I hear it, a woman’s voice piercing through the chaos, frenzied and achingly familiar, before darkness swallows everything.
Choking for breath, my eyes snap open to see the familiar shadows of my bedroom. Drenched in sweat, my heart still hammering, I reach for the silver compass pendant hanging from my neck, a college graduation gift from my mom.Every man needs to know which way is home, Aiden. I press my thumb into the raised metal, breathing deeply even though I can still smell the smoke as if it’s right here.
Five things I can feel. The silver chain. The sheets. My comforter. The mattress edge. The breeze from the ceiling fan on my damp skin. My breathing slowly returns to normal, a little quicker this time.
And why was a woman there? I’ve never had anyone in my nightmare who wasn’t actually on scene at the time of the accident. I can still hear her voice calling out, leaving an ache I don’t quite understand.
Before I can explore what it means, my cell buzzes with an incoming text.
Bodie Kaufman: Lunch on Tuesday? Hank & Lulu’s?
Fuck. Another person trying to fix me. Another reminder that I bought this cabin to avoid exactly this. Resentment flares hot and immediate, but I can’t very well avoid the doctor who saved my life.
Me: Sounds good. Meet you there.
Hank and Lulu Jenkins own a local diner in Indigo Hills, popular among locals. They both know my story and won’t let me get away with sitting alone in a booth. My ass has to sit at the counter and talk to them, which is just as well. My first ‘homework’ assignment from Dr. Torres, my trauma therapist, was to ‘go have breakfast at Hank & Lulu’s’. So, I did. Now, I show up once in a while to get Dr. Torres off my back.
I toss the phone aside, it landing with a muted thud on the mattress. I’m no stranger to adversity. My dad drowned in a boating accident when I was fairly young, and my mother died of early-onset Alzheimer’s two years ago. Six months later, I lost my leg smokejumping. At thirty-six, I have no parents, no siblings, and both sets of grandparents have passed. All I have left is one distant cousin on the east coast, the emptiness something I try my best to ignore.
You’d think after burying everyone I loved, losing my job would be just another scar to live with. But the medical officer’s final assessment hangs heavy in my mind. Despite all my specialized certifications, I am “unfit to perform the duties previously assigned” to me as a smokejumper.
Un-fucking-fit.
It doesn’t matter that I’m cleared for structural firefighting, wildland crews, whatever. I can go back to work. But I can’t make myself walk into a firehouse and pretend I’m okay with being the guy who stays on the ground. That’s not what I spent my entire life preparing for.
And let’s be clear. I have a lot of respect for my comrades. Being a station house firefighter is damn hard work, and I’d challenge anyone who said otherwise. But my brothers in the sky… we were tight. We trusted each other. We had each other’s backs. And I miss that. I miss them.
The team reaches out occasionally, and the four buddies I was closest to still check on me, but it’s not the same. I’m not training with my crew, and I’m sure as hell not fighting fires with them.
I need to throw that line of thinking in the ashes and focus on the present, but shame still has its tight grip on my ego. Sure, the insurance paid out. Half a million for the leg. The federal schedule award added another quarter mil. I bought this place on Indigo Peak in the heart of the Texas Hill Country and invested the rest with what I inherited from my parents.
So what if I prefer to keep going alone on the mountain?
Dr. Torres would call my self-isolation ‘maladaptive coping.’ I call it survival.
Muscles coiled tight, I change to my hiking prosthetic, the familiar click locking it into place. Images of the tall raven-haired beauty from my dream pop into focus, her curves stirring a hunger I’ve tried to bury.
Wonder what the doc would think about that?
Chapter 2
Eva
The sharp crack of a twig snaps behind me as I study the dense thicket through the binoculars, its dusty juniper scent mixing with the earthy mesquite. I’m busy scribbling notes about the microhabitat of the Bewick’s wren, my handwriting jagged from balancing my field notebook on my knee. As I finish my sentence, the hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my mother‘s warning rings through my ears. “Trust your intuition, Eva. Always listen to your intuition.”
Alicia Mendoza understood early in my life that I tend to get lost in whatever I’m doing, ignoring everything else to a fault. I’ve been so hyper-focused on my research that I quit paying attention to my surroundings.
