Page 5 of Falling for the Firefighter
"Someone has to." Parker's weathered face cracks into a brief smile, her knowing eyes drifting between Mac and me. "Especially this one." Her gaze flicks from Mac to me, then back again, full of private amusement and something unspoken, like she’s figured out a storm is brewing.
The tension in the room shifts—still professional, still contained—but there's a current now, undeniable and charged.
And Mac?
He’s at the center of it.
Still watching me like I’m the next challenge he intends to conquer—the next mountain to chase down and claim.
I see the threat in his eyes.
The promise.
He likes the hunt? The chase?
Isn’t that what he said?
The slow unraveling of resistance until there's nowhere left to run. Maybe that’s why I hate him so much—because some cruel, secret part of me wants to be caught.
Wants to be dragged down, pinned beneath him, and forced to admit I care. That I feel every look, every word, every subtle threat he layers with a smile.
Okay, where the hell did that come from?
Let him blow off this mountain for all I care. Let him vanish into the smoke. I dismiss him with a shake of my head, then turn my attention to his team.
"Welcome to Angel's Peak." I gesture toward my maps, determined to regain control of the room. "I'm Josephine Mackenzie, wilderness safety coordinator. I'll be your primary local resource for terrain navigation and evacuation planning."
"Jo?" Mac's eyebrow quirks upward, my name on his lips a deliberate provocation. The room temperature rises several degrees. "You’re Jo?"
"That’s what I said."
He gives me a look—slow, dangerous. Like a predator recognizing its prey. His smile sharpens, dark amusement flickering beneath the surface.
His gaze holds mine, heat and promise simmering behind the professionalism. The warning is silent but unmistakable: Retribution is coming, and he's going to enjoy every second of it.
The crew exchanges glances, and I catch a few smirks.
Great. He's already talked about our collision. About how I sent him in circles.
"As I was saying," I continue firmly, "Angel's Peak presents unique firefighting challenges due to our elevation, complex wind patterns, and microclimate variations."
I launch into my briefing, pointing out key features on the maps—the ridge lines where downdrafts can suddenly change a fire's direction, the hidden springs that provide emergency water sources, the narrow game trails that can serve as escape routes when main paths are compromised.
To my surprise, the crew leans in with genuine interest. A lanky firefighter—Ramirez—whistles softly at my detailed rendering of Widow's Peak.
"This is incredible detail. You've hiked all these areas personally?"
"Every inch." I tap the north ridge section, aware of Mac watching my hands, my face, and my mouth as I speak. "Twice yearly at minimum. Conditions change constantly in the high country."
"What about satellite imaging?" Mac pushes off the wall and approaches the table, his stride confident, predatory. The room seems to shrink with each step he takes. "Our tech team uses GPS overlays accurate to within three feet."
The challenge in his voice is unmistakable, as is the glint in his eyes. This isn't about maps. This is about territory—his versus mine, technology versus tradition.
"GPS can't tell you which trails will wash out after the spring thaw." I meet his gaze directly, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity as he stops across the table. "It can't identify which rock faces become unstable during August thunderstorms, and it certainly can't mark the seasonal water sources that don't appear on any official survey."
"Technology adapts. Updates happen hourly now." Mac leans over the table, bracing his weight on his palms. The position brings his face closer to mine, close enough that I can smell coffee and mint on his breath. "The margin for error decreases with each satellite pass."
"Unless those satellites are blinded by tree cover or confused by rock formations." I don't back away, even as my body responds to his nearness—pulse quickening, skin warming. "When was the last time your GPS warned you about the false ridge on Lookout Trail that's collapsed three hikers to their deaths?"
