Page 36 of Falling for the Firefighter
I feel rather than see Mac move closer, his presence solid behind me.
“The trail wasn’t dangerous. I’d led a hundred groups down it without incident. Safe. Familiar. I knew every root, every turn.” My fingers tighten around the pencil, the wood creaking. “But that spring, the snowmelt hit early. Hard. Underneath the trail, near Crystal Falls, the runoff carved it out. Left the top looking solid.”
The pencil snaps in half.
“It wasn’t.”
He doesn’t speak. Just listens.
“Sarah was excited. It was her first time seeing a real waterfall. She ran ahead—laughing, calling back to me—and before I could stop her…” My breath shudders out. “The ground vanished beneath her feet.”
I can still hear the sound—earth crumbling, that horrible second of silence before the scream.
“She fell fifty feet. Straight down onto jagged rock.” I force the words through the knot in my throat. “Her arm snapped. Her skull cracked so loudly I thought she was already gone. Fifty-two stitches to close her face. But the worst part—the part that never heals—was her back.”
I finally lift my gaze to his.
“The fall shattered her spine. She’ll never walk again. Eight years old, and I’m the reason she’ll spend the rest of her life in a chair.”
“Jo—”
“I was her guide. Her protector. And I missed it. I should’ve seen the undercut. I should’ve stopped her. I should’ve—” My voice breaks. “She trusted me, and I failed her. That’s the truth. And I live with it every time I close my eyes.”
The admission hangs in the air between us. Mac's expression shifts from gentle concern to understanding. He steps closer, into my space.
"Accidents happen," he says quietly. "Even to the most experienced guides."
"Not to me." I meet his eyes, needing him to understand. "Not before that. Not after. I don't guide anymore. I make maps."
He studies me for a long moment, blue eyes searching mine. Then he does something unexpected. He shares a piece of himself.
"Two years ago, I made a call during a canyon fire." His voice is low, steady. "Split my team to cover more ground. Standard procedure, one I'd executed dozens of times before."
Something in his tone makes my heart constrict.
"Wind shifted. Fire jumped the line." His jaw tightens. "Lost radio contact with the second team for seventeen minutes. Longest seventeen minutes of my life."
I see the shadow pass behind his eyes, the ghost of whatever happened in those seventeen minutes.
"They made it out." His voice roughens. "But it was close. Too close."
He doesn't elaborate, but I understand what he's doing. Offering me a glimpse of his own fallibility, his own burden of command. A bridge between us built of shared responsibility.
"I'm not asking you to guide tourists on sightseeing trips," he says. "I'm asking you to help seasoned firefighters protect the mountains you love."
His hand reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my face. The simple touch undoes me more than any passionate kiss.
"My team knows what they're doing," he continues. "They're the best. However, they are unfamiliar with this terrain. You know it."
I stare at the map, at the red X marks forming their ominous triangle. If the fires are deliberate, they're just the beginning. Someone is out there with a plan, using the mountains I love as their weapon.
"I can't be responsible for people's safety." The words come out small, revealing more vulnerability than I intend.
"You already are." Mac's voice gentles. "Every map you draw, every trail warning you post, every evacuation route you plan—you're already taking responsibility."
His logic finds purchase in the cracks of my resistance, taking root in an uncomfortable truth.
"It's different when they're right there beside you," I whisper, finally meeting his eyes. "When their lives depend on your split-second decisions."
